Where Shadows Meet(75)

“Your wheels are turning. What are you thinking about?” Matt asked.

“Going home.” He’d think she was crazy. Most of the world didn’t understand the peace of their faith, didn’t understand how putting the focus on God and others made life so much better, so much more meaningful.

“Back to Milwaukee?”

“No, home. My place with my family. Go back to my roots, my faith.”

“I can see the draw. Your cousin’s family is wonderful. So much love and commitment. It’s compelling. But I couldn’t give up my computer, TV, my car.”

“The car would be hard,” Hannah admitted.

“I don’t get it anyway. They pay people to drive them, so it’s not like they think cars are evil.”

“Cars can be a status symbol, and we believe in the common good and not putting one person above the other. And look at our modern world, how people run around with no time to sit and eat meals together as a family. Cars have been largely responsible for the splintering of the family. If an Amish man hires a car, it’s for a specific reason—often for a trip for his family or something equally important.”

“If you say so. But I’m not giving up my SUV.” Matt’s grin was cheeky.

“I’m probably not either. I’m just thinking out loud. Sometimes I wish I could go to sleep and wake up to find all that’s happened was only a dream.”

“Don’t we all? Life isn’t like that. Good and bad are part of the human existence.”

“You sound very philosophical.”

Matt’s grin widened. “I actually think about life now and then.”

Hannah’s cell phone rang. She grabbed her purse and looked at the caller ID and winced. Maggie Baker was her editor. The last thing she needed right now was more pressure, and she didn’t want to hear what Maggie might have to say. Whatever it was, it would likely entail more work. She called occasionally with a suggestion to include a certain chapter or to find out about this or that technique. Hannah didn’t want to deal with it, so she shut off her phone.

Angie came flying out the door when they pulled up to the house. She was on her cell phone and mouthed, “Maggie,” at her. It had done no good not to answer the phone. Hannah knew she would hate whatever Maggie was saying. Why had she ever agreed to hire a publicist? She thought of Angie as a close friend, but at times like this, she wished she answered to no one but herself.

“What’s wrong?” Matt asked.

“It’s my editor.”

“Is that bad?”

“I’m not sure.” Hannah got out of the car.

Angie hung up and shot her a panicked look. “Um, she wants your deadline moved and the book turned in two weeks from today.”

“Two weeks! I hope you told her it was impossible.” Hannah saw the stubborn set of her friend’s mouth. “You did tell her, right, Angie?”

Angie opened her mouth, then shut it again. She shook her head. “I couldn’t say no. It was too big.”

“Oh, Angie, don’t tell me you agreed. There is no way. None.” Hannah stopped by the farmhouse and banged her forehead on the siding three times. “Just shoot me now.”

“Don’t stress, Hannah—it will be worth it. She’s got a major promotion planned, but the book has to be done in time to launch it for the event.”

“I have to finish the quilt for pictures!”

“Well, yeah, but you can work on it in the evenings. It won’t take as long as you think.”

“No, it will take longer than you think. I’ve made enough quilts to know it always takes more time than you anticipate. I’ve got at least one hundred hours of work left on it.”

“If you work three hours every night, that’s, uh, that’s . . .”

“A month. Thirty days. And we’ve got two weeks.” Hannah rarely lost her temper, especially with people she loved, but she felt she was in a pressure cooker about to blow its top.

“You can maybe work every morning and evening?” Angie’s tentative voice lost steam as she finally got what Hannah was saying.

Staring at her friend’s pleading face, Hannah’s ire faded. “I’ll try, Angie. But we might not make it. What’s the big hurry anyway?”

“There’s a big quilt show coming up in New York in six months. Maggie got the producer of Good Morning America to agree to have us on the show talking about the book. But we’ve got to have it releasing that week.”

Hannah was shaking her head before Angie finished talking. “I’m not going on TV again. This morning was too hard. You can handle that, my friend.”

“They’ll want you to talk about the quilts. You’re the expert, not me.”

“I’m not doing it. I’m sick of publicity.”

“Oh, we’ll worry about it when the time comes. Right now we’ve got to get the quilt and the book done.”

“Irene says we can have a photographer come over and take pictures of her quilts too. I saw them—they’re gorgeous.”

“Wonderful! Thanks for asking her.”

Hannah nodded. Maybe it was just as well. Filling her time would keep her from obsessing over the little girl. She couldn’t help sneaking one last glimpse of the child’s face in the photo in her hand. Her child. She was beginning to believe it. She tucked the picture back into her bag.