When Hope Blossoms (13 page)

She leaned back in the chair, holding both palms toward the computer. “I think I have it all set up. Besides the contact form you mentioned, that is. Is there anything else I should include?”

Tim looked the page over carefully. Rather than a full Web site with multiple pages, she’d taken his advice to start small and add to it as her business grew. A single page would be easier for her to manage, and lesser bandwidth meant less cost. Besides, one page was enough to cover everything, he noted as he examined the header, list of services, and sample photograph.

“It looks as though you’re ready for—” He slapped his forehead. “Oh, wait. Weren’t you going to include something about hiring out your machine to quilt other people’s projects?”

She groaned. “That’s right. I got so focused on the pricing of my own creations, I neglected to include that service.” She started to lean forward over the keyboard, but her gaze shifted to the clock on the wall. “Nine fifteen? I didn’t realize it was so late.” She pushed away from the desk, the wheels on the rolling chair squeaking in protest. “We’d better head home so I can get the children to bed.”

Without receiving a word of direction, Bekah crouched down and helped her brother and sister put the game pieces back in the box. Tim was amazed the children had entertained themselves for over an hour with one simple game. He didn’t know of many other kids who would have been as patient.

As soon as the children finished cleaning up, Mrs. Knackstedt ushered them out the door. Floodlights mounted on the barn bathed the area in a soft yellow glow, so even though the sky was a steely gray, they had no trouble making their way to their vehicle.

Tim followed the family across the yard and stood beside their car while Mrs. Knackstedt waited for the kids to climb in. He rested his hand on the car’s hood. “It shouldn’t take long to get the communication form set up. But you’ll probably want to list an email address. Do you have an account?” What a stupid question. She didn’t have a computer or a cell phone. Why would she have an email account?

She grimaced. “Not yet. Is it complicated? Or expensive?”

“It isn’t complicated, and many email accounts are free. We can get you set up when you come back to finish your page. Do you . . . do you want to get that done tomorrow night?”

She’d opened her door, but she paused in the weak glow cast by the car’s interior light. “If you’re sure you don’t mind hosting us two evenings in a row. We can certainly wait a few days, if you’d rather.”

They’d already delayed several days while she waited for the fellowship’s approval. Besides, he didn’t have anywhere to go, anyone else to see. The thought brought a hint of melancholy. He shrugged, tossing the fleeting feeling aside. “Tomorrow’s fine. Sooner you get it up and running, the sooner you can start bringing in business.” And the sooner he’d be shed of helping her. What had gotten into him lately, thinking he needed company? Especially
Mennonite
company . . .

She smiled. “That’s true.” The light above highlighted the snow-white of her cap and made her sleekly combed hair seem even darker in hue than it had inside. Her widow status and position as mother of three had left Tim considering her as a middle-aged woman. Now, looking into her open, appreciative face, he suddenly realized she wasn’t middle-aged at all. She was still young. Early thirties at most. Pretty too, in a clean, wholesome way not often seen.

He took a stumbling backward step. “Then come on over tomorrow around eight or so.” He trotted to the porch. Her car revved to life as he stepped back inside. She and her kids would be here again tomorrow. His heart gave a funny half-skip—part anticipation, part dread. He glanced around. Where had he stashed that vacuum cleaner?

B
ekah stood just inside the doorway of her bedroom, pulling pins from her knot of hair, and watched Mom cover Adri with the little girl’s favorite orange-dotted sheet. Adri had fallen asleep on the three-minute drive home and hadn’t even awakened when Mom carried her upstairs and changed her into a nightgown. How could her sister fall asleep so fast and sleep so hard? Sometimes Bekah envied Adri.

She picked up the hairbrush from the dresser. Her hair snapped and crackled with static as she brushed it. “Mr. Roper’s really nice, isn’t he, Mom?”

Mom paused halfway across the room. A slow smile crept up her cheek, making her lose some of her tired look. “He’s a very nice man. God blessed us with a very helpful neighbor.”

Bekah continued to run the brush through her hair as she ambled toward her own bed, where her nightgown waited, folded neatly beneath her pillow. “I think we should do something nice for him. To thank him.”

Mom leaned against the doorjamb, her eyes twinkling. “Like what? Bake him some cookies?”

Bekah made a face. She plunked the hairbrush on the little table separating her bed from her sister’s and spun to look at Mom. “He doesn’t seem like the cookie type. No, I was thinking more like something he really needs.” Bekah’s pulse raced. She had noticed how badly Mr. Roper’s house needed a good cleaning. With him working outside all day long, he didn’t have time for housekeeping, and he obviously didn’t have a wife to do it for him. But Bekah could do it. She’d been helping Mom with housecleaning for years already. And if she cleaned his house, she might uncover clues that would help her understand why he’d chosen to leave the Mennonite fellowship.

She licked her lips, gathering her courage. “I was thinking I could, maybe, offer to be his . . .” She searched for the word people used to describe someone who cleaned houses for a living. With a little jolt, she finished in a loud voice, “Maid!”

Adri murmured and stirred.

Mom flicked a glance at Adri, her lips sucked in. When Adri burrowed her face into her pillow and went on sleeping, Mom quirked one finger at Bekah. Bekah followed her into the hall. Mom closed the bedroom door and gave Bekah a funny look. “What do you mean, you want to be his maid?”

Bekah lifted her shoulders and held them there. “Well, not permanently.” She did enough cleaning in her own house. She wouldn’t want to do it for someone else forever. “But just to say thank you. For helping you with your Web site, and for being nice to Parker and Adri and me. Is it so bad to want to do something nice for him?” Bekah’s conscience pricked. The deed was kind, but she wasn’t being completely honest about her motivation. She hurried on. “He lives all alone. He could use some help with housework, don’t you think?”

Mom folded her arms. “It’s admirable that you want to return a favor, Bekah, but offering to clean his house? He could be insulted, as if you’re saying his house isn’t already clean.”

Bekah giggled. “Well, it isn’t.”

An amused grin twitched at Mom’s cheek for a moment, but then she set her lips in a firm line. “How Mr. Roper chooses to keep his own home isn’t our concern.” She sighed, raising one hand to stroke Bekah’s loose hair. The gentle touch sent a tremor down Bekah’s spine. “If you really want to do something nice for Mr. Roper, I suggest praying about it. God will whisper an idea that would be thoughtful without infringing on Mr. Roper’s privacy.”

Bekah hung her head. Infringing on Mr. Roper’s privacy was the only way she’d ever find out what she wanted to know.

“I need to check on Parker. Head to bed. It’s late, and tomorrow’s Thursday, household lau—”

Bekah groaned. “Household laundry day.”

Mom laughed. She kissed Bekah’s forehead and gave her a gentle nudge toward the bedroom. “Sleep now. Pleasant dreams.”

Bekah closed herself in the dark room and felt her way to the bed. Within moments, her eyes adjusted to the faint light filtering through the open window, and she dressed in her Mom-made cotton nightgown. Snug in her bed, she thought about Mom’s customary good-night wish for pleasant dreams. She stared wide-eyed into the gray shadows. Maybe if Mom’s wish proved true, she’d dream up a way to find out why Mr. Roper had decided to stop being Mennonite.

Thursday morning, Amy sewed and the children washed sheets and towels with the wringer washer on the back porch. Usually they fussed at one another when all three were involved in a single chore, but to Amy’s delight on this morning they worked cheerfully together, singing hymns and cooperating. Her machine sang, too, the third of the trio of wall hangings taking shape beneath her fingertips. The morning held a happy, relaxed feel—a settling-in that made Amy want to hum as she worked.

Adri’s scale-running giggle carried through the back screen door, followed by Parker’s guffaw and Bekah’s distinct laughter. Amy found herself chuckling, too, even though she had no idea what was so amusing. After lunch, she’d do something special to treat them—maybe a quick run into town to purchase ice cream sandwiches at the grocer. All three children loved the dark chocolate cookies with vanilla ice cream in between, but Amy rarely purchased them. Their limited grocery budget didn’t allow for extras. But she’d make the budget stretch this time. The children’s good behavior deserved recognition.

At eleven thirty, Amy shut down the sewing machine and headed to the kitchen to prepare a simple lunch. During the winter she always kept a big pot of soup simmering or tucked a casserole in the oven, but during the summer months, they ate a cold lunch to avoid heating the room. Amy rummaged in the pantry and refrigerator, wincing at the nearly empty shelves. The groceries she’d brought from Arborville were nearly gone.

She removed a loaf of store-bought bread—she set baking aside during the summer months, too—bologna, cheese, pickles, and what was left of the fruit. Perhaps when they went in for their ice cream sandwiches, they’d pick up more bananas, oranges, and apples, and some fresh vegetables. Once their garden started producing—when the men had come to till the acreage for planting soybeans a week ago, they’d taken the time to turn over the ground for a vegetable garden behind the house—she wouldn’t have to purchase vegetables.

Her gaze lifted unconsciously, envisioning the rows of apple trees on Mr. Roper’s property. What kind of apples did he grow? As much as the children loved fruit, she would probably be money ahead if she purchased several bushels and stored them in the cellar under the house. A smile lifted her lips as she thought about roaming the orchard, picking the fruit with the children, then using the apples for applesauce, pies, and fritters. Her stomach growled.

With a giggle, she set to work buttering the bread for sandwiches. Midway through the task, someone knocked on the front screen door. Wiping her hands on her apron, she trotted through the sewing room to the front room and peeked through the screen. Two women with white caps and arms full of bags stood on the porch. Amy broke into a smile when she recognized Ellie Hunsberger. Her smile faltered when she realized Margaret Gerber stood beside Ellie.

Margaret had taken over Amy’s kitchen after their second worship service together, apparently believing her status as the eldest fellowship member granted her the freedom to be the boss even in someone else’s home. Amy didn’t want to dislike the older woman, but Margaret’s forceful nature didn’t invite camaraderie. Even so, Amy swung the door wide and warmly welcomed both women.

The pair stepped over the threshold, and Margaret charged directly for the kitchen. She called over her shoulder, “Amy, come tell us where to put these things away.”

Amy stood stupidly and stared after the older woman.

Ellie nudged her with her elbow. “Better go,” she whispered, her dark eyes twinkling, “or she’ll put everything away where she thinks it needs to be, and you’ll have to hunt for it.”

Amy turned her startled gaze on Ellie. “What is she putting away?”

Ellie bounced the bags in her hands. “Groceries.” She gave Amy another little nudge, and the two moved toward the kitchen. “Margaret isn’t happy with the selection of groceries in the little store in town, so this morning she took Tamera and me to the Food Warehouse in Topeka. We stocked up on staples.” She added her bags to those Margaret had set on the table. “Then we divided everything between the families. This is your share.”

Amy began peeking into the bags. She gasped. Canned goods, bags of sugar and flour, boxed cereals, peanut butter and jelly . . . So much food!

She turned to Margaret and tried not to sound as worried as she felt. “This is very kind of you, but I don’t know if I can afford to pay for it.”

Margaret waved one hand, making a little
pfffft
sound with her pursed lips. “I bought everything in bulk. The cost is much less. Here’s your portion.” She handed Amy a little scrap of paper with an amount circled at the bottom. Amy stared at the amount, grateful it was much lower than she’d expected, considering the bulging bags. But the surprise of the unexpected bill held her in place.

Margaret began emptying bags. “We’ll put everything on the table. You put it away where you want it.” Ellie joined Margaret in relieving the bags of their contents.

Amy jerked to life and bustled around, stacking items in the small pantry and cupboards. She rarely purchased more than a few days’ groceries at once, but these supplies would carry her and the children for two weeks at least. Not only had Margaret purchased necessities, she’d included a few extras. Adrianna would be especially happy about the big bag of potato chips. Every time they visited the grocery store, the little girl begged for them, but Amy rarely bought them. They seemed an extravagance. But they’d be able to have chips with their sandwiches for several days, thanks to Margaret’s shopping. Now that the shock was wearing off, she saw the blessing in Margaret’s surprise visit.

Just as the women finished crumpling the empty bags and stashing them under the sink to use as trash bags, the children dashed in from the backyard, sweaty but smiling. Adrianna threw her arms around Amy’s waist. “I’m hungry, Momma. Can we eat now?”

“You certainly may,” Margaret said briskly. “Ellie and I will get out of the way so you can finish fixing the children’s lunch.” She caught Ellie by the elbow and propelled her toward the front room.

Amy trotted along behind them. “But I haven’t paid you for my part of the groceries yet.”

Margaret paused by the door, turning a gentle smile in Amy’s direction. “You weren’t expecting us, so you probably don’t have money ready to give me. It can wait until Sunday when we come out again for worship. And if there are things your family doesn’t care for, write them on a piece of paper. I’ll not bring those things to you again.”

Apparently Margaret intended to make this bulk grocery purchase a frequent event. Amy had always done her own shopping, and a part of her resisted giving that responsibility to someone else. She inwardly prayed for a gracious way to decline the woman’s continued assistance. Words ready, she opened her mouth.

Margaret brushed Amy’s arm with her fingers. “And you don’t need to thank me. You’re here alone with these children, without a husband’s helping hands. Whatever we can do to lighten your load, we want to help. It’s nothing more than I’d do for any of the members of my own fellowship. You’re a part of us now, too, Amy.”

Amy swallowed her protest as a lump of emotion formed at the woman’s warm words of acceptance. Perhaps Margaret’s brusqueness wasn’t intended to be harsh. She bobbed her head in a quick nod. “I appreciate it. I’ll have money ready for you on Sunday.”

Margaret smiled, then turned to Ellie. “Come. We need to get out of Amy’s way so she can feed her children.” Ellie waved good-bye over her shoulder as Margaret steered her to the car waiting in the driveway.

Amy returned slowly to the kitchen. Parker and Adrianna sat at the table, waiting for their lunch, but Bekah stood beside the pantry with the door wide open. Her face reflected wonder. “Where’d all this food come from?”

Amy reached past her to bring out the big bag of potato chips. Adrianna squealed, clapping her hands. Amy popped the bag open and set it on the table. “The ladies from the Ohio fellowship went shopping in Topeka and shared with us.”