Free The Amish Clockmaker by Mindy Starns Clark Page B

concern. “If it turns out you can’t track Clayton down, let me know as soon as you can, all right?” He cleared his throat. “ ’Cause either we start a week from Monday or we’ll have to rethink the whole thing and slot it in for the spring instead.”
    I nodded, my stomach churning with frustration and disappointment and despair. “I’ll find him,” I said. Then I cracked the reins and began to roll down the driveway.
    I have to.
    By the time I reached home, the sun had already set and supper had long been finished. I walked through the door of our small house and slipped off my shoes, my mind exhausted from the frustrating and fruitless day. I hung my hat on the peg by the door and dropped into my favorite chair. The warmth of the summer evening and my weariness pulled my eyes closed. When they opened again, Amanda was sitting across from me, a cup of hot tea in one hand and a plate of food in the other.
    â€œHi, sleepyhead,” she said, humor in her voice.
    â€œHow long was I out?”
    â€œOnly about ten minutes. I heard you come in the door and came to heat your dinner for you, but by the time I got here, you were already sawing logs.” She leaned forward and handed me the cup and plate. I placed them on the table beside my chair and then took her hands in mine.
    â€œThank you,” I said, looking in her eyes. “This is just what I needed after a long, long day.”
    Her smile faded as her face filled with concern. “Tell me everything.”
    And so, between bites of roast beef and carrots, I recalled my day to my beautiful wife, the burden of each failure feeling that much lighter with her to share the load.

E IGHT
    T he next morning at the store, I took Noah around to the last aisle and explained that we wouldn’t be returning the row of shelves to the walls and restocking them just yet. Instead, I needed him to rope off the area and make it inaccessible to customers for now. As he did that, Amanda and Daed went about removing all of the tarps from the other shelves and displays, and I grabbed a marker and some paper to write out a few signs apologizing for the mess and offering a “construction discount” of ten percent off everything.
    We’d been spreading the word for several weeks that the store was going to be closed because of the construction, so I expected business to be slow. My intention was to help open up and then duck out, slipping over to the library to use the computer there and do some research.
    But instead of a quiet day, the store quickly became swamped. I realized I wouldn’t be able to leave for a long while, not until after the rush was done. All morning long, the bells hanging from the door handle chimed as people flooded in and out—and in again. We were used to being busy, especially in the mornings, but this steady of a stream was unusual for a Friday.
    The urge to move my search forward grew even stronger when I realized that most of the customers weren’t looking for horse feed or new reins. They were looking for gossip.
    I spent some time in the part of the store that was closed, using the tall,empty shelves to sort out stock that had become mixed up in the shuffle of construction day. I couldn’t see the customers from there as I worked, but I could hear them.
    â€œI’m sorry about your shop,” one man said. “It’s too bad the hotel next door is kicking you off your property and building a second hotel.”
    â€œOh, boy,” I heard Amanda reply, forcing her voice to be light and friendly. “Sounds like the rumor mill is working overtime on that one.”
    The next customer asked if we offered guided tours “of the murderer’s house and the farm that had been mysteriously willed to him by his father.” The accent sounded Englisch . When I peeked my head around the corner, I saw a group of young men in jeans and T-shirts standing at the register. I