Her Restless Heart Part 4

"Look what I did!" Sally exclaimed, showing Mary Katherine how she'd woven the potholder.

"Almost done," Mary Katherine said with a smile. She showed Sally how to finish off the edges of the potholder and watched as the child did it with great absorption.

"I made it all by myself!" Sally exclaimed, then she looked at Mary Katherine. "Well, almost by myself. You helped."

"It turned out so pretty," Mary Katherine told her.

Sally looked up at her mother. "Can we buy it?"

"You don't have to," Mary Katherine rushed to tell the mother. "She's welcome to take the potholder home, but it wasn't my intention to try to make you buy the loom."

Sally's mother brushed aside Mary Katherine's concern as she took out her wallet. "I know that. But she's had such fun, and it's so nice to see that with all the high-tech things kids play with these days, she enjoyed herself."

"One of my male cousins enjoys making them." She slid the loom inside the box and reached under the counter for another bag of fabric loops to include. Such looms could be found in metal but Mary Katherine liked the homey touch of the wooden ones.

"It's so nice the way Amish families are so close," the woman told her as she handed over money for her purchases.

Mary Katherine tried not to wince. If only the woman had seen how one Amish father had behaved toward his daughter just minutes earlier, she thought.

She put the quilt kit in a brown paper shopping bag and tied a length of fabric on the handle, then bagged Sally's loom and did the same with a strip of fabric with a child's print.

"Thank you, lady, I had fun," Sally told her.

Her mother beamed at her daughter and nodded her approval. Then she turned to Mary Katherine. "We both had fun here. I'll be sure to tell my friends to look up your store when they visit. It's become a very popular vacation destination, you know. Visiting an Amish community."

Mary Katherine nodded. It was nice to hear. Farmland had become so expensive that many Amish had turned to other ways to make a living. The shop had been wonderful for her grandmother and her cousins.

Business slowed as the afternoon wore on. They shifted to straightening and cleaning up for the next day. Leah took the day's earnings to the back room to count and prepare a deposit.

"Don't forget, Nick's coming to pick us up a few minutes early tonight," she said, pausing at the back room door.

Mary Katherine noticed that Naomi walked over to the tiny bathroom and checked her appearance in the mirror over the sink. She raised her brows at her cousin when she returned, and Naomi blushed. Hmm, she thought. Nick was one of the Englisch drivers the Amish hired to take them to and from work and on errands. She'd caught him gazing at Naomi several times and wondered if he was interested in her.

Finally, it was time to turn the "Open" sign around and lock up for the day. Mary Katherine paused as she did, feeling a little melancholy as she watched couples and families clearing the sidewalks and heading home-whether that was local or to a motel if they were tourists.

A young woman rapped on the gla.s.s as Mary Katherine turned the "Open" sign around. She started to say they were closed, and then she recognized the person.

"Jamie, what are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd come by and see if you wanted to catch some dinner, maybe a movie with me tonight?"

Mary Katherine hesitated as she looked at her Englisch friend. They were the same age, but Jamie seemed so much older. Maybe it was because she'd been on her own for a while. Jamie wore her hair short and standing in little tufts around her gamine face, and was dressed in a thin denim jacket and short skirt even though it was chilly.

"I had kind of a down day, thought it'd be nice to have some company. You can choose the movie."

Her own day hadn't been down, in Jamie's words, but Mary Katherine wasn't in a hurry to head home.

"Sure. Come inside and I'll tell my grandmother."

Jacob surveyed the fields and felt a little let down.

It was a gut thing to be done with the harvesting, but he was a man who enjoyed working the land, planting seed and nurturing it and watching crops grow to be touched by the sun. Hard work, but honest work, work he'd learned walking beside his dat each day from the time he learned to toddle.

Some said that farming was becoming a dying business in these parts. But he'd never seen himself doing anything else. Generations had farmed this land, and even if he hadn't wanted to continue, he'd have felt the responsibility, the duty, to do so.

His father had died when Jacob was in his early twenties, and so he'd taken over the duties of the farm and of his family. His five sisters were grown and married, and five years ago, his mother had remarried and moved into her new husband's house. When his mother's husband died two years ago, Jacob had asked his mother if she wanted to move back in with him, but she liked her independence. Now it was just him in the big old farmhouse that stood behind him as he watched the sun set before heading inside.

After all, there was no hurry, no one calling him inside to supper. He headed to the barn to do a last check, enjoying the earthy scents of horse and hay and the warmth the building retained.

Feeling a little restless, he looked at the woodworking projects he planned for the winter. Most of his fellow farmers also planned such projects. He enjoyed carving toys for his many nieces and nephews. Maybe he'd work on one of them before going in to eat.

But his stomach growled, reminding him that it had been hours and hours since he'd stopped for dinner, and that had been a hurried affair because he'd had errands that afternoon. So he gave a last stroke to his horse and left the barn, securing the door, and headed inside.

He lit the kerosene lamps and the light dispelled the shadows in the kitchen. Supper preparations didn't take long. All he had to do was retrieve a ca.s.serole that waited in the refrigerator for him and slide it into the oven. He set the timer and took a quick shower, returning before the timer could buzz.

The ca.s.serole was simple, but hot and filling. Chicken and rice and broccoli. It couldn't get better than that. He poured coffee and considered a handful of peanut b.u.t.ter cookies for dessert.

He might be unmarried, but he surely never suffered for a lack of nourishment. His sisters and his widowed mother made sure of that. They seemed to have a system going of supplying him with meals, homemade breads, and rolls. And desserts. Oh my, the desserts.

Thank goodness he'd discovered Tupperware. Now he could store some of the leftovers for times when one of his female relatives didn't show up with food. Not that it had happened yet. Like the U. S. Postal Service, they arrived bearing meals despite weather conditions. Or, in their case, despite pregnancies and child sicknesses or whatever. Or they called each other and made arrangements to have someone else do it.

He'd thought it was because they loved him. Well, he knew it was because they did. But it was also because he'd once confessed that he didn't know what to say when a maedel had arrived on his doorstep with a ca.s.serole. As much as he loved having a ready-made meal after a long day in the fields, he didn't want to have to entertain someone-especially if they had marriage in mind.

Now that his female relatives had formed a daisy chain of food deliveries, there hadn't been any single ladies showing up with a ca.s.serole.

But now he felt like an old bachelor as he ate alone at his kitchen table.

The front door opened, and his mother called in a greeting.

She entered the kitchen, a st.u.r.dy woman in her late fifties, her face smooth and unlined. Her eyes were the same brown as Jacob's, her hair a rich mahogany with nary a silver hair beneath her bonnet. Smiling, she bent and kissed his cheek.

In her hands was a Dutch apple pie. She set it down on the table near him, and its scent of warm apples and cinnamon warmed his heart as much as the sight of her did.

"I see I timed it just right," she remarked, looking at his empty dinner plate.

"It's always the right time for a visit from you."

"And always the right time for dessert, ya?"

He laughed and nodded.

Getting to his feet, he helped her take off her coat and hung it on a peg near the door.

"Can I get you a cup of kaffe? Or tea?"

She pulled off her bonnet and hung it on the peg next to her coat. "You're having kaffe? I'll have that."

"It's no trouble to fix you tea."

She patted his cheek and sat down at the table. "You're such a sweet sohn. I meant to tell you. The firewood you ordered was delivered today."

"I'd cut it for you myself, but I haven't had time," he said, setting a mug in front of her. He went to the cupboard for two plates, but she shook her head when he placed one before her.

"I have another delivery," she said and took a sip of her coffee.

"Oh? Which of my sisters are you visiting?"

She shook her head. "I'm going to visit a friend. Speaking of which, I heard you visited a certain friend in town several days ago."

Jacob pulled the pie toward him, cut a big slice, and placed it on his plate. He considered it for a moment. Before he could get up his mother had moved to the refrigerator with her usual energy. She pulled open the freezer drawer, took out a half-gallon of ice cream, and brought it back to the table.

"As I was saying, I heard you visited a friend in town," she told him as she rummaged in a nearby drawer and found a utensil. Seating herself, she opened the container and scooped up a big serving of vanilla on his pie.

"Thanks," he said, digging in. "Mmm, just what I needed."

"You need something else," she said, sitting and folding her hands in front of her on the table. "Someone."

When he groaned, she slapped a hand on the table and looked at him sternly. "Don't roll your eyes at me."

"Sorry. But you didn't come over here to again talk me into finding a wife, did you?"

"I just want you to think about it."

"Why don't you think about moving into the dawdi haus?"

"What?"

"You must be rattling around in your house and besides, it's getting harder to take care of it, isn't it?"

She stared at him as if he were crazy.

"Are you saying I'm elderly?" she demanded.

"Of course not, I-"

"I'll let you know when I'm ready to move into a dawdi haus!" With that, she started out of the room with what could only be described as a flounce.

She paused at the door and looked back at him. "There are some who do not think of me as an old lady."

"Mamm, I don't think of you as-"

But she opened the door and rushed out, slamming it behind her.

He followed her, but she refused to speak to him. She climbed into her buggy, picked up the reins, and rode away.

Jacob ran a hand over his hair and shook his head. What had just happened? One minute he'd been about to taste a bite of pie, and the next she was acting like he had insulted her.

He knew she was a woman, but he'd never seen her behave like this.

But as he sat at the table with the pie uneaten in front of him, the ice cream melting all over it, the room so silent he could hear the clock ticking, he knew she'd just said what he'd been thinking.

He needed a wife.

4.

You did a good job with that customer."

Mary Katherine glanced at her grandmother while she fixed a cup of tea. "Danki. I didn't expect her to buy so much."

Leah patted the chair next to her and Mary Katherine sat, cupping her mug of tea in her hands.

"I'm not talking about how much she spent."

When Mary Katherine's eyebrows went up, Leah laughed. "Oh, I love a prosperous business day as much as the next shopkeeper, but that's not what I'm talking about here."

Leah offered the cookie jar to Mary Katherine, and she smiled. "Snickerdoodles!"

"I watched you teach the little girl how to weave a potholder and saw how good you were with her and with her mother," Leah continued. "They both walked out of here feeling like they'd had a nice time. They have a kit to make a quilt together, make a memory together."

Mary Katherine shrugged. "It's my job."

"You have a real way with people, kind," Leah said, touching her cheek. "It's so good to see you looking happier. Coming here was good for you. I knew it would be."

"I wish my parents understood that."

Leah sighed. "I know." She folded her hands in her lap and studied Mary Katherine.

Uh-oh, here it comes, Mary Katherine thought. She's got that look on her face.

"Have you thought any more about getting baptized?" she asked after a long moment.

It was so hard to disappoint her grandmother. But she just wasn't ready to do it yet. She wasn't even sure she would ever be ready.

"You know this isn't about having a wild rumschpringe, trying out alcohol, or being wild, all that-"

"Of course not," Leah interrupted her quickly.

"I'm sorry," she began. "I'm just not ready-"

"No, I don't want you to be sorry," Leah rushed to say. "I don't mean to pressure you."

"It's a big decision," she said, struggling to find the words, feeling her way. "If I joined the church, you know what would happen if I changed my mind and left. I'd be shunned-"