Treasuring Emma (28 page)
“Not about
Grossmammi
.” She fought to hold back tears. Emma wasn’t the only one worried about her. How would they cope if they lost her, especially so soon after their mother died?
“
Nee
, not Leona.” A softness entered Peter’s eyes when he said her name. “About us.”
“Peter, not now.”
“Then when? When Leona gets back from the hospital? When the fabric store opens?” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “When we start sleeping in separate bedrooms?”
She glanced up at him. “That’s not going to happen.”
“We’re drifting apart, Clara. Why can’t you see that? Or maybe you do.” His brows furrowed. “Maybe it’s what you want.”
The catalog page bent in her hand. “
Nee
. That’s not what I want.”
Peter took her hand. “Then come with me. Come to our bed.”
Clara snatched her hand away. “
Mei grossmammi’s
dying and that’s all you’re thinking about? Your marital rights?”
Sadness entered Peter’s eyes. “
Nee, lieb
. I want to hold you. Comfort you. Tell you everything will be all right until you believe it. I want you to fall asleep in
mei
arms, at peace. Not toss and turn like you do every night.”
She looked away, touched by his loving words. Yet she resisted him at the same time, and didn’t understand why. She needed her husband. But she wanted to be alone.
Clara picked up another catalog, not looking at him. “I’ll be upstairs in a little bit. Make sure you don’t wake the
buwe
when you get in bed.”
Peter waited. Clara kept her gaze on the catalog, the fabric selections swimming in front of her eyes. Finally, he got up and left.
When he was gone, she sat there unable to move, holding her chin in her hand as the tears rolled down her face.
“Now, now. I don’t need all this fuss.”
Emma laughed as her grandmother slowly, but with more strength than she had shown in the past two weeks, made her way into the house, flanked on each side by Peter and Norman. Adam walked behind them.
“We’re not making a fuss,” Emma said.
“Ya.”
Clara stood next to Emma. “I had to stop Emma from making a welcome home banner for you.”
“I’m glad you did.”
Grossmammi
leaned on her cane. She turned to Norman, then to Peter. “Now shoo, both of you. I can make it to
mei
chair by myself.” She shuffled over and lowered herself into the seat. She leaned back, her white
kapp
pressing against the high back of the upholstered chair. “It’s
gut
to be home.”
“And we’re glad you’re back.” Carol Otto came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray laden with a teapot and several cups. She set the tray on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. “I knew you’d want tea when you got home.”
The old woman nodded and accepted the cup. Her hands were steady. Emma released her breath, relieved. Her grandmother’s complexion was vibrant, her voice stronger. The week she’d spent in the hospital, receiving medication, being forced to rest, and gaining back her energy was well worth the huge bills that would arrive soon.
Yet instead of fretting as she did after her
mammi
died, Emma clung to the words she’d spoken in the hospital emergency room.
God will provide
. She didn’t know how. It wasn’t her place to know. It was her place to grasp on to her faith and accept.
“Glad you’re back where you belong, Leona,” Adam said.
The two of them looked at each other for a moment. Adam nodded. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
Emma watched Adam leave. During the week her grandmother had been gone, he’d spent most of his time at the house, taking care of Dill, feeding the chickens, gathering the eggs, tending to the dogs and cats, keeping the barn clean. He had fixed the loose boards on the front porch, had split and stacked enough wood to last them through winter, had done a dozen other odd jobs around the place.
And all without asking anything in return.
Carol sat on the couch near
Grossmammi’s
chair. The two women were deep in conversation; Peter and Norman had already left.
Clara nodded toward Emma. “Let’s
geh
outside.”
It was nearing the end of October. The cool air brushed across Emma’s cheeks. She saw Adam disappear into the barn. He’d been checking on Dill every day, making sure the horse spent time outside eating grass and getting light exercise. He’d taken her to his father’s pasture. Norman hadn’t objected. Maybe he and Adam were finally making amends.
“I guess Peter went back to the shop.” Clara folded her hands in front of her. “It’s nearly ready to open. We’re just waiting on the last of the inventory. You’ve spent a lot of time at the hospital, so you haven’t seen the progress.” She turned to Emma. “Would you like to?”
Emma hesitated. Her grandmother’s illness had given her an excuse not to go inside her grandfather’s workshop. She already saw the changes on the outside. New wood slab siding, complete with a fresh coat of white paint. New roof shingles. There was a brand-new oak door, stained a honey brown color, with shiny brass hardware. The place looked beautiful. Inviting. And ready for business.
With trepidation Emma headed toward the workshop. She and Clara stopped in front of the door. She turned to her sister. “Peter’s done a wonderful job,” Emma said.
“Wait until you see the inside.”
The transformation amazed Emma. The layers of dust and grime and rust had been scoured away, but the walls still had their natural, rough-hewn look. Against one wall a large wooden square, divided into separate cubbyholes, held different colors of yarn. Next to it was a rack filled with fabric. The plain blue, green, gray, purple, and pale green hues used to make Amish dresses, plus some fancier quilting fabric. There was plenty of space in the shop for more bolts of fabric, but enough to get the store started.
As she walked through the shop, her footsteps echoed against a brand-new floor. The old rough wood had been replaced with new varnished planks. It gave the shop a finished look.
“Norman donated the wood,” Clara said. “He and Adam installed the floor.”
Emma glanced at her sister. Clara stared straight ahead, but Emma could sense her gratitude.
Her gaze traveled to the back wall, next to the window. She saw a small version of her grandfather’s pegboard attached to the wall. His four favorite tools—an old hammer, a rusty wood plane, a dull chisel, and a T-square hung on the board.
“That was Peter’s idea.” Clara folded her arms. “I argued with him at first. Tools don’t belong in a fabric shop.” She sighed. “But he was right. It’s like having a part of
Grossvadder
here with us.”
Emma swallowed past the lump in her throat. Even among the fabric and yarn, her grandfather’s memory shone through.
“So what do you think?”
She turned around at the male voice. “Mark. I didn’t realize you were here.” She looked back over the shop. “It’s wonderful. Beyond what I ever expected.”
Or wanted
. But now she could see her sister’s vision. She even shared it. She regretted giving Clara such a hard time.
“Can’t take much of the credit.” Mark shrugged. “Clara and Peter worked overtime this week to get things ready.”
“Thankfully Julia was willing to watch the
kinner
.” Clara sighed. “I’ll be glad when I can spend more time with them again.” She looked at Emma. “I’ve missed them.”
Emma vowed to give her sister a break once the shop opened. She looked at it again, imagining customers streaming in. She would set a rocking chair in the corner for
Grossmammi
. Her grandmother would love to visit with the patrons, both Amish and Yankee.
Mark stepped between Emma and Clara. He spoke in a soft tone and grinned. “Now that your
grossmammi’s
feeling better, I’d like to take you out to supper. If that’s agreeable to you.”
“I don’t know, Mark. I’ve been at the hospital so much this week. I really want to stay home.”
His smile slipped. “Another time, then. When you’ve had some time to spend with your
familye
.”
Emma paused. She had to be honest with him. It wasn’t fair to let him think they had a chance together.
Then a thought occurred to her. She had never seen Adam’s decision to leave from his point of view before. Instead she had wrapped herself in layers of anger, hurt, and resentment. But he had only been trying to be fair to her, the way she needed to be with Mark. Why hadn’t she seen it?
“Emma?”
She jerked her head and looked at Mark. “Sorry. I was lost in
mei
thoughts for a moment. Can I talk to you?”
“Right now?”
“
Ya
. In private.”
Clara started to move. “I’ll leave you two alone, then.”
Emma shook her head. “
Nee
. I need to check on
Grossmammi
.” She looked up at Mark. “Why don’t you come inside? I’m sure she’d like to see you.”
He took a step back from Emma, his eyes widening for a split second. Then he smiled, shaking his head. “I’m sure she’s not up for much company. I’ll pay her a visit later.”
“All right. We can talk on the front porch afterward, then. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
“Looking forward to it.”
As Emma turned to leave, Peter came in. He had his hands behind his back. “How do you like the shop, Emma?”
She grinned. “It’s wonderful, Peter. Just wonderful.”
He turned to Mark. “I need to talk to Clara for a minute. If you don’t mind.”
Emma noticed that Peter’s expression had turned cold when he spoke to Mark. If his cousin noticed, he didn’t say anything. “Sure. Emma, I’ll walk you to the house.”
But as they left the shop, Emma saw Mark glance over his shoulder at Peter and Clara.
“Emma liked the tools,” Clara said.
“I thought she would. I couldn’t bear to part with his favorite ones.”
Clara looked into the gentle eyes of her husband. Over the past week, as they had worked together to refinish the shop, something between them had changed. They hadn’t said much, but she didn’t feel the tension that had been between them for the past couple of months. She realized this morning that for the first time they were working together toward a goal, instead of working against each other. She went to him and stood on her tiptoes. Kissed his cheek.
His face turned red. “What was that for?”
“Do I need to have a reason?”
Peter’s brow furrowed. “Lately, I think so.” When Clara started to frown, he quickly added, “But I’ll take it.” He smiled. “I brought you something.”
“Oh?”
Peter moved his hands from behind his back. “Here. It wouldn’t be a proper shop without a proper sign.”
Clara took the carved wooden sign from Peter’s hands. S
HETLERS’
F
ABRICS
. The words were chiseled in the soft wood. A thin scrolling surrounded the name. The sign was simple. Plain. Perfect. She set it on the windowsill and stood back to admire it. “Where did you get this?”
“I made it. Found some spare wood while I was cleaning out the shop. Didn’t take me long.” He glanced away. “I had the free time to do it.”
Clara knew he wasn’t just talking about not having a job. Their distance from each other, both physical and emotional, had taken a toll on them both. Suddenly everything she’d been holding inside—the grief, guilt, worry, resentment, empty faith—all came rushing to the surface. She burst into tears.
“Clara?” Peter put his hands on her shoulders. When she didn’t resist, she felt him pull her against him and lean his cheek against the top of her head. “Clara, what is it?”
“I’m sorry.” She turned her face into his jacket, breathing in the scent of wood smoke and sawdust. “I’ve been a horrible
fraa
.”
“Nee.”
He stroked her back, tightening his embrace. “You haven’t.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better.”
He pulled back from her and rubbed her damp cheeks with his rough thumbs. “Clara, that’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s what I want to do.” He leaned down and cupped her face. “I’ve been waiting for you to let
geh
of all this for a long time.”