The Farmer's Bride

by Kathleen Fuller

“Practicing what?” She walked over to him again.

  “Curlicues, if you must know.” He gave her a curt glance. “Enough with the questions.”

  But she was full of questions, namely why he was working in a shed in the middle of the woods when he could have a woodshop at his home. She’d been to the Yoders’ when they held services, and they had two barns, a large house, and plenty of land where they farmed and raised their animals. Surely there was room in one of the large barns for a woodshop, or even to build one on the property. Why have this shed well over a mile away?

  And what was he practicing for? From what she could tell, he was pretty good. She turned and looked at the metal shelving unit where she’d set the pop can. Next to it was a small, square-shaped block of wood. She picked it up and examined the seashell carving in the middle of it. She ran her fingers over the piece. The wood was smooth, including the crevices in the shell. It was a simple but beautiful piece. “Did you make this?

  “You don’t listen very well, do you?” He set down his tool, turned, and walked over to her. “Ya, I made it,” he said, taking it from her. “I made everything in here.” He set it back on the shelf and then bent to the cooler and offered her another can of pop. “It’s hot in here.”

  She looked at the can. She was thirsty, and it was sweltering in the shop. What a thoughtful gesture.

  “Now take this and sit on the stool.” He pointed to the corner again.

  So much for being thoughtful. “You’re being rather bossy,” she said, but she took the can from him. “Why can’t I watch?”

  “Because I don’t want you to,” he said, not looking at her. “This is mei shop, remember?”

  “I had nee idea you were so cantankerous.”

  He looked at her again, this time smirking. “Mei shop. Mei rules.”

  She glanced at the stool again, then smiled. “Fine. I’ll follow yer rules.”

  “Finally.” He turned, mumbling something about how he hoped Ruby’s hunt would end soon, and returned to his workbench.

  Martha walked over to the stool, then picked it up and carried it to the end of the workbench. She sat down and sipped on the cola.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips.

  “Sitting on the stool, like you told me to.”

  “That’s not what I meant . . . Oh, forget it.” He shook his head and went back to making curlicues. But Martha thought she saw the trace of a smile.

  For the next half hour or so, she watched him work. She still thought he was very good. He was meticulous with each curlicue and had gone through several pieces of wood, practicing the same carving element. Martha leaned forward, taking in how he angled the tool—a gouge, he called it when she’d asked—and pushed it against the wood. “What kind of wood is that?”

  “Birch,” he said. “It’s soft. Gut for practicing. We have a lot of it around here.” He blew the sawdust off the wood.

  Which explained the name of their community, although they had more ponds and small lakes around here than creeks. “You look like an expert already.”

  He turned to her. The scowl on his face since she’d parked herself at the end of his bench softened a bit. “Danki, but I have a long way to geh.”

  His expression made her smile. At least he was talking to her as though she was a normal human being instead of a child.

  A while later, after he’d switched to another tool, she asked, “How long have you been doing this?”

  “A year or so.”

  “What made you start?”

  “I used to whittle when I was a little kid.” He picked up another piece of scrap wood. “I wanted to try something a little more challenging.”

  “I know how to whittle.”

  He turned to her, holding the wood in midair. “You do?”

  She nodded. “Mei onkel taught me one summer when we were visiting. Not Onkel Hezekiah. His brother, Nehemiah. I think I was about eight or so.”

  Seth set down the wood and picked up the tool.

  “I haven’t whittled in years, though,” she said. “Not since that summer. Is it at all similar to carving?”

  “A little. Whittling can be anything from shaping a stick to making an object. Woodcarving is a little more elaborate. It also takes skill.”

  “And whittling doesn’t?”

  “I didn’t say that.” He looked at her, then, to her surprise, he handed her the tool. “Try it. You’ll see what I mean.”

  She took the tool in her hand and examined it. It was heavier than Onkel Nehemiah’s penknife, obviously, but it wasn’t too heavy. She set her pop can on the floor and stood next to Seth.

  “What is it?”

  “A backbent chisel.”

  “What do I do with it?”

  “You’ve been watching me. What do you think you do?”

  Martha picked up the scrap wood Seth had just taken from the pile. She looked at the rectangular piece, studying its thickness the way she had seen Seth do. It wasn’t the same kind of wood as the birch block he’d just finished working with. She brushed the sawdust and wood shavings off the table, then set down the wood. She placed the chisel against the corner of the rectangle.

  “Hold on. You forgot one thing.” He took the wood from her and put it in a small vise. “If you push too hard without securing it, that block will geh flying across the shop.”

  “You’re not using the vise.”

  “I’ve had more practice than you have.”

  She couldn’t argue with his logic, and once the wood was secured in the vise, she slid the tool across it. A razor-thin shaving of wood appeared.

  “Push harder,” Seth said. “You’re not going to hurt it.”

  Martha applied more pressure and wiggled the tool a few inches over the top of the wood. The carve was crooked, but she was pleased with her attempt. She grinned. “This is fun.”

  “Try it again.”

  She looked up at him, this time seeing a genuine smile on his face. It made him even more good-looking. He had a nice smile. He should show it more often.

  A short while later she’d made six grooves in the wood. Seth released it from the vise and handed it to her. “Yer first creation.”

  The wood and her carving were filled with imperfections, but she didn’t care. She had created something, and she’d had a blast doing it. She also wanted to do it again. She kept her gaze on Seth, and he continued to look at her. He frowned a bit.

  “What?” she said.

  “You’ve got sawdust on yer nose.”

  She wiped it away, not surprised. “Better?”

  “Ya.” But his gaze had shifted from her face to the door, his frown deepening. “Do you think they’re looking for you by now?”

  “How long have I been here?”

  Seth moved a few pieces of wood aside on the table, revealing a small battery-operated clock. “At least an hour,” he said. “Maybe longer.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize I’d been gone that long. They probably are looking for me.”

  Seth suddenly put his arm around her shoulders, practically shoving her to the door. “You should hurry back. Don’t want anyone to worry about you.”

  “Or to find yer woodshop.”

  “That too.” His hand touched the doorknob, and he started to open the door.

  She realized she didn’t want to leave. It didn’t matter to her if people were looking for her. She whirled around, nearly bumping into Seth. “I have an idea.”

  “You can tell me all about it another time.” He pulled on the doorknob.

  Martha leaned against the door, shutting it. “Teach me how to carve.”

  He stepped back, his expression filled with surprise. “Why would I do that?”

  Hmm. He had a point. Just because he’d let her carve a little bit didn’t mean he was interested in showing her more. “Because I asked you to?”

  “Then the answer is nee.”

  She should have expected that. He was obviously in a hurry
for her to leave too. Her mind searched for a reason he might agree to. And one came. Before she thought it completely through, she said, “I’ll keep yer secret if you do.”

  Chapter 4

  Seth looked down at Martha, stunned. Was this woman with the sweet smile trying to coerce him? “You realize that sounds like blackmail, don’t you?”

  Apparent guilt replaced her smile. She brought her hand up to her mouth. “It does?” She shook her head vehemently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to be. I just wanted to learn . . .” Martha glanced at the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” he said quietly. And it was, now that he knew she wasn’t being coercive on purpose. He doubted she had a manipulative bone in her body. “You really want to learn how to carve that badly?”

  She looked up and nodded. “But I understand if you don’t want to teach me. Especially after what I just said.”

  “It’s not that . . .” This was becoming more than he’d bargained for when he decided to let her try carving. He couldn’t help himself when he saw how eagerly she was watching his every move, excitement in her eyes. It was almost contagious. Next thing he knew he’d handed her the chisel. But that didn’t mean he wanted to teach her. Or let her come back to the shop. This was his place, after all, and he wasn’t interested in sharing. “I don’t have time to teach you.” He expected her to protest and come up with some other half-thought-out excuse to get him to agree. Instead, she nodded.

  “I understand. And I really am sorry for trying to blackmail you.”

  “Blackmail is a little strong, but yer apology is accepted.”

  “Danki.” She turned and faced the door. But when she touched the doorknob, his hand shot out and covered hers.

  “Wait.” Good grief, what was he doing? He’d wanted her to go, and she was going. Why did he stop her? Because for some incomprehensible reason, at that moment he didn’t want to disappoint Martha Detweiler. “Maybe we can work something out,” his mouth said, as if it were disengaged from his brain.

  “Really?” She turned and looked up at him, the brightness back in her eyes.

  He found himself nodding and sighing. “Ya. Really.”

  “Oh, danki.” She was grinning like a cat that had licked the best of the cream in the bowl. A cute cat, at that. “How about tomorrow, bright and early?”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday.” There was no way he was going to meet her here on a Sunday. He had vowed not to break the Sabbath anymore, even if that meant he went a week or more without engaging in his hobby. His faith was more important than woodcarving.

  “Oh goodness, you’re right. How did I forget that? Then Monday? We’re usually done with supper by six. What about you?”

  “It depends.” He scratched the back of his neck. He was already feeling regret. I’m a nitwit for doing this. A complete nitwit. “I’m not sure I’ll be free.” If he put her off long enough, maybe she’d forget about it.

  “All right.” Her smile dimmed, but she still looked happy. “Tuesday, then.”

  “Why Tuesday?”

  “Why not?”

  He didn’t have an answer for that, and his brain had already started to twinge with a headache. Clearly, he wasn’t getting out of this. Then again, he was the one who had agreed to teach her. Nitwit. “Fine,” he said, lamenting his weak resolve. “We’ll meet here on Tuesday. After supper.”

  She took a step toward him, and for a minute he thought she was going to hug him. But she kept her distance. “Don’t worry, Seth. Nee matter what, yer secret is safe with me. I promise.” Then she turned and dashed out the door. This time he didn’t stop her.

  “It better be,” he muttered as he closed the door. He turned around and looked at his worktable. Wood shavings were everywhere, along with a good measure of sawdust. He walked to the table and picked up the piece of wood Martha had been working on. She’d gotten the hang of the chisel more quickly than he’d anticipated, but that didn’t mean she would catch on to everything else in a timely manner. Which meant the lessons could keep stretching on and on and on . . .

  He shook his head and tossed the wood into the scrap pile again. A woodpecker started to drill against the outside of the shed. That didn’t help the headache just beginning to throb.

  Seth yanked the headband off his head and dropped it on the table. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. He hadn’t told Martha he would give her lessons, just that he would show her how to carve. Considering her aptitude, he could do the basics in one session, easy. If he was lucky, she might want to forget about woodcarving altogether by next Tuesday. It would be mighty fine with me, Lord, if Martha had a case of selective amnesia.

  As he haphazardly cleaned the shop, he thought of the proposal Cevilla had made the other day. The one he’d refused. He let out a small chuckle. How ironic that he would end up spending time with Martha anyway, without Cevilla’s interference. In a way he wished he could tell her that. But he couldn’t, not without blabbing about his woodshop. And if he told Cevilla about it, he might as well rent a billboard in Cleveland and announce it to everyone. No, his secret would stay safe . . . for a long, long time.

  * * *

  “Martha!” Ruby hurried over to her as Martha entered the kitchen. “Where have you been? We put off the hunt because the men are out looking for you. All the frau are worrying on the front porch.”

  Martha cringed. She should have paid more attention to the time. But it seemed to fly so fast when she was at the woodshop. “I’m sorry. I went for a walk to get some fresh air.”

  “Without telling anyone?” Ruby crossed her arms and shook her head. “You were gone for almost two hours. We thought something had happened to you.”

  “Two hours?” Seth’s clock must be broken. She needed to let him know. “I lost track of time.”

  Ruby uncrossed her arms, but her worried expression suddenly turned skeptical. “How far did you walk? Barton?”

  She shook her head. They both knew Barton was too far to walk to, but Ruby’s point remained. She wasn’t buying Martha’s story. And Martha couldn’t tell her the truth, not without giving away Seth’s secret. Her face heated. She couldn’t believe she’d tried to blackmail him. Not on purpose, of course, but when he pointed it out to her, she realized he was right. She hadn’t meant to make it sound as though she was going to spill the beans to the community. She just wanted to learn how to carve. The short while she’d done it hadn’t been enough. Now she understood why Seth enjoyed it so much.

  “Martha? Martha, did you hear me?”

  Martha shook her head again. “Nee. What did you say?”

  “You’re acting seltsam. Now I don’t know if we should send out some of the women to look for the men. Even Christian is out there looking.” The oven went off, and Ruby moved to the stove. “I was so nervous I made more cookies.” She pulled out a tray of peanut butter cookies and put them on top of the stove.

  The cookies smelled sweet and peanut buttery, but Martha’s mind wasn’t on food. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

  Ruby shut the oven door and looked at her. “I know. I’m just confused as to why you left in the first place. And don’t tell me it was to get fresh air. The treasure hunt was being held outside. You’d get plenty of fresh air once the game started.”

  Martha pressed her lips together. She needed to be upfront with Ruby. She should have been upfront with her from the beginning. “I didn’t want to do the hunt.”

  Ruby’s brow lifted. “You didn’t? But we planned it together.”

  “I know.” She gripped the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “And I’m sure it would have been a lot of fun.”

  “Ya. It would have.”

  Martha blew out a breath. “I . . . I didn’t want to be partnered with anyone. I didn’t even want to come.”

  “Then why didn’t you say that the other day?” Ruby went to her. “We could have planned something else.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered.” She told Ruby about he
r problems with the single men. “They were at me as soon as they arrived this evening. I couldn’t handle it.”

  “I had nee idea.” Ruby’s expression softened. “I should have been paying more attention.”

  “I didn’t expect you to notice what was going on.”

  Chris entered the kitchen from outside. His left eyebrow raised. “There you are. Where have you—”

  “Don’t pester her with questions,” Ruby said, brushing Christian off.

  “I only made a simple inquiry.”

  “She took a little walk, okay? That’s all you need to know.”

  His eyes moved from Martha to his wife. Finally, he shrugged. “I’m absolutely positive I will never understand women.”

  Martha would have laughed if she hadn’t felt so bad for worrying everyone. Chris often looked bewildered when it came to Ruby. He was a straightforward, literal man—a little too literal, which often led to his confusion. Ruby kept him on his toes. Martha was glad Chris hadn’t made any more inquiries.

  “Did you see anyone heading toward the house?” Ruby asked him.

  Chris shook his head. “No, but we all chose different directions for our search.”

  Ruby nodded. “Then the coast is clear.”

  His brow furrowed. “What coast? Ruby, you’re acting more confusing than usual.”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s necessary. Just geh with me on this.” She gave him a sweet smile as she escorted Martha toward the back door. “After I tell the women you’re back and okay, I’ll give you a ride home. If we see . . . anyone, you can duck down on the buggy floor.”

  “What?” Martha and Chris said at the same time.

  Ruby opened the back door, her eyes sparking with excitement. Martha suspected she was enjoying the little drama. “Nee worries, Martha. I’ll get you home safely.”

  This was becoming ridiculous. She wasn’t going to duck down in Ruby’s buggy or anywhere else. “I’m going to stay,” she told Ruby.

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind getting you out of here.”

  “Positive.” She wasn’t about to run away twice. Although if she hadn’t left earlier, she wouldn’t have found Seth’s woodshop. Still, she needed to stop fleeing every time she felt uncomfortable.