The Sound of Sleigh Bells (5 page)

That dream—and a dozen others like it over the last two weeks—was as bad as the ones that had plagued her since Henry died. Nightmares of him clinging to her as rain poured from the skies and formed rivers that swept him away while she remained on solid ground, her clothing soaked as the temperatures dropped and freezing winds began to blow. The images were too close to reality, and she couldn’t find freedom whether Henry was alive or dead, whether she was awake or asleep. Thoughts of Henry always brought confusion, but lately the dreams weren’t about him.

Sliding into her housecoat, she moved to the wooden steps that led to the store below. The darkness inside the stairwell felt familiar and welcoming, and she sat down. As the reassurance of the place wrapped around her, she began to shake free of the dream.

She folded her arms and propped them on her knees, making a place to rest her head. While trying not to think about anything, sleep drifted over her again. A few moments later the sound of a horse neighing made her jerk awake. It took only a moment to realize the animal had been in her dream.

It was useless trying to sleep, whether on the stairway or in bed. Rising to her feet, she grabbed the handrail, feeling a bit dizzy. She might as well get a little work done.

Making her way down the stairs, through the store, and into her office, she couldn’t help wondering when dreams started mixing with a sense of reality. After entering her office, she slid her hands across the paper-strewn desk top, searching for a set of matches. Her fingertips brushed against the carving she’d bought nearly two weeks ago. It took up a good bit of her desk, but she’d made room for it.

Forget the matches. Her mind was too cloudy to think anyway. She walked around her desk and sat in the chair. Gliding her fingertips over the intricate detail of the carving, she wished her aunt would at least go meet with the artist.

She’d lost the argument with the bishop that it wasn’t an idol. He quoted the second commandment—“thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image.” Because the wood had human images carved into it, Omar felt it was too close to what the Old Testament warned against. Since faceless dolls were commonplace among her people for the same reasoning, Beth had little grounds for appeal. His decision was final, but she held on to the hope that she could convince Englischer stores to carry the carvings. That wasn’t working either since Lizzy refused to let her try. She said it would disrespect their bishop. Beth’s Daed and uncles sided with Lizzy, so for now Beth could do nothing.

If her aunt was willing to talk with the artist and his bishop, she might feel differently. Then Beth could at least sell the man’s work to Englischer stores. But Lizzy seemed more interested in pleasing Bishop Omar than in making a difference in an artist’s life.

Beth sighed, wishing they could see the carvings like she did, as no more of an idol than an Amish-sewn wall hanging. Maybe then the strange dreams where the children and the man from the carving beckoned her to enter their snowy Amish world would disappear.

Standing on the porch of the store, Lizzy slid her key into the lock and turned it. Inside, she noticed the door to the steps that led to Beth’s bedroom stood open. Lizzy moved to the foot of the stairwell. “Beth?”

She heard no movement upstairs. Turning slowly in a circle, she expected her niece’s head to pop up from between the aisles. Usually by this time each morning, the two of them had shared a breakfast, talked business, and begun preparing to open the place at nine. “Beth?”

Her heart ran wild, and panic over her niece sliced through her. The young woman hadn’t been herself in so long. She handled herself well, but Lizzy knew something ate at her. Suddenly Lizzy admitted to herself that images of Beth taking her own life slipped into her mind at times.

“Beth!”

When she didn’t respond, Lizzy rushed to the office and pushed against the slightly open door. Her niece was slouched over the desk, her fingers resting on that carving she’d bought.

Her legs shaking, Lizzy touched her niece’s face. “Honey?”

Beth moaned and drew a sleepy breath. Unable to remain standing, Lizzy eased into a chair next to the desk.

Blinking, Beth frowned and lifted her head. “Good morning.” Her voice sounded hoarse and groggy.

“Did you sleep here all night?”

Beth took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. “No.” Stretching her neck, she yawned. “I didn’t sleep much anywhere. What time is it?”

“A little after eight.”

Beth looked straight at her and narrowed her eyes. “Is something wrong?”

Unable to share her fears, Lizzy shook her head. Beth came around to the front of the desk. She didn’t look depressed, so why did Lizzy’s imagination get the best of her? As soon as the question ran through her mind, she knew the answer. Her niece had changed, and Lizzy feared she might be getting worse rather than better.

Beth brushed her fingertips across Lizzy’s forehead. “Then why is there fear in your eyes?”

“I…I couldn’t find you.”

Beth sat on the edge of the desk. “So you thought mountain lions came out of the hills, into the shop, and ate me?”

“My imagination got away with me, and I…” Lizzy swallowed hard, willing herself to say what was on her heart. “You worry me. It’s like you’re not the same person anymore.”

Beth patted her hand. “I know.”

Does she really know how much she’s changed?
And how completely scared and out of control Lizzy felt concerning her?

“Why are you sleeping in the office?”

Her niece’s delicate hands caressed the carving. “It calls to me. Dreams that make little sense fade in and out as if they’re trying to tell me something.” She raised one eyebrow and mockingly pointed a finger at Lizzy. “And you know how I feel about people talking to me when I’m trying to sleep.”

In spite of her humor about it, her niece’s blue eyes held absolute rawness, as if Henry had died yesterday rather than sixteen months ago. And Beth had asked only one thing of Lizzy since Henry had died. Just one.

“I’ve decided to go see this artist of yours.”

Beth’s eyes grew large, and a beautiful smile seemed to remove some of her paleness. “Really?”

“Ya.”

A spark of delight stole through the usual sadness in Beth’s eyes, and Lizzy’s heart expanded with hope. Maybe her niece would find her way back to herself yet.

“I’ll call Gloria and set up a trip,” Lizzy said. “I’m not making any promises, though. I’m checking it out. That’s it.”

“Then you’ll meet the carver. And I bet you’ll be glad you did.”

“Maybe.”

Or maybe Beth was hunting for fulfillment outside the Old Ways and Lizzy was helping her.

A
s Gloria drove down the back roads to Jonah Kinsinger’s place, Lizzy prayed. Her niece had no idea how awkward this upcoming cold call might be. She didn’t want to build up the artist’s hopes, yet she needed to talk to him about Beth’s possibly selling his work to Englischer tourist shops.

Beth was so much better with this kind of stuff, but if she were here, she might pursue the work without regard to the bishop’s opinion.

Gloria slowed the vehicle and turned into a gravel driveway. “According to our directions and the mailboxes, this should be it.”

From the looks of it, two homes, maybe three, used this triple-wide driveway and turnaround. According to the mailboxes, two of the places belonged to men named Jonah Kinsinger.

“Which one?” Gloria asked.

“Let’s stop at this first one. It looks like the original homestead, and the Jonah Kinsinger we’re looking for is an older man, according to Beth.”

Gloria put the van in Park. Lizzy opened the door, viewing the house. “I shouldn’t be more than twenty minutes if this is the right house.”

Gloria held up a paperback. “I’ll pull under a shade tree and enjoy my time.”

Lizzy went up the porch steps, knocked, and waited. Through the screen she could see a woman, about seventy years old, hurrying to the door. Beyond her, two young girls tried to catch sunshine in their aprons. She remembered playing that game as a little girl. It had never held much interest for Beth. If it couldn’t be scrubbed or organized, her niece never cared about it, even as a toddler.

The woman smiled as she opened the door. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Elizabeth Hertzler. I own an Amish dry goods store in Pennsylvania, and I’m looking for Jonah Kinsinger, the carver.”

“He and his brother are working at the lumberyard.” She glanced at the clock. “But they should be in for lunch within the hour if you care to wait.”

“He lives here, then?”

“No, but he’ll eat lunch here today.”

“I came to talk about his carvings and hopefully see more of his work.”

“You’re welcome to go into his shop and look around.” She stepped onto the porch and pointed several hundred feet away. “The door is at the far end.”

“Thank you.”

Lizzy went to the van and spoke through the open window. “He’s supposed to be back within the hour. If I leave, I could miss him.”

“Then wait,” Gloria said.

“Do you want to come with me?”

“I’d rather read, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay.”

With sweat running down her back, Lizzy walked to the shop. September had arrived, but summer’s heat remained strong. She knocked on the solid door and then tried the knob. The door opened, and she walked in. The room glowed with a golden hue. Unfinished, honey-colored paneling covered the four walls, and sunlight poured in through several windows. A blue tarp hung in a doorway, blocking her view into the next room. What appeared to be a handmade box sat on the table.

Thinking she heard children whispering, Lizzy moved to the window and raised the shade. She expected to see the girls who had been inside the main house, but she saw no one. The voices grew clearer, as if they’d come into the shop with her.

She walked to the hanging blue tarp and pulled it to the side. The adjoining room looked like an old outbuilding—dirt floors, stalls where calves might have once been kept, and shelves filled with pieces of wood, paint cans, and cardboard boxes.

“Hello?”

Silence filled the room. Moving deeper into the building, she thought she heard a child giggle.

“Hello?”

Not minding a quick game of hide-and-seek, she continued walking until she stood at the back of the long, narrow building. There were no windows, but a few rays of sunlight streamed through the cracks in the wooden walls. Through the hazy gray air, she noticed an old, damaged sleigh.

“Is someone in here?”

Seeing no one, she worked her way around the sleigh, moving slowly so she didn’t stumble. On the far side of the sleigh, she knelt, looking under it for signs of the children.

A cane and two black boots came into sight. The footwear shifted.

Embarrassed and addled, she stood.

A silhouette of a man passed her an unlit candle. He struck a match, revealing that, in spite of the cane, he was in his twenties. After lighting the wick he shook the match and tossed it into the dirt. “Can I help you with something?” His voice sounded warm, but he looked uncertain of her.

“I… I’m Elizabeth Hertzler.” She brushed dirt off her apron. “I… I thought I heard children in here playing. I shouldn’t have searched for them this far back into your shop, but it’s just…I got caught up in following the sounds of their whispers…” She wiped her hands down the sides of her dress. “From the look on your face, I may never redeem myself.”

He gestured for her to follow him. “You’ll feel better once I show you something.”

They wound through a darker section of the building, making her glad he’d brought a candle. A moment later he popped open a rickety door. The wind blew the candle out, and the sounds she’d heard earlier echoed through the bright sunshine.

She blinked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the light. The young man placed his hand under her forearm. “Watch your step.”

Glancing around as her eyes focused, she expected the fierce white view to retreat and reveal children. Instead, she saw a terrace of some sort. From the eaves of a gazebo hung at least two dozen hand-carved wind chimes.