Keys of Heaven (14 page)

A
fter the debacle with the Parkers, Henry wouldn't be surprised if Ginny decided that their friendship should end.

The moon was on the wane, but between its remaining quarter and the brilliance of the stars in this part of the country where there wasn't a lot of electric competition, there was more than enough light for him to stroll along the creek bottom on the shortcut over to the Rose Arbor Inn. In the light backpack he used for day hikes was a carefully wrapped mug of a new design. He'd meant to bring it over earlier in the week, but now he was glad he hadn't.

It would make a great peace offering.

Something glimmered in a break after the maple copse where the
Youngie
had been using the rope swing, and after a startled second, he realized it was an Amish woman carrying a flashlight.

A woman of a size and shape that was familiar. At this time of night, when most Amish women were tucking in their kids?

“Sarah, is that you?” he said in a gentle tone, the kind you'd use on a frightened horse. Even so, she turned with a gasp and dropped the flashlight. Luckily, she was well over on the path, so it didn't land in the creek.

“It's me. Henry. I'm just on my way over to Ginny's. Is everything all right?”

With a shaky laugh, she retrieved the light and then shone it on him, as if to make sure it was really he and not someone else. Then she snapped it off. Twinkles danced in front of his eyes before they adjusted to the moonlight again.

“Henry. I thought it was—never mind.
Wie geht's?
 ”

“I'm well. But are you? What are you doing out here in the dark? Have you lost a hen?”

“A hen? Oh. No, I was just walking. Trying to…what do the
Englisch
say? Clear my head.”

“Has something happened? Caleb said Simon had suffered some kind of mishap. Is he all right?”

“I hope so. A horse stepped on his foot, so I sent a care package this morning. I'm hoping that Joe can doctor him.”

“That was good thinking. No doctors that far out of town?”

“None that the boys can afford, apparently. So between the two of us, we'll do the best we can for him.”

“So now you're walking, trying not to worry.” It didn't seem like her, though. “I would have thought you'd be out in the garden, picking something to make yourself a calming tea.”

Her white
Kapp
bobbed in acknowledgment. “I need to finish up a salve I started this morning and haven't got back to. But somehow I needed air and space and the sound of the water more. I'm grateful God gives us these helps in times of trial.”

There was more to the tone in her voice than worry about her boy. And when he'd greeted her, she'd thought he was someone else.

“Is something trying you? Other than what happened to Simon?”

She moved away, to where the stones and clumps of sedge formed a narrow barrier between path and water. “It's not something I can talk about with you.”

Heat flooded his face at the reproof. “Oh. Sorry. I suppose there are some things you'd prefer to keep between you and your women friends, like Amanda. I didn't mean to pry.”

“Amanda.” The breath soughed out of her. “That's just the trouble. I've made a mess of things by not speaking up sooner, and if her feelings are wounded, I'll never forgive myself.”

Did she want to tell him or not? Or had the dark and the rush of the creek that covered the outside sounds worked its magic and given her a sense of privacy?

“Speaking up to whom?”

With a groan, she scrubbed at her cheeks with her empty hand. “Oh, to Silas. He told me this evening that he's interested in me, and would like to court me.”

Henry felt as though she'd slapped him. He actually took a step back to regain his balance. “
Court
you?”

“You sound as surprised as I felt. He's been here visiting with Corinne's cousins all week, and I thought he would be a wonderful prospect for Amanda. I did everything possible to get them together, and come to find out, Fannie and Zeke have been doing everything possible to get
him
together with
me
.”

Thoughts flapped around in his head like a bunch of startled sparrows, and he couldn't catch a single one in order to reply.

“And now he's arranged to stay another week to help Joshua remodel the bathroom at their place—but underneath it all, it's so he'll have time to get to know me better. Except I told him we could only be friends, because it's Amanda I thought he was interested in. Now what am I going to do?”

What was the matter with him? He needed to get a grip.

“Seems—it seems you've done it. Said you wanted to be friends, I mean.”

“Well, yes, but in the meantime, it's going to change things between us. And how can I tell Amanda that he was staying for me when she's the one who's interested and will hope he's staying for her? It would hurt her horribly.”

“You can't tell her,” he said instantly. The fewer people who knew about this, the better. Including him. What had possessed him to walk tonight when he could have driven over to Ginny's like a rational man?

Ginny's. He needed to get over there. If he dillydallied here any longer, she might go to bed, and then when she had to come down and answer the door, she'd be even more annoyed with him.

“We don't keep secrets from one another,” she said on a sigh. “Not since Michael died. She and Corinne helped me through that time, and ever since, we've had complete confidence in one another.”

“Well, you'll have to. Nobody wants to hear that the person they care about is interested in somebody else. Look, Sarah, I have to go. Let me walk you back to your place.”

Even in the dark, he could feel her recoil in confusion at his brusque tone and the sudden end to confession time. “You don't need to do that. I'm not ready to go back.”

“Then you're okay if I leave you? I need to get over to Ginny's or she'll be even madder at me than she already is.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, you don't want that. I'll be fine. I was walking this creek path for years before you came, you know.”

“Good night.”

“Would you like my flashlight?”

“No. Thanks. Good night.” He didn't need anything from her. He set off along the path at twice the speed he'd begun with. Not a flashlight, not a herbal cure, nothing.

And nothing, evidently, was exactly what he was going to get.

Ginny hadn't gone to bed yet, and looked very fetching in a pair of shorts and a Seton Hill alumni sweatshirt. Also very fetching was her smile of welcome as she let him in and led the way back to her private sitting room, where guests didn't go and the Amish girls didn't clean.

After a brief stop in the kitchen for a couple of glasses of iced tea and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, she put them on the low coffee table and curled up in the armchair.

“So, did everything get resolved with the Parkers?” He might as well get that off the table right away.

“Oh, yes. No further apologies were forthcoming for poor Priscilla. Have you seen her? She says she's all right, but she's so humble that I don't know if I can believe her.”

“I think she is. I don't know about Eric, though. He left his project behind when they practically dragged him away, and who knows if he'll ever be able to finish it. I wanted to ask you for their address so I can send it to him, at least. After that, it will be up to him.”

She gazed at him over the rim of her glass. “You should have told his parents about the pottery lessons, Henry.”

On a sigh, he said, “I know. There is a whole raft of things I don't know about kids, and how much their parents get involved in their lives is one of them.”

“I don't think those two are super involved in the boys' lives. But after the initial heads-up, they would have gone about their holiday and been happy he was occupied. As it was, they felt hard done by and deceived. I tried to tell them you didn't have ulterior motives where their son was concerned, but you could tell that's what was in their minds.”

This had never occurred to Henry, not even once. “You must be joking.”

A single shake of her head made her curls dance all around the yellow cotton bandeau she wore in her hair. “It's a nasty world out there, in case you didn't notice.”

“I know that, but not here in Willow Creek.”

“I don't think evil pays any attention to social demographics. And besides, even though they weren't the best parents I ever saw, they have a right to know who their kid is with. I did my best to tell them you were all right, so you can relax about that.”

“Do you think I should write and apologize?”

“I think you should send the package and chalk it up to a learning experience. And be glad Sarah doesn't have the same kinds of feelings about Caleb working for you.”

Henry felt a jolt in his solar plexus at the mention of Sarah's name so soon after a similar jolt down there in the creek bottom. He took a long drink of tea, the cold liquid splashing into his stomach and giving his nervous system something else to think about.

“Speaking of work, I have something to show you.” He took the new mug out of its wrapping—an old jacket he'd used as packing material during his move. “What do you think?”

She turned the mug over in her hands. “Henry, it's beautiful. It's like those old—oh, what do you call it—back at the turn of the last century when artists made things look like plants.”

“Art Nouveau.”

“That's it. And this is a…rosebud?”

“Exactly.”

“But it's not quite. It's a mug obviously, but these lines here, they suggest petals, and the way they unfurl at the top, and then the glaze does the rest…it's beautiful, Henry.”

“I'm using the same style on the mugs I'm doing for D.W. Frith, and maybe just a hint of a leaf shape on the handles of the batter bowls. This was an experiment. I wanted your opinion.”

“My opinion is that I want you to change what you've been doing for me and make the house mugs like this from now on. No one else is going to have anything like them.” Then she looked up. “Oh, but they'll be more expensive, won't they?”

“They will, but you can make up the difference in the room rate if the guests choose to keep them.”

“Or I can trim costs out somewhere else. Can I keep this? I want to drink my coffee out of it.”

“Sure. I have more at the studio, but I thought you'd like the pink.”

She put the rosebud mug on the coffee table and unfolded herself from the chair. She dropped a kiss on his cheek as she snuggled up beside him on the couch.

“You're getting to know me well enough to know that I like bright flower colors.”

“I've noticed that.” Though she didn't seem like a flower, not the way the Amish girls did with their graceful long skirts and crisp
Kapps
. She seemed more exotic, like a bird of paradise in a garden where hummingbirds typically lived. “Are you happy in Willow Creek, Ginny?”

She leaned away a little to examine his face. “Most of the time. I like what I do, and I love my house. My neighbors are far enough away to give me privacy when I want it, and close enough and nice enough that I can walk over and get a cup of sugar when I run out. I have friends here, and interests, and I just joined the quilting guild, though when I'm going to have time to sew is a mystery. Why do you ask?”

“It's a nice place to try to be happy in.”

“My house, or Willow Creek?”

“Your house is great, but I meant Willow Creek.”

“So you're settling in, are you?”

“I think so. I'm finding my groove, as you would say, with the clay and the things I can do with it here. And like you say, friends and interests. If it wasn't for you and the Inn, I wouldn't have gotten that contract with D.W. Frith. I should pay you a finder's fee.”

“Or make the new mugs for the same price as the old ones.”

He laughed, and she adjusted her position against his side. It seemed natural to move his arm around her shoulders, and she tucked her bent knees up against his thigh.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“I have to, a woman alone running her own business.”

“Don't push the damsel in distress routine too hard. I can see right through it.”

“Hey, if it saves me a couple of bucks, I'll do what I have to.” She grinned at him and leaned over to swipe a couple of cookies. “Here. Have one. I just made them this afternoon. A peace offering for being so cranky the other day over those people.”

“Your crankiness was on Priscilla's behalf, so I don't blame you—or take it personally.” He had, a little, but he wouldn't tell her that.

“I do get cranky over stuff, Henry,” she said. “If you're going to be around, I want you to know that. I have a bit of a temper, but the good thing is, it always blows over fast.”

“I'm the opposite,” he admitted, since she seemed to be in the mood for confidences. And she did feel really good against him. It had been a long time since he'd sat and cuddled with a woman and had the kind of intimate conversation that cuddling led to. “My temper is the kind that simmers for days and then blows up over something completely unrelated.”

“That's worse.”

“Don't I know it.”

“But there's a cure for it, you know—communication. How about we make a deal. If we get mad at each other, I'll stomp and yell and you make sure you stand up to me and say what you have to say. Then I'll simmer down and you won't withdraw and it'll all get resolved.”

“You're such an adult. Where's the fun in that?”

“It ain't fun, believe me. I was married, remember? There's nothing harder when two people can't say what's on their minds. I need that now, so consider yourself warned.”