The Christmas Quilt

Vera patted Rebecca’s arm. “It matters not what his motivation was. His being there was God’s doing.”

“How much more money will you need for your surgery?” Emma asked.

“Another twenty thousand dollars,” Vera answered.

“So much?” Emma’s voice echoed the doubt in Rebecca’s heart. It was unlikely they could raise enough money in time.

She said, “Doctor White has told us the surgeon who is perfecting this operation is moving to Sweden to open a special clinic there after Christmas. If we can’t raise the rest of the money before then it will be too late.”

Emma laid her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Do not give up hope. We know not what God has planned for our lives.”

Rebecca swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “I must accept His will in this.”

“Are you hungry?” Emma asked. “We’ve started serving supper in the café.”

Vera said, “I could eat a horse.”

“Goot. My mother has been waiting impatiently for you. I’ll tell her you’re here and we can catch up on all the news. Did you hear my Aenti Wilma over in Sugarcreek broke her hip last week?”

Rebecca said, “You two go ahead. I think I would rather lie down for a while before I eat.”

“Is your headache worse?” Vera asked.

Rebecca appreciated her aunt’s concern. “Nee. I’m sure a few minutes of peace and quiet are all I need.”

“Let me show you to your room,” Emma offered.

“I can find my way,” Rebecca insisted. She didn’t want to be treated like an invalid.

“Very well. I’ve put you in number seven, the same as last year.” Emma pressed an old-fashioned key into Rebecca’s hand.

“Danki. Enjoy your visit.”

She opened the white folding cane she carried and headed toward the ticking clock she knew sat beside the staircase. The clock began to strike the hour. It was five o’clock.

When she located the first riser, she went up the steps slowly, holding tight to the banister. There were fifteen steps if she remembered correctly. When her searching toe found the top of the landing, she smiled. Fifteen it was.

She walked down the hallway, letting her cane sweep from side to side. The rooms were numbered with evens on the left and odds on the right. It took only a few moments to locate her door.

She fumbled with the key for a second and lost her grip on it. It fell, struck her toe and bounced away. The hallway was carpeted. She couldn’t tell from the sound where the key landed.

Annoyed, Rebecca dropped to her knees and began searching with her hands, letting her fingers glide over the thick pile. The carpeting was a concession to the English guests that stayed at the inn. Amish homes held no such fanciness. A plain plank floor or simple linoleum was all anyone needed.

The sound of a door opening across the hall sent a rush of embarrassed heat to her cheeks. A second later the door closed.

She knew who it was. She recognized the spicy scent of his aftershave. Her heartbeat skittered and took off like a nervous colt at a wild gallop.

The silence stretched on until she thought she must have been mistaken. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. She cocked her head to the side. “Is someone there?”

“Can I help?” His raspy voice was a mere whisper.

It was Booker. God had given her another chance to spend time with him. “You have already helped a great deal. The price you paid for my quilt was outrageous.”

“Some works of art are priceless, but what are you doing on the floor?”

“I dropped my room key.”

“Ah. I see it.” A second later he grasped her hand and pressed the cool metal key into her palm, then gently closed her fingers over it.

Waves of awareness raced up her arm and sent shivers dancing across her nerve endings. She didn’t trust her voice to speak as he cupped her elbows and drew her to her feet. The warmth from his hands spread through her body, making it difficult to breathe.

She’d known this dizzying sensation only once before. The first and only time Gideon Troyer had kissed her. Would this man’s kiss light up her soul the way Gideon’s had?

Shame rushed in on the heels of her disgraceful thought. What was the matter with her? This man was Englisch. He was forbidden, and she was foolish to place herself in such a situation.

She was inches away from him. Gideon’s pulse pounded in his ears like a drum as he studied Rebecca’s face, her lips, the curve of her cheek. Behind her tinted glasses he saw the way her full lashes lay dark and smoky against her fair skin. The long ribbons of her white kapp drew his attention to the faint pulse beating at the side of her neck just where he wanted to press a kiss.

She was everything he remembered and so much more. The girl he once loved had matured into a beautiful woman. He longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her. To see if those lush lips tasted as sweet as they did in his memory.

His grip tightened. Suddenly, she grew tense in his grasp and tried to pull away.

He was frightening her. This wasn’t a romantic interlude from their past for her. To her he was a stranger. He released her, took a step back and tried to put her at ease. “Would you like me to open the door for you?”

“No. I can manage.” She retreated until her back was against the wood.

She didn’t look frightened, only flustered. A pretty blush added color to her cheeks. Adam must have known she was staying at the inn. It would have helped if his cousin had given him a heads-up.

Gideon said, “It was nice talking to you. Perhaps we’ll see each other later since the ice is going to keep me here for a day. Wait, should I use the word see, or is that being insensitive?”

“I beg your pardon?” Her flustered look changed to confusion.

“I don’t know how to address a blind person. You’re the first one I’ve met. Can you give me a few pointers so I don’t stick my foot in my mouth?”

Her charming smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “There isn’t a special way to address us, and you don’t have to be concerned about using the word see. I use it all the time.”

“Good, because I’m thinking it would be hard to have a conversation with you if I constantly had to think up a way to replace every word that relates to sight.”

She nodded slowly. “I see what you mean.”

“Right!”

Chuckling, she said, “I’m sure we’ll run into each other if you’re staying here for a while. The inn isn’t very big.”

“I’d call it cozy.”

“I don’t find it so.”

“Why not?” Was she uncomfortable because he was here?

She shrugged. “It’s not important.”

“Of course it is.”

Following a moment of hesitation, she said, “I feel lost when I’m downstairs. The ceiling is so high that sounds echo differently. It’s that way in this long hall, too. I’m used to my aunt’s small farmhouse. I know where everything is. I can move about freely.”

“You’re comfortable there.”

She smiled. “That’s right. You do see what I mean.”

“If you need help navigating your way around, just ask me.”

Her smile faded. “I’m not asking for your help. I can manage quite well on my own.”

“Ouch. The lady is touchy.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “I am not.”

“Could have fooled me. That’s not very Amish of you.”

Her mouth snapped shut. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“The Amish are humble folks. Humble people accept help when it’s offered.”

Torn between scolding him and turning the other cheek, as she knew she should, Rebecca pressed her lips closed on her comment. He was baiting her. She didn’t have to respond.

“I’m right. Let me hear you admit it.”

She said, “The Amish strive to be humble before God.”

“Gets hard to do sometimes, doesn’t it?”

She blew out a long breath. “Yes, sometimes it is hard. Anything worthwhile is often hard to obtain. That is why we must depend on God to aid us.”

“Sorry if I offended you.”

“You did, but you are forgiven. My aunt often tells me I am too proud and I must seek humility.”

“It’s a foolish person who doesn’t heed goot advice.”

Hearing her own words tossed back at her made Rebecca smile. “I do need to work on that.”

Downstairs she heard the grandfather clock chiming the quarter hour and realized her headache had disappeared. Conversing with Booker was interesting to say the least. No one had ever asked if talking about her blindness made her uncomfortable. Usually they stammered apologies or sought to avoid mentioning it all together.

“What kind of work do you do?” she asked.

“I own a small airplane charter service.”

“You are a pilot?”

“Yes.”

Sadness settled over her. “I once knew a young Amish man who wanted to fly. Is it wonderful to soar above the earth like a bird?”

“It has its moments. What happened to him?”

She grasped the key so tightly her fingers ached and she fought back tears. “The lure of the world pulled him away from our faith and he never came back.”

After a long pause, he asked, “Were the two of you close?”

“Ja, very close.” Why was she sharing this with a stranger? Perhaps, because in some odd way he reminded her of Gideon.

“Did you ever think about going with him?”

She smiled sadly. “I didn’t believe he would leave. For a long time I thought it was my fault, but I know now it was not.”

Booker stepped closer. “How can you be so sure?”

She raised her chin. “He vowed before God and the people of our church to live by the rules of our Amish faith. If he could turn his back on his vow to God, it was not because of me.”

“I imagine you’re right about that. Have you forgiven him?”

She wished she could hear him speak in his normal voice. It was hard to read his emotions in the forced whisper he had to use. “Of course.”

“If he came back, what would you do?”

“If he came to ask forgiveness and repent I would be happy for him and for his family. I can have Emma Troyer make you some blackcurrant tea. It will make your throat better in no time.”

“That’s what my mother used to do.”

Did she imagine it or did she hear sorrow in his voice? “Is something wrong?”

“I haven’t seen my mother in many years.”

“Why?”

“I’m estranged from my family.”

“That is a very sad thing. Only God is more important than our families. You should go visit them as soon as you can. Thanksgiving is coming in a few weeks. That, surely, is reason enough to put aside your pride and go home.”

“I wish that were possible, but it’s not. Good day, Rebecca.”

She didn’t want him to leave but she couldn’t think of a way to stop him. The carpet muffled his footsteps as he walked away. She waited until she heard him descending the stairs before she entered her room.

She closed the door and leaned against it. What did he look like? Was he handsome or plain? What made him sad when he talked about his family? Why hadn’t he visited them? There were many things she wanted to know about Booker.

And curiosity killed the cat.

The old adage popped into her mind like the warning it was meant to be. She knew full well it was dangerous to become involved with an outsider. Yet there was something familiar about him that nagged at the back of her mind. Something that made her believe they’d met before. If that were true, why wouldn’t he simply say so?

Booker was a riddle. A riddle she wanted to solve. The thought of being cooped up at the inn suddenly took on a whole new outlook. He would be here, too.

Chapter Four

After leaving Rebecca, Gideon descended the stairs of the inn and headed for the café. For the first time in three days he had an appetite. He entered the dining area and was seated by a young Amish waitress.

He accepted an offer of coffee while he studied the menu. After the waitress filled a white mug and set it before him, he added a splash of real cream from a small pewter pitcher on the table. He took a cautious sip of the hot rich blend. Even though his voice hadn’t returned, swallowing wasn’t as painful. A second sip of coffee went down as smoothly as the first. Maybe he was finally on the mend.

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket he clicked the weather app and checked the local weather and road closings again. The storm that had coated the northern half of the state in ice was gearing up to add a foot or more of snow to the rest of the state.

He wasn’t going home tonight, but it was unlikely the roads would be closed for long. Once the storm passed, he’d be on his way. If not first thing in the morning, at least by the afternoon. He sent a text message to Roseanne notifying her that he wouldn’t be in to the office in the morning.

Her reply was succinct. Good!

Gideon closed his phone and turned his attention to the people around him. The café’s customers were mostly Amish enjoying a special treat of eating out after the auction. He remembered many times like this with his family. Although his mother professed to be annoyed with the expense, everyone knew she secretly enjoyed not having to cook.

There were a few non-Amish present in the café, too. He was the only one dining alone. Everyone else sat with family or friends.

His gaze was drawn to an Amish father, a man about his own age, seated with four small children and his wife at the table across the aisle. When their food arrived, the man took his infant son’s hands and held them between his own as he bowed his head in prayer. The baby protested only briefly before keeping still. Children were expected to behave and quickly learned the value of copying their elders.

Gideon knew the prayer the man was silently reciting. It was the Gebet Nach Dem Essen, the Prayer Before Meals.

O Lord God, heavenly Father, bless us and these thy gifts, which we accept from thy tender goodness. Give us food and drink also for our souls unto life eternal, that we may share at thy heavenly table, through Jesus Christ. Amen.

The Lord’s Prayer, also prayed silently, would follow the prayer before meals as well as the prayer after meals. Gideon hadn’t prayed much since he left home. A sense of shame crept over him. He had plenty to be grateful for and no good reason to ignore the blessings he’d received.

The Amish father lifted his head, signaling the end of the prayer for everyone at the table. He patted his son’s golden curls and began cutting up the meat on the boy’s plate. It was a simple act, but it moved Gideon to wonder if he would ever do the same with children of his own.

Maybe it was time he settled down and started looking around for a woman to spend his life with. He hadn’t already because the business took up all of his time. He’d been so intent on making a place for himself in the English world that he’d failed to notice the place he made was hollow and empty of love.

He had few friends other than Craig. He lived in a sterile one-bedroom apartment, ate takeout in front of his flat-screen TV. He had neighbors he barely knew and rarely saw. He’d avoided going to church in spite of Roseanne’s occasional urging and invitations. It wasn’t much of a life when he looked at it that way. Except for the flying. When he was in the clouds he was happy.

He closed his eyes. The smell of baking bread and pot roast filled the air. He thought back to the food his mother used to make. Roast beef and pork, fried chicken, schnitzel with sauerkraut, served piping hot from her wood-burning stove with fresh bread and vegetables from her garden.

As a kid, he never gave a thought to how much work his mother did without complaint. All he’d thought about was escaping the narrow, inflexible Amish way of life. Had it really been so bad?

I must be sick if I’m longing for the good old days.

He sat up and motioned the waitress over. Before he could place his order, the outside door opened and his cousin Adam walked in. Their eyes met for a long second. Adam looked away first. He walked past Gideon without so much as a nod of recognition. Gideon didn’t expect the snub to hurt as much as it did.

Adam was being true to his faith. It was his duty to shun a wayward member, to remind Gideon he had cut himself off from God as well as from his family. Gideon had known for years that he would be shunned if he returned unrepentant, but he had never experienced the treatment firsthand.

Years ago, his mother explained to him that shunning was done out of love, to show people the error of their ways, not to punish them. It didn’t feel that way at the moment. Gideon’s newfound appetite deserted him.

Adam stepped behind the counter and took over the cash register. The waitress beside Gideon’s table asked, “Have you decided what you’d like?”

“What kind of soup do you have?”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise at his hoarse whisper. “We’ve got homemade chicken noodle soup today. I’ll bring you a bowl. You sound like you need it,” she said with a sympathetic smile.

He folded the menu and tucked it between the sugar jar and the ketchup bottle. “That’ll be fine.”

His soup arrived at the same moment Rebecca walked in.

She stood poised in the doorway to the inn with her cane in hand. She tilted her head slightly, as if concentrating on the sounds of the room. A smile lit her face and she moved ahead to a booth by the window. It was then he saw her aunt seated with several older Amish women. They greeted Rebecca warmly and made room for her to sit with them.

He was impressed that she had been able to pick out her aunt’s voice in the crowded room and locate her without assistance. She moved with a confidence he admired. If being at the inn made her uncomfortable it didn’t show at the moment.

Gideon slowly stirred his soup and unobtrusively watched her.

Was he in the room?

Rebecca wished she could ask her aunt or her friends if Booker was in the café. She didn’t, because she knew it would seem odd. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to her preoccupation with him.

It was bad enough that she had this preoccupation with a total stranger. She didn’t need to share her foolishness with anyone else.

“Nettie, how are Katie and Elam these days?” Vera asked.

“My boy is over the moon with his new sohn. Katie is a fine mudder and a strong woman. Little Rachel doesn’t quite know what to make of her new bruder. She is used to being the apple of her daed’s eye, you know.”

Emma said, “I have some news that I have been dying to share.”

When she didn’t say anything else, Nettie prompted, “Well, what is it?”

“Adam and I are expecting.” Her voice brimmed with barely contained excitement.

“Congratulations. That’s wunderbaar.” Rebecca was truly delighted to hear that her friends were to become parents.

Vera echoed Rebecca’s congratulations and said, “To think you were considered an old maid until a year ago.”

Naomi, Emma’s mother, chuckled. “When Adam moved to town, right away he saw my Emma for the good woman she truly is. It just goes to show God has His plans for each of us in His own time.”

“That He does,” Emma agreed. “Adam and I are going to visit his family and share the news tomorrow. If the weather cooperates.”

Vera grasped Rebecca’s arm. “We must make a quilt for this new blessing.”

Rebecca agreed. “Ja, we will.”

She toyed with her food as her companions talked about babies, the weather and the turnout for the auction. She had made quilts for all the babies of her friends and family, but there were no quilts for children of her own.

She had turned aside every romantic overture that had come her way. There had been a few over the years, but not many. In Hope Springs, the single women outnumbered the men for it was usually the young men who were lured away by the outside world. Why would a man who remained choose a blind woman for a wife when he had healthy ones to pick from?

Besides, none of the men had been Gideon. It was hard to imagine giving her heart to anyone else.

Why? What was she waiting for? Was she hoping Gideon would come back and declare his love again? She had turned down his offer of marriage because she loved him. Because she believed he deserved better than a blind millstone around his neck. Fear and the painful knowledge that she didn’t deserve such happiness made her turn away from him.

If she could undo anything in her life, she would change only one thing—the night she slipped away with her sister Grace to join Gideon and his friends at a forbidden party. That one night changed everything.

She shut out the memory. Gideon wasn’t coming back, and she had nothing to show for her sacrifice. One day she would be old and alone, without even her aunt to care for. What would happen to her then? She could go back to her parents, but when they were gone, which of her brothers or sisters would she go to live with? Any of them would take her in, but would they do so with joy in their hearts? It was unlikely.

Would it be so bad to marry Daniel Hershberger? If she did, she would have a house of her own and the hope of children. She might learn to love him in time. Daniel was a good man.

If only the thought of kissing him didn’t leave her cold.

When their supper was finished, Rebecca went back to her room and sat alone on the bed. Her aunt had gone to her friend Naomi’s home for a comfortable evening of visiting. Rebecca had been invited, but used her headache as an excuse not to go. In the silence of her room, Rebecca found herself thinking again about Booker.

How was he feeling? Was he sitting alone in his room as she was? Was he thinking about her? It warmed her to think she might be on his mind.

He was an intriguing man. Perhaps it was just his pitiful voice that made him so. When he could speak plainly, she might find him dull. Or not. She couldn’t get him out of her head.

He’d said he wasn’t married, and she had to wonder why.

Which was a silly thing to be thinking about!

In a fit of disgust, she got up and took out her Christmas Star quilt. She had only the binding to finish. It wouldn’t take long. Perhaps if her hands were busy, her mind wouldn’t wander into forbidden territory.

Early the next morning, Gideon walked out the inn’s front door and entered a world frozen and cocooned in white. Snowflakes continued to fall, settling soundlessly onto the sidewalk behind a shopkeeper who had just cleared a path from his doorway to the street. Tree branches bent low beneath the weight of their white frosting. Everywhere, a hushed silence engulfed the town.

A few hardy souls had already ventured out. Directly across the street, a man worked to uncover his car with an ice scraper that was clearly too small for the job.

The quiet gave way to the jingle of harness bells. As they grew louder, Gideon looked down the street to see a horse-drawn sleigh coming his way. An Amish family with six rosy-cheeked children filling the back of the sleigh drove past him. Their eyes were bright with the excitement of the ride.

The man digging out his car met Gideon’s gaze and grinned. “I’ve got one hundred and fifty horses under the hood for all the good they are doing me at the moment while the Amish go flying by with only one horse. I reckon the simple life has some advantages, after all.”

Gideon grinned as he stood in front of the inn with no particular destination in mind. He just wanted to be out. Out in the clean fresh air of a snow-covered small Ohio town. Hope Springs was a lot like Berlin. A little bigger, but not by much. The same type of stores crowded together off the tree-lined streets.

He noticed antiques for sale and a touristy Amish gift shop down the street. The merchandise there likely came from China and not from the local craftsmen. Across the street was a hardware store. A pharmacy sat sandwiched between the hardware store and a clothing store. A little farther on a gas station sat at the corner.