looked surprised. “Why would I do that?”
“Well, you weren’t exactly happy with me earlier.”
“That doesn’t mean I’d make things difficult for you. Maybe you have something to learn about folks around here.”
Those words might have been said snidely, but she couldn’t detect anything other than genuine concern in his voice. Concern, and perhaps even kindness.
“Maybe so.” She struggled to speak over the sudden lump in her throat. “This move is a big change in my life. I know I have to adjust some of my attitudes if I’m going to make a go of it here.”
His lips twitched in a slight smile. “You’ll be fine. You have something to offer. Just give yourself a chance. And give us one, too.”
The gentleness in his voice drew her. She looked up to find his intense gaze so focused on her face that it seemed to generate warmth. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t even seem to draw breath. Was it the afternoon sunlight dazzling her eyes, or was it the man?
And then he took a step back. It was hard to tell with that stolid face of his, but she had a feeling he felt just as shocked as she did.
Chapter Three
Her mother’s box now sat on her brand-new dresser in her own bedroom in the house in Crossroads. Fiona touched it, smiling a little at the sound of hammering from downstairs.
She’d moved in yesterday, in spite of Nolie and Gabe’s repeated urging to stay with them until the work was completely finished. Much as she’d appreciated their kindness, she’d given in to the need to be here, on the spot, supervising the renovations.
She had a bedroom and a kitchen—at the moment she didn’t need anything else. Once she’d found time to paint the room that was going to be her living room, to say nothing of getting some furniture in it, she’d be ready to entertain. She could invite her Flanagan cousins over.
The past few days had been busy ones, notable only for the absence of one person. Ted hadn’t dropped by again. Maybe he was occupied with township business. Or maybe he’d been as shocked by that moment of rapport as she had been.
In any event, it was fine that he hadn’t been around. She’d been able to write the incident off as nothing—just a random flare of attraction that she could quickly forget. She had nothing in common with a man like Ted Rittenhouse, and even if she’d wanted it, she had no time in her life for romance.
Making a success of her practice had to be the only thing on her mind now, and she’d already made a good start. An invitation had been relayed by Aaron from his wife and had resulted in her first visit to an Amish home.
The simple, painted interior with its large, square rooms and handmade furniture had charmed her. When she’d commented on the beauty of a hand-carved wooden rocking chair, young Susie had shrugged off the compliment, saying the chair was “for use, not for pretty.”
She’d been surprised to find Susie already in her thirty-fourth week, but she learned that the couple had only recently returned to the family farm after living in an Amish community in Ohio where Aaron was apprenticed to a master carpenter. Susie was healthy, happy and eagerly looking forward to the birth, and especially to having her baby at home. Fiona had come away with a sense of satisfaction that she would provide the kind of birthing experience the couple wanted.
And happy that she was wanted and needed—she couldn’t deny that. It was a step toward belonging. And another step might be—
She lifted the lid on the box, her fingers touching the perfectly matched corners. Here was all she had of the mother she’d never known. An Amish cap and apron, put away never to be worn again. A white baby gown, edged with delicate embroidery. And the patches for a quilt, each one sewn with stitches so tiny they were practically invisible.
She carried the pieces to the spool bed which was her latest purchase and spread them out, not sure how they were intended to fit together. Each piece was a rectangle composed of smaller square and rectangular pieces in rich, solid colors. The deep pink shade that predominated made her wonder if her mother might have intended the quilt for a daughter. If so, she’d never know.
But she could have the quilt. She didn’t have the skill to put it together, but the quilters at Ruth’s store did. She could imagine it gracing her bed, symbolizing her ties to her new community.
She gathered the pieces, slipped them into a bag and went quickly down the steps, greeting the carpenters, amazed as always by how much they’d accomplished. The rooms were taking shape before her eyes, and her dream was closer to reality every day.
She hurried over to the general store, eager now to set this project in motion. Ruth looked up when the bell tinkled, but she was busy with a customer, so Fiona waved and went on through to the workroom. Emma Brandt greeted her with a smile, while two older women she hadn’t seen before glanced up, nodded and bent over the quilt frame again.
“Emma, I’d like to show you something.” She approached the quilt frame slowly. It wasn’t too late to change her mind, but Emma was nodding. Waiting.
“Yes?”
For a moment her hand held the bag shut. This would be the first time she’d shown the quilt squares to anyone, and she felt an odd reluctance to have them out of her possession. Shaking the emotion off, she drew out the fabric squares.
“I have these quilt pieces, and I wondered if you’d be able to put them together for me.”
Emma pushed her glasses into place and took them, turning them slowly in her capable hands. “A log cabin design,” she said. “The colors are lovely. This will make a fine quilt for your new bed.”
She was getting used to the fact that everyone seemed to know everything about her. It seemed the rumor mill was always grinding in Crossroads. Emma could probably tell her where she’d bought the bed and how much she’d paid for it.
“That’s what I thought, although I don’t even know how the squares fit together.” She may as well admit her ignorance up front.
Emma quickly moved some of the blocks together. “The traditional manner would be to arrange them like this, so that the darker colors make diagonal lines across the surface.”
The quilt seemed to come to life under her hands, and Fiona could visualize it on her bed. Maybe she could find curtains in one of the solid colors.
“That would be perfect. Do you have time to finish it for me?”
“I’m sure we can.” Emma picked up one of the pieces, examining it closely. “The workmanship is very fine, uh-huh. Did you make it yourself?”
Fiona shook her head. “It’s all I can do to sew a button on. These were given to me. I was told that my mother made them.”
“Ah.” Emma’s look of sympathy said she understood. “Then very special the quilt will be for you.”
“Yes.” She willed away the lump in her throat. “It will be very special.”
One of the older women rose from the quilting frame. She walked toward them, her faded blue eyes magnified by the thick glasses
