have punished her severely for dishonoring the Sabbath. Even now, hundreds of miles and several years distant from her family’s home, she cringed as she slid the protective layer of muslin free from the 1930s loom on a Sunday afternoon.
Daed might not understand or accept her reasoning, but Kenzie didn’t view using the loom as work. She found joy in turning strips of cloth into something beautiful and useful. Lori had once suggested Kenzie quit her job and weave full time. She’d said, “Specialty shops’ll snatch these rugs up. Or you could open an online store and sell them yourself. I bet you’d make a fortune!” Kenzie appreciated Lori’s enthusiasm, but she didn’t want weaving to become her job. Grossmammi had told Kenzie the Lord had gifted her with a special ability and she should use her gift for Him. Besides, she crafted her rugs from donated materials. Would it be honest to make a profit from someone else’s generosity?
Kenzie folded the muslin into a neat square and draped it over the armrest of her sofa. There was already too much dishonesty in the world. Back home, sometimes people from nearby cities tried to cheat the Amish. Many traded fairly, but others thought people who lived a simplistic lifestyle were simpleminded, and they employed tricks to get the better end of a deal. How often had Daed come home from the market seething because someone had attempted to pay him less than his asking price? Mamm always listened to Daed’s rant. Then she would remind him they needed to repay evil with good, saying “Instead of getting angry, Alan, you must should pray for those who try to cheat you. They need a heart change.”
Gentle Mamm…As kindhearted as Grossmammi. Kenzie ran her finger along the woven rows stretched tight across the beam, seeing in her mind’s eye Grossmammi’s wrinkled, bent fingers making the same trek. Neither Grossmammi nor Mamm would approve of using this old loom for personal gain. Nor would they approve of keeping a ring that didn’t belong to her. She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer that the owner would be found. Then, with peace wrapping around her heart, she settled on the stool and picked up the shuttle, with its thick wrap of sewn-together strips of denim, twill, and flannel.
As she added rows to the rug in progress, her mind wandered backward in time. Grossmammi had let Kenzie feed the shuttle through the shed when she was very small. How she’d giggled as she’d pattered on bare feet back and forth behind Grossmammi’s stool. Her cheeks tickled in memory of her kapp’s ribbons bouncing as she darted to and fro. She’d made it a game to reach the opposite side before Grossmammi pulled the beater bar the third time. Even now, her favorite part of the process was sending the shuttle through, pulling the bar snug, one, two, three, then sending the shuttle through again.
Cutting the strips, stitching the ends together, winding the shuttle, stringing the weft and warp, even cutting the rug free and tying it off…those tasks were work. Kenzie never did the work part of weaving on Sunday. But flipping the shuttle, pulling the bar and hearing the musical thud-thud-thud, then watching the pattern emerge on the weft…those actions were pure joy. Humming to herself, she developed a rhythm, her bare feet pushing the pedals and her hands tossing and catching the shuttle without conscious thought. Caught up in the wonderful creative process, she almost missed her cell phone’s ring.
She gave the beater a quick pull, leaped off the stool, and snatched the phone from her purse. Ruby’s number showed on the screen. Her pulse quickened, and she slid her finger across the glass to connect the call. As breathless as if she’d been racing back and forth behind her grandmother’s stool, she gasped, “Hello? What did she say?”
Ruby’s husky laughter sounded. “You are eager to unload that ring, aren’t you?”
Kenzie hunched her shoulders, embarrassment striking. She crossed to the sofa and sat, pulling her feet to the side and hugging a throw pillow to her chest with her free hand. “I guess I am.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but no one has contacted Eileen about a missing ring.”
Kenzie’s spirits fell. “She didn’t have any idea where it might have come from?”
“She didn’t know how to pin it down, considering how many individuals and groups contributed to your cause.”