The Half-Stitched Amish Quilting Club - 02 - The Tattered Quilt (25 page)

Terry couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d not only been able to sit beside Cheryl in church, but now they were eating lunch together at one of his favorite restaurants in Goshen. As far as he was concerned, this was definitely a date!

“This is really good chicken,” Cheryl said, taking a bite of the drumstick she held. Terry was glad she wasn’t one of those prissy women, afraid to pick up a piece of meat and eat it with her fingers.

He smacked his lips. “You’re right about that. But then most of the food they serve here is good.”

“Since you’re a roofer and get around the area a lot, I imagine you’ve tried many of the restaurants.”

Terry nodded as he reached for his glass of root beer. “When I’m out riding my Harley, I’m able to check out lots of restaurants.”

“Do you go riding often?” she queried.

“Yeah, whenever I can.” Terry paused to take a drink of his soda. He felt relaxed sitting here with Cheryl and felt no need for a cigarette. Being with her might be the motivation he needed to quit once and for all. “I usually go riding on the weekends, and I probably would have gone today if I hadn’t come to church,” Terry said, placing his glass on the table.

“So you don’t go to church on a regular basis?”

“No, but Jan’s always after me to go with him and Star.”

“Do they attend church every week?”

Terry shook his head. “Sometimes they hit the road with their cycles. But they go as often as they can,” he quickly added. “Jan mentioned one time that if they’re near a church during one of their road trips, he and Star will go. Even dressed in their biker clothes, Jan said they’ve always been welcomed.” Terry paused and took a bite of the fried shrimp he’d ordered. “Ruby Lee made me feel comfortable today, so I think I’ll start going more regularly, too.” He grinned at Cheryl and dipped another piece of shrimp into his cup of cocktail sauce. “I can always go riding on Saturdays, or even Sunday after church.”

“I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before. What it’s like?” Cheryl asked.

“Ever gone for a ride in a convertible?”

Cheryl nodded. “My ex-boyfriend had one.”

“Well, it’s sort of like riding in a convertible, but with no doors. You’re open to nothing but the air around you.” Terry was glad to know Cheryl had an ex-boyfriend. That meant he had a better chance with her.
Of course, Cheryl might not be interested in a guy like me. She might think Blaine’s more her type
.

Cheryl shuddered. “I think I’d be scared to death on a motorcycle.”

“Naw, you’d get used to it. It’s hard to put into words, except that when I’m on my bike I feel free, like I’m in total charge of what I’m doing. It’s great to be able to see everything around me, even the ripples and potholes in the pavement.” Terry leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “I’m relaxed when I’m riding my Harley, and I enjoy the noise of the wind and even the smells from farms and cars. When I’m out on the open road, just me and my Harley, nothing seems wrong with the world. It’s like some people enjoy reading a good book to relax. Well, riding my bike is like that for me. ’Course there are a few things that ain’t—I mean, aren’t so much fun about riding.”

“Like what?” she asked with a curious expression.

“When it rains, it feels like hundreds of needles are hitting my face. Oh, and once a bumblebee crashed into my helmet when I was going at a high speed, and it felt like I’d been hit in the head by a rock. Then, too, after a long ride, my ears sometimes ring for an hour or so. I also learned a good lesson early on.”

“What was that?” Cheryl asked, leaning forward.

“When I first got my bike, I thought it’d be neat to let my hair fly free in the wind.” Terry scrunched up his face. “Boy was that ever a mistake.”

“What happened?”

“When I got home, it took me over an hour to comb out all the tangles. Afterward when I looked at the floor, I thought I’d lost half my hair. ’Course I didn’t, but now I never go riding without pulling my hair back into a ponytail.”

Cheryl drew in her bottom lip. “I don’t think I’d like any of that—especially getting whacked by a bug.”

“When you think about it, it’s really not so bad. I never ride my Harley without a helmet, and I also have a face shield attached to the helmet to protect my eyes. Over the years, I’ve found the good that comes from riding my cycle outweighs the bad.” Terry snapped his fingers. “Say, I’ve got an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“How would you like to follow me back to Shipshe? Then I can give you a ride on the back of my Harley.”

“Oh, I don’t know….”

“Aw, come on. It’s not as bad as you might think, and you might even enjoy it.”

“It does sound intriguing. Do you promise not to go real fast?”

“I won’t break the speed limit, if that’s what you mean, but we gotta pick up a little speed or we won’t get the full enjoyment from the ride.”

Cheryl looked down at the outfit she was wearing—a dark green skirt and a creamy off-white blouse. “I’m not dressed for riding.”

“If you don’t live too far from here, you can go home and change,” Terry suggested. “I’ll follow you there and wait in my truck till you’re ready. Then you can follow me home in your car so you’ll have a ride back to Goshen.” Terry had thought about offering to give Cheryl a ride in his truck, but the seat still had that hole in it and didn’t smell too good. “So what do you say? Should we go for a little joyride today?”

Cheryl sat staring at her plate, but she finally nodded. “Sure, why not? I need a little excitement in my life.”

Shipshewana

“Okay, now,” Terry said. “You need to keep your feet on the passenger pegs.”

“Passenger pegs?”

“The footrests,” Terry said, pointing at them.

Cheryl stared at the bike, wondering what in the world had possessed her to agree to go for a ride with Terry. This wasn’t the type of thing she would normally do. Up close, his Harley looked bigger than she thought it would. It appeared to be a huge powerhouse on two wheels. And to think she was going to be sitting on that compelling piece of machinery, riding down the open road, with a man she’d felt a great dislike for when they’d first met.
What on earth has gotten into me, agreeing to do something like this?

Terry handed Cheryl a helmet. “You’ll need to wear this.”

Cheryl’s hair was short enough, so she didn’t have to worry about tying it back as she reached for the plain blue helmet. Terry’s helmet was a lot fancier. It was almost as colorful as his bowling ball and matched his Harley, which was a fiery red speckled with metallic paint. “What should I hold on to?” Cheryl asked, heart pounding, as she put the helmet on her head and took a seat on the back of the motorcycle.

“Me. You hold on tight to me.” Terry grinned down at Cheryl as he stood next to the bike. “And if your back muscles get sore, just lean against the sissy bar behind you. It’ll give you some added support.”

Cheryl’s face warmed as she thought once again,
Oh my, why did I ever agree to this? I must have been out of my mind
.

“Oh, and whenever we’re at a stop sign, don’t put your feet down; just keep ’em on the pegs. It’s my job to make sure the bike stays upright when we’re stopped.”

Cheryl nodded. “I understand.” She was glad she’d made the quick decision to put on her heavier leather shoes instead of the sneakers she’d almost decided to wear.

“One more thing,” Terry said, throwing his leg over the bike, “don’t wiggle around or shift your weight. Just lean with me, and since you’ll be hanging on to me, that should be easy.”

“Don’t worry,” Cheryl said, her voice trembling a bit, “I’ll be too scared to do anything but hang on tight.”

“You’ll be fine; just try to relax and enjoy the ride.”

Yeah, right
, Cheryl thought.
Sounds like something I heard in a movie once
.

Terry fired up the bike, looking back as Cheryl wrapped her arms snugly around his waist. “By the way,” he shouted over the roar of the engine, “you look real good in that helmet.”

Cheryl couldn’t help smiling. Watching Terry pull his face shield down, she did the same.

As they rode out of Terry’s yard, Cheryl couldn’t see much of anything except Terry’s back. She was also aware of the smell of leather from his jacket, and when they turned onto the road, a drafty wind whipped up the back of her neck. She felt vulnerable, but it was also quite exhilarating. It was nothing like being enclosed in a vehicle, with four sides around her and a roof overhead. And it in no way compared to riding in a convertible.

As they ventured farther onto the open road, Terry picked up speed. Cheryl was glad her helmet had a shield. If not, Terry’s ponytail would be slapping her in the face like a horse’s tail swatting at flies.

“Whoo-hoo! Isn’t this great?” Terry hollered into the wind.

Cheryl was afraid to open her mouth, and she thought for a minute to just lean her forehead against Terry’s back and not look at anything at all. At the same time, she didn’t want to act like a baby and miss the whole experience, so all she could do was hang on for dear life and try to enjoy this crazy ride.

C
HAPTER
22

S
elma’s eyelids fluttered, but she couldn’t quite open them. She’d been having a pleasant dream and didn’t want to wake up. But something—she wasn’t sure what—seemed to be pulling her awake.

She rolled her head from side to side, snuggling deeper under the blankets. She couldn’t remember when she’d slept so well.

Prrr…Prrr
…Something soft and warm pushed at Selma’s face.

Selma’s eyes snapped open. The furry gray cat was lying on her chest!

“Yikes!’ Selma screamed and sat straight up. The cat hissed and leaped off the bed, looking like one of those frightened arched-back Halloween cats.

“How did you get in here?” Selma shouted as the cat raced out of the room. She pulled the covers aside and grimaced when her feet touched the cold floor. Her floor vent still wasn’t sending up any heat, and now she had to deal with a cat in the house. This was not a good way to begin her Monday.

Without bothering to put on her slippers and wearing only her nightgown, Selma ran down the hallway, chasing the cat. She caught up with him in the kitchen, where he was crouched near the back door, looking up at her with big, innocent eyes. He looked scared, and Selma almost felt sorry for him. She wondered if someone might have abused the cat, or if he’d learned to defend himself after years of living on his own. She had to admit she had slept quite well last night and wondered if it was due to the warmth and comfort of the cat sleeping on her chest.

No, that can’t be
, she told herself.
It was the dream I had—that’s why I slept so well
. “And you, Mr. Scruffy,” she said, picking up the cat, “are going outside, where you belong!”