Threads of Grace (26 page)
“Seth,” she whispered, “you know that my hair—”
“Is growing into beguiling ringlets. You need a brush.” He pulled her closer to the table and bargained happily for a brush and comb set that the woman wrapped with extra care.
They stepped away from the booth and he bowed to her, presenting her with the package. “My wife.”
“Danki.”
It was only a brush and comb, but an irrational happiness welled up in her.
She turned to find Abel standing at a display of plastic action figure toys. He looked up, abashed, as they approached.
“Abel,” Grace said softly, “come away. Those are graven images.”
“They’re toys, Grace,” Seth said easily, then quickly added, “Obey your mother,
sohn
.”
Abel stepped away but didn’t leave. “They scare me.”
Seth dropped down on his haunches next to Abel. “They scare you,
sohn
? Why?”
“I don’t like their eyes staring at me.”
“Your
mamm’s
right,” Seth said, “those toys are not the best for you. Come on, let’s move away.”
Abel soon darted ahead, and Grace turned to Seth. “He doesn’t like to look people in the eye. Have you noticed that?”
“I know. It’s almost like it’s too much sensation for him. But he’ll gaze into the horses’ eyes—and Pretty’s.”
“Ah, but they’re no threat,” Grace said.
“It’s part of who he is, though. Maybe we can teach him to be more comfortable with it.”
“Thank you,” Grace said.
“For what?”
She squeezed his hand. “For loving my
sohn
.”
L
uke King told himself that he needed to get his head on straight where Violet Beiler was concerned.
His family spread out around the grounds of the mud sale, and usually he’d have gone to have a
gut
look at the horses. Instead he found himself combing the crowd for the familiar ivory-skinned face and bright blue eyes.
He found her at a hair ribbon display, pretending nonchalance among the forbidden wares.
“Thinking of a red ribbon?” he whispered in her ear. “Blue would do better.”
She spun and slapped playfully at him, and he laughed out loud. It felt good.
“Somebody important you want me to meet?”
Luke paused in his laughter to turn a wary eye on his
bruder
James.
“
Jah
, sure. I’m sure you’ve seen Violet Beiler at Meeting. She’s actually a very distant cousin of ours.”
“Dear cousin, let me say hello properly.” James made an elaborate show of embracing Violet.
Violet didn’t seem to mind James overmuch, but Luke knew he’d take a good ribbing from his brother after the sale. Still, as he gazed at Violet’s beautiful face, he decided that it just might be worth it.
He caught her hand firmly in his and raised an eyebrow at James. “If you’ll excuse us, we’re going to walk about. Together.”
Then, turning his back on the look of astonishment that came over James’s face, he tucked Violet’s hand more firmly into the bend of his arm and strolled away.
T
he morning passed quickly. Grace and Seth made their way to the auction stand where beautiful quilts were being sold for hundreds of dollars.
“There’s not one up there that can compare with your work,” Seth whispered softly in his wife’s ear.
“What about
your
quilting work?” she teased.
“
Ach
, I prefer when we quilt together. Remind me that we should do that again sometime.” He infused his voice with a certain warmth, and she turned to look up at him curiously.
“Why do I think that you’re talking about something other than quilting?”
“What else could I possibly mean?” He leaned down and took a quick nip at her neck.
“Seth!” she hissed. “We’re in public.”
“Sometimes that’s half the fun.” He offered her his arm. “Come on, let’s catch up with the spaghetti dinner. It’s not one of my favorites, but it’ll do.”
“Wait a minute, please. I think I see Kate Zook.”
“Kate Zook? Why do you want to talk to her? She’s a little pit viper.”
“I think I like her.” Grace stood on her tiptoes to see better over the crowd. “Let me go speak to her for a minute, please? I’ll be right back.”
Seth nodded. “All right. I’ll wait here by the hunting knives.”
He watched Grace make her way through the people and decided once more that he would never, ever understand the ways of women.
K
ate, how are you?”
Grace steeled herself for the girl’s negative response. In the preparations for the mud sale, she hadn’t found time to follow through on her invitation for Kate to come and quilt.
Kate eyed her with dislike, but there was a flash of curiosity in her green eyes. “Let me give you the typical
Amisch
answer: I’m fine.”
“I wanted to apologize for not having you over sooner. Today’s Friday. I know it’s short notice, but could you come tomorrow?”
Kate frowned. “What time?”
“Around two? And bring your quilting things.”
The frown deepened. “I’m not really great at quilting.”
“That’s all right. I can teach you.”
“I bet I could teach you a few things too.”
Grace ignored the gibe and smiled graciously. “I’ll look forward to your coming. Bye.”
Not a particularly uplifting conversation, but at least the girl hadn’t said no. And at least Grace was making strides with her own jealousy and insecurity over Seth’s past. She made her way back to Seth, and he took her hand.
“Friendly talk with Kate Zook?” he asked.
“Very.” Grace smiled as Seth shook his head.
L
ater, in the spacious fire hall, they found seats with Jacob and Lilly, who was feeling much better. Sarah and Grant Williams also joined them. Abel stared in fascination at Sarah’s rounded belly.
“Is there a baby in there?” he asked Grace.
“Don’t point, Abel. And yes, a baby.”
“What’s it look like?”
Grace was grateful for the general noise and hubbub of the many people at the long tables that had been set up.
“Abel, maybe we can talk about this later.”
“Does it have clothes on?”
“What?”
“The baby in there. Does it have clothes?”
“No, but—”
Seth had obviously been listening because he leaned over, his eyes twinkling, and looked at Abel.
“
Sohn
, how many meatballs do you think are in that big pot up there?”
Grace was grateful for the distraction. Abel loved numbers.
“I don’t know,” the boy said. “But I can imagine . . . 232?”
“Maybe. Maybe more.”
Alice appeared and found a seat by Grace. “So what’s the big deal about celery in your culture?”
There was a collective groan from the
Amisch
sitting at the table.
“What? What did I say?” Alice asked. “It’s stuck in vases all over the place, like flower arrangements.”
Seth raised a hand. “Allow me. All right, Alice, a lesson on celery: it’s a mainstay of the
Amisch
culture and
Amisch
wedding ceremonies.”
“It used to be harvested in the fall, around wedding time,” Jacob added. “But now you can get it anytime.”
“It’s either creamed or sweet and sour,” Lilly added politely.
“Celery helps moisten the stuffing,” Grace offered.
“I like it with peanut butter and marshmallow.” Grant grinned.
“Me too!” Abel yelled.
“Land sakes!” Alice laughed. “You ask a body a question—”
The
Amisch
reply came in unison: “And you get celery!”
S
eth was surprised when Grace pulled the buggy up beside him on the dirt road the next morning. Alice was aboard, looking festive in her cherry-laden hat, and Abel gave a bit of a wave from his seat up front.
“Seth, we’re going to Esh’s Dry Goods for some more fabric for the bee quilt. I’ve got to go early because Kate Zook is coming at two and I want to get some baking done, and I—”
He held up a hand. “Okay, go, have a good time. Do you need money?” He started to reach into his pocket.
“No,” Grace said. “Thank you.”
Seth waved them off, then continued his walk down the road. He had stopped at a fence to watch the palomino for a few minutes when he heard the sound of a car engine. He glanced up the dirt road to see a beat-up blue car with a white top come chugging down the dirt lane, stirring up the dust. The car pulled up beside him and a young
Englisch
man got out. He pulled off his ball cap
and Seth suddenly recognized the artist, Gabe Loftus, who had been shunned for his work.
“I’ve come to talk with you about the grace you gave me that day I was leaving.”
“Hey.” Seth smiled, extending his hand. “Gabe, right?”
“Yep.” Gabe shook his hand with a wide smile.
“Well, for being shunned, you sure seem to have adapted quickly to the
Englisch
ways.” Seth gestured to the car.
Gabe laughed. “I went to Pleasant Valley, and I took your advice. I do my work and people actually seem to like it.”
“Great—that’s so great.”
The two men strolled to the fence, and Gabe lifted his chin at the palomino. “Nice horse.”
“Are you thinking of buying?” Seth asked.
Gabe smiled. “Maybe someday. At the moment, the phrase
starving artist
still tends to apply. But that’s not why I came here today.”
“No?” Seth asked.
“Nope. I wanted to come by and thank you for your encouragement that day. I was so down and you helped me. You gave me something precious—grace.” Gabe laughed a little. “I know it sounds funny, but when you bought that drawing, you acknowledged part of me, and it was like I came alive inside.”
Seth shrugged. “I’m grateful I could help.”
Gabe stared out at the horse. “You know, I remember when I was about, oh, say ten or twelve, I was sitting in the creek in the sunshine. The creek was real low that summer—no rain. But I was sitting there, and this big buck, a ten pointer, just walked out of the bushes, as majestic and calm as can be, about ten feet in
front of me. He walked out, I looked at him, and he looked at me. And then he put his head down and drank. Took his time. That’s grace.”
Seth swallowed hard. “You should draw that.”
“I don’t know if I could, but . . . well, I just wanted to say thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Seth’s voice was serious, intent.
Gabe shook his hand and started back to the car.
“Hey, Gabe?” Seth called.
“Yeah?”
“My wife’s name. It’s Grace.”
Gabe tipped his ball cap. “You’re a blessed man.”
Seth waved as he drove off, but stood there a long time afterward, thinking.
Gabe was right. He was a blessed man.
M
iriam Esh’s dry goods store was about a mile from the Wyse farm and it was a quilter’s paradise.
“Abel, before we go in, I want you to remember not to touch the fabrics,” Grace said.
“
Ach
,
Mamm
, I’m going to be boooored.”
“Don’t whine, sonny,” Alice said. “I’ll tell you what to do. You count all the blue fabric bolts in the store and give me the actual number, and I’ll pay you a dollar.”
Abel’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Yep.”
“Alice,” Grace said softly, “you don’t have to give him money.”
“I know I don’t. I want to. I wanna see how much blue you
Amisch
really like in your quilts.”
It was cool and somewhat dim inside the store, but the long counter for cutting was cheerfully occupied by Maggie Esh, the
sixteen-year-old daughter of Miriam and John Esh. Maggie swung her legs and greeted them with a wide smile.
“
Kumme
in.
Mamm’s
over at the house for a minute, so I’m here. Please look around.”
“I have to count the blue bolts for a dollar,” Abel announced.