The Heart's Journey: Stitches in Time Series #2 (11 page)

She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t believe the stuff you eat.”

“C’mon, Amish food is hardly low calorie.”

“True, but you don’t do farm work and yet you don’t gain weight from the way you eat.”

“Oh, so you’ve noticed?” he teased.

She bit her lip. If she hadn’t felt so comfortable with him she’d never have said something so personal.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m joking,” he said. “I don’t always eat the way I have the last couple of days. But it’s vacation. Gotta have a little fun.”

He was right. She pulled out another donut, this time with blackberry jam inside—too much blackberry jam. It oozed into her mouth, and though she swallowed quickly, she couldn’t keep it from dripping down her chin and onto the front of her dress.

Grabbing a napkin, he wiped at her chin, but when he went to dab at the blobs of jam on her dress she waved her hands and took the napkin from him.

“Oops, sorry!” he said quickly when he realized what he’d done.

Her own cheeks suffused with color. “It’s okay.”

She did the best she could and would just have to hope soaking and washing the dress would get rid of it later. “Why is it you can eat those things and not get messy but I do?” she complained as she put the empty cup into the paper bag.

Sighing, she ate the rest of the donut and washed it down with now lukewarm coffee.

“It’s a gift,” he told her, grinning. “Guys learn these things at an early age.”

She got to her feet. “I want to see what the water feels like.”

He put his empty cup into the bag and stood. “It’s probably a little cool to go swimming.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder. “I’m not going in.”

“Not even if I got you a bathing suit at the gas station?”

She stopped and stared at him. “You can’t buy a bathing suit at a gas station.”

“You can at a tourist location.”

When she continued to look at him disbelievingly, he shrugged. “Okay, maybe not in Amish-land. But you can here in Florida. They have everything you need in a place like this. Vacation in a box.”

Turning, she continued walking down to the water’s edge. “You didn’t buy me a bathing suit.”

“Didn’t,” he agreed cheerfully, coming alongside her. “But could have.”

“Did you buy a swim suit?”

“Trunks.”

“Trunks? You’re not an elephant.”

He laughed. “Oh, you are something else. You look so quiet and serene. But you say the darnedest things sometimes.”

“I do not.”

“You do. Anyway, most guys call them swim trunks. And no, I didn’t buy any. Already had these, although they don’t get much use back in Pennsylvania.”

She gave the long, loose shorts another look, then, as she heard voices behind her, she turned and saw people arriving to spend time at the beach. Sure enough, a number of men were dressed as Nick was. She wished one man had worn as many clothes. He looked like he was wearing underwear—and not the kind that Amish men wore. At least not what her
dat
and her
bruders
used to throw in the laundry for her and her
mamm
to wash each week.

She thought she couldn’t be shocked by the clothes the
Englischers
wore, but she was wrong.

Her face flamed.

“You’re looking a little pink already,” he said. “I think maybe you should put on sunscreen.”

“It’s not from the sun,” she said, not wanting to move. With a slight tilt of her head, she gestured at where to look.

“Oh,” he said. “You don’t see men wearing Speedos much anymore.”

“That’s
gut
,” she told him, lapsing back into Pennsylvania
Deitsch
. She sighed. “Sorry, that sounds judgmental.”

“No, I agree.”

Two young women ran past them, and there was little left to the imagination with their revealing attire. Naomi hadn’t seen
a bikini in person before but she knew that’s what the women wore. They screamed when they hit the water, so she imagined that the water temperature wasn’t balmy.

Children ran up and down the waterline like little sandpipers, screaming with delight and dancing as the water swirled around their toes. A couple of them settled down to start building sandcastles.

A group of people their age began setting up a volleyball net further down the beach. They looked familiar and yet she couldn’t think where she’d seen them.

Then she realized that both the men and the women were very pale-skinned. The men wore shorts
Englisch-
style like Nick, but had bowl-shaped haircuts. The women were dressed—or nearly undressed—in one-piece swimsuits and had their hair covered with white kerchiefs.

Her jaw dropped and she stared. Then she turned to Nick and saw him studying her.

“Did—did you see—” she stammered.

“Uh-huh.”

“But they’re—I mean, they may well be on their
rumspringe
, but still—”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re not surprised?”

He shook his head. “Remember, I told you what that Amish man said who’d been here: ‘What happens in Florida stays in Florida.’”

“Well, I’m not wearing a swimsuit,” she responded, and heard how prim she sounded. “It’s just … immodest.”

“Aren’t you a little warm in your dress?”

“I’d like to get my feet wet,” she said.

“Sounds good.” He turned and walked with her down to the water’s edge.

Her feet sank in the sand and it drifted over her toes and tickled as they walked down to the water’s edge. A wave swept up and the water slid over her feet like silk. When it retreated, it sucked at the sand under her feet and caused her to lose her balance.

Nick grabbed her arm to steady her and she yelped and stepped back.

“What? Did I hurt you? I barely touched you!” He moved closer.

She held up a hand. “It’s okay. You just touched where I hurt it the other night.”

“Naomi.”

“I want to walk a little bit,” she told him and hurried ahead of him.

He must have taken the hint because he left her alone to walk by herself. Finally she turned around and walked back. Nick was sitting on the blanket, staring out at the ocean.

“C’mon, sit down and let’s talk,” he said quietly.

She sank down on the blanket and did as he’d done—watched the waves sweeping up, then back, on the shore.

“Show me,” he said.

She shook her head. “It’s okay. Really.”

Something didn’t feel right. He started to insist but there was a flash of something in her eyes—a mute plea to stop asking questions, to let it go.

He dropped his hand to his side. “You’ll let me know if it doesn’t get better and you need to see a doctor? I can drive you to see one here, no problem.”

“I know,” she said, avoiding his concerned gaze by staring out at the ocean. Then she realized he’d just been trying to help and she might not sound very friendly. “I appreciate it. Really.”

7

T
hey sat there, watching the waves rolling in and out, neither of them speaking.

After a long while, Nick heard Naomi sigh. He glanced at her.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said, and she gave him a shy smile. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“I didn’t
let
you come,” he said, frowning. “I invited you. That’s different. I wanted you to come.”

“Okay. Thank you.” She smoothed her hand over her skirt as the wind ruffled its hem.

Nick studied her face. Naomi possessed the glowing, flawless skin of so many Amish women. Hers was a little paler, more porcelain, and now, when he looked at her, he thought she looked a little pink. And not because she was blushing as that man walked by again in the European swimsuit.

He dug out the bottle of sunscreen and held it out to her. “You need to use some of this, otherwise you’re going to get sunburned.”

“I never get sunburned.”

“But the sun’s stronger here. And we’ve been here for—”

“Nick! I didn’t know you were such a worrywart!”

“I just don’t want you to burn.”

“I won’t. And if I do, I’m not going to blame you.”

“Naomi, please put some on.”

“I don’t need it,” she insisted, frowning at him. “Can we please change the subject?”

He hated the thought of that exquisite skin burning, peeling. Causing her pain. But she turned back to stare at the ocean, her posture rigid, her chin thrust out. He recognized the signs that she wasn’t about to budge.

Nick liked to think he was a smart man who knew when not to argue with a woman. If she was right, well, she wouldn’t burn. But if she was wrong, she was going to suffer, and he didn’t want that to happen.

Her stubbornness surprised him. He’d never seen that before. Of course, he told himself he hadn’t ever spent that much time around her before—just driving her and her cousins and grandmother to and from work.

He asked himself why he should care so much if she learned an unpleasant lesson. Why wasn’t he repelled by this stubbornness? Who wanted to be argued with when you were just being concerned?

Was this how she behaved with her fiancé? he wondered. Not that he blamed her. He didn’t know much about John Zook, only that he’d moved to Paradise from another Amish community on the other side of the state. He seemed … charming, but the funny thing was, the time he’d met him at the shop he’d gotten the distinct impression that Anna didn’t like him. Although some people assumed that because the Amish led a traditional lifestyle the husbands might be more controlling than
Englisch
husbands, Nick hadn’t found that to be true. They seemed to be better about working in partnership together.

He thought back to that day when he picked up Naomi and Leah. John had been standing at the end of the driveway of Leah’s home that morning. He’d offered to stop and let Naomi talk to him, thinking she wanted to say good-bye.

But he remembered how Naomi hadn’t wanted him to stop. She hadn’t wanted to say good-bye to John. He’d wondered about it at the time, but now he remembered how her chin had been thrust out stubbornly, how her arms had been folded across her chest. And how she’d stared forward, refusing to look at John.

Now, he wondered again if they’d had an argument, wondered if John was too controlling.

Well, it didn’t matter why Naomi resisted his advice just now and turned so stubborn. All he had to do was say that it was time to get lunch or head home.

He looked over at her and saw that she was watching a family near them. A mother and father were playing with a little boy who looked about two years old. The Amish loved children but Naomi looked sad, not happy.

This was a woman who was supposed to be getting married soon. He’d have thought she’d be thinking of her wedding, of children in the near future.

The little boy jumped up and down, excited as his mother rooted inside a picnic basket. When she held out a treat, he wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her, reaching for it at the same time.

Naomi stood abruptly and brushed the sand from her skirt. “I’m going to go take a walk.”

“Okay,” he said, and by the way she started off, got the message that she didn’t want company. “I’m hungry. Back in fifteen?”

“Back in fifteen,” she called over her shoulder and continued striding down toward the shoreline.

He watched her stop and slip off her flip-flops, dangling them from her fingers as she walked, her head bent.

Anyone who thought that because they lived a simple life the Amish were simple was dead wrong. Naomi was one complicated lady.

Her face was on fire.

Groaning, Naomi turned her face into the cool fabric of her pillow. But the material chafed like steel wool against her cheek and she moaned.

She got up and padded to the bathroom. Sure enough, her face was shades and shades pinker than when she’d gone to bed. She turned off the light and went into the kitchen for a glass of water, then a second. Her throat was so parched. Maybe there was something there she could put on her skin.

She ran an ice cube over her cheeks and her nose until it melted, and then another and another. They cooled her skin a little but then the heat would return. Frustrated, Naomi looked in the cupboards for vinegar, opening and closing the doors quietly so she wouldn’t wake her grandmother. Home remedies were passed down from generation to generation in her community. Plain people didn’t run to the drugstore every time they got a sunburn or a bug bite or their
boppli
developed a diaper rash.

But there was no vinegar in the cupboard. She went back to the refrigerator and stood there, staring into its depths, enjoying the cold air that emanated from it. There was a cucumber. That might work. They had cooling properties. She pulled it out, washed it, then used a knife and cutting board to slice it. Sitting down at the kitchen table, she rubbed the slices all over
her nose and face. Her face felt a little cooler but there had to be something that worked even better.

Another foray into the refrigerator yielded a jar of mayonnaise. She scooped a little out and smeared it across her face and nose. Maybe it wouldn’t do anything to cure the sunburn, but it surely felt nice and cold. She relaxed back into her chair and closed her eyes.

That reminded her of an article she once read in a women’s magazine.
Englischers
liked to go for beauty treatments in spas and beauty shops. Often they put cucumber slices on their closed eyelids to reduce puffiness. She opened her eyes and picked up two slices, then closed them again and applied a slice over each eyelid. Well, the article was right. It felt nice and cool.