Where Secrets Sleep. Marta Perry

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ who moved into a house, decorated in the latest style, then sold and moved on when they reached the next step of the corporate ladder.

      But she knew something good when she saw it, and the fireplace was a masterpiece of High Victorian with its intricately carved and mirrored mantelpiece that dwarfed everything else in the room. Sarah had wisely not tried to change the intrinsic charm of the room but allowed her quilts to make their own statement.

      “Didn’t you know that your grandmother intended for you to have this?” Sarah’s gesture took in the quilt shop and beyond it, the whole building.

      “I hadn’t the slightest idea until her attorney called me.” It was pointless to hide the fact, since probably everyone in town would know the details before long. Evelyn Standish had apparently been someone important in Laurel Ridge. “As far as I know, she never saw me or attempted to make contact.”

      Sarah’s blue eyes darkened with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. I can’t understand any grossmammi doing that.” She flushed slightly. “Ach, I’m sorry. Sometimes the Deutsch word just comes out when I’m talking Englisch. And the other way around, too.”

      That little tidbit caught Allison’s imagination. “You mean you use Englisch words when you’re speaking dialect?” The instant she’d asked the question she wondered if Sarah would take offense, but Sarah responded with a quick smile that showed a dimple in each cheek.

      “For sure. I guess you could say Pennsylvania Dutch is an old dialect. Dates from when the Amish came here in the 1700s. So when new things come along and we don’t have words for them, we just use the Englisch words.”

      Allison nodded, relaxing in the face of the other woman’s friendly attitude. It would be foolish to let herself be put off by the fact that Sarah’s clothes were old-fashioned and her hair pulled severely from a center part and confined under a white covering at the back of her head. Those externals didn’t affect the warmth of her smile.

      “You haven’t seen much of the Amish, ain’t so?” Sarah’s tone was matter-of-fact.

      “Am I being obvious? To be honest, you’re the first Amish person I’ve ever talked to.”

      Sarah’s dimples showed. “You’re not the first Englischer I’ve talked to, that’s certain sure. Mostly around here the Englisch and Amish know each other pretty well.”

      “I could see that you and Nick Whiting know each other.” She hoped her tone didn’t give away her impression of him.

      Sarah paused, her hand on a double bed in the front of the shop. It was completely covered by colorful quilts laid one on top of another. “Nick’s family lives on the property next to my parents’ farm, so we’ve been friends since we were small.”

      So naturally her sympathy would be with Nick. She’d spoken to him as she would to a brother.

      Well, that was enough of betraying an interest in Nick Whiting. He’d already made his attitude toward her presence plain.

      “These quilts are all for sale?” she asked, touching the blue-and-white one on top.

      “Ja, this is what we have in stock now.” Sarah seemed happy to turn her attention to the quilts. “I always display them this way so folks can see how they look on a bed.” She flipped the top quilt back to display the next, an intricately designed one that glowed in jewel tones. “The maker’s name and the price are on a numbered tag in the corner of the quilt, and I keep a card file with all the information about it.”

      It seemed a simplistic method of keeping track of stock in the twenty-first century, but maybe that was what Sarah was comfortable with. “They are beautiful.” Genuine admiration filled Allison’s voice. “Works of art.” She stroked the detailed quilting on the border, each stitch put in perfectly by hand.

      “You have that in common with your grandmother, then,” Sarah said. “Even though she didn’t do much in the shop, she really loved the quilts.”

      Somehow she was surprised that they’d had anything at all in common. “How did the two of you become partners?”

      Sarah’s smile became reminiscent. “I worked for Mrs. Standish when I was a teenager—cleaning the house and such. When I didn’t marry...” She shrugged. “Well, most Amish are pairing off by the time they hit their twenties. Evelyn was...” Again she hesitated. “Evelyn asked me what I wanted to do, and I told her my hope was to start a shop to sell the things Amish quilters made.” Sarah lost her hesitancy, her blue eyes sparkling. “Women like my mamm, who didn’t have a gut place to market their quilts. And she offered me this.” A sweep of her arm encompassed the shop.

      “So you became partners.” That argued a generosity on the part of her grandmother that surprised her. Evelyn Standish might have been more complicated than Allison’s impression of her.

      “She put up the money to get started, and I paid her back out of the profits.” Sarah sounded more knowledgeable than Allison would have expected. “I have my copies of our agreements if you want to see them, but I’m sure Evelyn’s will be in her office upstairs.”

      Allison nodded. “The attorney mentioned the office to me. I suppose I’ll have to go through it before I can make any decisions.”

      “Decisions,” Sarah repeated. “But didn’t you say that you can’t sell for a year?”

      “Meaning there’s no decision to make?” Allison shrugged. “I can always walk away. Go back to my life in Philadelphia and let Blackburn House go to Brenda Conner.”

      Sarah actually looked disappointed. She’d have thought the woman would be only too happy to see the last of her.

      “I hope you don’t. I’ve always wanted to have an active partner in the business.”

      “Me? I don’t know anything about quilts.”

      “You appreciate them,” Sarah said. “I saw your expression when you touched them.” She smiled. “It’s like mine.”

      “I know what goes into them. I’m an interior designer by profession, so naturally I have an appreciation. But—” Before she could add that she had no desire to spend the next year of her life in Laurel Ridge, they were interrupted.

      “Hey, Sarah, do me a favor, will you?” Nick stood in the doorway, holding a large dog of indeterminate breed by a piece of rope that looked inadequate. Even as Allison watched, the dog made a dive for the nearest display rack, which was hung with an assortment of baby crib quilts.

      “No!” Allison’s instinctive cry was echoed by Nick, and he hauled the dog back by the rope. The animal didn’t seem to show any resentment of the handling. It sat on Nick’s foot and looked up at him with an adoring doggie expression, tongue lolling.

      “Is this bring-your-dog-to-work day?” she asked tartly.

      “Not my dog,” Nick replied, his face relaxing in a grin that invited her to share his amusement. “A beauty, isn’t he?”

      Her expression must have spoken for her, because he chuckled.

      Sarah hurried to interpose herself between them with the air of one who was used to being a buffer between fractious СКАЧАТЬ