“You didn’t.” Her clipped reply wasn’t encouraging.
“If no one is ill or has died, why were you crying?”
“My reasons are my own.”
He shifted uncomfortably on the seat, feeling out of his depth but sure that his uncle would want him to try and aid her. “Some people say it helps to talk about your problems.”
“Well, some people are wrong.”
He sighed inwardly with relief. She didn’t want to pour out her troubles any more than he wanted to hear them. “I find that’s true. I’m glad you don’t wish to discuss it with me.”
Her eyes widened. “Then why did you offer?”
“My onkel tells me I need to work on my communication skills. He says it’s important for a business owner. I’m supposed to practice showing interest in people and become a better listener.”
“So you chose me to practice on?”
He caught a hint of anger in her tone. “No need to ruffle your feathers.”
“My feathers are not ruffled,” she said through gritted teeth, her eyes snapping with irritation.
“I’d say they are getting more ruffled by the second.”
“You are a rude man. We’re done talking.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest and turned back to the window.
She had no idea how glad he was to hear her say that. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what had made her cry in the first place. She stirred his curiosity, and that was unusual.
Twenty-five silent minutes later, Abner pulled to a stop in front of Mark’s uncle’s home. Mark tipped his hat to the woman and got out. She didn’t even glance his way. To his mind, she was the one being rude.
His uncle’s advice was harder to put into practice than he expected it to be.
* * *
The following day, Mark stayed busy in his uncle’s workshop until early evening. Although he had been put in charge by his uncle and oversaw the day-to-day operations of the business, it was carving that Mark enjoyed the most. He was putting the finishing touches on a mantelpiece depicting foxes at play in the woods when his uncle stopped beside him.
As Mark had hoped, his uncle had been pleased with the success of his trip. He had omitted telling him about the woman on the bus, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been successful in that endeavor. He kept going over their conversations trying to pinpoint what he’d done wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Time to close up shop, Mark. Ah, I see you’re almost done with the mantel. This is goot work. If you decide not to open your own business, I’d be happy to keep you on here. You have a rare God-given talent.”
“Danki, but I will stick to my plan.”
“I felt sure you would say that. Don’t let your supper get cold.”
“I’ll be along in a few minutes.” Mark ran his hand along the surface of his project, satisfied with the way it had turned out. All that was left was to stain the oak wood the color the customer wanted. It was one of his better pieces, although he was a long way from being a master carver the way his cousin Samuel and coworker Adam Knepp were.
A short time later, he entered the front door of his uncle’s home and saw his brother, Paul, waiting with a big grin on his face.
“Your fair Angela has written you another love letter, bruder. Will you read it aloud to us tonight?”
Mark ignored his brother and picked up the letter addressed to him from the top of the mail piled on the end of the kitchen counter. Despite his foolish younger brother’s suggestion, Mark knew it wasn’t a love letter. Angela was too practical for such nonsense. Their relationship was based on respect and the knowledge that their marriage would be mutually beneficial to both their families.
He slipped the letter into his pocket to read later and hung his straw hat on one of the pegs by the kitchen door. Seven identical Amish hats were already lined up. His uncle, his five cousins and his brother had come in earlier. Mark had lingered behind making sure the lights were off in the workshop, checking on the orders for the next workday and making certain the generator had enough fuel to start up again when they needed it. His uncle had placed Mark in charge of the business for the last three months of his apprenticeship. He was determined to show his uncle his faith wasn’t misplaced.
“Leave off teasing Mark and sit down for supper,” Anna Bowman said, carrying a steaming pot of roast beef and vegetables to the kitchen table using her folded black apron as a hot pad for her hands.
“I can’t leave off teasing him, Aenti Anna. It’s Gott’s will that I annoy my big brother since Mark annoys the rest of us. He has become a tyrant.”
“I never ask anyone to do more than I can do myself.” Mark pulled out a chair and took his place at the long table. His uncle Isaac sat at the head of the table with his oldest son, Samuel, at his right hand. The rest of Isaac’s sons were arranged according to age down the length of the table with Mark and Paul taking up the last two chairs. The wives and daughters of Mark’s cousins were seated on the opposite side, all in plain Amish dresses with their black work aprons and white prayer kapps. It made a big family gathering when everyone was home. The room was filled with chatter and the clinking of dishes along with the pleasant aromas of the stew, cornbread muffins and hot coffee.
Anna surveyed the table and then took her place at the foot. The noise died away. Isaac bowed his head, and everyone did the same, reciting the blessing in silence. When Isaac raised his head, signaling the prayer was finished, the business turned to eating. The talk was minimal
