Small-Town Mom (25 page)

“I left it at home in a jar.”

Otis scowled at her flippancy. She blushed at her own audacity. Modesty and humility were the aspirations of every Amish woman, but sometimes things slipped out of her mouth before she had time to think.

Why couldn’t someone else give Roman a job he could manage? She dreamed of having a home of her own, a small house at the edge of the woods where she could keep her books and compile her nature notes and observations unhindered by her nieces and nephews. Best of all, she’d be able to go fishing whenever she wanted without her family’s sarcastic comments about wasting her time. The only way she could accomplish that was by earning her own money.

She was so close to realizing her dream. The very house she wanted was coming up for sale. The owners, her friends Sarah and Levi Beachy, were willing to sell to her and finance her if she could come up with the down payment by the end of September. If she couldn’t raise the agreed-upon amount, they would have to sell to another Amish family. They needed the money to make improvements to their business before winter.

What only a week ago had seemed like a sure thing, a gift from God, was now slipping out of her grasp. Joann didn’t want to beg, but she would. “Can’t you do anything for me, Otis? You know I’m a hard worker.”

“All I can offer you is a part-time position—”

“I’ll take it.”

“One day a week on the cleaning staff.”

“Oh.” Her last bit of hope vanished. Her book learning wouldn’t be needed while she swept the floors and emptied wastepaper baskets.

Otis leaned back in his chair. “Of course, your part-time position at the bookstore is yours if you want it.”

A part-time salary would be far less than she needed. Still, it was better than nothing. She wasn’t proud. She’d do a good job for him. In time, she might even get a chance at an editorial position again. Only God knew what the future held.

She nodded once. “I would be grateful for such work.”

Otis rose to his feet. “
Goot.
You’ll work afternoons Monday through Wednesday at the bookstore, and here on Saturdays. But there is something I need you to do for me before you switch jobs.”

“What is that?”

“I need you to show Roman how we do things here. He’s only worked in the sawmill and on the farm. The publishing business is foreign to him. I’m sure it won’t take you more than two weeks to show him the ropes. He’s a bright fellow. He’ll catch on quickly. You can do that, can’t you?”

He gets my job, but I have to show him how to do it? Where is the justice in that?
She kept her face carefully blank.

Otis scowled again. “Well?”

“I’ll be glad to show Roman all I’ve learned.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but it was close. She would do it, but she wouldn’t be happy about it.

Otis nodded and came around the desk. “Fine. I hope my nephew can start on Monday morning. After you get him up to speed, you can return to the bookstore. That’s all, you can go home now.”

“Danki.”
She rose from her seat and headed for the door. Pulling it open, she saw the man who was taking her job sitting quietly in a chair across the room. Did he know or care that she was being cast aside for him? They had attended the same school, but he had been a year behind her.

After their school years, she saw him and his family at Sunday services, but their paths rarely crossed. He’d run with the fast crowd during their
rumspringa,
their running-around teenage years. She had chosen baptism at the age of nineteen while he hadn’t joined the faith until two years ago. His circle of friends didn’t include her or her family. She studied him covertly as she would one of her woodland creatures.

Roman Weaver was a good-looking fellow with a head of curly blond hair that bore the imprint of the hat he normally wore. His cheeks were lean, his chin chiseled and firm. He was clean-shaven, denoting his single status. His years of hard physical work showed in the muscular width of his shoulders crisscrossed by his suspenders. He wore a black sling on his left arm. It stood out in stark contrast to his short-sleeved white shirt. His straw hat rested on the chair arm beside him.

Compassion touched her heart when she noticed the fine lines that bracketed his mouth. Was he in pain?

He looked up as she came out of the office. His piercing blue eyes, rimmed with thick lashes, brightened. He smiled. An unfamiliar thrill fluttered in the pit of her stomach. No one had ever smiled at her with such warmth.

His dazzling gaze slid past her to settle on Otis, and Joann realized she’d been a fool to think Roman Weaver was smiling at her. She doubted he even saw her.

“Hello,
Onkel,
” Roman said, rising from his chair.

“It’s
goot
to see you, nephew.” Otis stepped back to give him room to enter his office. Roman walked past her without a glance.

She kept her eyes downcast as an odd stab of disappointment hit her. Why should it matter that his smile hadn’t been for her? She was used to being invisible. She’d long ago given up the hope that she’d become attractive and witty. She wasn’t ugly, but she had no illusions about her plain looks. She was as God had made her.

She consoled herself with the knowledge that what the Lord had held back in looks He’d more than made up for in intelligence. She was smarter than her brothers and her few friends. It wasn’t anything special that she had done. She was smart the way some people were tall, because that was the way God fashioned them.

For a long time, she thought of her intellect as a burden. Then, an elderly teacher told her she was smarter than anyone he’d ever met and that God must surely have something special in mind for her. That single statement had enabled Joann to see herself in a completely new light.

Being smart wasn’t a bad thing, even if some others thought it was. When she landed this job, she knew being smart was indeed a blessing.

As Roman Weaver closed the door behind him, old feelings of being left out, of being overlooked and unvalued wormed their way into her heart. They left a painful bruise she couldn’t dismiss.

Crossing to her desk, she lifted her green-and-white quilted bag from the back of her chair and settled the strap on her shoulder. Roman Weaver might look past her today, but come Monday morning, he was going to find he needed her. He wouldn’t look through her then.

* * *

Roman forced a bright smile to his lips in order to hide his nervousness. The summons from his uncle had come out of the blue. He had no idea what his mother’s brother wanted with him, but the look on her face when she relayed the message had Roman worried. What was going on? What was wrong?

The better question might have been: What was right? He had the answer to that one: not much in his life at the moment. The gnawing pain he endured from his injury was constant proof of that.

Otis indicated a chair. “Have a seat.”

Roman did so, holding his injured arm against his chest, more from habit than a need to protect it. “I’ve often wondered what it is that you do here.”

He glanced around the room filled with filing cabinets, books and stacks of papers. The smell of solvents and ink gave the air a harsh, sharp quality that stung his nostrils. Roman preferred the clean scent of fresh-cut wood.

His uncle was the owner of a small publishing business whose target audience was Old Order Plain People, Amish, Mennonites and Hutterites. A small bookstore next door housed a number of books he published as well as a small library. Although Roman occasionally read the magazine his uncle put out each month, he’d only visited the office and bookstore a few times. He wasn’t a reader.

“How’s the arm?” Otis asked.

“It’s getting better.” Much too slowly for Roman’s liking.

“Are you in pain?”

“Some.” He didn’t elaborate. It was his burden to bear.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here. Your parents came to see me last Sunday,” Otis said, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

“Did they?” This was the first Roman had heard of it.

“Your father asked me for a business loan. Of course, I was happy to help. I know things have been difficult for all of you.”

Roman’s medical bills had already cost his family nearly all their savings. His inability to do his job in the sawmill was cutting their productivity, making his father and his brother work even harder. If his father had come to Otis for a loan, things must be dire.

“You have my gratitude and my thanks. We will repay you as soon as we can.”

“I know. I’m not worried about that. Before they left, your mother spoke privately with me. My sister is very dear to me, but I will admit to being surprised when she asked if I would offer you a job here at my office.”

The muscles in Roman’s jaw clenched. “I work at my father’s side in the sawmill. I don’t need a job. I have one,” he said.

Sympathy flashed in his uncle’s eyes. “You have one that you can’t continue.”

“My arm is better. I’m making progress.” He concentrated on his fingers protruding from the sling. He was able to move his index and middle finger ever so slightly.

He could tell from the look on his uncle’s face that he wasn’t impressed. If only he knew how much effort it took to move any part of his hand.

“I give thanks to God for His mercy and pray for your recovery daily,” Otis said. “As do your parents, but your father needs a man with two strong arms to work in the mill if he is to earn a profit and meet his obligations.”

“He hasn’t said this to me.”

“I don’t imagine he would. I’m asking you to consider what is best for your family. I have work, worthy work, for you to do that requires a good mind but not two strong arms. Besides, your mother will rest easier knowing you aren’t trying to do too much.”

A sick sensation settled in Roman’s stomach. “She told you about the incident last week?”

“Ja.”

“It was a freak accident. My sling got snagged on a log going into the saw. The strap broke and freed me.” He tried to make it sound less dire than it had been. He would relive the memory of those horrible, helpless moments in his nightmares for a long time. His confidence in his ability to do the job he’d always considered his birthright had suffered a harsh blow.

“I understand you were jerked off your feet and dragged toward the saw,” Otis said.

“I was never in danger of being pulled into the blade.” He was sure he could have freed himself.

Maybe.

“That’s not how your mother saw it.”

No, it wasn’t. Roman’s humiliation had been made all the worse by his mother’s fright. She had come into the mill to deliver his lunch and witnessed the entire thing. Her screams had alerted his father and younger brother, but no one had been close enough to help. God had answered her frantic plea and freed him in time.

“I’m sorry
Mamm
was frightened, but sawmill work is all I know. I don’t see how I can be of use to you in this business,” Roman said.

“I fully expect you to give me a fair day’s work for your wage. Joann Yoder will teach you all you need to know about being a manager and an editor.”

Roman barely heard his uncle’s words. He stared at his useless arm resting in the sling. It was dead weight around his neck. He didn’t want to be dead weight around his family’s neck. Could he accept the humiliation of being unable to do a man’s job? He wasn’t sure. All his life he’d been certain of his future. Now, he had no idea what God wanted from him.

“Say you will at least think about it, nephew. Who knows, you may find the work suits you. It would please me to think my sister’s son might carry on the business my brother and I built after I’m gone.”

Roman glanced at his uncle’s hopeful face. He and his wife were childless, and his recently deceased older brother had never married, but Roman had no intention of giving up his eventual ownership of the sawmill. If he did accept his uncle’s offer, it would only be a temporary job. “Who did you say would train me?”

“The woman you saw leaving just as you came in.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Is she someone I know?”

“Joann Yoder. The sister of Hebron, Ezekiel and William Yoder. I’m sure you know her.”

Roman’s eyebrows shot up. “The bookworm?”

Otis laughed. “I had no idea that was her nickname, but it fits.”

“It was something we used to call her when we were kids in school.” She was a plain, shy woman who always stayed in the background.

“Joann can teach you what you need to know about this work.”

Roman clamped his lips shut and stared down at his paralyzed arm. He had trouble dressing himself. He couldn’t tie his own shoes without help. He couldn’t do a man’s job, a job that he’d done since he was ten years old. Now, he was going to have a woman telling him how to do this job, if he took it. How much more humiliation would God ask him to bear?

He looked at his uncle. “Why can’t you show me how the business is run?”

“I’ll be around to answer your questions, but Joann knows the day-to-day running of the business almost as well as I do.”

So, he would be stuck with Joann Yoder as a mentor if he accepted. Was she still the quiet, studious loner who chose books over games and sports?

Otis hooked his thumbs under his suspenders and rocked back on his heels. “What do you say, Roman? Will you come work for me?”

ISBN: 9781460316061

Copyright (c) 2013 by Jean Chelikowsky Gordon

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.