The Amish Seamstress (10 page)

Next I pulled out four linen placemats, each embroidered with a scene from one of the four seasons, and then a table runner that included all four scenes. Her customers bought plenty of quilted placemats and table runners from her, but many liked the more delicate work I did, which was a mix of sewing and embroidery and crocheting. At least, that's what Susie said.

“I'm trying to increase my inventory for Christmas,” she said now, running her hand over the winter scene. Simple figures, embroidered in white against red fabric, skated across a pond. “Can you make more of these?”

“
Ya
. I'll get started this afternoon.”

She swung her cape from her shoulders and went over to the peg by the back door to hang it up. She straightened her
kapp
and then turned toward me again. “If you agree to sit with Verna, you really can do your work while you're here. Mostly she needs someone to visit with her. And fix her lunch. And read to her when her eyes tire.”

That seemed simple enough—as long as she didn't die on me.

“She'll bend your ear with stories from the olden days,” Susie continued, “and talk of all the sewing she did through the years, but she's awfully sweet.” Both topics sounded good to me. Maybe she could help fill in some of the blanks on our ancestors for Zed's film. After all, Verna and I traced back to them through the same family line.

Thinking of Zed brought to mind the words in his letter:
Start pushing, Iz. Push yourself hard, and let God take it from there
.

Perhaps he was right. If I didn't take this job with Verna, was I denying God a chance to work in my life? And in hers?

I looked at Susie. “Do you mind if I go back and talk with
Aenti
Verna a little more before I decide?”

She was across the room now, hanging the runner across a long wooden rod. “Go ahead, but let me know your decision soon, okay?”

“Of course.”

I picked up my empty bag and hurried toward the back door, bracing myself to go out into the storm again just as the front door opened. Three
Englisch
women wearing raincoats bustled in as I made my escape.

Moments later I was in Susie's house, calling out another hello to Verna.

Her voice sounded relieved. “You came back.”

“
Ya
.” I kicked off my shoes this time, set them neatly against the wall, and then headed through the dining room and into the living room, taking the chair to her right. “I'm all done with Susie, but I don't have to rush right out just yet. I thought we could chat for a bit. How are you?”

We launched into conversation, catching up on ourselves, other family
members, and her transition to this house. After a while, we moved onto the topic of Susie's store out front and the items I was making for her.

“She said you worked as a seamstress through the years too,” I told Verna, but she shook her head.

“Not really. I did do a lot of sewing—that was my job for each of the families who lived with me at the old place. I've always enjoyed it. But I never took in any extra work from the outside.”

“To be honest, I wish it were that way for me too. I'm rather slow, and it's hard to keep up.”

“At least you're young, I'm sure you do fine.”

Giving her a smile, I settled more deeply into the chair. Soon the conversation turned to our mutual love of history, and that led to our own family's history. When I told her I wanted to trace all the way back to some of our ancestors from the 1700s, her face lit up and she said she would be happy to help. Verna was my grandmother Delva's sister, and she said if it was the maternal line I was interested in—which it was—then she might even have some old family papers from that era. I was ecstatic to hear that.

We kept talking for at least an hour, until I finally remembered my poor horse hitched outside of Susie's shop in the pouring rain. Feeling horrible, I told Verna a hasty goodbye. Assuring her I would come back soon, I flung my cape back over my shoulders and hurried into the kitchen and out the door. I dashed across the alley, trying to dodge the rain, and burst through the back door of the shop, calling out Susie's name as I did.

But then I froze. The three
Englisch
women were still there, looking at my runner.

“Here's Izzy.” Susie scooted toward me. “They've been admiring your work.”

“Thank you,” I managed to say.

“We're all putting in special orders,” a woman with dark short hair said.

“Thank you,” I said again. The woman smiled and then joined her friends across the shop.

“You're going to be busy.” Susie held a notebook and a pen in her hands.

I smiled. “Doubly so, it seems.”

“Oh?”

I glanced at the women, who were busy admiring some fabric dolls
and said, “I'd love to sit with Verna.” I took a deep breath and then lowered my voice. “As long as you're sure she doesn't have any serious health problems.”

“Well, high blood pressure. Edema. And her balance isn't good.” Susie picked up the doilies and headed for the shelf under the window.

“But no cancer? Or heart disease?” I took a deep breath. “Nothing fatal?”

Susie shook her head as she arranged the doilies.

“Then I'll take the job.”

Susie's head shot up as a smile spread across her face. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. When do I start?”

“My parents will be visiting tomorrow, so how about the day after. Nine sharp?”

“Perfect,” I answered.

Susie hugged a doily to her chest. “
Danke!
”

“I'll see you Wednesday,” I said and then smiled at the
Englisch
women on my way to the front door.

“Bring your handwork,” Susie said. “To fill your orders.”

I waved in acknowledgment. “See you then,” I called out as I opened the door and dashed out to the buggy.

When the horse and I were both ready to go home, I decided to turn left and left again, circling around through the alley on my way. As I did, I couldn't help but grin at the sight of the face in the window of Susie's house on my right. Verna was still sitting in her chair, but now she was smiling back at me, her hand raised in a wave, as I went past.

Day after tomorrow I'd start my new job. I was sure it would all work out. At least my loneliness, for the first time in over a month, had lifted.

Somewhat, anyway.

F
IVE

T
o my surprise,
Mamm
wasn't too happy about my big news. She didn't say much that night, but she finally weighed in the next day as we were peeling apples for applesauce.

“I think you need to focus on your long-range plans instead of jumping from one job to another.” She spun the silver handle of the apple peeler as she spoke. “It's time to settle down, choose a path, and stick to it.”

I sighed.

“You were finally starting to get up to speed with your sewing and actually see some profit. Now you're going to drop that and move on to this…” She shook her head. “Izzy, how long do you think this new caregiving job will last? A week? A month?”

My face grew warm. “As long as they need me, I suppose. And I can do my handwork at the same time as the caregiving.” Her frown remained fixed, so I added, “Verna is your aunt,
Mamm
. I thought you'd be pleased.”

She pulled the apple off the spindle and plunked it on the corer, jerking down the lever. “Of course I'm pleased, for her sake. But what I am
concerned about is what happened at school. Who's to say you won't get hysterical again?”

I grabbed another apple from the pile I'd washed and slid it onto the spikes of the peeler. “That was because a patient
died
. My favorite patient.
Aenti
Verna isn't even ill.”

“Izzy, she's ninety-one. Just because she's not ill now doesn't mean she's going to live all that much longer. Life comes to end; that's a fact. You can't just fall apart when things get hard.”
Mamm
dropped the apple slices into the pot on the stove.

“I won't,” I muttered.

“Pardon?” Her voice rang out over the clatter of the peeler.

“I'll be fine,” I answered, keeping my tone respectful. “I know the realities of life and death. Last time just took me by surprise, is all.”

Mamm
harrumphed but didn't speak.

“Besides, Verna's going to help me with some family research about our ancestors who came to America back in the 1700s. I need that information for Zed's script.”

Mamm
looked my way, one eyebrow raised.

“For his next film,” I added, trying not to sound as aggravated as I felt. She pulled off the peeled apple and I replaced it with another. “We talked about this, remember? He's going to focus on the Conestoga Indians and the local Plain folks who befriended them. He's basing it on the story of one of his own ancestors. And if I can get him enough info, he said he would put some of ours in there as well.”

Now it was
Mamm
's turn to sigh. She just didn't get it.

Most of the people in our community loved to think and talk about history, but my mother didn't, not even history related directly to her. Her parents died before she married, and she didn't have much of a relationship with her older sisters, so maybe she preferred to forget about the past—or at least her own past—and just focus on the present.

She'd cared for my
Daed
's parents when they were old, but she hadn't particularly wanted to hear all about their lives prior to then, either. She was kind to them, but
I
had been the one who had spent hours listening to
Mammi
Nettie's stories. Though I was quite young then, I'd found them fascinating. Looking back, I wished I'd written down all that she'd told
me. I hadn't realized that whole histories could disappear when the people who knew them passed away.
Daed
seemed to value that kind of thing somewhat, at least more than
Mamm
did, but I knew we ought to take care, lest our pasts were slowly erased with every new death of a loved one.

Mamm
and I finished with the apples in silence, and then I rinsed my hands at the sink. I stepped toward the doorway to leave the room just as Thomas rushed in from outside, his hands covered with dirt.

“Wash, wash, wash!”
Mamm
ordered, pointing toward the mudroom. “And take your boots off! Then tell me what you want.”

Thomas obeyed but called out over his shoulder. “
Daed
needs help, but I'm not big enough.”

The rain had put off the corn harvest, so
Daed
had been using the time to build a woodworking shop in the barn.

“You go, Izzy.”

I must have made a face.

Mamm
rubbed the back of her wrist across her forehead. “You've been moping around long enough. If you're able to get a job outside the home, you're able to start helping around here more too.”

I bristled but didn't respond. I hadn't been moping. I'd been distracted and introspective, that was all.

Thomas slipped back by me in his stocking feet, sliding on the linoleum. Oh, to be six again. He had no idea how wonderful his life was.

I put my bag in my little room and then headed toward the back door to help
Daed
, catching Thomas's sweet voice chattering away to
Mamm
as I slipped outside. I pulled the hood of my cape atop my head and dashed down the brick path.

The young mother Tabitha worked for needed extra help for a short time, so
Mamm
had sent Linda for the week. Stephen was in school, which left Thomas and me around the house during the day. At age six he should have started school, but he'd been sick a lot as a baby with ear infections, which had impacted his hearing and delayed his development.
Mamm
said another year at home would have him ready for next fall.