Was that bitterness or hurt in Rhoda's voice? Katie wasn't sure.
“You're a smart girl,” she said. “Smart enough to know that if you got into trouble again, you'd get a reputation you don't want.”
“According to Louise, I already have that,” Rhoda muttered.
“Louise listens to Jonas too much.” The words were out before Katie thought, and she shook her head. “I shouldn't have said that.” But she'd brought a smile to Rhoda's face and a sparkle to her eyes, and she couldn't regret having lessened the strain between them.
“Louise is all right,” Rhoda said with the easy volatility of a sixteen-year-old. “Daadi says she'll stop being so preachy once she has some kinder of her own to run after.”
“That might be true.” Or she might be even worse. Katie spared a sympathetic thought for her prospective nieces and nephews.
They passed Bishop Mose's harness shop . . . open already. She could see Bishop Mose through the window, bending over the counter, his white beard nearly touching the harness he was mending.
Paula Schatz's bakery opened early, too. The scents of cinnamon buns and coffee drifted out as a customer exited the front door. Paula seemed to have quite a clientele, mostly Englisch but also a few Amish, who stopped by for coffee and gossip every morning.
Katie glanced at her sister. Rhoda's face was absorbed, her attention turned inward. Was she brooding on her fate in being shipped off to Pleasant Valley, maybe?
“This is a nice place,” Katie said. “With gut people. And we have family here already, in the Miller cousins. You'll meet some girls your age before long, that's certain-sure.”
“If their parents haven't already warned them against me.” Rhoda seemed determined to look on the down side.
“No one here knows anything about what happened back home.” No one but Caleb Brand. “There's no reason why anyone should.”
“Someone will write to a friend or a cousin or a distant relative and blab about it.” Rhoda's lower lip jutted out. “You know how that works.”
The Amish grapevine, of course. Rhoda might be right, but Katie wasn't going to encourage her gloominess.
“Even if someone from back home does write to somebody here, that doesn't mean they'll think your doings are important enough to relate. Suppose you try to get your mind on something else. Look, there's Molly in front of the shop already, and us not open yet. And she's brought baby Jacob, too. Run and help her with him.”
Katie suspected Rhoda's fascination with babies would override her obsession with her own woes. Sure enough, a smile dawned, and Rhoda darted ahead of her. By the time Katie reached the shop, Rhoda was already cuddling little Jacob in her arms.
“We did not expect to see you so early, Molly.” Katie bent to kiss the wisp of white-blond hair on top of the boppli's head. “Let me get the door unlocked.”
“We can't stay,” Molly said, but followed her inside, showing the dimples in her pert face as Rhoda cooed at the baby. “We are on our way grocery shopping, and I must fit it in before this one decides it's time to eat and nap again. But I wanted to drop off a list for you.”
“A list?” Katie looked at her blankly.
Molly pressed a folded sheet of tablet paper into her hand. “I know you're fretting about not having enough quilts on consignment in the shop, so I wrote down the names of all the women I could think of who might have some they want to sell.”
“That is wonderful kind of you, such trouble as you've gone to for me and the shop.” It was kind, and thoughtful, too.
“As if you haven't done as much for me a dozen times over, helping out like you did when the boppli came.” Molly gave her a quick hug. “We're cousins. As close as sisters, almost.”
Maybe closer than some sisters.
Katie had begun to think she didn't know Rhoda nearly as well as she should.
“It's true it has been troubling me, not having as many quilts as I expected. I thought folks would naturally want to sell their quilts on consignment here, like they do in Mamm's shop back home.”
“They're just not used to the idea yet, that's all,” Molly said. “Mostly if they want to sell, there's a dealer from over toward Mifflinburg who will buy from them. They don't see that they'll make more by selling the quilts through you on consignment. Once they understand, I'm certain-sure you'll have plenty of business.”
“I hope so.”
Pray so.
She tucked the list under a stapler on the counter. “Denke, Molly.”
Footsteps sounded in Caleb's shop, and then women's voices. Molly looked that way, smiling as the figures came toward the quilt shop. “Naomi. It's ser gut to see you out and about.”
Three people walked through the archwayâan older woman who was clearly the object of Molly's attention, followed by a younger woman and a girl of about Rhoda's age. Predictably they clustered around the boppli.
“Ach, look at this big boy.” The older woman touched his round cheek. “He's thriving, that's plain to see.”
“Going to look just like his daadi,” Molly responded, a hint of pride in her voice. “But what am I thinking of? Naomi, these are my cousins, Katie and Rhoda Miller. It's Katie who's started the quilt shop here.”
“We've been needing a quilt shop since Ruth Stoltzfus retired.” Naomi had a sweet smile in a thin face that held lines of strain or maybe pain around her brown eyes. “And I've been hearing all about you from my son.”
“Your son?”
“Ja, Caleb Brand, that is my boy. I'm Naomi Brand, and here is Caleb's brother's wife, Nancy, and Nancy's oldest child, Rebecca.”
Caleb's mother. What, Katie wondered, had Caleb been telling her? Nothing too bad, apparently, since the woman was smiling.
“Ja, we couldn't wait to see your shop for ourselves,” Nancy said, running her fingers along the row of fabric bolts.
“You like to quilt, then.” Katie wondered if Nancy's name was on Molly's list.
Nancy shook her head, chuckling a little. “Not me, not with the five boys to sew for besides Rebecca. I don't have the patience for it, anyway. It's Mamm Naomi who is the quilter in the family.”
Katie glanced at Molly, who gave a slight nod. Obviously it was Caleb's mother whose name would be on her list.
“Maybe you'd like to see the quilts I brought with me from home,” Katie said. “I've noticed some of the patterns there are different from the ones around here.”
A spark of interest lit Naomi's faded brown eyes, and she nodded. “Ja, I would. I saw some quilts my husband's cousin in Nebraska made, and they certain-sure were different.”
Katie pulled back the sheet she'd spread over the quilts when she'd left the previous night.
“Postage-stamp quilt in a Log Cabin design,” Naomi said. “That takes time.”
“Ja, it does.” Katie's hand rested on it for a moment, remembering. It had taken her all that cold, lonely winter after Eli married. She was tempted to put it away so it wouldn't be a reminder, but maybe the sooner it was sold, the better.
“You made this one yourself,” Naomi said quietly.
The woman's perception startled her. “How did you know?”
“The way you touched it.” Naomi ran her finger along the binding. “Sometimes I think we stitch our feelings into our quilts, ain't so?”
Katie could only nod, her throat suddenly tight. Caleb's mother was a wise woman, maybe a bit too wise for comfort.
She cleared her throat. “Would you be interested in having me sell any of your quilts for you here in the shop?”
Naomi seemed to consider. “You'd buy them from me to sell?”
“No, I'd take them on consignment.” As Molly had said, she'd have to do some explaining. “We would decide together on a price, and then when the quilt sold, I would receive a percentage of the money.”
Naomi frowned slightly. “There's a dealer that has shops in Mifflinburg and Harrisburg, I think. Mr. Hargrove, his name is. He sometimes buys quilts. I sold him a Sunshine and Shadows one once. Pulled the bills right out of his pocket and paid me cash.”
“Do you mind my asking how much he paid you?”
“A hundred dollars, it was.”
Katie flipped the corner of the quilt over so that Naomi could see the price tag. “He probably sold it for at least five hundred. If you put a quilt like this in my shop and I sell it, I take twenty percent commission. That means you'd make four hundred.”
“That's if you sold it,” Naomi said.
“Ja, that's true. My mamm has a shop back home, though, and most of the ladies who bring their quilts in sell them within a month or two. And small quilted items, like table runners and pot holders, sell even quicker.”
Naomi didn't speak for a moment, and Katie held her breath. Getting Naomi's quilts to sell could be just the step she needed.
Finally Naomi gave a small nod. “I will bring in one or two quilts. And we'll see.”
Katie let out her breath. “Denke.”
“Now maybe you will help me pick out some fabric. I have it in mind to start a new quilt. In a Tumbling Blocks pattern.”
“It would be a pleasure.” Katie glanced toward the others. “If your daughter-in-law doesn't want to waitâ”
“Ach, Nancy is happy enough to chat with Molly. And those two girls seem like they are getting to know each other, don't they?”
Sure enough, Rhoda and Rebecca had drawn a little apart, talking over the boppli's head. A friend ... that was what Rhoda needed more than anything right now. But Katie was not sure she'd have chosen Caleb Brand's niece as the perfect friend for her sister.
“You're right,” she said, trying to focus on Naomi and her quilt. “Now, what colors were you thinking about?”
“Maybe shades of blue, going from dark to light, andâ”
“Becky.” Caleb's voice was sharp enough to draw Katie's gaze to him. He stood in the archway between the shops, looking at his niece. “Komm, and I'll show you what I want you to do.”
“Ach, I nearly forgot one reason we came today,” Naomi said. “Our Becky is going to work a few hours each week for Caleb in the shop. He must want her to get started.”
Katie watched the girl walk away from Rhoda. Maybe Naomi was right about what Caleb wanted. Or maybe he was intent on keeping his young niece away from her sister.
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“Your
job will be to keep everything in this part of the shop looking nice.” Caleb wiped a cobweb off the spindle of a chair. “Looks like I do need some help in here, ain't so?”
Becky giggled. “I'll keep it spic and span, that's certain-sure.”
“I know you will.” He patted her shoulder. “You're a gut girl, Becky.”
As for Katie's sister . . . well, maybe she was not so good. A bit wild, by the sounds of it.
He'd told himself he would just have to keep Becky away from Rhoda, but Becky had no more than entered the shop when she'd met Rhoda. When he'd looked through the archway and seen those two girls with their heads together, his stomach had tightened up.
It wasn't fair, he supposed, to blame Katie Miller for bringing problems into his life. Still, it was a plain fact that if not for her setting up next door to him, he wouldn't be fretting about Rhoda's influence on Becky.
“What about the workroom upstairs, Onkel Caleb? Do you want me to clean there, as well?” Becky looked poised to fly up the stairs and begin scrubbing. She'd been helping Nancy keep the house clean since she was a small child, and she knew what to do.
“Ja, but that's not so important. Customers don't go up there. The days you're here, you can sweep and dust the workshop, but do that last thing, because I'll dirty it up again pretty quick.” He smiled at her eagerness. “Don't count on it staying clean. It won't.”
She nodded, as if making careful note of that. “What about customers?” Apprehension entered her eyes. “Will I be waiting on them?”
He considered. Part of the reason Becky was working for him was so she'd become more comfortable being around folks, but he didn't want to pitchfork her into something she wasn't ready for.
He tried to stay away from folks by choice, but it wasn't that way with Becky. If their Becky was shy, it was because God made her that way. He was just grateful that she usually seemed to feel she could talk to him.
“Let's just see how that goes,” he said. “You can find out what people are interested in. Then if they seem serious, not just looking, call up to me, and I'll come down and deal with them. All right?”
The worry faded from her face. “All right.”
His gaze flickered to the other room. Mamm was picking fabrics out, with Katie's help. Mamm showed more interest than she had in months, and he was glad. He wasn't worried about that. But as for Rhoda . . .
She stood against the far counter, Molly's boppli in her arms, bouncing and crooning to little Jacob. He could bring up the subject, couldn't he, without breaking a confidence?
“You met Katie's sister, Rhoda Miller, I see.” He kept his tone casual. “I hear she's staying here with Katie for a while to help out in the shop.”
“Ja, that's what she said.”
“What did you think of her?”
“She seemed nice.” Becky paused, and her cheeks grew a little pink. “Different from me.”
“Different?” All his defenses went up. “How is she different?”
“Well, she doesn't know anybody here. Any of the kids our age, I mean. I know them all. I was just thinking how hard it would be not to know anyone.”