A Simple Faith: A Lancaster Crossroads Novel (7 page)

Fanny waved off the gesture. “You’re the life of this store, Elsie. It’s always been you. Your dat tried his best to keep the store going, but I don’t think his heart was ever in it. But now, look around you. What fine displays you’ve made. And the new merchandise you’ve brought in makes the Country Store a special place. Handmade crafts, needlepoint pictures and pincushions. Homegrown lavender and honey.”

Elsie felt a glow of pleasure as she gazed over the shelves of homemade merchandise. The store had come a long way since the days of dusty fabric and soda pop. “Mostly I wanted to bring the store back to the way Mamm used to have it.”

“And you did. So much merchandise from folks here in Halfway, things made by Plain folk. It’s no wonder the Country Store is making money again. I’m smiling just sitting here beside the bright placemats that Rose Miller wove. Did you ever see such colors? Like Christmas.”

“Customers have been asking for Amish crafts. Some of the handmade items sold out over Christmas. And wait until Dat and I meet with the vendors in the city. It’s a great chance to increase our sales. Talking to one of the vendors, I learned that we might even double them.”

“Well, we won’t count those chickens before they hatch.” Fanny folded her shawl and placed it on the bench beside her. “But every day I thank Gott for keeping us fed and warm and clothed. And a lot of that is happening because this shop has been doing so well. I know your dat is grateful, too, even if he doesn’t talk about it much. You’ve seen him, hammering away on the carriage house. He’s happy to be starting a business of his own, something he and Caleb can do together.”

“I know his heart wasn’t in this shop after Mamm died.” As she talked, Elsie moved through the aisles, swiping at the merchandise with a dust cloth. “I’m grateful he let me have a crack at it.”

The bell on the door jingled, and both women looked over to see a young Amish woman burst in. Her black coat hung open and there were rose swatches on her cheeks from the cold. “Good morning to you,” called Rachel King. She was the artist who had painted the big watercolors that covered one wall of the Country Store.

Although Rachel looked like every other Amish girl Elsie knew, she had a special eye for painting small, ordinary objects from Amish life in a way that warmed the heart. Her canvases were filled with quilts lifting in the breeze and flowers lining the drives to Amish homes. A kerosene lantern on a table. A potbellied stove. A buggy moving through golden hills. The sun setting over a clothesline of black pants and colorful dresses. So much color and light! Rachel’s beautiful paintings were among the most expensive items at the Country Store and worth every penny, as far as Elsie was concerned.
Although Rachel never showed Plain folk in her scenes, she managed to capture the true heart of Amish life.

“Rachel.” Fanny nodded, rising from the bench. “How’s the painting going?”

“It’s good when I can find time to do it. Mamm and Dat still need my help to run the dairy farm.”

“I wish you could paint all the time,” Elsie said.

“Ya, and I would if I could get out of milking the cows. But tomorrow, I’m free of the farm. At least for one day.”

“It’s nice to have a little break,” Fanny called as she went to the back room to check on the children.

“So you talked to your dat,” Elsie asked. “Will he let you go to the city to meet with Claudia?”

Rachel nodded, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “As long as I combine it with my turn to help out at the cheese shop at the market. It’s all arranged. I’m going tomorrow.”

Elsie clapped her hands together in delight. “So I’ll see you in George’s van?”

“On the way home. But I still wish you would meet with the Englisher lady instead of me. I’m not good when it comes to talking and socializing with folks I don’t know.”

Elsie pressed one hand to her mouth to hold back a laugh. “And you think I’m better at that?” Apparently Elsie’s insecurities about dealing with the world beyond the shop were not as obvious as she’d thought.

“Everybody is charmed by you, Elsie. Why don’t you just do it for me and take the fifteen-percent commission out of anything that sells? I don’t mind paying you. You’ve done so much for me already. I wouldn’t have my painting on the side if it weren’t for you. I wouldn’t even have enough money to buy new watercolors, let alone special paper and frames.”

“But Claudia wants to meet you. She’s an art dealer, and if she takes you on, she’ll be taking a percentage out of the money you earn. You don’t need two people doing that, when you do all the painting.”

Rachel let her fingers fall over one of the dolls on the shelf. “I don’t mind, Elsie. Really I don’t.”

“Just call Claudia Stein and tell her you’re coming to Philadelphia tomorrow. And no need to be nervous. She told me your artwork is wonderful good. I’m sure she’ll like you, too.”

“I don’t know.…” Rachel plucked at one of her thumbnails, a nervous habit.

“I’m not going to let you be a crabapple about this.” Elsie fished through an envelope and came up with what she was looking for. “Here’s Claudia’s card. Call her. And I’ll see you in the van for the ride home.”

As Rachel plodded out on her mission, Elsie thought of a Bible passage she had always liked. She had memorized it when she was little. “Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father, which is in heaven.”

She liked to think that she was helping Rachel let her light shine.

Singing a little song as she dusted, Elsie smiled and prayed that Gott’s happy light inside her would shine to make someone else smile today.

6

D
espite her friend’s advice, Haley resolved to keep things with Dylan Monroe strictly professional. Right now, she had her hands full trying to get through nursing school.

There was also the unknown factor of whether or not Dylan was interested in a relationship. The prevailing attitude among female staff members was that some lucky woman was going to snatch up the new psychologist, as if he were the last chocolate in the box.

But Haley didn’t think anyone would be catching Dylan anytime soon. She couldn’t put her finger on the reason why. There was just something about him—a flicker of regret in his eyes, a hesitancy that she didn’t see in guys in the market for a girlfriend. He was giving out a very solitary message.

Single and staying that way.

For Haley, Dylan’s attitude was refreshing and a little disturbing. Relating to a male peer on a strictly professional level was a new thing for her. At the same time, it bothered her that he didn’t seem
to notice that she was a young woman who was showing signs of attraction to him.

This was also a new thing for Haley.

Am I losing my touch?
she wondered that Wednesday afternoon as she stared at herself in the ladies’ room mirror. Same amber eyes, rimmed with a light touch of eyeliner. Her lashes were naturally thick and dark, so she never bothered with mascara. She turned her head this way and that, checking the golden highlights woven through her honey-blond hair. She had done them herself to save money, and it wasn’t a bad job at all.

She had her father’s high cheekbones and her mother’s heart-shaped face. Long legs and a runner’s spare frame, with just the right amount of curves. As a teenager she had done some modeling for local flyers and catalogs, so she knew God had blessed her with the right stuff.

At least on the outside.

The inside, well, she was working on her issues, trying to patch things over with her parents, trying to get herself out of debt.

But the turmoil swirling inside her wasn’t reflected in her honeyed hair and amber eyes. So why didn’t Dylan Monroe take notice? Why didn’t he realize how much he enjoyed her company and suggest that they get to know each other better?

Enough time wasted. She swung open the restroom door, determined to rid her mind of Dylan Monroe. Unfortunately, he chose that moment to come walking down the hospital corridor.

“Haley … just the person I wanted to see. Can you spare a minute?”

“Sure.”
Be still, my fluttering heart
. Why did she always have such an extreme reaction when he was near? “What’s up?”

He gestured down the hall. “There’s a twelve-year-old girl in exam bay three, minor burns from a fire. It sounds like she was heroic, but I can’t get anything out of her.”

“And you think she’ll talk to me?” Haley felt a mixture of pride and trepidation. Although she had taught fourth-grade Sunday school one year, her experience with kids was limited.

“How old are you?” Dylan asked.

“Twenty-two.”

“You’re six years closer to twelve than I am. Plus you’re female. That can make a big difference when it comes to getting a patient that age to feel at ease.”

“I’m game,” she said as he directed her down the hall. “But did you try guided imagery with her?” she asked. Dylan had briefed the staff on a type of therapy he’d had success with in private practice.

“It’s not really appropriate in an emergency room setting.”

“I thought you used it on patients suffering post-traumatic stress?”

“That’s true. But it’s more of a long-term therapy. A step-by-step program. It’s something an ER patient might consider after discharge.”

He paused by the curtain. “Knock, knock.” A calm smile warmed his face when he peered in at the girl sitting on the bed. “Charlotte, can we come in? I brought Haley with me. She’s a lot younger and cooler than I am.”

Haley stepped in and rolled her eyes. “I am way cooler than this guy.”

Scared eyes studied Haley from beneath a strip of white gauze. “Hi.” Patches of Charlotte’s hair were gone—burned away, Haley assumed—and the skin of her neck and the right side of her face were red and slick with ointment. “My mom went to the gift shop to buy me a scarf to … to cover this.”

“Okay, we’ll wait with you until she gets back,” Dylan said. “So is she getting you a cool bandana or something more decorative?”

Charlotte said she had asked for something purple, and Dylan launched into an explanation of why purple was the color chosen
by creative people. When that got Charlotte talking about how she liked to sketch things, Dylan found her paper and pencil and engaged her in a discussion of graphic novels that Haley knew nothing about.

And he said he wasn’t cool
, Haley thought, filling the girl’s water pitcher while they talked. It seemed to Haley that they were just chatting, and she wondered what clinical details Dylan extracted from a conversation about comic books. How did he assess Charlotte’s psychological health by talking with her about anime?

Soon, the girl’s mother returned with a zebra print scarf in purple and black that pleased Charlotte.

“I’m glad you like it, honey.” Irene Metcalf collapsed in the visitor’s chair, looking frazzled and stressed. “Sorry it took me so long, but the scarves downstairs were way too expensive and way too ugly, and I had to drive a few miles to find a shopping center.”

“It’s nice, Mom. Thanks.” Charlotte folded the scarf in half and held it up to her head. “How do you put these things on?”

“Well, you have a few options. There’s Hollywood-starlet style, turban style, and what we used to call hobo chic,” Haley piped up.

Charlotte grinned, warming to Haley. “Can you show me?”

While Dylan talked with Irene, Haley demonstrated different styles. She showed Charlotte how to twist and fold the fabric as Dylan mentioned some breaks that had come up on Charlotte’s X-rays. Broken bones in her arm from a previous injury.

Although Haley kept working with Charlotte, she couldn’t help but listen in.

“I know exactly when that happened, and I still feel terrible about it,” Irene said, her voice thick with emotion. “She fell off the play structure in the park and her arm hurt something awful. But, Doctor, I didn’t have medical coverage and there was no money for all of this.”

Dylan sympathized, saying he knew how expensive medical coverage could be.

“Please don’t take my girl away from me,” Irene begged. “I brought her here today because I was so worried about the burns and her hair and everything. And we have medical coverage now, through my new job.” Irene talked about saving money for a new heating system so that they wouldn’t have to use the kerosene heater anymore. She talked about the stress and pressure of being a single parent. “My only saving grace is that Charlotte is such a good girl. Did you know she got burned today ’cause she was trying to keep my nephew away from the heater?”