The Amish Seamstress (25 page)

Growing sober, Zed nodded. “I know, I'm sorry. But it's all over now. Tom will be fine as long as he gets out of those wet clothes and into something warm right away.”

When we reached the bank and climbed out, I saw that Tom's fingers were trembling and his lips were blue. Still, he wouldn't look at either of us or accept any help from his little brother as he worked to undo the laces on his skates.

“Better move fast, man,” Zed told him.

“That's the plan,” Tom snapped in reply, teeth clenched.

Somehow he managed to get one skate untied enough to pull it off. As he started in on the other, he finally glanced our way.

“I'm glad you're okay,” I told him earnestly. “I was so worried.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said, returning his attention to the laces. “Must not have worried all that much.”

I blinked, feeling hurt. I tried to come up with a response but was speechless.

“Why would you say that to her?” Zed demanded.

Tom got off the second skate and then slid his feet into dry boots before standing up and meeting my gaze.

“Because that might have been the kind of situation where it would have helped to blow the whistle.”

With that, he grabbed his wet skates from the ground and took off toward home.

Eyes wide, Eddie turned to me, watching to see how I would react.

All I could do was look down at my chest, where the shiny silver whistle hung from my neck. I had completely forgotten about it.

My face flushed with heat, I looked at Zed, the only person on earth who would not judge me when I did something this scatterbrained.

“Figures,” I said, reaching for the whistle, putting it to my lips, and giving a soft blow.

“You'll probably remember next time,” Eddie said, his voice full of encouragement.

The three of us couldn't help but laugh.

Zed and I saw Eddie safely to the path that would lead him home and then we made our way back to Ella's house. We got there just as she was setting out the midday meal. She could tell something was up, so
after Luke led us in silent prayer, we explained to both of them what had happened.

Ella was horrified, but Luke seemed to find the entire incident rather humorous. When he chuckled out loud, she flashed him a stern look and said, “Stop that. Your brother could've been killed—or at least seriously wounded.”

“The only thing wounded on that boy is his pride,” he replied, stifling another chuckle.

After we ate, Zed offered to run next door and check on Tom, just to make sure he really was okay. He seemed genuinely concerned. For some reason, that pleased me very much.

“You won't gloat?” I asked as he pulled on his coat.

He slipped on a hat and then tucked his hands in his pockets. “I promise I won't.”

While he was gone, I cleaned the kitchen, Luke returned to his work out in the barn, and Ella went down to the bakery. It was closed due to the snow, but she wanted to go through her inventory and put together a list of needed supplies in case the delivery truck was able to get through. No plows had yet to make it up the lane, but we hoped one would soon.

I settled Rosalee down for a nap, and by the time I came back out, Zed had returned from next door and was just sitting down at the kitchen table near the heat of the woodstove. I grabbed my handwork bag and joined him there.

“That was fast,” I said, wondering if I had taken longer in Rosalee's room than I realized.

“Yeah, I ran into Tom's mother and little sister halfway there. They were coming to the bakery to see if Ella was getting many customers with all the snow and ice. Little Annie was pretty disappointed when I told them it was closed.”

“She
loves
that bakery.”

“She loves Ella's sticky buns. Then again, so do I.”

We shared a smile.

“So how's Tom?”

“He's fine. His mom said when they left he was wearing his warmest
pajamas, wrapped in a couple of blankets, and sitting by the fire sipping hot cocoa.”

I tried not to laugh as I pictured it. Poor Tom. He would probably be even more embarrassed if he knew his mother was passing on information like that.

I pulled out the runner I had been embroidering and repositioned the hoop. I wanted to fuss at Zed for his behavior today on the ice with that stupid hockey game, but I didn't have the heart considering that he'd practically saved Tom's life afterward. I decided it was a draw and let it go.

He unzipped his backpack and started unloading books and papers onto the table. He held up one of them for me to see, and I read the title,
The French and Indian Wars
.

“Is that for a class?”

“Nah, I found it in the library. There's a page in here about the Conestoga Indian Massacre.” He opened the book and flipped through the pages. “And a painting that shows them advancing on the Workhouse in Lancaster.”

“Oh, goodness,” I said, setting aside my handwork and taking the book from him to get a better look. “I thought the massacre happened at Indian Town.”

“It did. I'm talking about part two of the massacre, remember? They killed everyone in Indian Town, but then they learned there were other Conestoga being hidden at the Lancaster Workhouse, so they went there a few days later and killed all of them too.”

“Oh, right,” I said, studying the painting. In it, the Paxton Boys wore black hats and long coats. Some were shown wearing long pants, but a few had on knickers. They were surrounded by the buildings of downtown Lancaster, and in the second story window of one of those buildings were three Indian men, shirtless and all wearing feathers in their braided hair.

“Do you have a pencil?” I asked Zed. “And some paper?”

He rummaged in his backpack and produced both for me. The paper was a little raggedy but unlined. I began sketching costumes for the Paxton Boys first because those were the most obvious in the painting.

After a few minutes I held up what I had for Zed.

“That's great!”

“Any idea yet how many Paxton Boys you're going to put in the film? I mean, I know you can't do two hundred and fifty.”

He chuckled. “Camera tricks, my dear. If you know what you're doing, you can make ten people look like a hundred.”

“Do you think it's going to be hard to come up with a cast?”

“Are you kidding? There are a ton of aspiring actors and actresses on campus. So many would love a spot in a movie that I'll probably end up holding auditions to narrow it down.”

I thought about that, and I wondered if perhaps I had bitten off more than I could chew. I totally wanted to do the costumes. It was just that I might need to start sooner than expected or else bring in someone to help me.

“Where will we find the hats for everyone?” I asked.

“We probably can buy some of them online.”

I hadn't thought of that. Putting down the pencil, I asked, “Now that you say it, couldn't you find
all
of the costumes that way?”

He shook his head. “Not believable ones. I want this to be as historically accurate as possible. As does Ms. Wabbim, I feel sure.”

Smiling, I picked up the pencil and started again with a fresh piece of paper. I wasn't having any trouble envisioning the settlers, but the costumes for the Indians were going to be a different matter. From what I'd read so far, the Conestoga Indians had adopted many of the settlers' ways, including their dress. That's why, as my eyes returned to the picture in the book, I just knew the men would not have been bare chested like this—especially in December—much less with feathers in their hair. I had to wonder if this particular artist had taken a lot of poetic license.

I asked Zed what he thought, and he agreed. He suggested the Indians probably wore shirts, though they may have been made of buckskin. I guessed the women would have worn buckskin dresses or perhaps ones made of cotton, as Abigail's description of Konenquas indicated, or muslin or wool. I wondered where I could research this further—using something more accurate than this one artist's rendition. I wasn't sure, so for now, I just scribbled a note on the corner of one of my sketches, reminding myself to follow up.

I continued drawing as Zed lost himself in the book. Every once in a
while he shared something he read, including several paragraphs about the extreme environment of fear the Indian Wars had caused among the settlers. “They had been murdered in their sleep or while working in their fields. Of course, the Conestoga weren't involved in any of that, but people like the Paxton Boys couldn't seem to differentiate between the separate Indian groups.”

“Hadn't those who were murdered settled illegally on land set aside for the Indians?” I was sure I'd read that. Not that it justified the killings, but the Indians had had reason to feel threatened before striking back.

Zed nodded. “It's a really complicated story to tell. Good and bad on both sides.”

“Doesn't complicated make it even more interesting? If you can condense it down to the essential elements, I mean.”

He started to respond but broke into a smile instead.

“What?” I asked as I took in the sight of his dancing eyes.

“Nothing.” He looked away and brushed his bangs from his forehead. “I was just thinking, for someone who never goes to the movies, you sure do have good instincts.”

I ducked my head shyly and then couldn't help but look back up at him again.

“Hey,” I said softly, “I learned from the best, didn't I?”

Our eyes held for a long moment, way longer than usual. Finally, he broke our gaze, returning his attention to the book in front of him.

Feeling happy somewhere deep inside, I went back to my sketching, though it was all I could do not to doodle out the words,
I LOVE YOU, ZED BAYER!
in flowery script surrounded by hearts.

For the next two hours, I made sketches and then lists of what I would need as he continued with his reading. Of course, until I had a cast list, I wouldn't have an exact idea of my fabric needs and other notions, such as thread and trimmings. I knew I would need muslin, cotton, and wool for sure. And buckskin, if Zed was right. I didn't know what that would be like to sew, but I was willing to give it a try. Fortunately, my machine at home could accommodate heavy-duty needles if I put it on the right setting.

Once I heard the ring of Rosalee's bedside bell and knew she had
woken from her nap, I put down the pencil, aware that I'd never had such an enjoyable afternoon. Zed glanced up at me as I stood. I smiled at him and he grinned in return.

“This has been a lot of fun,” he said, but then he blushed. “Does that sound silly? I mean, we've just been sitting here…”

“No. I know exactly what you mean. I was thinking that too.”

In fact, I thought as I went to help Rosalee, I wished that every day could be like this. Getting snowed in together had made this weekend even cozier, because until the lane outside got plowed, nobody was going anywhere.

A few hours later, to my great disappointment, we were just finishing up dinner when we finally heard the sound of the snowplow scraping its way up the lane.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Ella said as she stood to clear the table. “It's about time.”

I stood too, grabbing the nearly empty bowl of mashed potatoes and the gravy boat. I was happy for her sake, but otherwise I didn't share her enthusiasm with being connected to the outside world again. A cleared lane meant Zed would be able to leave.

And the last thing I ever wanted Zed to do was leave.

F
OURTEEN

A
t least Zed came back the very next weekend. He didn't arrive until late Saturday afternoon, and he said he wouldn't be spending the night, but I was determined to make the most of the time we did have. First, he and I took a nice long walk through the woods to the road, where we watched the sunset over the still snowy fields. Then we came back and ate a delicious dinner of shepherd's pie, creamed corn, and sour milk biscuits with the rest of the family. Finally, once the table was cleared and the dishes done, I checked in with Rosalee, who had wheeled her chair near the fireplace, and asked if she needed anything.