Covered Bridge Charm (2 page)

Adam Lapp brushed sawdust from his pants and sank into Uncle Si’s vinyl armchair, staring at the mess. “Sorry ’bout that.”

With an indifferent wave, Si got to business. “No shame in being a working man. I need a favor.”

“Sure.” Adam’s gaze scanned the room, wondering what sort of project Si had in mind. Bookcases?

“You need to rein in Carly Blosser.”

Adam’s curiosity dove for cover. “I thought the library matter got settled by using book carts.”

“If only. Now she’s found a new way to upset Sweet Life’s applecart.” Si leaned forward and twisted his lips. “She wants to recruit volunteers for me.”

Adam caught a frightening glimpse of Carly zipping her pink bike through the countryside, knocking on doors. Only that would be too ordinary. “She means well.”

“Hah.”

Adam shifted his gaze because his good sense waved a red flag. “Sorry, I don’t have time to recruit.”

Si studied him carefully. “What I need is a distraction.”

He wasn’t falling for it. Adam already regretted his promise to keep an eye on her for Jimmy—Carly’s brother and his best friend. Once she’d been his cousin Dale’s girl. Adam had always admired her from a distance. But impervious to drop-dead gorgeous and entertaining, he’d managed to stay single all these years and wasn’t ready to change matters. Anyway, Carly possessed attributes that killed a man’s curiosity. Distract her? He’d take a beating before he tried something so harebrained.

“How about some innocent flirting? Take her on a picnic down by Foster Lake.”

Adam’s objection erupted like a dying man’s choke. He couldn’t believe his uncle would try to pawn Carly off on him. Had he forgotten she was responsible for breaking his own son’s heart? “That’s crazy talk. Uh-uh. Not getting involved.”

“She likes you.”

Unbidden heat rushed to Adam’s face. “Only because I’m her ride every time her bike breaks down.”

Si hardened his jaw, and Adam cringed at the familiar expression. “You refusing me?”

He nodded.

“Too bad. Thought we’d nip things in the bud this time. Make it easier for you later.”

“She’s not
my
problem.”

Si’s voice turned reflective. “Funny. You’re turning me down, yet you allow your dad to lead you around on a sissy’s leash.”

Adam clenched his teeth and stared at the manipulative face. Si and Dad were identical twins. One as maddening and stubborn as the other.

On her way home from work later that Thursday, Carly disembarked and walked her bike up the steep hill to Aunt Fannie’s century-old home nestled in tall evergreens and tangled bushes, picturesque with autumn flower beds. Auntie played dual roles of mother and sister, otherwise lacking in Carly’s life. She snatched a large paper bag from her bike basket and was soon pressing it into Auntie’s inquisitive hands.

The slight woman, clad in plain Conservative Mennonite clothing, pulled out a wrinkled garment and ran her finger along a ragged tear. “My, my. Another hem’s bit the dust.” She met Carly’s eyes. “Heard you took a nasty spill.”

Carly gave a sheepish smile. It wasn’t her fault that skateboarders had converged upon the hill by her house and she’d had to hit the ditch to avoid them. Wishing to skip the futile lecture, she asked, “Can you fix it?”

“I’ll have to raise the hem. You want to show that much leg?”

“You know I don’t.” In fact, she always had Auntie add extra cloth to her capes—the modest layer of fabric the Old Holley Conservative women wore over their bodices. She added it for bicycling ease. But she also prided herself, for what she lacked in female submissive qualities, she made up for in modesty and generosity. She kept the strings on her head covering because the prayer cap symbolized male headship. It was the stick she threw to the church to remain in good standing and remain at peace with herself.

Carly followed the scent of chicken and dumplings to the stove and lifted the lid. “If you raise the hem, I’ll wear it around the house.”

“And if somebody knocks on your door?”

Replacing it, she shook her head. “Believe me, nobody will.”

Auntie’s voice softened. “Your closet’s about the size of my bread box. And now you need a new dress.”

With a reluctant nod, Carly sank into a ladder-backed chair, eying Auntie’s mousy characteristics, feeling comforted in spite of any criticism. Auntie defended the ways of the church, but her prim facade belied a game spirit.

“Will you make it soft blue?”

“Sure, sure, the color of your eyes. But if you ask me, there’s nothing economical about that bike. I still can’t believe you ordered a pink one.”

A complaint that would follow her to the grave. But it was her personal symbol of freedom and a reminder to stay true to her heart in spite of peer pressure. She’d ordered it after she’d stood up against Dale. She shook off the painful memories and smiled. “You can borrow it anytime.”

“Ach! Such sass.” Auntie turned away and returned with two heaping plates of food.

“Thanks.” Steam fanned Carly’s face, making her mouth water as Auntie blessed supper. The dumplings melted on her tongue. “This is good. By the way, I met with Simon Lapp today.”

Auntie’s spoon clattered. “When will you learn to quit nagging that man? It’s a wonder you still have a job.”

“Learn?” She shrugged, having learned plenty in twenty-seven years. After Bishop Kauffman’s sermon on inner beauty, Carly had turned herself inside out looking for it. She’d shaken her soul with spring-cleaning vigor. But her inner self remained as contrary to the plain ways as her outer. She couldn’t help it if her honey-colored ringlets exploded in volume as each day progressed. Or if they refused to take a part unless wet. Carly wasn’t big on wet hair or restraint. She didn’t even try to hold back her smile. “He’s gonna let me recruit volunteers.”

“What? You’re joking.”

“Wanna help?”

Auntie shook her head. “Nagging sure never worked with your uncle. Bless his departed soul.”

Carly laid aside her spoon. “But I only have a week to make a plan. I need to purchase supplies, and I’m already short on funds.”

“God will make a way, child. Now start at the beginning.”

T
he next afternoon at Sweet Life, Carly stood outside the elevator and tapped the down arrow while thinking,
I need an inspirational slogan to recruit volunteers.

“Look.” Widow Martha Struder sucked a shallow breath that left her lungs hungry for air and waved a birth announcement. “Isn’t my great-granddaughter the cutest?”

“Yes, she’s sweet.”
Make life sweeter at Sweet Life.
“Better use your inhaler, Martha.”

The widow fished in her pocket for the small breathing device and sent the card and several candy wrappers sailing. While Martha inhaled the medication, Carly knelt to gather the fallen objects.
Helping Hands.

The recent controversy over the library excursion left her personally responsible to get the readers, Martha and the Millers, safely returned. It was the asthmatic who worried her. She tapped the button again.

Meanwhile, Dot Miller’s eyes fixed on the candy wrappers. “If we don’t hurry, we’ll miss supper.”

Carly turned her gaze on the bit of a woman. “We had supper.”

Her lip pouted. “I’d remember if I ate.”

“Meatloaf and baked potatoes,” Crusher reminded his wife. The plain people loved nicknames, especially amusing ones. The name Dot described his tiny wife, but his own nickname belied his gentle character. He got it from working at the quarry.

Martha’s inhaler hadn’t eased her breathing, but a
ding
brought the elevator to their level. The doors groaned open in tune with Carly’s weariness. Her recruiting plan had gobbled both time and sleep. She was anxious to call it a week, get home, eat leftovers, and take a long bubble bath. That was the catch. Because of her drab existence, she drooled over a bubble bath made from dishwashing detergent. Discouragement settled over her. Could she really head up a volunteer program?

The elderly couple shuffled into the elevator while Carly slipped the fallen objects into Martha’s coat pocket. In confusion, the older woman stalled in the doorway. Carly grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the elevator, but the inhaler took three bounces and rolled into the hall just as the doors closed.

Martha Struder panicked. All her life, she’d fought to breathe, but lately it was becoming worse. She clawed the door, “My inhaler!”

But the caregiver restrained her. Carly Blosser didn’t understand what it was like to struggle and feel your windpipe closing. To feel the tightening, gurgling wheeze that squeezed her throat like an intruder wanting to snuff out her life. Frantic, she shoved Carly away and thumped the Stop button. The elevator jerked. She pressed the Open Doors button, but nothing happened. Frantic, she tapped all the buttons.

Trapped! She was trapped in an old woman’s body and stuck away in an assisted-living facility. A place people put you when you weren’t good for anything any longer. Her family never came around. The photo she’d shown Carly was as old as the hills. They probably all hoped she’d croak. And she would if she didn’t get out of here.

Carly gasped as the struggling widow nearly took them both to the floor.

“My inhaler!” Martha Struder punched elevator buttons in an attempt to reopen the doors. Carly finally contained the distraught woman’s arms and urged her toward a grab bar. But Martha remained uncooperative and agitated. “I need my inhaler.”

“I know.” Carly glanced at the numbered lights. “I’ll go back for it.”

But the elevator bucked.

“Eeeks!”

With sudden concern, Carly whipped her gaze to Dot.

The elevator shuddered. In seemingly slow motion, it catapulted library books that scuffed her black oxfords and littered the carpet. Frozen, Carly watched Dot slide to the floor with a soft thud and a loud squawk.

The elevator started again, but abruptly halted. Finally, it remained still.

Stumbling across strewn books, Carly gasped, “You all right?” Another fall was the last thing Dot needed. The tiny woman moaned. Her wild gaze searched for Crusher, who was slow in peeling himself from the wall. Eventually, he staggered toward them.

“Careful, now.” Carly grasped the waistband of the retired quarryman’s broadfall pants, helping him to Dot’s side.

“You better look at this,” he said.

Carly dropped to her knees and examined an almond-sized knot on Dot’s temple, hoping it wasn’t a concussion.

Meanwhile over by the doors, the portly widow poked her tongue through pinched lips and punched buttons as if methodically annihilating a trail of ants.

No wonder. Carly lunged and carpet-surfed on a slick magazine. “Stop!”

Martha flinched. She shrank back from the panel and lifted a defiant chin.

Carly realized the widow’s intensifying emotions could trigger a full-blown asthma attack. Taking a moment to think, she resituated her dress and made a calm gesture. “I apologize. Now let’s get you safely settled, before the elevator starts up.”

The widow peered at Carly through the bottom of her bifocals and let out a raspy breath. “The elevator’s not going up, young woman. We’re headed down.”