Читать книгу The Amish Bachelor's Choice - Jocelyn McClay - Страница 14

“I wonder if the new owner will change the name? It’d be strange to have it no longer be Fisher Furniture.” Jacob’s words were barely audible over the humming of the lathe.

The blood drained from Ruth Fisher’s face. She hadn’t considered that possibility. Oh, Daed, if missing you wasn’t enough, how can I bear to see your name removed from the business you built? The end of her nose prickled as she swallowed against the lump in her throat.

Widening her eyes against threatening tears, Ruth willed her coworker not to look up from his focus on the spinning chair leg until she eliminated any trace of the effect his words had had on her. She glanced around the workshop to ensure the few others working in the extensive room weren’t paying attention, before tipping her head back and blinking any telltale traces away. No one would see her cry.

The others understood her grief. Friends and neighbors as well as employees of her father’s furniture business had helped her through his difficult passing and funeral. But they were moving on. When Ruth moved on, it would be away from her daed’s legacy. She’d made a promise. She swallowed again, this time against a flash of nausea at the reminder of her recent resolution. It took pinching the skin between her thumb and forefinger to stop any renegade tears. But when Jacob looked up, he was met with clear eyes behind her safety glasses.

“Ach, Ruth, I—I thought you were Isaac,” he stammered, his face flushing to match his red hair.

“He was busy, so I brought the chisels over.” She set them on the bench beside him.

“I—I... It was on my mind as they moved in this weekend.”

Ruth didn’t have to ask who “they” were. Jacob’s family farm was a mile from the Yoder farmstead, empty since Atlee died last winter. Empty until the new owner of Fisher Furniture had bought it.

“My daed and brothers stopped by to see if they needed any help. Mamm and Lydia took a basket of bread and canned goods.” Jacob was obviously excited at the prospect of new neighbors. “Lydia was glad to see that none of the three newcomers had beards.”

Ruth could just imagine. If none of the men had beards, then they were all single. Jacob’s sister was in her rumspringa. Potential courtship and future mates were much on a young woman’s mind during her run-around years. Particularly a girl like Lydia.

“Hopefully they are good workers, beardless or no.” Ruth had different priorities. Even though she’d no longer be part of the business, she wanted to see it succeed. “How are the chairs coming for the Portage order?” They had recently entered into business with a furniture dealer in one of the larger towns nearby.

Jacob’s eyes lit up. “Gut. I like this design. Hopefully it sells well.”

“Ja, hopefully,” she echoed, forcing a smile to her face before turning to head for her own workbench.

Once there, Ruth selected a piece of oak from the neat stack on the scarred wooden surface and picked up a sanding block. She’d hoped for a number of things. She’d even had the hochmut to pray that someone in the district would purchase the business. The glasses slipped down her nose when she winced at the memory that she’d had the arrogance to tell Gott what to do. It wouldn’t happen again. Ruth wrinkled her nose in an effort to push the glasses back up. Well, it shouldn’t happen again. One of the tenets of their faith was demut. There was certainly no humility in daring to give Gott instructions. Thankfully, Gott was forgiving as well as good. He had a plan for her. But apparently it didn’t include having someone she knew buy Fisher Furniture and letting her manage it. This Malachi Schrock had certainly wasted no time in taking over her daed’s business.

Her shoulders slumped as she ran the block over the oak. No single young woman in their district owned a business that employed four men, married and single. The bishop wasn’t going to allow Ruth to be the first, even though she’d worked beside her father from the time she was tall enough to reach a workbench.

Or not tall enough, Ruth remembered with a tremulous smile. Daed had built her a little wooden box to stand on. First, so she could watch him work, her eyes wide with wonder at his deft movements. Then so she could mimic his actions and learn to love the wood, from its first rough surfaces to the feel of it beneath her fingers, soft as a baby’s cheek after multiple cycles of sanding and varnish.

The sale of the business had been the topic of several conversations after church service two weeks ago. While gossiping was frowned upon in the Amish community, sharing of news was another thing entirely. At least three groups of folks Ruth had passed as she poured coffee for the noon meal had been discussing Miriam Lapp’s nephew from Ohio, who’d purchased the business and would soon be moving into the area, along with two of his younger brothers.

Ruth was chagrined to discover, when she overheard people talking after church yesterday, that her life continued to be a subject of interest. This time, the discussion among the women, and probably some of the single men, was when she’d marry, now that her father was gone and the business sold. A few speculative glances had been cast her way when certain names were mentioned, gauging her reaction.

Ruth had made sure her normally expressive face revealed nothing.

Jacob’s name was one mentioned with a side-glance yesterday. Ruth’s lips twitched. According to her newly married friends, finding it hard to breathe around a man was a sign he might be Gott’s Chosen One for her. She had no difficulty breathing around Jacob, whom she’d known since back when she could wear buttons. He was nothing more than a casual friend, and the only time he made her heart beat harder was when she observed and appreciated his skill on the lathe. The women of the district could speculate all they want, but she wouldn’t be walking out with Jacob Troyer.

Her smile faded. She wouldn’t be walking out with any Amish man now that she was leaving the community as she’d promised her daed.

Ruth grabbed a tack cloth and swiped it across the oak’s surface, surprised she hadn’t worn a hole in the wood. She stroked a thumb along the grain. Today, not even working with the wood brought her the peace and joy it normally did.

But peace required gelassenheit. Submission didn’t come naturally to Ruth. Sometimes it didn’t come at all. Putting down the cloth, she picked up the sanding block and deftly applied it. Inhaling deeply, she relished the aroma of fresh lumber inherent to the room. Gelassenheit. Bits of sawdust danced in the air as she exhaled slowly through pursed lips, trying to clear her mind to Gott’s will.

So the new owner had arrived in Miller’s Creek with his two brothers. Ruth’s hand paused, her eyes resting on the other occupants of the room. Her heart beat heavily as she wondered what the addition of three more men would mean for her father’s loyal employees. The strokes across the wood resumed with jerky motions.

Ruth didn’t know what she needed to do, but she was determined that the men would keep their jobs. Dropping the block on the counter, Ruth folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head. She would pray and accept Gott’s will for her fellow workers and herself. Ruth squeezed her eyes shut. Hopefully His will would journey the same road as her plans.

* * *

The horse flicked his ear back toward the buggy, probably wondering if he was going to get down now that they’d arrived at their destination. Malachi figured the gelding was glad to be hanging its head over the hitching post. He frowned at the foam-flecked brown neck. Experienced with horses, he knew the animals could feel the tension of the driver through the reins. The poor bay had completed a trip full of nervousness running down the lines. No wonder his coat reflected his agitation. Malachi resolved to keep this visit short or find a place where he could stable the standardbred. It was warm for November, but he wouldn’t leave a hot horse for long out in it.

Sighing, he set the brake and stepped down from the buggy. As he passed the gelding, he paused to stroke the horse’s sleek, sweaty neck. It wasn’t the bay’s fault. He was fine for a rented animal. Malachi ran a hand down the iron-hard leg to where the brown coat turned to black, smiling when the gelding responded by lifting his hoof.

In fact, he might buy the bay. He and his brothers would need several buggy horses. Samuel would be replacing his courting buggy as soon as they settled in, probably before. Gideon, as well. Malachi shook his head at the thought. His brothers had grown faster than the passing years justified.

His smile faded as he straightened to regard the building in front of him. At least the horse was something he could try out before purchasing. Unlike the small farmstead he’d bought sight unseen. Or the business before him, which he was now owner of. Another deep sigh lifted the suspenders that crossed his shoulders.

He wasn’t impulsive. Far from it. Malachi knew himself to be like Barley, one of his father’s draft horses back in Ohio. A plodder. Barley hadn’t moved fast, but his steady and deliberate pace had plowed, planted and harvested many fields. The seed that’d culminated in Malachi’s move to Wisconsin had germinated long ago. Things had been getting difficult back in Ohio. Malachi was surprised he’d survived there this long. Some type of change had been needed. He’d prayed that Gott would provide him with direction. When he’d heard of this opportunity, he’d snatched it up like a horse snapping at an insect during blackfly season.

Hopefully this’d been Gott’s answer. Once he’d settled on his course, Malachi hadn’t paused in his plodding forward long enough to check.

The furniture shop was a good investment. He’d reviewed numbers available on the operation before he’d made the offer. It was a well-run business and Malachi was excited to be part of it. But it was a big change. He wasn’t fond of changes. This purchase had prompted several of them in his life. Walking through that door would hopefully wrap up the last and biggest one.

After giving the bay a final rub on the forehead, he headed up the stairs. A cheery jingle greeted him when he swung the door open. Malachi’s tense shoulders eased slightly as he inhaled the familiar scents of wood and stain. His lips curved. This was what he knew and loved. It would be all right.

An encompassing glance revealed a well-ordered showroom. His experienced eye recognized the diverse furniture’s primary wood as oak, with a few pieces of cherry, maple and walnut. Stepping farther into the airy room, he ran a hand over the back of a chair that tucked into a large dining table. Malachi nodded in approval at the smooth surface. He straightened abruptly and turned to the back of the store when he heard the sound of a door opening.

An Amish woman stepped through, a ready smile on her face. Her auburn hair was tucked under her kapp, a few strands threatening to escape the confines. She headed in his direction before halting abruptly. Reaching up, she touched the safety glasses on her face, hastily pulled them off and set them on the sales counter. With flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile, she turned back to him.

“Good morning. May I help you?” she inquired as she approached, her black shoes making no sound on the glossy wooden floor.

He couldn’t help returning the smile. Her grin became full and moved to her eyes. Eyes that lifted briefly to his hat before returning to his face. Malachi yanked the black felt from his head and held it in front of him. “Guder mariye,” he returned the greeting. “My name is Malachi Schrock. I was told to meet Bishop Weaver here this morning.”

The warmth faded from her face like the temperature of a fine October day upon the approach of an early-winter storm. Malachi didn’t realize how much he’d appreciated its glow until he was facing frost in her green eyes.

“Ah. The new owner. The bishop isn’t here right now. If he told you to meet him, I’m sure he’ll be in as soon as he can.” Even her voice had changed from June to December.

Malachi raised his eyebrows. The families that’d greeted him and his brothers at the farmstead had been quite cordial. Some of the young women, enthusiastically so. Obviously, this woman worked here. Just as obviously, he wasn’t welcome. He slowly shifted the brim of his hat between his hands. Hopefully this attitude wasn’t the consensus of his new workforce.

Upon reaching him, the woman clasped her hands together at her waist, regarding him coolly. The top of her head, even with the thick soles on her shoes, barely reached his chin.

“If you have any questions about the business, I’d be... I will answer them for you.”

Happy had been the omitted word that hung in the silence of the room. She was not happy to have him here, not happy to answer his questions. Malachi sighed. He didn’t know what he might have done already to offend her. He’d only been in the district a few days and the store a few minutes.

Malachi had never been a business owner before, but he’d run a large furniture operation for his previous employer in Ohio. To his knowledge, all those he’d supervised had been quite content with his leadership. He intended that to be the case here. Apparently, he had some ground to make up.

Glancing back toward the front door, he noted the hat rack at its customary location just inside. Malachi took a moment to put his hat on one of the pegs before turning back to the young woman. He suppressed a smile. She reminded him of a fierce bantam hen.

“What would you like to tell me about the business?”

His mild, open-ended question seemed to surprise her, but she recovered quickly. “It’s a well-run operation.”

Malachi nodded solemnly. “I noted that from the bookwork.”

The ice in her green eyes melted slightly. A shrewd spark began to replace the frost. “The employees are extremely capable and loyal. They’ve all worked here for some time and are very valuable to the business.”

His lips twitched slightly at her artfulness. “That is gut to know.”

“New accounts have been established with some of the larger Englisch furniture stores. We are starting to get a backlog of orders. It’s probably time to hire more workers.” She eyed him closely, gauging his response.

So this woman knew that his brothers were joining him in the business. Even without telephones, news spread fast in Amish communities. While his brothers would work with him, he had no plans to change the workforce at this time. Not until he understood their abilities and how they benefited the operation. Malachi respected that she was trying to protect the current employees. He also recognized that she was trying to lead him. Plodder he might be, but he didn’t like being pulled by the halter. “Are you falling behind?”

Her mouth opened in a perfect circle before snapping closed. “Not at all! I just wanted to assure you that there was ample work to be done.”

“Gut. I look forward to reviewing the orders.” He regarded her quietly. “You mentioned we. How long have you worked here?”

For a moment, her eyes clouded. “My father was Amos Fisher, the previous owner. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t come to work with him.”

Malachi frowned in sympathy for her loss at the same time a chill ran up his spine. A managing female in the business. Just what he’d left Ohio to avoid. He continued his study of the woman in front of him. She returned his scrutiny. Malachi drummed his fingers slowly against his pant leg. Perhaps there would be one immediate change to the workforce after all.

They turned in relieved unison when the door jingled to announce a new arrival.

The tall man who entered nodded to the woman before hanging his hat and extending his hand to Malachi.

“I am Ezekiel Weaver. You are Malachi Schrock?” He continued at Malachi’s nod, “Welcome to Miller’s Creek. I see you’ve met Ruth Fisher. I’m sure she was sharing how glad we are that you’re coming to live in the community.”

“Something like that.” Malachi’s eyes returned to the young woman’s. Her smooth cheeks flushed under his regard.

The bishop dipped his head in approval. “Gut. She can tell you a lot about the business.”

“So I’m discovering.” So the bishop wasn’t aware of the young woman’s animosity. Malachi wasn’t going to be the one to share the news. Except for the situation in Ohio, where evasion had seemed the more prudent choice, Malachi addressed his own battles.

Bishop Weaver turned to the young woman. “Ruth, do you have a place where we can talk in private?”

“Certainly.” She gestured to the door of a small office. The bishop entered and shut the door after Malachi joined him, leaving the young woman on the other side. Malachi winced at the expression on her face. Her exclusion from a discussion regarding the business certainly hadn’t smoothed any waters for him. The bishop might be glad that Malachi was now in the community, but on the other side of the door was someone who clearly wasn’t.