Patricia Davids - The Christmas Quilt

“I just finished readying your room. I’m so happy you decided to stay with us again.”

“We’re glad to be here,” Vera replied.

Staying at the inn had become a ritual for the two women following the quilt auctions. It was a time Vera truly enjoyed when the work of cooking, cleaning, sewing and running the farm was put on hold for a few days so she could relax and visit her many friends in town.

Rebecca would rather be back in her aunt’s small house. The openness of the inn disoriented her, but she never said as much. Rebecca loved her aunt dearly. Vera deserved her little holiday each year. If Rebecca had insisted on staying home alone, her aunt would have cancelled her plans and come home, too.

Emma said, “Rebecca, I couldn’t believe it when I heard how much your quilt went for.”

“God was good to us,” Vera said quickly.

Rebecca shook her head. “It was not worth that much money. The Englisch fellow who bought it did so out of pity. He saw a story about me on his television. That’s the only reason he came.”

Vera patted Rebecca’s arm. “It matters not what his motivation was. His being there was God’s doing.”

“How much more money will you need for your surgery?” Emma asked.

“Another twenty thousand dollars,” Vera answered.

“So much?” Emma’s voice echoed the doubt in Rebecca’s heart. It was unlikely they could raise enough money in time.

She said, “Doctor White has told us the surgeon who is perfecting this operation is moving to Sweden to open a special clinic there after Christmas. If we can’t raise the rest of the money before then it will be too late.”

Emma laid her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Do not give up hope. We know not what God has planned for our lives.”

Rebecca swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “I must accept His will in this.”

“Are you hungry?” Emma asked. “We’ve started serving supper in the café.”

Vera said, “I could eat a horse.”

“Goot. My mother has been waiting impatiently for you. I’ll tell her you’re here and we can catch up on all the news. Did you hear my Aenti Wilma over in Sugarcreek broke her hip last week?”

Rebecca said, “You two go ahead. I think I would rather lie down for a while before I eat.”

“Is your headache worse?” Vera asked.

Rebecca appreciated her aunt’s concern. “Nee. I’m sure a few minutes of peace and quiet are all I need.”

“Let me show you to your room,” Emma offered.

“I can find my way,” Rebecca insisted. She didn’t want to be treated like an invalid.

“Very well. I’ve put you in number seven, the same as last year.” Emma pressed an old-fashioned key into Rebecca’s hand.

“Danki. Enjoy your visit.”

She opened the white folding cane she carried and headed toward the ticking clock she knew sat beside the staircase. The clock began to strike the hour. It was five o’clock.

When she located the first riser, she went up the steps slowly, holding tight to the banister. There were fifteen steps if she remembered correctly. When her searching toe found the top of the landing, she smiled. Fifteen it was.

She walked down the hallway, letting her cane sweep from side to side. The rooms were numbered with evens on the left and odds on the right. It took only a few moments to locate her door.

She fumbled with the key for a second and lost her grip on it. It fell, struck her toe and bounced away. The hallway was carpeted. She couldn’t tell from the sound where the key landed.

Annoyed, Rebecca dropped to her knees and began searching with her hands, letting her fingers glide over the thick pile. The carpeting was a concession to the English guests that stayed at the inn. Amish homes held no such fanciness. A plain plank floor or simple linoleum was all anyone needed.

The sound of a door opening across the hall sent a rush of embarrassed heat to her cheeks. A second later the door closed.

She knew who it was. She recognized the spicy scent of his aftershave. Her heartbeat skittered and took off like a nervous colt at a wild gallop.

The silence stretched on until she thought she must have been mistaken. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. She cocked her head to the side. “Is someone there?”

“Can I help?” His raspy voice was a mere whisper.

It was Booker. God had given her another chance to spend time with him. “You have already helped a great deal. The price you paid for my quilt was outrageous.”

“Some works of art are priceless, but what are you doing on the floor?”

“I dropped my room key.”

“Ah. I see it.” A second later he grasped her hand and pressed the cool metal key into her palm, then gently closed her fingers over it.

Waves of awareness raced up her arm and sent shivers dancing across her nerve endings. She didn’t trust her voice to speak as he cupped her elbows and drew her to her feet. The warmth from his hands spread through her body, making it difficult to breathe.

She’d known this dizzying sensation only once before. The first and only time Gideon Troyer had kissed her. Would this man’s kiss light up her soul the way Gideon’s had?

Shame rushed in on the heels of her disgraceful thought. What was the matter with her? This man was Englisch. He was forbidden, and she was foolish to place herself in such a situation.

She was inches away from him. Gideon’s pulse pounded in his ears like a drum as he studied Rebecca’s face, her lips, the curve of her cheek. Behind her tinted glasses he saw the way her full lashes lay dark and smoky against her fair skin. The long ribbons of her white kapp drew his attention to the faint pulse beating at the side of her neck just where he wanted to press a kiss.

She was everything he remembered and so much more. The girl he once loved had matured into a beautiful woman. He longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her. To see if those lush lips tasted as sweet as they did in his memory.

His grip tightened. Suddenly, she grew tense in his grasp and tried to pull away.

He was frightening her. This wasn’t a romantic interlude from their past for her. To her he was a stranger. He released her, took a step back and tried to put her at ease. “Would you like me to open the door for you?”

“No. I can manage.” She retreated until her back was against the wood.

She didn’t look frightened, only flustered. A pretty blush added color to her cheeks. Adam must have known she was staying at the inn. It would have helped if his cousin had given him a heads-up.

Gideon said, “It was nice talking to you. Perhaps we’ll see each other later since the ice is going to keep me here for a day. Wait, should I use the word see, or is that being insensitive?”

“I beg your pardon?” Her flustered look changed to confusion.

“I don’t know how to address a blind person. You’re the first one I’ve met. Can you give me a few pointers so I don’t stick my foot in my mouth?”

Her charming smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “There isn’t a special way to address us, and you don’t have to be concerned about using the word see. I use it all the time.”

“Good, because I’m thinking it would be hard to have a conversation with you if I constantly had to think up a way to replace every word that relates to sight.”

She nodded slowly. “I see what you mean.”

“Right!”

Chuckling, she said, “I’m sure we’ll run into each other if you’re staying here for a while. The inn isn’t very big.”

“I’d call it cozy.”

“I don’t find it so.”

“Why not?” Was she uncomfortable because he was here?

She shrugged. “It’s not important.”

“Of course it is.”