Beginnings (2 page)

Andrew paused in transferring glass squares to felt-lined shelves, his brows puckered. “I swept just before I left at noon. You’re sweeping again?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you run the cutter while I was gone?”

“Nope.” She ignored his sour look and drew the broom’s bristles across the floor, collecting tiny shavings of glass. No matter how many times they swept, they could never get it all. The carbide cutter sent out miniscule fragments, and they had a way of traveling to every square inch of floor rather than politely staying beneath the cutting table. The small pile of multicolored bits took on the appearance of sugar crystals, but eating them would be a huge mistake. She’d have to exercise caution when the babies her mother was carrying were big enough to come visit.

Beth paused in her sweeping, her heart skipping a beat with the thought of the twins who would arrive in another four months. That was a change to which she still hadn’t adjusted. After twenty-one years of having her mother to herself, she now shared her with a stepfather, a host of relatives, and soon, a new brother and sister. Although it had once been Mom and her against the world, now Beth often felt as though it was Mom’s world against her.

Pushing the thought aside, she whisked the glass bits into a dustpan and dropped the broom. She crossed the floor and held the dustpan out to Andrew. “See? Glass sugar. I could sweep again right now and find more. I think it comes up through the concrete.”

Andrew chuckled—a deep, throaty sound that always made Beth feel like smiling. “Oh, I doubt that.”

She shivered as she dumped the glass fragments into the trash bin right outside the back door, lifting her gaze briefly to the crystal blue sky. No clouds, which meant no more snow. At least for now. She had discovered the weather could change quickly here where the wind pushed unhindered across the open plains.

After clamping the bin’s lid back in place, she scurried through the doorway and nearly collided with Andrew, who stood right inside the threshold. His nearness made her pulse race, and she took a sideways step as she slammed the door closed with her hip.

He reached into his pocket. “I almost forgot. I got you some horseshoe nails like you wanted.” Holding out a small, crumpled, brown bag, he added, “There’s a dozen in there, but if you need more, I can get them.”

Beth took the bag and unrolled the top to peek inside. “Thanks. I’ll probably need more eventually, but this will get me started.” She offered a smile. “This will work so much better for keeping the assembled pieces in place when I work with larger sections. The lead scraps are fine for holding my smaller works, but as I try to enlarge...”

Andrew nodded. “Just let me know when you want more.” He started for the door, then paused and turned back, giving his forehead a bump with the heel of his hand. “Oh. Uncle Henry and Aunt Marie are coming to our house for supper tonight. My mom said to ask if you’d like to come, too.”

Beth rolled the bag closed as she considered his question. While she appreciated the efforts made by her stepfather’s family to include her, she always ended up feeling out of place with her worldly clothes and pierced ears. Andrew’s father was one of the worst—his scowling disapproval made her want to disappear. Not once had the man smiled at her, even in her mother’s presence, and Mom was his sister-in-law!

As she sought an answer, she felt a yawn build. She gave it free rein and then pushed her lips into a regretful pout.

“I’m sorry, Andrew. Tell your mom thanks for the invitation, but I’ve been putting in some long days finishing up the cardinal piece. I think I’ll just head home, eat a sandwich, and turn in early.”

Andrew shrugged. “Okay. Have a good evening then.” He stepped out the door, leaving her alone.

***

Andrew pressed his fork through the flaky layer of crust topping the wedge of cherry pie in front of him and carried the bite to his mouth. His mother made the best pie of anyone in Sommerfeld, where every girl learned to bake as soon as she was old enough to wield a wooden spoon. If he could find a girl who cooked as good as his mother, he’d marry her in a heartbeat.

Heat filled his face at his bold thoughts, and he glanced around the table at the visiting adults. They seemed oblivious to his flaming cheeks, and he released a small sigh of relief before digging once more into the pie.

Lately his thoughts turned too frequently to matrimony. Part of it, of course, was his age. At twenty-three as of a month ago, he was old enough to assume responsibility for a wife ... and children. He chewed rapidly, dislodging that thought. Part of it was being the only son still living at home, his brothers all having established homes of their own. And part of it was Beth.

His hand slowed on its way to his mouth as an image of Beth Quinn filled his mind. Her long, shining ponytail, her bright blue eyes, the delicate cleft in her sweet chin, the way her slender hands held a pencil as she sketched her designs onto butcher paper...

“Andrew?”

Mother’s voice from across the table brought him out of his reverie.

She pointed at his fork, which he held beneath his chin. “Are you going to finish that pie or just hold it all evening?”

A light roll of laughter went around the table. Andrew quickly shoved the bite into his mouth, certain his cheeks were once again blazing. On his right, Uncle Henry gave him a light nudge with his elbow.

“If a man’s not eating, he has something important on his mind. Want to share?”

If the two had been alone, Andrew probably would have asked his uncle’s advice on how to cope with these odd feelings he harbored for Beth. After all, Uncle Henry had loved Beth’s mother for years—even during the period when she wasn’t a part of the fellowship of their meetinghouse. Surely he, of all people, would understand Andrew’s dilemma.

But they had an audience—Henry’s wife, Marie, and Andrew’s parents. So rather than approach the topic that weighed heavily in his thoughts, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Beth got that commissioned cardinal scene finished, and it’s a beauty.”

Both Uncle Henry and Aunt Marie smiled, their pleasure apparent. Equally apparent was Mother’s worry and Dad’s disapproval.

Dad cleared his throat. “One picture doesn’t make a career, son. Don’t put too much stock in it.”

The cherry pie lost its appeal. He pushed the plate aside. For as long as he could remember, his father had discouraged his interest in artistic endeavors. How many times had he been told in a thundering tone that a man couldn’t make a living with pictures, that he needed to set aside such foolishness and choose something practical? More times than he could count. The only reason Dad tolerated his time at the studio now was because during the winter months he wasn’t needed as much on the farm. Yet Andrew knew that even when spring arrived he’d want to be in the studio. Unlike his brothers, his heart wasn’t in farming or hog raising.

Mother put her hand on Dad’s arm. “Andrew’s doing Beth a big favor by helping in her studio.”

“I know that,” Dad countered, his gaze fixed on Andrew. “And I’m not telling him he shouldn’t help her out. It’s a Christian thing to do. We’ve all offered Marie’s girl assistance in that undertaking of hers. I’m glad she’s enjoying it and doing well. But neither should he start thinking that one commissioned stained-glass art piece is going to lead to a career that could take care of a family, which is what Andrew needs to consider. I want him to
think.
”

Mother’s hand gave several pats before she pulled it away. She sent Andrew an apologetic look. Andrew gave her a slight nod to show his appreciation for her attempt at support, but he knew any further talk would only lead to an argument with his father. He’d endured enough of those in the past. Didn’t need one now.

Pushing his hands against the edge of the table, he said, “May I be excused?”

Mother nodded, her expression sad. As Andrew headed for his bedroom, he admitted having his mother’s sympathy was a small consolation for the constant disapproval he received from his father when it came to using his talent. His God-given talent...

Andrew paused in his bedroom doorway, absorbing the phrase
God-given talent.
Didn’t the Bible say that God gave gifts? And didn’t the Bible say man should not squander what God had given? Why couldn’t his father see past the end of his sunburned nose and recognize his way wasn’t the only way?

Too restless to turn in, Andrew reversed direction and returned to the dining room, where the four adults still sat sipping coffee and chatting. “I know Beth has plans for that February craft fair at the mall in Salina. Since she’s spent so much time on the cardinal piece, she’s behind on cutting glass for the cross suncatchers that sell so well. I’m going to head over to the studio and do some cutting—help her out.”

Mother’s lips pursed, no doubt a silent reprimand for him having interrupted the conversation. Dad’s lips pinched, too. Andrew knew him well enough to read his mind. Dad didn’t want Andrew involved in the world of art. And he didn’t want Andrew entangled in Beth’s world. But it was too late. Andrew’s interests were fully entrenched in art ... and in Beth.

Before Dad could form an angry blast, Andrew turned and headed for the door.

TWO

Beth stretched out on the sawdust-stuffed sofa and crossed her ankles. Although she appreciated not having to purchase furnishings, she was considering replacing Great-Aunt Lisbeth’s ancient sofa with something modern. And soft.

Picking up the television remote from the little wood table at the end of the sofa, she aimed it at the glass box across the room and clicked through the stations. Thanks to the satellite dish on the roof of the house, she had a variety of programs from which to choose, but nothing caught her interest. With a sigh, she turned off the television and leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

Her great-aunt Lisbeth probably wouldn’t recognize her house anymore. In the year since Beth had assumed ownership, she’d made good use of the money from the sale of Lisbeth’s Café to update the house according to her own preferences. Electricity, which made possible the use of a central heating and air-conditioning unit; carpet over the hardwood floors; two telephone lines—one of which was used for the Internet; the addition of a washer and dryer set up in the utility porch; and a modernized kitchen. Not that she did a lot of cooking. But the microwave worked great for frozen dinners and for reheating leftovers frequently delivered by Mom.

Mom had slipped—with few bumps in the road, it seemed—back into the simple Old Order way of life in which she’d been raised, but Beth couldn’t imagine doing without the conveniences of modern life outside of this little community. She wouldn’t be here were it not for her mother and her studio.

And needing to distance herself as much as possible from Mitch. Even now, the pain of his betrayal stung. She turned her attention elsewhere.

Her thoughts drifted to the studio, where her newly completed project awaited packaging and transporting to the gallery in Wichita. A rush of nervous excitement filled her as she wondered how the gallery owners would respond to the piece.
Oh, please, let them like it!
her thoughts begged.

Her mother had told her God wouldn’t have opened the doors to her discovering her unique talent for stained-glass art if He didn’t intend for her to use it. But Beth still harbored a touch of insecurity. Her relationship with God was still new enough that—even though it carried a great deal of importance to her—she hadn’t quite found her niche. She wasn’t 100 percent sure where God wanted her to be.

Everything had fallen so neatly into place for her establishing the studio and getting started with stained-glass art. Mom believed this meant it was God’s will. Beth still worried it might simply be a series of coincidences. Things had seemed to fall neatly into place for her to start an antiques boutique, too, but that hadn’t turned out so well, thanks to Mitch. How could she be so sure this new undertaking would be successful?

She longed for the peace and assurance her mother possessed. Perhaps, she reasoned, it would come when her relationship with God had time to mature. She certainly hoped so. One thing was certain: She would not involve someone else in this business venture. Not as a partner. She wouldn’t put that much trust in anyone else ever again.

Swinging her legs from the sofa, she headed to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of water. Sipping, she looked out the window at the soft Kansas evening. The velvet sky scattered with stars still amazed her with its beauty. The sky seemed so much bigger here on the plain than it had in the city. It was quiet, too, with only the occasional hum of distant traffic offering a gentle reminder of life outside this peaceful community. At times, Beth appreciated the solitude and simplicity, and at other times, this life felt stifling.

Like now.

She slammed the plastic tumbler onto the countertop and headed to the utility porch. She plucked her woolly coat from a hook on the wall and slipped it on, pulling the hood over her tangled ponytail. The President’s Day Extravaganza at the Salina Mall was just a few weeks away, and she needed to add to her inventory of small pieces if she wanted to fill the booth she’d reserved.

Tomorrow she’d be transporting the cardinal piece to Wichita, which meant a shorter workday. She might as well take advantage of these evening hours and get the pieces cut for at least one suncatcher. It would put her a step ahead. And a walk through the frosty January evening, listening to her feet crunch through the remaining crust of snow and breathing in the crisp air, might help release the restiveness in her heart.