The Christmas Quilt. Patricia Davids
“I’m estranged from my family.”
“That is a very sad thing. Only God is more important than our families. You should go visit them as soon as you can. Thanksgiving is coming in a few weeks. That, surely, is reason enough to put aside your pride and go home.”
“I wish that were possible, but it’s not. Good day, Rebecca.”
She didn’t want him to leave but she couldn’t think of a way to stop him. The carpet muffled his footsteps as he walked away. She waited until she heard him descending the stairs before she entered her room.
She closed the door and leaned against it. What did he look like? Was he handsome or plain? What made him sad when he talked about his family? Why hadn’t he visited them? There were many things she wanted to know about Booker.
And curiosity killed the cat.
The old adage popped into her mind like the warning it was meant to be. She knew full well it was dangerous to become involved with an outsider. Yet there was something familiar about him that nagged at the back of her mind. Something that made her believe they’d met before. If that were true, why wouldn’t he simply say so?
Booker was a riddle. A riddle she wanted to solve. The thought of being cooped up at the inn suddenly took on a whole new outlook. He would be here, too.
Chapter Four
After leaving Rebecca, Gideon descended the stairs of the inn and headed for the café. For the first time in three days he had an appetite. He entered the dining area and was seated by a young Amish waitress.
He accepted an offer of coffee while he studied the menu. After the waitress filled a white mug and set it before him, he added a splash of real cream from a small pewter pitcher on the table. He took a cautious sip of the hot rich blend. Even though his voice hadn’t returned, swallowing wasn’t as painful. A second sip of coffee went down as smoothly as the first. Maybe he was finally on the mend.
Pulling his cell phone from his pocket he clicked the weather app and checked the local weather and road closings again. The storm that had coated the northern half of the state in ice was gearing up to add a foot or more of snow to the rest of the state.
He wasn’t going home tonight, but it was unlikely the roads would be closed for long. Once the storm passed, he’d be on his way. If not first thing in the morning, at least by the afternoon. He sent a text message to Roseanne notifying her that he wouldn’t be in to the office in the morning.
Her reply was succinct. Good!
Gideon closed his phone and turned his attention to the people around him. The café’s customers were mostly Amish enjoying a special treat of eating out after the auction. He remembered many times like this with his family. Although his mother professed to be annoyed with the expense, everyone knew she secretly enjoyed not having to cook.
There were a few non-Amish present in the café, too. He was the only one dining alone. Everyone else sat with family or friends.
His gaze was drawn to an Amish father, a man about his own age, seated with four small children and his wife at the table across the aisle. When their food arrived, the man took his infant son’s hands and held them between his own as he bowed his head in prayer. The baby protested only briefly before keeping still. Children were expected to behave and quickly learned the value of copying their elders.
Gideon knew the prayer the man was silently reciting. It was the Gebet Nach Dem Essen, the Prayer Before Meals.
O Lord God, heavenly Father, bless us and these thy gifts, which we accept from thy tender goodness. Give us food and drink also for our souls unto life eternal, that we may share at thy heavenly table, through Jesus Christ. Amen.
The Lord’s Prayer, also prayed silently, would follow the prayer before meals as well as the prayer after meals. Gideon hadn’t prayed much since he left home. A sense of shame crept over him. He had plenty to be grateful for and no good reason to ignore the blessings he’d received.
The Amish father lifted his head, signaling the end of the prayer for everyone at the table. He patted his son’s golden curls and began cutting up the meat on the boy’s plate. It was a simple act, but it moved Gideon to wonder if he would ever do the same with children of his own.
Maybe it was time he settled down and started looking around for a woman to spend his life with. He hadn’t already because the business took up all of his time. He’d been so intent on making a place for himself in the English world that he’d failed to notice the place he made was hollow and empty of love.
He had few friends other than Craig. He lived in a sterile one-bedroom apartment, ate takeout in front of his flat-screen TV. He had neighbors he barely knew and rarely saw. He’d avoided going to church in spite of Roseanne’s occasional urging and invitations. It wasn’t much of a life when he looked at it that way. Except for the flying. When he was in the clouds he was happy.
He closed his eyes. The smell of baking bread and pot roast filled the air. He thought back to the food his mother used to make. Roast beef and pork, fried chicken, schnitzel with sauerkraut, served piping hot from her wood-burning stove with fresh bread and vegetables from her garden.
As a kid, he never gave a thought to how much work his mother did without complaint. All he’d thought about was escaping the narrow, inflexible Amish way of life. Had it really been so bad?
I must be sick if I’m longing for the good old days.
He sat up and motioned the waitress over. Before he could place his order, the outside door opened and his cousin Adam walked in. Their eyes met for a long second. Adam looked away first. He walked past Gideon without so much as a nod of recognition. Gideon didn’t expect the snub to hurt as much as it did.
Adam was being true to his faith. It was his duty to shun a wayward member, to remind Gideon he had cut himself off from God as well as from his family. Gideon had known for years that he would be shunned if he returned unrepentant, but he had never experienced the treatment firsthand.
Years ago, his mother explained to him that shunning was done out of love, to show people the error of their ways, not to punish them. It didn’t feel that way at the moment. Gideon’s newfound appetite deserted him.
Adam stepped behind the counter and took over the cash register. The waitress beside Gideon’s table asked, “Have you decided what you’d like?”
“What kind of soup do you have?”
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise at his hoarse whisper. “We’ve got homemade chicken noodle soup today. I’ll bring you a bowl. You sound like you need it,” she said with a sympathetic smile.
He folded the menu and tucked it between the sugar jar and the ketchup bottle. “That’ll be fine.”
His soup arrived at the same moment Rebecca walked in.
She stood poised in the doorway to the inn with her cane in hand. She tilted her head slightly, as if concentrating on the sounds of the room. A smile lit her face and she moved ahead to a booth by the window. It was then he saw her aunt seated with several older Amish women. They greeted Rebecca warmly and made room for her to sit with them.
He was impressed that she had been able to pick out her aunt’s voice in the crowded room and locate her without assistance. She moved with a confidence he admired. If being at the inn made her uncomfortable it didn’t show at the moment.
Gideon slowly stirred his soup and unobtrusively watched her.
Was he in the room?
Rebecca wished she could ask her aunt or her friends if Booker was in the café. She didn’t, because she knew it would seem odd. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to her preoccupation with him.
It was bad enough that she had this preoccupation with a total stranger. She didn’t need to share her foolishness with anyone else.