Faithful to Laura (5 page)

Reluctantly, Laura put on her Sunday dress and adjusted her prayer
kapp
. She had finally agreed to go to church, not because she longed to worship, but to get the public humiliation out of the way. She couldn’t hide forever. Might as well get it over with. Yet how could she face these people with her skin marked by scars?

She rode with Adam, Emma, and Leona. The three of them talked almost continuously. Laura kept her mouth shut.

With each roll of the buggy’s wheels, the knot in her stomach hardened. Her skin itched. She longed to scratch the scar on her chin. Instead, she pulled the sides of her black bonnet forward, obscuring her face as much as she could.

“Everything all right?”

She turned and looked at Leona. Nodded.
“Ya.”

“Gut.”
Leona smiled but didn’t say anything else. Laura was gaining an appreciation for the old woman, who seemed to know exactly what and how much to say.

They arrived at the home of Aaron and Elisabeth Detweiler.

Instead of having church in the barn, the way they usually did at home, Emma led Laura to the Detweilers’ spacious basement. She pointed out a few people, explaining who was related to whom.

“I’m sure you won’t remember all this,” Emma said as they sat down on a wooden bench. “But eventually you’ll learn who everyone is.”

Laura remained silent. She didn’t plan to be here that long.

During the three-hour service, her thoughts ran rampant.

She clenched her teeth so hard that pain sliced her jaw, and tension squeezed her shoulders like a vise. The preacher spoke about forgiveness. The word burned her ears.

When the service was over, the entire group of worshippers made their way upstairs for fellowship and the communal meal.

Laura stood apart from the rest of the crowd as they milled about in the large living room and spilled over into the kitchen and dining areas. A long table filled with food stood against the wall. Cold cut platters, bowls of potato and macaroni salad, pickles, cookies, and plenty of fresh sliced bread and homemade butter. People were already lining up to eat.

Laura stayed put, her desire for fellowship as nonexistent as her appetite. Several kids walked past her. By the girls’ black
kapps
she knew they were under twelve years old. She couldn’t blame them for their curiosity, or their revulsion. Still, she squirmed beneath their attempts to get a look at her scars without staring at her.

“I’m glad to see you at church today.”

Laura turned to see a red-haired woman close to her own age. “Have we met?”

“
Nee
. Not yet, anyway. But we’re meeting now.”

Laura frowned. The woman had a sweet voice and lovely blue eyes. But what she said made little sense.

She giggled as if she’d read Laura’s uncharitable thoughts but wasn’t bothered by them. “I’m Katherine Yoder.” She held out her hand. “I was hoping I would see you today.”

Laura paused before giving Katherine’s hand a quick shake.

“Laura Stutzman.”

“I know. You have a pretty accent. I’ve never heard anyone talk so slowly before.”

“I didn’t realize I was.”

“I have something for you,” Katherine said, holding up one finger. “Can you wait a minute? It’s in
mei
buggy. I’ll
geh
get it.”

She disappeared.

Confused, Laura remained in the corner of the room and watched as people around her talked, laughed, and ate. Everyone seemed relaxed and friendly.

Middlefield was different from her small district back home. Everything in Etheridge was stricter. Outsiders weren’t particularly welcomed, as Mark had discovered when he first arrived. Still, it hadn’t taken long for his charm and lies to win everyone over, including her parents. Now the district would be even more closed than before.

She caught a glimpse of Adam and Emma on the opposite side of the room. He stood close to Emma, claiming her as his, deep in conversation. Laura had known that heady feeling of love, even if it was illusory and short-lived. But after her experience with Mark, she doubted she would ever trust any man enough to fall in love again.

Katherine reappeared at her side. “Here it is.”

She held out a folded quilt. The colors were stunning: teals, golds, rusty oranges, arranged in long rectangles. It reminded Laura of fall. Of warmth. “Is this for me?”

“
Ya
. It’s a prayer quilt. When I heard what happened to you and Adam, I started this quilt. With each stitch, I said a prayer.”

Laura ran her hand across the fabric. She swallowed. “But why would you do such a thing? You don’t know me.”

“You needed prayer,
ya
? That’s reason enough. I hope you like it.”

“I do. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s only a lap quilt. I wanted to get it to you before you went back to Tennessee.”

“I don’t plan on leaving y’all just yet.”

Katherine let out a little giggle. “
Lea-vin’ ya’ll just yet
. See?

That’s so cute.” Her smile widened, revealing two dimpled cheeks. “It’s
gut
you’re not going right away. Then we can get to know each other better.”

Laura shrank from the offer. She couldn’t afford friendships. Yet she wouldn’t be rude either.
“Danki.”

Katherine nodded. “I hope the prayers are working.”

She was saved from answering by Emma’s arrival. “Adam has to get back home.” Her gaze went to the quilt. “Katherine, did you make this?”

“Ya.”

“It’s so
schee
. You have such a talent.”

Katherine’s cheeks turned pink. “It’s something I like to do.”

Emma smiled, then turned to Laura. “Are you ready to
geh
?”

Laura nodded. She looked at Katherine. “Thank you. This is a wonderful gift.”

“Enjoy it.”

As she climbed into the back of the buggy with Leona, Laura clung to the quilt. She marveled at Katherine’s generosity, to make something so lovely for a person she didn’t even know.

So many stitches.

So many prayers . . .

Not that they would make any difference. All the prayers in the world couldn’t change what had happened.

She fingered the quilt, and her mind drifted back to the service. All the preacher’s fine words about God’s plan concerning forgiveness.

Forgiveness was the Amish way, no matter what the offense.

She was expected to forgive. Required to forgive.

But how could she ever forgive Mark King? He had taken everything from her—her trust, her heart, her parents’ life savings. The life she had known. All gone.

And he got away with it.

“God’s justice is not our own,”
the preacher had said.

That was clear enough. God was nowhere to be found when Mark King robbed her. When he permanently scarred her. Where was the justice in that? God allowed it to happen and let Mark get away unscathed.

And she was supposed to accept and forgive?

When they arrived home, she went upstairs to her bedroom.

She laid the quilt on the bed, running her hand over the soft fabric again. But if the prayers Katherine said while she stitched the quilt were supposed to calm her, they didn’t. She felt more agitated than ever.

She walked to the window and looked outside. She couldn’t spend her life like this, isolating herself from everyone. Yet she couldn’t go back to Tennessee. Not yet.

What she needed was money, and God wouldn’t drop dollars out of the sky. She had to get a job. Working was the only way she could earn back the money Mark stole.

She ran her hand over her chin and felt the scar. Who would hire her looking like this?

Laura turned and looked at the quilt again. “I have to finish what I came here to do,” she whispered. She wouldn’t let her scars hinder her. She would find work. And once she had enough to pay back everyone she owed—her parents, Leona, and Emma—then she would search for Mark. And she would have her revenge.

Because revenge was all she had left.

C
HAPTER
4

“Did you enjoy your supper, Señora Easely?”

“Yes, Manuela. Thank you.” Cora dabbed at the corner of her lips with a fine linen napkin. She had ordered cordon bleu from her favorite restaurant, a five-star establishment with a waiting list months long. Cora had the chef’s personal cell number on her speed dial.

But she had little appetite. Manuela cleared Cora’s full plate and left the dining room.

Cora took a sip of her wine and looked at the nine empty chairs around the glossy, rectangular dining room table. She’d purchased the antique set years ago, anticipating family dinners and parties and holiday feasts. Little did she know that she would be the only one to use it.

She picked up her glass of white wine and went to the living room. Six months of this new décor, and she was already sick of it.

It looked like a cross between
Out of Africa
and a Moroccan marketplace. She made a mental note to hire another designer next week.

Her kitten-heeled slippers sank into the rust-colored carpet as she stood at the huge window overlooking New York City.

She’d lived her entire life here. From the penthouse view she could see the tops of apartment buildings, the maze of alleyways and streets that ran vertically and horizontally between the buildings, the masses of people who seemed little bigger than ants scurrying to their destinations. During the day, the noise and activity energized and inspired her.

But at night the loneliness returned.

She perched on the edge of the zebra-striped club chair and clicked on the fireplace remote. Flames appeared behind the clear glass. Her diamond bracelet jiggled on her thin wrist, the stones sparkling in the firelight. Normally she was mesmerized by the refracting colors. Tonight she was too restless to care.

Manuela appeared in the doorway. “Do you need anything else, Señora Easely?”

Cora looked up at her live-in maid. “Would you like to play a game of cards?”

Manuela’s eyes widened. Cora had never asked her to play cards or to interact on any personal level. She firmly believed in professional distance between an employer and the help. Yet tonight the lonely ache spurred her to cross that line.

“I—I would like to, señora. But you said I could have tonight off.” Manuela folded her hands against the crisp white apron of her uniform. “
Mi nieto
—my grandson. His school play is tonight.”

“Oh yes. I remember.” Cora waved her hand. “Of course you may go. Have a good evening.”

“Gracias.”
Manuela hurried away.

Cora stared at the fireplace and took another sip of wine. She thought about inviting someone over. But as she mentally went through her contact list, she realized anyone worth spending the evening with already had plans. Some were attending the theater.

One had a gala she was sponsoring. Cora had been invited but wasn’t interested in going. Maybe she should have. But it would be in poor taste to show up after she’d sent in her RSVP.