An Amish Holiday Wedding (Amish Country Courtships Book 3)

by Carrie Lighte

  “I will,” Penelope agreed happily. “Hunter, you must attend our wedding, too. All of the leit from Lawrence’s church are invited. We’ll match you up with a—”

  “There’s the bridge,” Faith interrupted, and Hunter was thankful she’d saved him from embarrassment once again. She scampered down the rocky embankment, and the others followed.

  Each step seemed to jar Hunter’s hip bones against their sockets as he descended the slope. The small bridge was weathered and a few boards were missing, but it rose in a functional arc above the shallow current, just as he’d remembered.

  “It’s as good as new,” Mason jested, confidently crossing it to the other side. He held out his hand for Katie to join him.

  Katie stalled reluctantly. “I don’t know... I might be too heavy for a kinner’s bridge.”

  “Don’t you trust my workmanship?” Mason teased, so she darted across the planks.

  Penelope took her turn, and then Lawrence stepped onto the structure. “You call this durable?” he gibed, stomping on the bridge with the heel of his boot. “This board here feels a little loose.”

  After Lawrence crossed, Hunter waited for Faith, who seemed to be dillydallying. “Ladies first,” he uttered patiently.

  Faith hesitated before placing one foot onto the bridge. As she lifted her back foot from the shore, the waterlogged board beneath her front foot gave way.

  From the parallel embankment, Katie shrieked, “Help her!”

  It happened so suddenly and his joints were so stiff, Hunter wasn’t able to spring forward quickly enough to prevent Faith from falling. Her front leg wedged through the crack into the creek while her upper torso lurched forward onto the bridge.

  Mason and Lawrence raced down the opposite bank while Hunter bolted into the icy current from his side of the water. With one foot dangling in the creek, Faith was using her dry, bent leg and her arms to try to crawl onto the bridge.

  “Are you hurt?” Mason asked.

  “I’m stuck!” she yelped, red-faced. “Stop pulling me! You’re making it worse.”

  “I’ve got her,” Hunter said authoritatively. “I’ll lift her up so you can free her leg. Be careful. Here, Faith, lean back against me.”

  From behind, he gently wrapped his arms around her waist and clasped her to his chest until Lawrence and Mason eased her leg from between the planks. Then he carried her to the embankment. Her stocking was torn and her leg was scraped from her ankle to her knee, but it didn’t appear to be seriously injured.

  Kneeling before her, Hunter hesitated. He feared his legs would lock up on him, but he offered, “If it hurts your ankle to walk on it, I can carry you back to the house.”

  “Neh,” she snapped and what seemed like a look of disgust clouded her face. He didn’t blame her; he might as well have pushed her into the creek for as slowly as he’d moved to prevent her from falling in.

  Then she quietly added, “Denki, but my foot is fine. It’s just very cold, so I’m going to hurry up ahead.”

  Katie, who had waded over to be sure Faith was alright, said, “My feet are wet and cold, too, so I’ll go with you.” She linked her arm through Faith’s for support and they scuttled away.

  Stranded on the opposite bank without a bridge to cross, Penelope called, “What about me? Lawrence, help!” until Lawrence waded across the water, hefted her to his shoulder as easily as a sack of grain and waded back, setting her down next to Mason and Hunter.

  The four of them walked in silence the rest of the way, too chilled to speak. In fact, until Katie mentioned her feet were wet, Hunter hadn’t realized his legs were, too. The icy water had made them so numb that for once he wasn’t aware they’d ever been hurt at all. Wishing the same could be said of his self-esteem, Hunter kept his chin tucked to his chest as he tramped against the wind.

  Chapter Three

  On Sunday night, Faith rose so many times to don her prayer kapp and kneel beside her bed that she feared she’d wake her two nephews, ages three and five, who slept on the other side of the divider in the tiny room she shared with them. Each time she finished praying, she was certain she’d thought her final uncharitable thought, but another one would come to mind as soon as she slid back under the quilt and she’d have to ask the Lord to forgive her all over again.

  Much of her resentment was directed at Lawrence, whom she blamed for her clumsy plunge into the creek. If he hadn’t deliberately trampled over the bridge like a big ox, the board wouldn’t have broken when it was her turn to cross. She was equally piqued by Penelope’s constant chatter and references to her upcoming wedding. Faith understood the young woman was barely eighteen, but it seemed she could have exercised a bit more discretion.

  Yet oddly, it was Hunter’s conduct that ruffled her most. Rationally, she knew he was being helpful, but she was utterly mortified when he wrapped his arms around her midsection and held her above the water. Not to mention how embarrassed she was by the pained expression on his face right before he offered to carry her home. He couldn’t have appeared more daunted if he’d volunteered to shoulder a dairy cow!

  She admitted she was overweight, but she wasn’t that overweight. Wasn’t Hunter supposed to possess extraordinary strength, anyway? Wasn’t that what Mason and Lawrence claimed? She remembered his youthful vitality, too, just like she remembered how popular he was. But what good did either of those qualities do him now, if he couldn’t be gracious enough to overlook the fact she was no longer “a little wisp of a thing”? Not that she wanted his assistance, but he didn’t have to pull such a face when he offered it—especially in front of Lawrence and his skinny fiancée, Penelope.

  Faith socked her pillow. With the exception of the afternoon she confided her secret to Lawrence, she’d never felt so unfeminine and humiliated as she’d felt that afternoon. By the time she drifted to sleep, she wasn’t certain whether her leg ached from falling through the bridge or from kneeling so long, praying for God to forgive her pride and anger.

  When she awoke on Monday, her indignation had faded, but as she bicycled through the dark, her leg burned with each painful rotation of the pedals. Feeling cranky, she hoped she’d have a few minutes alone before Pearl arrived. Usually, the older woman didn’t come in until seven thirty or eight, but this week she planned to work longer hours to help fill the Thanksgiving pie orders.

  Faith sighed. Thanksgiving was ten days away and they were behind schedule as it was. They’d received so many orders that Faith resorted to limiting the number of fresh-baked pies she’d sell during the half week before the holiday. Instead, she offered customers the option of buying unbaked, frozen pies, which they could pick up anytime. Many Englischers said they’d be glad to experience the fragrant aroma of “homemade” pies baking in their ovens. Some brought in their own pie plates, and Faith inferred they might intend to take credit for making the pies themselves, but she didn’t mind one bit; each order brought her closer to making her down payment.

  But exactly how much closer was she? The surge in orders was generating more income, but since she was also spending more on ingredients and paying Pearl for extended hours, Faith wasn’t sure how the figures would balance out. Bookkeeping wasn’t her strength, but she planned to review her financial records as soon as things slowed down in the bakery.

  “Guder mariye,” Pearl cheerfully greeted Faith. “You’re limping! What happened to your leg? Were you romping through the woods with those darling nephews of yours again? You dote on them. You’ll make a fine mother someday—”

  “It’s nothing,” Faith cut in. She was edgy enough without being reminded she probably wouldn’t make a fine mother someday. “You’re here even earlier than I am. Did you start a pot of kaffi?”

  “I just put it on.”

  They took turns making and rolling pie dough and peeling and slicing apples until it was time to flip the sign on the door to Open.

&
nbsp; “Guess who’s up bright and early this morning?” Pearl chirped, returning from the task. “Hunter Schwartz. I spotted him in the shop.”

  Her cheeks burning at the mention of Hunter’s name, Faith only mumbled, “Hmm.”

  “The cannery doesn’t open until nine. He must be an especially hard worker.”

  First Pearl called him a fine, strapping young man and now she was praising his industriousness. Faith knew the older woman well enough to suspect her comments were a prelude to matchmaking.

  “Jah,” Faith carefully concurred. “Diligence was always one of Hunter’s admirable attributes, even when we were kinner.” Then, so Pearl wouldn’t read any personal interest into Faith’s admission, she added, “That’s one of the reasons I didn’t hesitate to hire him.”

  “We should extend a personal invitation for him to join us for his afternoon meal, the way Ivy and Ruth always do. You could go over there before the customers start arriving and—”

  Now Faith felt positive Pearl was laying the groundwork for a match between her and Hunter. “Neh!” she refused more adamantly than she intended.

  Pearl put her hand to her throat as if wounded. “Oh,” she apologized meekly. “I just thought it would be a neighborly thing to do.”

  Faith realized she may have misinterpreted Pearl’s intentions and regretted her decision hurt Pearl’s feelings, but she didn’t back down. “It’s a lovely thought, Pearl. But we’re so busy filling orders I don’t foresee myself taking proper dinner breaks. It wouldn’t be polite for me to personally invite him and then not join all of you once he got here.”

  “Neh, of course not, I understand,” Pearl said. “Work comes first.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” Faith clarified. “I only meant...”

  The bell jangled on the door and one of the Englisch regulars stopped in for his morning coffee and honey bar. Faith was relieved she didn’t have to confess the real reasons she couldn’t possibly sit down and eat dinner with Hunter Schwartz. For one thing, even though he was already well aware of the size of her waist, she didn’t want him to know how much she ate and judge her for it. For another, there was something about seeing him again as an adult that made her doubt she could swallow two bites in front of him. The feeling wasn’t merely the awkwardness over broken eggs or broken bridges, nor was it necessarily an unpleasant sensation, but it was unsettling all the same. Once Faith became accustomed to working with him, perhaps she’d feel different. For now, she hoped she wouldn’t see much of Hunter until after Thanksgiving, when he began making deliveries. Perhaps by then, she’d even lose a couple of pounds.

  * * *

  Hunter wiped his palms against his trousers. On Saturday he’d mopped the floor, and he’d come into the cannery early this morning to restock the shelves so that everything was exactly where it should be. Rather, everything except one very important person: Ivy. It was ten minutes before nine o’clock. The shop opened at nine on weekdays, and Ivy was nowhere to be seen.

  Hunter was afraid this might happen. Ivy lived alone with her grandfather, Mervin Sutter, who introduced Ivy to Hunter and Iris after church on Sunday. The blonde, petite, sixteen-year-old girl wouldn’t look Hunter in the eye as she mumbled a barely audible greeting. He attributed her shyness to his own appearance, assuming she was intimidated because he was twice her size. Also, his pants were dripping from walking into the creek and he was shaking with cold. To her, he probably looked like a crazed bear, which was a bit how he felt at that particular moment.

  Glancing through the window toward the bakery, he wondered how Faith’s leg was this morning. He knew from experience pain had a way of getting worse as the day wore on. As he uttered a quick prayer this wouldn’t be the case for Faith, he caught sight of her approaching a table toward the front of her shop. She disposed of a napkin and paper cup and scrubbed the table in swift circles with a cloth. To his surprise, when she was done she lifted her hand in acknowledgment. Pleased she seemed to have put his shortcomings during yesterday’s incident behind her, he waved back.

  Then he realized she wasn’t waving to him, but to Ivy, who was passing on the sidewalk in front of the cannery. She pulled the door open just as the clock began to chime on the hour.

  “Ruth Graber turns the sign to Open at nine o’clock,” Ivy stated in a monotone.

  Hunter was startled speechless by her greeting. Then he recalled Ruth advising him that habits were very important to Ivy and he mustn’t disrupt her routine.

  “Of course, denki for the reminder, Ivy,” he said as he flipped the sign on the door.

  For the rest of the morning, Ivy didn’t say a word unless asked. But she led the customers to any item they requested and she could quote the jars’ contents and prices by heart. However, Hunter quickly discovered that while her recitation skills were excellent, Ivy had no ability to add or multiply figures. So, he used the cash register to create receipts while she bagged the customers’ purchases.

  Virtually all of the customers were Englischers, but at midmorning, a slightly built, bespectacled Amish man, Joseph Schrock, paid a visit to introduce himself. Joseph’s father, Daniel Schrock, owned Schrock’s Shop, which featured Amish-made crafts and goods that were especially appealing to tourists, and the store turned a healthy profit.

  “It’s gut to meet another businessman,” Joseph said. “Sometimes I catch grief because I’m not a carpenter or a farmer, but I knew from the time I was a kind I had a head for figures, not a body for a farm. Gott gives us all different talents, right?”

  “Jah,” Hunter agreed, although he wasn’t sure if Joseph’s comment made him feel better or worse about not being able to do the physical labor he’d been accustomed to doing. What if his physical strength was his only God-given gift? What if he didn’t have a “head for figures”?

  He didn’t have time to dwell on the thought, though, because customers were lining up. Soon, Ivy declared, “It’s quarter to one. Ruth Graber and I take our dinner break with Faith Yoder and Pearl Hostetler at one o’clock. Ruth Graber turns the sign to Closed.”

  Hunter didn’t mind if Ivy went to Faith’s bakery for her dinner break, but he had no intention of going with her. During the working day on Main Street, his association with Faith was strictly professional, not social. “You’ve done such a gut job teaching me how to serve customers, Ivy, that I’ll keep the shop open and stay here while you take your break.”

  The girl’s face puckered in confusion. “You won’t eat with us?”

  “I’ll eat my dinner now in the back room. If any customers kumme in and you need help, call me. I’ll be done before one o’clock,” Hunter assured her.

  In the sterile back room where Ruth did her canning, Hunter leaned against a stool. Standing all morning caused his hips and lower spine to burn with pain, but if he’d been sitting all morning, he would have claimed the same discomfort. The fact was, there was little that didn’t cause his back and legs to hurt and even less that helped them to feel better.

  He listened for customers arriving as he downed his cold mincemeat pie. After church, Henrietta Yoder sent a pie home with them, saying Faith made the pie especially for Ruth the evening before, once she finished baking bread for the church meal. Hunter, his aunt and his mother enjoyed it for supper, and he was pleased there were leftovers he could bring to work for dinner. If the rest of Faith’s baking was as good as her pie, Hunter figured it was no wonder her business was flourishing.

  He returned to the main room with four minutes to spare. The door was left open and Ivy was gone.

  “Ach!” he said aloud. “She must have gone to Faith’s already.”

  Yet it troubled him that she’d left the door ajar. Also, she was so time-conscious that it seemed unlikely she would have left before the clock chimed. However reluctant he was to face Faith again after his ineptness at the creek, Hunter wouldn’t be satisfied until he made certain Ivy was
at the bakery. He put on his coat and hat and crossed the street.

  “Guder nammidaag!” Pearl exclaimed when he stepped inside, where a tantalizing aroma filled the air. “Faith, look who’s joining us for his dinner break.”

  “Oh?” Faith’s neutral response was difficult to interpret as she bent to slide a tray of apple fry pies into the display case.

  “Actually, I already ate my dinner,” Hunter explained. “I’m here to check on Ivy. She left without letting me know she was going.”

  Faith abruptly popped up from behind the counter, her eyes wide. “Ivy’s not here. She never steps foot in the door until the clock strikes. How long has she been missing?”

  “Missing? I don’t think she’s missing,” Hunter faltered as a wave of panic washed over him. “She’s just not at the shop, that’s all.”

  * * *

  Noticing Hunter’s ashen complexion, Faith felt almost as much concern for him as she did for Ivy.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find her,” Faith promised. “When exactly was she last in the store?”

  Hunter stammered, “She—she was just there fifteen minutes ago. It was quarter to one. I told her I’d eat my dinner in the back room and when I was finished she could kumme here to take her dinner break with you.”

  Faith immediately knew what the problem was, but she didn’t have time to explain it to Hunter. She glanced at Pearl, who was already tying her winter bonnet beneath her chin.

  “I’ll check the other Main Street shops for her, but meanwhile you’d better get to the pond,” Pearl advised. “She has a fifteen-minute head start.”

  Grabbing her shawl, Faith asked Hunter if he’d brought his buggy into town.

  “Neh. I walked.”

  “Follow me, then,” she urged and led him through the kitchen and out the back door. She wheeled her tandem bicycle away from the wall it was leaning against.

  “You can take the backseat, I’ll steer,” she instructed. Although the pond was situated right down the hill from his aunt’s house, Hunter was so dazed Faith wasn’t sure he’d remember where to turn off the main road.