Beginnings (19 page)

But she reminded herself that part of the reason she’d insisted he work at Henry’s was to give them some time apart, to reevaluate their relationship. Waving would only encourage him. She stuck her hand into her purse and fished for her car keys while she crossed quickly to her car. Her sporty red car with its shiny silver bumpers and white pinstripes, even though it was several years old, stood out among the Mennonites’ plain black or blue sedans. It looked especially modern next to the few horse-drawn buggies on the edge of the parking area.

Once more, she was reminded of her ill fit in this community, and she felt the urge to hurry from the churchyard. Aunt Joanna had invited her to join her family for lunch, but she had declined. Despite Andrew’s warning, she had considered sneaking to the studio, but the more she thought about a day of rest, the better it sounded.

A nap. A long nap. A refreshing nap. That’s all she wanted right now. She’d eat a quick sandwich and jump into bed for the afternoon. The decision made, she drove home. After dressing in her pajamas, she leaned against the kitchen counter and ate a peanut butter sandwich. The sandwich, followed by a glass of milk, filled her, and she headed for the bedroom. Snuggled beneath the covers, she closed her eyes and was drifting off when her telephone rang.

Her eyes popped open. For a moment she considered letting it ring itself out, but concerned it might be her mother or Henry, she threw back the covers and dashed to the kitchen. Snatching up the receiver, she said, “Hello? Beth here.”

“Beth.”

The masculine voice—not Henry’s—threw her for a moment. She rubbed her eyes. “Sean?”

“Yes. I’m sorry to bother you on Sunday.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” She stifled a yawn. “What did you need?”

“I’m going to be out of town for the next ten days. I’m flying to Denver and then driving into the mountains to finalize the building plans with a committee in Blue River.”

Beth didn’t reply, uncertain why he found it necessary to share his plans with her.

“Sometimes at that elevation my cell phone doesn’t work, and I’m not sure if I’ll have Internet access, so I wanted to let you know if you couldn’t reach me, you could call the home office and leave a message with the receptionist. She’ll forward it on to me eventually.”

For what reason would she need to contact him? Her fuzzy brain tried to process the reason for this unexpected update on his itinerary. She had only called him once. Every other conversation had been initiated by him.

“I’ll let you get back to what you were doing—”

She yawned again, slumping against the wall.

“And I’ll talk to you when I get back, if not before.”

“Okay. Have a good trip.” She put the receiver on the cradle and stumbled back to bed. She dropped across the mattress, but when her head hit the pillow, she came fully awake. Popping back up, she blinked in rapid succession, her mouth open in surprise.

Sean wanted her to know where he would be.

He wanted her to know she didn’t need to worry.

He wanted her to be able to contact him.

Flopping backward with her arms out to the side, she stared at the ceiling. That was not a business call. That was personal. Very personal.

She couldn’t decide if she found the realization flattering ... or troubling.

SEVENTEEN

Beth marked an
X
in the calendar box, then stood back and frowned. She had hoped having a visual reminder of the days left to complete the McCauley window might motivate her. All it managed to do was scare her.

Flipping the pencil around, she forcefully applied the eraser to remove the
X.
Despite herself, she felt a chuckle building. The last time she had marked
X
s on a calendar, she had been counting down the days before she would be allowed to leave Sommerfeld. When Great-Aunt Lisbeth had left her the house and café, it hadn’t come without its stipulation—live on the property for three months before dispensing of it. Who would have thought she’d end up living permanently in this little, religiously based community?

Beth tipped her head, staring at the remnants of the
X,
and considered her aunt’s motivation for the requirement. Great-Aunt Lisbeth had wanted Beth to stay, to become a part of Sommerfeld and the Koeppler family. And she had. But not completely. She lived here. She worked here. She even worshipped here. But still ... underneath ... she didn’t belong here.

“And I hate always being reminded of that!”

She nearly shouted the words, slapping the wall beside the calendar and spinning away from it. Her gaze landed on the platform. The window awaited her attention. This was her last day to work alone—Andrew would return tomorrow—so she might as well make good use of the lack of distraction.

Kneeling beside the platform, she reached for the glass pieces. Not even Sean would bother her today since he was on his way to Denver. A full day of uninterrupted work. “So, how much do I think I can accomplish?” she murmured, then shook her head. Was she going to resort to talking to
herself?
How ridiculous would that be!

Her tongue between her teeth, she leaned forward and carefully fitted a red diamond into place. An odd noise—not a knock, but more of a muffled scratch—came from outside the door. Puzzled, Beth turned her head in that direction. Had she imagined it? But no, there it came again.

Curiosity drove her to her feet. She opened the door slowly, peering out left and right. No one was there. The scratching sound came again, louder, and she looked down. A box with a line of Sunshine ketchup bottles printed on the side sat on the stoop. The scratching came from inside the box.

“What’s this?” Beth crouched down and stuck her fingers between the folded-down flaps. Something furry batted her hand. She jerked back for a moment, startled, then grabbed the flap again and pulled it open.

A gray and white whiskered face with round yellow eyes peered at her. It seemed to wink with one eye.

“A cat!” Beth laughed, delighted when the little thing raised one paw toward her as if to shake hands. “Where did you come from?”

Of course, she got no answer, but it leaped from the box and ran past her directly into the studio.

“Hey!” Beth jumped to her feet and followed. She watched the little cat walk around the periphery of the studio, stopping to examine anything that remotely resembled a threat. Threats included the legs of the display bench and Beth’s shoes, which she’d kicked off and left beside the door. She chuckled softly at the little thing’s ruffled fur, twitching tail, and lowered ears.

Its survey apparently complete, it stuck its tail straight in the air and dashed to her. Rubbing against her legs, it sent out a loud purr.

Beth knelt down. “Well, you are a nice...” She peeked. “Boy. Do you have a name?”

The kitten placed one paw on her knee and stretched the other toward her face, his whiskers twitching.

“No? Well, if you’re going to stick around, you’ll need a name.” She offered her hand, and the cat rubbed his chin against her fingers, his motor increasing in volume. He continued to hold his left eye at half-mast, as if caught in the middle of a wink. She chuckled again. “Maybe I’ll call you Winky, since you seem to enjoy doing it.”

At closer examination, Beth could see the winking eye had recently sustained some kind of injury. A scab, partially hidden by his fur, showed beneath the eye. Her heart stirred with sympathy. “You poor little guy.” She scooped him up and was delighted when he allowed her to hold him. He bumped his head on the underside of her chin and kneaded her shoulder with his little paws.

“I’ve never had a pet before, besides goldfish. And I have to admit, they weren’t nearly as friendly as you,” she informed the cat, “but I’ve always lived in apartments. I have my own house now, and I get to make the rules. So I suppose it’s okay if you stay.”

The telephone rang, and Beth got to her feet without relinquishing the cat. He grabbed the receiver with both front paws and bit it when she pressed it to her head. “Good morning, Quinn’s Stained-Glass Art Studio.”

“Good morning, honey.” Mom’s voice came through in a cheerful tone. “I called the house, but you must have left early.”

Beth lifted her chin, trying to avoid Winky’s swinging paws. “Yes. I’ve got to make use of every available hour these days.”

“I understand. Henry and Andrew are painting today, and they promise me the rooms will be ready for inspection by suppertime.”

“Really?” Winky caught her ponytail and chewed on the strands, his motor rising several decibels. She put him on the floor, where he wove around her feet, his tail whipping the air. “They’ve made good progress then.”

“Oh, yes.” Mom’s light chuckle sounded. “And they demand a celebration. So I’m fixing pot roast, potatoes, carrots ... the whole shebang. Want to join us?”

“Why me? I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Yes, you did. You let Andrew have a couple days off so he could work here. So you’re included.”

Beth chewed her lower lip and watched Winky attack a piece of string he found under the display bench. Did she want to spend an evening with Andrew? It might give him ideas. Then again, it might give her an opportunity to ease back into their working relationship. Thinking about being alone with him tomorrow gave her an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. But an evening with Mom and Henry in attendance might provide a nice transition to once again being alone with Andrew.

“That sounds fine. Want me to bring something?”

“Well, if the café were open, I’d call Deborah and ask her to set aside some rolls and dessert, maybe a coconut cream pie. Henry loves it. But since it’s Monday, we can’t do that.”

Beth swallowed a hoot of laughter as Winky rolled onto his back, holding the string between his front paws and kicking at it with his back ones.
He must think it’s a vicious string.

“Beth? Are you there?”

Beth gave a start and turned her back on the cat so she could focus on what her mother was saying. “Yes. Sorry. How ’bout I pick up some rolls and a prebaked pie at the grocer? They won’t be as good as Deborah’s, but they’ll be better than anything I could cook.”

Mom’s laughter sounded. “Okay, that sounds fine. Be here by six. We’ll tour the bedrooms first and then eat.”

Beth nodded. Perfect. After dinner she could return to the studio for a couple more hours of work if need be. “Okay. Thanks, Mom. See you then.”

After hanging up the receiver, she put her hands on her hips and shook her head at the cat. “You are entirely too cute, Mr. Winky. I don’t know how you got here, but I think I’m going to enjoy having you around.”

***

Andrew prolonged the last few sips of his coffee as he listened to the one-sided telephone conversation. His heart thumped. Had Beth opened the back door and found the cat yet? Her early arrival had spoiled his initial plan of having the box waiting for her when she got to the studio. He’d had to be extra quiet placing the box on the stoop and sneaking away.

But now worries struck. What if the cat managed to escape and all she found was an empty box? Should he have stuck around and made sure the cat made it safely into the studio?

He wanted to ask Aunt Marie, yet he wanted to keep the surprise gift a secret. He wished she’d say something to give him some clue about whether or not Beth had found the cat.

Marie moved to the stove with a swaying gait and picked up the coffeepot. She sent a smile in his direction as she held out the pot. “More?”

Andrew swallowed the last drops and shook his head. “No. I better get my paint roller out. Uncle Henry’s already hard at it. Did Beth”—he searched for a question that might lead Aunt Marie to offer what he sought—“say anything ... about...?”

Aunt Marie raised one brow. “About coming to dinner? Yes, she’ll be here. And I promised her a tour before we eat.”

Her smile encouraged Andrew to go get busy. He gave a nod. “It’ll be ready.”

***

Midmorning, Beth took a break and walked to her uncle Art’s place of business, Koeppler Feed and Seed. Although he dealt mostly in farm implements, she knew a small selection of pet supplies was stored in the back corner of the store. She hoped she’d be able to find cat litter and one of those scooper things in addition to food and perhaps a collar with a little bell on it. She smiled. Winky was a sneaky beast—her feet had been attacked numerous times in their short time together. If a bell signaled his presence, maybe she wouldn’t be caught off guard anymore.

Entering the shop, she headed straight to the counter, where an old-fashioned cash register took up one full corner. No digital readouts or computers in Sommerfeld. This store, like so many others in town, still held the feel of its early 1920s beginning. The wide planked floor and simple shelving, lit by bare bulbs hanging from twisted wire from the stamped tin ceiling, gave Beth the impression of stepping back in time. The smells—leather and sawdust and grain—added to that sensation.

Art’s wife, Doris, stood behind the counter, shifting items around in a box. She looked up and, probably without even realizing it, swept her gaze from Beth’s head to her feet and up again. The seconds-long examination complete, a small smile formed on her lips.