Ties That Bind (18 page)

“No. I haven't sold my batch, but I will.” She'd known for a week she couldn't ask her mom that favor, so she had made plans with some of her friends. “A group of us are going out tomorrow after classes to hit the hot spots.”

“So?”

Skylar fought to say the words.

Her mom pulled her close. “Guess what I picked up today? The new fabric for the fiftieth-anniversary play. Next semester will be here before we know it. Your skin color will be gorgeous with the new bronze-colored fabric. Has Patrick made the announcements yet?”

“Yeah, about that…”

“You didn't get it?” She released Skylar, looking at her in disbelief. “Patrick wouldn't make such a stupid decision as to put a lesser-skilled girl in your stead when his reputation is riding on—”

“Mom, just stop talking and let me tell you what's going on.”

Her mother froze, clearly waiting for some scrap of hopeful news.

Skylar had known this would be hard. She guzzled the rest of her wine cooler, wishing she'd chosen to fix herself a rum and Coke instead. “I won the part, but it went to someone else because of my grades.”

“What?” Mom stared, disbelief and disappointment deepening by the moment. “Skylar Louise Nash, you tell me right this instant that you didn't mess up this chance we've been working toward for years!” Her mother's face flushed red. “Does this go back to that stupid Peter?”

Skylar shrugged. It made no sense to try to lie about it. She'd talked to her about all of that several months ago, so Mom knew the answer to her question.

Mom stomped to her machine and sat, jerking the chair with every movement. “I told you not to get involved with him in the first place.” She pressed the pedal, making the machine hum. “Why can't you trust me about boys? I know a thing or two about them. I learned the hard way, and you won't trust my opinion about any of it.”

Gabe came to the doorway. “Anyone up for trading in screaming for some ice cream? Get it?” He focused on the toe of his shoe as he thumbed toward the stairway. “We have chocolate with chocolate chips.”

Her mother ignored Gabe, or maybe she was too angry to hear him. “If you weren't capable of making good grades, that would be one thing!” Her voice rose above the machine, even as she sewed faster by the moment. “But every mess since you entered high school boils down to you following some idiotic guy who can't find his way out of a paper bag!” She released the pedal, and the machine instantly hushed. “I can't take this anymore, Skylar!”

Skylar longed to scream back at her,
At least I didn't mess up like you did, coming up pregnant at nineteen by a married man!

But Skylar had only one person who actually cared. Her mom.

Cody cared too, but she knew something would come between them within a year…if they lasted that long. Skylar knew how life worked. Relationships were transient. Fleeting. Fragile.

Way too often they were fake. But regardless of whether she and her mom were huddled together against storms or angry with each other, they were real.

Gabe shot a sympathetic look at Skylar, and it seemed as if he was going to say something on her behalf, but then Cameron came up beside him. He turned toward his daughter and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don't you have some homework?”

When married couples with children ended their relationship, one parent stayed. For Cameron, Gabe was that parent. Because of it, he and his daughter were as tied at the hip as Skylar and her mom. Always the obedient one, Cameron nodded and disappeared. Skylar was confident the girl had done her homework hours ago.

Gabe turned back toward his wife and stepdaughter, and Skylar could see by his face that he'd lost the courage to speak up. It wasn't as if her mom turned into an angry woman often…or easily, and Gabe didn't mind arguing with her on his own behalf, but as a stepparent who hadn't met Skylar until she was nine, he tried to stay out of their scuffles.

Skylar picked up her backpack. “You know, Mom…” Tears blurred her vision. “I expected you to be disappointed and angry, and that's okay, because you've worked hard and I've let you down. But I never expected you to throw the past in my face.” She put the backpack strap on her shoulder.

She stormed to the doorway, and Gabe moved out of her way. Should she just leave? She hadn't popped an illegal pill in a while now, but she was going to need a hit of something to dull the unbearable pain. Maybe she should find Cody. He might not be in her life for long, but he was hers for now, and talking to him was warm and comforting.

“Skylar, wait.”

She longed to ignore her mom, but it would only make things worse, so she turned around.

Her mom's long blond hair swayed as her willowy body hurried toward her. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did. Okay?”

The ache inside Skylar seemed to open up like an abyss, and she knew the pain wouldn't subside anytime soon. Why did it hurt so much? What secret agony had they accidentally unearthed? “It's okay, Mom.”

Her mother embraced her. “Forgive me?”

“Yeah. Sure.” She hugged her and then let go. “I'm pretty wiped out, so I'm just gonna slip off to my room for the night, okay?” Her calm and gentle demeanor was a lie. She could feel herself reeling off the edge.

T
he old carriage creaked along with Abram gripping the reins, the leather biting into his palms as he drove toward a strip of Amish stores that sat outside of town.

Ariana had pencil and paper in hand, trying to whittle the grocery list down to affordable and still get what was needed. When she wasn't scratching items off, she was staring out the open window, deep in thought.

“Why aren't you out with Rudy on a Friday night?”

“Hmm?” She turned, the distant look in her eyes fading. “Oh. I think he must've gotten behind at work. His aunt dropped by the house this morning to say he had things he needed to do this weekend.” Ariana tapped the pencil on the paper. “Quill's fund-raising suggestion?”

She had asked Abram a few times to share his thoughts, but he really didn't want to. In contrast to her being a helium balloon and an optimist, he was a weight and a realist. And to an optimist, a dose of reality only sounded like pessimism.

“Kumm on, Abram. Speak up.”

He shrugged. “You're not going to like it, and I could be wrong.”

“Still, if you don't tell me, I won't be forewarned, right?”

“The last thing I want to do is be discouraging.”

“Then call it being honest.”

He drew a deep breath. “Okay. I have some serious concerns. We both know that buying a business as a single woman is stepping outside the traditional roles upheld in the Old Ways.” If she were married and her husband supported the plan, the ministers and community would view the situation differently, perhaps even as heroic. “We also know that regardless of who is offended or who frowns on you for purchasing a restaurant, you have the right to do it.”

“And you're helping me buy it, so I'm not just a single woman. It's us, as a team.”

“No one is going to believe it's my plan to buy a restaurant, nor would anyone believe I have an interest in or the skills for running it. For years I've turned over to you part of my pay from construction to support your dream. Any mention of me doing more than that will be seen for what it is—a cover-up of the truth. If you had the money without doing a benefit, it wouldn't matter who frowned on it. But to ask people to support your cause by participating in a benefit may be similar to smacking a beehive with a stick.”

Ariana sighed, looking deflated. He should be mature enough that it didn't hurt his feelings whenever she was disappointed, but it didn't work that way. He slowed the horse as they approached a red light.

“So is that all of your concerns?”

He hesitated.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head, which, for his sister, was equal to rolling her eyes. “Finish, please.”

After bringing the rig to a stop, he kept his eyes on the light. “Organizing a benefit will cost a lot in money and time.”

“You think Quill is giving bad advice on purpose?”

Abram hadn't considered that. “Do you?”

“I constantly waver when it comes to Quill. Since he left years ago, everything about him messes with my mind.”

When the light turned green, he tapped the reins against the horse and clicked his tongue. “Look, Quill is grateful you're a faithful friend to his mother, so it doesn't make sense for him to lead you wrong on purpose. He's shared what he thinks will work. I've shared my concerns about his plan. But the fact is, time is not on your side. You need to decide what to do.”

“He gave me all the barrels in the cooperage to make various items to sell, and that's really generous, but I can't see how we could possibly have enough money to go to closing unless we have a benefit.”

“If you do a benefit, the worst that can happen is you appear to be self-centered, and because of that, few in the community, if any, participate. Best-case scenario is the community backs you, and in the end you have enough money to purchase the café.”

“And then I would feel as if I owe Quill something.”

“Ah. I didn't realize that was part of what is troubling you.”

“Me either until just now.”

“You have to be tired of thinking about Quill. I know I'm tired of yakking about him.”

“Sorry.” Ariana doodled on the paper for several moments. “Okay. Change of subject. Tell me more about your chance encounter with Barbie on the road last week.”

Abram easily recalled the details. Within forty minutes of sending Barbie home with the medicine, her brother Matt returned with a fresh horse to hitch to the wagon. Matt and Cilla then drove Abram home. “I can't figure it out, but I wasn't all thumbs and silence around Barbie that time.”

“You've been practicing how to be more outspoken for months, and you're doing a hundred percent better this year than last. Maybe it just all kicked in right then.”

“Maybe. But it had a different feel to it, like socializing was easy and fun.”

“Interesting.” Ariana marked out another item on her list and made a note, probably listing a less expensive item that would do almost as well. “Any idea why she didn't go out with you?”

“Not really, except what I already told you—that when I was getting out of the wagon, Matt said, ‘It's not you; it's her.' I asked what he meant, and he said, ‘She likes you well enough.' ”

“Sounds to me as if you need to ask Barbie why she didn't go out with you after agreeing to.”

“That seems pushy.”

“It would've been better to ask the night she stopped by the house. But when plans are changed, I expect an answer, and I would have to give one if I were in a similar situation and broke the date.”

“It would help to know. Then I could let this go…eventually.” Abram scanned the carriages in the parking lot of the dry goods store. Even though all the buggies were basically the same, each one had something telling about it—dents, touch-up paint, different side mirrors or lights. When he saw Barbie's family carriage, he pulled in.

“Why are we stopping here?”

“You're going inside to buy a spool of thread, and while you're in there, find out if Barbie is in there or if it's someone else from her family.” He set the brake.

Ariana opened the door. “Sure. You got a plan if she is here?”

“Not a clue.”

Ariana grinned. “But you stopped anyway.” She gave a thumbs-up and hopped out. She reached through the window of the rig and dropped the pencil and paper onto the seat. “Be right back.”

She was still at the side of the carriage when the bell on the fabric-store door clanged, and Cilla walked out. She appeared to be having a really good spell right now despite her cystic fibrosis. Abram couldn't recall her being out this often or looking this healthy in several years. She spotted Ariana and hurried toward her, smiling. “Hey, Ari.”

“Hi, Cilla.”

“It's good to see you.” Cilla peered into the carriage. “Abram, hi. I thought you might be in this buggy.”

“Hello. Is your sis—”

“Knock, knock.” Cilla rapped on the closed door to the carriage.

Abram recalled the knock-knock jokes he'd told when their rig broke down. He squelched his desire to know if Barbie was here. “Who's there?”

“Adore.”

“Adore who?”

“Adore is between us. Open up!”

He chuckled. “Good one. Is your sister here?”

“Ya.” Cilla nodded. “She's making a purchase, so she'll be out shortly. Abram, you won't believe what I saw the other…”

Cilla continued talking, but the words garbled in his head when the bell on the door clanged again. An Amish man Abram didn't recognize opened the door for Barbie. She had two colors of neatly folded fabric tied with string in one arm as she talked and smiled at the man beside her.

Before Abram could think clearly, he jumped out of the buggy and strode toward Barbie. Apparently disappointment and frustration overrode shyness. “Barbie.”

She came to an abrupt halt, eyes wide as her smile faded. “Hi, Abram.”

He ignored the man and focused on her. But words failed him. “How's your brother?” Couldn't he have asked Cilla that?

“Better. Denki.”

Abram glanced at the stranger and held out his hand. “Abram.”

The man neither offered to shake Abram's hand nor said his name, but there was no trace of offense on his face. He simply looked distracted, studying something behind Abram. Then he pointed. “Your girl?”

Abram turned. Cilla was no longer by his carriage. She was in hers. Ariana had gotten back in the buggy. Is that what had his attention? “My sister.”

The man's lips curved down, but he was nodding.

Whoever he was, he obviously wasn't seeing Barbie. He passed a small brown bag to her. “Spoken for?”

“Nathaniel.” Barbie sighed. “You're being rude, and, yes, she's dating someone.”

Hadn't Barbie mentioned the name Nathaniel to Abram a few times over the years? If this was the same one, he was a cousin from Indiana, one Barbie liked as much as she disliked. Abram was beginning to see why.

“Dating someone could be a roadblock.” Nathaniel grinned. “Then again”—he took one long stride forward before leaning back toward Barbie—“that's up to her, ain't it?”

“Nathaniel, no.” Barbie shook her head in short, harsh movements.

But Abram wasn't going to object. He wanted a few minutes with Barbie, and it would take more than an overly confident Amish man to cause Ariana any stress. Nathaniel winked at Barbie and made a beeline for the carriage.

Barbie shifted, lowering her eyes to the pavement.

Abram tried to think of something to say. He'd been so sure he could hold up his end of a conversation that he'd jumped out of the buggy, and now his insides felt like ice. “Need a hand?”

“Nee. I'm fine. It's just a bit of fabric. Cilla and I got a job sewing dresses for Mervin's girls for the wedding.”

“That's nice.”

He knew the rest. Mervin Lapp and his wife had six little girls, and his sister was getting married soon, so they all needed new clothes before the wedding.

Abram removed his hat. “I…I need to know…”

Her cheeks deepened with color. “I came to your home a month ago to break off our date, and you accepted it without question. I don't know why it's coming up again, but I'd appreciate it a lot if you'd just drop it.”

“I tried. I did.”

“And I'm grateful you cared enough to ponder on me.” Finally she quit staring at the pavement and peered up at him. “But please, Abram. It's not proper to make a girl give a reason.” She stepped around him and went to her carriage.

He followed her. “Tell me one thing. Just one. Did you break the date because you wanted to?”

She turned to face him, but she wouldn't look him in the eye. “You have a lot of good qualities. Otherwise I wouldn't have agreed for us to go out. But there's something about you I can't get past.”

He wanted to know what the
something
was, but he had pressed her enough. This was as far from the ending he'd hoped for as a man could get. “Okay, I hear you. Bye, Barbie.”