go. Maybe the Lutzeswould take them to a motel or something. Meg dreaded the idea of the five of them cooped up in a motel room for an indefinite period. Not to mention the cost. Yet they couldn’t impose on these people any further. For all Meg knew, they hated having non-Amish people in their house.
Catherine looked at her. Her eyes, Meg realized, were a pale blue. They crinkled at the edges as she gave Meg a warm smile. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you wish.”
“I … We can’t …”
“You can if you want,” Catherine said simply, heading out through another door leading from the room.
Chapter 8
Having persuaded Catherine that she was indeed up to performing some sort of work, Meg sat on the couch next to a veritable mountain of towels. Catherine had brought them to her from an outside clothesline, and they were cold and rigid from the December air. Meg shook them out as best she could with her sore shoulders, then folded them into thirds and in half. She paid close attention to the task, wanting this minimal contribution to be done properly. These people clearly had very high standards, at least in housekeeping, and she didn’t want anybody to have to redo her job, small as it might be.
Meg found it was a relief to become totally engrossed in the task. She didn’t have to think about the fact that she and her family were stranded with virtually no money, or that their only form of transportation was a twisted wreck that might not even be fixable. Nor did she have to think about how furious she was at her husband, who had lied to her, basically stolen allthe family’s money only to throw it away, and brought them to this point. She could also block out the vague but horrible image of what their immediate future would look like when they figured out how to get from here to her parents’ house.
Shake, fold, smooth, put to the side. The graying, scratchy linens made her recall the white towels in the bathrooms of their house in Charlotte. Lots of detergent, bleach, fabric softener, and a hot dryer kept those enormous Egyptian-cotton bath towels fluffy and blindingly white. They held a sweet, lightly performed scent, noticeable only when she wrapped herself up in one, an especially cozy feeling after it had been resting on the electric towel rack, warming on a winter’s morning. Meg picked up a towel from the pile and held it to her nose. No perfume, but she found that she liked its absence, the smell of fresh air somehow infused into the rough fabric, making her want to take a deep breath.
Bracing, she thought, but probably not so inspiring when you’re dripping wet on a freezing morning.
The door opened, and Meg tensed as she saw the expression on James’s face. His mouth was set in a way that told her the news was not going to be good.
“What happened?” she asked. “You’ve been gone for hours.”
He unzipped his jacket. “The place they towed it to suggested we might want to get to a shop that specializes in vintage cars. So we did that. But the guy there can’t even do anything until the insurance guys take a look. Someone will come by today or tomorrow, hopefully. They’ll call us at the phone outside here, or I’ll have to keep calling them.”
“Is it a big deal to fix?”
“The guy gave it a quick look while I was there. He said there’s extensive damage from the front fender all the way to the rear quarter panel. In other words, lots of bodywork needed on the driver’s side.”
“How long will that take?”
James scowled. “That’s the thing. He said a week or two.”
“A week or two?” Meg repeated. “We can’t stay here for that long.”
James gave her an exasperated look. “What would you have me do, Meg? You sound like Lizzie. I can’t snap my fingers and get us out of here. If you have any ideas, please feel free to share them with me.”
They were interrupted by Sam, who had been outside with his sister and brother. Meg had told them all to
Catherine looked at her. Her eyes, Meg realized, were a pale blue. They crinkled at the edges as she gave Meg a warm smile. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you wish.”
“I … We can’t …”
“You can if you want,” Catherine said simply, heading out through another door leading from the room.
Chapter 8
Having persuaded Catherine that she was indeed up to performing some sort of work, Meg sat on the couch next to a veritable mountain of towels. Catherine had brought them to her from an outside clothesline, and they were cold and rigid from the December air. Meg shook them out as best she could with her sore shoulders, then folded them into thirds and in half. She paid close attention to the task, wanting this minimal contribution to be done properly. These people clearly had very high standards, at least in housekeeping, and she didn’t want anybody to have to redo her job, small as it might be.
Meg found it was a relief to become totally engrossed in the task. She didn’t have to think about the fact that she and her family were stranded with virtually no money, or that their only form of transportation was a twisted wreck that might not even be fixable. Nor did she have to think about how furious she was at her husband, who had lied to her, basically stolen allthe family’s money only to throw it away, and brought them to this point. She could also block out the vague but horrible image of what their immediate future would look like when they figured out how to get from here to her parents’ house.
Shake, fold, smooth, put to the side. The graying, scratchy linens made her recall the white towels in the bathrooms of their house in Charlotte. Lots of detergent, bleach, fabric softener, and a hot dryer kept those enormous Egyptian-cotton bath towels fluffy and blindingly white. They held a sweet, lightly performed scent, noticeable only when she wrapped herself up in one, an especially cozy feeling after it had been resting on the electric towel rack, warming on a winter’s morning. Meg picked up a towel from the pile and held it to her nose. No perfume, but she found that she liked its absence, the smell of fresh air somehow infused into the rough fabric, making her want to take a deep breath.
Bracing, she thought, but probably not so inspiring when you’re dripping wet on a freezing morning.
The door opened, and Meg tensed as she saw the expression on James’s face. His mouth was set in a way that told her the news was not going to be good.
“What happened?” she asked. “You’ve been gone for hours.”
He unzipped his jacket. “The place they towed it to suggested we might want to get to a shop that specializes in vintage cars. So we did that. But the guy there can’t even do anything until the insurance guys take a look. Someone will come by today or tomorrow, hopefully. They’ll call us at the phone outside here, or I’ll have to keep calling them.”
“Is it a big deal to fix?”
“The guy gave it a quick look while I was there. He said there’s extensive damage from the front fender all the way to the rear quarter panel. In other words, lots of bodywork needed on the driver’s side.”
“How long will that take?”
James scowled. “That’s the thing. He said a week or two.”
“A week or two?” Meg repeated. “We can’t stay here for that long.”
James gave her an exasperated look. “What would you have me do, Meg? You sound like Lizzie. I can’t snap my fingers and get us out of here. If you have any ideas, please feel free to share them with me.”
They were interrupted by Sam, who had been outside with his sister and brother. Meg had told them all to
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