The Amish Seamstress (4 page)

Not hardly.

Stunned, I stepped back and turned away, hoping that the range of emotions I was feeling hadn't shown on my face—or that if they had, he hadn't noticed.

“I'm going to take a closer look,” I mumbled, and then I began walking as quickly as I could toward the cabins. With each step, a new truth pounded in my head like a drum.

I didn't just love my best friend Zed.

I was
in love
with him too.

T
WO

S
omehow I managed to get through the next hour without Zed noticing anything was wrong. But something
was
wrong. My whole world had shifted on its axis in a single moment. I simply couldn't be in love with Zed Bayer for so many reasons…

First of all, we were now
buddies
, not lovers. Could I honestly kiss someone who was like a brother to me?

Second, the two of us couldn't marry unless one of us converted to the other's faith. Was either one of us likely to do something that drastic?

Third, he no longer had any interest in me that way. What if I told him how I felt and it became such an issue that it ended up destroying our relationship? I couldn't bear to lose Zed from my life, to risk our friendship for the sake of a romance, no matter how wonderful that romance could be.

My mind continued to swirl around such thoughts all Tuesday night and into Wednesday. But I knew I would be seeing him again on Thursday afternoon when we were going location scouting again, so I made it my goal to have composed myself by the time he came to pick me up.

Sure enough, when he returned for our second jaunt of the week, I managed to greet him and get out of the house without feeling or acting
weird. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to keep my composure for several hours, but I would do the best I could.

Soon we were off, barreling down the road toward our destination. This time our mission was to figure out which one of several different covered bridges would work best for a certain scene he wanted to film. I reminded him that he had access to a covered bridge right by his house, but he simply rolled his eyes and said, “That one's too cramped to pull off an arc shot.” I didn't know what an arc shot was, nor did I care. I was content to simply be a part of the process.

Ten minutes into the drive, I was still maintaining my composure, at least on the outside, but then it struck me that
Zed
was the one acting odd. He gave me a quick glance when we were stopped at a red light, and in that one look I realized he had an excited gleam in his eye—the same gleam he'd had on Tuesday. But I'd become so worked up over my feelings for him that I'd forgotten all about it.

“Okay, come on out with it,” I said.

“Out with what?”

“With whatever it is that has you grinning like a fool.”

His grin widened further as he gestured toward the console between us. I looked down and saw several pieces of paper rolled into a cylinder, sitting in the cup holder.

“What is it?”

“My score sheets finally came. I've had them since Tuesday, but I didn't say anything then because I was out of toner. I wanted to print them out and show them to you, not just tell you about them.”

The light turned green and he continued on again.

“Wow. I knew
something
was going on.”

Ever since the film festival, he'd been extremely eager for the score sheets to come in, but I hadn't really understood why. Three weeks ago, a film Zed made in school had won two different awards at the Pennsylvania Film Festival. That had been cause enough for celebration, especially given that those awards included a generous endowment to be used toward making another film. But it seemed to me that he had been even more eager for the arrival of the judges' review sheets than he had been for the custom engraved trophies.

“You don't seem all that excited,” he said, sounding almost hurt.

“I don't get the importance, I guess.” I reached for the pages and pulled them from the holder. “I mean, you already know the judges loved your movie. They loved it enough to make you the winner, for goodness' sake. Why do you need to see the individual scores?”

“Because the judges don't just write a total. They also rate the film's individual components—cinematography, casting, pacing, things like that. And they add actual comments too, not just numbers. I've been dying to see every score and read each word.”

I raised my eyebrows. “So you can hear firsthand about all the things you did right?” That sounded prideful to me.

Zed laughed. “No, silly. So I can hear firsthand about all the things I could have done
better
.”

Of course. I should have known. Zed was the least prideful person I'd ever met.

“Okay, that makes sense,” I replied as I unrolled the papers and smoothed them across my lap.

Flipping through the pages, I saw three identical forms, each with the name of Zed's film,
The Carving of a Legacy
, printed across the top. Various scores were all over the pages, but at the bottom right was a box where each judge had written in his or her total score. In Zed's case, it looked as though the totals were 97, 99, and 94. Averaged together, they represented the highest in his division, History and Heritage, which had made him the winner.

The focus of the film festival had been Pennsylvania, but the categories had been wide ranging, bringing in submissions on everything from
Endangered Birds of the Poconos
to
Falling for Frank Lloyd Wright's Falling Water
to
Business and Industry in Pittsburgh
. First prize for each category had been a thousand dollars, but then Zed had also won one of the festival's biggest awards for Most Promising New Director. The two prizes added together had brought him to a total endowment of $5000, to be held and distributed through his college, as needed, for production costs on his next Pennsylvania-themed film.

My parents thought it was a shame he wasn't free to spend that money however he wanted, but I was secretly glad. If a check had just been
handed over to him, then his mother would probably have absorbed it into the household budget as she had his earnings from the past few summers he'd spent working for his cousin Will's nursery and Christmas tree farm. This way, Zed's first official film creation had earned him the right to fund another, bigger, and better creation with every cent of his winnings.

Taking a deep breath, I lifted the first form and studied it more closely. Right away, I could see how he would find these score sheets helpful—just as I'd found helpful the weekly reviews I'd been getting at the caregiving course I was taking. “Izzy, you're great with the elderly, and they absolutely adore you,” my teacher would say. “But you need to work more with the Hoyer lift. And your time management skills are still weak.”

For Zed, the critiques I held in my hand were all about his abilities with the various elements of filmmaking, and from what I could see, he was best in the areas of pacing, editing, and storytelling, His weaknesses mostly had to do with mechanical issues and cinematography.
This film clearly shows a need for more technical mastery
, one judge had summarized,
but the clarity of theme, the innovative juxtaposition of images, and the gracefulness of the story's progression more than compensate. Well done! Am eager to see more from this promising young director
.

“Wow, Zed.” I glanced up at him. “This is really something.”

He tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel with finger and thumb. “Keep reading. I'm not the only one the judges had an opinion on, you know.”

“No?”

He smiled but did not reply, so I returned my attention to the pages in my lap and continued. I finally spotted what he was talking about under the section labeled “Costuming and Set Design.” He'd been given a nine out of ten, and beside that the judge had scribbled out the words,
Except for several of the fabric choices, the film exhibits amazing accuracy with both current and historical Amish clothing styles
.

“Nine is good?” I asked, wishing it had been a ten.

“Are you kidding? That's nearly a perfect score!”

I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't help feeling just a little bit proud of myself. “Okay,” I said with a smile. “Then nine it is. You can thank me later.”

He shook his head. “Sorry, but I only have Ms. Wabbim to thank.”

We both laughed at the private joke. I had made most of the costumes for the film, but modesty had prevented me from allowing my name to appear in the credits. Zed insisted on honoring my efforts somehow, so in the end, he had listed the film's costumer as “Ms. Wabbim”—a code he'd come up with for “My Secret Weapon and Best Buddy Izzy Mueller.”

Thinking of that now, I faltered a bit, and I had to cover by clearing my throat and looking out the passenger window. His best
buddy
. Me. Only now I was in love with him.

What was I going to do?

Taking a deep breath, I pushed such thoughts from my mind and focused on the pages in my lap.

“There's only one problem,” he said. “What are we going to do someday when one of our movies wins an Academy Award for best costume design, and we have to admit there is no Ms. Wabbim?”

I smiled, secretly thrilled to hear how he he'd so easily tossed out a “someday” for us, not to mention that he'd called it “our movies” rather than just his. Did he really see it that way? Did he plan on bringing me in on his creative projects from now on? Did he hope we would always be as close as we were now—or possibly even closer?

“I guess we'll have to hire a stand-in to accept the award for you,” he said, answering his own question.

“So you think this little ol' Amish girl has a future as a costumer for the Hollywood elite?”

“You bet. Stick with me, kid, and I'll take you places.”

I laughed. “Stick with
me
, and you'll end up with the slowest seamstress in history.”

“You pulled it off for this film.”

“Yeah, but it wasn't easy. I'm so slow at handwork.
Mamm
says that's why I could never make a living with my sewing, because I daydream too much.”

Zed shook his head. “She's wrong. You are kind of slow, but that's because you're a perfectionist. And that's a
good
thing, Iz. For my purposes, at least.”

I shrugged, not so sure he was right. Either way, it was why I had
enrolled in the caregiving course, so I could stop having to try so hard to make money with my fabric goods and instead earn a more consistent income as a caregiver for the elderly. I truly enjoyed spending time with older folks, and the fact that sometimes I was able to do embroidery and other handwork when just sitting and talking with them made the job even better, as it allowed me to kill two birds with one stone.

At one point, I had thought I would teach prior to marriage, but all it took to rid me of that notion was the week I'd spent last year helping out my sister Becky when her co-teacher was home sick. I was only there to assist, but it hadn't taken long for me to see that teaching would not be the right job for me. Between my tendency to daydream and my inability to focus, I found the whole experience overwhelming and exhausting. Sitting quietly with my handwork, chatting with old folks, was much more my style.

“I mean it, Iz,” he said, his expression serious. “You are so gifted. And you have no idea how much I appreciate your help with the film.”

“I do know, Zed. You've only said it about a billion times.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but here's what I haven't said enough: It's not just that you pitched in to help, it's that you brought such an amazing skill set into the mix with you. In fact, I think you're about the most talented person I know.”

“Besides yourself, you mean?” I teased, heat rising in my face.

“Goes without saying,” he replied, not missing a beat.

We shared a grin, but I knew my skin had to be redder than his car. I wasn't used to compliments, not even from him.