The Amish Widower's Surprise
Author
Laurel Blount
Reads
16,5K
Chapters
15
Chapter One
Oh, she didn’t want to do this. She really didn’t.
Lilah Troyer hesitated on the wooden porch outside Miller’s General Store and readjusted the tote bag full of sample quilt squares on her shoulder.
Although there’d been a heavy rain last night, the morning had turned out pleasant. The May sunshine was warm on her shoulders, and the small town of Hickory Springs, Tennessee, buzzed happily behind her as people went about their weekday business.
But all Lilah could think about was how badly she wanted to run back to her rented bedroom and hide.
“What are you waiting for? You’ll not sell Eben Miller any quilts from out here,” Susie Raber pointed out impatiently.
Lilah shot her friend an exasperated look. “I wish I hadn’t let you talk me into this.”
“I know.” Susie gave her arm a brisk, sympathetic pat. “But without the job at the restaurant, what choice do you have?”
Lilah sighed. None, that was what.
Not if she wanted to keep renting a room in Susie’s house, which she most definitely did. She loved her quiet bedroom, and this way she wasn’t crowding into one of her married siblings’ homes, already bursting at the seams with their growing families.
She knew her friend would let her live there for free if she could, but that was out of the question. Susie, a widow with no children, eked out a meager living working at a bakery. She relied on the extra income she received from renting her room to local single women—usually women from other Plain communities who were getting desperate in their search for a husband. Hickory Springs had a reputation for having a good number of eligible Amish bachelors.
Thanks to that—and to Susie’s talent for matchmaking—none of those women stayed single for long, so she was always looking for a new tenant.
Until Lilah had come along. She’d been with Susie for over two years now, and Susie had finally given up trying to match her with local men. Now, at almost forty, Lilah was officially on the shelf in this Amish community, where most couples paired up in their early twenties. Thankfully, she and Susie got along well, so they’d been happy enough to keep their arrangement as it was.
But without her job at Yoder’s Dinner Bell, she had no way to pay for her beloved, sunny little room—unless she could talk Eben into selling her quilts in his store.
Susie cleared her throat and tapped her shoe on the wooden porch.
“All right,” Lilah said. “I’m going in. But once we get inside, don’t you rush me, Susie. Let me ask Eben about the quilts myself, when I’m ready. If I talk to him when I’m all flustered, I’ll say the wrong thing, for certain sure.”
Like she had last week at Yoder’s when she’d seen some Englisch parents laughing while their six-year-old son licked—licked—the serving spoons at the buffet, one after another. She’d given them a piece of her mind, and they hadn’t appreciated it one bit.
Neither had the Yoders, which was why she was in this pickle in the first place.
“Ja,” Susie admitted with a wry smile. “You’re likely right about that. Fine, I’ll keep my nose out of it. Now, chin up. This is a real gut idea, if I do say so myself. Eben hasn’t had any quilts to sell since his wife died, and yours are every bit as well made as Rose’s were. He’ll snap this offer up, and you’ll both be the better for it. You’ll see!”
As she spoke, Susie reached past Lilah and pulled open the door. Air puffed against Lilah’s cheeks, smelling a little musty. Somebody needed to do some deep cleaning.
Susie cleared her throat.
“All right,” Lilah said. “I’m going.” She squared her shoulders and walked into Eben Miller’s domain for the first time in over a decade.
The big, high-ceiling room was cooler than the outside, and everywhere she looked, brightly colored products were angled on wooden shelves. Jams and jellies, handmade toys, books and baking mixes, all done up in fancy packages. Miller’s stock was aimed more at the curious tourists who visited the Amish community than at the Plain folks themselves.
That was one reason Lilah had steered clear of the store. But the main reason had to do with Eben himself. She scanned the store warily until she spotted him. He was a tall, strong-built fellow, so he wasn’t hard to find.
He stood behind the long store counter, waiting on an Englisch woman. She was in her sixties, old enough to be his mamm, but she was batting her eyelashes at him as if she were a maidel.
That was nothing new. Eben had always been popular with girls, even back when they were schoolmates together. He was nice to look at, with his blond hair and broad shoulders, and he had a friendly charm that drew people in, made them feel noticed and special.
Even people who weren’t really special at all, like lonesome, blunt-spoken teenaged girls.
Lilah flinched and turned away, pretending to study the jars of jams and jellies on the shelf. Thinking about the past would only make her more nervous, and that was the last thing she needed.
Quilts. That was what she needed to think about. Quilting always steadied her.
She glanced over to the alcove of the store where Rose had given quilting demonstrations to tourists whenever her frail health had permitted. To Lilah’s surprise, Rose’s quilting frame was still there, an unfinished quilt stretched across it, a small chair pulled close by.
Forgetting to be naerfich, Lilah crossed the store to examine things more closely. She stood at the narrow end of the frame, looking over the taut fabric and frowning.
It was a demonstration quilt, useful for teaching aspiring quilters about the craft. Each square showcased a different technique or pattern. Oftentimes, such quilts were chaotic and, in Lilah’s opinion, unattractive. This one wasn’t. Rose Miller had been a gifted quilter with a good eye for patterns and colors. She’d managed to pull the very different squares together by using complementary shades and fabrics.
The finished quilt top had been layered with batting and backing and stretched onto the frame for quilting. Lilah leaned closer. The stitches were tiny and neat, and Rose had chosen free motion quilting so that she could stitch in a way that brought out the beauty in the various blocks.
It was an excellent choice for this style of quilt. But the pretty design was unfinished, the slim needle tucked through the fabric where Rose had set it down for the last time before her final illness. That had been three years ago now, and there was a film of gray dust on the cloth. No wonder the store smelled musty.
Lilah straightened slowly, her eyes fixed on that silver needle, twinkling in the light. It somehow seemed both very sad and very sweet that Rose hadn’t put the needle away, nor tied a knot in her thread. She’d simply poked it through the cloth to hold her place, as if she’d expected to pick it up again very soon.
“Kann ich dich helfa mitt ebbes?” Can I help you with something? A male voice spoke the standard shopkeeper’s greeting just behind her, making her jump.
“Oh!” She turned to find Eben studying her, his face stern. She’d not stood so close to him in years—at church she was always careful to keep her distance. He looked different. Same blue-gray eyes, same strong jaw, but a thread or two of silver shone through the gold in his hair, and new lines creased his face. Not laughing wrinkles, these. Sorrow had left its mark.
“There is nothing for sale over here,” he said.
“I know,” she murmured. “I was just looking. It’s a very pretty quilt. Hello, Eben.”
“Lilah.” Wary recognition dawned. “I did not know it was you.” He glanced down at the quilt, and his eyes warmed. “Ja, it’s pretty,” he agreed softly. “But it is not for sale.”
She blinked. “Well, of course not. It isn’t finished.”
She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Eben winced, as if she’d stuck him with a pin. By all accounts, he had been heartbroken by Rose’s death, and pointing out the quilt’s incomplete state was likely an unpleasant reminder of his loss.
She struggled to think of something comforting to say.
“It’s mostly done, though. Someone else could complete the quilting,” she suggested. “And should, probably. You can see yourself that it’s getting dirty, and it can’t be easily laundered until it’s finished.”
That was the truth, but from Eben’s expression, she was only making things worse.
“The quilt will be left as it is,” he said firmly. “Is there anything else I can help you with today, Lilah?”
She swallowed hard. Oh, this wasn’t going well. Perhaps she should simply give up and walk away. But—she glanced at Susie, who was inspecting the pretty bags of baking mix displayed on a wooden table—that would mean she’d also have to give up her room. And she’d come this far.
“I make quilts.” She blurted out the words before she lost the last of her nerve. “Gut ones, too, like this one.” She fumbled in her bag to bring out the sample squares she’d brought to show him. “See?” She laid them out on the demonstration quilt one by one.
The bell over the door jangled as a group of Englisch women came in. Eben glanced in their direction.
“I’m sorry. I can’t talk anymore. I’ve customers.”
“I sew fast,” Lilah said desperately. “Fast and well. They’d bring good money, my quilts.”
“I’m sure they would, but—”
“You should sell them here. I’ve half a dozen completed now, so plenty to stock in. And I could make more.”
“Oh, are you going to be selling quilts again?” One of the Englisch women had drawn close, her eyes bright with interest. She called over her shoulder. “Shelly, they’re carrying quilts here again! Finally! Remember that beautiful one your sister bought here all those years ago? Is this the same quilter who made that one?” The last question was directed to Eben.
“No. She is not. And I do not sell quilts in my store.” Eben’s deep voice cut in firmly. “Not anymore.” He picked up the sample squares one by one and held them out to Lilah. “Please put these back in your bag.”
“But,” Lilah protested, “if you’d just look—”
“Never mind. She’s not the same quilter,” the woman called across the store. “Such a pity. Is that other lady, the one who made your quilts before, is she still making quilts anywhere? We’re willing to drive any distance if you’ll tell us where she is.”
Lilah glanced up just in time to see the pain in Eben’s eyes, and her heart constricted.
Eben Miller was a member of her church and her community, and as such, he merited her respect, her kindness and her help, should he need it. But she had no personal fondness for him, not since that day all those many years ago when he’d announced in front of all her friends that he wasn’t sweet on Lilah Troyer, never had been and never would be. She could still feel the white-hot humiliation of that moment, made all the sharper because of the secret daydreams she’d been spinning about the two of them.
Nee, Eben Miller was not her favorite person. But the sorrow on his face just now...well. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“Well?” the woman prompted impatiently. “Is she still making quilts someplace?”
His throat pulsed. “No, she is not.”
A hefty sigh. “Are you sure?”
“For pity’s sake,” Lilah said. “That woman you’re talking about was his wife, and she’s dead. So, ja. He’s sure.”
“Oh!” The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I...had no idea. Shelly? Girls? Let’s go. I...uh...forgot something in the car.”
In a few seconds, the whole group was gone, leaving Susie the only other person in the store. She stared at Lilah, horror on her face, a checkered bag of muffin mix clutched in her hands.
Eben’s lips tightened. He held the stack of quilt squares out to her again.
“Take these and go home,” he said evenly. “I don’t sell quilts here anymore.”
Then he turned on his heel and walked away.
Eben pretended to be busy behind the counter, but he watched Lilah out of the corner of his eye as she stuffed the quilt squares back into her bag. She stopped briefly next to Susie Raber for a whispered conversation, and even at this distance, he could see that Lilah’s cheeks were bright pink.
He’d upset her. Eben sighed as he straightened the items next to the cash register. He hadn’t meant to. It had just...stung him a bit, the way she’d spoken so matter-of-factly about Rose.
She’s dead.
Of course, she was. And it had taken some time, but Eben had made his peace with that—mostly. But now and then something would happen, something simple like a woman commenting innocently on Rose’s last unfinished quilt, and the old grief would rise up and wash over him in a wave. He did his best to keep his pain to himself when that happened, but sometimes in spite of his best efforts, it splashed over onto other folks.
Lilah finished talking to Susie and hurried out the door, but Susie didn’t follow. She placed the bag of apple cinnamon muffin mix back on the shelf and walked up to the counter, her usually friendly face set in stern lines.
“That,” she said as soon as she was close enough, “was not very nice, Eben Miller.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry. But it’s true what I told her. I don’t sell quilts.”
“Maybe not, but you could have been nicer telling her so.” Susie tilted her head, looking at him with eyes that reminded him sharply of his late mamm. “She’s having a hard time just now. She lost her job at Yoder’s Dinner Bell, and she’s in need of money.”
“Oh.” Now he felt worse. “I didn’t know.”
“Maybe you didn’t know the particulars, but you should have figured something was wrong. Otherwise, would she have come here asking you for help? It’s not as if you two are gut friends.”
Well, no, they weren’t. Not since the day he’d found out that Lilah had been telling the other girls that he was sweet on her.
He hadn’t been, although he’d liked Lilah well enough. Her habit of saying things out loud that most folks only thought in their heads had bothered other people, but it had amused him.
So he’d been kind to her, not meaning anything special by it. By then he’d fallen head over heels for delicate little Rose Lapp. But one night when he’d asked to drive Rose home after a singing, she’d echoed the rumors he’d already been teased about by the other boys.
I thought you’d be seeing Lilah home, Rose had said, her face creased with disappointment. So I told Sam I’d ride with him.
Sam Zook, his biggest rival for Rose’s affections, had smirked as he walked out to hitch up his buggy.
So, ja. Eben had said it loud and clear. I’ll not be driving Lilah Troyer anyplace, Rose, not tonight nor ever.
He’d meant it. But as he’d stalked out to claim his own buggy, he’d caught a glimpse of Lilah’s face.
She’d looked...stricken. And afterward—even all these years later—she ducked for cover whenever she saw him coming. He’d always felt bad about that, but he’d never had an opportunity to make amends.
Until today.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” Susie drew in a long breath. “You’ve had your share of pain, Eben, losing your Rose so young. And I’m sorry for it. But maybe next time you remember that you’re not the only person in the world with troubles, ja?” She bustled out the door just as another group of Englischers came in.
Eben was busy the rest of the afternoon. His store was beginning to be noticed by the tourists who’d recently discovered Hickory Springs’ small Plain community, and he did a brisk business most days. But all day, whenever he had a spare moment, his mind drifted back to Lilah, and his conscience pricked him.
“I’ve been waiting in line for ten minutes,” an older Englisch lady said grumpily just before closing time. “You need to hire some help, young man.”
Eben forced a smile. “I’m sorry. I usually do have somebody else working, but my last helper...uh...quit a few days ago.”
Trudy Schwartz had quit, all right, when it finally sank in that Eben wasn’t in the market for a new wife. Except for the inconvenience of running the store alone, he wasn’t overly sorry to see her go. Trudy was a nice enough woman, but it was clear what she wanted, and since he wasn’t interested, things had grown a bit awkward between them.
She was the last in a long line of women, widows and never-marrieds, who’d applied to work in his store over the past couple of years, many of them urged on by mamms or aents, convinced that Eben would be ready to remarry at any moment.
As if wives could be replaced as easily as shoelaces.
He normally closed the store around six, but it was half past before he finally locked the door. He’d have to hire another store clerk and soon, or things would come unraveled quickly.
As he walked down the street to the little stable where he rented a stall for his horse Blaze during the day, his mind drifted between his two troubles: the unpleasantness with Lilah and the pressing need to hire a new store clerk.
Preferably one already safely married.
That last part would be difficult. Married women were usually busy at home with their kinder. Rose had only been able to work with him—when her fragile health permitted—because Gott had never seen fit to bless them with a family.
As Eben hitched Blaze up to his buggy, an idea occurred to him. He turned it over in his mind as he went through the mindless routine of buckling the straps. It was an uncomfortable idea—and unexpected.
But the more he thought about it, the more sensible it seemed.
So when he and Blaze clopped out onto the street, instead of turning toward home, they headed in the opposite direction.
Toward Susie Raber’s house.
