Taylor stood in the closet doorway, her light brown
hair forming a wispy halo around a face still groggy with sleep. Her flannel pajamas
were bright pink with some sort of white cartoon cat on them, and she held a well-loved
stuffed dog. “Mornin’ to ya, honey-bug. Did ya sleep gut after ya heard ya didn’t have school today?”
Taylor nodded sleepily, glancing at the fabrics Rhoda had chosen. “Whatcha doin’?
Gram brought all this stuff when she moved in with us, couple of years ago.”
“And did she sew lots of perty clothes, back before she had her stroke?” It wouldn’t
do to be nosy, but Betty’s granddaughter would have quick answers to things that didn’t
add up . . . like why, for instance, most of the clothing hanging in Betty’s other
closet looked dull and shapeless and, well . . . depressing.
Taylor shrugged. “She wore sweats mostly, after PawPaw died. Didn’t come out of her
room a lot, ’coz she and Mommy didn’t get along too good.”
And wasn’t that a sad situation for two young children to witness? And for Andy to
be caught in the middle—tryin’ to keep his wife happy while doin’ the right thing,
givin’ his widowed mamm a home? From what she’d seen of English ways, it seemed the generations of their
families often lived separate lives, splintered off from each other like strips of
bark fallen off the family tree.
“So . . . was Gram gonna make clothes from these wild designs?” Taylor reached into
a bin of colorful fabrics to get a better look at them.
Rhoda decided to take this conversation a bit further while Betty was still in the
shower. “Does that surprise ya, that she used to sew up such bright, perty pieces?”
“Jah,” the girl murmured, unaware that she’d picked up on some Amish dialect. “Look at that
awesome purple with the bright pink polka dots, Rhoda! Now, can’t you see me wearing that instead of Gram?”
Rhoda chuckled. “Maybe if ya ask her real nice, she’d let ya have that piece.”
An exasperated sigh escaped the girl. “But I don’t know how to sew!”
“Hmmmm,” Rhoda said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “But someone in this closet does. Maybe if ya asked her real nice—”
“You mean it, Rhoda? You’d make me a dress from that? Pretty pleeeease?”
Rhoda’s heart swelled as she held up the polka-dot fabric. “If ya don’t want a lot
of pleats or ruffles or what-not—”
“Yuck! Not ruffles!”
“—there’s enough here for a dress or a jumper, jah . But you’re askin’ Gram about that before ya get your heart set on it, ain’t so?”
Taylor’s head bobbed happily.
“And if you’ll be in charge of breakfast for you and your brother—and keep him outta
here while I’m dressin’ your gram—I’ll be happy to sew ya something,” Rhoda replied.
“But your gram’s dresses come first, so she can start to dress herself of a morning.
She’s all excited about gettin’ new clothes, ya see.”
The little girl’s eyebrows rose slowly. “So . . . how will you know what size to make
them? And how to sew the kind of dress she wants?”
“Truth be told, she asked for a Plain-style dress like I’m wearin’, so she can snap
it shut in the front.” Rhoda pointed to the way her own dress was pinned beneath her
vee-shaped cape. She watched Taylor’s reaction to that, considering that most English
women wouldn’t ask for an Amish dress even if it was an easier style to fasten. “She
wants aprons, too. Her own mamm wore them to do her housework, and an apron’ll keep her dress cleaner when she eats,
too.”
“That would be a good thing,” Taylor replied matter-of-factly. “She tries real hard,
but sometimes the fork doesn’t stay in her hand, or she can’t keep the food in her
mouth too good.” Her brows puckered. “I thought Amish ladies didn’t wear bright colors
or designs.”
“Well, I wear brighter solid colors in the summer than this
hair forming a wispy halo around a face still groggy with sleep. Her flannel pajamas
were bright pink with some sort of white cartoon cat on them, and she held a well-loved
stuffed dog. “Mornin’ to ya, honey-bug. Did ya sleep gut after ya heard ya didn’t have school today?”
Taylor nodded sleepily, glancing at the fabrics Rhoda had chosen. “Whatcha doin’?
Gram brought all this stuff when she moved in with us, couple of years ago.”
“And did she sew lots of perty clothes, back before she had her stroke?” It wouldn’t
do to be nosy, but Betty’s granddaughter would have quick answers to things that didn’t
add up . . . like why, for instance, most of the clothing hanging in Betty’s other
closet looked dull and shapeless and, well . . . depressing.
Taylor shrugged. “She wore sweats mostly, after PawPaw died. Didn’t come out of her
room a lot, ’coz she and Mommy didn’t get along too good.”
And wasn’t that a sad situation for two young children to witness? And for Andy to
be caught in the middle—tryin’ to keep his wife happy while doin’ the right thing,
givin’ his widowed mamm a home? From what she’d seen of English ways, it seemed the generations of their
families often lived separate lives, splintered off from each other like strips of
bark fallen off the family tree.
“So . . . was Gram gonna make clothes from these wild designs?” Taylor reached into
a bin of colorful fabrics to get a better look at them.
Rhoda decided to take this conversation a bit further while Betty was still in the
shower. “Does that surprise ya, that she used to sew up such bright, perty pieces?”
“Jah,” the girl murmured, unaware that she’d picked up on some Amish dialect. “Look at that
awesome purple with the bright pink polka dots, Rhoda! Now, can’t you see me wearing that instead of Gram?”
Rhoda chuckled. “Maybe if ya ask her real nice, she’d let ya have that piece.”
An exasperated sigh escaped the girl. “But I don’t know how to sew!”
“Hmmmm,” Rhoda said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “But someone in this closet does. Maybe if ya asked her real nice—”
“You mean it, Rhoda? You’d make me a dress from that? Pretty pleeeease?”
Rhoda’s heart swelled as she held up the polka-dot fabric. “If ya don’t want a lot
of pleats or ruffles or what-not—”
“Yuck! Not ruffles!”
“—there’s enough here for a dress or a jumper, jah . But you’re askin’ Gram about that before ya get your heart set on it, ain’t so?”
Taylor’s head bobbed happily.
“And if you’ll be in charge of breakfast for you and your brother—and keep him outta
here while I’m dressin’ your gram—I’ll be happy to sew ya something,” Rhoda replied.
“But your gram’s dresses come first, so she can start to dress herself of a morning.
She’s all excited about gettin’ new clothes, ya see.”
The little girl’s eyebrows rose slowly. “So . . . how will you know what size to make
them? And how to sew the kind of dress she wants?”
“Truth be told, she asked for a Plain-style dress like I’m wearin’, so she can snap
it shut in the front.” Rhoda pointed to the way her own dress was pinned beneath her
vee-shaped cape. She watched Taylor’s reaction to that, considering that most English
women wouldn’t ask for an Amish dress even if it was an easier style to fasten. “She
wants aprons, too. Her own mamm wore them to do her housework, and an apron’ll keep her dress cleaner when she eats,
too.”
“That would be a good thing,” Taylor replied matter-of-factly. “She tries real hard,
but sometimes the fork doesn’t stay in her hand, or she can’t keep the food in her
mouth too good.” Her brows puckered. “I thought Amish ladies didn’t wear bright colors
or designs.”
“Well, I wear brighter solid colors in the summer than this