Читать книгу The Amish Bachelor's Choice - Jocelyn McClay - Страница 15

Ruth’s cheeks were so hot they had to be flaming red. Granted, she deserved the ample dose of embarrassment from her behavior toward the new owner. If her grossmammi had been alive, she’d have admonished Ruth. Keep your words soft and sweet. You might have to eat them. Ruth could almost hear Grossmammi’s tranquil voice repeating the Amish proverb.

It hadn’t been the words so much, Ruth recalled. The words were true. Her coworkers’ jobs were on her mind. When things were on her mind, Ruth expressed them. It’d been the attitude used in delivering the words that would be hard to choke down if served back to her. And the new owner was well within his rights to serve up a banquet.

Ruth banged her head gently against the side of a nearby hutch. Her prayer kapp slipped farther down her hair at the contact. She couldn’t have made a worse first impression if she’d tried. Reaching behind her head to address the familiar task of repinning the kapp, she glanced up and froze. Yes, apparently she could. For meeting her eyes through the window between the office and the showroom were the keen blue ones of the new owner. Ruth jabbed a final pin in her hair, whirled around and swept through the door into the workroom.

It wasn’t the heavy bang of the door as she came through that focused all the attention in the workroom on her. They’d obviously been watching for someone to enter. Four sets of curious eyes observed Ruth as she slid her hands down the front of her apron. The noise in the room abated as machines shut down.

Benjamin had returned from collecting a load of lumber. Ruth figured he was the one who’d shared the news of the occupant in the office. He’d have passed the buggies out front, recognized the bishop’s and noted the unknown rig when he’d driven the team around the back of the shop. Her suspicion was confirmed when his voice carried across the now-quiet room. “Is he here?”

Ruth cleared her throat. “Ja. He’s in the office talking with Bishop Weaver.”

“What do you think?” The questions began as the men crossed to her.

I think that my life is about to change. But Ruth knew that wasn’t what these men wanted to hear. “He seems a fair man.” At least she hoped so. Impressions could be deceiving. Look at the one she’d certainly left him with.

“Does he know furniture?”

“I’m not sure about that. He looked like he was admiring the workmanship on that oak table and chairs you built, Isaac.”

Some of the tension in their postures reduced with their laughter at her teasing.

“He knows that it’s a gut business, that you do gut work and that we have many customers to keep us busy. He is not a fool.” At least, she hoped not. “I’m sure he’ll meet you soon.” He would, or she would say something to him about making an effort to greet the anxious men.

Ruth smiled and gestured behind her. “You can go through the door to gawk and act like you’ve nothing better to do, or you can go back to work and demonstrate how industrious you are, should he poke his head into the workshop today.”

The four men, two bearded, two not, nodded and turned back to their tasks. If she said it would be all right, it would be all right. They trusted her judgment.

Ruth’s smile faded as soon as their backs were turned. She felt the weight of that trust pressing down on her shoulders. Pressing her down into the floor until she felt like she was barefoot instead of wearing the sneakers that provided comfort for long hours on her feet. A trust she didn’t know if she deserved, but one she would do her best to uphold.

If there was no one to support her, well, she was growing used to that.

Ruth wove through the benches, equipment and various works in progress, and came to a stop at the far reaches of the large room. Pressing her lips together to keep them from quivering, she quietly surveyed the rough pieces of oak neatly stacked in the corner. Another Amish proverb crept across her mind. A man should not grieve over much, for that is a complaint against Gott. She compressed her lips more tightly. Chalk it up to another way in which she was disappointing Gott, for she certainly was still grieving.

And what was over much? Daed had only been gone a month. Daed, who’d been father, teacher and companion, had left a staggering void here at the shop and in the now-echoing silence of the farmhouse they’d shared. It might’ve been different if her father had remarried after her mother’s death when Ruth was born. But he hadn’t, much to the disappointment of all the available women in the district. Instead, he’d raised numerous eyebrows rearing his daughter by himself. It’d been just the two of them. And now that it was just her, she still felt his loss like a missing limb.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have friends. Ruth enjoyed visiting with the other single women at church and afterward every other Sunday. Or at least she had before Daed got sick. But between covering for his work at the shop, keeping up their household and caring for an ill father, she hadn’t had time to go to the social gatherings like quilting. As it’d meant more time with her father, she couldn’t regret the trade-off. Besides, now that the new owner was here, she had all the time in the world to join in those events, at least until she left.

Crossing to a cabinet, she snagged a fresh sanding block. Ruth reached up to pull her safety glasses into place from where they usually perched on the top of her head, but her searching hand only tapped hair and her kapp. As her hand dropped to her side, she wondered where she might have left them. Vividly, it came back to her. They were in the showroom, on the counter. Where she’d set them before she knew who he was. When her initial thought upon seeing the blond, broad-shouldered stranger had been how attractive he was and that she didn’t want him seeing her in heavy plastic glasses. Where he still might be, rightfully thinking that she was the Wicked Witch of the West from a book she’d read to her daed while he was sick. But she wasn’t going to venture anywhere near the showroom right now.

Well, she’d sanded without glasses before. Ruth returned to the corner, pulled a stool to the nearby bench and reverently picked up a flat piece of the oak.

She closed her eyes. If she tried hard, she could still see her father’s handling of the wood. It’d been the last thing he’d worked on before he died. Every year for Christmas, Daed would make her a piece of furniture. The rocker was to be this year’s gift. He’d tried to work on it, tried to hurry when he knew his time was running out, but the illness overcame him. Whenever she wanted to feel close to her father, she worked on the rocker. With dismal results. Because anytime she tried, like now, unshed tears burned her eyes.

This would not do, especially today. Ruth reluctantly tucked the oak back with the other unfinished pieces and wiped her sleeve across her eyes. As she lowered her arm, she caught the movement of the door to the showroom opening. All eyes in the room focused on the man who stepped through. Ruth took a deep breath. Time to start a new approach and hope her previous one hadn’t obliterated her coworkers’ options. Another Amish proverb popped into her head. A smile is a curve that can straighten out a lot of things. If only it were that simple. But it was worth a try.

* * *

Normally, Malachi strove to avoid being the center of attention. Emphatically strove to avoid it. Today, he knew there was no possibility of evading scrutiny. He was new. He was unknown. And he had some control over their lives. Until that changed, his actions and presence would be closely watched.

Looking out over the well-ordered workroom, he briefly met the eyes of the occupants, nodding at them as his gaze swept over their locations. Four men. And her. The fierce bantam hen. The distance to where she stood at the back of the room didn’t diminish the energy that almost vibrated from her.

Whereas the men immediately returned his acknowledgments, there was a heartbeat or two from when his eyes met hers and he nodded to when she returned the nod. Apparently she’d thought better of her initial greeting, because after another beat or two, a smile curved her lips. It didn’t reach her green eyes as he knew it could, from her initial response in the showroom. But it was an effort at least, albeit one that looked more like a grimace. Malachi wondered if it covered gritted teeth.

Not something he intended to explore or address today. He’d come in at Ezekiel Weaver’s invitation for an official meeting. Malachi didn’t know why the bishop needed to make it so official when a simple visit at Malachi’s new farm would have sufficed. Perhaps, in having such an obvious meeting at the business, the man was attempting to extend over the new owner some additional authority as the district’s bishop. Perhaps it was to make a point to the old owner’s daughter. The man surely had his reasons. Malachi wasn’t going to pursue them. He would establish his own path.

He made his way into the workroom, stopping to review and admire some projects, inspect equipment and visit with his new employees. In their own way, the four men expressed their welcome and interest in working for him.

Jacob, one of the two single men, was the most talkative. He also introduced himself as a nearby neighbor. Benjamin, the other unmarried man, was quiet but quick with a nod or smile. His eyes were sharp, taking in everything without being obvious. Isaac and Nathaniel, the two married men, were congenial and accepting. All of them seemed very capable in their work. All seemed ready to give him a chance. Except her.

She didn’t approach him and Malachi didn’t go back to greet her. An omission that perhaps had been a mistake, he reflected, as he went down the steps to the patiently waiting gelding. Ach. He wasn’t going to retrace his steps now. He’d already met her. The rest of the workforce was aware of that. If they wanted to speculate about what they might perceive as an exclusion, so be it. He couldn’t control their thoughts. He hadn’t meant anything by it.

Except, Malachi realized as he climbed into the buggy and lifted the reins, maybe he had. Maybe he’d been unconsciously indicating that he was now in charge. Malachi winced as he released the brake. That hadn’t been his intent, either. He had no problem with unmarried women working. He’d worked with some back in Ohio. Most were very intelligent. He had sisters who were sharper than some of the men he’d worked with.

The truth of it, Malachi admitted as the clip-clop of the bay’s hooves signaled a ground-eating trot back to what was now the Schrock farm, was that he wasn’t prepared to face the buzz saw of energy that radiated from her. His lips quirked. To think he’d be intimidated by a slip of a woman whose kapp barely reached his chin. Malachi’s gaze took in the surrounding countryside that rolled by, his countryside now.

Well, he’d learn how to deal with her, one way or another.