Beginnings (22 page)

As suppertime approached, Beth found herself glancing at the clock at closer intervals, eager for the excuse to stop, stretch her legs, and rest her eyes and fingers. She suspected Andrew felt the same way by the number of times he sat straight up on his knees and twisted his back. She understood. Leaning over the platform was much more difficult than leaning over the worktable. The angle was different, putting more pressure on the lower spine, and one had to avoid the horseshoe nails that kept the project square on the wooden base. But if he was going to be working on other big projects, he might as well become accustomed to using the platform.

She was scooping the cat out of the way for the umpteenth time when the telephone on the wall jangled. “I’ll get it,” she said as Andrew started to stand. Lifting the receiver, she offered her standard, “Quinn’s Stained-Glass Art Studio. May I help you?”

“Hello, Beth. I hope you’re ready to design like crazy.”

Sean’s greeting made her heart double its tempo. “They signed?”

“They signed.”

Her smile stretched across her tired cheeks. “Congratulations!”

“To you, too. The stained-glass windows are part of the contract.”

“Yes, if I meet your stipulation for this first one.” Beth looked at the partially completed window, which would determine whether or not the stained-glass windows for the Colorado church would truly be her projects. Her stomach turned a somersault. She still had so much to do! And those windows in Denver wouldn’t be hers if this one wasn’t completed.

“So how are you coming along over there?”

Beth clenched her teeth for a moment, holding back the grunt of frustration. “It’s coming,” she said. “I’ve got Andrew working on it, too.”

Andrew glanced up, meeting her eyes. She smiled and pointed at the platform—a silent reminder to keep working. His brows tipped together briefly, but he picked up another piece of glass.

“Well, good. He needs to learn how to do the larger pieces.”

“That’s what I thought.” Beth smiled when the distinct sound of a yawn met her ear. “I didn’t realize meetings were such exhausting work.”

At his laughter, her smile grew. “I think it’s the elevation. Whenever I get up in the mountains, I feel sleepy.”

Beth couldn’t confirm that. She’d never spent time in the mountains. She’d done little traveling, although she’d always wanted to. But Mom’s limited income hadn’t allowed for long vacations in faraway places. Now her focus was on getting her studio running. She frowned. If the studio became the success she hoped, would there be time for travel in her future?

A brief wave of panic struck. Did she want her work to be
everything?

“Well,” Sean’s voice carried through the line, “I know you’re hard at it, so I’ll let you go. I just wanted to share the good news. By the end of the week I’ll have dimensions for the windows and a construction schedule. You’ll need that information before you can proceed, but be thinking about the designs and how you can bring in that wonderful depth.”

Beth swallowed. “Yes. Yes, I will. ’Bye, Sean. Thanks for calling. And congratulations again.” She hung up and looked at Andrew, who settled back on his haunches and pressed his hands to his knees. “You ready for a break?”

He answered with a shrug.

“Let’s walk next door, work some kinks out. I need to...” She paused. Did she want to involve Andrew in her worries? If she shared her concerns with him, she would be leaning on him. More than she already was in letting him help with the window. Mitch’s face appeared in her memory—his smiling, beguiling, devious face—followed by the remembered pain of his betrayal.

Waiting beside the platform, Andrew prompted, “You need to...?”

“Walk.” She gave a single, empathic nod. “I need to walk. And I’m hungry for one of Deborah’s greasy burgers. So let’s go.”

They slid in on opposite sides of an open booth, where they could look out on the peaceful street. Since it wasn’t the weekend, not many tourists were around, but Beth easily recognized the patrons who were not citizens of Sommerfeld.

The two tables closest to the booth she and Andrew shared were each occupied by a young family—mother, father, and preschool-age child. Beth’s gaze flicked back and forth between the tables, her mind unconsciously recording the similarities and disparities.

One family was Old Order Mennonite—the man’s closely trimmed hair, the woman’s cap, and the little girl’s tiny braids serving as calling cards. The second family was obviously not. Even their daughter, who couldn’t be more than four, had pierced ears and designer-brand blue jeans.

At each table conversation took place, the adults leaning forward now and then to speak in lowered tones, the mothers occasionally pausing to offer instruction to use the napkin or be careful with the cup of milk.

Beth examined their faces, searching for evidence that one family might be happier, more contented, more complete than the other. But she couldn’t make a determination. They both seemed like normal, involved, satisfied families. Her heart begged for an answer to the question plaguing her mind: In which of those families—Old Order or worldly—would
she
have the best chance to find fulfillment and contentment?

Swinging her gaze away from the families, she found Andrew openly examining her. Heat rose from her neck to her cheeks as she got the distinct impression he knew what she had been trying to discover.

TWENTY

Leaning her elbows on the table, Beth brought her face closer to Andrew’s. “Are you happy here?”

Andrew raised one brow.

“In Sommerfeld, in the fellowship. Do you ever wonder what it’s like ‘out there’?”

Andrew glanced out the window, then at the worldly couple seated nearby. His lips twitched, and he rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I guess all of us wonder. Outsiders come in driving fancy cars and wearing their fancy clothes and talking about the things they do. So, yes, I’ve wondered.”

She nodded. “I can see why. Everything here is so ... regimented. Controlled.” With a grimace, she added, “I don’t know how you stand it.”

Sorrow filled Andrew’s eyes. “I don’t just
stand
it, Beth. I embrace it.”

The word
embrace
wrapped around Beth’s chest in a breath-stealing hold. “How?” The word came out in a strangled whisper. She gestured to the café. “What is it that you find so ... desirable here? I see the smiles, the contentment, the acceptance of the simplicity, but I don’t understand. Help me understand, Andrew.”
So I can find out whether or not it can one day be mine.

Andrew’s brow furrowed, and for long moments he looked out the window. His jaw worked back and forth, letting Beth know how deeply he sought the right answer to her question. Although impatience tugged at her like Winky at her pant leg, she managed to stay silent and allow him the opportunity to collect his thoughts.

Finally, he looked at her, and his eyes held a variety of emotions she couldn’t define. “There’s security, Beth, in knowing what applied to my parents’ world at my age also applied to my grandparents and great-grandparents and now applies to me. The history, the generations-long tradition, feels stable in a world that—out there—isn’t always stable. There’s security in having a firm boundary around me, a fence that keeps me safe.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand.

“I know you see it as hemming you in and holding you back. But I see it as keeping potentially dangerous things away and giving me freedom within the boundaries of my beliefs.”

Beth leaned back, sucking in her lips as she processed his answer. The words sounded good in theory, but there was a problem. “Then why are you bucking so hard to break free of your father’s plans for you?”

He jerked as if her words had impaled him.

“Your family’s history is farming, right? Your father, your brothers, probably your grandfathers, too—all farmers. But you? You’re trying to be something else.”

His ears filled with the familiar red. Although his mouth opened, no words came out.

She nodded. “See? You don’t like the boundaries, either, or you’d just farm and not say anything.” Sitting forward, she allowed a small smile to form on her lips. “But I have to tell you, Andrew, I admire you for going after what you want. I might get aggravated with you sometimes because I feel like you’re stepping on my toes, but I still admire you.” Lowering her eyes, she fought a feeling of sadness. “At least you know what you want.”

“You know, too.” The fervency brought Beth’s head up. “You know. You want success.” He pointed to the table beside them where the worldly family prepared to leave the café—the mother helping the little girl into her pink denim jacket and the father digging in his wallet for a tip. “I saw the look on your face when you were watching the families. You think being a wife and mother will hold you back. That’s why you don’t want to be Mennonite. A Mennonite wife wouldn’t spend all her day in an art studio. You don’t think you can fit the role.”

He gave the saddest smile Beth had ever seen. “I heard you when you told your mother you could never be Mennonite. I tried not to hear, but I heard. And I’ve been thinking about it.”

Beth wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he thought, but she couldn’t deny a fierce interest in hearing his opinion. In the past days, a side of Andrew—a strong, confident, openly knowledgeable side—had come into view, piquing her interest as much as it surprised her. It gave a new, attractive dimension to him worthy of further exploration.

“So what do you think?” Her breath came in little puffs as her heart pounded, waiting, hoping for some nugget of insight that might help her find her place in this community.

Andrew squared his shoulders. “I think you were raised in the world, and that’s where you belong. You found God here, and maybe that’s what you came for, to become part of His family. But what you told your mom is right. You’ll never be a Mennonite. It isn’t who you are.” His back slumped as if his honesty had cost him his strength.

“And maybe, since you’ll never fit unless you are Mennonite, you’d be better off somewhere else.”

“You’d be better off somewhere else.”

Andrew’s words haunted Beth the remainder of the week. Each morning as she opened her Bible for her devotions, those words tried to steal her focus and interfered with her ability to pray.

Hadn’t Sean told her she should relocate her studio away from this quiet town? And now Andrew had indicated the same thing.

“
You’d be better off somewhere else.”

Fear held her captive. These two men, in whom she needed to be able to place her confidence and trust to build her studio and fulfill her dreams, each seemed to have agendas that would benefit themselves if she followed their advice.

Sean suggested Kansas City, closer to his home, where undoubtedly he could keep a close eye on her projects and have some control. Could his increased, more personal contacts be a means of drawing her closer?

And Andrew suggesting she go somewhere else would leave an empty studio in Sommerfeld for someone else’s use. His use? Is that why he said she would never be happy here?

God, please help me set the fears aside!
she begged each time the worry rose, yet it continued. Each glimpse of Andrew across the platform increased the feelings of uncertainty, and finally on Friday morning, she sent him back to the cardinal piece with the instruction to see it through to completion and then work on suncatchers.

“I’ll need a stash ready for when I get the Internet store up and running,” she said in response to his questioning look. To her relief, he didn’t argue. But sending him away from the platform didn’t solve the problem. Just having him in the room was a constant reminder, and she came close to telling him to go work in the fields.

When he left for the noon break, the telephone rang. Wearily, Beth answered it to find Sean on the other end. He would be back in Kansas by Saturday, and he had a final meeting with the Carlton church committee next week on Wednesday. He asked if could swing by the studio, take another peek at the window, and perhaps treat her to supper to celebrate the Colorado contract.

“No.” The word burst out much more forcefully than she intended.

Sean’s shocked silence on the other end filled Beth with embarrassed shame, and she struggled to explain herself.

“I mean, I’d like that, and you can certainly stop in if you want to, but”—her gaze fell on the wall calendar, the few squares remaining in the month sending a new jolt of panic through her chest—“I really can’t afford to be away from the studio right now. I have less than three weeks to finish this project.”

“And you and Andrew can’t get it done?” He sounded more puzzled than worried.

“Yes, I can if I stay here and see it through!” Once more, against her will, her tone reflected her anxiety.

“Beth...” Sean’s voice lowered, and she pictured him pressing the receiver closer to his face. “If this window is too much for you, then maybe—”

No more suggestions! “It’s not too much for me,” she insisted, forcing a levity to her voice she didn’t feel, “I just prefer to commit my time to work right now. When the work is done, there will be time for play.”