A frosty gust nearly blew her outer bonnet off her head as she pedaled uphill in the dark toward the big farmhouse. She meant to purchase a new battery at the mercantile during her dinner break, but she’d been so busy she didn’t stop for an afternoon meal. Ravenous, she hoped her family hadn’t worried about her when she missed supper.
“There you are,” Henrietta said when Faith entered the kitchen. Her cheek was smudged with flour and she was jostling her youngest son on her hip. Utensils and ingredients were spread in disarray across the table. “Didn’t you remember you were going to help make the bread for dinner tomorrow?”
The following day was their Sunday to host church worship services and they would need to serve a light dinner to everyone in attendance. Henrietta usually provided the traditional after-church meal of bread with “church peanut butter,” homemade bologna, cheese, pickles and pickled beets. An assortment of desserts were supplied by other women in the district.
“Ach! I forgot,” admitted Faith.
“You mustn’t put earning money before the needs of the church,” Henrietta scolded.
Faith hung her head. She wouldn’t have stayed so late waiting for the customer if she’d remembered she promised to help bake bread after supper. Still, the fact that she’d forgotten indicated her priorities were on her business, not on the church.
“I’m sorry,” she earnestly apologized. “I’ll make the bread as soon as I’ve had something to eat.”
“Something to eat? Your ant works in a bakery all day and she expects us to believe she hasn’t had anything to eat,” Henrietta cooed to the infant, who drooled when she tickled the fold of skin beneath his chin. “Do you believe that? Do you?”
Unsure whether her sister-in-law was joking or not, Faith ignored her comment. She opened the icebox and removed a bowl of chicken casserole to eat cold, along with a serving of homemade applesauce.
“Did I tell you my sister is visiting for Thanksgiving?” Henrietta asked while Faith devoured her supper. “My mamm and daed can’t make the long journey, but I haven’t seen Willa for so long that I pleaded with her to kumme anyway. She’ll have to travel alone, which is difficult for her. She’s not as...strong-minded as you are, but she misses me, too, so she’s willing to make the effort. It will be wunderbaar to have another woman in the house, someone I can talk to.”
Maybe she was overly tired, but Henrietta’s comments nettled Faith and she had to work to temper her response. “That’s nice. I’m sure we’ll make room for her somewhere.”
Then she washed, dried and put away her dish and utensils before rolling up her sleeves to prepare the dough. It would be midnight before she finished baking after all.
* * *
Although Hunter felt his lower back seize up as he lifted Ruth into the buggy on Sunday, he met the challenge without a word of complaint. The Amish only missed church in cases of severe illness or extreme circumstances, and according to Ruth, her injuries weren’t going to keep her from worshipping on the Sabbath.
“Do you remember the way to the Yoders’ farm?” she asked. “It’s their turn to host.”
Hunter hadn’t forgotten. He’d spent many Sunday afternoons fishing in the creek behind their property with Noah and Mason Yoder when he was a youth. As the horse pulled their buggy over the familiar hills and alongside the pastures and farmlands on the rural end of Willow Creek, he was flooded with remembrances of more carefree times.
After church service, men whose names he’d forgotten but whose faces were etched in his memory affably welcomed Hunter to the men’s dinner table. By then, his legs were throbbing from sitting on the cold, hard benches in the drafty barn the Yoders used for a gathering room. He ate even quicker than the other men, who were all aware someone else was waiting for a turn at the table and hurried to vacate their places. Hunter wanted to return to Ruth’s home and warm himself in front of the woodstove, but he didn’t see his aunt and mother anywhere. Undoubtedly, Ruth was chatting with friends while his mother helped the other women clear tables and clean dishes.
Figuring if he couldn’t warm his aching legs, he could at least stretch them, he slipped away from the men conversing in small clusters and awkwardly navigated the uneven terrain leading to the creek a few acres behind the Yoders’ house.
He didn’t notice until too late that a woman was already there, leaning against a willow, pitching stones sidearm into the current. He couldn’t turn around without being rude and he couldn’t keep moving without drawing attention to his unsteady gait, so he came to an abrupt standstill.
“Guder nammidaag, Hunter,” she called when she noticed him, dropping the stones.
It was Faith. Hunter had no option but to continue in her direction and hope she didn’t notice his unusual stride. He didn’t want her to doubt his abilities and regret hiring him.
“Guder nammidaag,” he replied and motioned toward the water. “The creek is shallower than I remember. I suppose everything probably seemed bigger when I was a kind.”
“We had a dry summer, so it’s been running low,” she acknowledged. “Do you really still remember the creek?”
“How could I forget?” Hunter asked as he positioned himself next to her. “The year I was twelve, Noah, Mason and I tried to build a footbridge over it and it collapsed. Don’t you remember? You were there, too.”
A smile capered from Faith’s lips up to her eyes, and for an instant her expression reminded Hunter of the spunky young girl who used to tag along on her brothers’ adventures. “You boys sent me across the bridge first to test whether it would hold,” she recalled.
Hunter reminisced, “Jah, but you were only a little wisp of a thing, so of course it withstood your weight. I don’t know what we were thinking, for the three of us boys to join you on it, with none of us knowing how to swim. It was a gut thing your daed heard our cries and ran to give us his hand.”
Now a shadow troubled Faith’s countenance. “Sometimes I wish my daed would still kumme running to give me his hand, even though I’m no longer a kind and it’s been five years since he died,” she lamented.
Hunter hadn’t meant to stir up sad memories. “I’m sorry about your daed. I have fond memories of him,” he said. He was quiet before adding, “My own daed died a little over a year ago, so I understand why you miss yours.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, too, Hunter,” Faith murmured, her hazel eyes welling with empathy. “I should have said as much yesterday. My brothers were especially grieved to hear about the accident. Ruth mentioned you were hurt in it as well, but I’m grateful to see Gott answered all our prayers by healing you.”
Not wishing to admit he wasn’t fully recovered, Hunter blew on his fingers and then changed the subject. “A lot has changed since we were kinner. Who would have expected little Faith Yoder would grow up to own a bakery?”
A furrow momentarily creased Faith’s brow before she straightened her posture and asked, “And what about you? Do you still work at the RV factory?”
Pushing his hat up, Hunter massaged his forehead. The crick in his spine seemed to be traveling upward, giving him a headache. He didn’t want to be dishonest with Faith, but he was concerned if people knew about his job loss, he might become the object of gossip. Or worse, the object of pity.
“I—I—” he stuttered.
His sentence was cut short by Mason calling out, “Faith! Hunter! We’ve been looking for you!”
Faith’s brother traipsed down the hill in their direction, and Lawrence Miller ambled a few paces behind. They were followed by two young women. Hunter sensed the questions he’d been dreading had only just begun.
* * *
As she watched her peers approach, Faith felt uncharacteristically peevish.
Ordinarily, she relished the time she spent chatting with the other women during Sabbath dinner cleanup, but today Lawrence’s fiancée, Penelope Lapp—an
eighteen-year-old deacon’s daughter who lived in a neighboring town—was visiting her relatives in Willow Creek. After church, Faith overheard Penelope fawning over Henrietta’s infant, claiming she hoped God would bless her with a baby by this time next year.
Although Faith no longer felt any romantic attachment to Lawrence, it distressed her to be reminded of why they’d broken up. She escaped to the creek to gather her composure, only to be discovered by Hunter, who pointed out what a “little wisp of a thing” she used to be and made her sentimental by calling to mind a long-forgotten memory of her departed father.
If all that weren’t unsettling enough, now she was going to have to exchange pleasantries with Lawrence!
“Hunter, how gut it is to see you,” Mason said, clapping him on the back.
Lawrence did the same and Hunter responded in kind.
“Please meet Katie Fisher,” Faith’s brother said. “She’s the schoolteacher here.”
“And this is Penelope Lapp,” Lawrence stated. “My intended.”
“Your intended?” Hunter repeated.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Lawrence ribbed him. “I’m twenty-two, almost twenty-three. It’s past time for me to marry and start a family.”
Faith winced, supposing if it weren’t for the time he lost courting her, Lawrence wouldn’t feel his marriage and family plans were behind schedule.
“How about you, Hunter?” Penelope asked. “Are you betrothed or walking out with someone?”
“Neh,” was all he said.
“Neh? That’s a surprise,” Lawrence replied. To Penelope, he explained, “Hunter lived here for a while when he was sixteen and he was so sought after, he had his choice of meed. He could have courted anyone he wanted.”
Faith’s irritation was becoming more difficult to suppress—it sounded as if Lawrence were describing horses at an auction, not young women.
“Did you want him to court you, Faith?” Penelope asked.
“I was only thirteen!” Faith exclaimed. “Despite what some people may think, not every maedel’s sole dream is to get married as soon as she possibly can.”
She was appalled by Penelope’s nerve. Even if Faith had developed a crush on someone as a schoolgirl, it wasn’t something she’d discuss, especially not in front of male acquaintances. Courtships and romance among the Amish tended to be private matters.
“He didn’t court or even favor anyone, if I recall,” Lawrence said. “He claimed he didn’t believe in courting unless he intended to marry, and since he was only sixteen and lived in Indiana, there was no point in walking out with anyone here. He was probably the only person who actually attended our singings just for the singing.”
Penelope sniggled but Katie asserted, “I attended singings in my district primarily for the singing when I was a youth. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Faith smiled at the stout, dark-haired woman. She always appreciated Katie’s forthright manner, and she was glad Mason was walking out with her. When Faith glanced at Hunter, she noticed he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, as if embarrassed by the conversation. She couldn’t blame him and she quickly switched topics.
“Speaking of youth, Hunter and I were just talking about how you boys used to spend time down here at the creek,” she said to Mason. “Do you remember the footbridge?”
“Jah, of course.” Mason regaled the others with the anecdote about their footbridge disaster and subsequent submersion in the creek.
“After your daed pulled us out, he promised if you finished the fieldwork early the following week, he’d help us build a sturdier bridge,” Hunter recalled.
“Jah, and you were so excited that after working all day for Ruth, you’d come and help us every evening in the fields and on Saturday, as well,” Mason reminisced, shaking his head. “My daed frequently commented about what a strong, dedicated worker you were. I often had to ask Gott to forgive my envy.”
“He’s still strong—look at those shoulders,” Lawrence observed, lightly punching Hunter’s arm.
Faith wasn’t certain if she imagined it, but Hunter’s face seemed to go gray. Was it modesty or the cold wind that caused him to set his jaw like that? Although as a boy, he was as congenial as could be, there was something stilted about his posture now that gave him an air of aloofness. Ordinarily, Faith would have been put off by an unsociable demeanor, but she sensed Hunter was uncomfortable with the attention, and she wanted to spare him further uneasiness.
“The bridge is still standing,” she informed Hunter. “This past summer I brought my nephew down to the water so he could cross it.”
Hunter visibly relaxed his shoulders. “I’m not surprised,” he said, looking directly at Faith as he smiled. “Your daed made sure it was durable.”
“I’d like to see it,” Penelope suggested. “Why don’t the men lead the way?”
Faith had never taken Lawrence to the bridge before, and she didn’t want him visiting it now. The bridge belonged to another part of her life; it belonged to her dad and brothers and nephews—and even to Hunter. But not to Lawrence. “I really ought to return to the house—” she started to say.
“There’s no need to hurry back,” insisted Penelope. “If you’re hungry, there will still be leftovers in another hour. And it’s not as if you need to dash to the evening singing to meet a suitor, is it?”
Faith huffed. She never mentioned wanting to eat, and she didn’t appreciate Penelope’s digging for information about whether she was being courted. “Actually, my concern is that I ought to be helping clean up.”
“But who knows when I’ll be back here again?” Penelope sounded like a wheedling child. “Please, Faith?”
“Alright,” Faith agreed, “kumme along.” She had no idea why it was so important to Penelope to see the footbridge, but she gave in since the young woman was a guest in their district. As a member of the host family, it was up to Faith to be especially hospitable to her. But that didn’t mean she was going to let the men take the lead.
* * *
Although Faith courteously accommodated Penelope’s request, as she pivoted toward the woods Hunter noticed the spark in her eyes. What put it there? Why did she suddenly say she needed to get back to the house? Was it really that she wanted to help clean up, or did Faith have a suitor waiting after church for her? Hunter didn’t know why the possibility caused him to experience a twinge of disappointment now, when only yesterday he assumed she was being courted. But perhaps that wasn’t the reason she wanted to leave at all. Maybe Faith was simply tiring of Penelope’s intrusive inquiries.
Hunter sure was. He gladly would have returned to the house, too, but the only thing he wanted to do less than hike along the creek was to explain why he didn’t want to hike along the creek. He intended to avoid discussing his injuries as long as he could. After all, what would Lawrence say once he knew Hunter developed such broad shoulders from months of turning the wheels of a wheelchair and hoisting himself along the parallel bars at the clinic? Would Mason think Hunter was less of a hard worker when he found out he’d lost his job because he wasn’t mobile enough to meet the assembly quota at the RV factory? Would it suddenly dawn on all of them why he was no longer “sought after” as a bachelor? What might Faith—not just as his employer, but as a woman near his age—think of him then?
It wasn’t that Hunter believed any of them would be unsympathetic if they found out about his injuries; it was that he didn’t want their sympathy in the first place. He worked too hard at recovering to have to answer personal questions about his condition from the likes of Penelope Lapp. So he bit his lip and tried to match his stride to Mason’s and Katie’s, while Faith marched up ahead and Penelope and Lawrence lagged behind.
“How long will you be visiting Willow Creek?” Katie questioned conversationally.
“Until my ant’s leg heals, probably sometime after th
e first of the year. I’m managing her store until she’s better.” Hunter pushed a branch out of his way, holding it to the side so it wouldn’t spring back and hit Penelope.
“What do you do for employment at home?” Penelope questioned.
“He works in an RV factory, isn’t that right?” Lawrence replied before Hunter had a chance to answer. “You must have accrued a lot of time off to take such a long leave. That’s one gut thing about working for the Englisch. It’s not like a farmer’s work, which is never done.”
While Hunter contemplated how best to respond, Penelope swatted at Lawrence with the end of her shawl. “I’ve heard it said that it’s a farmer’s wife’s work that is never done,” she taunted.
“That, too,” Lawrence allowed.
“Business owners don’t exactly sit around twiddling their thumbs, and Katie has her hands full as a schoolteacher, too,” Faith countered over her shoulder. Hunter chortled inwardly in appreciation of her feisty tone. She was never one to let her brothers claim their work was more important or difficult than anyone else’s, including hers, when they were kids.
“Jah, that’s probably true,” Penelope concurred. “Oh! Speaking of business owners, I almost forgot. Lawrence and I want you to make the cakes for our wedding, don’t we, Lawrence?”
“Jah, if she’s willing.”
“Of course I’m willing, but please give me your exact order ten days in advance. I know Lawrence prefers everything to be just so, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him,” Faith said without slowing or turning to face them. Did Hunter detect a note of sarcasm in her reply?
An Amish Holiday Wedding (Amish Country Courtships Book 3) Page 3
