LITMIR.BIZ

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from the Amish farmers to the senior citizen bus tours. No good Pennsylvania Dutchman ever turned down profit.”

      Fiona glanced at the woman’s print dress. “You’re not Amish, I take it?”

      “Mennonite. First cousins to the Amish, you bet.” She brushed the full skirt. “You can tell by the clothes. You’ll soon get onto it.” The bell on the door tinkled, and she gestured toward the archway. “I’ll just get that. Go on through and check out the other section. I’ve got some lovely quilts and handmade chests if you’re looking to furnish your house local.”

      She hadn’t thought of that, but obviously it would be good public relations to buy some of what she needed locally. She walked through the archway. The rag rugs would be beautiful against the hardwood once the floors were cleaned and polished. And—

      She rounded the end of the aisle and lost her train of thought. The back part of this area was a large, well-lit workroom. Finished quilts lined the walls, their colors and patterns striking.

      Two Amish women bent over a quilt frame, apparently putting the finishing touches to a quilt whose vibrant colors glowed against their dark, plain dresses. Another sat at a treadle sewing machine. All three glanced at her briefly and then lowered their eyes, as if it were impolite to stare.

      But she was the one who was being impolite, unable to tear her gaze away. Was that what her mother would have looked like now, if she hadn’t run away, if she hadn’t died? Dark dress, dark apron, hair parted in the center and pulled back beneath a white cap, seeming to belong in another century?

      “Looks like plenty of work is being done in here.” The voice from behind startled her into an involuntary movement. Ted nodded coolly and strolled past her to lean over the quilt on the frame.

      “Another Double Wedding Ring? Haven’t you made enough of those in the last year, Em?”

      The woman he spoke to surprised Fiona by laughing up at him in what could only be described as a flirtatious way. “That’s what the English want, Ted Rittenhouse. You know that well, you do.”

      “Well, give the customers what they want, I suppose.” He nodded toward Fiona, apparently not noticing that she stood frozen to the spot. “You meet the new midwife who’s setting up next door, did you?”

      Apparently now that he had, in effect, introduced her, it was all right to stare. Three pairs of eyes fixed on her as Ted mentioned the women’s names: Emma Brandt, Barbara Stoller, Sarah Bauman. Emma was probably in her thirties, although it was difficult to judge, and the other two probably in their sixties.

      Fiona nodded, trying to get past the unexpected shock she’d felt at the sight of them. These were people who might introduce her to prospective clients in the Amish community, so she’d better try to make a decent impression.

      “It’s a pleasure to meet you. The quilt is wonderful. I didn’t realize you actually made them here.”

      “Ruth says the tourists like to see the work done.” Emma seemed to be the spokeswoman for the group. “We do special orders for folks, too.”

      “That’s great.” Fiona knew how stupid she sounded, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She’d assumed all Amish women were cloistered at home, taking care of their families, instead of out earning money. How much more didn’t she know about her mother’s people?

      Ted strolled back toward her. “Could I have a moment of your time? I’ll walk out with you.”

      She nodded, saying goodbye to the quilters, and preceded him toward the exit. When the door closed, its bell tinkling, he spoke before she could get a word out.

      “I’d say if you want to have an Amish clientele for that practice of yours, you’ll have to stop looking at them like they’re animals in the zoo.”

      “I didn’t!” But she probably had. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t realize anyone was back there.” How did the man always manage to put her in the wrong?

      “Uh-huh.” He managed to infuse the syllables with such doubt that her embarrassment was swallowed up in anger. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him what had precipitated her behavior.

      “Excuse me. I have things to do.” She turned, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

      “Don’t you even want to know what I had to tell you?”

      She gritted her teeth. Be polite, Fiona. “Of course. What is it?”

      “The carpenters will be coming around in an hour or so. Try to get over your feelings about the Amish before then, will you?”

      Before she could respond, he walked off across the street.

      “Well, it’s not exactly what I expected.” Fiona cradled the cell phone against her ear with one hand and continued scrubbing the kitchen sink with the other. She might have to rub all the enamel off to get it clean.

      “Better or worse?” Tracy Wilton, her closest friend from midwife training, sounded as if she were in the next room instead of three thousand miles away. “You could always come back, you know. They haven’t filled your job here yet.”

      “I’m not sure whether it’s better or worse, but it’s definitely different.” She thought of Ted’s obvious doubt that she’d stick it out. “I’m staying, though. I’ll make it work.”

      “I bet you will. Listen, if your practice gets too big for one person, just give me a call. Especially if you’ve found any great-looking men among those Pennsylvania Dutch farmers of yours.”

      Fiona pushed an image of Ted Rittenhouse from her mind. “I’m not looking for any. Trust me. Getting my practice up and running is enough to occupy me for the moment. All I’m worried about right now is whether my money will hold out that long.”

      A rap sounded on the front door, and she headed into the hallway. “Listen, Tracy, someone’s here. I’ll give you a call later, okay?”

      “Okay. Take care.”

      Fiona snapped off the phone as she swung the door open and saw what appeared to be a whole congregation of Amish men in black trousers and dark shirts filling her porch. She blinked against the late-afternoon sunlight and realized there were only four, surveying her silently.

      What on earth?—and then she realized they had to be the carpenters Ted had said he’d send. The oldest man, his beard a snowy white, nodded gravely.

      “I am Mose Stetler. Ted Rittenhouse said as how you are wanting some carpentry work done. Said you needed it in a hurry.”

      “Yes, he told me he’d talked to you. I’m Fiona Flanagan.” She nodded to the men and held the door wide. “Please, come in. I’m glad you were able to come so soon.”

      And a little surprised Ted hadn’t told them to forget about coming after their exchange earlier.

      “Oh, we had to.” He jerked his head toward the youngest of the men, hardly more than a boy, with rounded cheeks above a rather straggly beard. “Young Aaron, here, he’ll be needing your services before long, won’t you, Aaron?”

      The boy blushed, his prominent ears reddening. “My Susie…” He stopped, apparently embarrassed to actually say that his wife was expecting.

      “Well, then, all the more reason to get my practice up and running. But I’ll be happy to talk to your wife anytime, even if my office isn’t ready.” She started to say the woman could phone her, and then realized that she couldn’t. “Just have her send a message if she’d like to talk.”

      He bobbed his head, flushing when one of the other men said something to him in what sounded like German. She didn’t understand the words, but the teasing was obvious.

      “So, now.” Mr. Stetler rubbed callused palms together. “You show me what you want done, and I will figure out a price.” His eyes twinkled. “A fair price.

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