A Christmas Home Page 3

  Ruthie managed a watery chuckle. “All I was doing was cleaning the dish cabinet, and he said I shouldn’t be standing on that stool. And I told him . . .”

  She threatened to spill over with tears again, and Sarah hastened to interrupt, wondering where Grossmammi was while all this had been going on. “Of course you want the cabinet to look nice, but why don’t you sit down and rock Mary a bit? She’s ready to fall asleep in your arms.”

  Ruthie let Sarah shepherd her to the rocker and settle her with Mary in her lap. “Just for a minute,” she said, leaning back heavily.

  “I’ll pick up the glass in the meantime,” Sarah said. “If that’s all right with you?”

  Ruthie nodded, looking almost as tired as Mary. For a few minutes silence ruled in the kitchen. Sarah cleaned up the fragments of the plate, glanced at Ruthie to see her eyes drifting shut, and went ahead to finish the cabinet.

  The swing door to the hallway was pushed open a few inches. Grossmammi looked in, made sure all was peaceful, and slipped into the kitchen.

  Ruthie blinked, her eyes opening. “Ach, I should . . .”

  “You should go up and have a nice lie-down until supper,” Grossmammi said. “You and Mary both. Sarah and I will take care of things.”

  “I don’t think I . . .” But the tiredness was obviously overcoming her.

  Sarah hurried to take Mary, and together with Grossmammi they managed to get both Ruthie and the toddler up the stairs and settled on the double bed. By the time Sarah drew the double wedding ring quilt over them, Mary was already asleep, and Ruthie close to it.

  She and her grandmother slipped quietly down the stairs. When they reached the kitchen again, they exchanged glances. “I didn’t hear all of that,” Grossmammi said. “I’d guess Eli wasn’t tactful.”

  Sarah chuckled. “Did you ever see Eli being tactful? He couldn’t understand why Ruthie was fussed about hosting worship on Sunday.”

  “Ach, he should know better. But her sisters are coming to help clean on Saturday, and it wouldn’t occur to him she’d want to do something first, before having her sisters looking in her cabinets. Ach, well, they’ll come through worse than this in their marriage.”

  “I guess so.” Sarah visualized Ruthie’s tired face. “I wish she’d let me help her, but I understand. I’m still a stranger to her. And unfortunately, from her viewpoint, a stranger who’s used to being in charge in the household. Naturally she’s wary.”

  “And where would your brothers and sister be if you weren’t someone who takes charge?” Grossmammi said. “It’s not a bad trait, Sarah.”

  “Not necessarily.” Sarah eyed her grandmother. “Is that why you didn’t tell me about Noah and his wife before I went over there this morning? You thought I’d jump in and take charge?”

  Grossmammi studied her, probably not sure how upset she was. “No, I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you’d turn the job down without even trying if you knew Noah had two motherless kinder.”

  “Oh.” That took her aback. Maybe she’d been a little too vehement in expressing her feelings about mothering other people’s children when she’d written to Grossmammi. “I don’t suppose I’d turn the bookkeeping job down, but he hasn’t actually offered it yet.”

  “Why not?” Grossmammi’s bristles went up at once. “How could he find someone more suitable than you?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure. He gives me the impression that he’d rather not have a woman around at all. I guess I can understand that, after what happened with his wife.”

  “Yah, it was hard. And shocking when you first hear it. I guess after all these years, most folks have gotten used to it.” Her grandmother pulled open the potato bin and gestured. “You start the potatoes while I get the chicken stewing.”

  Obediently she counted out enough potatoes for four adults and one small child, but she wasn’t done with her questions. “Please, Grossmammi. Tell me about Noah’s wife. I don’t want to be a blabbermaul, but I stumbled into saying something that upset him once already, and I don’t want to do it again.”

  “No, I guess you’d best know.” Grossmammi rinsed the chicken pieces, waiting until she’d turned off the spigot to speak. “You remember Noah, don’t you?”

  “A little, I guess. I didn’t know him well, for all we went to the same school.”

  “I’m not surprised. He was always the quiet one of the family. He just seemed to know what he wanted early on, heading straight into furniture making with his onkel.”

  Sarah nodded, remembering their neighbor. A bachelor, Noah’s uncle had lived alone, seeming happy with his furniture shop.

  “Noah had never fallen for a girl at all,” Grossmammi said, “and then suddenly he was head over heels for Janie Burkhalter, and her barely eighteen and still enjoying her rumspringa. Too much, I’d have thought, to settle down, but . . .” She shrugged. “Who knows? She agreed to marry him, and it was all done in a rush because she wanted to be the first one married that fall.”

  Sarah thought she could see where this was heading. “So she was too young to be ready for marriage.”

  Grossmammi’s forehead wrinkled. “Too young for motherhood, anyway. She seemed to enjoy their wedding visits, traveling around to stay with relatives and see different places. But naturally, when they came back Noah needed to get on with his work. He thought what everyone did, that she’d settle down when the baby came.”

  “Instead of one, it was two.” Sarah could imagine the shock, going from being a carefree girl to having two babies so fast. “She didn’t have much family, did she?” Sarah was starting to remember her, at least a little.

  “Just her daad, Amos Burkhalter. It was all too much for her. Everyone tried to help, but Janie . . . she just kept talking about how she wanted to travel, to see places and meet people before she was too old. Noah promised her they’d travel after the kinder were grown, but one day she decided not to wait. She just left.”

  Sarah tried to absorb it, her heart hurting for all of them. Janie must have been desperate to do such a thing, but—no, she couldn’t understand a mother leaving her babies behind, no matter how desperate.

  “I’m so sorry about Noah.” She understood, now, his reaction when he realized how much she’d moved around. He’d thought she was like Janie, always looking for something new. He didn’t realize that it had never been her choice.

  “Yah, it’s a sad thing. Noah is married to Janie, but she is out in the world somewhere.” Grossmammi shook her head. “If she’d died young, that would be a great sorrow. But maybe this is worse—for him and those boys to live with thinking she didn’t want them.”

  That was like a blow to the heart. No doubt Noah had tried to tell his sons something that would comfort them, but what would it be? There were no good explanations.

  Her grandmother poked her. “Don’t stand there dreaming. Get the potatoes on.”

  Sarah set the pot on the stove. “Not dreaming. More like a nightmare, ain’t so?”

  “Yah. But look at it this way. If you can help Noah get his business going forward, he won’t have all that time alone to brood. You’ll be gut for him.”

  Maybe, although Noah might not feel that way. And even if he did, she wasn’t so sure that Noah and his sons would be good for her right now.

  * * *

  —

  NOAH WAS ABLE to get the twins off to school the next morning without interruption. Waving good-bye, he yanked his jacket from the peg in the back entryway, closed the door, and started toward the workshop.

  Colder this morning. He scanned the sky. They might get a flurry of snow before the day was over. That would excite the boys for sure.

  So what did it mean that Sarah hadn’t turned up yet? Had she decided one day was enough to waste trying to make order out of his chaos? Or maybe she’d been expecting a formal job agreement before she left. They hadn’t really settled anything yesterday.

  The truth was that he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of having someone take over any aspect of his business—not if it meant having someone around all the time. Sarah hadn’t been noisy, of course. She hadn’t chattered—hadn’t even spoken except when she’d needed to ask him something.

  Still, her very presence was disruptive. He liked being alone when he was working—he always had. That was what troubled him, not Sarah as a person.

  If she could take the work home to do—but that didn’t make any sense, not at this stage. Sarah still needed to consult him on the scribbled notes and receipts. Maybe later. And maybe there’d be no need to think about it, if she didn’t come back.

  But when he went inside the workshop, Sarah was already at the desk, and heat flowed from the stove. A pot of what smelled like coffee sat atop it, staying warm.

  She glanced up when he came in and seemed to catch his look at the stove. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought you wouldn’t have time for coffee when you were busy getting the twins off to school.”

  “No, that was a good thought.” Already she’d made him feel like a stranger in his own workshop.

  She had turned back to the shoebox of receipts she was sorting. Should he say something about the job? She didn’t seem to expect it. Helping himself to a mug of coffee, he risked another covert glance.

  Sarah wore green today—a deep, clear color that probably reflected the green of her eyes. She’d put on a black sweater in deference to the morning chill in the shop, and against it her hair, smoothed under her kapp, seemed brighter.

  And he shouldn’t be staring at her. He moved to the workbench, his back to her. Sarah would know about Janie by now. It would have been the first thing she
asked when she got home yesterday, he supposed. She probably wondered what kind of man he was, that his wife had run away from him.

  Well, she’d have sense enough not to bring up the subject, so he could be glad of that. Now he’d best get down to work and try to ignore her.

  For the next few hours they worked in the same room, with only the occasional question and answer to break the silence. The rocking chair was finished, and he looked at it with satisfaction. That wasn’t being prideful, was it? Rather, he felt pleased that the finished product matched the image that had been in his head when he’d started.

  Would Sarah feel that when she’d finally dug her way to the bottom of the pile of papers on the desk? He glanced at her to find that she had made progress. At least, it looked like progress to him to have that haystack of paper reduced to neat piles.

  “You’re making progress.”

  She looked up at the sound of his voice, as if surprised that he’d broken the silence. “Some,” she said. “Now that I have everything sorted, I can start bringing the ledger up to date.”

  With a sudden sense that he didn’t want to relapse into silence between them, he said the last thing he’d intended. “Do you remember Janie? Janie Burkhalter?”

  Sarah’s eyes met his for an instant before flickering away. “Not really. She was a couple of years younger, I think. I . . . I am sorry about what happened.”

  “Yah.” He shouldn’t have brought it up. What could he expect her to say? Just the same as everyone else. Sorry.

  “Noah . . .” She hesitated. “I am so sorry I spoke as I did yesterday. I hope you know I wouldn’t have said anything like that if I’d known.”

  He nodded. He was sure of it—Sarah was obviously a kindhearted woman. She wouldn’t willingly cause pain or embarrassment.

  He turned back to considering what he’d work on next, feeling oddly relieved. Maybe it was just as well he’d spoken. It had cleared the air between them.

  Maybe this would be a good time to discuss her job—

  But the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside drove the thought away. It might be an Englisch customer. He moved toward the door, looking out to see if it was someone he knew.

  The Englischer who slid out of the van looked slightly familiar, but he couldn’t quite place him. Maybe someone who’d talked with him at the fall craft festival? There’d been plenty of people who’d wanted to talk about his work, and enough had ended up buying something to make the event worthwhile.

  He opened the door as the newcomer came up the two steps.

  “Good morning.” The man had a quick smile at the sight of him. “Noah Raber?”

  “Yah. Komm in.” He stepped back, wishing he had mastered the skill of doing business with strangers.

  “I’m Jeff Portman. Portman Furniture, out on the highway?” His tone made it a question, and while he talked his gaze darted around the workshop, seeming to take in every detail.

  Noah nodded. He’d seen the huge store in passing, but never been inside. His mind jumped ahead hopefully. Was Portman interested in his furniture?

  “What . . . what can I do for you? Is there something special you’re interested in?”

  Portman shrugged. “I’ve been hearing a lot about the work you do. Thought I’d like to see for myself. Mind if I just look around?”

  “That’s fine. There aren’t a lot of finished pieces ready to show.” He didn’t like to admit it, but wasn’t it better than having a roomful of things no one wanted to buy?

  “Good, good. I don’t want to disturb you and your . . . wife . . . is it?” He advanced on Sarah, hand outstretched.

  “Bookkeeper,” Noah corrected. “Miss Yoder is keeping the books for me.”

  Sarah seemed composed despite the man’s attention. She responded politely and then turned back to her work with a decided air. He’d guess that, like a number of Amish women, Sarah didn’t care for being forced into a handshake by a stranger.

  “Most of the finished pieces are over here.” He steered the man toward the few things he had ready—a dower chest, a nightstand, and the rocking chair he’d just finished.

  Portman looked at each piece, nodding a little. Then he came back to the rocking chair, touching it so that it rocked smoothly back and forth, running his hand along the armrests.

  “Nice,” he said. “What are you asking for it?”

  Noah did some rapid calculating in his head. “Let’s say . . . a hundred and fifty?” He might get a bit more if he held it until the spring tourist season, but he could use the cash now.

  Portman seemed to consider. “I’ll tell you what,” he said finally. “I could buy the rocker today for your price and sell it tomorrow for twice that, at least. But that’s not my way. I like to build a relationship with a craftsman, so I can go to him often.”

  He wasn’t sure what the man was driving at, but silence seemed the best response.

  “So, anyway, how about if I take the rocker on consignment. That means . . .”

  “Yah, I know.” He’d finally caught up. “You want to display it in your store, and then if it sells, you keep a percentage of the price.”

  “That’s it.” Portman smiled again. Noah decided the smile must be part of his sales technique. “I always say you can’t get the better of a Dutchman in a deal.”

  The possibility of consignment sales had occurred to him, but he’d never followed up on it. Now it seemed to have come to him. “What percentage were you thinking about?”

  “Twenty-five percent.” The number rolled off his tongue glibly.

  For a moment Noah hesitated. Then he saw Sarah watching him. She shook her head.

  “Twenty,” he said promptly. “What price are you thinking of putting on it?”

  Portman studied the rocker again, nodding slightly. “Okay, I think I can put four hundred fifty on it, at least. It’s a nice piece, and it’s unique, so far as I can tell. You aren’t turning out chairs exactly like it every day, are you?”

  He was probably joking, but to Noah the question was a serious one. “I would never create another piece exactly the same. Unless it was meant for a set.”

  “Sure, sure, I understand. A craftsman wants his work to be unique.” Portman seemed concerned, as if he thought Noah might have been offended. He walked around the rocker again, looking at it. “Okay, it’s a deal. So long as you understand that I might have to dicker on the price to make the sale.”

  Noah nodded. Everybody wanted to feel they’d gotten the best price. “All right. I agree.” He managed to control his elation. Even with the commission, it was more than he’d make on his own.

  If he could work up a regular business with the man, he’d be able to give up the side jobs he took on and give all his time to furniture making. His dream of having a thriving business for his boys to take over could actually become a reality sooner than he’d thought.

  “There’s just one thing, though,” Portman said.

  Noah came back to Earth with a crash. There was a snag, then. “Yah?”

  “If this goes as well as I think, I’m going to want more from you. I need to know you can produce new pieces regularly, and not put it on the back burner because you got busy with something else.”

  “This is my work,” he said, trying not to think of all the small jobs he sometimes had to take on to make ends meet. “I won’t be running off in some other direction.” And that made it even more crucial that he have the help he needed, whether he liked it or not.

  “Good, then we have a deal. We can load this in the van . . .”

  He stopped when Sarah handed him a sheet of paper and a pen.

  “The receipt,” she said politely. “Mr. Raber needs a receipt showing your agreement, of course.”

  For a moment Noah was afraid the man would stalk off, but if that was anger Noah saw flash in his eyes, Portman quickly subdued it.

  “Sure, of course.” He took it, read it through, signed it, and handed it back to Noah. “Good thing you have Ms. Yoder to keep us both on track.”

  Noah wasn’t sure the man meant that, but he seemed honest enough. He lifted the chair. Still holding the receipt, Noah hurried to open the door for him and then helped him load the rocker into the van.