Free The Amish Seamstress by Mindy Starns Clark Page A

simple enough—as long as she didn’t die on me.
    â€œShe’ll bend your ear with stories from the olden days,” Susie continued, “and talk of all the sewing she did through the years, but she’s awfully sweet.” Both topics sounded good to me. Maybe she could help fill in some of the blanks on our ancestors for Zed’s film. After all, Verna and I traced back to them through the same family line.
    Thinking of Zed brought to mind the words in his letter: Start pushing, Iz. Push yourself hard, and let God take it from there .
    Perhaps he was right. If I didn’t take this job with Verna, was I denying God a chance to work in my life? And in hers?
    I looked at Susie. “Do you mind if I go back and talk with Aenti Verna a little more before I decide?”
    She was across the room now, hanging the runner across a long wooden rod. “Go ahead, but let me know your decision soon, okay?”
    â€œOf course.”
    I picked up my empty bag and hurried toward the back door, bracing myself to go out into the storm again just as the front door opened. Three Englisch women wearing raincoats bustled in as I made my escape.
    Moments later I was in Susie’s house, calling out another hello to Verna.
    Her voice sounded relieved. “You came back.”
    â€œ Ya .” I kicked off my shoes this time, set them neatly against the wall, and then headed through the dining room and into the living room, taking the chair to her right. “I’m all done with Susie, but I don’t have to rush right out just yet. I thought we could chat for a bit. How are you?”
    We launched into conversation, catching up on ourselves, other familymembers, and her transition to this house. After a while, we moved onto the topic of Susie’s store out front and the items I was making for her.
    â€œShe said you worked as a seamstress through the years too,” I told Verna, but she shook her head.
    â€œNot really. I did do a lot of sewing—that was my job for each of the families who lived with me at the old place. I’ve always enjoyed it. But I never took in any extra work from the outside.”
    â€œTo be honest, I wish it were that way for me too. I’m rather slow, and it’s hard to keep up.”
    â€œAt least you’re young, I’m sure you do fine.”
    Giving her a smile, I settled more deeply into the chair. Soon the conversation turned to our mutual love of history, and that led to our own family’s history. When I told her I wanted to trace all the way back to some of our ancestors from the 1700s, her face lit up and she said she would be happy to help. Verna was my grandmother Delva’s sister, and she said if it was the maternal line I was interested in—which it was—then she might even have some old family papers from that era. I was ecstatic to hear that.
    We kept talking for at least an hour, until I finally remembered my poor horse hitched outside of Susie’s shop in the pouring rain. Feeling horrible, I told Verna a hasty goodbye. Assuring her I would come back soon, I flung my cape back over my shoulders and hurried into the kitchen and out the door. I dashed across the alley, trying to dodge the rain, and burst through the back door of the shop, calling out Susie’s name as I did.
    But then I froze. The three Englisch women were still there, looking at my runner.
    â€œHere’s Izzy.” Susie scooted toward me. “They’ve been admiring your work.”
    â€œThank you,” I managed to say.
    â€œWe’re all putting in special orders,” a woman with dark short hair said.
    â€œThank you,” I said again. The woman smiled and then joined her friends across the shop.
    â€œYou’re going to be busy.” Susie held a notebook and a pen in her hands.
    I smiled. “Doubly so, it seems.”
    â€œOh?”
    I glanced at the women, who were busy admiring some fabric dollsand said,