Leaving Lancaster by Kate Lloyd Page B

neck.
    â€œWe can’t wait,” Beth said. “Here, Esther, let me help you with that.” She insisted on lugging Mom’s suitcase up the porch steps.
    What was my mother’s problem? She didn’t smile or thank Beth.
    I grabbed my carry-on and my suitcase, and followed them into the warmth of the house.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Esther felt like a zombie. Counting backward, she calculated it was four o’clock on the West Coast, but she was wide awake, no falling back to sleep now. In Beth’s guestroom, once her daughter’s bedroom, Esther had tossed most of the night, her legs tangling in the sheets.
    Around midnight, she’d listened to the pattering rain on the rooftop and tried to subdue her racing thoughts, but images of her mother barring her from the farmhouse swirled around the room like a Frisbee ricocheting off the ceiling and walls. Every hour or so, Esther’s bleary eyes checked the digital clock, then her thoughts spanned the country to the Amish Shoppe. Could Dori handle sales transactions? What if a customer came in with a return? Esther expected new merchandise, and it would need to be priced and displayed. Next month, November, introduced the Christmas shopping season, Esther’s bread and butter.
    She climbed off the bed, her feet sinking into the carpet, and dressed in her skirt and a clean blouse.
    Taking hold of the banister as she descended the stairs, Esther asked herself if the Amish Shoppe had turned into the center of her universe. No, she loved Holly a zillion times more than any business.
    In the living room, she glanced out the front window at fog rising off the lawn, lifting through giant maple trees, half their garnet- and sienna-colored leaves strewn at their roots.
    She followed a man’s voice into the kitchen and saw a tall and slender fair-haired man sitting at the dining room table chatting with Holly and Beth over coffee. Holly’s voice sounded cheerful; Esther hoped her mood had improved.
    Esther made sure her blouse was buttoned properly and tucked in. She’d arrived the image of a bag lady last night, in front of Beth of all people. Esther reminded herself she needed to improve her attitude. Had she adequately thanked God and her daughter for escorting her here safely? No. She hadn’t even thanked Beth for her kindness. In Seattle, folks seemed friendly on the outside, but rarely invited strangers into their homes—certainly not to spend the night.
    Not that she and Beth were really strangers.
    Esther entered the dining room, with its oval table, sideboard, and glass-fronted cabinets chock-full of Depression glass and china. A cleanly shaved man in his midthirties stood and put out a hand to shake hers. His hair was styled short, and he wore a collared shirt and khaki slacks.
    Driving last night, Esther had explained to Holly that Amishmen held their barn-door style trousers up by suspenders, and married Amishmen wore beards but shaved their upper lips.
    â€œGood to meet you, Mrs. Fisher. I’m Beth’s son. Please call me Zach.” He gave Esther’s hand a firm shake. “Sorry to dash off so quickly. I should be at the clinic.” He nodded to his mother, who remained sitting, and gave her a wink.
    â€œThanks, honey,” she said.
    â€œBye, Zach,” Holly said—a casual farewell. “Nice to meet you.”
    â€œI hope we run into each other again.” He gave Holly a lingering look, making Esther smile. Men coming into the Amish Shoppe often paused to admire Holly’s appealing features—her eyes, trim silhouette, and wavy hair. But Holly didn’t seem to take note of Zach’s attention. Esther bet her daughter was jet-lagged and suffering from the same jitters she was. And Esther definitely didn’t want her daughter falling for a man from around here and leaving Seattle to be with him. Especially Beth’s son. A catastrophe. She hoped the young man Holly knew from