her jacket, she headed for the general store. She’d already noticed how busy it was, and since it was right next door, it was a logical place to start.
The sign on the front door read Ruth Moser, Proprietor. Maybe Ruth would be the friendly type of neighbor who’d let her post her business card where people would see it. Another deep breath was necessary, and then she opened the door and stepped inside.
The store was bigger than she’d thought from the outside—extending back into almost cavernous depths where aisles were stocked with what she supposed were farming supplies, as well as hardware and tools she couldn’t begin to identify. The front part of the store carried groceries, and through an archway she glimpsed what must have been the tourist section—quilts, rag rugs, cloth dolls with blank faces—all the souvenirs a visitor to Pennsylvania Dutch country might want to take home.
“Welcome.” The woman who came toward her wore a print dress with an apron over it. A white prayer cap was perched on abundant gray hair pulled back into a bun. Her smile echoed the welcome. “I’ll spare you the usual Penn Dutch spiel. You’re not a tourist.” She held out her hand. “I’m Ruth Moser.”
Fiona found her hand caught in a grip as strong as a man’s. “I’m Fiona Flanagan. I just bought the house next door.”
“And you’re a nurse-midwife,” Ruth finished for her. “We already know that about you, we do. Hard to keep any secrets in a place like Crossroads, believe me.”
The woman’s smile was contagious. Bright blue eyes in a weathered face inspected Fiona, but it was a friendly inspection that she didn’t find intimidating.
“I guess I don’t need the explanation I’d planned to give you then, do I?”
“Ach, well, you’ll have to forgive us. Folks who live in an area like this all know each other so well that an incomer is a nine days’ wonder. Everyone in the township knows about the new midwife, and welcome news it is. The closest Amish midwife is nearly twenty miles away, and folks out here don’t like going clear into Suffolk, either.”
“I’m certainly glad to hear that.” This was going better than she’d imagined. “I’d hoped you might be willing to post one of my business cards where your customers would see it.”
“Give me a whole stack of them, and I’ll pass them on to anyone who might be thinking of babies,” Ruth said promptly.
“That’s wonderful.” She pulled a handful from the side pocket of her bag. “I’ll bring some more over later, if you can use them.”
“Sure thing.” Ruth took the cards and slipped them into an apron pocket. “I suppose Ted Rittenhouse told you how short of medical help we are around here, unless we want to go into Suffolk.”
Why would she suppose anything of the kind? “Ted Rittenhouse?”
Ruth seemed oblivious to the edge in her voice. “Ted certainly is a nice fellow. Born and bred in the township, and glad we were to have him come back home again after that time in Chicago. You like him, don’t you?”
“I—I thought he was very helpful. When I got lost, I mean, the first time I came to see the house.”
“Helpful, yes. Kind, too. Why, I’ve known that boy since he was running around barefoot. There’s not a mean bone in his body.”
“Yes, well—I’m sure that’s true.” And why on earth did the woman think she needed to know that? “Do you mind if I look around your store?”
“I’ll show you around myself. Not exactly busy on a weekday in the fall, though weekends we still get the rush of tourists trampling through, oohing and aahing over the Amish and blocking the roads every time they spot a buggy. Still, their money helps keep me afloat.”
“You seem to carry just about everything anyone could want in here.” A cooler marked Night Crawlers sat next to a rack filled with the latest celebrity magazines.
“That’s why it’s a general store.” Ruth looked around with satisfaction at her domain. Apparently she felt the same way about her store as Fiona did about her practice. “I have something for everyone from the Amish farmers to the senior citizen bus tours. No good Pennsylvania Dutchman ever turned down profit.”
Fiona glanced at the woman’s print dress. “You’re not Amish, I take it?”
“Mennonite. First cousins to the Amish, you bet.” She brushed the full skirt. “You can tell by the clothes. You’ll soon get onto it.” The bell on the door tinkled, and she gestured toward the archway. “I’ll just get that. Go on through and check out the other section. I’ve got some lovely quilts and handmade chests if you’re looking to furnish your house local.”
She hadn’t thought of that, but obviously it would be good public relations to buy some of what she needed locally. She walked through the archway. The rag rugs would be beautiful against the hardwood once the floors were cleaned and polished. And—
She rounded the end of the aisle and lost her train of thought. The back part of this area was a large, well-lit workroom. Finished quilts lined the walls, their colors and patterns striking.
Two Amish women bent over a quilt frame, apparently putting the finishing touches to a quilt whose vibrant colors glowed against their dark, plain dresses. Another sat at a treadle sewing machine. All three glanced at her briefly and then lowered their eyes, as if it were impolite to stare.
But she was the one who was being impolite, unable to tear her gaze away. Was that what her mother would have looked like now, if she hadn’t run away, if she hadn’t died? Dark dress, dark apron, hair parted in the center and pulled back beneath a white cap, seeming to belong in another century?
“Looks like plenty of work is being done in here.” The voice from behind startled her into an involuntary movement. Ted nodded coolly and strolled past her to lean over the quilt on the frame.
“Another Double Wedding Ring? Haven’t you made enough of those in the last year, Em?”
The woman he spoke to surprised Fiona by laughing up at him in what could only be described as a flirtatious way. “That’s what the English want, Ted Rittenhouse. You know that well, you do.”
“Well, give the customers what they want, I suppose.” He nodded toward Fiona, apparently not noticing that she stood frozen to the spot. “You meet the new midwife who’s setting up next door, did you?”
Apparently now that he had, in effect, introduced her, it was all right to stare. Three pairs of eyes fixed on her as Ted mentioned the women’s names: Emma Brandt, Barbara Stoller, Sarah Bauman. Emma was probably in her thirties, although it was difficult to judge, and the other two probably in their sixties.
Fiona nodded, trying to get past the unexpected shock she’d felt at the sight of them. These were people who might introduce her to prospective clients in the Amish community, so she’d better try to make a decent impression.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. The quilt is wonderful. I didn’t realize you actually made them here.”
“Ruth says the tourists like to see the work done.” Emma seemed to be the spokeswoman for the group. “We do special orders for folks, too.”
“That’s great.” Fiona
