The Fiddler by Beverly Lewis Page B

now, trusting God that all would go well for Michael and his family.
    A clip-clop ping from outside led her to glance toward the window—a horse-drawn buggy was coming down the road. She rose and watched curiously. The speed of the trotting horse brought the carriage closer more quickly than she had anticipated. Now she was peering down at a young Amish couple with a babe in arms and four small children sitting in back. Two little girls leaned their chubby arms out, looking very happy on this laid-back day.
    Imagine traveling together all bunched up like that. The girls looked nearly identical—were they twins? She recalled several sets of twins in one family up the road from her grandparents’ old farmhouse. Grammy had once told her that she’d known seven sets of twins from that area, which had made a big impression on young Amelia.
    She watched the boxlike buggy go up Hickory Lane, feeling a bit strange about spying from her high perch. The sun cast its radiance over the carriage, causing the gray to look nearly silver.
    She wiggled her bare toes against the hand-braided rug on the wooden floor. The homey scent of a chocolate cake baking drifted up from the kitchen below. The slow, lazy pace of the day lulled her—so perfectly relaxing.
    Giving in to the peace, Amelia leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She thought of Michael’s remark about Providence. Maybe I was supposed to get stuck in the storm last night.

Chapter 14
     

     
    J oanna’s eyes twinkled when she returned with a stack of colorful piecework for a quilt she planned to make with the women of her family. “We’re passing on the art of quilting to the young girls in the Hollow,” she said as Amelia ran her fingers over some of the more intricate designs. “My school-age nieces have already learned to make simple knotted coverlets for their dollies.”
    “Did you teach your nieces?” Amelia was taken by Joanna’s obvious devotion to them and to her nephews. Surely she would have many children someday, like most Amish.
    Joanna happily nodded. “I’d rather quilt than do most anything.” Then she stopped. “Well, not more than write stories.”
    Amelia asked more about her stories, but it was quickly apparent when Joanna changed the subject back to quilting that she did not wish to share more about her writing. So Amelia listened as Joanna told about the upcoming quilting bees.
    Then, later, when there was a break in the conversation, Amelia asked, “Should we watch for Michael to return?” She didn’t want to sound in a hurry to leave, nor did she wish to be rude, but she also didn’t want to wear out her welcome. The truth was, she enjoyed Joanna’s company.
    “Ach, he’ll throw a pebble up at the window . . . if he doesn’t see us outdoors,” Joanna assured her.
    Glancing at the open window, Amelia guessed he might also hear them talking. “It’s been wonderful getting to know you, Joanna,” she said, “but I don’t want to keep you from your work.”
    “ Puh! I’ll catch up—I always do.” Joanna began to lay out the squares on her bed. “Here, would ya like to arrange them, just for fun?”
    For fun . . . There it was again. Amelia so rarely took time to relax—really she should be rehearsing her newest pieces even now. “Sure, let’s do it.” And she began to move the squares around, creating a design that pleased her.
    When she finished, Joanna went to get a disposable camera and snapped a picture of the design. “We don’t take pictures of each other, but it does help to have some of the quilt patterns.” She smiled.
    “Great idea.” Amelia stood back and eyed her pattern. “I think I could get used to creating such lovely quilts.”
    “Well, it’d be nice if you came to visit in the wintertime, then. There are lots of work frolics goin’ on when the soil’s resting.”
    “I’d like that,” Amelia said before even thinking.
    “Well, you could stay now, too, if you’d like. At least