Read Online The Amish Seamstress by Mindy Starns Clark - Free Book Online

“extreme Zed withdrawals.”
    If he only knew.
    He prescribed a program of frequent walks in the sunshine, saying it really was humanly possible “to be more than ten feet from your sewing machine and still manage to survive.” I smiled, even as his concern brought tears to my eyes. He ended the note with bit of a pep talk, saying:
    All kidding aside, I’m challenging you to push yourself beyond where you think you can go. Though you may not see it, you have an incredible inner strength and grace. It’s time for you to draw on that. Start pushing, Iz. Push yourself hard, and let God take it from there.
    Yours,
    Zed
    I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I tucked it away as food for thought. As the sun of September left, replaced by the gray days of October, which brought rain and then more rain, I realized I couldn’t put off leaving the house any longer. One especially dismal Monday morning, I decided it was past time for me to push myself and deliver the work I’d finished to my cousin Susie’s shop. Otherwise, I’d have no money to show for my efforts at all.
    She’d been having great success selling my work and had left several phone messages requesting more. I’d asked Daed to do the delivery for me, but he’d refused, saying it was my responsibility.
    I hitched the horse to the buggy, hunkering down in my cape as I did, and sped as quickly as I could into downtown Bird-in-Hand. The stop would be quick and efficient. Susie never had time to talk much, which was fine with me, and Mondays were probably extra busy. With my recent withdrawal from all but the most necessary of events, I already found myself the topic of too much conversation. I didn’t want to add any fuel to the gossip.
    Once I arrived, I tied my horse to the hitching post out front, flung the waterproof blanket over her back and secured it underneath, grabbed my bag of goods, and dashed up the stairs to the shop. I pushed againstthe door but it didn’t budge. I pushed again. Then I saw the sign. It simply read “Shut” with no time posted as to when Susie would return.
    I knocked. And then knocked again, louder. Susie didn’t come to the door. It wasn’t as if she were expecting me, but I sure didn’t want to have to come back. The last thing I felt like doing was to make the effort again tomorrow.
    Pulling my cape tight against the rain, I knocked a third time, hoping she didn’t plan to close the shop for good.
    Susie had been a widow and single mother for five years, supporting her two children with the shop until she remarried last year to a nice man named Carl. I stepped from the stoop toward my buggy. My horse bobbed her head, as if thanking me for being ready to go so soon.
    But then I turned and went around back, to where Susie’s house sat behind the shop, on the other side of a narrow alleyway.
    A soggy orange maple leaf fell through the air in front of me, then another. I slung my bag over my shoulder and then caught the third leaf dancing down, chased by the rain. I twirled the stem through my fingers, sending a splattering of water into the air, as I skirted along the lawn to the alley.
    I looked both ways and was halfway across when I spotted a car parked in Susie’s driveway—an old Toyota. I dropped the leaf, sure the vehicle belonged to Marta Bayer, Zed’s mother.
    I didn’t want to see Marta. She was always so perceptive, and I couldn’t bear the thought of her picking up on my feelings for her son. Turning abruptly, I hurried back toward the street.
    â€œIzzy?”
    I ducked my head against the rain and powered on as if I hadn’t heard.
    â€œIzzy? Is that you?” It was Marta sure enough, her concerned tone cutting through the storm.
    Next Susie’s sweet voice called out, “I was hoping you’d stop by soon!”
    Torn between fleeing and turning, I froze.
    â€œIzzy?” Marta’s voice was growing