Newbury Acres: An Amish Christian Romance Novel: An Amish Romance Adaptation of Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey (The Amish Classics)

by Sarah Price

On her walk back to the lake cottage, Catherine held her newly acquired book pressed against her chest. She hadn’t seen Henry Tilman and she had learned more than she wanted to know about the books she loved so much. However, she knew that she would only need to sink into a plush chair, curl up, and lose herself in the pages of her new book—written by a reputable author!—in order to forget the earlier disappointments of that bright and sunny Monday.

  Chapter 6

  “Tell me, tell me, Catherine!” Ida Mae gushed as she hurried to the table where Catherine sat shelling peas. “What did you learn about Noah Bontrager last night?” She slid onto the bench and positioned herself across from her friend. “I’m all ears!”

  Catherine gave a soft laugh and looked up at Ida Mae. Her eyes were wide and bright with expectation as she leaned forward, her hands clasped in front of her. The eagerness with which Ida Mae wanted to learn about Noah almost made Catherine chuckle, but she kept a stoic and stern face. “Ach! It was the most astonishing of visits!” she confessed, tossing the empty shells of a peapod into a bowl. She furrowed her brow and scowled playfully. “The most troublesome of discoveries was made!”

  Ida Mae clapped her hands, delighted with the hint of some good gossip.

  As Catherine had simultaneously feared and desired, she had been invited to the Bontragers’ house for supper Tuesday evening. Earlier in the day, Ida Mae had sent word that Catherine should join her for some cross-stitching on that same afternoon—a message sent by none other than her brother John! Catherine had no choice but to reply that she could not, and she made John promise to let Ida Mae know that she had been invited to join Duane and Wilma at the Bontragers.

  “Noah Bontrager!” John had exclaimed. “Aren’t you worried that you might be his next victim?”

  While she had known that John was partially teasing, she had also felt a thrill at the idea of such an adventure.

  Now it was Wednesday afternoon. Not even five minutes earlier, Ida Mae had showed up at the Andersons’ door, eager to learn all about her visit with the Bontragers. She even told Catherine that she had hurried through her chores just so that she could visit with her.

  “Please do tell me!” Ida Mae demanded impatiently, learning forward. Her eyes, so light and gray-green, just like John’s, practically glowed in anticipation as she waited for Catherine’s story.

  “We arrived,” Catherine started, her voice full of mystery and suspense. She hesitated and lowered her voice. “The farm yard was cluttered with debris and weeds. The laundry had yet to be taken in from the line. And the hinge on the screen door was in dire need of being oiled.”

  Ida Mae leaned forward, her eyes growing even bigger as she stared at Catherine. “And?”

  Catherine glanced around as if to ensure that no one was nearby, even though she knew that Duane and Wilma had walked to the grocery store and wouldn’t be back for another hour. “Well, inside the house—which is very dark, by the way! —that Noah Bontrager sat in his chair, his wife doing all of the work in the kitchen. She worked by herself, refusing all help from me and Wilma. In fact, she kept glancing furtively at Noah as if she feared that he might reprimand her in front of us!”

  Ida Mae pressed her lips together disapprovingly. “I knew it! He’s an awful man! Probably yells at her all the time!”

  “And then …,” Catherine interrupted her, glancing around once again in an overly exaggerated manner and lowering her voice. “… When Edith called us to the table, he arose from his seat and slowly crossed the room to take his place at the head of the table.” She paused, giving Ida Mae time to catch her breath in anticipation of the next part of the story. “You wouldn’t believe what he did next!” she whispered.

  Ida Mae practically fidgeted in her seat. “What?” she breathed in a husky voice. “What did he do, Catherine?”

  “Well, he bowed his head for the silent prayer before starting to pass around the food. Can you imagine? Such a scoundrel!”

  “Oh, Catherine!” Ida Mae couldn’t help but laugh. She tossed a nearby hand towel at her friend. “You’re teasing me, I reckon!”

  Catherine laughed as she caught the towel. Yes, she had entered the Bontragers’ house afraid of what she might learn, but, as it turned out, it wasn’t what she had expected at all. Noah had been the perfect host, telling funny stories about when he and Duane were younger, and the four adults sat together and laughed for the greater part of the evening. “Honestly, Ida Mae, the Bontragers are lovely people. Noah is the most delightful of men and appears truly devoted to his wife. In fact, I was surprised to learn that they have been married almost ten years! The way John told it, I’d have thought he cycled through wives every few years!”

  “To be fair,” Ida Mae said somberly, “Edith is his third wife!”

  But Catherine shook her head, not at the memory but at what she had initially thought about the innocent man. “Your bruder told a tall tale, I fear. And if he hadn’t been so kind as to keep me company during my walk into town, I might find myself upset with him. But I’m sure that people talk and stories spread. I, however, will not be a part of that cycle, so you must correct your bruder at once.”

  Ida Mae pursed her lips, her dimples becoming more pronounced, and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Now what fun is that, Catherine? Life is so much more interesting with a little mystery in it!”

  But Catherine did not agree. “Not if it injures someone’s reputation, I dare say. He’s a fine man, and here I would’ve avoided that man for the rest of our time here at Banthe! Just because of your bruder’s idle talk.”

  Ida Mae stiffened at the reference to John and tilted her chin in defiance. “Perhaps you should still avoid him, Catherine. Noah Bontrager certainly is not as engaging as my bruder, wouldn’t you say? Unless, of course, you are interested in becoming the fourth fraa of Bontrager.”

  At that comment, Catherine glanced toward the window as if looking for something or someone, anything to avoid giving a response.

  But Ida Mae remained persistent. “Catherine? I asked you a question,” she said in a light but unwavering tone.

  “Have you?”

  “About … my bruder?”

  For a long moment, Catherine paused. She had no interest in John Troyer, especially after his gossip about Noah. A man who would spread rumors, regardless of whether they were grounded in some degree of truth, was not a man to be trusted. Yet she did not want to say this to her new friend. After all, Ida Mae clearly held her brother in high regard. “Oh, Ida Mae!” she sighed in an exasperated tone. “I’m not in a position to comment on your bruder John. I spent no more time with him than I did with Henry Tilman!”

  “Henry Tilman?” Ida Mae looked taken aback. “Has he returned, then? To Banthe?”

  There was a look in Ida Mae’s eyes that matched the acerbic tone of her voice. Her words may have been innocent on the surface, but there was an undercurrent to them, a not-so-gentle reminder that Henry Tilman was gone from the town and, therefore, not available as a suitor. Her brother, however, was in Banthe.

  “Nee, he has not returned,” Catherine admitted. “At least not that I am aware.” She knew that she couldn’t hide the disappointment from her voice and averted her eyes from Ida Mae’s.

  “So, mayhaps you should tuck aside your silly romance books and read some of my favorite books,” Ida Mae said, a gay tone to her voice once again. “They are fun and light-hearted mysteries set in Amish communities! I’ve brought some for you to read, Catherine.”

  “Mysteries?”

  The tone of the conversation shifted. For the next few minutes, Ida Mae continued to comment on several books by one of her favorite authors, telling Catherine about the plots and characters, the issue of Henry Tilman clearly forgotten. At least by Ida Mae. By the time Catherine’s spirits began to lift, Ida Mae was finishing her description of her fifth favorite book.

  “My word, Ida Mae! And you read all of those books in the past month?”

  Her friend nodded. “I
did indeed!”

  “When do you have the time?”

  Ida Mae shrugged. “I’ve had plenty of spare time, Catherine, since I’ve stopping running with that Anna! You know her, ja? You sat with her at church before we met.”

  Truth be told, Catherine hadn’t remembered the names of either of the two women from church. She wasn’t even certain she had been introduced to them. But, rather than sidetrack Ida Mae, Catherine merely nodded her head.

  “Well, you see, she accepted a buggy ride home from a youth gathering with Paul Troyer—a distant cousin of mine, I believe—but, after three weeks of riding with him, she rode home with Aaron Hostetler. Just like that!” The expression on Ida Mae’s face bespoke her disapproval. “Can you imagine? Why, everyone was rather upset by how she dismissed one suitor for another with hardly any thought to their feelings or her reputation!” Ida Mae lifted her chin and adopted a stern look. “She’s not well thought of by the men now, I can assure you of that. And the other women are hard pressed to speak to her for fear that people might start thinking that they, too, are like-minded.”

  “Oh, help!” Catherine muttered, shocked by Ida Mae’s confession, although she wasn’t certain whether her distress came more from Anna’s behavior or Ida Mae’s propensity to spread gossip!

  “But don’t you worry none,” Ida Mae said, a fresh smile on her lips. “If anyone were to speak about you in a similar manner …”

  “Me!” Catherine gasped, shocked at Ida Mae’s comment.

  “… I’d defend you, Catherine!” she continued nonchalantly.

  “Why would anybody speak about me? I haven’t accepted a ride home from anyone,” she gushed, her voice full of anxiety. “Nor do I intend to!” The last thing she wanted to do was create any sort of problems, especially in a community foreign to her. Neither she nor the Andersons would want to offend anyone. And despite her one exchange with Henry, Catherine had no real desire to actually live one of her romance novels. Oh, she longed for a bit of adventure, yes, but romance? The thought scared her a little. It was much safer to live vicariously through the pages of a good book!

  “Well, you were seen talking with Henry Tilman on one day and then walking with my bruder, John, on another.” Ida Mae gave her an innocent look when she paused as if to let her words sink in. “But, as long as we’re friends, no one would dare speak against your character. I wouldn’t let it happen!” She gave a light laugh and added, “It simply wouldn’t do for you to have a soiled reputation!”

  Upset by Ida Mae’s comment, Catherine began to wring her hands as she kept them on her lap and out of her friend’s sight. How could her reputation be tainted just from talking with Henry and walking with John? Yet, Ida Mae’s reassurance helped alleviate some of the stress. Catherine knew that her friend was well thought of among the youths, and if Ida Mae spoke to Catherine’s character, not a person would question her.

  For a few moments, they sat in silence. Catherine concentrated on shelling the peas while Ida Mae merely observed her working.

  “All of this talk about suitors and courting,” Ida Mae said at last. “That Anna truly ruined her chances of being courted by any reputable man. I wonder what type of man she will wind up with after what she did.” Leaning forward, Ida Mae stared at Catherine until she had no choice but to look up and meet her gaze. “And what about you?” she asked. “What type of man do you like?”

  “Me?” When it was obvious that Catherine had not misunderstood Ida Mae, she gave a nervous little laugh. “Oh, I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

  Ida Mae seemed to ponder her response for a long, drawn-out minute. “I suppose I can envision you with someone adventurous. Perhaps a bit aloof in person but rather lively and dedicated in private.”

  Catherine made a face at her. “Dedicated? Lively? Those are terrible unromantic adjectives!”

  “Ah, so you like romance!”

  Flustered, Catherine felt the color rise to her cheeks. She had never really given much thought to her preference in men. She knew that she favored Henry Tilman. He was, after all, tall, witty, and rather handsome. But Catherine held no false illusions that their acquaintance could develop into any more than just a casual friendship, especially with the little time she had remaining in Banthe. She would return to Fullerton and he remain in Newbury Acres, wherever that was. As for John Troyer, he was far too worldly and brash for Catherine’s taste.

  In a perfect world, however, she would find herself one of those men like in the books she read. A man who was older and wiser, yet enthralled with her because she was younger and less worldly. Perhaps, as in that last book she read, he would be broody at times like Frederick was. They would have a conflict, perhaps a misunderstanding, that would separate them until the truth was discovered. He would meet up with her when she was walking and profess his love. His ardent passion for her. And then, only then under the shade of the overhanging trees, he would propose to her, waiting for her response before kissing her.

  “I … I suppose romance is important for a good match,” she managed to admit.

  Yet she couldn’t help but wonder if that was true. Her own parents were a wonderful example of what a solid match should be. They were kind to each other, respecting each other’s opinions and desires. On a few occasions, Catherine caught them laughing over something when they thought no one was looking. Her father treated her mother like a special treasure, making certain that he never bossed her around like some husbands did. He always included her in the decision making and never once scolded her when she disagreed with him. And her mother sought nothing more than to keep her husband comfortable, making him his favorite foods and always having a pot of fresh coffee ready for him.

  But was that romance?

  “Perhaps your ideal romantic interest is in someone you already know?” Ida Mae teased. “Dare I suggest someone you have met in Banthe?”

  “The only romantic ideal that I have is the characters in my books,” Catherine responded right away. She did not want to confide her tender feelings for Henry for fear of giving Ida Mae further fodder for gossip. “Anyone I might have met in Banthe is nothing more than a new friend that will soon be parted from my company.”

  “Characters in a book?” Ida Mae laughed out loud. “Well, reading is a wonderful pastime—you know how I like mysteries!—but I do prefer the company and conversation of a real man, not just one stuck on the pages of a book!”

  Catherine didn’t want to confess that she knew too few “real men” so her only other option for romance was the fictitious kind. The only men she ever really interacted with were the young men from her own youth, and she had a hard time remembering them as anything other than boys from her school years. Besides, she felt safe letting her heart fall for the heroes in her novels. She was in no hurry to get married, not unless she fell in love first.

  Chapter 7

  On the morning of the barn frolic, Ida Mae walked beside Catherine up the lane toward the farm. She had insisted upon sleeping at the lake house the night before so that she could assist in baking bread and pies well into the evening. Now, as they walked, each of them carried the handle of a large wooden crate which contained ten loaves of bread and twelve pies. Walking was difficult, but the crisp morning air kept them cool and their spirits light.

  “I wonder what surprises will be in store for us today!” Ida Mae exclaimed. “So many people have arrived in town that I could hardly navigate my way to your house yesterday afternoon. I was almost hit by a horse and buggy, twice!”

  “Oh, Ida Mae!” Catherine clicked her tongue and shook her head, playing along with her friend’s obvious exaggeration. “You must be more careful!”

  “You would think that one of those people might stop to ask if they could give me a ride,” she said out loud. “But they all seemed to be in quite the hurry and barely lifted their hand to wave at me, even the two drivers who ran me off the road.”

  As they approached the main section of the road that led into town, Catherine
peered ahead and noticed that there was a lot of activity near the stores. Dark bay horses pulled wagons through the town, each one filled with young men and boys and only a few carrying young women. For the most part, they were all headed in the same direction: toward the barn frolic.

  “They appear to have a good turnout, wouldn’t you say?” Catherine asked.

  “Ja, indeed!” Ida Mae stopped walking. “I need a rest, Catherine. This box grows heavier as the morning air lifts.”

  But they barely set the box upon the round when a familiar voice called out to Catherine.

  Startled, she looked up and squinted, trying to see who might have recognized her. To her surprise, she saw a wagon approach with two young men sitting in the front: Ida’s brother, John, and her own brother, James.

  “James?” she asked in a happy but confused voice. “Whatever are you doing here? I didn’t know you were coming all this way.”

  As soon as John stopped the horse on the side of the road, James jumped down and, with a sheepish grin, looked from Catherine to Ida Mae. “I thought that more hands would help raise the barn faster, ja?”

  It was the way that James looked at Ida Mae that caused Catherine to shift her gaze from her brother to her friend. Ida Mae gave a coy smile to James and glanced away, but only for a moment. “You two know each other?”

  James nodded. “We’ve met. Through John.”

  Catherine accepted his explanation. After all, when she first met Ida Mae she had learned that John and James were friends.

  “Now, girls,” John called out from the wagon seat. “Let’s hurry along, then! James, put that box in the back. Ida Mae, you help him. And Catherine, you come sit up here. I want to hear all about your visit with the Bontragers this week.” He stared at her, his eyes sparkling with delight. “I hear that your impression of Noah differs greatly from mine!”

  “It does,” she admitted as she placed her foot onto the iron step and pulled herself up. She swung her other leg around and started to climb into the back of the wagon, but John reached for her arm, indicating that she should sit next to him. Startled, she hesitated for a second too long. James and Ida Mae took the back seats, leaving Catherine no choice but to sit beside John.