The Calling (5 page)

Naomi had a sense about these kinds of things. She had predicted her brother Galen’s romance with Rose Schrock
long before it was obvious to others. She saw how her brother stilled whenever Rose was nearby, or the way his eyes lingered after her. She was hoping Jimmy might have those same sweet feelings for Bethany, though it was true that Jimmy Fisher liked most girls and even more girls liked Jimmy Fisher. But maybe it was finally time for Jimmy to settle on someone. At least, his mother thought it was high time.

Since Edith Fisher had returned to Stoney Ridge, her first objective, she made clear, was to get Jimmy married. Paul, her older son, had tied the knot during Edith’s brief marriage and then surprised everyone by moving off to Canada with his bride right after Edith, unexpectedly widowed, returned to Stoney Ridge.

Edith was indignant! She was counting on localized grandchildren, she said, and now it was all up to Jimmy. And she made it no secret that she had selected Naomi King for him. No thank you! Jimmy Fisher might be adorable in every way that mattered, but he was not right for Naomi. Besides, her heart belonged to another, but that was a secret she guarded carefully.

Naomi had a hope that once her friend Bethany was done with her melancholia for Jake Hertzler, she might wake up to the fact that Jimmy Fisher was perfectly suited to her.

Naomi adored Bethany. She was fond of Mim, the younger sister, but being with her was like looking into a mirror. Naomi and Mim did things exactly alike, and sometimes Naomi knew what Mim was going to say before she said it. Bethany was a real live wire, and it was exciting to be around her. She made life interesting.

Naomi knew Bethany was hurting after the Jake Hertzler disaster, and she had a plan to help. She was sure that if she could bring Bethany into the quilting group, gently nudging
her toward Jimmy Fisher while wooing over his mother, those wounds would heal.

Naomi stopped to examine the seam she was stitching. She picked up a pair of scissors and trimmed a loose thread. She was waiting for just the right moment to bring up Bethany’s name, to test the waters and see how Edith Fisher would react. Anyone wanting to marry Jimmy Fisher was going to have to win over Edith Fisher. Wasn’t there a saying for that very thing? Wann’d der Sohn hawwe witt, muscht dich mit der Mudder halde.
She that would the
son win must with the mother first begin.

Not that Bethany was interested in Jimmy. Not yet. But Naomi was going to do her best to light that spark between them she was sure was there. Almost sure.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Naomi casually said that she thought it would be nice to include her friend Bethany in the quilting bee. Naomi finished her stitch at the instant she looked up at Edith and caught the look of disapproval on her face, which made her run the needle into her finger. When she glanced down, she saw a little drop of blood on the place she was stitching around and put her finger into her mouth.

The five elderly sisters stopped their sewing but kept their heads bowed, the edges of their capstrings dancing on the quilt top. They didn’t say a word. Not a peep. Naomi glanced nervously around the circle.

Unfortunately, whenever Naomi felt nervous, she babbled. Her brother Galen grew quieter and she grew more talkative. Their mother used to say they evened each other out. As she realized the women were staring at her, she started a long tale about how she had known Bethany for years and years, and what a fine cook she was, and how she was sure they’d
all enjoy having her in the circle. She spoke faster and faster, jumping from topic to topic, making very little sense, all the while wishing her mouth would just snap shut. She sped right on: “And Bethany said she doesn’t like to sew.” She cringed and clamped her mouth shut.

What possessed her to say
that
when she was trying to snag an invitation for Bethany to a sewing group? It was true, but why did she have to say so? Just yesterday, Naomi had mentioned to Bethany that she quilted because it was the most comforting thing to do. Bethany said the reason she quilted was because it kept her from biting her fingernails.

Edith Fisher squinted at Naomi through her thick spectacles until Naomi blushed and looked down at her piecing. “I’ve never met a woman who didn’t like to sew.”

Sylvia, the youngest of the elderly sisters, finally spoke. “Bethany’s a more modern girl, Edith. She has other things to do besides sew with old ladies.”

Sylvia forgot that Naomi wasn’t an old lady. All the women forgot. There were times when Naomi wanted to point out that she wasn’t a spinster quite yet, not at eighteen. They’d never thought to wonder if Naomi King had feelings, dreams, desires of her own. She knew they considered her to be a frail thing, someone to be pitied and fussed over. That might be how she seemed on the outside, but on the inside, Naomi felt strong and brave. At least, that was how she thought of herself when she wasn’t plagued with one of those dreadful headaches.

Then Edith Fisher cleared her throat, determined to take charge, and Naomi wondered what everyone was in for. “Speaking of modern and worldly ways, I understand those Schrocks have a preacher staying in their guest flat now.” She pursed her lips as if tasting a sour lemon. “A lady preacher.”

“A youth pastor,” Naomi said quietly but firmly.

“Same thing,” Edith said.

“Now, Edith,” Fannie said, a smile wobbling at the edges of her mouth, “your halo always did fit a little too tight.” Fannie was second from the bottom of the five sisters, the polar opposite of her younger sibling, as full figured as Sylvia was petite and as opinionated as Sylvia was soft-spoken.

“How did you hear that, Edith?” Sylvia asked.

Edith paused while she threaded her needle. “Oh, well, people talk. You know.”

People do talk; Edith certainly did.

“Mark my words. Those Schrocks attract trouble like molasses draws flies. They’re just like those Amos Lapps over at Windmill Farm. No difference at all. And I don’t mind telling them so right to their faces.”

Something out the window caught Naomi’s eye. Up the walk came Hank Lapp, former suitor to Edith before she spurned him for her now-dead brand-new husband. And that was when Naomi’s headache took a turn for the worse.

Jimmy was in the cool of the barn, wrapping his prize horse Lodestar’s leg before he exercised him so the horse wouldn’t knick his forelegs with his hoofs.

“JIMMY FISHER? WHERE ARE YOU?” The horses in the barn stirred and lifted their heads at the sound of Hank Lapp’s bellow.

Jimmy popped his head up over the stall. “Hank, how many times do I have to tell you to keep your voice low and calm around these Thoroughbreds?”

Hank Lapp was a one-of-a-kind older Plain man in looks
and personality. Wiry white hair that stuck out in all directions, a wandering eye that made a person unsure of which eye to look at, a fellow with his own way of thinking about things. Most folks had trouble tolerating him for a multitude of reasons, all reasonable, but Jimmy was fond of him. For all his bluster, Hank had a good heart.

“Well, you could have warned me that house was filled with cackling hens.”

“And just how was I supposed to know you were looking for me?” Jimmy bent down to finish wrapping Lodestar’s foreleg. “How was Ohio?”

“It was fine. Just fine. Julia and Rome are trying to talk us into moving there with them.”

“No kidding? Is Amos considering it?”

Hank shrugged. “All depends on Fern. She’s from there, you know.” He picked up a currycomb and examined it. “Women run the world,” he muttered. “You could have warned me that Naomi had her quilting bee today.”

“Now, how could I have warned you when I didn’t even know you were back in Stoney Ridge?”

“Well, you should tack a sign up on the front door. Give a fellow a little heads-up.” He lifted his hands in the air, drawing a sign: “ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.”

“When did you get back?”

“Yesterday. Thought I’d better grab you for some afternoon fishing before someone beats us to all the good ones.”

“I’d like to, Hank, but Galen’s at an auction and I need to get a few things done before he gets back.”

“Now, see? Galen had enough sense to go missing from the farm on quilting days.” Hank scratched his neck. “Did you know your mother is up there in that henhouse?”

So
that’s
what was nettling Hank. “Yup. She returned to Stoney Ridge a few weeks ago. You probably hadn’t heard since you were in Ohio. Her new husband passed.”

Hank took off his hat. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” He put his hat back on. “Not too terrible sorry, though. I never did understand why she up and married him so fast after she spurned me.” He leaned against the stall wall. “Women are a mystery.”

“They are at that.” As Jimmy wrapped Lodestar’s other foreleg, he made sure the wrap would stay tied. Galen was always chiding him for babying this horse, but Lodestar wasn’t just any horse. Jimmy didn’t want a single scar on his forelegs to mar his appearance. He had plans for Lodestar—this horse was going to be the anchor of his breeding business. He checked the ends one more time, then straightened up.

Hank picked up a piece of straw and chewed on it. “You still trying to get Bethany Schrock to pay you any mind?”

Jimmy frowned. “Getting girls’ attention has never been hard.”

“No, not most. Just hers.”

“If I really wanted Bethany Schrock, I could get her.”

Hank let out a rusty laugh. “Well, I never thought I’d see the day when a Fisher boy couldn’t get a girl!”

Hank Lapp had just sailed past friendly and arrived at annoying.

“You’re just like your brother. Always shopping, never buying.”

“Paul
did
get married,” Jimmy said, teeth gritted. The Fisher boys’ reluctance to settle down was a constant source of amusement for Hank—ironic commentary from a dedicated bachelor. It deeply annoyed Jimmy to be compared to
Paul. He wasn’t like him. He wasn’t. “I will, too, when I’m ready to pick the girl.”

“Unless that girl happens to be Bethany Schrock!” Hank roared. “You’ll have to chase her till she catches you!”

What irked Jimmy was that Hank spoke the truth. He wasn’t accustomed to not being taken seriously by a woman. Most girls loved any attention Jimmy threw their way. Bethany acted as if she could take him or leave him. For example, if they happened to be talking, she was always the first to say goodbye. That bothered him. He liked to be the first to say goodbye. He thought it left a girl wanting more.

But it was time to change the subject. “Hank, why would you suppose someone might have a trunk of human bones hidden in a basement?”

Hank pulled off his hat and turned it in a circle, thinking hard. “Well, there could be all kinds of explanations.”

Now, that was just one of the reasons Jimmy tolerated Hank Lapp better than most. When Hank grew irritating, which he inevitably did, Jimmy could steer him off in a different direction. Hank didn’t mind exploring odd trails of conversation. His entire life was a giant trail of loose ends.

“Could be a real simple reason.” Hank scratched his wooly white hair. “Not sure what it might be, though.”

Jimmy thought about that for a long moment. “You just gave me an idea.” He closed Lodestar’s stall and locked both sections of the door with a keyed lock and hung the key on the wall. This beautiful stallion had escape on his mind at all times. “Coming with me?”

“Where are we going?”

“Just up to the house.” Jimmy grabbed his hat. “I have a question or two I need to ask the sisters from the Sisters’ House.”

“NO SIR! I’m not going back up there. The way your mother glared at me—I felt as doomed as a chicken laying its head down on the chopping block.” He scowled at Jimmy with his good eye. “I’m going fishing.”

“Suit yourself,” Jimmy said, grinning.

Bethany sat in the air-conditioned waiting room of the
Stoney Ridge Times
office, holding a paper cup of amber-colored lukewarm tea. She’d been waiting over thirty-five minutes for the features editor to get out of a meeting so she could hand him the signed paperwork to set up Mrs. Miracle’s new column. She glanced at the wall clock again. Forty-five minutes.