Winter of Wishes (9 page)

Taylor nodded sleepily, glancing at the fabrics Rhoda had chosen. “Whatcha doin’?
Gram brought all this stuff when she moved in with us, couple of years ago.”

“And did she sew lots of perty clothes, back before she had her stroke?” It wouldn’t
do to be nosy, but Betty’s granddaughter would have quick answers to things that didn’t
add up . . . like why, for instance, most of the clothing hanging in Betty’s other
closet looked dull and shapeless and, well . . . depressing.

Taylor shrugged. “She wore sweats mostly, after PawPaw died. Didn’t come out of her
room a lot, ’coz she and Mommy didn’t get along too good.”

And wasn’t that a sad situation for two young children to witness? And for Andy to
be caught in the middle—tryin’ to keep his wife happy while doin’ the right thing,
givin’ his widowed
mamm
a home? From what she’d seen of English ways, it seemed the generations of their
families often lived separate lives, splintered off from each other like strips of
bark fallen off the family tree.

“So . . . was Gram gonna make clothes from these wild designs?” Taylor reached into
a bin of colorful fabrics to get a better look at them.

Rhoda decided to take this conversation a bit further while Betty was still in the
shower. “Does that surprise ya, that she used to sew up such bright, perty pieces?”

“Jah,”
the girl murmured, unaware that she’d picked up on some Amish dialect. “Look at that
awesome purple with the bright pink polka dots, Rhoda! Now, can’t you see
me
wearing that instead of Gram?”

Rhoda chuckled. “Maybe if ya ask her real nice, she’d let ya have that piece.”

An exasperated sigh escaped the girl. “But I don’t know how to sew!”

“Hmmmm,” Rhoda said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “But
someone
in this closet does. Maybe if ya asked her real nice—”

“You mean it, Rhoda? You’d make me a dress from that? Pretty pleeeease?”

Rhoda’s heart swelled as she held up the polka-dot fabric. “If ya don’t want a lot
of pleats or ruffles or what-not—”

“Yuck! Not ruffles!”

“—there’s enough here for a dress or a jumper,
jah
. But you’re askin’ Gram about that before ya get your heart set on it, ain’t so?”

Taylor’s head bobbed happily.

“And if you’ll be in charge of breakfast for you and your brother—and keep him outta
here while I’m dressin’ your gram—I’ll be happy to sew ya something,” Rhoda replied.
“But your gram’s dresses come first, so she can start to dress herself of a morning.
She’s all excited about gettin’ new clothes, ya see.”

The little girl’s eyebrows rose slowly. “So . . . how will you know what size to make
them? And how to sew the kind of dress she wants?”

“Truth be told, she asked for a Plain-style dress like I’m wearin’, so she can snap
it shut in the front.” Rhoda pointed to the way her own dress was pinned beneath her
vee-shaped cape. She watched Taylor’s reaction to that, considering that most English
women wouldn’t ask for an Amish dress even if it was an easier style to fasten. “She
wants aprons, too. Her own
mamm
wore them to do her housework, and an apron’ll keep her dress cleaner when she eats,
too.”

“That would be a good thing,” Taylor replied matter-of-factly. “She tries real hard,
but sometimes the fork doesn’t stay in her hand, or she can’t keep the food in her
mouth too good.” Her brows puckered. “I thought Amish ladies didn’t wear bright colors
or designs.”

“Well, I wear brighter solid colors in the summer than this green I’ve got on, but
Mennonite ladies wear prints. They use the same basic Plain patterns for cuttin’ out
their clothes as we Amish do, though.” Rhoda shrugged. “Your gram wants a simpler
way to take care of herself. I think that’s a real
gut
idea, and I know you’ll help her all ya can, Taylor.”

Rhoda wondered if Taylor would quiz her about the differences between Mennonites and
Amish, but the girl glanced up at the ceiling, listening. “Brett’s up,” she murmured.
“I’ll get him into the kitchen real quick. See ya later, Rhoda.”

“
Jah
, I’ll be there in a few, honey-bug.”

Taylor turned in the doorway of the closet, grinning as though they shared a fine
secret. “You talk kinda funny, Rhoda, but it’s cute, you know it?”

Over the next hour and a half the two kids behaved like angels. While Rhoda wasn’t
keen on the way they watched television and played with little gadgets in their hands,
at least they weren’t aggravating each other. So she focused on sewing their grandmother’s
new clothes.

Using a dress Betty said was still a good fit, Rhoda laid it on newspaper pages on
the kitchen countertop to draw a paper pattern. As she allowed for the differences
between this dress’s style and the Amish type she herself wore, she became aware that
Taylor had sat down beside her grandmother at the kitchen table.

“Whatcha doin’ now?” the girl asked.

Rhoda smiled. Any time a young lady seemed curious about sewing, it was an opportunity
to show her a skill she could use all her life. “Once I have paper pattern pieces
for the dress and the sleeves, I’ll pin them on the fabric and cut them out,” she
explained. “Which dress shall I sew first, Betty? I’ll make one, and then we’ll check
the fit before we cut into another piece of fabric.”

Betty, now wearing clean sweats, with her hair neatly combed, leaned eagerly over
the three lengths of fabric they’d chosen. “Red poppies,” she declared, pointing with
her good hand. “Christmas’ll be here . . . before we know it.”

Rhoda smiled. “Ya want to save that piece for the second dress, after we try out our
pattern on another fabric to be sure it’s right?”

“Nope. It’ll be . . . perfect if you . . . make it, Rhoda.”

Rhoda’s breath caught. Could she live up to such an expectation with her makeshift
pattern? When the pieces were all cut out, the three of them went to Betty’s room.
She and Taylor pulled the sewing machine out of the closet, and with Betty’s gestures
and halting suggestions, Rhoda set it up. “I’m not used to an electric machine, ya
know,” she said as she threaded the needle with red thread. “So I just press my foot
on that pedal, and the needle moves?”

“Yup. Old machine, but . . . still runs good.” Betty took a seat in her overstuffed
chair, while Taylor bounced onto the bed to watch.

After a few wild, racing starts that made the three of them giggle hysterically, Rhoda
got the feel for feeding the fabric under the needle. When the main seams were basted
in with long loose stitches, Taylor showed her where the iron and ironing board were—again,
a new experience with an English appliance. Rhoda marveled at how easy it was to press
the seams open with the steam that came out of the lightweight iron.

“It’s time for your fittin’,” she announced. “Ya ready for this, Betty?”

Taylor went out to check on Brett, who was watching a TV show about animals. As Rhoda
helped Betty slip out of her sweats, she felt little tremors of anticipation in the
older woman’s limbs. The red poppies brightened the whole room, and as Rhoda pinned
the front panels of the dress together, she got caught up in Betty’s excitement.

“So how’s it feel to ya? It drapes real nice in the back,” she said as she went around
to look. “Let’s check the mirror, and see how long ya want it.”

When they positioned the closet door so Betty could step in front of the full-length
glass, the older woman’s expression stopped Rhoda’s heart: Betty’s mouth opened and
closed, but no words came out. Slowly she turned from one side to the other. She stood
taller and squared her shoulders, as though she had someplace to go—perhaps recalling
younger, happier days. As Betty smoothed the fabric at the shoulders, a sigh escaped
her. “So . . . perty, Rhoda,” she murmured. “Thank . . . you ever so . . . much, dear.”

Rhoda wiped away a tear. When Betty reached for her with shining eyes, she stepped
into a hug that took her by surprise with its intensity. How long had it been since
this sweet old soul had worn something new? Had Betty endured long, lonely weeks,
staying out of the way while Andy and his wife had ended their marriage? Did she feel
that she was imposing on her son—especially after she’d lost the use of one side of
her body? Sadder yet, had Betty resigned herself to just hanging on from one day to
the next, without any hopes or hobbies?

Rhoda pressed her cheek to Betty’s, sharing a kind of love she’d never expected, from
a woman she barely knew. When she had told Andy that she felt
needed
here, she’d had no idea how much truer that statement would become . . . or how deep
her emotions would run.

As they eased apart, Rhoda blinked back a last tear, noting the shiny streaks on Betty’s
face. “Well, now,” she murmured. “Ya had faith in my sewin’, so we’re off to a real
nice start. I was thinkin’ that piece of bright green would make a
gut
apron—”

Betty’s smile shone like the Christmas star as she nodded.

“—and I’ll make a white one from that piece of twill we found,” Rhoda continued as
she unpinned the bodice. “While I’m doin’ so
gut
on the machine, I’ll hem this dress and start another one. Which fabric do ya want
for it?”

Betty considered the other large swaths they’d pulled from the bin and pointed to
a piece of textured tweed in blues, yellows, and greens. “After this one . . . Taylor
wants something from the purple . . . with the pink dots.”

“
Jah
, so she’s told me!” Rhoda said with a laugh. Then an idea occurred to her. “Do ya
know if she’s ever done any hand sewin’? Might be a
gut
chance for her to learn, on these nice big snaps that’ll go down the front of your
dresses.”

Betty’s eyes widened. “Good idea. I’ll go get her.”

Was it her imagination, or had Andy’s mother said “
gut
idea”? Rhoda laughed at herself: with the morning nearly past and a new dress to
show for it, her happiness was surely coloring what she saw and heard.

After their lunch, Rhoda agreed that Brett could play games on the computer while
Taylor tried her hand at sewing the snaps on her gram’s poppy-print dress. Taylor
sat very still, holding her mouth just so, focused on jabbing thread through the needle’s
tiny eye the way Rhoda had shown her. Then Taylor observed closely as Rhoda made small
stitches in each of the first snap’s openings.

It was a gratifying sight, to see Betty giving encouragement as her granddaughter
carefully circled each snap with her stitches. This meant Rhoda was free to cut and
sew the tweed dress, knowing her paper pattern was an accurate fit.

This has to be Your hand at work, guidin’ mine, Lord
, she thought. An hour later, the tweed dress hung on the door awaiting snaps where
she’d marked its front edges with pins.

At the sound of a loud sigh, Rhoda looked up. “Gettin’ tired of that hand sewin’,
Taylor?” she asked gently. “Go on and play with Brett, if ya want. You’ve been a real
big help.”

“My stitches are so big, compared to yours,” Taylor said in a dejected tone.

“Oh, don’t ya worry about that, honey-bug!” Rhoda exclaimed as she looked at Taylor’s
work. “For your first time, ya did mighty fine—”

Betty was nodding emphatically, hugging Taylor’s shoulders.

“—and ya know what?” Rhoda continued. “Your grandma’s gonna smile every time she puts
on this perty red poppy dress, because the color makes her
almost
as happy as lookin’ at the snaps ya sewed on for her today.”

“Real . . . proud of you . . . Taylor,” Betty agreed.

Rhoda stopped sewing for a while to figure out what to cook for their supper . . .
a dish that could simmer until Andy got home, probably in an hour or so. She put some
frozen chicken breast tenderloins on to boil. When they were cooked, she would combine
them with noodles and a can of cream of chicken soup for a meal everyone would like.

When she glanced out the window, she grinned at the snowman Brett and Taylor were
making in the backyard. It was good to see them outside playing, much like Willow
Ridge kids would be now that school had let out for the day. Fat flakes of snow were
still coming down. She’d been so focused on sewing for Betty, it seemed like a whole
day had passed since this morning when she’d talked with Mamma and Ben in the café.

Rhoda went into the front room. Her mother and Naomi would be cleaning up the Sweet
Seasons kitchen by now, so if she called—

The jangle of Andy’s phone startled her. Betty awoke from the nap she’d drifted into
while sitting on the couch.

“Shall I answer?” Rhoda asked. Betty nodded, so she picked up the receiver. “
Jah
, hullo? This is Rhoda, who’s takin’ care of Andy Leitner’s kids,” she said, thinking
the caller might be confused unless she identified herself.

“And how are Andy Leitner’s kids?” a familiar male voice asked. “They’d better be
behaving for you, Rhoda.”

“Andy! Oh,
jah
, they’ve been busy bees today. They’re makin’ a snowman out back,” she replied in
a rush, “while your
mamm
and I, well—we’ve been sewin’ up some new dresses. Ya want to talk to her? She’s
sittin right here.”

There was a pause, filled with a tired sigh. “I have a huge favor to ask,” Andy said.
“We’re understaffed today, and we’ve had a steady stream of patients coming in from
car accidents on the icy roads. We’ve gotten word of a school bus full of kids that
got broadsided by an eighteen-wheeler—”

“Oh, Andy, how horrible!”

“—so I’m hoping you can stay at the house while we patch up those kids. It’s going
to be really late before I get home, so if you need to call your driver—”