The Amish Widow's New Love. Liz Tolsma
seeped into her chest. The old Elam rarely admitted his mistakes. “Denki for your apology. Offering a cold treat on a warm day was a nice thought. Is there an alternative to the shaved ice?”
Elam stroked his clean-shaven cheek. “Your family makes the best ice cream I’ve ever had. Just vanilla, but there is a secret ingredient in there, say not?”
“There is, but you want to make ice cream? How are we going have enough for all those people?”
“That’s a good question.”
“Multiple machines hooked up to generators?”
He grinned, and her arms broke out in gooseflesh. She focused on the pencil in her hand.
“That’s a great idea. Maybe someone in the district has a large-capacity churn.”
“I’ll ask around at the church service next week.”
For a long while, they sorted through the papers, Naomi jotting notes on a yellow legal pad, filling several pages with people they needed to contact, payments that had to be made and ideas they had.
She could almost close her eyes and imagine that the past three years hadn’t happened. Almost. His deep voice washed over her and lulled her.
Elam’s words broke into her into thoughts. “I’d like to make some furniture pieces for the auction. I was hoping your daed would let me use his equipment. I have an Englisch friend who has a workshop in his garage, but I want to construct them the true Amish way.”
If Daed allowed Elam to work here, she would run into him every day, just as she had when he was Daed’s employee. Did her hands tremble because of dread or excitement? She had to say something to him, but what? Surely not that she was happy he’d be so close. “Well, I hope the meeting with him goes well. I think we’ve reached the end of the stuff in the box. I should feed Joseph before he fusses.”
Elam rose and filed the papers away. “And what about the newspapers?”
She locked her knees to keep them from knocking together. “Go ahead and contact the reporters. I’ll speak to them.”
“I have the letters ready to put in the mail. Would you like to read them first?”
“Nein. Just send them.” Before she changed her mind.
The tang of pine and the sweetness of maple permeated the shed where Leroy Bontrager ran his woodworking shop. As Elam made his way through the building, he glided his hand down a length of quarter-sawn oak that had been sanded to a mirror-like smoothness. The whir of the gas-powered table saw welcomed him home. Ja, this is where he belonged. Construction, as he’d done while away, was building. Woodworking was creating.
“Hello, Leroy, are you here?”
Naomi’s father entered the main room from the back. He wiped dark stain from his fingers onto what must have been an old shirt. The heady odor of varnish hung about him. “Elam. Why are you here?”
Not the start he’d been hoping for given that first meeting between them. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. “You’re hard at work, as always.” Several kitchen chairs sat in a row along one wall, as did a couple of bookshelves and a large dining room table with well-turned legs.
“Of course.”
“Daed told me you hired Solomon Mast to help after I left.”
“Aaron gives me a hand as much as he can, doing a few things from his chair. But I can’t run this place with the two of us. Solomon is a gut man, but still learning. He puts in a hard day’s work, and I appreciate that. But he doesn’t have the eye, the insight that you...”
Had Leroy been about to compliment him? “Naomi and I have been working on the auction. She said they’ve set the date for Joseph’s surgery.”
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