left a man nowhere to hide—even in his own mind.
Eric banged his clay one last time and covered it next to the others. He straightened, and his gaze traveled around the barn, clearly seeking inspiration. Walls, beams, loft. Bench, stalls now empty of horses, wire enclosure that held crates instead of chickens. Lamps, green ware batter bowls, shelving, buckets of glaze.
Lamps. Batter bowls.
Henry’s eyebrows lifted as he saw the moment an idea kindled in the kid’s brain.
“We went to Williamsburg last summer,” Eric said slowly. “They had these lanterns with candles in them, made out of metal with holes in it.”
“Punched tin?” Henry asked.
“Yeah.” He glanced around. “Do you have a piece of paper?”
“Right here.” He handed the boy his sketchbook.
Eric’s hand was sure, and in a moment he’d completed a sketch. “What about this? How hard would this be?”
It looked something like a round butter dish, with a domed top and a flat bottom. But the top was cut out so that the light from the candle shone through.
“This is doable.” Henry took the pen and added a sketch below it. “You’d flatten a piece of clay, trim it, and drape it over a shaper of some kind—a mixing bowl, for instance. Then you’d cut out your design with a knife and let it dry. The plate for the bottom is easy. You could get the hang of it in a day or two. The trimming will be tricky, though, with all these internal edges. To say nothing of the glazing, when you get to that point.”
“He could dip it,” Caleb suggested. “Mammi dips fabric in dye when it isn’t the right color for her quilts.”
“Good point. Eric?”
“Is it—a good idea?” He looked from Henry to Caleb, as though inviting comment would net him criticism, or worse, laughter.
“The tourists would like it,” Caleb said. “There’s nothing like that at the market.”
“It’s straightforward, different, and useful,” Henry said. “I can’t see a committee turning it away out of hand.”
“And we could get it started—enough to take with me—by Wednesday?” Caleb kept his gaze on Henry for confirmation.
“ You could get it started. But you can’t waste any time.” Henry handed him the clay he’d just wedged, and dug a rolling pin out of one of the boxes under the bench. “So far today you’ve learned to make a bed and wedge clay. Ever tried to roll a piece of clay like a piecrust?”
Chapter 11
T he sun was barely up on Tuesday when Sarah pulled Dulcie to a halt in Jacob and Corinne’s yard. The air felt moist and quiet, the crunch of the wheels in the gravel louder than usual by contrast. Her in-laws’ horse and buggy had been lent to Zeke today, which Sarah expected. What she did not expect was only the one standing ready, the horse they usually took to church and on long errands quietly cropping the edges of the lawn.
If Zeke and Fannie King planned to do a little matchmaking between Amanda Yoder and Fannie’s cousin Silas, they were going to have to do a better job than this.
She got down, tied up Dulcie, and found Corinne and Fannie in the kitchen putting a lunch in the big cooler, which would ride in the back.
“Isn’t Silas taking Amanda over to Ruth’s?” she asked in a low tone, in case Amanda was within earshot. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed another buggy? I could have brought over Simon’s courting buggy last night.”
“I don’t know if she’d want to go all that way in an open one,” Fannie King said. “It looks like it might rain later.”
“It has a cover, and it’s nearly new. It’s very comfortable.”
“I don’t know that Amanda would be willing to make such a show, Sarah.” Corinne screwed the lid on a thermos of lemonade and stowed it in the cooler. “It’s better that she goes with Zeke and Fannie.”
“The two of them scrunched into the back of the family buggy? Silas won’t get much of a view of the country, will he?”
Fannie chuckled. “I don’t know as
Eric banged his clay one last time and covered it next to the others. He straightened, and his gaze traveled around the barn, clearly seeking inspiration. Walls, beams, loft. Bench, stalls now empty of horses, wire enclosure that held crates instead of chickens. Lamps, green ware batter bowls, shelving, buckets of glaze.
Lamps. Batter bowls.
Henry’s eyebrows lifted as he saw the moment an idea kindled in the kid’s brain.
“We went to Williamsburg last summer,” Eric said slowly. “They had these lanterns with candles in them, made out of metal with holes in it.”
“Punched tin?” Henry asked.
“Yeah.” He glanced around. “Do you have a piece of paper?”
“Right here.” He handed the boy his sketchbook.
Eric’s hand was sure, and in a moment he’d completed a sketch. “What about this? How hard would this be?”
It looked something like a round butter dish, with a domed top and a flat bottom. But the top was cut out so that the light from the candle shone through.
“This is doable.” Henry took the pen and added a sketch below it. “You’d flatten a piece of clay, trim it, and drape it over a shaper of some kind—a mixing bowl, for instance. Then you’d cut out your design with a knife and let it dry. The plate for the bottom is easy. You could get the hang of it in a day or two. The trimming will be tricky, though, with all these internal edges. To say nothing of the glazing, when you get to that point.”
“He could dip it,” Caleb suggested. “Mammi dips fabric in dye when it isn’t the right color for her quilts.”
“Good point. Eric?”
“Is it—a good idea?” He looked from Henry to Caleb, as though inviting comment would net him criticism, or worse, laughter.
“The tourists would like it,” Caleb said. “There’s nothing like that at the market.”
“It’s straightforward, different, and useful,” Henry said. “I can’t see a committee turning it away out of hand.”
“And we could get it started—enough to take with me—by Wednesday?” Caleb kept his gaze on Henry for confirmation.
“ You could get it started. But you can’t waste any time.” Henry handed him the clay he’d just wedged, and dug a rolling pin out of one of the boxes under the bench. “So far today you’ve learned to make a bed and wedge clay. Ever tried to roll a piece of clay like a piecrust?”
Chapter 11
T he sun was barely up on Tuesday when Sarah pulled Dulcie to a halt in Jacob and Corinne’s yard. The air felt moist and quiet, the crunch of the wheels in the gravel louder than usual by contrast. Her in-laws’ horse and buggy had been lent to Zeke today, which Sarah expected. What she did not expect was only the one standing ready, the horse they usually took to church and on long errands quietly cropping the edges of the lawn.
If Zeke and Fannie King planned to do a little matchmaking between Amanda Yoder and Fannie’s cousin Silas, they were going to have to do a better job than this.
She got down, tied up Dulcie, and found Corinne and Fannie in the kitchen putting a lunch in the big cooler, which would ride in the back.
“Isn’t Silas taking Amanda over to Ruth’s?” she asked in a low tone, in case Amanda was within earshot. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed another buggy? I could have brought over Simon’s courting buggy last night.”
“I don’t know if she’d want to go all that way in an open one,” Fannie King said. “It looks like it might rain later.”
“It has a cover, and it’s nearly new. It’s very comfortable.”
“I don’t know that Amanda would be willing to make such a show, Sarah.” Corinne screwed the lid on a thermos of lemonade and stowed it in the cooler. “It’s better that she goes with Zeke and Fannie.”
“The two of them scrunched into the back of the family buggy? Silas won’t get much of a view of the country, will he?”
Fannie chuckled. “I don’t know as
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