Chapter 20
The incredulity on Sophia’s face came as no surprise. Bonnie took Elijah’s push mower from her coworker and placed it on a
scrap of artificial turf Declan Miller had so kindly saved from the nursery dumpster and donated to the shop instead. The
display next to the tall front windows was coming along nicely. “I needed someone’s help with needlework and she offered.”
“I love your mudder, and we are coming up to our busiest time of year with summer just around the corner.” Sophia lifted a
box of Elijah’s toys from her lap and set it on the table next to the display. “I do, but don’t you think the two of you would get along better if she did the work at home?”
Bonnie chuckled to herself. Sophia was nothing if not diplomatic. Everybody loved Bonnie’s mother—in small doses. In larger
ones, she could be a little much. She had no qualms about sharing her opinion on everything from the weather forecast to best
names for new babies—related to her or not—to the most effective way to advertise the shop.
“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you and Carol first. I should’ve. But she was trying so hard to lift my spirits, when honestly, I think it’s her spirits...” Bonnie cast a glance over her shoulder. Carol was busy at the register, checking out a customer who’d bought Elijah’s pull-duck, his horse and buggy, and a Noah’s ark before they’d made it into the display. Mom had disappeared into the back room after an inspection of the displays, a chat with the postal carrier, and a thorough cleaning of the coffee bar. No sign of her in the last half hour. “I think she’s the one who needs help. Being alone at the house isn’t gut for her. There’s not enough cleaning and cooking to keep her busy. Now that spring is in full swing and summer is coming, she’ll have gardening and the yard to take care of, but still...”
“She’s lonely.” Sophia tut-tutted and shook her head. “Poor thing. I should’ve thought of that. Of course she should work
here at the shop.”
“Jah. She’s bound to be lonely after all those years married to Dat.” Bonnie faced the display so her friend couldn’t see
the sadness that seeped into every nook and cranny of her own body. They were supposed to accept the circumstances of their
lives, come what may, but nobody really explained how to do that. “Sometimes I think that’s the silver lining.”
Bonnie stopped. She clutched Elijah’s oversize wooden pig in her arms. The wood was polished to a smooth sheen. The chubby
animal had an exaggerated long snout and squinty eyes. Exaggerated like her feelings today. A toddler would love playing with
this chunky pig. Bonnie’s mind’s eye immediately conjured up a scene with a little girl lugging the pig out the front door,
down the steps, and toward the actual pigpen. Her dad would delight in the make-believe and lead the way, oinking and squealing.
A dog who looked an awful lot like Slowpoke followed with an occasional bark of encouragement.
Where was Bonnie? Standing at the screen, watching the small parade. Smiling.
“Silver lining in what?”
The concern in Sophia’s voice burst the dream’s bubble. “In me not getting married. I’ll be around to keep her company.”
“Don’t be narrisch. You could get married and stay at the house. It’s already been remodeled to suit your needs.” Sophia scooted
her chair closer. She tugged the pig from Bonnie’s arms. “It would be practical. Or your mudder could move in with you and
your mann.”
She rolled past Bonnie and settled the pig into an open spot near the boy doll and his mower. “Everything in its place. Everyone
in their place.”
“I suppose.”
“It’ll happen.”
“And if it doesn’t, Mamm and I have each other.”
The bell that hung over the door dinged. Good, a customer. They needed more customers. And less talk.
“I’ll get him.” Sophia held out the box. “You keep working on the display.”
Bonnie took the box. That didn’t keep her from peeking at the customer. It was a man. They didn’t get a lot of male customers
on their own. Something about Homespun Handicrafts didn’t resonate with a man unless he needed a gift for a wife who liked
handmade scarves, homemade scented soaps, one-of-a-kind jewelry, or hand-painted bird feeders.
She stepped back, cocked her head, and reviewed what she’d done so far. One of her Plain dolls sat in a buggy. Another stood
next to a corral that held three wooden horses of various colors. A boy doll sat with a miniature baseball and bat in his
lap, his straw hat at his side. An alphabet board sat on top of a child’s school desk. Each letter was beautifully carved.
The lawn mower and the rocking horse took up the area closest to the windows. Mixing her dolls with Elijah’s toys worked out
perfectly.
“That’s some good stuff you got there.”
Bonnie turned. The newcomer was a man in a long-sleeved white shirt and navy tie, carrying a briefcase. Definitely not a typical customer.
“Mr. Knox said he wanted to talk to you.” Her curiosity evident in her expression, Sophia brought up the rear. “No one else
could help him.”
“Pleased to meet you, Bonnie. I’m Logan Knox with Virginia Realty. Call me Logan.” He held out his hand. “Your mother probably
told you about me.”
She had not. Bonnie automatically shook his hand, which turned out to be a bit sticky. “I’m sorry. My mother didn’t mention
anyone named Logan Knox.”
His long, skinny nose—too big for his round face—wrinkled for a second, but he hid his dismay quickly. “You and your mother
are the only ones who reside at the Yoder farm off Lakeside Drive northwest of town?”
“That’s us.”
Mr. Knox glanced around. “Maybe we could have a chat over a cup of coffee.”
“Mr. Knox—”
“Logan.”
“Logan, I’m working right now, and I can’t imagine what a real estate agent would want with me.”
“Your mother didn’t mention that I have a buyer for your farm?”
“A buyer...” It took his meaning a few seconds to sink in. “No, she did not.” Bonnie whipped her rollator past her visitor
and headed for the back room. The click-clack of dress shoes on the pine floor told her that Mr. Knox followed. She stopped at the counter. “Wait here, please.”
For a second it seemed he would ignore her wishes. He offered a smile. A fake smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
His tone oozed insincerity. Bonnie left him standing there.
Her mother was seated at the worktable. She had a small piece of black felt in one hand and a needle in the other. She’d left
the angry red burns on her right hand and arm open to the air after applying B&W before they’d left the house. An almost-finished
stuffed bunny lay in front of her. It just lacked one eye and a mouth. She looked up. “I found a sloth pattern in the basket
on the desk. I’ll start on one as soon as I give this little guy a face. Sloths are big right now. The tourists will love
them. The college girls will want them for their dorm rooms. They can hang them from their bunks—”
“Mamm, why didn’t you tell me someone wants to buy the farm?”
Mom frowned. Her shoulders hunched. “Because I told the man no and I meant no. No need to waste air talking about it.”
“Apparently he didn’t get the message.” Bonnie jabbed her thumb toward the door. “He’s out there and he wants to talk to me
about it.”
“Apparently he doesn’t understand how a Plain family works.”
“Meaning the decision is yours.”
“With your dat being gone, jah, it is. I own the property. Whatever your onkels may think.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I told Uri about it, and he thought I should consider it.”
“You told Onkel Uri and not me? I’ve lived in that house my whole life.”
“And one day you’ll move into a house with your mann. I’ll be alone there.” Mom said it without the slightest tremor in her voice, but her shoulders sank a little more. “Uri thinks I should sell so we have a nest egg. We can move in with him or one of your other onkels or aenties. He says they don’t have time to work our land. It’s valuable, and it’s sitting fallow.”
“He said all that and you didn’t tell me?” Was it her pride or her feelings that were hurt? Bonnie picked up a paisley-print
elephant Mom had finished. Her stitches were so neat, so perfect. Even better than Opal’s. Bonnie fought the urge to clutch
the soft, huggable animal to her chest like the sad five-year-old who hadn’t wanted to go to school because she would miss
her imaginary friends. They didn’t notice her walker and always let her pick the games they played. They never left her out.
“Why wouldn’t you talk it out with me? I thought we talked about everything.”
Hadn’t they become more like friends as Bonnie grew into adulthood? Especially since Dad’s death. Hadn’t caregiving become
a two-way street?
“I didn’t want to worry you.” Mom laid her needle on the table. She returned the spool of black thread to its spot with its
matching bobbin on the enormous wooden rack hanging on the wall above the table. A hundred-plus colors arranged in alphabetical
order made life a little easier for the seamstress. “You already worry about the weakness in your hands. I did confirm your
appointment for Monday. That way you won’t have to miss too much work. It’s our Sunday off so we can go to Strasburg Sunday
and come back on Tuesday.”
A shudder ran through Bonnie. The doctors, nurses, and all the staff at the clinic were wonderful, kind, caring people. Yet
dread foreshadowed every visit. Dr. Newcomb said it made Bonnie human. The truth was, it surely made her ungrateful in God’s
eyes. Forgive me, Gott, for being so weak and disrespectful of Your gifts. “It’s a sin to worry.”
An automatic response. Everyone did it instead of addressing their sin.
“Gott forgives our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
The familiar words of a prayer said by Plain people everywhere daily. “In the meantime, Mr. Knox is still loitering out there
saying who knows what to who knows whom.”
“You take care of your customers. I’ll send him on his way.” Mom stood. Her face tight with determination, she brushed past
Bonnie. “Nicely, of course. There’s never an excuse for being rude.”