Beginnings (18 page)

If she thought Andrew would join her in laughter, she was mistaken. Instead, when she looked at him, she found him wearing a smug, almost conniving grin that erased the momentary playfulness from her heart.

She recounted Andrew’s response to her attempts at teasing that evening when she stopped by to see her mother and check on the progress of the addition. They stood in the second of the two bedrooms. The unpainted walls and ceiling and uncovered wooden floors gave the impression of standing in a tomb.

“I just wish,” Beth said, her soft voice echoing in the empty space, “I could set aside my worries that Andrew is going to somehow take over or destroy what I’m trying to do.”

Mom’s arm slipped around Beth’s shoulders. “I understand why you’re worried, honey, after what you went through with Mitch. But you have to remember Mitch isn’t a Christian. He doesn’t have the same moral values that Andrew has. Don’t you believe Andrew’s Christianity is important to him?”

Beth remembered his shocked response to her question about working on Sunday. She also recalled his devotion to a father who seemed bent on destroying his dreams. Yes, Andrew’s Christianity was important to him. Still...

“Not only that,” Mom continued, her eyes crinkling, “I happen to have it on good authority that Andrew likes you.”

“And I don’t know if that makes it better or worse!” Beth stepped away from her mother and stormed several feet away. Turning back, she said, “I like Andrew, too. He’s one of my few friends around here. But liking him as more than a friend? I don’t think I could ever do that.”

Mom crossed her arms over her stomach, her fine eyebrows crunching together. “Because?”

Beth sighed. “Because he’s Mennonite. And if I end up liking him as more than a friend, the only way our relationship could work is if he leaves the Mennonite faith or I join it.”

“And you don’t see that happening?”

Beth examined her mother’s face. A hint of pain existed in her eyes, creating an ache in Beth’s heart as she admitted, “I don’t think so. At least not for me. I–I’m sorry if that hurts you.”

Mom moved forward, her steps stiff. “No, Beth, I understand. You weren’t raised in the faith of my family. For me, it was coming home. For you, it’s something completely different. You only see the constraints, and it doesn’t offer a feeling of security for you as much as a feeling of being stifled.”

Beth nodded. Her mother had managed to put into words exactly the way Beth viewed the lifestyle “rules” of the Old Order Mennonite sect’s teaching.

Mom continued. “It’s enough for me to know you’ve accepted Jesus as your Savior. Being a church member won’t secure your place at His side in heaven, but asking Him into your heart did. That’s what is important.”

Beth nearly expelled a breath of relief. But then she shook her head. “Still, it doesn’t solve my issues with Andrew. There just seems to be ... something more ... he wants from me. If it’s a relationship, I can’t give it. And if it’s equal footing in my studio, I
won’t
give it. But I don’t know how to make that understood.”

Mom’s gaze suddenly jerked somewhere behind Beth. Her face turned white. Puzzled, Beth turned to look. Her heart fell to her stomach. Henry and Andrew stood right outside the door.

SIXTEEN

Uncle Henry moved into the bedroom, but Andrew’s feet remained glued to the floor. Beth’s comments rang in his head. She didn’t want a relationship with him—either working or personal. He couldn’t face her, so he stayed beside the unfinished door frame, staring at the toes of his boots.

“Andrew stopped by to offer his help in mudding, sanding, and painting the new rooms.” Uncle Henry spoke softly, sympathy underscoring his tone.

Andrew held his breath, waiting for Beth’s reply, explanation, or apology, but she said nothing. He jerked his chin up. “I meant to come by earlier this week, but I got busy with a cat.” He realized how stupid his excuse sounded, but he didn’t know what else to say.

Aunt Marie sent a weak smile in his direction. “That’s kind of you. Henry will appreciate the help. Our time is running short, isn’t it?”

Beth’s time on the window was running short. And Andrew’s time to convince her he was needed in all aspects of her life had apparently run out.

“Marie?” The concern in his uncle’s tone caught Andrew’s attention. “Is your stomach bothering you again?”

Andrew peered through the doorway in time to see Uncle Henry take his wife’s chin and tip her face so their eyes could meet.

Aunt Marie laughed softly. “Now, you know an upset stomach isn’t anything to worry about.” The words were meant to appease fear, but even Andrew could see the white lines around Marie’s mouth and the way she held herself in an odd position, as if standing straight was too painful.

“I’m not convinced it’s your stomach.” Henry put his arm around Marie’s waist and guided her from the room.

Andrew stepped back to allow their passage, then followed them to the front room. He stood beside the couch where Marie sat on the edge of the cushion. Beth stood at his elbow, but he was careful not to look at her.

Marie peered up at the trio and shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just a pulled muscle, probably, from carrying this extra weight. At my age, it’s harder than it would have been twenty years ago.”

Henry looked at Beth, his brows low. “She’s been throwing up. Should a woman be throwing up at six months pregnant?”

Andrew flitted a glance at Beth’s face. Her wide blue eyes blinked in confusion.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had a baby. But it does seem odd. I always thought women just got sick in the first trimester.”

“That’s what I thought, too.”

Andrew’s ears felt hot, and he wanted to leave the personal conversation, but he didn’t know how to gracefully walk away. So he clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the black ribbons dangling from his aunt’s cap. They emphasized the pale pallor of her skin.

Marie caught Henry’s hand. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

Henry bent down on one knee, still holding his wife’s hand. “Marie, I’m worried.”

Andrew caught Beth’s eye. Despite the hurt she’d caused with her comments a few minutes earlier, he sensed her distress and wanted to help. Like he always wanted to help. She stared at him helplessly, and he reached out to brush her shoulder, just a light graze with his fingertips. A nothing touch. But she offered a small smile of thanks before facing her mother again.

“I’m fine, Henry. Really. Just old and tired.” Marie released a light laugh, convincing Andrew there was no need to fear. “There are two of them in here.” She cupped her stomach with both hands, shaking her head. “They’re probably putting pressure on a nerve or something, which is why I hurt.”

“I don’t know...”

Marie shook her head, her expression tender. “Poor first-time daddy. You’re overprotective, and I love you for it, but you don’t need to fuss so. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Henry rose, but his frown remained. “First it’s pulled muscles, then pressure on nerves. And I don’t like it.”

Marie stretched her hand up, pressing it to her husband’s chest. “Don’t worry. In another few months they’ll be here, and I’ll be back to normal. Or”—another laugh sounded—“as normal as it can possibly get with two infants vying for my attention. Believe me, you may want to return to these days when my only complaint is a stitch in my side that upsets my stomach.”

Andrew chuckled, and Beth echoed it. He looked at her again, but her gaze was on Marie.

“I’ll come by and help with housework, Mom,” Beth offered.

Marie shook her head. “Oh, no. You have a studio to run, and you need to concentrate on that. I’ll be fine. But if you want to do something to help”—she raised her brows—“you could cut Andrew loose for a day or two so those rooms can be finished on the inside.”

“I can do that.” Beth’s answer came quickly.

Too quickly. Andrew frowned. Did she see this as a way to get him out of her studio, to distance herself from him? “What about the cardinal piece?”

Beth barely glanced at him. “You’re ahead of schedule on it. We can spare a few days off from that. Take tomorrow and Monday to work here, Andrew. It’s fine.”

“I’m ahead at the shop, too,” Henry inserted. “With everyone working their fields, this is a good time for me to take a couple of days and finish those rooms.”

Andrew looked from person to person. It appeared plans had been settled. He gave a brusque nod. “Okay. I’ll be here tomorrow morning then, and I’ll bring my own trowel.”

“Dress in old clothes,” Henry warned, a grin finally finding its way to his face. “It gets messy.”

Andrew didn’t need to be told that. He’d done more than his share of mudding when other community members had built extra rooms onto their houses. Since there seemed little to add, he inched toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Good night, Uncle Henry and Aunt Marie ... Beth.” He ducked out the door before anyone answered.

***

Since Uncle Henry was also a man of few words, Andrew and he worked mostly in silence Friday. Aunt Marie popped in periodically to check on their progress, but Uncle Henry always chased her out, scolding her about breathing in the fumes from the spackle. Her teasing replies made Andrew smile. Beth definitely inherited her spunk from her mother.

Each thought of Beth brought a stab of pain. Not since he had started working at the studio several months ago had he gone more than a day without seeing her. Now he was facing four days with only a brief contact at the meetinghouse Sunday. Days had never seemed so long.

At the same time, he welcomed the break. What he’d overheard her tell her mother was hard to swallow and even harder to digest. Maybe these days away would help him find his peace with her statement. But he doubted it. Uncle Henry had carried a torch for Marie more than two decades, and it had never flickered. People always told him he looked and acted like Henry. What if he proved to be like his uncle in that regard, too? What if he was never able to let go of his desire for Beth?

That question plagued Andrew over the next two days. It wiggled through his brain during Sunday service, stealing his attention from the minister. He was contemplating it again in the churchyard, when someone slapped him on the back and nearly startled him out of his hat.

Doug Ortmann stood beside Andrew. His daughter Livvy held on to his arm and peeked around his shoulder at Andrew. “Livvy said you came by when I was out. Did you find what you needed?”

Andrew nodded, centering his hat back over his ears. “Yes, sir. A couple dozen horseshoe nails.”

“She said you also took a cat.”

Andrew noticed Livvy’s grin. He turned his gaze to Mr. Ortmann. “Yes, but I’ll probably bring the cat back.”

Trina bounced over, her white ribbons dancing beneath her chin. She caught Andrew’s elbow and clung to him, much the way Livvy clung to her father. “Mr. Ortmann, the kitten’s eye is looking better already. A thorough washing and application of ointment made a big difference. He could probably go home this afternoon, if you like.”

Mr. Ortmann shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, Trina. I was about to tell Andrew that we have plenty of cats. He can just let it go somewhere as far as I’m concerned.”

Trina’s gasp made Andrew press his elbow to his ribs, giving her fingers a comforting squeeze. “I think Trina’s gotten attached to it,” he said, “so maybe you could let her keep it?”

Ortmann smiled. “Sure. And if you need any more of those nails, just come on out.” He gave Andrew another hearty clap on the back and strode away. Livvy waved over her shoulder as they moved to speak with someone else.

Trina beamed up at him. “Thank you, Andrew! How could anyone just abandon a poor little kitten that way?” Her face clouded. “But Daddy will never let me keep it. He doesn’t mind my nursing hurt animals, but he always says no when I ask if we can have a pet.”

Andrew scratched his chin, thinking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beth with her mother and her aunt Joanna Dick. Beth’s straight brown skirt and fuzzy sweater, although much more conservative than her normal tight-fitting jeans and bright T-shirts, still marked her as non-Mennonite. His heart ached as he remembered her saying she could never be Mennonite.

“Andrew?”

Trina’s plaintive voice reminded him he’d drifted away again. Looking back at his cousin, he gave her hand on his arm a light pat. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you find a home for it. I rescued him, remember?”

Her smile returned, lighting her freckled face. Stretching up on her tiptoes, she planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Andrew. You’re the best!”

She scampered off, and Andrew stood alone, thinking. Who would take a small cat with one damaged eye? Someone who could use the company...

One person came to mind. The same person he’d been trying to forget. But maybe a little gift like a pet would help her look at him differently. It was worth a try.

***

Beth said good-bye to Aunt Joanna and her mother and turned toward her car. Her gaze swept across the churchyard and landed on Andrew, who stood alone in the middle of a patch of brown grass. He seemed lonely. The past two days, she’d been lonely, working by herself in the studio. She’d discovered she missed his company, and for a moment she considered lifting her hand in a wave.