Almost Amish (19 page)

Julie couldn’t stop her smile. “Thanks. I’ve been practicing in my spare time.”

“It shows.”

“In my case, you’ve probably never seen anyone pick this up quite so slowly.” Whitney shook her head and stared down at a knot in her thread. “I just don’t get it. How can I be so utterly bad at something?”

“Don’t give up; you’ll learn it in time.” Rosemary moved to help her. “You’re the one that came up with our color pattern for the quilt, and you cut the straightest edges of anyone.”

“Big whoop. I’m the great straight-edge cutter.” Whitney sort of sighed as she pushed the needle through the fabric again.

“You say that like it’s not important, but someone has to do the cutting. It doesn’t matter how well your mama sews if the pieces aren’t cut out, or if they’re cut so poorly they won’t line up. Never let someone make you feel like whatever gift you have is less important than someone else’s. Do you know who Stephen is from the Bible?”

Whitney looked up. “Sure. He was the first martyr.”

“Hmm.” Rosemary rocked forward in her chair and leaned toward Whitney. “He was that. But do you know what he was before?”

“One of the disciples, I guess.”

“Do you know what his job was?”

“Teaching people about Jesus, right? I mean, that’s why they killed him.”

“He was a waiter.”

“Huh?”

Rosemary began a slow rock. “The Greek believers started complaining to the apostles that their widows were being overlooked in the distribution of food. You know how that goes—get a large group of people together and there’s always someone who thinks something is unfair, and maybe it was.” She stared toward the wall as if seeing the scene right through it, slowly shaking her head as she did. “Maybe it was.”

“So what happened?” Whitney asked, her sewing temporarily forgotten in her lap.

“The twelve basically said, ‘We’ve been called to teach and to pray, not to
wait tables
,’ but—and here’s the important part, don’t miss it—they didn’t say that waiting tables or feeding widows was not important. They said, ‘Appoint seven men to head up the food distribution, men that are full of wisdom and the Holy Spirit.’ ”

“And Stephen was one of those men?”

Rosemary nodded. “Yep. Sure was.” She rocked back, then forward, then back again. “Waiting tables doesn’t sound terribly important in the scheme of things, does it? Yet it freed the apostles up to do what it was they were supposed to do. And Stephen didn’t just wait tables; he served God with all his heart. And God rewarded that by enabling him to perform great signs and wonders, just like the apostles. But, my point is, as much as we all think of the apostles being the most important, I’m saying that they would not have been effective if those in jobs of lesser honor had not performed the work they were called to do. So if cutting straight edges is your call and stitching is your mother’s, then I say they’re both important. Don’t you?”

Whitney nodded. “I guess so. But I still wish I could stitch better.”

“You keep practicing, and you’ll get better at it.”

Julie rocked back and forth, considering what Rosemary had just said. She knew there was wisdom in the words, but she wished that somehow God would just show her what it was she did well, what it was that she was supposed to do. Somehow she didn’t think a nice hand-stitch was going to serve her well when she reentered the real world.

Rosemary’s story and things she’d been saying about giftedness didn’t leave Julie. In fact, it nagged her, roiling around and making it impossible to enjoy Susan’s baked chicken and mashed potatoes. Even the perfectly prepared green beans, picked from their garden not five minutes before cooking, didn’t tempt her the way they usually did. They just all reminded her how much that seemed to be Susan’s gift. Along with keeping a spotless house. And keeping her daughter well on track to being accepted to any college in the country.

Sure Julie could hand-stitch better than most twenty-first-century beginners to hand-stitching, but what did that matter, really? Back home she felt as though she spent most of her time in a chaotic fog, always reacting to things, but never acting with a purpose. Busy, but accomplishing nothing. It was a never-ending cycle that left her exhausted yet unfulfilled.

“Okay, I think we need to get ready for youth group. Can I go ahead and start doing my part of washing the dishes?” Angie turned the full force of her huge chocolate eyes on Susan.

“Angie, we haven’t even finished eating yet.”

“Well, I have. And we need to leave in a little while, and I really want to change clothes before we go, and I know I’m supposed to be the one who cleans out the pots and pans tonight. So can I go ahead and get started, please? I’ll still be able to talk to everyone and everything.” Angie cut her eyes in Whitney’s direction for less than a second, but Julie noticed the unvoiced plea.

“Yeah, Mom, me too. It takes awhile to get all this done, and we want to make certain we get to youth group on time, so . . .” She stuffed the last bite of chicken in her mouth and stood up. “Come on, Angie, I’m finished eating, too. Let’s get this done together.”

“Wait a minute.” Susan cocked her head back and smiled. “I get it now. There’s a boy, isn’t there? There’s a boy you like at youth group, and that’s why you’re wanting the extra time to get ready.”

Angie turned pink, but she shook her head. “Mom, I can tell you beyond the shadow of a doubt that you are mistaken. There is not a single boy in that youth group that interests me.”

There could be no doubting the sincerity in her voice, and Julie knew that she was telling the truth. The trick was in the wording. There wasn’t a boy
in the youth group
that interested Angie. She didn’t say anything about the worship band, or their driver for the evening.

By the time she heard the horses clomping up the driveway, Julie was having trouble staying awake. Susan sat in the rocking chair, recipe books in her lap, working out their menus for the next few days. Julie had been writing in her journal and reading in the Psalms, searching for something that would give her some guidance about gifts. She had found none. “I think I’ll go out and welcome the kids home.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Susan didn’t even look up from her task.

Julie walked out the kitchen door just as the kids were starting to climb down from the carriage. As she suspected, Angie was sitting next to the driver, and after Chris jumped out, he reached up his hand and helped her down. Whitney and Brian exited the other side.

As soon as Whitney noticed Julie she ran up to her. “Hey, Mom, have you talked to Kendra about me working with the Kids’ Club? They’re short several people, and they really need my help tomorrow night.”

“I really haven’t.”

“Can you please just tell her I have to do it? You know that’s something I always wanted to do in Santa Barbara, but practice got in the way. Now that I’m not getting the benefit of team practice, at least make them let me do something worthwhile with my time.”

“You really love working with kids, don’t you?”

Whitney nodded. “Yes.”

“I’ll talk to Kendra first thing in the morning and tell her it’s something you’re going to do. It’s a good thing, and it’s something you’re really good at.” It was one of Whitney’s gifts. One of many gifts that Whitney possessed and used whenever possible. How was it that even Julie’s kids seemed to understand their place in the world, and Julie herself did not? She knew that if she couldn’t change that, she had no hope of ever being truly happy.

The sun still lit up the entire hillside as Susan put the last of the dinner dishes into the cupboard. The window air-conditioning units were no match for the Tennessee summer heat and a wood stove. She wiped her forehead. “Whew. A few more nights like this and we’ll be having raw vegetables the rest of the summer.”

“Some Amish have what they call summer kitchens, which are not directly attached to the house,” Angie explained as she wiped the last spot off the countertop. “And a lot of them also move their living area into the basement during the summer months, where it’s cooler.”

“And is this what fictional Amish do, or the real ones?”

“Mom, you know that most novelists try to stick to facts on those kinds of things as much as possible. Besides, I said some, not all.” She folded up the towel and hung it over the rack. “Can I ride with Whitney tonight when she goes into town?”

“You mean, work at the Kids’ Club with her?”

“No, I wasn’t planning on staying—that’s more Whitney’s thing than mine—but I enjoy getting out for a nice buggy ride in the evenings. It’s . . . nice.”

Susan thought about the young man who drove them to youth group, his too-long artificially black hair, and his anti-establishment look. She did not want her daughter riding alone with him on the way back from dropping off Whitney at the housing complex. Then again, she really didn’t want Whitney going alone with him, either. “Let me think about that. Perhaps the entire family should ride along—you know, spend some time together.”

“No!” Angie’s answer came out very fast and very loud. She paused just a moment before continuing. “I mean . . . no . . . there’s no need for everyone to go, just because I want to get out.”

Susan turned to lean against the counter and look at her daughter. It seemed like she was up to something, but there was very little she could get into at this point. Still, there was enough of a nagging doubt that she wasn’t willing to hand over free rein. “You’re right, we don’t want to inconvenience everyone.”

Angie’s breath came out in one slow, relieved expulsion. “That’s exactly what I think.”

“But I’ve been wanting to get out and go for more rides anyway, so I’ll come along with you. Just me. Then no one else is inconvenienced on our behalf.”

“But, Mo-om . . .”

The sound of footsteps coming up the back steps stopped the conversation. The screen porch door creaked open and seconds later Gary could be seen standing at the kitchen door, preparing to knock. Susan opened the door before he raised his hand.

He looked up, surprised, and then grinned. “Well, hello there. And how is everyone this beautiful evening?”

Susan nodded. “Fine. We were just having a talk about riding into town with Whitney. Is Chris about ready to take her, do you know?”

“Nope he’s not. This is his night off, and so I’m the official chauffeur for the evening. Did you say that you were planning on riding with us?”

“Well, I . . . Angie and I were just talking about riding, but I . . .”

“You know what? I think I really need to stay here and work on some schoolwork. I’ll just run up and see if Whitney is ready.” Angie disappeared before Susan could argue.

“Well, I don’t have to come along. . . .” How much more awkward could this be?

“Please do. I was planning on running a few errands in town while she’s at the Kids’ Club. Would you like to hit Walmart with me? We can hitch our horse and buggy to the post beside the real Amish.”

Just the thought of going somewhere familiar, and modern, sounded wonderful. “I’d love it. Julie, don’t you want to come with us, too?” Julie had been talking about a trip into town for several days now.

Julie shook her head. “Not this evening. I want to work on my quilt and do some journaling.”

“I’m ready.” Whitney bounded into the room.

Gary smiled. “You seem excited.”

Whitney nodded. “The only problem is I’m afraid the little kids will see me in these clothes and think I’m weird, and they won’t want anything to do with me.”

“I’d say a girl with your personality could overcome anything, especially a minor fashion issue. Those kids are going to love you.” He opened the back kitchen door and held it. “Shall we, ladies?”

Quickly enough they were out in the buggy and on their way. Whitney fell quiet for the first time since they’d arrived—probably feeling awkward sharing a ride with them—and so they all rode in silence, accompanied only by the soothing clack of horse hooves. After a long half hour, they pulled up in front of the apartment complex. A group of small children came running out. “Horsies are here, horsies are here.”