Read The Calling for Free Online

interested in Jimmy. Not yet. But Naomi was going to do her best to light that spark between them she was sure was there. Almost sure.
    When there was a lull in the conversation, Naomi casually said that she thought it would be nice to include her friend Bethany in the quilting bee. Naomi finished her stitch at the instant she looked up at Edith and caught the look of disapproval on her face, which made her run the needle into her finger. When she glanced down, she saw a little drop of blood on the place she was stitching around and put her finger into her mouth.
    The five elderly sisters stopped their sewing but kept their heads bowed, the edges of their capstrings dancing on the quilt top. They didn’t say a word. Not a peep. Naomi glanced nervously around the circle.
    Unfortunately, whenever Naomi felt nervous, she babbled. Her brother Galen grew quieter and she grew more talkative. Their mother used to say they evened each other out. As she realized the women were staring at her, she started a long tale about how she had known Bethany for years and years, and what a fine cook she was, and how she was sure they’dall enjoy having her in the circle. She spoke faster and faster, jumping from topic to topic, making very little sense, all the while wishing her mouth would just snap shut. She sped right on: “And Bethany said she doesn’t like to sew.” She cringed and clamped her mouth shut.
    What possessed her to say that when she was trying to snag an invitation for Bethany to a sewing group? It was true, but why did she have to say so? Just yesterday, Naomi had mentioned to Bethany that she quilted because it was the most comforting thing to do. Bethany said the reason she quilted was because it kept her from biting her fingernails.
    Edith Fisher squinted at Naomi through her thick spectacles until Naomi blushed and looked down at her piecing. “I’ve never met a woman who didn’t like to sew.”
    Sylvia, the youngest of the elderly sisters, finally spoke. “Bethany’s a more modern girl, Edith. She has other things to do besides sew with old ladies.”
    Sylvia forgot that Naomi wasn’t an old lady. All the women forgot. There were times when Naomi wanted to point out that she wasn’t a spinster quite yet, not at eighteen. They’d never thought to wonder if Naomi King had feelings, dreams, desires of her own. She knew they considered her to be a frail thing, someone to be pitied and fussed over. That might be how she seemed on the outside, but on the inside, Naomi felt strong and brave. At least, that was how she thought of herself when she wasn’t plagued with one of those dreadful headaches.
    Then Edith Fisher cleared her throat, determined to take charge, and Naomi wondered what everyone was in for. “Speaking of modern and worldly ways, I understand those Schrocks have a preacher staying in their guest flat now.” She pursed her lips as if tasting a sour lemon. “A lady preacher.”
    “A youth pastor,” Naomi said quietly but firmly.
    “Same thing,” Edith said.
    “Now, Edith,” Fannie said, a smile wobbling at the edges of her mouth, “your halo always did fit a little too tight.” Fannie was second from the bottom of the five sisters, the polar opposite of her younger sibling, as full figured as Sylvia was petite and as opinionated as Sylvia was soft-spoken.
    “How did you hear that, Edith?” Sylvia asked.
    Edith paused while she threaded her needle. “Oh, well, people talk. You know.”
    People do talk; Edith certainly did.
    “Mark my words. Those Schrocks attract trouble like molasses draws flies. They’re just like those Amos Lapps over at Windmill Farm. No difference at all. And I don’t mind telling them so right to their faces.”
    Something out the window caught Naomi’s eye. Up the walk came Hank Lapp, former suitor to Edith before she spurned him for her now-dead brand-new husband. And that was when Naomi’s headache took a turn for the worse.

    Jimmy was in the cool of the