The Thorn (15 page)

But no one said a word about Hen and Mattie Sue's visit during the meal at Mammi and Dawdi's. The closest anyone came to it was Dawdi Jeremiah. "Might be you gave the furniture in that one empty bedroom upstairs to Mose and his wife a bit too soon."

Rose caught her breath, wondering if Dawdi thought Hen might be fixing to come back home to live. Oh, she could not imagine such a thing. Much as her sister's marriage had broken her heart, the last thing she'd ever want was to think Hen and Brandon's love story might come to an abrupt end.

She watched her mother reach for another slice of Swiss cheese, Mamm's hand trembling as she did so. If she knew what I was thinking, Mamm would say I've been reading too many romance novels.

Later, before Mammi served up some delicious whoopie pies, Dawdi leaned back in his chair at the head of the table and told a story about their lippy ancestor, Yost Kauffman. Not only had Yost courted a girl who'd chopped her hair in front, making fancy bangs, but he'd run around with some fellows who had worked some sort of "get rich quick" scheme in Big Valley. "It appears that of mustache we've all heard about wasn't the only thing that got Yost in trouble with the brethren," Dawdi said, smacking his lips and reaching for another whoopie pie.

Mamm's lips spread wide, and Rose's father chuckled. "There's some real fire in our genes, jah?" said Dat. Then, just as quickly, his face turned solemn, as if he'd suddenly thought of Hen. He changed the subject. "Where would yous like to go visitin' this afternoon?"

Mamm looked at Dat, as did Mammi Sylvia. Soon they were all looking to him for his opinion. "Since when's it up to me?" He glanced at Rose. "Why don't you pick this time, daughter?"

"Well, how about the bishop's family?" she said, thinking that perhaps some of the grandchildren might be there.

Dat's face paled. He shook his head. "Ought to be kin, ain't?"

Mammi Sylvia spoke up right quick. "They're our neighbors; we can go 'n' see them most anytime."

Dawdi quickly suggested Rose's brother josh and his wife. "It's been some weeks since we dropped in over there."

They all agreed it would be nice to see the girls again - fouryear-old Linda, three-year-old Katie, and the baby, Annie Mae. Rose washed Mammi's plates and silverware while her grandmother cleaned off the table, then came and wiped the dishes. Meanwhile, Dat wheeled Mamm over to the front room window, and they sat there for a time together, looking in the direction of the road and the fields across the way.

When Rose glanced over at her again, Mamm's head had drooped, and she was fast asleep. She couldn't help but think her parents both looked tired enough to simply go back to the main house and rest. Hen's surprise overnight visit had surely caused them a loss of sleep.

Rose finished up in her grandmother's kitchen, hoping they still might go and see josh and Kate. But thinking about her father's decided disinterest today in visiting with the Petersheims made her ever so curious.

Early Monday, Hen thanked her sister-in-law Kate repeatedly, then kissed Mattie Sue good-bye. While driving her car to Rachel's Fabrics, she felt as carefree as a schoolgirl. Brandon's silence about her job - and her defiant attitude - at breakfast this morning had her stumped. Yet her nagging guilt disappeared when she pulled into the parking lot in front of the homey-looking store with window boxes on either side of its painted door.

"Come in, come in!" Rachel Glick called to her, all rosy-faced and bright-eyed. The friendly shopkeeper was probably only a little older than Hen.

Hen greeted her happily and followed her to the back room, where a quilting frame was set up, and hung up her coat and purse. She'd worn her long skirt with tiny blue and green print flowers and a ruffled cream-colored long-sleeved blouse. Her hair was pinned up in a French twist, but she thought she might roll it into the bun she'd worn before she was married. She could even pick up a Kapp at her father's house, if she had time to stop by later.

"Don't you look nice!" Rachel said.

"Next time you see me, I plan to look much more Amish," Hen told her, following her to the battery-run cash register on the counter.

"Oh?"

"I want to dress Plain again ... from now on." She needed to say it into the air, to hear the words for herself.

Rachel squinted her eyes slightly, as if she wasn't exactly sure what Hen meant. But the People, and Brandon, too, would soon know just how serious Hen was about reclaiming parts of her former life.

The two of them moved about the shop, Rachel pointing out the shelves of quilting fabrics especially, before moving on to the shelves stacked with fabrics for dresses, aprons, and men's broadfall trousers and shirts.

"I'd like you to reorganize the quilting fabrics, beginning with the darkest hues of color on the top shelves, working down to the lighter shades below," Rachel said, her soft green eyes almost blue as she talked about her store.

"Sounds like fun." How Hen had missed this world!

The first few customers entered and appeared astonished to see her employed there at Rachel's. As they chattered together, Hen found herself enjoying the attention, though she wouldn't admit it to a soul.

Later, when there was a lull, Rachel showed her a picture of the Bars quilt she was working on at home. It was a replica of one her grandmother had made years ago and featured bright red, pastel blue, and black prints. "It's just beautiful, ain't?"

Hen wholeheartedly agreed, and she immediately imagined making a similar quilt of her own. She set to work arranging the bolts of fabric by color, picturing herself working on the quilt in her mother's front room. Somehow she couldn't see herself quilting in the modern living room in her home with Brandon.

During her short lunch break, Hen listened to a talkative Rachel, who spoke glowingly of her English cousin, Donna Becker. "She lives neighbors to Gilbert Browning, ya know."

Rose Ann had told Hen about Mr. Browning, a relative newcomer to the area.

"Guess your sister has stopped by Donna's for tea a couple of times after her job."

"That's nice for Rose. I'm glad to hear she's able to take more time for herself again," Hen said.

"Donna says she seems to like workin' at the Browning house, even if Gilbert Browning is mighty strange."

"Strange ... how do you mean?" Hen's antennae went up.

"Oh, I don't think Donna meant it's anything to worry about. The man's just peculiar in his ways, maybe because he's a widower." Rachel chuckled. "Seems a teenage Amish boy has been doing lawn work for Mr. Browning. He was even seen hangin' out the washing this past Monday mornin'. Isn't that an interesting howdy-do?"

Hen could not imagine a boy taking on so-called women's work. "Are you sure?" It sounded like someone hadn't gotten her story straight.

"Oh jah ... ever so sure." Rachel glanced at a mail order for sewing notions in front of her, double-checking the numbers. "Once I was at Donna's to deliver some pinking shears and saw the young fella myself."

Hen had no idea where Mr. Browning had scrounged up such a boy - and one out of school, too!

Hen put away her lunch bag, then got back to work. The rest of the workday was fulfilling and fun, even inspiring, as Hen helped various Amishwomen who, once they got over their initial surprise at seeing her, were as welcoming and gracious as if she'd never left them for her English husband. As she and Rachel closed up shop that afternoon, Hen could hardly wait to work again on Thursday.

Despite Hen's brazen move to accept the job at Rachel's Fabrics, Brandon was still noticeably quiet about it by Wednesday, not once confronting her about her outright defiance. And he hadn't said a word about her staying overnight at Dad's house, either. She and Mattie Sue had slipped back quietly last Sunday afternoon, only to find Brandon gone. Just as well, considering everything. Hen had put Mattie down for a nap while she unpacked, though she, too, was tired and emotionally drained. Eventually even Hen had taken advantage of the quiet house and slept for an hour, just as she had often done growing up.

Now that things had settled back into something of a routine between Brandon and her, albeit a somewhat uncomfortable one, Hen had returned to all the domestic things she loved - shopping for delicious sandwich fixings and other brown-bag food items for her husband to enjoy at work, keeping the house picked up and clean, and doing the laundry, including ironing Brandon's shirts lightly starched just the way he liked them. It was as if they'd swept their concerns under the proverbial rug.

Now, as Hen cut out a little Amish dress and black apron for Mattie Sue, she wondered if the reason Brandon had remained mum was due to being afraid he might say something he'd regret if he did confront her. Hen, for her part, was both glad and sad to be in such limbo, with Brandon not addressing her leaving or her working at Rachel's Fabrics. At this point, she didn't dare bring either up.

She'd already said all she could about her desire to re-embrace Amish culture to some degree. She just wished he might try to understand where she was coming from.

Yesterday she'd worked on the pretty wall hanging for Mattie's room, making brightly colored alphabet appliques for several squares. Mattie had worn the little prayer cap Hen bought for her last week, and asked when she could learn to quilt, too. She'd also asked to help Auntie Rose make rag dolls sometime soon. Her daughter seemed to find her mother's new interests fun - she'd even parroted some of the Deitsch words she'd heard at her Amish grandparents' during their recent visits.

Hen's heart warmed at this, and she lost herself now in making Mattie's new Amish clothes, her own hair swept up in a smooth bun secured with one of her aunt Malinda's crochet hooks. Never once in the past couple of days did she consider how she looked to Brandon. Blissfully, she embraced the Plain world as she hummed at her sewing machine, stitching perfectly straight seams and wellconcealed hems.

Rose simply could not understand how Mr. Browning failed to notice his rundown front porch. Each time she entered the door, she was all too aware of the repair and paint it needed.

Maybe he just doesn't see it, she thought, knocking now. Things can become so familiar that you don't notice the problem any longer. She made a mental note to talk to Nick about possibly sprucing up the place - squeezing it in between his other daily chores somehow.

Through the front window, she saw Gilbert Browning motioning her inside from his chair. "Is he too weak to answer the door?" Concerned now, she turned the doorknob and went inside.

"Morning," he said, folding his hands in his lap.

"Gut mornin'." She set her purse on the table, glad to see the African violets along the windowsill were thriving. "How are you today?"

"Oh, fine . . . fine." His usual response.

"How was the cake?" she asked.

"Uh, very tasty, thanks." He reached back and rubbed his neck, offering no further explanation about the treat's purpose.

Going to the sink, Rose noticed the cake pan was empty, except for a few dried crumbs still clinging to the sides. "Sure looks like it's all gone," she said.

Mr. Browning reached for the nearby newspaper, opening it wide. Apparently he was in no mood for conversation today.