The Amish Nurse's Suitor

by Carrie Lighte

  “Don’t be lecher—ridiculous. I’m making a dress because I brought so few skirts, and it gives me something to do in the evenings until Ivan is discharged.”

  “Sewing doesn’t sound like a fun way to spend an evening. Haven’t you met any handsome, eligible bachelors who could take you out?”

  “Only Arden.” Rachel’s answer slipped out of her mouth before she realized how it sounded. “I mean, he’s the only bachelor I’ve met, and his sister told me he’s not courting anyone. Which obviously is neither here nor there, because he’s Amish. My point is, no, I haven’t met any eligible bachelors I’d consider going out with.” She was grateful Meg couldn’t see her face, because her cheeks felt aflame.

  “For as much as you’ve told me about Arden, you’ve never told me what he looks like. Is he handsome?”

  “Not that it matters, but yeah, I suppose he’s good-looking. He’s tall and has blond—blondish—curls and light blue eyes. And a nice smile, when he smiles, which is rare.”

  “He’s still being Mr. Morose?”

  “Well...sometimes. It’s hard to say. He sort of turns on a dime. Like this morning, he was cracking jokes right and left, and then all of a sudden, he became surly again because I was talking too loudly to a customer or he couldn’t find where I put the inventory. And when his sister came by, he all but tried to drag her out of the workshop rather than let her talk to me. Who knows, maybe he’s afraid I’ll be a bad influence on her and she’ll go Englisch, too.”

  “But she’s friendly to you?”

  “Very. Although I suspect part of that is because she’s interested in my brother.”

  “But you’re not interested in her brother?”

  “Not at all,” Rachel insisted. “He’s Amish, remember?”

  “I remember. Do you remember?”

  Rachel gave an exaggerated huff. “Just for that, I’m saying goodbye now, Meg.”

  “Gut nacht,” Meg chirped, and they both laughed before hanging up.

  I don’t know why she’d suggest I’m romantically interested in Arden, Rachel thought. I think she’s just being lappich on purpose, to amuse me. The idea is as narrish as the thought of me lingering in Serenity Ridge. The moment Ivan is well again, I’m out of here.

  Meanwhile, she was glad she’d gone to the fabric store with Grace, who’d filled her in on the news in Serenity Ridge. Ivan rarely mentioned people other than their family members when he wrote to Rachel, so she was surprised to discover how the population had grown and changed since she’d lived there. The fledgling community was only a little over twenty years old, and already it had nearly tripled in size, despite the fact several of the people who originally settled there had either returned to their home states, married and moved away, or passed on.

  Maybe I’m being too sensitive to think people are avoiding me—they might not even live here any longer, Rachel realized. I suppose I could try to introduce myself to the Amish. But how? Showing up at church after having been gone for ten years would likely be awkward for everyone, as would dropping in on someone she used to know. And she wasn’t about to attend a singing. Ah well—for tonight she literally had her work cut out for her; she’d purchased fabric in a bright spring color Grace said would look pretty with her hair and eyes. It wasn’t until she’d already cut into it that she realized she’d chosen almost the exact shade of lavender Arden had spilled inside the playhouse, and the recollection made her laugh all over again.

  * * *

  “Arden, kumme look at this,” Grace called from the living room when he walked through the door on Thursday evening. It was after eight o’clock and he was beat, but hearing the urgency in his sister’s voice, he raced through the kitchen without removing his muddy boots.

  She was standing over their mother, who was reclining on the sofa in a housecoat. “Stop fussing,” Oneita said to Grace. “Let your bruder eat his supper.”

  Grace wouldn’t listen. “Look at Mamm’s fingers, Arden. That’s what I’ve been telling you keeps happening. Please show him, Mamm.”

  Oneita sighed, but she held up her hands. Although her thumbs were spared, the top halves of all eight of her fingers were so white they nearly glowed.

  “Do they hurt?”

  “They tingle a little, like when your foot falls asleep, but they don’t hurt.”

  “Were you leaning on them?”

  “Neh. I just got out of the tub.”

  Arden tugged at his ear. “Did you use a new soap or something?”

  “What is this, twenty questions?” Grace snapped. “She didn’t do anything. It just happens. See—now they’re turning blue. This is the sequence it follows. It’s not going to do us any gut to guess what’s happening. We need a medical professional’s help.”

  “But if it doesn’t really hurt...” Oneita said, even as she winced and wiggled her fingers.

  “Mamm, there might be an underlying reason this is happening. If that’s the case, it needs to be addressed now, before it progresses. I don’t want you to end up suffering needlessly.” Grace’s tone indicated she was struggling to remain patient. She shot a look at Arden and added, “The longer we wait, the more expensive the treatment might be.”

  Although money might have been a prohibitive issue a few days ago, it was no longer Arden’s primary consideration. Thank the Lord, his concern over Ivan’s hospital bill had finally been put to rest this afternoon when Rachel confirmed she’d combed through the ledger, checking and rechecking the figures, and she’d assured him they had money to spare, even if Ivan wasn’t discharged on Saturday or Sunday as expected. Arden didn’t quite know how to explain their extra funds, but who was he to doubt Rachel? She’d carefully tracked every bill paid, supply bought and delivery scheduled and insisted they were in the black.

  What he was more concerned about now was meeting the deadlines for the projects he’d taken on in an attempt to bring in as much money as possible during Ivan’s hospitalization. He was already working from six thirty in the morning until seven thirty or eight o’clock each evening. He hadn’t even begun the shed that was scheduled for pickup on Monday and he couldn’t work on the Sabbath, so how could he take time off to bring his mother to the clinic? Granted, he or Grace could ask someone else to take her, but there was no guarantee anyone would be available. Oneita taking a cab was even less likely than Grace taking the buggy to that side of town; cabs made her nervous, and she’d only ride in one if absolutely necessary.

  “Has it gotten worse or happened more frequently?” Arden asked his mother.

  “Neh. Definitely not.”

  Grace threw her hands in the air. “Arden! Are you going to wait until her fingers fall off to do anything about this?” She stormed from the room, and Arden rubbed his eyes, stupefied by her comment.

  His mother merely chuckled. “Don’t listen to her, Arden. If my fingers fall off, we’ll sew them back on again.”

  Arden didn’t find the thought amusing. He sank into a cushion at the opposite end of the sofa. “Grace is right, Mamm. We need to get this checked out sooner rather than later. I’m sorry I hesitated. It wasn’t that I don’t want to take the time or spend the money. You’re more than worth it. It’s...” He stopped speaking, realizing if his mother’s health truly was his priority, he wouldn’t offer the flimsy excuse of needing to meet his work commitments.

  “I know, suh.” His mother leaned forward to pat his knee. “You’re shouldering a lot of responsibility at the workshop—more than usual. That’s important not just for the customers, but for you and your familye, and especially for Ivan. Unless my hands get worse, this can wait.”

  “Neh—”

  His mother pointed a finger at him; it had almost returned to its normal hue. “You and your schweschder take excellent care of me and I appreciate it, but I am still your mamm and this is still my body, so I’m making this decision, not you. I’ll t
ell my rheumatologist about my fingers at my next appointment.”

  Arden shook his head. “Can we compromise? Since I have a shed due on Monday, I’ll schedule an appointment for you for Tuesday. If your hands get better before then, we’ll cancel it. But if they get worse, we’ll go to the dokder immediately.”

  “All right, all right. But the only reason I’m agreeing to this is because otherwise Grace is going to be upset with you.”

  “Jah. Remember the time I procrastinated installing a heater in her buggy and she served meat loaf every night until I got around to doing it?” Meat loaf was Arden’s least favorite food.

  “Do I ever! Even I didn’t like meat loaf anymore after that,” his mother joked. “And if we don’t want it for supper tomorrow night, you’d better wipe up the floor. Look at that mud.”

  Arden gamely went into the kitchen to take off his boots and wipe up the footprints before returning to the living room to mop the floor there, too. As he worked, his mother said, “I’m surprised Grace flew off the handle tonight. She came back from the fabric store in such a gut mood.”

  “Oh?” Arden didn’t look up from wringing the cloth into the bucket. Rachel had seemed almost giddy after the trip to the fabric store, too. All afternoon he’d had to fight the temptation to worry about whether Grace told Rachel something he wouldn’t have wanted her to disclose, such as that he had trouble reading or that their mamm wished he’d meet someone to court.

  “Jah, she said Ivan’s schweschder took her in her car—don’t fret, she made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone Rachel is here, although I can’t imagine it will stay a secret for very long. Anyway, afterward they drove around so Grace could show Rachel some of the new farms and Amish heiser in Serenity Ridge.”

  That would explain why they were gone so long. “Hmm.”

  “Grace said Rachel is in her late twenties. There aren’t too many people that age to socialize with here. You ought to invite her to our haus for supper after work one evening.”

  I knew that was coming, Arden thought. I wish the weather were as predictable as my mamm and schweschder. “She goes to visit Ivan in the evenings after work.”

  “Ah, that’s right. She offered Grace a ride. I’m surprised she didn’t offer to take you, too, considering your relationship with Ivan.”

  “She did offer, Mamm.” Arden shifted himself upright and picked up the bucket.

  “But you didn’t accept? Don’t the two of you get along? Or are you uncomfortable about how it would appear to be alone with her? If that’s it, Grace could go with you, too.”

  Arden felt trapped; no matter what he said, his mother would likely draw the wrong conclusion. “W-we wo-work w-well together.” The repetition of Ws made his stutter even more pronounced. He edged toward the door, adding, “I-I’ve b-been working late and I wa-wanted to give her time alone with her br-bruder since it’s been so long since she’s seen him. She went Englisch ten years ago, you know. She hasn’t been b-back since then.”

  “Jah, Grace mentioned that.” A frown pulled at his mother’s mouth. Satisfied she’d gotten the message, Arden moved toward the kitchen on his way to dump the dirty water outside. Just as he turned the door handle, his mother called, “When Ivan comes home from the hospital, we’ll have to invite both him and Rachel to have supper with us. Won’t that be schpass?”

  * * *

  Rachel kicked her sheet aside. Between the rainy weather and the warming temperatures, there was already a hint of summer humidity in the air. It was a good thing she could sew quickly, because if the heat kept up, she couldn’t continue to wear the clothing she’d brought with her, with the exception of the short-sleeved cotton top she planned to put on again today.

  The clamminess in the air not only made her cranky, it caused her hair to wilt, too, so she swept it into a high ponytail. It felt good to have it off her neck, but Rachel realized if she leaned forward while she was painting the chicken coop, her ponytail might brush against it and she’d wind up with even redder highlights than her natural ones. She released her hair and gathered it in a bun at the nape of her neck instead. I can imagine what Meg would say if she saw me now...

  The rain was coming down in sheets as she sprinted across the lawn to the workshop a few minutes later. The instant she reached the door, she realized she’d left her cell phone at the house and had to race back. The battery was running low—she didn’t drive often enough to keep it charged—but it had enough power for her to check her email for news from the university. The second time she got to the workshop, she was so soaked she felt as if she’d been swimming.

  “Guder mariye,” Arden greeted her from behind the wall of a shed that hadn’t been there when she’d left the previous evening. He was fast.

  “Guder mariye,” she echoed. Noticing she was dripping on the catalogs on the desk, she asked, “Do we have any towels in here?”

  “Neh,” Arden replied as he came around the shed into view. He did a double take when he spotted her. “The rags in the bin are clean, though. Let me get you a couple.”

  “Denki,” she said when he handed her several cloths in assorted sizes a moment later. She patted one along the length of her sleeves before using the second one to blot her hair and then her face. Lowering the cloth, she spied Arden watching her. “I know, I look like a drowned rat.”

  His ears turned pink. “D-do you wa-want me to run to the haus and get a r-real towel?”

  “If you do, it’ll be wet before you make it halfway back to the fence,” she replied. “Just listen to it coming down.” They both paused and looked toward the roof of the barn, which was being pelted with raindrops. “Even you don’t make that much noise when you’re hammering, and you’ve got a really quick, powerful swing,” Rachel said.

  When Arden’s cheeks and neck ignited with color, Rachel realized her comment may have sounded flirtatious, but she didn’t know how to indicate that wasn’t her intention. Changing the subject, she said, “I guess if there’s one gut thing about wearing my hair like this, it’s that it doesn’t look any different when it’s wet than when it’s dry.”

  Terrific, now it sounded as if she was insulting Amish women’s hairstyles. Rachel didn’t know what was wrong with her brain and mouth today, but they weren’t doing her any favors. “Ivan really should keep an umbrella in the haus,” she added feebly.

  “I suppose he figures since he wears a hat, he doesn’t need an umbrella,” Arden remarked with a shrug, and Rachel was glad he walked away before she could embarrass either of them again.

  * * *

  As Arden pulled out his tape measure and measured the length of a joist, he fought to keep his hands steady. Ordinarily, he might have felt complimented if a young woman noticed his strength, but coming from Rachel, it unnerved him.

  But why? Because she’s Englisch? he asked himself. She sure didn’t look Englisch today; with her hair combed into a bun like that, for the first time Arden could envision the young Amish girl she’d been before she left Serenity Ridge. The severe hairstyle was an unsettling contrast with her Englisch clothing, and he wished she’d worn her tresses loose, the way she usually did, but that was beside the point. It wasn’t her hair or clothing or the fact she’d gone Englisch that made him feel upset by her flattery. Arden was upset because he realized a comment about his strength was going to be the best compliment he’d ever get from Rachel. It’s not as if someone that bright would ever think of me as clever or wise.

  His tape measure snapped his thumb as he retracted it into its casing; he had the reflexes of an amateur this morning. Last night he’d lain awake in bed for hours, worrying about his mother and Grace eventually inviting Ivan and Rachel to supper. Board games would inevitably follow their meal, and if any of those games involved reading aloud... Arden yawned. He was tired. Tired from having spent the night tossing and turning, tired from trying to stay one step ahead of their customers, and ti
red from trying to hide his shortcomings. How ironic that the one thing people noticed about him was his strength, when at the moment, he felt as weary as could be. He closed his eyes and prayed. Lord, please empower me to do Your will today and to meet the commitments I’ve made to others.

  “Arden? Are you okay?”

  His eyes flew open; Rachel stood in front of him. “Jah. Do you need something?”

  She extended him the phone. “Grace wants to talk to you. She sounds upset.”

  He pressed the phone to his ear. “What’s wrong, Grace?”

  “It’s Mamm’s...this time it’s not just...and her...” Whether it was because of the rain, the phone shanty or the cell phone’s reception, Grace’s voice kept cutting in and out.

  “I can’t hear you, Grace. But I’m coming home right away. I’m bringing Rachel. We’ll be right there.” He turned toward the desk to ask Rachel for her help, but as he’d mentioned the day before, sound carried well in the workshop and she’d heard everything he’d said.

  “I’ll run to the haus to get my keys. You lock up here and meet me at the car.”

  Reaching the car before Rachel did, Arden prayed, Please, Gott, keep Mamm well.

  A moment later Rachel slid into the seat behind the steering wheel. “Which road do I take?” she asked as they neared the end of the driveway.

  Arden’s mind clouded, and his tongue felt thick. Two of the three streets he usually traveled to access the road he lived on were washed out, so he’d taken a roundabout way to the workshop that morning. He couldn’t have told Rachel the names of those streets if his life depended on it—not even if his mother’s life depended on it.

  “Arden.” Her voice was firm but calm. “Which way?”

  “R-r-right,” he said, and she turned in the opposite direction of where he wanted her to go.

  He hadn’t mixed up right and left for years—it only happened when he was stressed or tired. As a child, it had taken him much longer than the other students to learn the concept of right and left. He was finally able to memorize the two directions when the teacher told him, “Think of it this way. Right is on the same side as the hand I write with. The other hand is left.” Except Arden always completed the mnemonic as, “The other hand is wrong.”