The Amish Seamstress (44 page)

Giselle put her cup on the counter and said she'd be right back. She returned after a few minutes, looking frustrated.

“What's wrong?”

“I was hoping I might have left a pair of cotton gloves in my purse or in one of the pockets of my suitcase, but I didn't. I don't want to handle these without them.”

“How about rubber gloves? Would that do?”

She shook her head. “They need to be cotton. Preferably white cotton. And spotlessly clean.”

I thought for a moment and then suggested she try the cupboard by the door. “You'll see a basket in there of winter gloves, but I think I noticed at least one pair of glove liners in there too. They might be cotton.”

“Good idea.” She left for the entryway. After a moment she came back with the ones I'd been talking about.

“These will work,” she said, sliding the white cotton glove liners over her hands.

She sat down in a chair and began to examine the coverlet and then the remnant, handling them carefully. As she did, she grew silent, so I
remained quiet as well, watching as she took stock of the items inch by inch.

I was more interested in the coverlet, but she kept going back to the velvet, running one gloved finger across the nap and holding it this way and that in the light.

“This piece looks so familiar,” she said, her voice trailing off as she continued to gaze at it.

Intrigued, I asked her what she could tell me about it.

“Well, it's made of silk and combines an uncut looped pile and a tufted cut pile. That's why it's so luminous.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but I still found it fascinating. “How old do you think it is?”

“Old. Maybe as much as two hundred years. I know this sort of thing was popular in Italy in the late eighteenth century.”

“What kind of dye is it?”

“Plant based.”

“But it's so vibrant.”

“They did amazing things back then, considering what they had to work with.” She placed the fabric back in the plastic bag and then took off her gloves. “How would an Amish family end up with such a fancy piece of fabric from so long ago?”

“We don't have any idea,” I answered, zipping the bag. “It was in a box of your father's things.”

Giselle froze, and for a long moment she just sat there staring down at the bag of fabric, her skin drawn and pale, her eyes a myriad of emotion. I didn't know what to do, but the look on her face frightened me. Was she okay? Did she need something?

Finally, I jumped up and got her a glass of water, but when I tried to hand it to her, she suddenly snapped to attention and began waving me off. “Not around the fabric,” she cried, even though both pieces were securely back inside their protective holder.

Suddenly, she stood and grabbed the plastic bag with both hands. “I don't know what makes me angrier,” she hissed, clutching the bag to her chest. I thought she was mad at me until she added, “The fact that he took it away, or the fact that he lied about keeping it.”

With that, she turned on her heel and marched off to the bedroom, closing the door soundly behind her.

Two hours later, I was still puzzling over what Giselle had said and done in the kitchen of the
daadi haus
. I had no idea what that entire interaction had been about, but I had to assume it was yet another thread in the complicated tapestry that had been her relationship with her abusive father. I wanted to help but wasn't sure how I could, except maybe to say a prayer for her—and offer a listening ear if she ever wanted to talk.

Giselle finally joined me and Frannie in the main house around ten, and she came in acting as if none of it had ever happened. Taking my cue from her, I tried to do the same. Soon, I was busy on the couch with my handwork, and she was settled into place at her mother's side. As the morning wore on, I noticed that she seemed content just to be with Frannie, chatting whenever the woman was awake and sitting quietly, her mind somewhere far away, when she slept.

Zed popped in just before noon to let us know he would be working at Will's Christmas tree farm all week. “My hours will fluctuate each day, but I'll come over whenever I can.”

I smiled at his words, glad to know, at last, that he actually wanted to spend some time with me, but when I looked at him, I realized he'd been speaking primarily to Giselle.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and glanced at it. “In fact, I'm working the rest of the day. I need to get going. I was hoping maybe we could go on a research jaunt in the morning.”

Now he was looking at me, so I said, “We?”

“Yeah. You and me.”

That was a relief.

“Why? What's up? Did you make those phone calls already?” My pulse surged. “Did you find someone who has a copy of the chapbook?”

He shook his head. “No. I called all the numbers on your list first thing this morning, but none of them panned out.”

My heart sank. “So where is it you want to go?”

“I was thinking Rod's farm. To look through the trunk. Isn't that what you've been dying to do?”

I nodded, my excitement growing again.

“Can I come?” Giselle asked.

Zed and I both looked over at her.

“Absolutely,” he said. “If you don't mind riding in my excuse for a car.”

She shrugged. “I could use the fresh air,” she said, but I had a feeling what she really needed was a little space and some time away from the intensity of the situation here.

“Iz?” Zed asked. “Do you think you can get away from here for an hour or two tomorrow?”

“Sure. As long as Klara can manage things. I'll ask her.” I didn't think it would be a problem. Frannie was sleeping so much now that it wouldn't be as if Klara would need to lift her or anything.

In the afternoon, after I'd managed to feed Frannie some custard, I settled on the couch. Giselle had gone, yawning, out to the
daadi haus
, probably to sleep, so I pulled the book that featured her work from my bag.

A while later the back door opened, and I assumed it was Alexander coming in from the field.

“What are you reading?” It was Giselle. She'd snuck up on me, not on purpose I'm sure, in her stocking feet.

Embarrassed, I held up the book. “I like your piece in here.” Immediately my face grew warm.

“Oh, that. I used to send books to my mother now and then.”

“
Ya
, she has a nice collection.”

“I understand you do handwork.”

I nodded.

“What are you doing now?”

I pulled one of the bookmarks I'd been embroidering from my bag and handed it to her. Then I pulled out the original card, stored in a plastic bag, that I got the idea from, sure she'd be interested in it.

“This is quite the find,” Giselle said, holding it in her hand. “Women used to make these long before the mass greeting card industry started.”

“Really? This is a greeting card? I thought it was a bookmark.”

Gisele shook her head. “Where did it come from?”

As she sat down on the other side of the couch. I told her all about
Verna's boxes and going through them and how I'd been able to hear so many of her wonderful old stories.

“Fascinating,” Giselle said, but then she stifled a yawn. “Though personally, I'm much more interested in fabric than old people's stories.” Giselle handed the card back to me. “So you're doing the costumes for Zed's next film, huh?”

I must have given her a surprised look.

“He told me. We email back and forth.”

I'd gathered it from when they had greeted each other. I just hadn't known they chatted about me.

“He asks me questions. That sort of thing,” she said.

I couldn't help but ask, “What kind of questions?”

“Oh, historical things about Switzerland. Or European viewpoints.” She laughed a little. “Whatever.”

I put the card back in my sewing bag.

“He's mentioned you many times,” she added.

Now my face burned.

“All good, of course. He says you're very smart, very gifted. You helped with the costumes for his last project too, right?”

I nodded.

“He said you're one of the reasons the film won at the festival.”

“Zed is being too generous.”

Giselle shifted toward me, and for a moment I thought she was settling in for some girl talk. She just seemed to grow so animated, her eyes so sparkly, that I expected her to come out with some question about me and Zed and our relationship. Instead, she said, in a breathless voice, “Tell me about the costumes you have in mind.”

I smiled. Clearly, this was a woman after my own heart.

For the next hour, until Frannie woke, Giselle and I discussed fashions, costuming, and fabrics. I was thrilled to have someone so knowledgeable to talk with, someone who knew even more about this stuff than I did. It was rare to find another person this much into sewing, and it made me feel, well,
normal
for a change, as though I weren't the oddball in the room.

Instead, for now at least, she and I could be oddballs together.

The next morning, after Frannie had fallen back asleep, Klara sat at her side as Giselle and I left with Zed for our expedition to Rod's farm. Giselle slipped into the back seat before I reached the car and refused to move up front. Zed smiled, indicating it was fine.

When we arrived at the old Westler place, Rod met us in the driveway, and I introduced both Zed and Giselle to him.

She stepped forward and shook Rod's hand. “I'm Frannie Lantz's daughter.”

“Oh,” Rod said. And then as if it had just registered who Giselle really was, he said, “Oh!” again, but this time more loudly.

I suddenly saw her from Rod's point of view. The skinny jeans. The spiked hair. The leather coat. The medallion around her neck.

He smiled. “I remember you from when I was a little boy.”

Giselle laughed. “I haven't changed a bit, have I?”

Rod chuckled and tugged on his thick, dark beard. “Neither have I.”

She laughed as he motioned for us to follow him. “The trunk is in the shop.”

A couple of chickens darted in front of us as we followed him, and then as he slid open the door to the barn, a lanky cat ran in.

I squinted in the dim light. We walked around a stack of hay bales and through a door. The cement floor was swept clean. A bird flew up in the rafters, startling us.

Rod pointed to the corner of his shop. The trunk was old and warped, looking as if it had gone through a flood. I hoped the contents hadn't.

“Like I told your
daed
, Izzy, that's the last of Verna's old papers, though I think everything in there is mostly junk. He said you would want to go through it anyway.”

“He was right.”

Smiling, Rod brought out several paper bags from under his workbench. “Very well. You can use these for anything you want to take with you, and while you're at it, go ahead and bag up the rest for the burn barrel.”

I thanked him, grateful he hadn't already destroyed the contents.

“I'll be in the barn. Holler if you need anything.”

I opened the trunk and tried to prop up the lid, but it fell back down. I
opened it a second time and Giselle stepped to the side to hold it. A moldy smell greeted me, which didn't bode well. A mix of things—newspapers, magazines, and papers—halfway filled the inside.

“How about if we each grab a handful,” I suggested. “It will go faster that way.”

Zed stepped close to reach in, and as he moved aside I grabbed stacks for Giselle and myself. She closed the lid and then we all sat down on the cement floor and started going through the material, making one pile for newspapers and one for magazines.

I came across several water-stained receipts and what looked like tax records from 1959. Fearing the contents were just another collection of junk, I worked faster, sorting through several moldy magazines and more receipts.

“Look at this,” Giselle said, holding up a yellowed piece of paper. “Oh, my goodness. It's dated 1 August, 1764.”

I held out my hand, making give-me motions with my fingers.

Zed laughed. “Technically, it does belong to Izzy.”

Giselle handed it to me. “It's too faint for my old eyes to read, anyway.”

The bottom of the page was water stained but the rest was fine, except that the ink had faded considerably.

I held it close to my face, cleared my throat, and then read:

Dear Papa
,

I received your news about Mother's grave illness with a heavy heart. She has rallied so many times before, but I fear as you do that she is surely at death's door this time. Gorg and I have assessed the maturity of the growing fruit here in North Carolina and have determined that returning to our home with you is what is best for our family
.