Chapter 3
No spiel necessary. All that worry for naught. God’s Word advised against worrying. Yet Elijah couldn’t fathom how a person
stopped. How long had he been holding his breath? He exhaled, wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, and followed Hannah into
the shop’s storage room, which had a desk complete with a computer monitor to one side, a round table and chairs, and a mini
refrigerator. Beyond that, under a bank of four windows, stood an electric-powered treadle sewing machine next to a long worktable
covered with all manner of cloth, felt, dolls, stuffed animals, and puppets in various stages of completion. This space did
quadruple duty—storage, office, workspace, and break room. Even so, they kept it clean and well organized, and it smelled
of a forest air freshener.
“We’ll keep your items in the box for now until you get your tags on them. You can’t do that until you and Bonnie agree to
a price for each one.” Hannah set the rocking horse she’d taken from Bonnie’s walker onto the floor in front of an open section
of wooden shelves that reached to the ceiling. She pointed to an open spot above the horse. “Take that space near the middle.
It’ll make it easier for you to put the tags on and for me to reach them when it’s time to build the display.”
Elijah squeezed past her. If Hannah had any qualms about making conversation with a Plain man she hardly knew, she didn’t show them. He racked his brain for something to say. “You design the displays?”
“Nee. Bonnie does all that. She has an eye for it. I just carry everything to the front and do any heavy lifting needed.”
When Hannah smiled, which she seemed to do a lot, she was the spitting image of her father, Bishop Bart Plank. The hair around
her prayer covering was the same golden blonde, and she had the same inquisitive pale-blue eyes and wiry build. Still grinning,
as if tickled by the idea that she might do display design, she turned to the cart that held the remainder of Elijah’s bigger
items. “Sometimes I get to help customers if they’re busy. I like that too.”
“It’s a gut job.” Glad to have something to do with his hands, Elijah slipped his box onto the shelf. The task of making conversation
with a girl he knew only because she was friends with his sister Josie wore him out worse than a day working in the family’s
alfalfa fields. “How long have you worked here?”
“Six months.” Hannah retreated toward the door. “It’s fun because Bonnie and the others like to tease each other and talk
and laugh. It’s not all business all the time. I do work, though. I dust, sweep, mop, and I also clean the bathroom. I earn
my pay.”
“I never doubted it.” Heat ran through Elijah. Had he suggested otherwise? “Josie works in the auction office now.”
“Josie’s good with numbers like your schweschder Layla. Me, not so much.”
Lots of numbers swirled in Elijah’s head at that moment. He did okay with numbers. Not great, but not bad. He’d been an average student. Good enough to get by. A sixty-forty split. It was more than equitable, but now Elijah needed to calculate and set his prices to cover the cost of materials, his own labor, and a fair profit. How much would he need in order to buy more supplies?
Thoughts, ideas, and a surge of almost overwhelming hope swirled inside him. He could do this. A Miller man could start a
new business, one that had nothing to do with auctions, stages, microphones, and chatty customers who wanted to know all about
this bed set or that table and chairs. Nothing to do with sleeping in hotels and eating in restaurants, facing an unending
gauntlet of strangers.
His toys on display in a store. The thought didn’t fill Elijah with pride so much as determination. Determination and hope.
He could make his own way.
“Help yourself to a soda pop from the fridge if you’re thirsty.” Hannah dusted off her hands and headed for the door. “There’s
a pitcher of water too.”
“Danki,” Elijah muttered, still thinking about sixty-forty commissions. “For the help too.”
“Bewillkumm to the store.”
Elijah sank into a chair at the table. He needed a pencil and piece of paper to make a list of supplies he’d buy from the
lumber hardware stores. His hands itched to get started. He pulled his pocketknife and a small piece of wood from his pocket.
The fox with a bushy tail had taken its time revealing itself. He smoothed his fingers over its thin snout and pointy nose.
His fingers shook. Maybe not the best time to whittle.
But whittling would calm his nerves.
“Sorry for the wait.” Bonnie rolled into the room. She paused at the desk, where she grabbed a sheaf of papers. “A customer
waylaid me wanting to talk about custom-made quilts. I don’t do quilt consignments. I don’t want to cut into the Kauffmans’
business. Quilts are their bread and butter at their store. Some people are just too lazy to drive out to their farm.”
Elijah nodded. Made sense. Not much more needed to be said. A quilt lover could find bed-size quilts, crib blankets, lap quilts, doll-size quilts, and pot holders, plus everything needed to make quilts at Kauffmans’ Store. Plus quilting frolics and classes. The Miller womenfolk had quilts on consignment there. They loved the store too.
Bonnie laid the paperwork on the table. She then turned her walker around and used it as her chair. “The padded seat is more
comfy than the chairs,” she said as if by way of explanation. “That’s a cute fox. You do such fine work. How did you learn
to whittle like that?”
He hadn’t learned so much as it just happened. Elijah shrugged. “The wood talks to me.”
She would think he was nuts, but he’d simply spoken the truth. He didn’t know how else to explain it.
“I love it.” There was that smile again. How could a person not smile back? Bonnie turned the top sheet of paper so it faced
Elijah. “Now that you’ve had time to think about it, are you okay with the sixty-forty split?”
Elijah nodded again.
“Wunderbarr.”
Her caramel eyes warm, Bonnie held out the contract. When some of the boys had teased Elijah at recess, she’d shoved her way
through their cliques, using her walker—in those days it had been a silver metal contraption with neon tennis balls on the
front legs—to get to him. She told the boys she needed Elijah to carry her books to her buggy or return her lunch box to the
schoolroom.
The truth was, Bonnie really hadn’t needed anyone’s help when she was younger. She drove herself to school in a pony cart and never let anyone help her unhitch or hitch her pony. Buttercup—that was the pony’s name. She couldn’t play baseball or volleyball, but she played a mean game of cornhole. And she always won the English spelling bees.
It didn’t matter what time of day it was, her prayer cover neatly hid her hair’s bun. Her dress and apron were clean and unwrinkled.
It was obvious her disease had progressed from her legs to her arms, making them weaker, but she still had the same neat appearance
and kind voice.
“Elijah?”
Bonnie’s dark brows had risen. The paperwork still hung in the air. Heat scalded Elijah’s face. His ears burned. She’d surely
caught him studying her high cheekbones and pretty, perfectly shaped nose. Some might call what he did woodworking or whittling,
but it was more like art, and he had an eye for what was symmetrical and beautiful. Bonnie was beautiful. Elijah accepted
the document. “Es-es-es dutt mer,” he stuttered. “I was thinking.”
“Thinking hard. I know how that is. I get lost in thought sometimes. Mamm gets irritated with me.”
Same with Elijah’s mom, but more so with his dad. “Same here.”
“Go ahead and review the contract. Read the fine print. In the meantime, I’ll make a list of what I’d like to have in the
first order.”
The room was quiet except for the scratching sound of Bonnie’s pencil on paper. The contract was detailed. They would set
the price for his items together. They would keep a written inventory of what sold and when. He would be paid once a month.
If an item or category of items didn’t sell in six months, those items would be returned to him.
“Do you have any questions?”
Elijah looked up to find Bonnie studying him. He shook his head.
“Are you sure? You seem... concerned.”
“Nee.” He glanced around. “I don’t have a pen.”
“I’ll get you one.” She started to rise.
“Nee. Let me.”
“I told you I can do for myself.” She sounded peeved.
“It’s not about you being able or not.” Elijah searched for words that wouldn’t offend her more. It would be easier to let
it go, but her being mad at him didn’t set right. “Isn’t it polite for a man to offer to help a woman—any woman—no matter
what the world says about equality and such?”
“You’re right.” Her cheeks reddened, which only made her prettier. “My mudder says I’m prickly as a desert filled with cacti, but I don’t like people to think I can’t take care of myself.”
“I would never think that.” Not in a billion years. “Can I get the pen?”
“Of course. Sei so gut. ”
Now they were both being polite. Elijah didn’t need a please or a thank-you. Finally he had the pen in hand and the contract
signed.
“Here’s my list.” Bonnie handed it over in exchange for the contract. “I’m not sure how fast you can turn these items around,
so I’m not setting a deadline, but sooner rather than later would be gut. The tourist season seems to arrive earlier every
year. In the meantime, I can sell the items you brought today, if you like.”
Five corrals with horses, wood tractors, alphabet boards, and children’s stools each. Each! A dozen wooden yo-yos. Five Noah’s arks with the animals. Four more push mowers. Four more rocking horses. A child’s desk
and chair. A checkers set. A wooden toy box to use in the toy display. The display of Elijah’s toys. “That would be great.”
“I know you have up-front expenses for your supplies.” She tapped the table with one finger. “I can give you a down payment
against sales if need be.”
Elijah had a nest egg from his auctioneering salary. As an unmarried brother still living at home, he didn’t pull down nearly what his married brothers did. Which was only fair. He was able to save most of it, except for what he spent on workshop supplies. “Not necessary.”
“Gut. Then let’s set prices for what you’ve brought me today.”
This would be hard. The more he earned, the more he could save toward opening his own business. With an employee who would
handle the front end—dealing with customers and taking orders. Still, he didn’t want to price himself out of sales. “I think
twenty-five dollars for the rocking horse. I know that’s a lot—”
“A lot?” Bonnie hooted. “Seriously?”
“I could go down to twenty—”
“Elijah! You truly don’t get how in demand well-made, handcrafted Amish toys and furniture are.” Shaking her head, Bonnie
clasped her hands together. “Fifty dollars would be on the low end.”
“Seriously?”
“I can show you some in an Etsy store that they want ninety-five for.”
“What’s an Etsy store?”
“It doesn’t matter. The point is, we want you to get enough to recoup your costs and still make a nice profit for both of
us.”
Agreed. “So what you think, then?”
“I’d say sixty-five, ninety-five.”
His mom would likely faint. She’d talked about selling them in the combination store for thirty dollars. “If you think they’ll
sell.”
“They’ll sell.”
Down the list they went, setting prices that seemed far too high. Bonnie assured Elijah if any item didn’t sell initially,
they could reduce the price before withdrawing it from the inventory. “Sometimes it’s trial and error to hit the sweet spot
for consumers.”
She sounded like the English men who came to the auctions to buy furniture that they would resell on the internet as “authentic Amish furniture.” They had to know just how much to pay and still be able to sell it for a profit.
“You’re sure these prices are—?”
“Elijah, your bruder is out front!” Panting as if she’d run a race, Hannah dashed into the room. Slowpoke hopped to his feet and barked at her.
“Hush, hund . He says come quick.”
“Which bruder?” Like it mattered. Elijah stood. Leaving the paperwork, he ducked past the girl and raced toward the door.
“Es dutt mer. I have to go.”
Slowpoke’s bark grew louder.
A clatter sounded behind Elijah.
“Ach, ach, Slowpoke!”
Elijah whirled. Bonnie lay flat on her back, her rollator lying on top of her.