Sewn with Joy (6 page)

*
Ann Mast, Sarasota, Florida, in Sherry Gore's
Simply Delicious Amish Cooking
(Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2013), 108.

Five

Life is like a calendar—when a page is turned, it's gone. No matter what you do next week, no yesterdays will dawn.

A
MISH PROVERB

A
licia Lampard opened her eyes, attempting to adjust to the brightness of the room. “Where am I?” she mumbled, knowing she wasn't going to get an answer. Or at least hoping she wasn't. Her mouth felt full of cotton. Her tongue was thick and sticky. She'd had too much to drink again, which didn't surprise her. The question was where and with whom? She didn't need to ask
why
she drank. The ache deep inside, the painful memories, and the regrets were always a heartbeat away. Alcohol released her from their suffocating grasp for a time. If only she could keep the pain at bay without it.

The roar of ocean waves interrupted her thoughts, and then she remembered. Sarasota, Florida. A new state. A new show. A new start.

She closed her eyes again and then opened just one, taking in the view of the bay through a window framed by beige curtains. She stretched, her bare legs rubbing against the cool of the sheets. Filming would start in a few days. Her manager, Reagan,
suggested she come to Florida a few days early. He claimed it would give her a chance to relax and get her mind into the new role. But she had agreed because she needed to get her mind wrapped around the idea of seeing Rowan again.

She hadn't seen her estranged husband at all in the past year. Well, unless you could count his face splashed on the pages of the tabloids. She ached, knowing what she'd thrown away. One night with an old flame, and she'd set fire to their marriage. She and Rowan had been good once. They'd had great times. But like everything in her life, she'd managed to destroy it all—destroy them. She was good at lighting the matches and throwing on fuel. She was not so good with rebuilding her life from the ashes.

She just didn't understand why Rowan still hadn't filed for divorce.

A glimmer of hope tinged her heart, and Alicia sat up. Rowan had cast her for this role. He'd asked for her by name. If they couldn't live together as husband and wife, perhaps they could still be friends. She'd take that if it was all she could get.

Rubbing her eyes, she leaned over the bed, reaching for her notebook bag on the floor. With frenzied movements she riffled through her papers and magazines. She pulled out a copy of
People
and tossed it into the small wastebasket. “100 Most Beautiful People,” the title read. She'd flipped through it on the plane. She'd made the list once, but it was during the most horrific year of her life, which proved one thing: It was possible to be beautiful on the outside but filled with darkness and despair within. If her fans could see inside her—then and now—no one would ever call her beautiful.

Then, finding her small journal, Alicia set it on the bedside table. The words built inside her. She needed to write down her thoughts in the only place she could truly be honest with herself.
But first she had to brush this taste out of her mouth, take some Advil, and breathe in some fresh air.

She rose, stretched again, and then slipped on the white hotel bathrobe over her T-shirt pajamas. The room was simple and classic with clean lines and a soft palette, but instead of calming her, it seemed too impersonal and quiet. What she wouldn't give to hear the shower running or the television click on, knowing she was sharing the space with someone who wanted to be there. Someone who truly cared about her.

She walked stiffly toward the sliding glass door and opened it to the balcony. A warm ocean breeze blew in. She gazed out at the pool, with its colorful umbrellas, and the ocean beyond. Was Rowan staying at this hotel too? She'd forgotten to ask.

With a renewed energy she unpacked her things, leaving out her swimsuit and cover-up. Suddenly, a late lunch at the pool seemed like the perfect idea. She could almost picture Rowan showing up there, seeing her. Sitting down on the chaise lounge chair next to her and catching up. But as Alicia brushed her teeth, reality set in.

She'd shamed him. She'd hurt him, and trying to defend her actions, she'd said things he didn't deserve. She also knew, deep down, that he asked her to star in this new show for only one reason—he needed to please the network. Rowan cared about many things, but nothing as much as his reputation. If she wanted to gain his attention, she'd need to prove the network had chosen well, even if that meant putting on a bonnet and playing the part of an innocent Amish woman. Alicia just hoped viewers wouldn't look too closely into her eyes, because then they'd discover the truth that she was anything but pure.

Taking a long drink of water, she returned to the bed and the journal. She picked up the hotel pen and began to write.

I'm in Florida, and I wish I could share it with you. The ocean breeze coming through the balcony door reminds me of childhood summers going to Disney World and stopping over one night at the beach. My hair tends to curl in humidity, and trying to keep it tucked under a bonnet will be interesting. I read the script, and it's good. It's about a young Amish woman trying to make a new start in Florida after losing the man she loves to death. Did they model the script from my life? My husband didn't die, but my soul feels the loss as harshly. I've been attempting that new start thing but have been failing more than succeeding. Maybe I'll learn something through this character, through this place.

Alicia stared at the page, wondering what to write next. Or if she should continue. Taking a deep breath, she decided there was just one more thing she wanted to say.

Today I will try to think about living, not dying. Today I will trust that somehow I've ended up in this place, on this set, for a reason. Even though I have no idea what the reason could be.

Six

One reason a dog is such a lovable creature is that his tail wags instead of his tongue.

A
MISH PROVERB

J
oy stifled a yawn and took her place by the quilting frame at the Slagel home, remembering her grandmother's words: “Many hands make quick work.”

She took a needle in her hand and began rocking the sharp point through the quilt layers. She tilted her head down, and soon the tiny stitches lined up in a neat row. Glancing up, she scanned the circle of women doing the same. Most she knew, but Jeanette had invited two longtime friends from Indiana to the sewing frolic as well. The more the merrier was Joy's opinion. There was always a sense of accomplishment when the group was able to finish a quilt top by the end of their gathering.

While the women stitched in the living room, a half-dozen young teens prepared lunch in the kitchen. Up north most Amish girls finished school at fourteen. After that, they worked alongside their
mems
in caring for the home and family. But they also joined their
mems
in outings like this, though most girls were not allowed to quilt with the women because of their many mistakes. Even if they could sew well, though, most didn't want to be welcomed
into the sewing circle anyway. Not yet. Why sit around and listen to the older women share news about the community when you could hang out with your friends and talk about boys? They talked about other things too, like jobs and trips, but mostly about boys.

Had it already been nine years since she was their age? How many sewing circles had she been part of since that time? Too many to count.

Joy had always loved gathering like this with her sisters and cousins, her mother, and her aunts and neighbors. Sometimes Lovina would sneak out to help in the kitchen with the other teenage girls who prepared the meal, and most of the time Hope was allowed to stay home and work in the garden, but Joy couldn't get enough of the stories the older women shared. She practiced at home with any scrap of fabric she could find, working to get her stitches just right so she'd become a seamstress worthy of inclusion even at a young age.

A soft smile touched her lips, sure she'd someday have a daughter to teach. And for the first time in her twenty-three years she had a fuzzy picture of what that could look like in her mind. Spending time with Matthew had made all those “someday” dreams of a young girl seem more possible.

Joy wished she could go back and tell the young girl she'd been not to fret so much about when the right man would arrive.
Because in God's good time, he's come
. Matthew was even more wonderful than she could have imagined. Her smile broadened at the voices around her rising and falling with stories filled with good humor and delight. Even those who lived in Pinecraft had a holiday spirit when the vacationers from up north started arriving.

Lately, with her work at Pinecraft Fabric and Quilts, she hadn't been to as many quilting frolics as she would have liked. But today Elizabeth had surprised Joy by bringing in one of their part-time
workers to take Joy's place, insisting she needed a break from the store. More than that, Elizabeth had also joined the circle.

“Anna, before you leave, please write down your recipe for Hello Dolly Apple Bars.” Vera Chupp leaned out to look around Joy, talking to her
mem
on the other side. Joy shifted back slightly to make it easier for the women to talk.

Mem
chuckled. “Oh,
ja
, of course. It's the easiest recipe yet.”

“It may be easy,” Vera said, “but Howard didn't stop talking about them. He was raised on an apple orchard in Ohio, you know, and he loves anything with apples.”

“Granny Smith.” Joy's
mem
paused and pointed her finger into the air for emphasis. “The recipe works best with Granny Smith apples.”

Laughter spilled out from the kitchen, and the way the young women spoke in hushed tones afterward, Joy was certain one of them was daring to share the dreams of her heart. Was the young man here in Pinecraft for the season or up north? Time would tell.

The bishop's wife cleared her throat, gaining everyone's attention. “Did you hear a television show is coming to Pinecraft?” Jeanette paused her stitching and let her gaze slowly scan the room, meeting each woman's eyes. The sewing paused.

One of the ladies Joy didn't know from Indiana gasped. “A television show?”

“
Ja
, it's about an Amish family. They're filming it here, if you can believe that.”

“They're coming to Pinecraft?” one woman asked. “With television cameras?” She huffed. “It's bad enough with the cameras coming to the Haiti auction and any other event we have. It seems any gathering of Amish is news in these parts.”

“And I came on vacation,” one of the women from Ohio
commented. She had red hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose. “It's
ne
vacation if I'm always having to skirt cameras.”

“From what I heard it's a sweet family show.” Ruth Eash jutted out her chin. “Clyde went to the meeting about it yesterday. He talked to the producer afterward. He said the producer was wanting to make sure they got it right—about our community and all. At least they're talking to us and aren't trying to sneak cameras in.”

Mem
clucked her tongue. “As if any
Englischer
could understand our Amish ways. It would be silly for them to even try.”