in her lifetime, crafting items to sell had been her salvation—in a personal sense if not a religious one.
But it was art . And art for decoration—art for art’s sake—was forbidden in the Amish culture because it called attention to the artist.
On impulse, Nora grabbed two more bolts of fabric—a vibrant pink, red, and orange plaid and a calico of muted red shamrocks on a beige background. She could envision cape dresses with matching aprons she would wear when she opened her shop. Such un-Amish prints wouldn’t be suitable while she tried to reconcile with her family, but this new clothing would fit the woman Nora thought she could become, given a chance.
When Mary had rung up the other customers’ purchases, she joined Nora at the cutting table. “I can’t wait to tell Eva and Priss about your idea for a store,” she said as she measured the fabrics. “If you’ll jot down your phone number, I’ll tell our friends at church tomorrow, too. I bet you’ll get calls from folks all over mid-Missouri once word goes out, on account of how there are so few places to sell our work, aside from our own little shops.”
“I can’t wait to get going on this store now,” Nora replied as she grabbed paper and a pen from her purse. “But it’s going to take a lot of cleaning. I’ll need shelves and display tables, and—”
“Many hands make light work,” Mary reminded her. “Seems only right that anybody wantin’ to consign pieces to your new store should have a hand in gettin’ it ready. Set some dates and times. Ya might be surprised at who-all shows up.”
Nora’s mouth dropped open. Half an hour ago she’d ventured into this shop, and she was leaving with a contact list and a store preparation plan she believed would work. “I can’t thank you enough for your help, Mary,” she said as she paid for her supplies.
Mary handed over Nora’s bulging sack with a bright smile. “I wish ya all the best, Nora—with your family and your new store, as well,” she said. “And if you’d like to meet some of those folks I was tellin’ ya about, our church is right out there on the road that runs past my Zeb’s auction barn. We’d love to have ya.”
And wasn’t that a pleasant surprise? While outsiders occasionally attended Amish weddings or funerals, Nora had never known an Amish person to invite anyone except members of the Old Order to worship with them.
“I might just show up one of these Sundays,” Nora replied. “I could use some help from higher up, that’s for sure.”
“‘And from whence cometh my help? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth,’” Mary paraphrased as she gently grasped Nora’s wrist. “You’ll figure that out eventually, Nora, just like you’ll figure out where ya fit in. Really ya will.”
Nora nodded, fervently hoping Mary Schrock was right.
As she hurried home with her purchases, Nora felt certain she could make a go of a consignment store. When she entered her kitchen through the back door, the house’s relative coolness felt good after the heat outside. Hiram had built this home on a hill to catch the breeze from the river, and its well-placed windows allowed her to create a cross current by opening them in the basement as well as on the first and second levels.
When she’d raised her upstairs windows, Nora went into the room she’d chosen as her studio—it had a fabulous view of the river and the mill. As she opened a couple of big cardboard boxes, it was almost like Christmas in July, seeing the hangings she’d packed away.
Nora carried her pieces downstairs, arranging them on the backs of her sofas and chairs so she could remember what she’d made and decide on new items to design for her store. It was no coincidence that the people on her pieces were Plain. She’d harkened back to her early years for inspiration, so these quilted, appliquéd pieces featured buggies and little Amish boys and girls because those subjects
But it was art . And art for decoration—art for art’s sake—was forbidden in the Amish culture because it called attention to the artist.
On impulse, Nora grabbed two more bolts of fabric—a vibrant pink, red, and orange plaid and a calico of muted red shamrocks on a beige background. She could envision cape dresses with matching aprons she would wear when she opened her shop. Such un-Amish prints wouldn’t be suitable while she tried to reconcile with her family, but this new clothing would fit the woman Nora thought she could become, given a chance.
When Mary had rung up the other customers’ purchases, she joined Nora at the cutting table. “I can’t wait to tell Eva and Priss about your idea for a store,” she said as she measured the fabrics. “If you’ll jot down your phone number, I’ll tell our friends at church tomorrow, too. I bet you’ll get calls from folks all over mid-Missouri once word goes out, on account of how there are so few places to sell our work, aside from our own little shops.”
“I can’t wait to get going on this store now,” Nora replied as she grabbed paper and a pen from her purse. “But it’s going to take a lot of cleaning. I’ll need shelves and display tables, and—”
“Many hands make light work,” Mary reminded her. “Seems only right that anybody wantin’ to consign pieces to your new store should have a hand in gettin’ it ready. Set some dates and times. Ya might be surprised at who-all shows up.”
Nora’s mouth dropped open. Half an hour ago she’d ventured into this shop, and she was leaving with a contact list and a store preparation plan she believed would work. “I can’t thank you enough for your help, Mary,” she said as she paid for her supplies.
Mary handed over Nora’s bulging sack with a bright smile. “I wish ya all the best, Nora—with your family and your new store, as well,” she said. “And if you’d like to meet some of those folks I was tellin’ ya about, our church is right out there on the road that runs past my Zeb’s auction barn. We’d love to have ya.”
And wasn’t that a pleasant surprise? While outsiders occasionally attended Amish weddings or funerals, Nora had never known an Amish person to invite anyone except members of the Old Order to worship with them.
“I might just show up one of these Sundays,” Nora replied. “I could use some help from higher up, that’s for sure.”
“‘And from whence cometh my help? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth,’” Mary paraphrased as she gently grasped Nora’s wrist. “You’ll figure that out eventually, Nora, just like you’ll figure out where ya fit in. Really ya will.”
Nora nodded, fervently hoping Mary Schrock was right.
As she hurried home with her purchases, Nora felt certain she could make a go of a consignment store. When she entered her kitchen through the back door, the house’s relative coolness felt good after the heat outside. Hiram had built this home on a hill to catch the breeze from the river, and its well-placed windows allowed her to create a cross current by opening them in the basement as well as on the first and second levels.
When she’d raised her upstairs windows, Nora went into the room she’d chosen as her studio—it had a fabulous view of the river and the mill. As she opened a couple of big cardboard boxes, it was almost like Christmas in July, seeing the hangings she’d packed away.
Nora carried her pieces downstairs, arranging them on the backs of her sofas and chairs so she could remember what she’d made and decide on new items to design for her store. It was no coincidence that the people on her pieces were Plain. She’d harkened back to her early years for inspiration, so these quilted, appliquéd pieces featured buggies and little Amish boys and girls because those subjects
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