by Sarah Price
Embarrassed by his reaction, Catherine remained silent, but Ida Mae leaned over and whispered in a loud voice, “Romances, my dear bruder. Amish romances.”
John turned his head to stare at Catherine, his eyes blazing with mirth. She didn’t care one bit for the way he seemed to be mocking her when he said, “I see! Amish romances. Looking for pointers, then?”
She turned her head away, her initial impression of John Troyer having quickly been solidified. If she had thought she didn’t particularly care for John when she first saw him leering at her, she was now fairly convinced of it. He was far more worldly than she preferred, and therefore, Catherine remained as guarded as could be in his company until she finally saw Wilma and Duane preparing to leave.
For Catherine, their departure didn’t come a moment too soon.
Chapter 5
On Monday, Catherine found her day starting with one disappointment after another.
Shortly after morning prayers and breakfast, she walked into town, hoping that she might run into Henry Tilman. She didn’t know where the Tilmans’ cottage was located, but she had learned from Ida Mae that they worshipped in the church district, so they must have lived nearby. So why hadn’t Henry been in church? Had he decided to visit another church district instead? While their acquaintance was brief, she certainly would have thought Henry might have mentioned if he was leaving town right away. Where could he have gone?
She glanced around the shops in town, her gaze stopping and lingering on the picnic table where they’d met, secretly hoping he might be sitting there. But there was no sign of Henry.
Several times, Catherine went over their conversation and tried to remember what he had specifically said about the frolic. From his mysterious comment that gave no direct answer, she had presumed that he was, indeed, going to be helping. However, it appeared that he was, in fact, gone from the town of Banthe.
Her first disappointment of the day.
And then the second came: John Troyer bicycling along Main Street. To Catherine’s dismay, when John spotted her, he immediately abandoned his bicycle, leaned it against a tree, and fell into step beside her. While she wasn’t opposed to John’s company, she did wonder how having him walk with her might appear to other people that they passed on the street. She certainly didn’t want people thinking that she was sweet on John Troyer. Plus, she still worried that Henry might show up in town and notice her walking with another man.
While John was too eager to her taste, today he seemed a tad more pleasant and conservative. In fact, the young man proved himself to be amusing company. As he walked beside her, he pointed out various people that he saw, telling her silly stories about each one’s background and family.
“And there,” he said, leaning close to whisper so that no one else could overhear, “is Noah Bontrager. He’s on his third wife, can you imagine!”
“Third wife!” she exclaimed and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Fortunately, Noah Bontrager was too far away to have witnessed her overstated reaction.
With a very somber expression on his face, John nodded his head. “That’s right. And the first two died under the most suspicious of situations.”
“Oh, you don’t mean …!” She gasped.
But he did not offer any more of the story, merely walking in silence, his heavy boots crunching the gravel beneath with each step.
A few seconds dragged out and Catherine could not stand the suspense. She touched his arm and leaned over. “Tell me, John! I want to know.”
“Ach, of course you do!” He winked at her, clearly delighted with her interest in his story. “And so does the entire town. Even the best of Christians want to know the worst of gossip, ja?”
Immediately, Catherine sobered. His comment stung, even though she suspected he meant it in jest. Still, she wished she could take back her request for more information about Noah Bontrager and his first two wives. How could she have fallen victim to John’s trickery?
Unaware of the change in her mood, John continued talking, demonstrating that even the best of Christians also wanted to spread the worst of gossip. “Ja, quite the mystery. The first wife was in an accident in the fields.”
Silence.
“That’s it?” Catherine couldn’t mask her disappointment. “I admit that I’m sad to hear that, but there is nothing mysterious about it. Unfortunately, it happens quite frequently.”
Artfully, John raised an eyebrow, just one, and peered at her in an off-hand type of way. “Really? How about if she was found under the front of the baler!”
As if on automatic pilot, Catherine stopped walking as soon as she heard his words. “The front of the baler? Why, that’s rather unusual, ja?”
“Noah claimed she was driving the mules while he loaded the baler. But still,” John said, lowering his voice again, “how would she have fallen forward unless, perhaps, she was pushed?”
Catherine gasped.
“No one thought much of it, you see, until his second wife fell from the hayloft. She was in the hospital for quite some time.”
Catherine tilted her head. “Was he with her then?”
“Oh, ja! Every day, never left. Not once.” He glanced around to make certain that they were not near anyone. “As if he was afraid she might wake up and speak. Perhaps, Catherine, she might have told that he pushed her!”
Another gasp and she turned her head to look at Noah Bontrager, who stood outside of the small post office, sorting through his mail. “Why would anyone marry him with such a past?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Indeed.” John said this with staunch conviction, lifting his head in such a way that he appeared confident that the third wife would find herself in the same situation as his wife number one and wife number two: dead.
The thrill of the possible scandal, however, was short-lived. After Catherine and John reached the only restaurant in town, he paused.
“Mayhaps you’d care to join me for a coffee or soda?” he asked, gesturing toward the restaurant.
But Catherine was quick to shake her head. “Danke, but nee. I’ve some errands and then I best be getting back to the cottage.” The truth was that she wanted to stop at the small store next to the restaurant, for Wilma had heard tell that they offered a nice selection of suitable books for purchase. However, even if she hadn’t wanted to peruse their bookshelves, she would have declined his invitation anyway. After all, Catherine knew better than to let John think she might be interested in courting him.
“Then I shall be on my way, I reckon.” He sounded disappointed, thrusting his hands into his front pockets and taking a few steps backward in the direction where he had left his bicycle.
“Please tell Ida Mae I said hello,” Catherine added before she turned around and headed for the store. Despite suspecting that John was still watching her, Catherine refused to look back, fearing that such a gesture might be misinterpreted by John. Instead, she hurried into the store, welcoming the respite from his unruly tongue.
The bell over the store’s door rang as Catherine shut the door and looked around. There were aisles of yarn and fabric, even floss for embroidery. The assortment of bright colors immediately comforted Catherine and she wandered over to a table full of clearance cloth patches. Oh! How she could make such a pretty quilt from the different pieces, she thought.
“May I help you, then?” a dark-haired young woman asked.
Startled, Catherine shook her head to clear her thoughts, trying to remember why, exactly, she was there. “Oh, ja, please. I heard you sell books here?”
The woman pushed her wire-rimmed glasses further up the bridge of her nose and pointed down the back aisle. “All along that back wall is our book section. If you can’t find something in particular, my maem can order it.”
Thanking the woman with a pleasant “Danke,” Catherine hurried in the direction that she had pointed. The aisle was long with tall shelving on both sides, each filled with beautiful books. For a moment, Catherine shut her
eyes. She took a deep breath and felt her lungs filling with the wonderful smell of books. Oh, how that made it so much easier to forget John’s story about Noah Bontrager and his tragic past marriages!
When Catherine opened her eyes, she began to walk down the aisle, taking her time to examine the different titles. She raised her hand and let her fingers run along the spines of the books, wondering what mysteries, adventures, and romances they contained.
There was a large section of Bibles and hymnbooks. Catherine passed by those quickly. Next was a very healthy young adult and children’s section. That, too, was not what she wanted to read. But as she approached the last third of the aisle she spotted it: the romance section.
“Oh!” she gasped to herself as her eyes scanned the different titles.
Each book was arranged in alphabetical order, and she scanned each title by every author. Some of the names she recognized; others were new to her. She paused and pulled out a small Amish novella, quickly flipping it over and reading the description on the back cover.
“Oh!” she gasped when she realized the little novella was part of a six-book series and each book was only a hundred or so pages for seven dollars each! Catherine rolled her eyes and shoved the book back onto the shelf. “Who would every pay almost fifty dollars to read a six-hundred-page book!” she said aloud to no one in particular. Why, she could think of many better things to do with her money … such as buy eight or nine full-length novels!
“So you like the Amish romances, eh?”
Catherine looked up and saw the store worker approach.
For a moment, Catherine panicked, wondering what the woman would think. Had she heard her comment? Or would she think less of her because she liked reading Amish romances? So many people among the Amish clicked their tongues and shook their heads at the Amish romance books. But, just as quick as she panicked, she realized that the shelves were stocked full of those books for a reason, and that reason was far greater than just Catherine Miller’s interest. Obviously other people enjoyed reading them, too.
“Does anyone buy those little novellas for so much money?”
The woman shrugged. “Not particularly. Frankly, I don’t care for that author.” Disapprovingly, the woman shook her head and frowned. “I met her once. She came to Banthe a few times to hold book signings. Why, the tourists that came flooding into town!”
Catherine cocked her head. “But that’s a good thing, ja?”
“Ja, right gut for business. But she wasn’t very kind to my aendi, Jennifer Esh, who hosted a dinner for her and her Englische readers. Word spreads quickly when one of those authors doesn’t know anything about us or isn’t kind to the Amish communities.”
This was surprising news to Catherine’s ears. She had never thought of it that way.
“Oh, ja, there’s a dark side to the writing world, especially those authors who write Amish romances,” the woman said. “Why, we have a computer connected to the Internet. Up front, you know? For ordering stock?”
Catherine nodded, hanging onto every word that the woman was saying. She had known others who used the computer and her father preached at home and the bishop at church about the dangers of the Internet. But she had never personally seen one in use.
“Ja, vell, you should see the garbage that’s out there. Pure junk!” The woman waved her hand dismissively. “Why, these authors! They just copy other authors, using their names and book titles and the images on the covers. They’re just pure silliness. For instance, I saw a whole series about goats!”
“What. Ever!” Catherine gasped in disbelief.
“Uh huh!” The woman shook her head. “Amish goats. What on earth do people need to know about Amish goats! And the woman on the front wore an Indiana prayer kapp but was supposed to be from Lancaster County, Pennsylvania! And then there are some about mail-order Amish brides! Have you ever heard of such ridiculousness? And who would want to read such rubbish?”
“Oh, help.” Catherine felt a wave of disappointment at what the woman was telling her. If what she said was true, and Catherine had no reason to suspect otherwise, Catherine could not blame people for mocking Amish romance books. She felt dispirited that such unscrupulous people would try to write deceitful stories about the Amish, most likely to just try to make some money rather than because they truly held a passion for the people about whom they wrote.
For many years now, Catherine had found Amish novels so interesting and entertaining. She had discovered a great relevance in the books, enjoying them for their light messages of faith and hope as well as their emphasis on family, community, and God, all values shared by her Amish community. The fact that there was, indeed, a dark side to this left her disillusioned.
The woman sighed. “We try to limit our inventory to the good books from real authors, even if they aren’t always kind to the Amish communities, you see.” She motioned toward a section of books farther down the aisle. “Have you read any of these?”
“Oh ja. I used to enjoy that author, but her latest books …” Catherine pretended to yawn.
The young woman laughed. “Same stories over and over, ain’t so.” She took a few more steps, contemplating the books farther down. “Ah, these are right gut ones! I sure do like this one author. Good, clean, light, and accurate.” She pulled out a paperback book with a red cover. A pretty woman in a light blue dress stood before a barn, her stiff prayer covering properly adjusted on her head and a smile on her face. On her arm, she held a basket filled with fresh vegetables and behind her stood a small herd of Holstein cows. “This just came out and I enjoyed it!”
Catherine took the book from the woman, glanced over the back of the cover. “I’ll try her. I’m almost finished with my latest book, and I’m always looking for new authors.” But, based on what the woman said, Catherine knew that she would have to be much more selective in what books she selected to read. She certainly didn’t want to read authors who didn’t care about corrupting impressionable, eager minds who might not know better than to question the material they read.
“Ja, just got to be careful what you pick up to read. I like my money to go toward the good authors, not the ones who know next to nothing about the Amish way of life but claim to know it all!”
Catherine couldn’t agree more. She glanced a little farther down the aisle. “Oh! Here’s the book I’m reading now!” She pulled out the novel from her bag, showing it to the woman. “What do you think of this author?” She was eager to know that one of her favorite authors was held in high regard by this like-minded young woman.
“Oh, ja, I enjoy her writing.” The woman smiled. “A kind woman, for sure and certain, and rather knowledgeable about the Amish. She always writes with respect.”
Relieved, Catherine sighed. “Oh, I so agree! Why I love her Jane Austen adaptations in the Amish setting. Lizzie and Emma are my two favorites!”
“Did you know that she has a new book? Maryanne and Eleanor, I believe it’s called. Care for me to set aside a copy for you when they arrive?”
Without any hesitation, Catherine nodded.
After she finished browsing the aisles, Catherine paid for the book, thanking her new acquaintance, Naomi Mast, for such sage advice.
With her book tucked under her arm, Catherine stepped outside, eager to head back to the cottage. She had spent far too much time in the store, as any avid reader is wont to do, of course. But she’d have to make haste on her walk back so that she could help Wilma with chores. and bumped into none other than Noah Bontrager himself. For a moment, she caught her breath and could do nothing more than stare. With his deep-set wrinkles and long white beard, he looked as menacing as John Troyer had made him out to be.
Catherine pushed herself against the doorframe, her back against the hard wood, so that he could pass. She feared that he might actually brush against her, but instead he merely tilted his head and looked at her.
“You’re that Miller girl, ja? Visiting with the Andersons?”
She
swallowed and nodded her head slowly.
The older man squinted his eyes as he looked at her. “Duane and Wilma Anderson?”
Again, Catherine nodded, her heart pounding. After what John Troyer had told her, she felt frightened to be near this man.
But just as she began to inch away, the man smiled and his blue eyes twinkled in delight. “I grew up with Duane Anderson!” He laughed, the noise sounding like a good-hearted guffaw. “We ran with the same supper gang.” He winked at her. “Not a finer man walks the earth, I tell you. I sure will look forward to catching up with him.” He glanced over Catherine’s shoulder and seemed to make eye contact with someone. “Edith! Kum esse!”
A middle-aged woman wearing a magenta-colored dress with a black apron pinned at the waist emerged from behind a display. When she noticed Noah standing with Catherine, she lit up and hurried over to join them.
“This young gal,” Noah said, “is staying with the Andersons. Duane Anderson. You remember me telling you that I heard he might be coming this a-ways to help with the frolics?”
“Oh, ja!” She smiled and nodded.
“We must invite them to grill one night, don’t you think?”
Edith beamed at the suggestion. “That’s a fine idea, Noah. Perhaps tomorrow evening since the work frolic is on Thursday?”
Catherine’s mouth opened, just enough that she could not hide her surprise. The joy shared between these two elderly people could not be denied, but she wondered how, exactly, Edith had come to marry Noah, especially given the circumstances of his previous wives’ demise? And now, would Catherine be expected to have dinner with them too? Surely she would learn more about John Troyer’s story then!
As soon as Noah and Edith left the store, Catherine found she was shaking. While they seemed like nice enough people, given their past, certainly something dark and mysterious must lurk beneath the surface. Perhaps, she thought, if I go to dinner there, I’ll learn more about Noah Bontrager’s tragic past!
