The Amish Widower's Twins and the Amish Bachelor's Choice

by Jo Ann Brown

  Ruth was well into her current project, a dainty but sturdy hall seat in oak with Queen Anne feet, before she noticed half the morning was gone. Of course, the morning had gone faster once she’d stopped craning her neck every five minutes to locate Malachi. He’d unconsciously made it easier for her by staying in the office to do some paperwork. As he was there, he attended the shop when the bell heralded the arrival of customers. Ruth hoped they were all legitimate customers and not single women shopping for a husband.

  Turning over her sanding block, she ran a finger over the smooth surface. Time to change the paper. She needed to go to a finer grade for this next step anyway. Slipping off her dust mask, Ruth smiled as she recalled her friends’ comments about finding it hard to breathe around their beaus. She was beginning to understand what they meant. It had been a rather breathless ride this morning.

  She strode over to the cabinet that housed the sheets of sandpaper. Nodding at Gideon, who was changing out the paper on a belt sander, she looked for the grade she needed.

  Samuel had been working on a chair leg on the nearby lathe. He shut off the generator-powered machine and rolled his shoulders, understandably stiff after some time in the same position.

  “So who are you planning on taking home after the singing next church Sunday, Samuel?” Gideon queried.

  Ruth smiled down at the 120-grit sandpaper in her hands. Malachi’s younger brothers loved to tease each other. She enjoyed their banter. It made her wish she had siblings.

  “It’ll be hard to choose. There’s so many of them.”

  Gideon snorted. “How do you know one will go with you?”

  “Oh, they will. You just have to know women.”

  Instead of laughing as she expected, Gideon responded seriously. “Speaking of women, do you think Malachi is missing Leah? He’s been acting strange lately.”

  The grit on the sandpaper roughened Ruth’s fingertips as her hands tightened on the sheets. Who was Leah? She’d heard the name mentioned before but hadn’t paid much attention. Now the name sounded ominous. In the book of Genesis in the Bible, Leah had sneaked into the wedding ceremony and married Jacob first. He’d eventually gotten Rachel, the one he’d truly wanted, but it had taken him seven more years of working hard for his father-in-law. Ever since reading the story, Ruth had never liked the name of the conniving Leah. She shuffled through a few more grades of sandpaper, her ears focused on the brothers’ conversation.

  “I don’t know. Maybe when she and her father come visit before Christmas, we’ll find out.”

  Ruth stared unseeing at the sandpaper. Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed a woodworking plane outfitted with fresh blades, the knob lodged right under her heart.

  “I thought that was all settled before we left Ohio.”

  “You know Malachi. He never says much about his women.”

  “Ja. Unlike you.”

  A smile crossed Samuel’s handsome face. “There’s so much to say about mine. And so many of them to say it about.”

  With another muffled snort, Gideon settled his safety glasses back on his face and restarted the belt sander. The conversation was over.

  So was Ruth’s ability to breathe momentarily. Pulling an entirely different grade of sandpaper from the cabinet than the one she’d intended, she slowly made her way to her workstation.

  Ruth stared at the Queen Anne legs blankly before remembering what she was working on. Gathering up the pieces, she neatly put that project away. Thoughts whirling, she automatically pulled out the project that gave her comfort. The red oak rocker.

  Not wanting to wreck her father’s chair, she double-checked the grit on the sandpaper and then began the habitual soothing strokes down the slats that made the surface as smooth as glass. As her hands worked on autopilot, Ruth unfortunately had much time to think. Did Malachi have a girl back in Ohio? She and Hannah had speculated on the possibility. But that was before...he kissed her. Amish courtships were typically kept private until announced at the church a short few weeks before the wedding. Was Malachi betrothed to this Leah?

  Ruth sanded vigorously for a moment, but it didn’t obliterate the troubling thought. If he was betrothed, why had he kissed her? She vividly recalled her racing heart and the longing to wrap her arms around him.

  He didn’t seem like the type of man to play with a woman’s feelings like that. But what did she know of men really? She hadn’t walked out with anyone during her rumspringa. And she’d gotten adept at dissuading those who seemed interested, so they stayed just friends.

  Daed hadn’t remarried after losing his wife, even to help raise a child, in defiance of community expectations. At the thought of her father, Ruth slowed down her mindless stroking and fingered the fine-grained wood. Oh, Daed, I wish you were here for words of advice. The back of her eyes prickled. Ruth blinked rapidly to prevent the telltale onslaught of tears.

  Of course, Leah could be coming here to get ready for the wedding. Traditionally held during the months after harvest until Christmas, Amish weddings were now spread throughout the year. If she was arriving soon, it wasn’t too late to get a wedding completed by the year’s end.

  Would he go back to Ohio, or would she come here to Wisconsin? Surely he wouldn’t go back; he’d just bought a home and business. It made sense. He’d come first, get settled in a home and work before a new wife would join him. Setting the wood down, Ruth pressed her fingers to her eyes. It didn’t stop the tears from welling up.

  That is why you are not going to be an Amish wife, Ruth reminded herself. It would be the loss of hopes and freedoms. Now it was simply the loss of a man. A man she didn’t have anyway.

  An Englisch wife might start her marriage with I do. For an Amish wife, a wedding was the beginning of I don’ts. I don’t get to make furniture. I don’t work in the workshop or the store. Once baptized, which was necessary before one got married, I don’t take a correspondence course.

  She had some more I don’ts: I don’t want to be here if he’s married to someone else. I don’t want to see his new wife come in to visit him. I don’t want to see her sitting with the married women at church. I don’t want to see him growing a beard as a married man, a beard I won’t look across and see every morning. I don’t want to see her pregnant with his child.

  Her eyes squeezed shut but tears leaked through anyway. Her breath came in shallow pants. I don’t want to see her come in, trailed after by his kinder. Boys with solemn blue eyes with just a hint of mischief. Girls with blond hair that’d be curly when long.

  There was sourness in her stomach and the bitter taste of bile at the back of her throat. She was going to be sick. Ruth yanked her safety glasses off and tossed them on the bench. Tears now fell freely. She swiveled on her stool, prepared to make a hasty dash to the bathroom. And found herself facing solemn blue eyes. She couldn’t read what was in his eyes at all. She’d never seen them like that. Nor heard the low, flat tone in his voice.

  “What are you working on?”

  Ruth swallowed hard against the acrid taste in her mouth. If she opened her mouth, she was afraid something other than words would come out.

  Malachi raised an eyebrow, his eyes never wavering from hers.

  “It’s a rocking chair. For me.” Ruth managed to get the words out, but just barely. “Something my father started.”

  His gaze flicked over the pieces of red oak before returning to her face. Ruth wanted to scrub her hands over the mess she knew she presented, but she kept them clenched at her sides. To fret about her looks would’ve been prideful. She fretted anyway. Pride was conditional on regaining control of herself. Ruth straightened her shoulders and swallowed again.

  It was a moment before he spoke. “Shouldn’t you be concentrating on something productive for the business during work hours? Since your efforts have made us all so busy?”

  Ruth couldn’t help it. She gasped.
Amish might be nonviolent, but he might as well have punched her. She wished he had—she would’ve been less hurt. Brushing by him, she beelined for the coatrack and snagged her bonnet and cape from the peg as she swept by. Her shoulder burned from the brief contact. She firmly, but in a controlled manner, shut the door behind her before swinging the cape over her shoulders and fastening her bonnet as she headed briskly down the street.

  * * *

  Malachi watched the black cape swirl briefly in the window of the door before it—and Ruth—disappeared. He felt his sigh down to his brown work shoes. This was why he didn’t like to interact with crying females. There was no right move. He couldn’t pull her into his arms and comfort her as he longed to do. Absorbing all her cares and sorrows. Not here at work, where his brothers and other employees only had to swivel their heads to watch, if they weren’t watching already.

  His gaze left the door and swept around the room. Malachi raised an eyebrow at all of them and one by one the men returned to their work. Samuel was the last. He cocked his eyebrow in return, a mocking imitation of his brother. Malachi glared at his sibling. Samuel smirked, dropped his safety glasses down over his eyes and returned his attention to the lathe.

  Malachi directed his gaze to the delicately wrought oak pieces at Ruth’s station. It was beautiful work. Amos Fisher had been an outstanding master craftsman, and he’d taught his daughter well. But as talented as she was, and as beautiful as he knew the piece would be when finished, Malachi didn’t want to see Ruth work on it. It hurt her too much. He saw the pain on her face every time she worked on the rocker.

  Remembering the furniture her daed had already made her and her melancholy expression when she’d mentioned this unfinished piece, Malachi stroked his finger over the silken wood. That was why he’d interrupted her. She was obviously distraught. He’d wanted to protect her from that pain. Knowing she wouldn’t stop if he directly asked her, he’d decided to come at it from a different angle. An angle that supported her value to the business while getting her to stop working on something that upset her.

  Malachi glanced at the closed door. Obviously it’d been the wrong angle. Casting one last considering look at the oak, he shook his head. Crying women. Safer to stick your fingers in a malfunctioning table saw. Sighing, he made his way to the office door.

  Knowing Ruth brought her lunch, Malachi kept checking the workshop for her return during the lunch break. He stopped looking when Jacob returned from lunch at the café and mentioned he’d run into Hannah Lapp, who was giving Ruth a ride home as she didn’t feel well. Malachi furrowed his brow. She’d been fine this morning. And very fine last night.

  After everyone else left for the day and weekend, Malachi wandered into the workshop to Ruth’s work area again. Eyeing the red oak pieces scattered across the bench where she’d left them in her hasty departure, he picked up a slat and gently slapped it across his palm.

  It was later than usual when he left the shop. Malachi’s mind was still on Ruth as he harnessed a lonely Kip in the shed. She might be able to avoid him tonight, and this weekend, but she wouldn’t be able to do so on Monday. They were meeting with a customer in Portage that morning, a meeting Ruth had set up herself. Malachi didn’t think she’d miss it.

  They’d hired an Englisch driver to take them on the forty-mile round-trip to the larger town. The driver would pick them up at their homes on Monday morning before chauffeuring them to the furniture store in Portage and then back to work afterward. Beyond hanging out the window of the vehicle, there wasn’t much she could do to avoid him on the trip. And perhaps he’d talk with his brothers about borrowing one of their rigs to take her home after work Monday. Bess would still be out of commission, leaving Ruth to make her way on foot. Maybe he’d commandeer Gideon’s rig this time.

  Malachi smiled grimly. Even with the wild ride, or perhaps because of it, Samuel’s filly had done him a favor. Maybe he ought to give her another chance. Malachi shook his head, listening to the steady clop of Kip’s hooves on the blacktop. He hadn’t had so many complicated females to handle back in Ohio. Only a very subdued but straightforward one. Clicking to Kip to pick up his speed, Malachi determined he liked the twists and turns of the Wisconsin landscape better.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On Saturday, Ruth dusted every piece of furniture in the house, lingering over the items made by her father. She swept and scrubbed the floors, cleaned the bathroom, even tackled a closet and cleaned out the fireplace. An Amish proverb advised that women’s work wasn’t seen unless it wasn’t done. Hers hadn’t been done in a while. And she needed something to occupy her mind and her time.

  Her cheeks flushed in remembrance of her actions yesterday. They’d been out of character. She wasn’t an evader. Besides, none of that might even come to pass. She was always thinking of what-ifs in terms of the business. There’d never been a man in her life to think about. With Malachi, she’d gotten carried away.

  Always pragmatic about business opportunities, she’d be pragmatic about this, as well. Malachi had never mentioned Leah. His brothers didn’t know everything. As much as Samuel might think he knew women, well, he didn’t. Ruth wrinkled her nose. Not that she was an expert. All women didn’t think like her. Particularly those in the Amish community.

  Monday she’d see Malachi. She’d ask him. They’d straighten things out. His kisses had to have meant something, right? They’d meant something to her.

  That Sunday, one without church, Ruth spent time working on her accounting correspondence course. She didn’t consider it work, as she enjoyed the challenge. It was what she’d always dreamed of. Today, she wasn’t finding it as fulfilling as she’d anticipated. While staring at the words and numbers, she’d catch herself thinking of other things. Things like the cushiony rustle of straw under her back while blue eyes looked into hers. Or cool fingers brushing across her cheek.

  By the time she finished the first assignment, she’d worn down half an eraser. Rubbing it again across the paper, she hoped the score on this assignment wouldn’t permanently ruin her grade for the course.

  When Rascal uttered his version of a warning bark and scrambled over to the kitchen door, Ruth was happy for the interruption. Sundays without church were used in the Amish community to visit friends and relatives. During her father’s illness, Ruth had gotten out of the habit. Just getting through the workweek had tired him out. They’d stayed home on weekends so he could rest.

  They had no close family in the area, as both sets of grandparents had passed away while Ruth was growing up. Although he’d been a business owner, Amos had been a private person. As Ruth grew older, she’d taken on more of the business aspects and interaction with people that were essential to the operation, and he’d stayed in the workshop. Yes, they’d been a part of the fabric of the community, hosting church services when it was their turn, supporting others in need, but they’d mostly been on the periphery. A quilt block lining the edge of the blanket as opposed to one in the center of the quilt.

  After her father had died, Ruth had been so busy managing the business day to day, and then preparing it for sale that Visiting Sundays had continued to be ones of rest. Or more accurately, of seclusion. Perhaps that’d been a mistake. Perhaps it was time to become a more active part of the community. Then again—Ruth glanced at the paperwork spread over the table as she rose to her feet—it wouldn’t matter if she wasn’t staying.

  A genuine smile lit her face when she opened the door as far as the bouncing pup would let her. “Guder Nammidaag!”

  Hannah was standing on the porch, a corresponding smile on her pretty face.

  “Good afternoon to you, too.” Hannah knelt to rub Rascal’s ears when the pup dashed outside to place his paw on her black-enclosed legs. “And good afternoon to you, as well. Have you been behaving?”

  “There’s a reason his name is Rascal.” Ruth motioned her in and closed the door behind them. “I suppo
se all his siblings are perfectly behaved puppies.”

  “If they are, they’re behaving in someone else’s homes.”

  Ruth hurriedly piled her studies into a stack on the table and invited Hannah to sit down. Hannah glanced at the paperwork but didn’t say anything as she took a seat. Ruth went to the stove to get them some coffee. “You’ve sold them all, then?”

  “Ja. They were gone as soon as they could be weaned.”

  “I’m not surprised. You have a reputation for raising wunderbar puppies.” Hannah changed the subject, to Ruth’s dismay. “I wanted to see how you were. You seemed quite upset on Friday.”

  Ruth focused on the cups she was assembling for coffee. “I wanted to thank you for the ride home. And for not asking questions, when I looked pretty...questionable.” She’d looked like something that had been dragged face-first after a plow. At least that was how she’d felt.

  “I’m asking now.” Hannah’s voice was gentle. But intractable. When Ruth didn’t speak, Hannah did. “Was it something to do with Malachi?”

  Bringing the cups to the table, Ruth cringed. “Does everyone know?”

  “No, because everyone doesn’t know you. Well?”

  Ruth sat down across from her friend. “I don’t know. Sometimes, when I’m with him, I think...” Ruth paused and flipped her hand in a few small circles. It was hard to put into words what she thought. She glanced at the paperwork stacked on the end of the table. “Then other times, I’m unsure.”

  Hannah nodded, a sweet smile of understanding on her lovely face. Ruth studied her friend as Hannah lifted the coffee cup. Whereas Ruth questioned her place in the Amish community, Hannah was the epitome of a perfect young Amish woman. Filled with patience, demut and gelassenheit. The Amish discouraged photos, but if there were ever a poster of the essence of an Amish woman, it would have Hannah’s picture on it. In the current state of Ruth’s muddled mind, she didn’t know how one could sincerely display such submission, or “letting be.” A glaring omission in her own character that Ruth needed to pray about tonight. Again.