Plain Admirer Page 6

  “All right.”

  She turned to face him and gathered her courage. “That’s the grand tour. Any questions?”

  “Not really.” He leaned casually against the doorjamb blocking her only exit.

  Now what should she do?

  Chapter Five

  Her voice held a funny quality that Roman couldn’t quite identify. Was it resentment, fear or something else? Before he could decide, she clasped her hands together and said, “About yesterday.”

  He wondered if she would bring it up. She had spoiled more than his opportunity to take Esta home. He had doubts now that hadn’t existed before. What if she was telling the truth? Did he want to know?

  “What about yesterday?”

  “I want to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  She stared at the floor. “You know.”

  “I’m not sure I do. Why don’t you explain.” He couldn’t help the amusement that crept into his voice. It wouldn’t hurt her to squirm a little before he forgave her. She had been rude to Esta. Although, he had to admit Esta shared part of the blame for the exchange.

  He almost missed the baleful glare Joann flashed at him before she looked down at her hands. No wonder she didn’t look up often. She gave herself away when she did. Those green eyes of hers reflected her emotions the way still waters reflected the sky and clouds overhead.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t announce myself when I realized you were having a private conversation,” she said. “I should have.”

  “And?” he prompted.

  “And I shouldn’t have said those things to Esta,” she added in a rush. She tried to move past him, but he continued blocking the doorway.

  “And?”

  The color rose in her cheeks, making them glow bright pink. He wanted to see how far he could push before that outspoken streak she tried so hard to curtail came out. He didn’t have to wait long.

  Her gaze snapped up and locked with his. Sparks glittered in the depths of her eyes. “And I’m sorry it was all true!”

  He struggled not to smile, having gotten the reaction he wanted. “That’s hardly an apology.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “It’s all you’re going to get. Your uncle hired you to work here. Don’t you think you should get started?”

  Roman stepped out of the door and swept his arm aside to indicate she should go first. She hesitated, then squeezed past him. He caught a whiff of a pleasing floral scent. Roses maybe. It had to be from her shampoo or soap. Amish women didn’t wear perfumes. Whatever it was, he liked it.

  She marched ahead of him to the front of the office. His uncle was behind the front counter waiting on a customer. He called Roman over and showed him the price list they used for ads and single-page flyers and posters. It was easy enough to understand. When the customer left, Otis asked, “How is your first day going?”

  Roman lowered his voice. “Joann doesn’t seem happy to have me here.”

  Otis frowned as he looked around Roman to where Joann was gathering a stack of papers from her desk. “Has she said something to that effect? I’ll speak to her if she has been rude.”

  “No, it’s probably just me.”

  “All right, but let me know if she or anyone makes you feel unwelcome. This is my shop, and I say who works here.”

  Joann crossed the room to join them with several letters clutched to her chest. Her smile was stiff. “Are you ready to learn how to use the proof press?”

  “Absolutely, teacher. Lead on.”

  Her smile stayed in place, but he knew she was annoyed by his pet name for her. All she said was, “Please follow me.”

  Her instructions were precise and to the point. She quickly showed him how to operate the small press that made a single copy of the handbill they were doing. She handed the first printed page to him. “Read it over and look for mistakes. If you have set the type, get someone else to read it. Errors can slip by because you read it knowing what it should say instead of what is actually on paper.”

  He scanned the paper carefully and immediately spotted a misspelling. “This should be ‘working baler’ not ‘woking baler,’ unless someone does bale woks, whatever that would be.”

  She frowned at him and leaned close to examine the paper in his hand. Again, he caught the fresh scent of flowers. She glanced up at him and quickly moved a step away. “You’re right. I’ll let Gerald know. Once he has corrected the letters in the composition stick, we’ll turn the project over to Leonard. He’ll print the size and number of handbills that were ordered.”

  “Okay, teacher, what’s next?”

  He caught a glimpse of the sparks that flashed in her green eyes again before she looked away. With deliberate calm, she said, “The mail. We’ll go through it and sort it into letters for the newspaper, ones that might go in the magazine and those that need Otis’s attention.”

  She strode toward the front of the building, and he followed, amused by the square set of her shoulders and intrigued by the gentle sway of her hips.

  That thought brought him up short. She had done nothing but cause trouble for him. The last thing he expected was to find her attractive in any way. He quickly dismissed his reaction and focused on what she was saying.

  She indicated a stack of mail and offered him a letter opener. She read the first letter. “Alma Stroltzfus is going to be one hundred years old on the twenty-fifth of this month. Her family is hosting a get-together in honor of the day. Family from all across the state will be there. This should go in the weekly paper. Our magazine doesn’t come out until after the date, but we could mention it there, too.”

  He opened his first letter. “This is from a farmer on Bent Tree Road. He is offering forgiveness to the youth who set fire to his haystacks. Magazine or newspaper?”

  “Newspaper, I think.” She opened the next letter. “This is a poem about losing a child and dealing with that grief. Definitely a piece for the magazine.”

  They both reached for the stack of mail at the same time. Their hands touched. She jerked away as if he were a hot stove, her eyes wide with shock. “We can finish this later. Let’s have Gerald show you how to set type.”

  As she hurried away, he noticed again the soft curve of her hips beneath her faded dress. There was definitely more to Joann Yoder than met the eye.

  By noon, Roman’s head was spinning with all the information Joann poured onto him like syrup over a stack of hotcakes. Some of it was soaking in, but a great deal of it slid off his brain and pooled around his feet. He had no idea there was so much to his uncle’s business. He hated to admit it, but he was impressed by Joann’s scope of knowledge.

  There had been a steady stream of customers into the shop all morning. Some placed orders, but many stopped in simply to leave notices and announcements to run in the paper. Joann took care of the customers, accepted payments, filed the notes and continued to serve him a steady diet of information about what his work would entail.

  This wasn’t going to be an easy job to master. It wasn’t one job. There were dozens of new skills he’d have to learn. He clung tight to the thought that if a woman could manage the place so easily after only five months, then so could he.

  Otis came out of his office and said, “Time for lunch.”

  Joann went to the front door and turned the open sign to closed. Below it, she hung a second sign that said they would return at one o’clock.

  “Roman, you are welcome to come home with me. My wife would be delighted to feed you,” Otis said.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t join you today. I have an appointment with Doctor Zook. Please tell Aenti Velda I’ll be happy to eat with you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll do that. I go right by the clinic on my way home. I’ll walk with you.” He settled his hat on his head and held open the door. Roman grabbed his own straw hat from the peg and stepped out ahead of him.

  As they walked side by side on the narrow sidewalk, they passed a few buggies and cars parked alike in fr
ont of the various businesses. It was Monday, and quiet in the small village that nestled amid the farms and pastures of rural Ohio. The main activity seemed to be near the end of the street. Roman noticed his mother’s cart parked outside a shop.

  Otis asked, “Well, what do you think?”

  “I think there is a lot to know.”

  Otis chuckled. “I do more than shuffle papers all day.”

  “I’m learning that. It’s sure not what I expected.”

  They stepped aside to let a group of women pass in front of them. They were headed into the fabric shop. Roman caught sight of his mother through the window. Otis saw her, too, and waved. She smiled brightly and waved back.

  Otis said, “I see the ad and flyers I printed for the big sale today at Needles and Pins are bringing in customers. That’s good. That will mean repeat business.”

  Roman looked at his uncle. “What made you start a printing shop? Your father ran a dairy farm, didn’t he?”

  “Ja. I worked on the farm with my brothers, but I saw a need among our people for decent things to read. There was a series of articles in one of the local newspapers by an unhappy ex-Amish fellow who believed his new ways were better, and he urged others to follow them.”

  “We face that all the time. Our life is not for everyone.”

  “True, but a man must be careful what he reads. Without meaning to, he can allow unholy thoughts to take root in his mind. I started thinking about getting a small press because of those writings and because a friend told me about an old Amish book he wanted to see reprinted. My brother and I printed the book in our barn. It was no thing of beauty, but people bought copies. Not long after that, a woman I knew wrote a manuscript and she asked our Bishop how she might get it published. The Bishop sent her to me. I soon realized the Lord was nudging me to start a business where good Amish folks could find appropriate reading material.”

  “You print more than books now.”

  Otis smiled and nodded. “That we do. The magazine grew out of letters people wrote to us after reading some of our books. Once the magazine became popular, people wanted to read the news about their Amish neighbors every week instead of once a month. I bought a bigger press and hired people to help me. Running the press only one day each week wasn’t cost-efficient so we started printing flyers, pamphlets and advertisements.”

  “Not everyone who came in today was Amish.”

  “We do work for Englisch customers as long as the content is acceptable according to our ways. We now print schoolbooks and cookbooks, too. Tourists love our Amish cookbooks. I truly believe the good Lord has caused my business to prosper because I stayed true to His teachings.”

  “You have created a fine thing, uncle.”

  “No more than your father has done. Men need good solid wood to build strong houses and barns. I believe we also need good solid books to build strong minds.”

  They had come to the corner in front of the Hope Springs Medical Clinic. Otis walked on toward his home and a hot lunch while Roman entered the waiting room of the clinic. His uncle’s words about good books stayed in his mind. Roman had always considered reading to be something he needed to get by in business and for church. He’d never thought of it as a way to improve his mind.

  His father led the family in prayers and Bible reading each morning and evening. Roman read the Bible sometimes at night, but not as often as he should. He wondered what books his uncle would suggest he read. He would make a point to ask him. The thought of books brought Joann to mind. What did she like to read?

  He shook his head. Why was he thinking about her, again? She was like a cocklebur stuck to his sock. Not exactly painful, but irritating and difficult to get rid of.

  Fortunately, his name was called, and Roman followed the nurse back to a small exam room. Dr. Zook came in a few moments later. Roman waited quietly as he read his chart.

  He looked up at last. “I received a letter from the neurosurgeon that did your surgery,” Dr. Zook said. “He’s optimistic about your recovery.”

  “I’m glad one of us is.”

  Dr. Zook closed the chart. “He believes with therapy you should recover some of your hand functions.”

  “Some, but not all?”

  “Are you doing your exercises regularly?”

  “Ja, but I still can’t move my arm.”

  “I’m not surprised. Brachial plexus injuries such as the one you sustained take a long time to heal. Nerves grow very slowly. Only a fraction of an inch in a month. It may be a few months to a few years before your recovery is complete.”

  “No one will tell me if I’ll be able to use my arm again. Will I?”

  “We simply don’t know. The brachial plexus, the network of nerves that carry signals from your spine to your shoulder, arm and hand, was badly damaged. Two of your nerves were torn apart. While the surgeon was able to repair them, we’re not sure they will function as they once did. Other nerves were stretched drastically when that pickup hit you. It was a blessing you weren’t killed.”

  “Somehow, this doesn’t feel like a blessing.”

  Dr. Zook rose and helped Roman remove his sling. He examined the arm, moving it gently. “Have you noticed any changes at all?”

  “I’ve had some twitches in my forearm.”

  “That’s good. As the nerves start to regrow, you’ll feel twitching in the muscles they supply. We can start specific exercises to improve those muscles when it happens. Keep up with your stretches. It’s important to keep your joints limber. Once they freeze, there isn’t much that can be done for them. How is the pain?”

  “Always there.”

  “Have the pills I’ve given you helped at all?”

  “Some. Keeping my mind occupied helps, too.”

  “I wish there was more I could do to help, but it is going to take time and it’s going to be painful.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “I want you to be very careful at work. You could injure your arm badly and never feel it. A sawmill can be a dangerous place at the best of times.”

  Roman slipped his arm back in the sling. “I’m not working at the mill right now.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m working at my uncle’s print shop.”

  “That’s good. While it may be less physically demanding there, it has its own set of dangers. I’ve bandaged a few crushed fingers and put some stitches in your uncle, too. Just remember to pay attention.”

  “I will.”

  “This injury was life-changing for you, Roman. It can’t be easy making the adjustments you’ve had to make. How are the flashbacks?”

  “Less frequent.”

  “Are you sleeping okay?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Nightmares?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Roman, depression is natural after an injury like yours. Anger and sadness are symptoms that can be treated if they persist. Don’t be afraid to tell me if you have that kind of trouble.”

  “It was God’s will. I must accept that.”

  “I believe everything happens for a reason, and that God has a plan for everyone, but He invented doctors to help people along the way. So let me do my job, okay? I’ll see you in two weeks or sooner if you need me.” The young doctor smiled and left the room.

  Roman saw no reason to smile. He was crippled, and no one could tell him when, or if, he would recover.

  * * *

  Joann jumped when the front door banged open, but it wasn’t Roman returning. It was only her cousin, Sally.

  “Hi, Joann. I brought the sketches that Otis wanted. Is he here?” Sally’s cheerful face never failed to brighten Joann’s day. Her talent as an artist was well known in the community, and she often supplied the black-and-white line drawings that were the only graphics used in the Family Hour magazine. Otis would give her a list of things he wanted for the next month’s layout and what size they should be. Her beautifully drawn images of ordinary Amish life never failed to amaze Joann
.

  “Otis isn’t back from lunch yet. Can you wait for him?”

  “Sure. I’ve already done my shopping. I got the prettiest lilac material at Needles and Pins for half off. You should get over there and get some. It’s going fast.”

  “I don’t have need of a new dress. Mine are fine.”

  “They may be fine as you see it, but they are getting a little threadbare and stained. Besides, that gray isn’t your best color.”

  Joann looked down at her dress and matching apron. It was an old dress, but it was comfortable. “I like it because it doesn’t show the ink stains so readily.”

  “I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to take a little more care with your appearance. You might have the chance to impress a fine fellow who comes in to place an ad,” Sally said.

  What did Roman think of her attire? Why should he think of her at all? Deciding it was time to change the subject, Joann reached for the folder her cousin held. “May I see your sketches?”

  Sally beamed. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

  After laying the sketches side by side on the countertop, Sally shifted her gaze to Joann. “Do you think these are what Otis had in mind?”

  The outside door opened, and Roman entered the shop with a deep frown creasing his forehead. Had the doctor given him bad news? “I hope he feels bad about taking your job,” Sally whispered to Joann as she gave him a cool stare.

  Joann gripped Sally’s arm and said under her breath, “Please don’t say anything.”

  Fortunately, Gerald came out of the typesetting room at that moment. “Sally, have you brought us some more of your artwork?”

  “I brought in four pieces to see if this is what Otis wanted.”

  “He should be back any minute. Let’s see what you have. Roman, Sally is our artist. She can draw almost anything.”

  Sally blushed. “I have a small talent.”

  Gerald moved to stand beside the women. Roman hesitated, as if unsure what to do. Joann said, “Come look at these, Roman, and tell us what you think.”