The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club (9 page)

Mary’s face relaxed a bit. “One thing I do know is that you have been blessed with the ability to sense when people are hurting. You proved that many times during my childhood, and especially during my teen years when I had a problem and didn’t share it until you wormed it right out of me.”

Emma grinned. “Well, I hope I won’t have to worm anything out of my students, but I would ask you to pray that the Lord will give me insight and wisdom in knowing what to say and when to say it.”

Mary nodded. “I’ll be praying for you, as well as your students.”

F
or the last three days, Jan and Terry had been roofing a house in LaGrange, and by the time Jan got home from work each evening, he was too tired to do anything but fix a quick bite of supper, play a few tunes on his harmonica, and fall into bed. The roof on the house in LaGrange had been steep, and he was glad to have it done. Every muscle in his legs seemed to hurt from the energy it took to keep his balance on that high-pitched roof.

But Thursday morning it was raining too hard to begin his next job in Middlebury, so Jan was at home, just him and his dog, Brutus. He’d acquired the black and tan German shepherd two years ago when it was a pup. Brutus had proved to be a good companion, although due to Jan’s busy work schedule during the warmer months, he didn’t spend much time with the dog.

A roll of thunder sounded in the distance as Jan poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the kitchen table. Brutus, sleeping peacefully under the table, didn’t budge; he just began to snore.

Jan decided that today would be a good opportunity for him to begin working on his quilting project. With Saturday only two days away, he wanted to be sure he’d done his homework as Emma had instructed. What she’d asked them to do seemed easy enough, so he was sure he could get it done quickly. He figured once he finished the wall hanging, he might try to make a full-sized quilt. He could donate it to one of the local benefit auctions. There always seemed to be plenty of those going on in the area, since that’s how many of the Amish raised money to help with medical expenses. One thing for sure: Jan couldn’t wait to tell his probation officer when he saw her next week that he’d found something creative to do.

He thought about Emma and smiled. Through his job and living in Shipshewana, he’d met other Amish people, but he hadn’t gotten to know any of them very well. Emma Yoder seemed like the type of person who easily made friends, and her patience with those in the class last Saturday made him think she was easygoing and accepting of others.

Emma kinda reminds me of Mom, God rest her soul, Jan thought as he gulped down his lukewarm coffee and headed to the living room to get the material he needed. She’s even got that same perky smile and soft way of speaking Mom had. Wish I could say the same for my dad
.

Jan’s mother had died from a brain tumor when he was seventeen. A year later, his dad split for parts unknown, never to return. Jan was an only child, and since he had no intention of living with his drunken uncle, Al, he lit out on his own, doing whatever odd jobs he could find and living in the back of his beat-up van. Jan ended up in Chicago for a time, where he’d bought a motorcycle, joined a club, and met the girl he thought he would marry. When things went sour, he stuck around for a while but finally moved on, doing everything from slinging hash at a diner in Sturgis, South Dakota, to boring factory work in Springfield, Missouri. Several years later, while living in Grand Rapids, Michigan, Jan learned the roofing trade under the guidance of a motorcycle buddy who had his own business. After a few years, Jan became restless, so he moved on and eventually ended up in Shipshewana, where he’d opened his own business. It was the first time he’d stayed in one place for more than a year, and since he really liked it in this quiet, quaint little town, he felt sure he would stay.

Jerking his thoughts back to the present, Jan was about to grab his sack of material when someone knocked on the front door.

“Now I wonder who that could be,” Jan mumbled, ambling across the room. With the rain coming down as hard as it was, he couldn’t imagine anyone being out in this weather. He could hear the rain from inside as it pelted his roof.

When Jan opened the door, he was surprised to see Selma Nash, the elderly woman who lived in the house next door, standing on his porch. She held a black umbrella in one hand, but it hadn’t done much to protect her clothes, because the skirt of her dress and sleeves on her light-weight jacket were wet.

“‘Mornin’, Selma. What brings you to my door on this rainy spring day?” he asked, offering her a smile and hoping it would wipe away the deep frown that graced her wrinkled face. “Is everything okay?”

Selma’s frown deepened. “No, young man, everything’s not okay.”

“No?”

She shook her head.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m getting sick and tired of your dog tearing up my flower beds. If you don’t do something about it, I’m going to call animal control and have that mutt hauled off to the pound!”

Jan’s eyebrows shot up. “Brutus is here in the house with me. Fact is, he’s sleepin’ under the kitchen table right now, so I don’t see how he can be diggin’ in your flower beds.”

Selma lowered her umbrella and gave it a little shake. “Now don’t you play games with me, Mr. Sweet. I know the mess Brutus made wasn’t done just now. He did it yesterday while you were at work.”

“How do you know it was my dog and not someone else’s?” Jan questioned. “There’s several other dogs in this here neighborhood, you know.”

“Humph! I know it was Brutus.”

“How can you be so sure? Did you actually see him diggin’ up the flowers?”

“No, but I saw him wandering around my yard soon after you left for work, and it wasn’t long after that when I noticed that my flower beds had been torn up.” She shook the umbrella a little harder this time, sending a spray of water in Jan’s direction.

He stepped back, but not before getting hit in the face with a few drops of liquid sunshine. “I ain’t believin’ that my Brutus tore up your flower beds, but I’ll do my best to keep my eye on him from here on out.”

She pursed her lips and tipped her head back as she stared up at him, her milky blue eyes narrowing into tiny slits. “And just how are you planning to do that? With you working all day, that mangy mutt of yours is free to do whatever he wants. You know, there are laws about controlling your pets.”

Jan couldn’t argue with any of that. When he put Brutus outside every morning, he had no idea what the dog was up to all day. But he didn’t think Brutus wandered very far, because when he arrived home from work, the dog was usually lying on the front porch waiting for him. Since the house he’d bought a few years ago was in the country and on nearly an acre of land, Jan had never felt the need to chain the dog up or build him a pen. Now, with Brutus being under suspicion with the neighbor, Jan figured he’d better do something about the situation. He sure didn’t want the old lady calling animal control and having Brutus hauled off to the pound.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, smiling at Selma. “I’ll build Brutus a dog pen just as soon as I find the time. Until then, I’ll keep him in the garage when I’m gone. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, I suppose that will keep him from digging up my flowers again, but what about the pansies he’s already ruined? Are you going to buy me some new ones?”

Jan hated to shell out money for flowers he wasn’t sure his dog had wrecked, but he didn’t want to rile the old lady anymore than she already was. So rather than argue about it, he reached into his jeans’ pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Think this’ll cover the cost of some new posies?”

She gave a quick nod. “It was pansies your dog destroyed, Mr. Sweet, and you’d better see that it doesn’t happen again.”

“No, it sure won’t.”

Selma lifted the umbrella over her head and hurried away, muttering something under her breath about wishing she had a better neighbor—someone without a dog.

When Jan returned to the living room, now out of the mood to work on the wall hanging, he spotted Brutus lying on the sofa. “Mrs. Nash would probably pitch a fit if she knew I allowed you to be on the furniture.” Jan plopped down beside Brutus and reached out to stroke the dog’s silky ears. “Lucky for you I didn’t invite her in.”

Brutus grunted and nuzzled Jan’s hand with his wet nose. Jan was glad for the loyalty of the dog, because he knew some people couldn’t be trusted. With the exception of his biker buddies, Jan didn’t allow himself to get close to many people—especially women. He hadn’t lived forty years without learning a few things about the opposite sex. He’d been burned once by a cute little thing who’d promised to love him forever, and he’d vowed sometime ago that he’d never let it happen again.

Deciding to watch TV for a while, he reached for the remote under his sleeping dog’s paw. As he did, he looked closer and noticed some dirt caked on the pads of Brutus’s front feet.

“Brutus, was that you diggin’ up the flower beds next door?”

Oblivious to the words of his master, Brutus started making muffled barking noises as he continued to sleep.

Jan smiled to himself as he watched the dog, still dreaming and now making digging motions with his two front feet. How comical it looked with those paws moving while his muzzle quivered as if he was trying to bark. All Jan could do was chuckle as he thought,
Think I’d better get that dog pen built as soon as I can
.

Goshen

Ruby Lee stepped into the sanctuary to practice the songs she’d picked out for Sunday. A knot formed in her stomach. It was hard to believe she and Gene had been here for ten years already. It was also difficult to believe that the joy they’d felt when Gene had been asked to take this church was now far removed. At least for Ruby Lee. Gene went about his ministerial duties, acting as though nothing was wrong, but she was sure that deep inside he was hurting—probably more than her, truth be told. She’d seen her husband’s pained expression when he’d come home from the last few board meetings. She’d heard his concern when he talked about the future of their church. If she only knew of something that might make things better. If she could just take away the pain and frustration tugging at her and Gene’s hearts.

Ruby Lee knew she should go to the altar and leave her burdens there, but she didn’t feel like praying today. Oh, she’d brought this problem to the Lord many times already. Nothing had changed, and it was beginning to affect her ability to minister to others. She felt as if her faith was being tested and wondered if an end was in sight.

With a sigh of resignation, Ruby Lee took a seat at the piano and opened the hymnbook. Besides the lively choruses they sang every Sunday to open the worship service, they always did a few traditional hymns. Ruby Lee’s favorite was “Rock of Ages,” one of the songs she’d decided to play this Sunday.

“‘Rock of ages,’” she sang as she played along, “‘cleft for me. Let me hide myself in thee.’”

She certainly felt like hiding these days—hiding from the church people—hiding from her friends—and yes, even hiding from God. With the problems the church had been having, her faith in those who called themselves Christians had begun to dwindle little by little, week by week. But she couldn’t let on. She had to keep her chin high and put a smile on her face so no one would know about the deep ache in her heart. After all, she was the pastor’s wife, and it was her duty to set a good example to others. It wouldn’t be right to let anyone in the congregation know how truly miserable she felt. It might jeopardize Gene’s ministry.

As Ruby Lee’s fingers glided easily over the piano keys, she continued to play the rest of the song. No longer able to sing, her thoughts went to the quilting class she’d attended last Saturday. Emma Yoder seemed like such a pleasant, patient person. The kind she could easily make her friend.

In two days she would be going to Emma’s house for another lesson, and Ruby Lee wondered how things would go.
Too bad I’m not Emma’s only student, she thought wistfully. It would be easier to learn quilting if the others weren’t there, asking so many unnecessary questions and making catty remarks, the way Stuart Johnston did last week
.