The Sound of Sleigh Bells (3 page)

The bishop leaned against the porch column. “Your Daed says you’ll be gone for three weeks, give or take a few days.”

Wishing she knew what to do with her hands, she folded her arms and nodded. At least today if he shook her hand, the sweltering heat provided a good excuse for her sweaty palms. “Yes. It’ll be a tight schedule, but I hope to get it all done.”

The bishop studied her. “I’m sure you will. You always have.”

She forced a smile, sickened at how she hid behind a facial expression. “Denki.”

Gloria shut the doors to the back of the van. “I meant to get ice for the drinks Beth asked me to pack. Lizzy, can I get some from your house?”

“Sure, I’ll give you a hand.”

Gloria grabbed the cooler out of the backseat, and the two women hurried across the road to Lizzy’s place. The bishop lifted the weight of Beth’s satchel off her shoulder, and she released it. He went down the steps, and she had no choice but to follow him.

Her insides trembled, but she reminded herself that no Amish knew her truth. Not even the bishop. And unless Henry returned from the grave to tell, none ever would.

Omar stopped under the shade of the walnut tree. “Those of us who knew Henry miss him, but we’re doing better.”

No one really knew Henry
.

Hoping to keep the conversation as light and breezy as possible, she kept her response brief and hoped he took the hint. “I know. I am too.”

“Lizzy tells me otherwise.”

She shifted, wishing Lizzy would believe her and stop talking to Omar about it. Her throat tightened. “You know, if you keep this up, we’ll need a tattoo for you as well. It’ll say, ‘Beth’s fine!’“

The man chuckled. “Okay, you’re fine.” He straightened. “Just don’t bring back any forbidden items this trip. We’ve gone that route twice already, and I’d rather not repeat it, okay?”

“Ya, I know.”

That was eight years ago. Did he still see her as a teenager? At the time it’d seemed harmless to purchase enlarged photos and canvas paintings Englischers had made of the Amish. Beth had defended her decision by telling Omar she’d hired Amish to make the frames for the items, no Amish person’s face could be seen in any of the settings, they hadn’t posed for any of the pictures, and the items were a sought-after commodity by their Englischer customers. Omar felt that snapping photos as the Amish went about their quiet lives was an unwelcome intrusion and that her allowing such photographs to become a part of her business only encouraged Englischers to be bolder with their cameras. He said if she’d told the frame builders what she planned to do with their work, they wouldn’t have participated. She hadn’t agreed, but he had final say, and she ended up keeping the frames and burning the artwork. She still bought frames regularly and filled them with nature scenes an Amish woman painted for her. Omar was a bit uncomfortable with nature scenes being sold for Englischers to hang on their walls and admire—as if they might fawn over them to the point of worship—but he allowed her to carry the items in the store. The man’s heart was in the right place—she believed that completely—but his ways were more conservative than a lot of bishops’. At times she wondered what life in Apple Ridge would be like if he hadn’t been chosen to be the bishop.

Lizzy and Gloria came out of her aunt’s house and crossed the street. With the cooler in hand, Gloria headed for the van. “You ready?”

“Ya.”

Hoping she’d return home with stacks of orders for Amish goods, she looked forward to what this time could accomplish. It’d been a while since she and Gloria had been gone overnight on business, but through the years, traveling with Gloria made for relaxed and enjoyable trips. Her shoulder-length gray hair always stayed pulled back in a loose bun, and her jean skirts with knit tops never changed with the Englischer styles. She seemed as comfortable wearing the same look year in and year out as the Amish were.

Beth hugged Lizzy. “I’ll call you in a few days.” As she walked toward the vehicle, the bishop walked beside her.

“Oh, wait. I almost forgot.” Lizzy ran into the store, and Omar and Beth stopped.

Omar smiled. “Maybe you should just take her with you.”

“Uh, maybe not.”

A look of amusement and understanding flickered through his eyes. Fresh longing to confide her secret rippled through her, but hoping for that kind of friend was as childish as young Englischers wanting a fairy to bring money for a useless tooth.

The silence stretched between them, and Beth wrestled with her guilt. The store’s screen door banged against its frame, ending the fight.

“I made your favorite spice cake.” Lizzy placed the tin carrier in Beth’s hands, gave her a quick hug, and opened the van door for her.

T
he edges of papers fluttered wildly as wind whipped through the open windows of the van. Securing the order forms on her traveling desk, Beth continued working between stops. Nearly two weeks of traveling were behind them, and despite her weariness she had more orders than she’d hoped for.

“I’m not sure where that detour was supposed to reconnect us to the highway, but we’re in the backwoods now.” Gloria’s voice barely registered over Beth’s thoughts.

She finished jotting down the information that danced in her head and then glanced up. The view of the Ohio River had disappeared, and hills with thick trees rose on each side of them. “Are we north of Steubenville?”

“That much I’m sure of.”

“How far back did you begin following a detour sign?”

“Ten miles.”

“How far since you saw the last detour arrow?”

“Eight miles.”

Beth laughed. “I think you definitely missed something. Let’s just backtrack until we pick up that detour sign.”

Gloria pressed the brake and steered the vehicle completely off the road and onto the shoulder. “I’ll make a U-turn after the cars behind me pass. Sorry about this.”

“No apologizing, Gloria. You do a great job.” Studying the road ahead, Beth suppressed a yawn. Before a bend in the road, there stood a post with eight wooden signs hanging from it, each one bearing a different store’s name. “I think there’s a small town ahead.”

Watching the rearview mirror, Gloria frowned. “You actually
want
to venture off the planned route?”

“Well, since we already have, and I really could stand to stretch my legs, we might as well look around a bit. We have almost an hour before we need to be at All That’s Amish. Besides, maybe someone can tell us a better way to get there from here. We should only be ten or fifteen miles away.”

“Okay.” Gloria turned on the blinker and merged back onto the road.

Once they were closer to the town, they passed a sign that read Welcome to Tracing.

As soon as they rounded the bend, Beth’s heart rate increased. “Gloria,” she whispered, “look at this place.”

The town had character, like something out of the eighteenth century—two-story clapboard stores side by side, a narrow main road separating the two rows of buildings. There was a hitching post with a horse and buggy tied to it. Wherever Tracing was in relation to Steubenville, Amish lived nearby.

They pulled into a gravel parking lot beside one of the stores.

As they got out of the vehicle, Beth spotted a hand-painted sign that read “Pete’s Antiques two blocks ahead.” An arrow pointed up a side street. For the first time in more than a year, intrigue ran through her.

Gloria stepped onto the sidewalk. “There’s a café. How about a hot lunch? I’m sure we can get good directions there.”

Searching for Pete’s store, Beth walked several feet one way and then the other. Up a side street and on a small hill stood a cedar-sided building. A feeling she thought had died with Henry stirred within her. “There.” Beth pointed. “I’ll be in that store when you’re finished. We can’t take much time, or we’ll be late for the next appointment.”

“I’ll bring the van around to get you. Can I bring you a sandwich?”

“Sure. You know I’m not picky.”

“Well, not about food or getting lost, but you’re tough on what’s worthy to carry in the shops. Otherwise the van would be filled with samples for the display room by now.”

“Ya, but I’ve taken a lot of orders, and Pete may be another one willing to buy.”

Gloria laughed and headed for the café. Beth opened the van’s door, stuffed the order forms into her satchel, and tucked it under her arm. She hurried across the street. The hill seemed to grow longer and steeper as she went.

Out of breath, she pushed herself to keep her speed as she mounted the wooden steps. The screen door swung open, and a man came out.

“Whoa.” He chuckled and pressed his back against the door, holding it open for her. “A woman on a mission.”

Embarrassed she hadn’t seen him in time to slow down and use her manners, she dipped her head. “Denki.” She intended to be polite and keep moving, but when she glanced at his face, his golden brown eyes stopped her cold. Intrigue collided with unease, and she told herself to go into the store. Yet she simply stood. He was in his mid to late twenties, Amish, and clean-shaven, like all single Amish men.

And something about him had her mesmerized. Did she know him?

His pursed lips did not hide his smile or his amusement at her gaping.

Stop gawking and go inside, Beth!

She cleared her throat, lowered her eyes, and slipped past him. Disobeying the wisdom she’d gained about single men, she turned to see him again. His smile was gone, but his eyes lingered, taking her in as much as she took him in.

Had they met somewhere? Maybe on one of her trips through the Ohio Amish community? He seemed oddly familiar. Moreover, he felt…

An image of Henry moved into her mind, and she came to herself.

He remained at the doorway. “Can I help you?”

“No, I… I’m just here to look around.”

“There’s the main room, which you’re in, and a few rooms off to the sides. There’s also more upstairs, including seasonal items. Pete’s in the back with a customer, but he’ll be out in a bit.”

“Denki.” Horrified at how brazen she must appear, she made a beeline to the stairs.

Once out of his sight, she found her breath and her good sense again. She’d simply remain upstairs for a bit and hope he’d been in the process of leaving when she nearly ran him over. Rattled, she closed her eyes and tried to even out her breathing. She’d felt a spark of interest for a man once before. He’d been a stranger to her too, and nothing would ever cause her to let down her guard like that again. Ready to forget and focus on her job, she began looking around the shop.

Searching through each room, she spotted nothing outstanding. Pete carried mostly antique pieces, all ordinary, but she couldn’t stop walking the aisles of the rooms again and again. Old and new mattresses were propped against the walls, along with bedsprings and slats. Arrays of floor lamps with Tiffany-style stained-glass lampshades were scattered throughout, some old and some quite new. An Amish-made twin bed sat in one room with the dresser and matching hope chest in a separate room. The store carried a variety of items, but if this was how the management organized things, the sales weren’t what they could be.

While all the rooms were much the same, she kept returning to one specific room. What continued to draw her back to this area? There had to be something. Threading her way through the packed aisles, she looked behind the bulky furniture. Under a draped quilt between a bed and a hope chest, she spotted the edge of a striking piece of wood, maybe part of a buffet.

She eased the quilt up. Surprised at her find, she sank to her knees.

A carving. More intricate in detail than anything she’d ever seen.

Unlike ordinary artwork, it was made from a log and sat on the ground like a small upturned stump. It stood about a foot high and was a foot in diameter. On it the artisan had created an entire scene of Amish children playing in the snow on a hillside. The artist hadn’t used paint, but she could easily see the carefully fashioned snow. A man stood off to the side, leaning against an intricately carved tree. She ran her fingers over the work, the details of which she couldn’t believe or even have imagined possible.

“You like it?” A man’s voice echoed through the room, but she didn’t look up and was barely able to make herself respond.

“It’s amazing.”

“The Old Man himself made that. He’s been carving since he was five. I think he might just have the hang of it.”

“I’d say so, yes. Why are you hiding it up here?”

“It’s a Christmas scene. Nobody buys winter stuff in August.”

“I think people would purchase this any time of the year.”

“You gonna buy it?”

Beth looked up to see a man in his sixties standing in the doorway. “Do you have more than this one piece?”

“Not right now. He probably has more in his shop. Most of what he makes is smaller. He’s really good at making canes and walking sticks. We sell a lot of those.”

“And this ‘old man’ is a friend of yours?”

“Yep. Probably the best one I’ve ever had.”

“Does he live around here?”

“Not close, not far. And I can’t see how that should make a difference on whether you want to buy it.”