The Wedding Quilt Bride. Marta Perry

problem, something he didn’t know about in her time away or in her marriage?

      He’d best mind his tongue and keep his thoughts on business, he told himself. He was the last person to know anything about marriage, and that was the way he wanted it. Or if not wanted, he corrected himself honestly, at least the way it had to be.

      “I guess we should get busy measuring for all these things, so I’ll know what I’m buying when I go to the mill.” Pulling out his steel measure, he focused on the boy. “Mind helping me by holding one end of this, Lige?”

      The boy hesitated for a moment, studying him as if looking at the question from all angles. Then he nodded, taking a few steps toward Daniel, who couldn’t help feeling a little spurt of triumph.

      Carefully, not wanting to spook Lige, Daniel held out an end of the tape. “If you’ll hold this end right here on the corner, I’ll measure the whole wall. Then we can see how many racks we’ll be able to put up.”

      Rebecca, who had taken a step forward as if to interfere, stopped and nodded at her son. “That’s right. You can help with getting our shop ready.”

      Daniel measured, checking a second time before writing the figures down in his notebook. His gaze slid toward Lige again. It wondered him how the boy came to be so quiet and solemn. He certain sure wasn’t like his mammi had been when she was young. Could be he was still having trouble adjusting to his daadi’s dying, he supposed.

      “Okay, gut. Now, you let the end go, and I’ll show you how it pops back to me. Ready?” Lige put his end on the floor and took a cautious step away, as if not sure what to expect.

      “Now.” Daniel pushed the button, and the steel measure came zooming back, rerolling itself. “There. Did you ever use one of these before?”

      Lige shook his head and hurried over to Daniel without hesitation. “Can we do it some more?”

      “Sure thing. Let’s measure how wide the window is, because we wouldn’t want a quilt to cover it, would we?”

      Without being told, Lige pulled the end out so that they could measure the width of the windowsill. When they’d finished, Daniel held out the tape measure to the boy. “Do you want to roll it up this time?”

      Lige came eagerly, his shyness of Daniel forgotten. Daniel put his large hand over the boy’s small one, showing him the button. “Now, push.”

      Lige did, and the tape measure performed its vanishing trick again. He looked up at Daniel, and the sight Daniel had been looking for appeared. It was tentative and a little stiff, but it was a genuine smile.

      “Did you see, Mammi? I did it all by myself.”

      “Yah, I saw.” Some of the color had come back into Rebecca’s pale cheeks, and she met Daniel’s gaze with one that was so filled with fierce maternal love that it startled him. “Denke, Daniel.”

      He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

      Somehow that simple incident seemed to dissolve much of the strangeness between them. They worked their way around the room, measuring and talking about what she wanted in the shop, until finally Daniel squatted down and put his notebook on his knee to figure out an estimate.

      He stole a covert glance at Rebecca, who was saying something to her son. He hadn’t missed the slight apprehension in her face when he’d talked about the supplies they’d need. Was the money a problem?

      It shouldn’t be, not if she’d just sold a thriving farm, but how did he know? He’d do the work gladly for nothing in the name of their old friendship, but he knew Rebecca wouldn’t hear of it. That steely independence of hers was new, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it.

      Finally he had an approximate materials cost worked out. He stood, catching that trace of apprehension in her eyes.

      “How much will it cost to do what I want?”

      In answer, he held out the notebook page. “That’s an approximate guess as to the cost of the materials. Unless the mill has upped its prices for a board foot,” he said. “Just joking,” he added quickly, not sure she was in the mood for humor.

      “But that’s not including your work,” she said. “I should give you the whole amount...”

      “Not up front,” he said, interrupting her. “You pay for the initial materials, so I can start. Then you can pay my labor when the job is finished.” Seeing the objection rising in her face, he added firmly, “That’s how it’s always done, Rebecca. If that outlay for materials is more than you can manage at one time, we can always break the job into smaller units.”

      “No, no, that’s okay.” She opened a small bag and began counting out the money into his hand.

      He didn’t miss the fact that there was very little left in the bag when she was done, and it troubled him. But when she looked up at him with the smile he remembered, it chased other thoughts away.

      “I’ll go to the mill first thing tomorrow, and then I can start work in the afternoon.” He glanced at Lige. “You’ll bring my helper back, ain’t so?”

      The boy’s smile rewarded him. “Can I, Mammi?” He tugged on her apron.

      “Yah, as long as you listen to Daniel and do just as he says.”

      “I will. I promise.”

      “Sehr gut,” Daniel said. “Tomorrow then.” Shouldering his tool bag, he headed out.

      Rebecca and her son followed him to the porch and stood there, watching him go. As he cut across the field toward home, he took a quick look back and again was assailed by that sense of something he didn’t understand. The two of them looked oddly lonely, standing there on the porch of that decrepit house.

      Rebecca was home, but he sensed she had brought some troubles with her. As for him...well, he didn’t have answers. He just had a lot of questions.

      * * *

      Supper in Leah’s kitchen was a lively time, with the long table surrounded by cheerful faces—Leah, Sam, their children, her mamm and daad, and now her and Lige. Lige, sitting next to her, had been engrossed in looking from one to another during the meal, his small face gradually relaxing as he realized all the chatter was normal and accepted.

      It had been normal when she was growing up, as well. It never would have occurred to any of her siblings that their contributions wouldn’t be welcome. But life with James, especially after his accident, had been another story entirely.

      At least Lige was beginning to lose the tension that told her so clearly he was waiting for an explosion. He actually laughed at something one of his cousins said, and she breathed a silent prayer of thanks.

      With the last crumb of apple crisp consumed and the silent prayer at the end of the meal said, the boys began getting up from the table to do their chores. Sam, who’d been saying something to Daad, glanced up as they headed out the door.

      “Joshua.” He raised his voice to call his eldest back.

      And Lige cringed, wincing back in his chair, his face strained and fearful.

      No one moved. Rebecca could hear their indrawn breaths, could see the comprehension dawning on the faces of the adults. Rebecca bent over Lige, speaking softly.

      “Hush now. It’s all right. Onkel Sam just wants to tell Joshua something.”

      Leah seemed to get a grip on herself first. “Yah, he wants to tell Joshua to take Lige out with him and let him help. Ain’t so, Sam?”

      “For sure,” Sam said.

      Kindhearted Joshua came and squatted down by Lige’s seat. “Want to komm help me feed the buggy horses? You can measure the oats, yah?” He spoke softly, holding out his hand to Lige.

      Lige looked up at her, as if asking for guidance.

      “You’ll