Over the mantel hung a large painting of a fisherman wading in a mountain stream, and next to the fireplace stretched a floor-to-ceiling bookcase chock-full of books.
I ran my fingertips across the books’ spines. “They certainly own a lot of books about fly fishing, carpentry, and how to raise children.”
Beatrice sidled up next to me. “Many people don’t have large families the way we Catholics and Amish do. Some grow up knowing little about rearing children.”
I caught sight of the name Jane Austen on a book spine. I’d read it before, but I wouldn’t mind reading it again if I found nothing else. I pulled the book out to inspect the cover of Pride and Prejudice.
“That’s Rose’s section. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you read any of them as long as you returned the book in one piece.”
I slipped it back in next to The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. When I saw the title, my lungs refused to inhale. I felt light headed.
Beatrice said, “That’s the story of a wretched young woman who must wear an embroidered A on her chest because she was found guilty of adultery.”
I swallowed. “Yes. I read it years ago. I checked it out of the library without asking the librarian what it was about.” The novel had been on the public high school’s summer reading list tacked to the bulletin board.
“Then no need to read it again. I’m sure if there were a lesson to be learned, you’ve gleaned it.” Ach, she categorized me an adulteress?
My fingers found Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre.
“Rose named their dog Heath after Heathcliff, one of the characters in Wuthering Heights. Those two books might be a bit dark for a young lady living by herself, although Rose loves them.” I was surprised Beatrice had read so much, but I wouldn’t voice my opinion, which she might find judgmental. Because it was.
“How about Rebecca?” I pulled out another hardback.
“Rose told me that’s her favorite book, so I’d better not lend it out. But I’m sure all the rest would be fine.”
Beatrice brought out A Room with a View, a novel I’d never heard of. “There’s only one mildly violent scene in this delightful story by E. M. Forster. Parts of it take place in Florence, Italy, one of the most charming cities in the world.” She handed me the book.
I turned it over, hoping to scan a blurb on the back cover, but it was hardbound. “What’s the book about?” I asked.
“In short, it’s a romance set in Italy and England. And much more.” Her hand patted her heart. “I wish you could visit Tuscany. Every few years mio marito—my husband—and I would travel there for a week. But not anymore, now that he has passed on.” She blinked. “You’d better scoot off to bed, and don’t read too late.”
“Okay, thanks.” I covered my yawning mouth. “I can’t wait to climb into bed, put my feet up, and read.”
TWELVE
A rooster crowed, rousing me from slumber. For a moment I thought I was back in my childhood home, but I would have recognized our rooster’s unique crowing, the way it dipped at the end.
I’d slept fitfully after reading A Room with a View for an hour. I’d extinguished the lantern, lain in the darkness, and contemplated visiting Florence, where everyone spoke Italian and no one knew about me or my past. Of course, I never could. Not by jet, anyway. Flying was forbidden by the Ordnung. On an ocean liner, then? No. What was I thinking?
I’d finally turned the lantern back on, opened my Bible, and searched for words of comfort in the book of Psalms until my eyes grew dry. After turning out the light, I repeated Psalm 4:8. “I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, LORD, only makest me dwell in safety.”
But I had not felt safe because I’d tossed for hours. Proof positive was my sheets and quilt askew and half off the bed in the morning.
A never-ending volley of worries had tangled through my mind as it attempted to come to grips with the fact I was living alone and managing a café. I was in over my head, like walking at the bottom of a pond. My future blurred. I’d pictured Jake’s father lying helpless after his comatose state, imagined the possibility of seeing Jake and being rejected again, and considered Mark’s invitation to the upcoming singing. Somewhere around two o’clock a dog barked. Or was it a coyote yapping or a bad dream? I still didn’t feel completely at ease with the dogs.
I must have eventually fallen asleep because sunlight filtered into the room and the clock by the bed pronounced it was already six thirty. I sat up with the feeling of dismay. Why hadn’t I prepared for today’s soup ahead of time? I should have humbled myself and asked for Beatrice’s input. But last night I couldn’t wait to flee the house, book in hand. She would no doubt mention my reading an Englisch romance to everyone she ran into and continue her mission to couple me with Mark. I had to ask myself why I was resisting his invitations. In a few hours I’d see him again in the café, along with Stephen and Sadie.
If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought someone was pounding a nail into my forehead. Ach, a headache, probably caused by lack of sleep or a sinus infection. I knew from experience that the best way to rid myself of the pain was to elevate my head. I forced myself to a sitting position. If Mamm were here, she’d offer me essential oils in steamy water to breathe. I sighed as I told myself those days were over. I was on
