The Christmas Quilt (5 page)

He moaned and rubbed the back of his smarting head. When he opened his eyes, she was standing over him, her face silhouetted against the cloudy winter sky. He knew from memory that her eyes were the blue of a bright summer’s day but she held them closed now behind her dark glasses.

He wanted her to open her eyes so he could see them. He wanted to see all the memories they held of their time together.

He wanted her to see him.

Two words, his name, would be all it would take to let her know who he was. If he said those two words would she turn away? Would she shun him? He couldn’t take that risk.

“Are you all right?” She located him with her cane and bent down to assist him.

He gave a groan as he managed to leverage himself to sitting position. “I think so,” he whispered.

“Booker?”

“Yes.”

She slipped her hand beneath his elbow. “You poor man. Let me help you.”

“Thanks.” He accepted her assistance as he rose to his feet and dusted the snow from his clothes.

“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

“I’ve got a pretty hard head.”

“You shouldn’t rush on these slippery walks. What were you thinking? Where were you going in such a hurry?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d been chided for his lack of common sense by this woman. He’d missed her occasional scolding as much as he’d missed her tenderhearted sweetness.

“I was hurrying to save you from walking into some snow-laden branches hanging over the walkway.”

Her frown changed to the smile he adored. “Bless you for your concern, Booker. I would not enjoy getting a face full of snow.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Now that I have been warned, I will be fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Where are you off to on such a cold day?”

“To the fabric shop.”

“I was going that way. Do you mind if I walk along with you?”

She arched one eyebrow. “You are going to the fabric shop?”

“I didn’t say I was going to the fabric shop. I said I was going that way. Two different things. If you would rather walk alone I understand.”

She shook her head and started walking. “I don’t mind the company, but you must promise not to continually try to help me.”

“Why shouldn’t I offer my help?”

She swung the cane from side to side, tapped it briefly on the sidewalk in front of her. “Because unless I ask for it, I don’t really need it.”

“All right, but three steps ahead of you are those low branches.”

She moved closer to the building. “Am I clear if I walk over here?”

“Yeah. Are there any other rules I should know?” For a few words his voice came out strong and normal before breaking again. He froze, wondering if she would recognize him now.

“You should not grab a blind person. It’s rude. You should not shout at someone who is blind because most of us can hear quite well.”

“Can I ask questions or is that rude, too?” He kept his voice to a whisper. It might be best to stay silent but he didn’t want to give up this opportunity to spend time with her.

“Questions are okay.”

“Is it true that your hearing becomes more acute?”

“No. A blind person’s hearing does not change. We simply pay more attention to what we hear.”

He glanced down the walkway ahead of them. “I guess that makes sense. How will you know when you have reached the fabric shop?”

“Because I have been here many times.” She stopped in front of a store called Needles and Pins.

“You counted your steps.”

“I often do, but that’s hard when I’m carrying on a conversation.”

“I don’t understand how you did it, then.”

“The answer is right under your feet.” She tapped the sidewalk through the layer of snow that hadn’t yet been removed.

“I still don’t get it.”

“Listen.” She took a step back and tapped again.

He listened intently, wanting to learn all that she was willing to teach. She stepped forward and tapped twice more. This time he heard the difference in the sound. Crouching down, he swept the snow aside. “It’s brick, not concrete.”

Her smile was bright and genuine. “
Ja.
Very
goot.
The
store has a decorative brick design on the sidewalk in front of it. It makes it easy to find. Thank you for your escort, Booker.”

“My pleasure,” he whispered.

She hesitated, then pulled open the door and went inside.

Warmth and the scent of new fabrics surrounded Rebecca as she entered Needles and Pins, but her thoughts stayed with the man outside. His thoughtfulness pleased her. His consideration might be motivated by pity but she didn’t think so. His kindness made her feel special. Made her feel feminine, something she hadn’t experienced in the company of a man for many years.

“Hello, Rebecca. I’ve been expecting you.”

Rebecca brushed aside her thoughts about Booker and turned to smile at Sarah Wyse, an Amish widow who worked at the shop. Rebecca wished her good morning in Pennsylvania Dutch. “
Guder mariye,
Sarah. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Everyone is talking about how well your quilt did yesterday. We are so pleased God has smiled on your efforts.”

“
Danki.
Has my aunt’s order come in?”

“
Ja,
yesterday morning. I’ll get it for you.”

Rebecca heard Sarah walk away. A few minutes later she returned. A muffled thud told Rebecca she had placed a large bolt of material on the wooden countertop.

“This is the lot I was telling your aunt about. It’s a soft shade of lavender and we got an excellent buy on a large quantity.”

Reaching out, Rebecca fingered the fabric. It was a cotton-polyester blend that would be durable enough for everyday dresses. “You are sure it is a color the bishop will find acceptable?”

“I hope so. His wife ordered six yards of it.”

“We’ll take it, then. I’ll also take any of the fabric remnants you have.”

“I bundled some together for you last night. Tell your aunt she can send back anything that doesn’t work.”

“Danki.”

When Sarah rang up the total, Rebecca drew out her wallet and carefully searched through the folded bills. With her aunt’s help, Rebecca was able to separate the identical-feeling currency. The ones folded lengthwise were one-dollar bills, those folded in half were ten-dollar bills and the ones folded in thirds were twenty-dollar bills.

Sarah handed back Rebecca’s change and asked, “Who is your friend outside? Wouldn’t he like to come in out of the cold?”

“He’s waiting outside?”

“He’s leaning against the lamppost and beginning to look like an icicle.”

“Excuse me a moment.” Rebecca turned and made her way to the door. Pulling it open, she called out, “Booker, what do you think you’re doing?”

“A
re you trying to catch pneumonia?” Rebecca demanded.

For a long moment Booker didn’t answer. Then she heard the crunch of his footsteps approaching through the snow. “How did you know I was waiting?”

“I heard your teeth chattering.” She stepped back to allow him inside.

“You couldn’t hear that, could you? Man, it feels good in here.”

“I can hear them now. You don’t have the sense God gave a goose.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Why are you waiting outside?” she demanded.

“To walk you back to the inn.”

“I thought you had somewhere to go.”

“Not really.”

Exasperated, she said, “I’m perfectly capable of finding my way back unaided.”

“I believe you.”

His voice was so hoarse she wanted to wrap him up in warm flannel and poor hot tea into him. “If you know I can find my way back then why were you waiting for me?”

“I enjoy spending time with you.”

And she enjoyed spending time with him. This had to stop. “Booker, you barely know me.”

“That can change.”

She crossed her arms and tried to look stern. “Is this concern because I’m blind?”

“No. Why would you think that?”

From behind her, Rebecca heard Sarah ask, “Is everything all right?”

“
Ja,
everything is fine,” Rebecca answered.

She spoke softly to Booker. “You should go back to the inn.”

“I’m not in a rush. Besides, it’s toasty warm in here. This may be a dumb question, but how do you choose the fabrics for your quilts?”

Rebecca heard the outside door open. A gust of cold air carried in the sounds of several Amish women speaking in Pennsylvania Dutch. The more people who saw her with Booker the more likely it was that she would become the object of gossip. It was time to end this…whatever it was.

“I must be going.” She started toward the door and hurried outside. A second later, she heard someone come out behind her. If it was Booker, it would be best to ignore him. She made her way down the sidewalk. Footsteps told her someone was walking beside her.

After a dozen steps, Booker asked, “So how do you do it? How do you know what fabrics to use?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because you are an interesting person, and I admire your skill.”

He was as tenacious as a toothache. Other than ordering him away, she couldn’t see how to rid herself of his company.

She sighed heavily. “My aunt and I work together. We decide on a pattern, she picks the fabrics. You may have noticed that her hands are crippled. The women from our church
district do the cutting for us. My aunt separates the pieces by color and I stitch them together. When the piecing is done, the quilt goes into a frame and I quilt the front and back together.”

“I figured it had to be something like that. Don’t you prick your fingers while you’re trying to sew?”

She stopped in frustration. “Very rarely. What are you doing?”

“I’m going back to the inn like you told me to do. Is there somewhere else you’d like me to go? You can tell me.”

She struggled not to smile and lost the battle. “I’m not going to the inn. It’s the other way.”

“Then I’m lost. I’ll have to stick with you until you can lead me home. Can we get moving? This cold wind is very bad for my throat.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you left the warm, cozy inn,” she countered, but started walking anyway.

“I hate being cooped up inside. I’m not used to it. I needed to get out for a while. I’ve been grounded for days now.”

“What does that mean?”

“I haven’t been able to fly.”

It clearly bothered him. “Flying is important to you?”

“Very. It’s my job.”

Gideon had talked endlessly about wanting to fly. Some part of her needed to understand why. They turned a corner. The building blocked the wind giving them shelter and a sense of elusive warmth. Rebecca stopped. “What’s it like to fly?”

There was a long moment of silence, then he said, “How can I describe it? It’s freedom. I’ve been inside the clouds. I’ve looked down on mountaintops. Fields and farms below look like one of your quilts. I’ve seen the backs of birds flying beneath me, and I understand what makes them sing.
To be suspended between heaven and earth is like no other feeling. It’s…freedom.”

“Walking upon the earth God has made is not joy enough?”

“It never has been for me.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I understand.”

He stepped closer. “I think you do. Because even though you can hear the birds sing you would give anything to see them winging their way across an expanse of bright blue sky. We can’t control what we feel. Some things make us happy. Other things make us sad. You’re sad right now.”

How could this stranger see so deeply into her heart? “Maybe I am.”

“You said you learned you were going blind when you were twenty. What caused it?”

“A simple, innocent thing.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Someone threw a snowball that had a sliver of a pine needle in it. It struck me in the eye.”

She heard Booker suck in his breath and rushed to reassure him it was an accident. “My friend had no intention of hurting me. We were having fun. He took me straight to the doctor as soon as he realized what had happened. The doctor removed the sliver from my eye and we thought everything was fine.”

“But you weren’t fine.”

“No. A few months later, I noticed the color of things starting to fade away. I went back to the doctor. His nurse drove me to see a specialist. There, I learned that I had a rare form of a disease called uveitis. There was little that could be done for me. I was told I would go completely blind within a year or two.”

After a long pause of silence, Booker said, “Your friend, he must have felt terrible.”

“I never told him.”

“Why not?”

“My blindness is God’s will, Booker. Why should I burden the heart of a friend with the knowledge that he was the instrument God chose?”

“Maybe because he had the right to know.”

She struggled against the lump forming at the back of her throat. “He gave up that right.”

“Why do you say that?

“He left the Amish. If his faith had been stronger, I might have told him, but he was gone before I could gather my courage.”

“If you’d told him the truth, perhaps his faith would have been strong enough.”

Didn’t she wonder that very thing? No, Gideon had made his choice of his own free will.

“It’s in the past. It can’t be changed.” She started walking again. She didn’t care if Booker followed or not.

Gideon remembered the day it happened. It had been a snowy day much like today. Their friends, a dozen teenagers, had all gathered together for a skating party on his family’s farm pond. He wasn’t sure who threw the first snowball, but everyone joined in the free-for-all.

He could still see Rebecca, laughing as she scooped up a handful to chuck his way. He ducked around a little pine tree, the only available cover. He knew she had a good aim. When her shot splattered against the tree trunk, he grabbed a handful of snow, packed it tight and hurled one back at her. His aim had been dead-on. It hit her square in the face. He’d laughed like crazy until he saw she was hurt.

His foolish act had caused her blindness. No wonder she had turned down his offer of marriage.

But it had been an accident. He never meant to hurt her.
Never meant to hurt anyone. In the buggy on the way to the doctor he begged her forgiveness. She gave it freely. He clung to that thought. She forgave him for the injury, but she clearly hadn’t forgiven him for leaving the faith.

He followed and caught up with her as she crossed the next street. It was time to tell her who he was.

And then what?

Would she insist on returning his money? If he wouldn’t take it she might give it away. She was stubborn to a fault. Would his confession jeopardize her only chance at regaining her sight?

“I know you are following me, Booker.”

He couldn’t risk telling her the truth. “I can’t leave while you’re giving me such a wonderful tour of the town.”

“I believe your voice is sounding stronger.”

He whispered, “It comes and goes. Where to next?”

“The harness shop.”

“It’s got to be more interesting than the fabric store.”

She chuckled. “
Ja,
for you, maybe.”

Turning aside without warning, Rebecca entered a narrow alley. Overhead, large icicles had formed along the roof edges of the buildings. In the center of the alley the snow was deep. She stumbled, and Gideon took her arm. “Careful. If I lose you I’ll never find my way back to the inn. I can see the headlines now. Frozen Tourist Turned into Tall Popsicle.”

“Are you
ever
serious?”

“If you could see my face you’d know I’m dead serious.”

She flashed a smile that warmed him down to his toes. “I doubt that.”

They came out of the alley into a clearing where several buggies sat waiting for repairs. They made their way between the vehicles and up to the back door of a wooden building. She didn’t bother knocking. Instead, she opened the door and went inside.

Gideon followed her into the cavernous interior where every type of harness and tack were hanging from the walls, the ceiling and display racks. A large propane-powered sewing machine sat in the center of the room by an enormous cutting table. Along one wall, an ancient workbench held dozens of awls and leatherworking tools, all arranged neatly in holders. Near the front of the store, a coal-burning stove added warmth to the large space.

Rebecca called out, “
Daadi,
are you here?”

“What is this? Has my favorite grandchild come to visit at last?” A small bandy-legged Amish elder came from the front of the store.

His snow-white hair held a permanent crease from the hat he normally wore. His beard, as white as his hair, reached the center of the dark vest buttoned over his pale blue shirt. His sharp eyes looked Gideon up and down in an assessing manner that made Gideon wish he’d stayed outside. He’d met her grandfather only once and years ago. Would the old man remember him? Hopefully not.

Rebecca held out her hands. Her grandfather grasped them both and planted a kiss on each of her cheeks. He looked straight at Gideon. “And who is this?”

“This is Booker. He purchased my quilt at the auction yesterday.”

“And paid a fine price for it, too, I hear.”

“It was a fair price for a good cause.” Gideon answered in his hoarse whisper.

The old man’s bushy eyebrows shot upward. “You are ill?”

“I’ve lost my voice, that’s all.”

Nodding wisely, Reuben said, “I will keep a lookout for it.”

Gideon cracked a smile. Rebecca giggled and said, “Booker, this is my grandfather, Reuben Beachy.”

“God will bless your generosity, Booker. I pray with my whole heart that my granddaughter’s vision may be restored.”

“As do I,” Gideon replied, gazing intently at the woman beside him.

She said, “
Aenti
Vera has sent me to tell you she needs a new set of driving lines for Boppli.”

“Did your mare break another pair?”

“
Ja,
she can be headstrong at times,” Rebecca admitted.

“Like her owners. Does Vera want leather or nylon reins this time?” Reuben placed her hand on his arm and led her toward the front of the store. Gideon tagged after them.

“
Aenti
says the nylon lines are lighter and easier for her to hold.”

While Rebecca and Reuben chatted, Gideon walked among the harnesses displayed on curved wooden racks that simulated a horse’s back. The quality of the workmanship was easy to see. As he stood admiring a leather horse collar, the front door opened and a man about Gideon’s age walked in. He was dressed plain with a dark hat and dark clothing, but he was clean-shaven. Only married men wore beards. Gideon scratched the stubble on his cheeks.

“
Guder mariye,
Reuben,” the stranger called out.

Gideon took a closer look at the man. His greeting in Pennsylvanian Dutch was right, but his accent was all wrong.

Reuben said, “Hello, Jonathan. What can I do for you today?”

“I got a new horse in yesterday and I need a collar and harness for him. He’s a little fellow and none of mine will fit him. I have him outside. Is it all right if I try a couple on him?”

“Sure. A poor-fitting collar has damaged many a good horse. Make sure it isn’t too big on him. Four fingers should fit snugly between his neck and the collar.”

“I know.
Danki.
Hello, Rebecca.” The stranger smiled warmly at her.

“Jonathan, how are you?”

“Cold. And you?”

“The same.”

Gideon could tell by the tone of her voice that she was friends with this man. Close friends? How close?

He turned his back to the group. He was an intruder in their circle. An outsider. He had no reason to be jealous of Rebecca’s friendship with this man, but annoyance pricked at him anyway.

When Reuben and Jonathan took their collars outside, Gideon moved to stand by Rebecca. “Your friend looks Amish but he doesn’t sound Amish.”

“He was
Englisch,
but he has chosen to live among us and become one of us.”

“That is a rare thing.”

“
Ja,
it is. He has lived here for a year now and his Pennsylvania Dutch is pretty good. I think he will ask to be baptized soon.”

“And then what?”

She leaned toward Gideon and whispered, “Hopefully, there will be a wedding in the fall.”

“Yours?”

She straightened abruptly. “
Nee.
Jonathan is not courting me. He has his eye on my friend, Karen Imhoff.”

Gideon was hard put to explain the rush of relief that filled him. “And does she have her eye on Jonathan?”

“Most definitely. Are you ready to go?”

“Where to next?”

“I am done with my errands, so it is back to the inn.”

He didn’t want their morning to end. “Do we really have to go back?”

He watched the uncertainty flit across her face. An instant
later, her uncertainty vanished. “There is no rush. Do you have any shopping you would like to do?”