Return to Paradise. Barbara Cameron

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      She closed her eyes. She’d wished Rose Anna sweet dreams. Now she hoped for some of her own.

      Snuggled deep in her quilt on a moon-washed, cold fall night, Lavina dreamed of the last day she had seen David. They’d taken a picnic lunch to eat in a nearby park.

      “Have another piece of chicken?” she invited, holding out the plastic container.

      David chose a leg. “Three’s my limit.”

      Lavina set the container down on the quilt they’d spread on the grass and replaced the top. She knew he’d try to resist another piece and wouldn’t be able to so she’d packed plenty. He loved her fried chicken. And like many hard-working Amish men, he could eat a lot and not gain weight.

      The day was warm but pleasantly so. The delicate white seed tops of dandelions seemed to dance on the gentle breeze that blew over the nearby pond. Lavina poured cups of lemonade and wished the day wouldn’t end.

      They’d stolen a few hours for themselves after church. Summer was so busy with the harvest in and all the canning and preserving. But Sunday was a day of rest and there would be no work aside from the necessary daily chores of caring for and feeding the animals.

      “More potato salad?”

      “Nee,” he said with a satisfied sigh. “I’m full.” He leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his long legs. “We’ll have to head back soon,” he said. “It’s going to rain.”

      She frowned. “Not fair. Why does it have to rain on the only day we have off?”

      “Sometimes things don’t seem fair.” Now it was his turn to frown.

      “Did you speak to your dat?”

      He shook his head. “He was in a bad mood yesterday and went to bed early. I’m hoping to talk to him after supper tonight.”

      His father was a difficult man, so demanding of David and his two bruders. They worked so hard and yet it never seemed to be enough for him. But it seemed to Lavina he was hardest on David, his eldest sohn.

      She touched his arm. “I wish the two of you got along better.”

      “I don’t think he gets along with anyone,” David muttered. He reached for his lemonade, gulped it down, and crushed the paper cup in his hand. “I don’t know how much more I can take.” He stared down at the cup in his hand as if he had forgotten it. Sitting up, he tossed it into the picnic basket.

      “Surely he’ll retire soon and let you take over the farm. Your mamm told me that the doctor told him he needs to slow down, that he’s worried about his health.”

      “He’s too stubborn to retire. If he did that, he couldn’t control my bruders and me.”

      “Be patient,” she said softly. She hated seeing him unhappy.

      They looked up as thunder rumbled. Reluctantly, she packed up the picnic things, and they gathered up the quilt and ran for the buggy as fat raindrops began pelting them.

      “Guess it’s time to head home,” he said, sounding as if that was the last place he wanted to be.

      She reached for his hand and held it as he took the long way home.

      ***

      Lavina got into Officer Kate’s car. It surprised her to see the woman dressed in a sweater and jeans and driving a vehicle other than her police car.

      “I’m so glad you could come today,” Kate told her.

      “I’m looking forward to it.”

      A few minutes later she was surprised again when Kate pulled up in front of a simple three-story house on the outskirts of town. From the outside it didn’t look occupied; the houses on each side of it didn’t look like anyone lived there, either.

      Once Kate used a code on the front door, though, it was an entirely different story. There were a half-dozen women sitting in the spacious living room and more kinner than Lavina could count. One woman sat in a rocking chair feeding a baby a bottle.

      Kate had explained that the shelter wouldn’t be marked with a sign because its location was kept secret for the safety of the women and children who stayed there.

      A woman with a round face and a big smile hurried toward them wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Kate, good to see you! So who’s this?”

      Kate introduced Lavina, and the woman pumped her hand. “Glad to meet you. So happy you could come help the women with the quilting class.”

      “I’m happy to.”

      “I just put some coffee on up in the room, Kate. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

      “Thanks, Pearl.”

      Lavina followed Kate up the stairs and down a hallway. She heard the whir of sewing machines and the chatter of women before they walked into a room that had been converted into a sewing room. It reminded Lavina of the room her dat had fixed up for her mudder and schweschders at home. There were several tables with sewing machines of various ages, another two tables with projects laid out on them and shelves and shelves of fabric and colorful yarns.

      The women glanced up as they walked in. One of them looked startled, jumping up and dropping the fabric clutched in her hands.

      “It’s okay, Carrie,” Kate said in a low-pitched, soothing voice. “It’s just me.”

      The woman frowned. “I see that.” She sat and didn’t look at Kate again.

      “Hello, good to see all of you again,” Kate greeted the women. “Lavina here accepted my invitation to join us this week. She’s a master quilter.”

      “Well, I don’t know that I’d say that,” Lavina said, embarrassed, gazing around at the dozen or so women gathered in the room. She’d been taught to avoid hochmut—pride—practically since birth.

      “If someone’s making her living from what she does, I’d say she’s a master at it,” Kate responded equably.

      “Isn’t every Amish woman a quilter?” someone asked, sounding skeptical.

      “It’s true most Amish women quilt, Carrie,” Kate said. “But not all of them have the skill Lavina has. She and her sisters supply two quilt shops in town with their work.”

      Kate turned to a nearby shelf, plucked a box from it and set it on the table in front of her. “This is the week’s quilt block.”

      She handed several to Lavina to pass out and began handing out others to women near her.

      “Each woman makes a quilt to donate to the community,” she explained to Lavina. “Then she gets to make one for herself and her family.”

      She liked that idea. Community—their own and the Englisch one outside it—was important to the Amish. Each year Lavina, her schweschders, and other Amish women made quilts to donate to the auction that raised money for Haiti. The Amish СКАЧАТЬ