Читать книгу The Christmas Quilt - Patricia Davids - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Rebecca held on to her aunt’s arm as they entered the lobby of the Wadler Inn. The instant she stepped inside the building she was surrounded by the smells of wood smoke, baking bread and roasting meat. She felt the heat and heard the crackling of burning logs in the inn’s massive fireplace to her right.

The clatter of cutlery and plates being gathered together as tables were cleared came from her left. The Shoofly Pie Café was adjacent to the inn and accessible through a set of wide pocket doors. The murmur of voices and sounds told Rebecca the doors were open. The discordant noise increased the headache growing behind her eyes.

As her aunt moved forward, Rebecca automatically counted her steps so she could navigate the room by herself in the future. Although she had stayed at the inn several times in the past, she needed to refresh the layout in her mind. She thought she knew the place well, but a chair carelessly moved by one of the guests or a new piece of furniture could present unseen obstacles for her.

The thump of feet coming down the stairs and the whisper of a hand sliding over a banister told her the inn’s open staircase was just ahead. The tick-tock of a grandfather clock beside the stairway marked its location for Rebecca.

“Velkumm.” Emma Troyer’s cheerful voice grew closer as she left the stairs and came toward them.

“Hello, Emma.” Rebecca smiled in her direction.

“I just finished readying your room. I’m so happy you decided to stay with us again.”

“We’re glad to be here,” Vera replied.

Staying at the inn had become a ritual for the two women following the quilt auctions. It was a time Vera truly enjoyed when the work of cooking, cleaning, sewing and running the farm was put on hold for a few days so she could relax and visit her many friends in town.

Rebecca would rather be back in her aunt’s small house. The openness of the inn disoriented her, but she never said as much. Rebecca loved her aunt dearly. Vera deserved her little holiday each year. If Rebecca had insisted on staying home alone, her aunt would have cancelled her plans and come home, too.

Emma said, “Rebecca, I couldn’t believe it when I heard how much your quilt went for.”

“God was good to us,” Vera said quickly.

Rebecca shook her head. “It was not worth that much money. The Englisch fellow who bought it did so out of pity. He saw a story about me on his television. That’s the only reason he came.”

Vera patted Rebecca’s arm. “It matters not what his motivation was. His being there was God’s doing.”

“How much more money will you need for your surgery?” Emma asked.

“Another twenty thousand dollars,” Vera answered.

“So much?” Emma’s voice echoed the doubt in Rebecca’s heart. It was unlikely they could raise enough money in time.

She said, “Doctor White has told us the surgeon who is perfecting this operation is moving to Sweden to open a special clinic there after Christmas. If we can’t raise the rest of the money before then it will be too late.”

Emma laid her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Do not give up hope. We know not what God has planned for our lives.”

Rebecca swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “I must accept His will in this.”

“Are you hungry?” Emma asked. “We’ve started serving supper in the café.”

Vera said, “I could eat a horse.”

“Goot. My mother has been waiting impatiently for you. I’ll tell her you’re here and we can catch up on all the news. Did you hear my Aenti Wilma over in Sugarcreek broke her hip last week?”

Rebecca said, “You two go ahead. I think I would rather lie down for a while before I eat.”

“Is your headache worse?” Vera asked.

Rebecca appreciated her aunt’s concern. “Nee. I’m sure a few minutes of peace and quiet are all I need.”

“Let me show you to your room,” Emma offered.

“I can find my way,” Rebecca insisted. She didn’t want to be treated like an invalid.

“Very well. I’ve put you in number seven, the same as last year.” Emma pressed an old-fashioned key into Rebecca’s hand.

“Danki. Enjoy your visit.”

She opened the white folding cane she carried and headed toward the ticking clock she knew sat beside the staircase. The clock began to strike the hour. It was five o’clock.

When she located the first riser, she went up the steps slowly, holding tight to the banister. There were fifteen steps if she remembered correctly. When her searching toe found the top of the landing, she smiled. Fifteen it was.

She walked down the hallway, letting her cane sweep from side to side. The rooms were numbered with evens on the left and odds on the right. It took only a few moments to locate her door.

She fumbled with the key for a second and lost her grip on it. It fell, struck her toe and bounced away. The hallway was carpeted. She couldn’t tell from the sound where the key landed.

Annoyed, Rebecca dropped to her knees and began searching with her hands, letting her fingers glide over the thick pile. The carpeting was a concession to the English guests that stayed at the inn. Amish homes held no such fanciness. A plain plank floor or simple linoleum was all anyone needed.

The sound of a door opening across the hall sent a rush of embarrassed heat to her cheeks. A second later the door closed.

She knew who it was. She recognized the spicy scent of his aftershave. Her heartbeat skittered and took off like a nervous colt at a wild gallop.

The silence stretched on until she thought she must have been mistaken. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. She cocked her head to the side. “Is someone there?”

“Can I help?” His raspy voice was a mere whisper.

It was Booker. God had given her another chance to spend time with him. “You have already helped a great deal. The price you paid for my quilt was outrageous.”

“Some works of art are priceless, but what are you doing on the floor?”

“I dropped my room key.”

“Ah. I see it.” A second later he grasped her hand and pressed the cool metal key into her palm, then gently closed her fingers over it.

Waves of awareness raced up her arm and sent shivers dancing across her nerve endings. She didn’t trust her voice to speak as he cupped her elbows and drew her to her feet. The warmth from his hands spread through her body, making it difficult to breathe.

She’d known this dizzying sensation only once before. The first and only time Gideon Troyer had kissed her. Would this man’s kiss light up her soul the way Gideon’s had?

Shame rushed in on the heels of her disgraceful thought. What was the matter with her? This man was Englisch. He was forbidden, and she was foolish to place herself in such a situation.

She was inches away from him. Gideon’s pulse pounded in his ears like a drum as he studied Rebecca’s face, her lips, the curve of her cheek. Behind her tinted glasses he saw the way her full lashes lay dark and smoky against her fair skin. The long ribbons of her white kapp drew his attention to the faint pulse beating at the side of her neck just where he wanted to press a kiss.

She was everything he remembered and so much more. The girl he once loved had matured into a beautiful woman. He longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her. To see if those lush lips tasted as sweet as they did in his memory.

His grip tightened. Suddenly, she grew tense in his grasp and tried to pull away.

He was frightening her. This wasn’t a romantic interlude from their past for her. To her he was a stranger. He released her, took a step back and tried to put her at ease. “Would you like me to open the door for you?”

“No. I can manage.” She retreated until her back was against the wood.

She didn’t look frightened, only flustered. A pretty blush added color to her cheeks. Adam must have known she was staying at the inn. It would have helped if his cousin had given him a heads-up.

Gideon said, “It was nice talking to you. Perhaps we’ll see each other later since the ice is going to keep me here for a day. Wait, should I use the word see, or is that being insensitive?”

“I beg your pardon?” Her flustered look changed to confusion.

“I don’t know how to address a blind person. You’re the first one I’ve met. Can you give me a few pointers so I don’t stick my foot in my mouth?”

Her charming smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “There isn’t a special way to address us, and you don’t have to be concerned about using the word see. I use it all the time.”

“Good, because I’m thinking it would be hard to have a conversation with you if I constantly had to think up a way to replace every word that relates to sight.”

She nodded slowly. “I see what you mean.”

“Right!”

Chuckling, she said, “I’m sure we’ll run into each other if you’re staying here for a while. The inn isn’t very big.”

“I’d call it cozy.”

“I don’t find it so.”

“Why not?” Was she uncomfortable because he was here?

She shrugged. “It’s not important.”

“Of course it is.”

Following a moment of hesitation, she said, “I feel lost when I’m downstairs. The ceiling is so high that sounds echo differently. It’s that way in this long hall, too. I’m used to my aunt’s small farmhouse. I know where everything is. I can move about freely.”

“You’re comfortable there.”

She smiled. “That’s right. You do see what I mean.”

“If you need help navigating your way around, just ask me.”

Her smile faded. “I’m not asking for your help. I can manage quite well on my own.”

“Ouch. The lady is touchy.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “I am not.”

“Could have fooled me. That’s not very Amish of you.”

Her mouth snapped shut. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“The Amish are humble folks. Humble people accept help when it’s offered.”

Torn between scolding him and turning the other cheek, as she knew she should, Rebecca pressed her lips closed on her comment. He was baiting her. She didn’t have to respond.

“I’m right. Let me hear you admit it.”

She said, “The Amish strive to be humble before God.”

“Gets hard to do sometimes, doesn’t it?”

She blew out a long breath. “Yes, sometimes it is hard. Anything worthwhile is often hard to obtain. That is why we must depend on God to aid us.”

“Sorry if I offended you.”

“You did, but you are forgiven. My aunt often tells me I am too proud and I must seek humility.”

“It’s a foolish person who doesn’t heed goot advice.”

Hearing her own words tossed back at her made Rebecca smile. “I do need to work on that.”

Downstairs she heard the grandfather clock chiming the quarter hour and realized her headache had disappeared. Conversing with Booker was interesting to say the least. No one had ever asked if talking about her blindness made her uncomfortable. Usually they stammered apologies or sought to avoid mentioning it all together.

“What kind of work do you do?” she asked.

“I own a small airplane charter service.”

“You are a pilot?”

“Yes.”

Sadness settled over her. “I once knew a young Amish man who wanted to fly. Is it wonderful to soar above the earth like a bird?”

“It has its moments. What happened to him?”

She grasped the key so tightly her fingers ached and she fought back tears. “The lure of the world pulled him away from our faith and he never came back.”

After a long pause, he asked, “Were the two of you close?”

“Ja, very close.” Why was she sharing this with a stranger? Perhaps, because in some odd way he reminded her of Gideon.

“Did you ever think about going with him?”

She smiled sadly. “I didn’t believe he would leave. For a long time I thought it was my fault, but I know now it was not.”

Booker stepped closer. “How can you be so sure?”

She raised her chin. “He vowed before God and the people of our church to live by the rules of our Amish faith. If he could turn his back on his vow to God, it was not because of me.”

“I imagine you’re right about that. Have you forgiven him?”

She wished she could hear him speak in his normal voice. It was hard to read his emotions in the forced whisper he had to use. “Of course.”

“If he came back, what would you do?”

“If he came to ask forgiveness and repent I would be happy for him and for his family. I can have Emma Troyer make you some blackcurrant tea. It will make your throat better in no time.”

“That’s what my mother used to do.”

Did she imagine it or did she hear sorrow in his voice? “Is something wrong?”

“I haven’t seen my mother in many years.”

“Why?”

“I’m estranged from my family.”

“That is a very sad thing. Only God is more important than our families. You should go visit them as soon as you can. Thanksgiving is coming in a few weeks. That, surely, is reason enough to put aside your pride and go home.”

“I wish that were possible, but it’s not. Good day, Rebecca.”

She didn’t want him to leave but she couldn’t think of a way to stop him. The carpet muffled his footsteps as he walked away. She waited until she heard him descending the stairs before she entered her room.

She closed the door and leaned against it. What did he look like? Was he handsome or plain? What made him sad when he talked about his family? Why hadn’t he visited them? There were many things she wanted to know about Booker.

And curiosity killed the cat.

The old adage popped into her mind like the warning it was meant to be. She knew full well it was dangerous to become involved with an outsider. Yet there was something familiar about him that nagged at the back of her mind. Something that made her believe they’d met before. If that were true, why wouldn’t he simply say so?

Booker was a riddle. A riddle she wanted to solve. The thought of being cooped up at the inn suddenly took on a whole new outlook. He would be here, too.