Beginnings (16 page)

A second sigh escaped, and her attention returned to the window. Then, in a matter-of-fact tone that took him by surprise, she said, “Do you suppose you could take a break and go after another two dozen horseshoe nails?”

Andrew gave his head a quick shake. He felt as though he’d missed something between the phone call and now. “Horseshoe nails?”

“Yes.” Still with her eyes aimed downward, she added, “I’ll be needing them before too long.”

He stared at her profile, trying to read beneath her bland expression, but he wasn’t well enough versed in females to figure out what she was thinking.

She laughed lightly. Not a humorous laugh, but one that had a frightened ring to it. “Sean plans to drive over in the middle of next week to talk to the Carlton committee. He said he’d stop by and take a few pictures of the progress here.” Crossing her arms, she sent Andrew a brief sidelong look. “Think he’ll be pleased or disappointed?”

Andrew looked down at the makeshift design on the platform. Even though the pieces weren’t connected and lay in a haphazard display of shapes and color, he could imagine the finished product. The window would be beautiful when completed. “Why would he be disappointed?”

“Because I’m not far enough along.” The tinge of frustration came through. “I’ve got to pick up the pace.”

Andrew took her arm and turned her to face him. Boldly, he brushed her cheek with his thumb right below her eye where the pale skin showed a hint of purple. The slight contact with her skin catapulted his heart into his throat. “The pace you’ve set now is doing you in. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Jerking her arm free, she stepped away from him and glared upward. “Thanks a lot.”

Andrew realized how insulting his words must have been. He’d only meant to express concern for her obvious tiredness. Why couldn’t he ever say the right thing when it came to Beth? “I didn’t mean it that way.”

He would have explained, but she shook her head, her bright hair swinging across her shoulders. “Forget it. I’m tired and testy, and I’m worried that this window isn’t going to be done. I’ve used half my time already, and I’m not halfway there.”

It was on the tip of Andrew’s tongue to say, “Let me help,” but he knew she would only rebuff him. Instead, he said, “You’re on the downhill slide. The cutting and grinding always takes longer than soldering.”

“But with lead came?” Panic underscored her question. “I’m so used to the smaller projects. I’ve only used lead came once—on the cardinal piece.”

“And you did great.” Andrew was relieved when the furrows in her brows relaxed. He straightened his shoulders, determined to make up for his previous comment. “You will this time, too.”

The furrows returned. “But on time?”

Andrew gave a firm nod. “On time. I’ll pray about it.”

To his puzzlement, her cheeks flooded with pink, and she lowered her gaze. She sat back on the edge of the platform and reached into the box of cut glass pieces near her feet. Andrew knew her focus was fully on the project. He’d been forgotten. He cleared his throat as he backed away from the platform. “I–I’ll go get those nails now.”

Her nod provided her approval. He headed out, leaving his jacket on the hook. The ground was mushy from the end-of-February snow that had fallen two days ago followed by the beginning-of-March sun. He crossed the ground with wide strides, reaching his truck quickly, and slid into the cab. It felt good to close the door on the wind, which carried a bite despite the clear sky and bright yellow sun beaming overhead.

The sight of that sun sent a stab of worry through Andrew’s chest. March had arrived, and Dad was pressuring him to use his hours on the farm instead of in the studio. It was hard to convince Dad that making suncatchers was more important than tending to a money crop. He jammed the key into the ignition and started the engine with a firm press of his foot against the foot pedal. The rev of the engine vibrated away thoughts of Dad and winter wheat.

The drive to Doug Ortmann’s farm took him past Uncle Henry’s shop and house. He felt a stab of regret when he saw the neat addition on the side of the house. Taking care of Beth’s business had kept him from helping, but the walls had gone up without him. His father hadn’t been any happier than Andrew had been about missing the workday, and Dad hadn’t minded saying so. He’d also made a suggestion Andrew approved—helping to spackle and paint the inside walls to make up for not being around on construction day. On the way back to the studio, Andrew would stop at the shop and let Uncle Henry know he would do that.

He left the town and turned left at the first country road. The Ortmann farm waited at the end of a mile-long lane that was nearly impassable thanks to the soft ground. Andrew kept a steady, slow speed, gritting his teeth when the tires slipped in the mud. When he reached the graveled area in front of the house, he released a whoosh of breath.

As he stepped around the hood of the truck, the door to the house opened and Livvy Ortmann stood framed in the doorway. Andrew had known Livvy since they were toddlers, but between him being tongue-tied and her being shy, he didn’t think they’d exchanged more than a dozen words in all their growing-up years. He wished briefly that her dad or one of her brothers had opened the door. But he couldn’t just walk out to the barn now that she’d seen him. He headed for the porch and stopped at the base of the steps.

“Are you looking for Dad?” She wore a flowered apron over her blue dress, and she tangled her hands in the square flap of cloth, wrinkling it.

Andrew nodded. “Beth Quinn needs some more horseshoe nails.”

Livvy lowered her face for a moment, her lips puckering in an odd way. “Dad went to Hillsboro to look at a trailer, but he keeps the nails in the tack room. I can get some for you.”

Andrew backed up one step. “No. That’s okay. I know where he keeps them, and you’ll get yourself all muddy if you come out. It’s a mess.”

A soft warmth lit her eyes at his comment, but he didn’t understand why. She moved forward, allowing the screen door to close behind her. “How many do you need? So I can tell Dad what you took.”

Andrew pushed his hands into his pockets. “I’m getting twice as many as last time, a couple dozen. Think that’ll be okay?” The question wasn’t necessary. Hadn’t Doug Ortmann told him he could come back for more?

“Sure. Get what you need. Do you need a little sack?”

Andrew grimaced. He hadn’t brought anything along in which to carry the nails. But an unexplained desire not to detain Livvy made him give a shrug. “Nope. I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Sure. Good-bye, Andrew.”

He felt certain she sounded sad when she offered the farewell. But she slipped so quickly back into the house, he couldn’t see her face to confirm it. With another shrug, he headed for the tack room at the back of Ortmann’s horse barn. As he passed the stalls, a soft mewling complaint captured his attention. He glanced to the side and spotted a gray and white cat, half grown, crouched in the hay.

He stopped and looked closer. One of the kitten’s eyes was crusted over. As he watched, it raised its back paw and scratched at the eye.

“Hey, now, don’t do that,” he chided. “You’ll only make it worse.”

The little cat rolled to its side, pressing its face into the hay.

Sympathy rose in Andrew’s chest. The poor thing must be suffering. Immediately, he thought of his cousin Trina and her love for small creatures. The last time he’d talked with his young cousin, she’d expressed the desire to have something to do besides work at the café all the time. Trina would want to doctor this little kitty back to health.

Andrew hurried on to the tack room, jammed his shirt pocket full of nails, and headed back to the house and banged on the door. Livvy answered again, her lips tipped into a bashful yet welcoming smile.

The smile unnerved him. “Is anybody else here?”

Her face fell. “No. The boys are at school, and Mom’s visiting the Erlichs. What do you need? W–weren’t you able to find the nails?”

Andrew touched his bulging pocket. “I found them. But I also found a cat with a bad eye.”

Livvy nodded. The white ribbon trailing from the right side of her cap caught on her shoulder. She flicked it loose before replying. “Yes. One of Ginger’s kittens. We don’t know what he got into.”

“Trina could probably cure it,” he said, “but I don’t want to take it without permission.”

He was certain Livvy looked at him with approval. His ears grew hot.

“You can take him. Dad won’t care—he thinks cats are more of a nuisance than they’re worth, but they keep the mouse population down in the barn.”

It was the lengthiest speech Livvy had ever delivered directly to him. He wasn’t sure what had brought out this talkative side, but it increased his feeling of unease. He didn’t want to stay and chat more, but he needed something from her. “I’ll take him, but do you have a box to put him in so he won’t get under my feet in the cab?”

Without a word, Livvy stepped back into the house, closing the door behind her. Andrew wasn’t sure if she would come back or not, but he waited, hoping. In a few minutes, just as he was deciding to let the cat run loose in the cab, she returned.

“Here.” She thrust a square box marked with black-and-white bottles of ketchup at him. “I had to empty it. It had Johnny’s rock collection in it.”

Andrew peered inside. Small bits of grit peppered the bottom. He moved to the edge of the porch and shook the bits onto the ground. Looking over his shoulder, he asked, “Will he mind me taking it?”

Another grin lit her face. “I just put the rocks in another box in his room. My brother has dozens. I doubt he’ll even notice it’s missing.”

“Okay, then. Thanks.” Andrew bounced the box against his knee as he headed back through the muck to the barn. To his relief, the gray and white cat was still stretched out in the hay and didn’t resist as he lifted it. It took some doing to get it into the box and fold the flaps down over it, though, and he worried all the way back to town that the scrabbling paws would manage to pop the top loose before he reached the café. The cat yowled as if its tail was on fire, and Andrew wondered at the wisdom of carting it back.

He drove straight past Uncle Henry’s, deciding that getting the cat into Trina’s hands took precedence. After pulling behind the café, he put the truck in PARK and left the engine running. “You stay in there,” he told the cat, then slammed the door and headed to the café’s back door. He spotted Trina at the dishwasher. Aunt Deborah was nowhere in sight.

Opening the door just enough to be seen, he called, “Can you come here?”

Without questioning him, Trina wiped her hands on her apron and skipped to the door.

He crooked his finger at her. With a quick look over her shoulder, she followed him to the truck. The moment he peeled back the lid, the little cat shot straight in the air and into Trina’s waiting arms.

“Oh!” Trina cradled the frightened cat. “You poor little thing. What happened to you?”

“It belongs to the Doug Ortmanns. They don’t know what happened to it.”

Andrew watched Trina put the cat in the crook of one arm and gingerly examine its eye with her free hand. To his surprise, the animal didn’t fight to free itself, although it did try to turn its head away from her prying fingers.

“It looks like he’s got an infected scratch,” Trina said. “Probably from some sort of wire.” Lifting the kitten beneath her chin, she let it nuzzle her. A purr sounded, and Trina laughed softly. “Oh, you’re a sweetie.” Smiling at Andrew, she said, “Thank you for bringing him to me. I’ll clean out that sore and put some ointment on it. Hopefully his eye will be okay.”

Andrew nodded, smiling, too. He enjoyed Trina’s pleasure. Just then, the back door opened and a cranky voice interrupted.

“Trina! What are you doing?”

Trina sent Andrew a guilty look before facing her mother. “Andrew found a kitten with a sore eye.”

Deborah stepped carefully across the muddy expanse to look at the kitten. “Well, I’d say it’s sore.” She shook her head, her arms folded. “You and these animals.” Although her tone gave the impression of disgust, Andrew glimpsed sympathy in Aunt Deborah’s eyes. “Where do you plan to keep it?”

Trina’s brows went up in an innocent expression. “In the storage shed?”

Andrew glanced at the shed, which once had housed the original owner’s buggy. The building had stood empty for years, and the wood had weathered to a dull gray, but it would make an acceptable home for an injured kitten.

“That’s fine. Put it in there now, and you can see to it after the supper rush.” Aunt Deborah headed back toward the café, calling, “And mind you wash well when you come back in! I don’t want cat hair in any food!”

“Yes, Mama!” Trina reached with one arm to give Andrew a hug. “Thank you, Andrew. I’ll take good care of him, I promise!” She headed to the storage shed, the kitten held against her shoulder.

Andrew paused for a moment, watching until she sealed herself inside with the cat. It gave his heart a lift to see Trina’s happiness at the prospect of nursing the kitten. He’d managed to please one female today. Giving his shirt pocket a pat, he remembered he had a way to please Beth, too. He climbed back into his truck and drove behind the studio.

He found Beth just where he’d left her, leaning over the platform, arranging glass squares, diamonds, and triangles. The moment he closed the door, she pushed herself to her feet and released a huge yawn. But she broke into a smile when he offered the nails.