Hoefling was a superb quilter. Standing at the back of the room and smiling at what was presumably congratulations from others clustered in her vicinity, she did look pleased, but not surprised. Nadia had recently sold another of Colleen’s quilts through her shop, that one in the classic Checkers and Rails pattern, for $2,800.
As the bidding began for a lap-size Sunshine and Shadows quilt, Nadia found herself trying to add up what they’d already earned but failed. She should have made notes in the catalog—
A woman in the ballroom doorway signaled for her, and Nadia slipped out to the foyer where the reception and cashiers’ tables had been set up. The auction software program being used tonight was new to all of them. Nadia had entered the original information—the quilts, estimated values and the names and addresses of all registered bidders—which made her the de facto expert.
A woman who had won the bidding on two quilts was trying to check out, but her name didn’t appear on the computer. Realizing the woman was an unexpected walk-in, Nadia added her to the software, took her money then printed a receipt.
“Quite an event you’ve put on,” the woman said, smiling. “I don’t really need any more quilts, but one of those April tornadoes missed us by less than a mile. Could have hit our house.”
Nadia thanked her again, realizing anew that she’d hardly had to sell the cause to the people who lived in northern Missouri. They saw the devastation, year after year.
The good news was that at least a third of tonight’s attendees had come from outside Missouri, either as a way to help or because they were passionate collectors excited by the mix of antique and new quilts being offered tonight. The Amish-made were among the most prized.
Nadia added the check to the gray metal lockbox. At her suggestion, they’d offered an express pay option, but surprisingly few auctiongoers had taken advantage of it. At charity events she’d helped with in Colorado, hardly anyone had paid cash. Here, apparently people were used to the fact that few Amish businesses accepted credit cards. The piles of actual cash already in the lockbox, much of it from the earlier sales tables, bemused her. It awakened something a tiny bit greedy, too. She itched to start counting the bills, even though the software would supply totals.
Able to hear furious bidding on a queen-size quilt from an elderly Amish woman, Ruth Graber, Nadia lifted her head. She expected this one to surpass the $3,000 that had been the evening’s high so far. The Carpenter’s Square pattern was intriguing but not complex; it was the elaborate hand quilting with incredibly tiny stitches that made this one stand out.
“Do you mind covering for me while I race to the bathroom?” one of the volunteer cashiers asked.
Nadia smiled. “No, I’ll be glad to sit down for a minute.” With a sigh, she sank into the chair behind one of the three networked laptop computers, not so sure she’d be able to get up again.
Of course, she’d have to make herself. Closing out and cleaning up after the auction would be a job in itself, all those display racks to be dismantled, chairs to be folded and stacked onto the rolling carts, the vast ballroom to be swept. It had to be pristine by morning. This gorgeous historic home was open to the public from 9:00 a.m. until 4:00 p.m. daily except Sundays. Tomorrow was Saturday.
She couldn’t crash until she got home, however late that turned out to be. Lucky adrenaline was still carrying her.
The cause was what mattered, of course—she’d seen for herself some of the devastation left in the paths of giant twisters. She had hoped, too, that her willingness to take on organizing the event would help earn her a place in this town that was her new home.
And, okay, she was selfish enough to also hope that the success would bring in more business to A Stitch in Time, the fabric and quilt shop she had bought and was updating. If the quilters in Henness County adopted her and came first to her store both for their fabric and to offer their quilts on consignment, she would survive financially. Otherwise...she’d gone out way too far on a brittle limb when she moved to the county seat of Byrum in a part of the country she’d never been until she decided she needed to begin a new life.
She had quickly discovered the local Amish kept a distance from everyone else—the Englischers—that was difficult to erase. Their goal was to live apart from the world, to keep themselves separate. But Nadia felt she was making friends among them now, Katie-Ann being one.
Just then, Rachel Schwartz appeared, hurrying from the direction of the bathrooms. She was another Amish woman Nadia counted as a friend. When she saw Nadia, she headed toward her instead of the ballroom door. Tonight she wore a calf-length lilac dress and apron of a slightly darker shade as well as the gauzy white kapp that distinguished Amish women.
“Have they gotten to Ruth’s quilt yet?”
“They’re bidding on it right now,” Nadia said.
A swell of applause coming from the ballroom made her realize she’d missed hearing a total for Ruth’s quilt. But the cashier beside her leaned closer. “Thirty-five hundred dollars! Boy, I wish I had that kind of money to throw around.”
Nadia laughed. “I’m with you, but what a blessing so many people who do showed up tonight.”
Rachel beamed. “Ja! Didn’t we tell you? Trust in God, you should.”
Her Amish volunteers had all insisted that any endeavor was in God’s hands. They hadn’t insisted the night would therefore be a success, which was quite different. They’d all worked hard on making tonight happen, but they were unwilling to worry about the outcome. If a thunderstorm struck so that the auctiongoers stayed home, that would be God’s will. A person couldn’t be expected to understand His purpose, only to accept that He had a purpose.
No thunderstorm, thank goodness.
But Nadia only smiled. “You did tell me.”
Rachel rushed toward the ballroom, brushing against a man who happened to be strolling out at just that minute.
He drew Nadia’s immediate attention, in part because of his elegant dark suit, a contrast to what everyone else was wearing tonight. The Amish, of course, wore their usual garb. Otherwise, most of the people who’d come to bid or volunteer were dressed casually, some in khakis, some even in jeans.
Along with being beautifully dressed—although he’d skipped the tie, leaving his crisp white shirt open at the neck—this guy personified tall, dark and handsome. His every move suggested leashed power. From a distance, his eyes appeared black, but as he approached she saw that they were a deep, espresso brown. And those eyes missed nothing. Nadia had caught occasional glimpses of him all evening, strolling or holding up a wall with one of those broad shoulders. His gaze swept the crowd ceaselessly.
She had yet to meet him, but another volunteer had identified him when she asked. Byrum police chief Ben Slater was a Northerner, Jennifer Bronske had murmured, as if the fact was scandalous. From New Jersey. No one knew why he’d sought the job here or accepted it when it was offered.
Apparently, Chief Slater felt an event of this size and importance demanded his watchful presence. Or else he was suspicious of all the outsiders. Who knew? She hadn’t had so much as a shoplifter in her store, but he might have been conditioned to expect the worst.
His dark eyes met hers for the first time. It felt like an electrical shock, raising the tiny hairs on her arms. Nadia couldn’t imagine why she’d responded that way.
