Restless Hearts. Marta Perry

      “I’m sure we can.” Emma picked up one of the pieces, examining it closely. “The workmanship is very fine, uh-huh. Did you make it yourself?”

      Fiona shook her head. “It’s all I can do to sew a button on. These were given to me. I was told that my mother made them.”

      “Ah.” Emma’s look of sympathy said she understood. “Then very special the quilt will be for you.”

      “Yes.” She willed away the lump in her throat. “It will be very special.”

      One of the older women rose from the quilting frame. She walked toward them, her faded blue eyes magnified by the thick glasses she wore. She reached for the quilt pieces, turning them over in work-worn hands.

      Emma said something in the low German that Fiona had learned was the common tongue of the Amish. For a moment the older woman stood frozen. Then she said something that made Emma give an audible gasp.

      Their expressions startled Fiona. “Emma, is something wrong?”

      Emma shook her head, not looking up. Then, so quickly Fiona hardly understood what was happening, all three women folded up their work and scurried away without a word.

      By evening, Fiona was feeling thoroughly exasperated with all things Amish. Ruth had had no explanation for what happened and seemed as mystified by the women’s behavior as Fiona. She’d promised to talk to Emma and try to smooth things over as soon as she could.

      But that hadn’t been the worst of it. The carpenters had left for lunch as usual, but they hadn’t come back. They hadn’t sent word, either. They were just gone, with tools left lying where they’d put them down.

      Clearly she’d offended someone, but how, she didn’t know. She’d have been happy to apologize for whatever it was, but since she couldn’t get in touch with any of them that was impossible.

      She walked slowly from one unfinished room to another. What if they didn’t come back? Panic touched her. Would she be able to find someone else to finish the work? She pulled her cardigan tighter around her. She’d had her share of feeling isolated and helpless in her life, and she didn’t like the sensation.

      A knock on the door came as a relief. At last, maybe someone was coming to explain. She yanked the door open to find Ted on her porch, frowning down at her.

      “We have to talk,” he said.

      She nodded, stood back for him to enter, and gestured down the hall. “Come back to the kitchen. It’s the only finished room downstairs.”

      She followed him down the hallway, his tall frame blocking out the dim light she had left on in the office. Reaching the kitchen, she switched the light on and the room sprang to life.

      Originally it had been one of those huge, inconvenient rooms that had probably given the cook fallen arches, but at some point it had been renovated. Now the stove, sink and refrigerator made a convenient work triangle, and her few dishes were arranged in the closest of the glass-fronted cabinets.

      She started to offer Ted a seat, but he’d already planted large fists on the round pine table. And he didn’t look as if he planned to sit down and relax any time soon. He wore jeans and a blue sweater that made his eyes even bluer, but from the way he leaned toward her, he didn’t seem any less intimidating than when he wore the uniform.

      He didn’t need to glare at her as if she’d committed a cardinal sin. A little flare of anger warmed her.

      “You may as well stop looking at me that way. I’ve obviously made a mistake and offended someone, but I don’t have the slightest idea what I’ve done.” She folded her arms.

      Ted’s face was at its most wooden. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Hannah Stolzfus’s daughter?”

      For a moment she could only stare at him. How could he—“How do you know that? I didn’t tell anyone here.”

      “It’s true, then? You’re actually her child?” The passion in his voice reverberated through the room.

      She hugged herself tighter as if to shield herself from him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, my mother’s name was Hannah Stolzfus. She died shortly after I was born, so I never knew her, but I’ve seen the birth certificate. That was her name.”

      His jaw seemed to harden, if that was possible. “Why did you come here?”

      She looked at him blankly. “You already know why I came here. To open my practice. What on earth is going on? Why did those women walk out of Ruth’s today after they saw my quilt pieces? Why did the carpenters leave?”

      “You really don’t understand, do you?” Frustration edged his tone.

      “Understand what?” She had plenty of her own frustration to go around. “Why is everyone talking in riddles?”

      “All right. No riddles.” His hands pressed against the table so hard it might collapse under his weight. “Just straightforward English words. Emma Brandt is the younger sister of Hannah Stolzfus. And the older woman who looked at those quilt pieces and recognized them is her mother, Louise Stolzfus.”

      Her mother, Louise Stolzfus. My grandmother. She could say the words in her head, but not out loud. She tried to stop the inward shaking that she couldn’t let him see.

      “I didn’t know.” She spaced the words out clearly. “Don’t you understand? I had no idea anyone would recognize those quilt pieces. No idea that Emma Brandt was any relation to my mother. No idea that my mother’s family was even still around here.”

      Ted obviously wasn’t convinced. He straightened, folding his arms. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

      “I don’t expect anything of you!” She snapped the words and immediately regretted it. Getting angry at Ted wouldn’t help matters any.

      Please, Lord, help me deal with this—with him—in the right way.

      “Look, I’m sorry.” She thrust her hand into her hair, shoving it back from her face. “Can’t we talk about this sensibly, instead of sniping at each other?”

      His eyes were watchful, but he jerked a reluctant nod. “All right. Talk.”

      She frowned, trying to get her mind around everything he’d said. “Are you sure about this? Emma is surely too young to be my mother’s sister. Maybe it’s a different family altogether.”

      Some of the harshness seemed to go out of his face. “I’m sure. Amish families are often spread out over a lot of years. Hannah was the eldest, fifteen years older than Emma, who is the youngest.”

      “I see.” She had to admit he seemed sure of his facts. “Even if what you say is true, I’m not sure what all the fuss is about. I’m sorry for startling them with the quilt, and obviously I’ll get someone else to finish it for me.”

      “And you think that will resolve the problem?” He looked at her as if she were a creature from another planet.

      The anger flickered again, but under it was a desolation she wouldn’t give in to.

      “I don’t know what else I can do or say. I didn’t come here looking for my mother’s family, and I don’t particularly want anything to do with them. Maybe we can just chalk it up to an unfortunate coincidence and get on with our lives.”

      Ted had to remind himself that a city-bred creature like Fiona had no idea what she was talking about when it came to family relationships in a place like Crossroads. He’d pity her, if her coming wasn’t creating such a problem for people he cared about, people he had to protect.

      “Did you actually think you could come here and not run into your mother’s family? Why else would you pick Crossroads Township to settle in, if not to find them?”

      She shrugged, hugging her slim frame as if she needed protection from