Her Restless Heart Part 25

13.

Mary Katherine walked into her bedroom at her grandmother's house and felt the weight of the world slip from her shoulders.

She unpinned her kapp, undressed, and hung up her clothing. After she slipped into a nightgown, she climbed into the narrow bed and felt herself melt into its softness.

She hadn't fully relaxed at her parents' house-even though she'd slept in the same small bedroom there that had been hers from the time she was born.

Rain pattered against the window, drops illuminated by moonlight as they slid down the gla.s.s. She burrowed under the quilt and felt so grateful to be here after being soaked earlier in the storm . . . grateful, period, for being back here in what had become a real home to her.

Her room was plain, as she was. Her Bible lay on the small table next to her bed, along with a battery-operated lamp if she wanted to read. Some of her earliest projects decorated the room-a pillow with a slightly crooked pattern deemed not good enough to sell, a small purse embroidered with violets. A basket with fabric b.a.l.l.s that she and Anna had had fun making sat on a nearby dresser. Emily, the faceless doll her grandmother had made for her when she was a little girl, sat propped against a small wooden box her grandfather had fas.h.i.+oned for her before he died. The doll wore a dress made from a sc.r.a.p left from one of Mary Katherine's own dresses years ago. She supposed she should put away such a childish toy, but the doll made her remember the love that her grandmother had put into making it.

The whole room reflected the love her grandmother felt for her, from the walls she'd painted herself to the quilt she'd st.i.tched for the bed. Even the rag rug on the wooden floor was handmade by her grandmother.

She fell asleep to the music of the rain.

Something woke her. She lay in her bed and wondered what it was, then heard it again. It sounded like the rain had the night before, pattering against the window gla.s.s. But when she turned her head, she saw that the rain was gone and the sky was blue and cloudless.

Getting out of bed, she winced as her feet hit the cold wooden floor. She went to look out the window and saw Jacob standing on the gra.s.s below. He tossed a handful of pebbles that hit the gla.s.s and then waved when he saw her.

"Come down!" he mouthed, gesturing with his hand.

She hesitated, and then she drew the curtain and flew around the room, gathering her undergarments and clothing to dress.

Mere minutes later, she ran down the stairs and joined him outside. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. Let's go for a ride."

"Where?"

"Anywhere you want to go."

"Far away," she said, gazing past her grandmother's farm to the town that lay miles away. "I want to go far away."

When she glanced back at him, wondering why he hadn't responded, she saw that he looked sad. She didn't want him to be sad but she yearned for something . . . something she didn't know how to find. Didn't even know how to express to herself, let alone to him.

"Where are you going?"

"Hmm?" she turned and looked at him. "What?"

"Where are you going?"

Fog swirled around her, like the clouds of doubt that had surrounded her for so many months now. She stuck out her arms, trying to part the fog so she could see him, touch him, but it was impenetrable.

"Come back," Jacob called. "Don't go away!" His voice faded.

She'd wanted to leave but not like this, cut off from seeing him, hearing him.

But she couldn't have that-whatever it was out there- and have him, too. He was rooted here and couldn't leave. Wouldn't leave.

She woke, her cheeks wet with tears, and realized she'd been dreaming.

"You're being awfully quiet," Anna said. "What's wrong?"

Mary Katherine examined the weaving on the loom before her. She sighed. "Do you ever feel like nothing's as good when you make it as when it's in your mind, your imagination?"

Anna walked over and took a seat. She pulled her knitting needles from a nearby basket, and the familiar clacking noise began.

"Yeah. I think it's like that with anyone who does something creative. Especially artists," she said, holding up the m.u.f.fler she was creating.

Laughing, Mary Katherine undid the last two rows she'd woven. "I'm not an artist."

"No? I think you are. And you're also a perfectionist."

Mary Katherine looked at her cousin. "That's the pot calling the kettle black. I've seen you unravel baby caps that look fine to me."

"Hey, they have to be as perfect as what I make for anyone else." She smiled. "Maybe even more so. They're going to be worn by someone who's considered pretty much perfect, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"I guess you're glad your mother's doing better."

Mary Katherine nodded. The new row she'd added still didn't look right.

"So you can go back to seeing Jacob again."

That got her attention. "Jacob's a friend."

"Uh-huh."

Leah walked past with a bolt of fabric. "Anna, are you teasing-" she paused. "Or shall I say needling Mary Katherine again about Jacob?"

"Nice pun, Grossmudder," Mary Katherine said.

Grinning, Leah nodded and walked to the cutting table.

"But I'm a big girl," she said. "I can deal with Anna."

Anna giggled. "Go for it, Cousin."

Mary Katherine picked up a ball of yarn and tossed it at her. Anna neatly caught it on one of her knitting needles.

Was it possible to achieve perfection? she wondered. Not just in creative work, but as a person?

Anna jumped up, dumping her knitting in the basket beside her chair when a customer entered the shop.

Leah walked past with the bolt of fabric to return it to its shelf. She took Anna's chair when she returned. "So, what's got you looking so thoughtful?"

"If we're made in His image, why aren't we perfect?"

Her grandmother raised her brows. "Well, that's an interesting question."

"Deep for me, right?" Mary Katherine grinned.

"You've always been 'deep,' " Leah said. "Always seeking, always questioning."

"Not an easy child, right?"

Leah's smile was kind. "I'd rather have a child who's looking for answers than an easy one who just accepts everything."

Mary Katherine laughed. "Well, you got that in me, didn't you?"

"It doesn't make for an easy life though, does it, dear one? It's why you struggle so with your decision."

Sighing, Mary Katherine nodded.

Leah smoothed her hands over her skirt. Mary Katherine noted that her grandmother's hands were still beautiful, not lined or rough, even though Leah cleaned her own house and worked in her kitchen garden.

"It has occurred to me that you may be overthinking some things," Leah said slowly. "Maybe you're thinking with your head instead of your heart."

Mary Katherine rested her own hands-usually so busy- in her lap. "How can I overthink something so important? The decision is one you make for a lifetime."

"The church or marriage?"

"Well-both."

"I guess it's a matter of just what you think you'll find in the Englisch world that you've been seeking here and haven't found."

She considered that. "You mean, make a list?"

Leah laughed. "You might be a creative person, but you're very practical, you know that?"

"Can someone be Amish and not be practical?" Mary Katherine teased.

"Ah, so you consider yourself Amish?" Leah returned seriously.

"I-uh . . ."

"And I would ask you what you think you'll find in a man that isn't in one you already love?"

Mary Katherine threw up her hands. "Why is it that you and Anna and Naomi seem determined to pair me with Jacob?"

Leah just smiled that wise smile of hers. "I wonder."

It was Jacob's favorite season.

He knew many farmers preferred late summer or fall, when they reaped what they'd sowed, when they harvested the crops they'd toiled over for so long.

But there was something about spring that made it his favorite. A whole world of possibilities stretched out in front of him . . . He could change everything out-rotate his crops. Plant seed for new varieties. The weather was never certain, but he never shrank from a challenge-not with G.o.d on his side.

For the longer he farmed, the more he came to depend on Him and acknowledge His will and His wisdom in his life.

He walked his fields and every so often found himself glancing out at the road, wis.h.i.+ng that Mary Katherine would visit as she had that day after she'd taught that cla.s.s. Now that her mother was better and she'd moved back in with her grandmother, he hoped he'd see her happy again.

There was nothing better than Mary Katherine happy.

He couldn't figure out any excuse to go by her shop, and besides, it was coming up on a busy time for him again. Sighing when the only vehicle that pa.s.sed was an Englischer's car, he went back to walking the fields.

Memories of working these fields often came to him as he walked them to check on the progress of the crop, to see what he needed to do to nurture it.

Amish children learned early how to farm, and most of them loved it. He frowned when he thought about how Mary Katherine didn't feel that way about it. It was easy to understand her dislike of farm work. Her father wasn't an easy man and seldom cracked a smile. Jacob figured that Mary Katherine, with her gentle nature and her artistic bent, had had a hard time of it being around such a critical man. Then, too, Isaac hadn't had a big, st.u.r.dy son to help him with the harder farm ch.o.r.es, only a rather delicate young daughter.

And Isaac considered it a waste of money to hire outside help.

Farm work was hard, no doubt, and not for the weak or squeamish or lazy. Definitely not for those who hated it. But he wasn't sure Mary Katherine hated it.

He was still hoping that she didn't really hate it, that she'd developed an . . . aversion to it because of her father.

And optimist that he was, he hoped he could work on that.

A glance at the position of the sun told him the approximate time. Clear skies and low humidity meant he and Ben would begin planting the seed the next day.

If he hadn't had his head bent, watching where he was walking, he might have missed the little clutch of violets pus.h.i.+ng up from the earth.

He heard a car door slam and looked up to see Mary Katherine emerging from a car he recognized as one from Nick Brannigan's taxi business. A rush of pleasure shot through him. Acting on instinct, he plucked up the flowers and carried them with him. It was hard to keep his stride steady and not hurry too much.

"Gut-n-owed," she called as she picked her way through one of the rows.

"Stay there, don't get your shoes dirty!" he called.

The setting sun outlined her slender figure; the wind fluttered the skirts of her dress and the ties of her bonnet.

She smiled when he approached and held out the flowers.

"I found these just as I heard the car."

"They must be the first violets of the season. And white ones. You don't often find them." She raised them to her nose and inhaled. "Mmm, they smell so sweet. Danki."

"My mamm used to have the most beautiful garden out in front of the house."

They walked together to the front porch, and he gestured for her to have a seat.

"I helped her take the flowers and bushes to her new home when she remarried," he told her. "I knew I wouldn't have the time to keep it up. Maybe not even the knowledge to do so."