Love Still Stands (21 page)

Who could stand all this noise?

Two steps later he slowed. The smell of old paper and dust welcomed him, along with
a sight to behold. The store went on and on, acres of rows of…stuff. Old sewing machines,
quilts, clothes on hangers stuck on a rope tied between bookshelves, kerosene lanterns,
books with yellowed paper and worn covers, jars of buttons, jars of marbles, jars
of snaps and safety pins, rocking chairs, jewelry, belts, old shoes, denim jackets,
high chairs, bassinets, tricycles, bicycles, tea sets, watering cans, milk cans, coffee
tables, paintings of flowers, paintings of landscapes and cowboys and the Last Supper
and bulldogs that seemed to be playing cards on black velvet. Stuff occupied every
inch of space, every nook and cranny, high and low. Hung close to the ceiling were
stop signs and street signs and license plates from dozens of states. All the homes
in his new community combined did not contain as much stuff as did this store.

“What can I do you for?” A chubby lady dressed in jeans and a pink T-shirt that read
Sweet as Cotton Candy—Missouri State Fair
trilled the question in an exaggerated Southern drawl as she trotted from between
an aisle of pottery and an aisle of skillets, pots, and pans. She swished a dish towel
between her hands. Dust billowed from it. She sneezed one tiny, almost polite sneeze.
“Oh, it’s one of you.”

Luke wasn’t sure what she meant by that, so he kept quiet.

She tucked the towel under her arm and produced a wrinkled, white handkerchief from
the back pocket of her jeans, wiped her nose, and stuffed the hankie back from whence
it had come. “Sorry about that. Can’t keep up with the dust in here and it aggravates
my allergies something fierce.”

She held out a hand. “Diana Doolittle.”

“Ah.” Elijah had done a good job describing her, with her silver cap of hair and chubby
cheeks. “Luke Shirack, one of them.”

She chuckled. “Sorry. One of these days, you’ll be one of us.”

Not something he necessarily aspired to be, but he understood the sentiment. “How
long does that usually take?”

“The folks who bought the old Reilly place fifteen years ago are still newcomers around
here.”

“Figured as much.”

“You need something for your new kitchen? I’ve got complete sets of dishes. Beautiful
china. Picked ’em up at an estate sale in Clark last week. Got plenty of kerosene
lanterns too. I figured since you don’t have electricity, you need plenty of lanterns.”

Elijah had been right about the avalanche of words too. “I’m interested in having
an auction to raise money for our school.”

“An auction?” Her bushy white eyebrows popped up, giving her the wide-eyed look of
someone not quite right in her noggin. “What do you have to sell?”

“Our womenfolk make quilts—”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard about that. You know they could sell them on consignment here
in my store, if it’s a way to make money you’re looking for.”

“It’s not just quilts. We have home canned fruits, vegetables, jams and jellies, knitted
baby blankets, baby clothes, embroidered table clothes. The men are handcrafting chairs,
tables, wood furniture of all kinds. There was a lot of old equipment and appliances
still in working order that were left on the farms we bought. Lots of stuff we don’t
need.” Luke explained the purpose of the auction. “Everyone contributes. In Bliss
Creek, a lot of the Englisch folks donated items too. I thought if we had it here
in town at the auction yard, more people would come…it being more convenient and all.”

“The auction yard. What a great idea. My husband’s the auctioneer, you know. He’s
really good at it too.” Her plump cheeks pinked up. “You don’t think it’s getting
to be too cold to have it outside? Our schedule is pretty tight. We have dates open
in early December. Of course, that’s good timing for people looking to buy Christmas
presents. Those quilts make fabulous Christmas presents. Course, I can never give
them up. I have one on every bed in our house. Bought a couple up in La Plata and
another one in Jamesport.”

She paused to take a breath. Luke leaped in.

“We need to raise the money now. Is your husband here?” Luke longed to be back at
the farm. He longed for spring and planting time. Digging fence post holes would be
easier than this. “I’d like to ask about his services.”

“Bob’s in the back.” She mumbled the words as if she couldn’t quite spit them out.
“He’s in a…meeting.”

“Who’s in a meeting?”

Out strolled a man tall enough to make Luke look up, and Luke was no shorty. The man’s
hair was longer than his wife’s and the color of pewter. Behind him trotted a bent,
wizened man leaning on a cane. He was made short by virtue of his bent shoulders and
bowed legs. The air immediately reeked of cigar smoke.

“I thought you were in a meeting with some of the city council folks and the sheriff.”
Diana’s hands fluttered in the air. “This man here is looking to have an auction.
Quilts, furniture, homemade goods, maybe some livestock. A fund-raiser for their school.”

The pink on her cheeks had deepened to the color of cherries. Not a good sign. Luke
studied the man who crossed his arms against a western-style checkered shirt. He made
an obvious appraisal of Luke, head to toe, and then turned to the man sucking on the
stinking cigar. “You hear that, Mayor? They want to have an auction to raise money
for their school.”

“Now, dear, Sam is retired. He’s not the mayor.”

“That’s right, I’m the mayor, thank you very much, Diana, for reminding me of that.”
Bob rolled his eyes. “Sam is mayor emeritus. I consult with him on matters of importance.”

“Like you have all these huge issues to resolve in this little town.” Apparently this
lady didn’t feel the need to agree with her husband, even in front of other men. “Really,
Bob.”

“We’re booked through the end of the year.”

“But we have dates—”

“Diana, you know as well as I do the schedule’s full right up until January.”

Her mouth opened and shut.

“What do you need your own school for anyway?” Sam had the gravelly voice of a smoker.
“We got fine schools here in New Hope.”

“Our schools got plenty of students.” Sheriff McCormack strode from the same direction
as the other two men had a few minutes earlier. He had his own cigar held between
thumb and forefinger. Luke covered his mouth and coughed. The sheriff grinned. “I
already had this conversation with Mr. Shirack.”

“Just Luke.”

“Just Luke, the folks around here don’t want your crafts.” Bob attempted a smile,
but it had more the look of a sneer. “They get plenty of those down in Webster County
around Christmastime.”

“It seemed one way of introducing ourselves to the folks here.”

“Folks here keep to themselves.”

“So you said, Sheriff.” Luke drew a breath.
Tread softly
. “If you have no openings in your schedule, that’s fine. We’ll work something out.
The school is fine in the meantime.”

“So they’re in school.”

“Jah. It opened earlier this week.”

“Good to know.” The sheriff rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “Can’t have them
running around the countryside.”

“When they’re not in school, they’re working. No running around.” Why did he feel
the need to say that? He tipped his hat. “Thank you for your time.”

“No problem.”

“Remember, if the ladies want to sell their quilts on consignment here, it’s no problem.”
Diana ignored her husband’s frown. “Forty percent fee.”

No problem for her. She’d would receive almost half of the proceeds for sales meant
to benefit the school and the scholars. The quilts were highly sought after and would
bring a healthy price at the fund-raiser. “I’ll let them know.”

He’d let his folks know they would be coming up with their own location. Maybe Webster
County had a Plain auctioneer. They might want to travel here for a sale out in front
of the school. The New Hope Plain families could return the favor come time for fund-raisers
out their way.

Keeping themselves apart from the world wouldn’t prove to be difficult here in New
Hope. He should consider that a blessing. Instead, he felt unwelcome. And homesick.

Don’t be such a little boy. Buck up
. What would his daed have done? He’d buy some candies for the kinner, go home, and
get to work. So that’s what Luke did.

Chapter 21

P
anting, Bethel pumped the stationary bicycle pedals. She closed her eyes and pretended
she was riding the bike on the dirt road that curved its way through the farm and
along the path that would take her to the creek that divided their property from the
Daugherties’. That would never happen. Her district didn’t allow bicycles. Some did,
she’d heard, but Bishop Kelp had said no to the rubber tires. She’d never really given
any thought as to why. The Ordnung was the Ordnung. Sweat dripped down her forehead
and she swiped at it with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Missing two physical therapy
sessions had set her back. The muscles in her legs trembled and the ones in her back
seemed to be caught in perpetual spasms. She inhaled, intent on breathing through
the pain. What did Doctor Karen keep telling her? No pain, no gain.

Easy for her to say with her sturdy legs and quick stride that carried her around
the room
snap-snap
.

Bethel opened her eyes and peeked. Maybe her time was up. The PT smiled at her and
gave her two thumbs up. At that moment, Bethel hated those thumbs. “You’re doing great.
Keep going. You have to make up for lost time.”

She smiled back, glad Doctor Karen had stopped chewing her out. She had not been happy
about the two missed sessions. She fussed on and on about losing muscle tone faster
than she acquired it. Bethel hadn’t told her about the upcoming trip to Bliss Creek
for the wedding. She’d miss a few more sessions—soon. And she couldn’t wait to see
her folks and her brothers and sisters and her friends. God forgive her, she couldn’t
wait to get away from the morose silence at the supper table each night as Leah slapped
dishes on the table and Luke stuffed food in his mouth so fast it was obvious he simply
wanted to finish and leave the table. Neither had spoken about the day of the school
build. Bethel pedaled harder. Leah had everything she wanted and yet she was unhappy.
Gott, how could that be? You’ve given her everything
.

She pedaled still harder. She had no right to question God’s wisdom. His plan.
I only want to understand. I suppose I have no right to ask. No right
. Her muscles ached and her arms trembled. No right to ask why Elijah had gone to
Webster County twice since the school build. Once with Silas to see the chicken farm
run by Viola Byler’s father. Viola, the schoolteacher. Once to look at a horse Silas
had decided to buy to replace Ned. Why did she care? Elijah could do whatever he wanted.
It wasn’t like they were courting.

Her face burned at the thought. Of course they weren’t. She didn’t look at Elijah
that way. He certainly didn’t look at her that way, as evidenced by his interest in
Viola. He was a helper. Nothing more.

Still, sometimes it felt like more. She could admit that to herself. Even though the
thought made her heart do a strange one-two, one-two beat and her skin feel hot with
embarrassment. That night with the cinnamon roll. The way he’d looked at her when
he said those words.
You don’t think I can understand?
And each time she rode in the buggy with him to these sessions. Maybe she was guilty
of letting herself imagine that they were doing more than sharing a ride into town.
Nee. Pain gripped her heart in a sickening embrace. She caught her breath and swallowed
against it. Her legs slowed. Her hands felt slick on the handle grips.

Just a driver. Just a driver
. It wasn’t like he’d ever shone a flashlight in her window. No one had done that
since Abraham Hartman when she was seventeen. Abraham who’d changed his mind and married
Ruth Hostetler that next November.

“You’re slowing down. Get a move on, girl. Pump those legs.”

The voice she’d thought so lovely and sweet at the beginning of their sessions now
grated on Bethel. It sounded more like her mother on laundry day. Still, she picked
up the pace and tried to keep her mind off Elijah and his oh-so helpful ways that
didn’t extend beyond giving her a ride. Or his strong hands, callused and tanned,
with the scar that ran along his knuckles where he’d caught it on barbed wire. His
eyes the color of a brilliant blue sky. The dimple in his left cheek when he smiled.

Stop it
.

She closed her eyes and put herself back on the bike in the woods by the creek. She
might not ride a bike there, but someday she would run. She would run, arms pumping,
legs stretching. And then she would play volleyball and baseball with her scholars
in the field by the new school. She tried to imagine the creek with its rushing water
and the birds calling to each other in the trees. Scolding each other, chattering.
They always sounded like nosy women gossiping about this and that, nothing important.

The path smelled like damp moss and decomposing leaves. The water smelled fresh. It
reminded her of swimming in the stream back home in Bliss Creek with her sisters and
her friends when they were twelve years old and summer nights lasted forever. Chores
were done. Stars sparkled in the sky. Mosquitoes buzzed. They swam and splashed each
other and then grabbed their towels and ran home when the boys showed up for their
swim.