Sewn with Joy (40 page)

“Not in those words, but something to that effect. I have to say I'm glad we had a chance to meet.”

She shuffled slightly and touched the hair at the nape of her neck. “You are? It seems you're the only one.”

A waitress motioned to Will. “Your table is ready.”

Instead of following her, Will raised a hand, motioning to the next people in line. “Go ahead and seat them. I'm waiting for my wife.”

The waitress nodded and moved to the couple behind him.

“So are things going well, over at the set?”

She tilted her head and eyed him, unsure how to respond. Was he teasing her, mocking her, trying to get more information to pass on to his family? But as she looked into his gaze there was only genuine interest.

“The television show is fine. It's stereotypical, though they have
gut
intentions. But my friends…” She bit her lip.

He lifted one eyebrow and waited.

“I see a difference in the people I work with. I'm getting a lot of questions about God.” Surprisingly, emotion built in her throat. “They are hurting people in need of Him.” Joy shrugged. “I can honestly say I'm glad to be there.”

He nodded, and then his eyes lifted, moving to the door. A woman entered, and she moved toward them. She was shorter than Joy with a round face and large brown eyes. She wasn't beautiful, but there was a humored expression on her face that made Joy want to know her better, as if she had a good joke right at the tip of her tongue that she couldn't wait to spill.

She stepped closer to her husband and touched his sleeve. “Sorry it took me so long, but Micah wanted to go to the park with your
mem
, and I had to find his shoes.” She chuckled. “I finally found them in your
mem
's breadbox on the counter. You can imagine how well that went over.”

Will smiled and shook his head, and then he introduced Joy.

“Oh, Joy—
ja
.” She clasped her hands together. “I was hoping to meet you. I'm Naomi.” She leaned forward and took Joy's hand, holding it in hers. “I can't believe another woman is crazy enough to want to be part of this family. You have to stay on your toes with these brothers. And wait until you meet their sisters.” She shook her head.

“I'm so sorry, you must not understand. I won't be joining the family. There are…problems.” She sighed. “I
am
the problem.”

Instead of releasing Joy's hand, Naomi squeezed harder. “I know it seems that way, but I also know Matthew has been sulking around the house since we've arrived for the season. I've known him since he was a child, and I know—”

The waitress interrupted. “Your table is ready now. If you'll please come with me…”

At the same moment a group of construction workers entered,
and the woman's words were lost in the commotion. She offered Joy one last smile before she followed her husband to the table.

“What do you know?” Joy wanted to call after her. Confusion muddled her mind. She believed she'd lost all hope of being loved by Matthew from the moment she'd accepted the job with the TV show. But Naomi's kind words hinted at something different. Was there truly a chance to believe? To hope? Was it possible that she hadn't lost Matthew for good?

Matthew stepped through sawdust that was cleaner than snow and bent down to pick up a curling, crinkled shaving. It was just slightly darker than Joy's hair. His heart ached at the memory of soft curls that slipped from her
kapp
.

He couldn't believe it was only a couple of weeks until Christmas. Before Joy started working with the television people, he'd planned on asking her to marry him on Christmas Day. Joy didn't know it, but it was a tradition in his family. His grandfather had asked his grandmother to marry him on Christmas. And his
dat
had done the same with his
mem
. But now everything had changed.

He'd found his way into the garage again, pretending that he was going to work on a Christmas present. The truth was he had everyone's presents made weeks ago. Lately, he'd been making recipe boxes. He'd also started work on a dining room table. Something inside told him that he had no use of it. He wouldn't be getting married anytime soon, wouldn't have a home to put it in, yet each time he worked on it he couldn't help but picture Joy sitting there—in the mornings reading her Bible, across from him sharing supper, holding a baby on her lap, coloring a picture with a chubby hand in hers.

Stop it. Just stop it.

The Joy he had in his mind was simply a figment of his imagination. He believed her to be like that when they first started courting, but he was wrong. The Joy in his mind wouldn't work alongside television producers who were exploiting the Amish. She wouldn't be an actress, allowing herself to be captured on film, all for the sake of outsiders' profit and fame.

Matthew grabbed a plank and tilted it to test the straightness with his eyes. He then ran the soft pad of his hand down its length, appreciating its smooth warmth. He knew the type of table he wanted to make. It was a simple design that had been well thought out and established centuries before his birth. A table to last a generation. Many generations.

Just as Matthew got all the planks lined up for a tabletop, the door to the kitchen opened. His sister-in-law, Naomi, poked her head out. “Matthew, you don't mind if Micah watches you for a little bit do you? He loves watching Will doing projects, and he says he wants to spend time with Uncle Matthew.” She grinned her round-faced grin.

“Uh, it's really not a place for a little one—”

Micah's shouts of excitement blocked out Matthew's words as the three-year-old dashed into the workshop.

With a quick “
Danke
,” Naomi turned her attention to the commotion her other two children were making inside and shut the door. With the heavy rain outside, the boys had been full of energy with no place to get it out.

Micah darted toward his workbench, and tension tightened Matthew's neck. A small hand reached for a long chisel. Matthew sucked in a breath.

“Hey now.” Matthew rushed over. “Those aren't toys.
Ne
touching those.”

The boy pulled back his hand, and he gazed up at Matthew with large, brown eyes. Then he looked back at the row of tools. Their lure drew him in.

“
Ne
, Micah. Those aren't safe.” Matthew squatted down so they were eye level. He placed a hand on Micah's shoulder. “I'm sorry, buddy. I know these look fun, but they are expensive tools.”

Micah tucked his hands behind him and clasped them together. “E'pensive.
Ne
touch!”

Matthew chuckled. Obviously Micah had heard that word before. “
Ja
, expensive, and I'm sure your
dat
wouldn't want to have to replace them.”

Micah's eyes wandered over the workbench, and even though he nodded, Matthew wondered if the boy truly understood.

“I find something.” Micah dashed to the other side of the shop where Matthew's woodpile was. But instead of moving toward the scrap pile, Micah hurried to the stack of pricey soft wood Matthew had been saving for carving projects. The young boy picked up two pieces of basswood and proceeded to pound them together. Matthew cringed and rushed over.

He knelt next to little Micah again. “Hey, buddy, I can find you some two-by-four blocks to pound, but this wood is soft stuff. You must not bang it around.”

Matthew took the blocks from his nephew's hands. “You must treat it with tenderness.”

“Just like a woman's heart.” The voice came from behind him. It was Will. His older brother crossed his arms over his chest and lifted one eyebrow, waiting for a response. Matthew hadn't even heard him come in. A tremor moved through his shoulders and tightened his neck. Will had been home for a week, and Matthew had been avoiding him. Months ago, when Will came down for a short visit, all Matthew had talked about was Joy. Even before he approached
Joy's father for permission to court her, Matthew had poured out his feelings, sharing how devout and beautiful she was. Now Matthew felt like a fool. She wasn't the woman he'd believed her to be, and everyone in town now knew how wrong his choice had been.

Will walked over, sat Micah on the ground, and dropped a pile of scrap blocks in front of him. The boy immediately picked some up and started stacking.

Matthew took in a deep breath. He could tell from the look on Will's face that he wanted to talk, and from the comment about a woman's heart he easily guessed what the topic of conversation would be.

“Naomi and I ran into someone yesterday.”

“Let me guess—Joy.”

“I heard so much about her from you that I could have picked her out anywhere. She's a really sweet girl, and even though she didn't say much about what the conflict is, I can tell she really cares about you and misses you.”

Matthew searched his brother's eyes. “She said that?”

“
Ne
, but the misery in her eyes was pitiful, just pitiful. Made me tear up myself, and I'm not much of a softy. She got an order to go, and our eyes met one last time before she left Yoder's.”

“Did she say anything?” Why did hope glimmer in Matthew's heart? What did he want her to say? To do? Wasn't it too late?

“It was too noisy in there, but as she walked out with her order she waved. Outside, she rushed away and headed down the sidewalk, hunched over as if the world around her had ended.”

My world as I knew it, as I wanted it, has ended.
The thought came unbidden, and Matthew quickly pushed it away. Will's words were like sandpaper rubbing against his heart. “I'm sorry she's hurting. I really am, but if she hurts so much, why is she still keeping that job with the television show?”

“You don't know?”

“She said it was for her
dat
's medical bills, and I understand that. But the church took up a collection too. That's how things are supposed to work. I'm sure if she just came to
Dat
and repented—”

“Repented?” Will scoffed. “Do you think she's sinning?”

“Does it matter what I think? What matters are the rules of the community. If everyone did their own thing there would be
ne
order,
ne
sustainability.” Matthew had heard those words from his father a hundred times if he'd heard them once, and now he found himself repeating them. “Besides, nothing
gut
can come from spending so much time with
Englischers
. Joy is there because she wants to be there. She's decided they're more important than the
gut
of the community. That television show is more important to her than…”

He didn't need to say the rest. His brother no doubt saw the pain all over his face. Heat rose up his neck, and a noose of disgrace tightened around his throat. He'd waited all this time to choose a bride, and he'd chosen poorly. How could he ever trust his own decisions again?

“That's what bothers you most, isn't it? Not that she made a bad choice, but how it makes you look.”

“Of course.” Matthew squared his shoulders and looked away. “We were courting. She knew how I felt. And still she made the decision she did.”

“A wrong decision, so you think.”

“A wrong decision,
ja
. It's what most people think.”

Tired of the blocks, Micah got up and scurried into the house. Matthew watched him go and wished for a moment he could remember what the carefree life of a child felt like.

He bent down and picked up the blocks, tossing them back
into his scrap bin. “Is Micah always so busy? He reminds me of us as boys.”

Instead of answering, Will moved to an old rocking chair that was in desperate need of a new coat of paint and sat down.

“You know
Dat
and
Mem
didn't completely approve of Naomi before we got married. She was the youngest of her family and was spoiled in every way. She wasn't that great of a cook. She sometimes lost her temper a little too easily. She wasn't the type of young woman
Mem
had hoped for her oldest son.”