An Unexpected Joy Page 11

  “Do you like to garden? I used to put in a large garden every year,” Edith said.

  Abigail appreciated Edith changing the subject. “I love working in the garden. Did you have problems with aphids? Last year they destroyed mei cucumbers.”

  “Ah, you can rid them with a mixture using the rinds of lemon and oranges. Just spray the plant leaves every few days.”

  “I’ll have to try that this summer.”

  The two women continued to chat while they knitted. A few hours later, Abigail tied off the end stitch on the wool sock. She lifted it up to show Edith. “This one’s done. Nau, I just need to make its mate.”

  “That’s wunderbaar.”

  Abigail examined the sock closer. “It’s too long, isn’t it?”

  “Is it a knee sock?” Edith chuckled.

  “Nay.” Her eyes widened at the thought.

  “Don’t fret. It’ll shrink.”

  “Jah, after a few washings.” Abigail laughed as she reloaded the wool yarn on her empty needle.

  Micah poked his head around the wall of the sitting room. “Sounds like a frolic in here.”

  Abigail shoved her knitting aside. “Is it lunchtime already?” She bounded out of the chair, bolted past him to the kitchen, then grabbed a knife from the drawer to slice the bread. She had planned to make macaroni and cheese, but sandwiches would have to do.

  He entered the kitchen. “I’m early.”

  She glanced at the wall clock. “Jah, you are. It’s half past ten. You must nett have eaten a big breakfast.”

  “Thomas didn’t show up today. I was hoping you might have a few minutes to help me.”

  “Abigail would love to help,” Edith interjected. She smiled at Abigail. “Wouldn’t you, dear?”

  “Ah . . .”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Mammi said, holding up her hands. “I won’t touch the stove.”

  Abigail set the knife on the counter. “Let me get mei cloak.” The way the wind had howled all morning, it must have been difficult to keep the fire going without Thomas.

  Edith came to the door with a plate of cookies as they were leaving. “In case you get hungry.”

  Micah took them. “Danki, mei stomach is already growling.”

  The wind was stronger than Abigail anticipated. Her bonnet lifted off her head and would have blown away had she not held the strings.

  Micah went ahead, opened the door, and ushered her into the warm building. He set the plate of cookies on the bench next to the wall of shelves.

  Abigail’s gaze fell on the shiny glass doves sitting on the steel table. “You’ve put a lot of details in the doves’ wings. They’re beautiful.”

  He came up beside her. “This is the cake topper.”

  “It must be a fancy wedding.”

  “Much fancier than any Amish wedding I’ve been to.” He went to the kiln and opened the fire hatch.

  She focused on the other glass pieces, admiring the intricate details. “You’re very talented. Are the snowflakes hard to make?”

  “Nay. I can make them in mei sleep.” He tossed a chunk of wood into the furnace, closed the hatch, then swept his hands of bark. “It’ll take a minute or two to melt the glass.”

  She smiled nervously. “So, what would you like me to work on?”

  He went to the shelf and removed a roll of brown paper, then looked it over. “Hopefully there’s enough paper. Thomas got a little carried away with wrapping the other pieces.”

  Abigail took the roll from Micah. “I prayed every day that you and Thomas would work well together, and that Thomas would want to return to the church.”

  “He lived in the world a long time. He’s changed a lot.”

  Abigail spread the paper over the table next to the glasswork. “I know you’re right. But I still believe that God can restore his mind so that he has the ability to know right from wrong and can repent.” She picked up the smallest piece and wrapped it in the paper first.

  “I only heard him curse the first day,” Micah said with a shrug. “That must mean something.”

  “I hope so.”

  Micah set a wooden crate beside her. “Try not to pack them too tight.”

  He returned to the stove and added more wood. A few minutes later, he dipped the end of the pipe into the molten glass and twirled it slowly.

  Abigail watched in awe as he shaped the glass into a deer. “You make that look easy.”

  “Just takes practice.” He smoothed the hooves of the deer with a flat piece of wood, then eased it into a standing position on the table.

  “I’m amazed at your talent.”

  He looked down, a humble gesture.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I joke about God giving me a gift of gab, but He’s clearly given you a real gift.”

  “Danki,” he said softly. “I view it as a means to one day . . .” He moved in front of the kiln, then dipped the end of the pipe into the molten glass and began twirling.

  “One day what?”

  “Support a family,” he replied, keeping his focus on the end of the pipe. Then, as if cutting off further discussion, he removed the pipe, twirled it a few times, and lifted the end to his mouth. He made another deer, this one with antlers.

  Abigail stared at the glowing glass. “It’s perfect.”

  He set the pipe down and eyed his work. “They can be better.” His gaze traveled to the end of the table where the snowflakes sat that hadn’t been wrapped.

  Abigail ripped a section of paper off the roll. “Sorry, I guess I was distracted.” She picked up an ornament and gently wrapped it in the paper. “I like that you made each of the snowflakes different.”

  “It wasn’t intentional.”

  She folded the paper over another piece. “God makes each snowflake different, yet it all blends into a beautiful landscape of snow.” She placed the glass ornament into the crate, catching a glimpse of his smile. “It’s one reason I like winter.”

  “Each person is unique too.” His gaze met hers.

  “Jah,” she muttered, mesmerized by his eyes. “Why aren’t you married?” It wasn’t until his smile dropped that her words registered. She hurried and wrapped the last piece, then added it to the crate with the others. “Should I add more wood to the kiln?”

  “It doesn’t need any.”

  She reached for the crate. “I can move this out of the way. Where should I put it?” She grasped the wooden handles and lifted it. Her muscles strained under the weight, but Micah lunged forward and supported the container.

  “I have it,” he said calmly. “You can let go of it nau.”

  Abigail released her hold.

  “I’ve been loading the crates in the back of the buggy.” He headed to the door.

  She raced around the other end of the table and held the door open. Abigail followed him outside. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

  “You didn’t.” He stepped cautiously through the snow.

  “Well, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  His foot slipped, and the glass rattled inside the box.

  Abigail reached for the container, placing her hand on the bottom of the wooden slats.

  “Danki. I think with your help keeping it steady, we’ll make it.” He smiled.

  She kept her hand in place and stepped backward.

  “Why don’t you have a bu?”

  “Do you really need to ask?” Her foot landed on an icy patc
h and she lost her balance. Somehow, her feet tangled with his and they both crashed to the ground.

  He closed his eyes and held them shut for several seconds, grimacing.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I am. Are you?” He pushed to his knees and began collecting the scattered pieces.

  “I’m sorry. I must have stepped on a patch of ice.” She should have paid closer attention to where she was walking.

  “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “But your glass. Oh, Micah, I’m sorry.”

  “It was an accident. It’s nett your fault. I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.” He reached for her hand, helped her up, then gathered the last few items and placed them in the crate.

  “Do you think they all broke?” She bit her bottom lip.

  “We’ll know in a few minutes.” He carried the container back into the shop.

  Abigail held her breath, watching him carefully remove each piece and unwrap it. So far, three snowflakes had chipped glass.

  He peeled back the paper on a dove and sighed.

  The wing had broken off.

  Tears pricked her eyes. He wouldn’t have fallen if she hadn’t slipped. Now his hard work lay in shambles.

  Micah inventoried the pieces and blew out a breath. “Nothing broke that Thomas wrapped.” He shook his head as if in disbelief. “I kept telling him nett to use so much paper . . .” He smiled. “I’m glad he didn’t listen to me.”

  “I am too.” She sniffled.

  His expression sobered. “Don’t cry, Abby.”

  She cracked a smile. “You forgot Gabby.”

  He cupped her face in his hands and brushed away her tears with his thumbs. “Don’t cry, Gabby Abby. We have time to remake what broke.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He smiled. “If you’re still willing to help.”

  Light flooded the room. Micah dropped his hands, and his face paled.

  The door closed and Abigail recognized Bishop Schwartz’s shadowy figure before he spoke.

  “Micah, I’d like to speak with you about a matter that’s kumm to mei attention.” His stern glare fell on Abigail as he approached them.

  She swallowed hard. The bishop’s sister Velda must have filled his ears. Say something. Her throat tightened.

  Micah turned to her. “Will you go into the haus and check on Mammi?”

  No, she had to set things straight.

  “Please,” Micah said.

  Abigail nodded. She hurried to the door without looking back. Lord, I never meant to get Micah into trouble. This was all her fault. Please forgive me, Lord.

  Tears streamed down her face as she crossed the yard to the house.

  Edith glanced up from her knitting when Abigail entered the sitting room. “Is everything all right?”

  “Jah.” She hesitated, then blurted, “Nay, I don’t think it is.” Abigail went to the window and looked toward the workshop.

  “What is it, dear?”

  Abigail closed her eyes. “I made a mess of things.”

  “Was Micah short with you again? I’ll have another talk with him.”

  “Nay.” Abigail moved away from the window. “The bishop’s here to have a word with Micah.”

  “Perhaps he’s inquiring about Micah’s sister’s new boppli or when his parents are expected home.”

  Abigail picked at her nails. “It’s something else. I’m afraid I’ve gotten him into trouble.”

  Edith’s expression sobered. “Why do you say that?”

  “Thomas, the man who helped Micah the past two weeks, is a fence-jumper. He left the faith several years ago. He’s Malinda’s bruder—mei cousin, and . . . and her family has been given the silent treatment ever since they took Thomas back into their home. They’ll be formally shunned any day. The bishop was lenient, but Thomas hasn’t shown any interest in returning to the church.” She pointed to her head. “He has a brain injury. I don’t think he’s capable of repenting.”

  Edith was silent several seconds. The lines in her forehead deepened. “I suppose that is a lesson for us all. We must remain close with God at all times. We don’t know what tomorrow holds.”

  “Jah, that is true.”

  “Another reason we must separate ourselves from the world.”

  From Thomas. Abigail’s heart grew heavy. God, Your word says You are faithful even when we are nett. Why would Jesus tell the story about the prodigal sohn if it wasn’t a message of forgiveness?

  Abigail turned to look out the window and gasped. Thomas was traipsing across the yard. “I have to stop him.” She rushed out the door without taking time to put on her cloak and met Thomas at the corner of the shop.

  “Thomas.”

  A smile lit his face. “Hiya.”

  “Hello.” She hugged herself, trying to get control over her shivering. “Would you bring an armload of firewood into the haus, please?” She reached for his arm and turned him toward the woodshed. “I’ll show you where the wood is kept.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Micah’s heart thudded against his chest as Bishop Schwartz quietly surveyed the glasswork on the table.

  Bishop Schwartz rounded the corner of the work area, his attention still on the glass. “You do nice work, Micah.”

  “Danki.”

  The bishop shifted his gaze to Micah. “I understand Thomas Lambright has been helping you.”

  Micah cleared his throat. “Jah, he’s been loading the kiln with wood. I received a large order that’s due tomorrow, and I needed to hire temporary help.”

  “I see.” Bishop Schwartz glanced over his shoulder at the kiln. “I’ve never seen a stove like yours.”

  “Would you like to see it in operation? As you can see by the broken pieces, I have some things to remake.” Micah went to the stove and opened the fire hatch. Perhaps if the bishop observed the glassblowing process, he would understand the importance of maintaining the fire and the need to hire Thomas.

  “Mei kiln is small and doesn’t hold a lot of wood.” Micah added a few slabs of wood. “The advantage is it doesn’t use much space, but the disadvantage is that it requires constant wood.” He gathered the raw products necessary, mixed a small batch, and within a short time, the molten glass bubbled to the surface.

  Bishop Schwartz stepped back. “Is it as difficult to manage as it looks?”

  “Once you get into the rhythm, it’s like milking a cow.” Micah rotated the pipe in the hot glass. Manipulating the molten glass was easier than looking the bishop in the eye. He needed additional time to gather his thoughts. As it was, he couldn’t keep Abigail’s voice from invading his mind. “Thomas needs to see Christ’s love through us—the members of our district.” Micah blew gently into the end of the pipe, rotated it a few times, then blew again. He formed the body of the dove within a few minutes, adding the feather details with a metal blade.

  Bishop Schwartz cleared his throat. “I’m sure you heard that after Thomas left the faith, he joined the armed service.”

  “Jah, I did.” Micah snipped the end of the dove, releasing it from the pipe, then gently lowered it to the table. “But he came home.”

  “So he did.” The bishop crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m nett convinced he’s given up the world. Wouldn’t you agree he’s still worldly in many ways?”

  Micah shrugged. “If I judged him solely on his actions the first day, then yes, I would agree. But the longer I worked with Thomas the more I could see he was trying.” Micah paused, then
added, “In the Bible, the father prayed for the prodigal sohn to return. Do you think he came covered in pig slop or cleaned up?”

  Bishop Schwartz let out a long breath.

  “Thomas might have returned because of a head injury, but I believe it was God’s will for him to come home,” Micah said. “Perhaps this is a test for the church members. Do we forgive?”

  “Thomas hasn’t asked to be reconciled with the church—with God.”

  “Jesus loved us when we were yet sinners,” Micah said softly, adding, “He also said, ‘Let the children come unto me.’ In some ways, Thomas has reverted back to being a child, because of the injuries he sustained. Perhaps if we accepted him . . . as he is nau, he might see the light of Christ through us.”

  Bishop Schwartz stared at the floor several seconds, then looked up. “I understand your parents have been delayed in Lancaster.”

  Micah nodded. “Mei sister’s boppli was born with breathing problems, but I expect them home the week after next.”

  “Do you and Edith have plans for Christmas?”

  Micah smiled. “Jah, we’ve been invited to the Kemps’.”

  “Hmm . . . Just how much time has Abigail Kemp been spending here while your parents are away?”

  Micah had barely opened the door and stepped inside the house when Abigail pounced on him.

  “How upset is Bishop Schwartz? Is he going to bring us before the church?”

  Micah caught a glimpse of Thomas in the sitting room next to the woodstove. “When did he kumm?”

  “A few minutes after the bishop arrived. Oh, please don’t be upset with me for bringing him in the haus.”

  Micah moved past her. “We’ll talk about it later.” He walked into the sitting room. He nodded at Mammi, sitting in the rocking chair knitting, and went over to Thomas who was adding another log to an already-roaring fire. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it today.”

  “I bring in wood.” Thomas smiled proudly and pointed to the full woodbox. “See?”