The Amish Seamstress (9 page)

I hitched the horse to the buggy, hunkering down in my cape as I did, and sped as quickly as I could into downtown Bird-in-Hand. The stop would be quick and efficient. Susie never had time to talk much, which was fine with me, and Mondays were probably extra busy. With my recent withdrawal from all but the most necessary of events, I already found myself the topic of too much conversation. I didn't want to add any fuel to the gossip.

Once I arrived, I tied my horse to the hitching post out front, flung the waterproof blanket over her back and secured it underneath, grabbed my bag of goods, and dashed up the stairs to the shop. I pushed against
the door but it didn't budge. I pushed again. Then I saw the sign. It simply read “Shut” with no time posted as to when Susie would return.

I knocked. And then knocked again, louder. Susie didn't come to the door. It wasn't as if she were expecting me, but I sure didn't want to have to come back. The last thing I felt like doing was to make the effort again tomorrow.

Pulling my cape tight against the rain, I knocked a third time, hoping she didn't plan to close the shop for good.

Susie had been a widow and single mother for five years, supporting her two children with the shop until she remarried last year to a nice man named Carl. I stepped from the stoop toward my buggy. My horse bobbed her head, as if thanking me for being ready to go so soon.

But then I turned and went around back, to where Susie's house sat behind the shop, on the other side of a narrow alleyway.

A soggy orange maple leaf fell through the air in front of me, then another. I slung my bag over my shoulder and then caught the third leaf dancing down, chased by the rain. I twirled the stem through my fingers, sending a splattering of water into the air, as I skirted along the lawn to the alley.

I looked both ways and was halfway across when I spotted a car parked in Susie's driveway—an old Toyota. I dropped the leaf, sure the vehicle belonged to Marta Bayer, Zed's mother.

I didn't want to see Marta. She was always so perceptive, and I couldn't bear the thought of her picking up on my feelings for her son. Turning abruptly, I hurried back toward the street.

“Izzy?”

I ducked my head against the rain and powered on as if I hadn't heard.

“Izzy? Is that you?” It was Marta sure enough, her concerned tone cutting through the storm.

Next Susie's sweet voice called out, “I was hoping you'd stop by soon!”

Torn between fleeing and turning, I froze.

“Izzy?” Marta's voice was growing closer. “Are you all right?”

Footsteps fell behind me and then suddenly the rain stopped. I glanced upward. An umbrella hovered over my head. I turned.

“Come on back to Susie's,” Marta said. “She has something to ask you. And you have work for her,
ya
?”

I nodded.

Marta, holding the umbrella with one hand and her midwifery bag with the other, nodded toward the house and then started walking. The umbrella bumped against my head, forcing me along too. Maybe the topic of Zed would never come up.

We crossed the alley together as we moved toward the brick house, which was small for an Amish home but with two stories and a small garage to the side. I couldn't imagine why Marta would be here, and then it struck me. Susie must be in a family way.

She stood on her small front porch under the overhang, her purple dress a contrast to the white wood-framed door. She was probably close to thirty, just over a decade older than me, but she looked much younger than that with her round face, light blond hair, and bright blue eyes. It appeared that her apron jutted out a little, but it was hard to tell. I quickly diverted my eyes to the soggy roses clinging to the trellis on her right.

“Just the person I wanted to see,” Susie said. “I have a question for you.”

I forced a smile as I made eye contact.

“In fact, Marta and I were just talking about you.”

I cringed.

Marta's voice was so low I was sure only I could hear her. “It was all good, believe me.” She stopped as we reached the stoop but still held the umbrella above my head. “Come see me sometime,” she said in a normal tone. “I've missed you.”

I smiled, a little warily I'm afraid, and nodded, thankful she hadn't mentioned the three messages she'd left for me that I hadn't returned. I imagined Marta was lonely with Zed gone to college and Ella married and living in Indiana. Marta's little cottage, her nest, must have seemed awfully empty with both children off on their own.

I waved goodbye and then she turned to go as I followed Susie into her house.

“I need to get over to the shop, but I wanted to ask you about something first.”

Susie pulled her cape from a peg on the wall as she and I hovered there by the back door.

Tilting my head, I hoped she meant to ask for even more of my handwork—though she already had me working quite a few hours each day. I nodded in encouragement.

“Marta said you're a caregiver.”

My eyes must have shown my dismay at her question because she added, “
Ya
, she also said you had a recent problem, but you are very good at it.”

I wasn't sure how to respond. I wondered if Zed had told Marta about my episode at the care center and what an impact it had had on me, or if she'd heard about it elsewhere. It didn't matter. The whole county probably knew—and had since the day odd little Izzy Mueller had an emotional breakdown over the death of an old woman she hardly even knew.

“Izzy?”

I blinked and managed to ask, “Why would you need a caregiver?” Her children were in school and in perfect health. Her new husband was robust and strong, working as a blacksmith nearby. Her parents lived across the county near several of their other children. Then it hit me—something was wrong with her. With her pregnancy. “Oh, dear,” I said. “Should you sit down and put your feet up?”

“Whatever for?” She swung her cape over her shoulders.

“Well, because the baby—” My face grew warm.

She shook her head quickly. “I'm fine. I need someone to help with Verna.”

“Verna? You mean Verna Westler?”

Susie nodded. “I guess you haven't heard. We moved her in here with us.”

I smiled, a warm feeling filling me despite my trepidation at the thought of caregiving again. I loved my great-
aenti
Verna and always had. My maternal grandmother's sister, Verna had been the only one of her siblings never to marry. Instead, she had lived out her life on her brother's farm, still sprightly and sharp minded even in her advanced age.

“She's not ill, is she?” I asked as Susie's words registered.

“No, she's fine. I promise.”

“So why is she here? I thought I heard that Rod and Ruth Ann were moving in with her at the farm.”

“They did. Rod bought the place from his
daed
, and though he and Ruth Ann were fine with having Verna stay on, once the baby came…” Susie's voice trailed off and then she shrugged. “Well, you know how sensitive some old folks can be to every little sound. The babe's a bit colicky, and, well, it just felt as if our home might be a better place for Verna, at least for now.” As an afterthought, she added, “Verna's wonderful with older kids. Just not…newborns.”

I nodded, not stating the obvious, that with Susie's pregnancy, in about four or five months Verna might end up wanting to relocate elsewhere yet again. Older Amish women never seemed to be bothered by crying babies, but Verna had never had any children of her own, so maybe her reluctance was somewhat understandable.

“Anyway,” Susie continued, “though the move here has worked out quite well, I really think she ought to have someone around in the mornings. She naps in the afternoons, and then the children get home. But she could use some company—and a helping hand—when I'm working in the shop and she's back here all alone. I was thinking about eight a.m. to one p.m., Monday through Friday.”

I stood there for a moment, considering her words, until she interrupted me to add, “Also, I was thinking how handy it would be to have you here, near the shop, so you could meet some of my customers from time to time, and maybe take special orders in person. There has been a lot of interest in your work, you know.”

“There has?”

She smiled. “Don't look so surprised. You're a very talented young woman, Izzy, and people notice. The next time it comes up, think how great it would be if you could just pop into the store for a few minutes to say hello, answer their questions, and take their requests yourself if they have any. I can almost guarantee it would boost sales.”

She was probably right about that, and I was willing to do whatever it took to bring in more money for my cloth goods, but I was still so torn. On the one hand, I dearly loved Verna and would be thrilled to have more time with her. On the other hand, I really didn't want to care for someone who was terminal again.

“You're sure there's nothing seriously wrong with her?” I asked, hating myself even as I asked.

“Just old age. See for yourself.”

I squinted through the dimness and was surprised to see a person two rooms away, a tiny figure wrapped in a dark quilt, sleeping in a chair in the corner of the living room.

“Oh!” I cried, hoping she hadn't been able to hear any of our conversation from all the way in there.

Susie and I moved through the kitchen and dining room, and as we stepped into the living room, the old woman raised her head. I realized she hadn't been asleep after all; she was reading. Her thin, gray hair, poking out from under her
kapp
, matched her eyes, which locked on mine through the small lenses of her glasses.

Susie gave her hand a squeeze and said, “Look who's here. It's Izzy, Peggy's girl.”

Verna's face broke into a smile. She dropped the book onto her lap and then reached for me. I slipped my hand between both of hers.

“Izzy,” she said, her voice practically purring. “It's so good to see you. Thank you for stopping by.”

Her features shone and her eyes sparkled, twin circles of blue in a soft round face etched with smile lines.

Still, as bright as her features shone, the rainy day had cast a pall through the rest of the room. Everything was in order and clean, of course, but the house was old, probably close to two hundred years, and the windows were small and the glass warped. The wood floors had grayed with time, and the sofa and straight-back chairs in the living room were worn.

“She's thinking about coming regularly,” Susie said to Verna.

I took a deep breath, but the older woman didn't seem to notice my reaction. “Oh, goodness. I've been praying for some company during the day. That would mean so much to me.”

“Maybe,” I said, not wanting to get her hopes up. “I'd like to, but I am awfully busy with the handwork I'm doing for Susie's shop.”

“Bring it along and work on it here,” Verna said. “Although I can't do much myself anymore, I'd love to see what you're doing.”

I glanced at Susie.

“How about if Izzy and I talk some more?” she said to Verna, and then, catching my eye, she nodded toward the front door. “Right now we need to go over to the shop and look at her things.”

Verna squeezed my hand and let me go. Shifting in her chair as she did sent the quilt and the book tumbling to the floor.

I picked up the quilt and quickly repositioned it, tucking the soft fabric in around her legs.

Then I knelt for the book, which had slid under her chair.
Colonial Pennsylvania
. It looked ancient with a torn cover, yellow pages, and a binding that was falling apart.

I handed it to her. “It was my father's,” Verna said. “I love history.”

“So do I.” I grinned.

“Izzy?” Susie was at the front door now.

“Coming.” I patted Verna's hand. “I'll see you soon.”

“That would be lovely.”

Even if I ended up not taking on the job, I decided I would at least stop by now and then, especially when I made deliveries to the shop.

I followed Susie back into the rain, holding my bag of handwork under my cape to keep it dry. We scurried across the alley and then ducked under the grape arbor, heavy with vines, to the back of her shop. She opened the door quickly and ushered me inside.

Before even taking off her cape, she hurried to the front, unlocked the door, and flipped the sign.

When she returned to the counter, she said, “What do you have for me today?”

I began pulling out what I'd made, starting with white doilies crocheted with red and green edges.

Susie fingered one of the doilies. “Nice,” she said. I was always sur-prised
Englisch
customers bought them. Didn't they have a
grossmammi
or a favorite aunt who gave them doilies at Christmas? Susie had assured me most people who weren't Plain didn't, but I couldn't fathom that.