The Amish Wedding Promise

by Laura V. Hilton

  She came to rest against a firm but wet chest. Male hands stayed loosely clasped, but the tingling warmth of them filled her along with a very pleasant male scent of pine and fresh air.

  A breath tickled her ear. “Don’t worry, Gracie. We’ll find him.”

  Was it wrong that she didn’t want to? Well, she did, but…

  “You’ll be married in no time.” His voice dipped, probably in an effort to be comforting.

  Instead it was…sexy.

  She shivered and stepped out of his grasp.

  Jah, Timothy would be found. They would be married.

  And she’d forever wonder what might’ve been.

  Chapter 6

  Zeke detached the hose, coiled it up, and returned it to the trash pile. Most of the water had come out of the sides instead of the end anyhow. He was almost as wet as the dog. He tried not to think of the look on Gracie’s face before she started to run off and especially not how it felt to hold her soft, warm body against his chest when he caught her.

  How would they go about finding her missing groom—the fool who was racing buggies the night before his wedding?

  Zeke emptied the metal tub and set it upside down on the porch, then picked up the abandoned brush Gracie had dropped. He glanced at Slush, now lying on his side in the sun. Zeke would love to lie in the sun and dry off, too. Maybe even take a nap, since he hadn’t gotten any sleep in over twenty-four hours. That wasn’t an option.

  He clicked his tongue. “Slush, come. Come on, boy.”

  The dog raised his head with a huff and glared at him.

  “Okay, buddy. You win. For now.” It’d be better to brush the dog’s fur when it was dry anyway.

  Gracie had fled, probably to regain her composure before they made the game plan to find Timothy. He shouldn’t have teased her. Or flirted. She was promised to another man. Even if that gave him a strange feeling inside. Even though he wished he’d met her first.

  Patience went inside to change her wet dress—or so he assumed, since she didn’t say. Should he change? He grimaced. No. He’d only brought along one change of clothes. Best let them dry naturally.

  Maybe Daniel Zook knew about the missing men and would already have an update Zeke could give Gracie. He wandered around to the side of the house to make the call. It went to voicemail.

  “Daniel, this is Zeke Bontrager, one of the Amish men with you on the trip. I just discovered that three young men were racing buggies when the tornado hit, and they are all missing. One buggy was found. Call me.”

  He disconnected and went to join the men gathered around the tree. Vernon wasn’t among them. He glanced around but didn’t see him.

  Seth Lantz must’ve noticed, because he cleared his throat. Zeke turned to find all thirteen men staring at him. Twelve of them with beards. It was rather disconcerting to be the recipient of so many stares. He forced a smile. “Sorry. I was, um, wondering where Vernon was.”

  “We sent your friend to see if he could find any of our cows or horses.”

  They weren’t friends, but okay. Zeke nodded. “How do you want me to help?”

  “You can fix the mailbox, if you’d like, then since you volunteered, you can comb Slush. We’re almost finished with the tree; then we’ll have dinner. Oh, and there’s a hammer in the small tool kit in the kitchen.”

  Zeke nodded. The mailbox might require more than a hammer. That aside, was he given wimpy jobs because he somehow needed to prove his worth? He tugged at the cold, soaked material clinging to his chest.

  “After dinner, you can help Gracie. She might want to visit her friends to find out if they’d seen Timothy. Or to find out how they fared.” Seth’s mouth set in a firm line, and he narrowed his eyes in warning, a mirror image of most of the looks Daed had given Zeke over the years.

  He straightened, tempted to make some flippant response or ask them point-blank if they thought he was worthless, but he bit the words back. For some reason, he wanted to earn this man’s respect. Just like he wanted to win Daed’s respect. And Gott’s.

  “Don’t hurt her. She’s strong, but she’s in a very fragile state right now. Do you understand?” Seth warned.

  “Jah. I understand. I’ll do my best to find her groom.” Even though he didn’t want to.

  Gracie’s daed nodded, but a strange light filled his eyes. “You also seem to relate well with Patience. Her world is in turmoil right now, so be gentle. It’ll help the rest of us to know she’s happy.”

  Zeke could see why. Her tears were messy, loud, and hard to handle. He adjusted his hat and tried not to shiver as a gust of cool air hit his drenched clothes. He also tried to school his expression. How could he return home a hero if he wasn’t able to do anything heroic? “I have a special-needs cousin, and I’ve worked with many special-needs children at a camp, so that’s why I sort of understand Patience. I worked with the boys, though.” And they didn’t cry so easily.

  Seth nodded. “We appreciate that.”

  Vernon would get a bigger hero’s welcome if he located the family’s missing livestock. All Zeke had done was find the muddy dog.

  He shouldn’t compare himself to others. He could almost hear his preacher grossdaadi quoting Bible verses about that. Several of them. Unfortunately, none of them came to mind, and he didn’t want to stew over them while thirteen Amish men armed with chain saws, clippers, and handsaws stared at him.

  They were a peaceful, nonviolent people, sure, but accidents happened. Sometimes accidentally on purpose.

  He took a deep breath. The quicker he got the mailbox fixed, the quicker he’d be out of accident range and the sooner he could get on to a real job. “Where in the kitchen would I find the hammer?”

  Seth smiled. “It’s under the sink in a small toolbox. Belonged to my wife before we married.”

  A couple of the men chuckled and elbowed each other.

  Strange. Were they baby toys or something?

  He wasn’t sure how to react. Probably the best way would be to go along with it. And laugh with them if the joke was on him in some way.

  Zeke eyed the men; then, with a nod at Seth, he turned and went inside the house. The kitchen was void of life, so he opened the under-the-sink cabinet and found not one but two toolboxes. Both were small, and the light-blue one was stacked on top of a light-pink one.

  He lifted the blue one out and set it on the counter. Since it was on top, it’d make sense that it was most often used. He opened it. And stared. It was full of baby toys and rattles. He picked up a yellow-and-red hammer and shook it. It made noise.

  Zeke chuckled. Patience was too old for these, so some of the twelve brothers must have children.

  He returned the hammer, closed the toolbox, and picked up the pink one. He set it on the counter next to the blue one and opened it.

  His chuckle turned into a cough. Seriously? Every single thing in the toolbox was pink. Pink! No wonder Seth had stressed that it belonged to his wife, and the men had grinned and elbowed each other.

  The joke was on him.

  But he was man enough to handle it.

  Maybe.

  Not if Vernon saw him wielding a pink hammer. Zeke would be the laughing stock of Shipshewana for months.

  Of course, the manly tools probably had been kept in the barn and were literally gone with the wind.

  He stared at the two boxes. Then, with a sigh, he firmed his shoulders, picked up the pink box, and walked out of the house.

  The twelve Lantz brothers chuckled. Their father just smiled.

  Zeke nodded, accepted a small handful of nails from Seth, and marched out to the mailbox.

  He had the post pounded back into the ground and most of the dents knocked out of the mailbox when Patience came out. Her dress was dry. She carried a small brown bag in her hand.

  “You mailing a package to someone?” he teased.

  Patience frowned. “Cookies. For you. They wedding cookies.”

  Of course. His special cousin didn’t understand tea
sing or jokes, either.

  “Gracie said.” Patience held the bag out.

  Zeke took it, but he wasn’t hungry. He should’ve been, probably, but upon arrival, this whole mission had robbed him of his appetite, because of the menial tasks that drove home his personal incompetency. Because the pretty damsel in distress was so totally out of reach. Because he was paired with Vernon the overachiever and Zeke’s biggest enemy.

  This was a mission of failure. He should’ve stayed home. At least he had friends there. And some—a few—successes.

  How much did it hurt Gracie to have her wedding…postponed…and to be giving away the food prepared for the singing following the ceremony? What about the wedding dinner?

  His stomach lurched. He knew what they’d be having for the noon meal. The traditional Amish wedding dinner. Either fried or roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and an assortment of vegetables. Of course, districts varied, so the meals did, too, but not by much.

  And then the dessert table. The wedding cake…

  His people were too frugal to throw perfectly good food out. So they’d be eating it for days to come. Sharing with neighbors and family.

  Poor Gracie. Every bite would be like salt in the wound of her abandonment. She was alone instead of loved and married. While he was feeling the personal slight with every “job” and elbow jab by her brothers, she would feel rejection and maybe loneliness with every sandwich, cookie, or piece of chicken they ate.

  Maybe the cake could be frozen. He didn’t know. But he might’ve seen frozen cakes in grocery stores. Perhaps. He wasn’t sure about that, either.

  But the chances of her groom being found alive were slim to none. Gracie had to know that. On the other hand, she wasn’t moping around. So maybe she didn’t.

  He wouldn’t be the one who broke the bad news.

  Hopefully.

  Of course, since he was supposed to help her find him, he might be with her when she found out.

  “Assuming he is ever found,” Zeke muttered.

  “Jesus calmed the storm.” Patience beamed at him, and with a wave, she hurried toward the house.

  Zeke grimaced. He’d forgotten Patience was beside him. Nevertheless, the storm had only just begun. But oh, to have faith and absolute trust like Patience.

  His faith, his trust were sorely lacking.

  He balled his fist, and paper crumpled. He looked down. Oh. He’d forgotten Patience’s gift, too. He peeked in the bag.

  Three cookies. Heart shaped. With pink icing. They were in a plastic baggie.

  His stomach rebelled. He swallowed hard, forcing the bitterness back down.

  He set the bag on the ground and finished fixing the mailbox, then removed the baggie from the paper bag. He set the baggie in the mailbox and raised the flag. The mail carrier would appreciate a treat.

  He probably should pray for Gracie…and her groom. What was his name? Tim? Timothy. That’s right. And he should pray for the community as a whole.

  Jesus calmed the storm. Jah, right.

  * * *

  Grace stared at the mounds of cold fried chicken.

  Somehow, with the devastation of the tornado and the need to see Timothy, it never registered deep inside that with the wedding postponed—or cancelled—she would be eating her wedding meal today, after all.

  Not all of it was there, though. Many women had helped prepare the wedding meal. Aenties, her sisters-in-law, and more. They were to have brought the food over with them, but again, no one had. They’d be eating on their contribution for a while, too.

  It’d be a reminder to pray for her and Timothy.

  And since no one had come by to comfort her…

  Not that she needed comforting. There were too many uncertainties. And it was a relief in a way. She loved Timothy. She did. But there were all the doubts, the fears, the unsettled feelings she’d wrestled with that he’d refused to even listen to. They’d courted for three years, after all. He was sure. She was the one with the commitment phobia. At least that’s what he’d called it.

  She wasn’t afraid of commitment. She just wasn’t sure.

  Mamm had called it cold feet. Said it was normal. But Grace wasn’t sure that was it, either.

  She didn’t know how to explain it, even to herself.

  Timothy had gotten upset with her the last time they’d been together. He was sure, and she obviously needed to pray it through and align herself with Gott’s will, because Gott had told him she would be his wife, and they were getting married. It bothered her that Gott would tell Timothy that and not her. But she listened, went along with his plans, and prepared. And prayed. Sort of. Mostly that Gott would stop the wedding if He didn’t want it to happen.

  And He had.

  Just not how she had expected or wanted. In fact, she hadn’t expected Him to stop it at all.

  Except, it had cost her family their barn and the church district their benches, and others their property or loved ones…

  She hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone. Couldn’t Gott have stopped the wedding without sending tornados?

  Now she felt relief and guilt. And also fear about what actually had happened to Timothy. She didn’t want him hurt or killed. Plus she struggled with unwanted attraction to Zeke. Which greatly bothered her, because she shouldn’t be so attracted to a stranger when she should be mourning the probable death of her groom.

  Oh. And there was also fear that Timothy would be found alive and the wedding would still be on while her doubts remained.

  She sighed.

  Mamm turned from the stove where she’d just pulled the foil container of mashed potatoes out of the oven and patted Grace’s arm. “It’ll be okay, Gracie.”

  Jah, but she wasn’t sure how.

  “Trust and pray. Timothy will be found. You’ll be married by this time next year.”

  Grace’s stomach tumbled. Not pleasantly. “Mamm, is it wrong—?”

  Mamm sighed heavily. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s just cold feet, Gracie? Perfectly normal. Every bride gets a bad case of nerves—”

  The backdoor opened and Zeke came in, carrying Mamm’s pink toolbox. “I fixed the mailbox.” He gave them a crooked grin.

  Grace’s heart thudded.

  His gaze went to the platter piled full of fried chicken. He winced, and the light in his eyes changed to something she couldn’t identify.

  Maybe pity. But she hoped not.

  His fingers brushed the back of her hand as he passed and sparks shot up her arm. “I’m sorry, Gracie.” His voice was soft. Caring.

  Compassion, maybe.

  Tears burned her eyes, pooled, and overflowed.

  “Aw, honey. We’ll find him,” Mamm said.

  A tear dripped from Grace’s chin. She swung around and ran from the room.

  * * *

  Zeke’s heart ached. He wanted—needed—to fix this, but how? When a little girl had gone missing in Shipshewana, the ones in charge had a map and graphed grids for rescuers to follow. But with eleven tornadoes, how would they even begin? Timothy could be miles and miles away. It wouldn’t merely be tracking the potential path of a lost person; it would be tracking the path of destructive storms that crossed state lines.

  Zeke didn’t have the foggiest idea where to begin.

  It was a good thing he wasn’t in charge.

  Gracie’s mamm sighed and swiped a hand across her eyes.

  Zeke supposed it must be hard for her, too. But he had nothing to say. Nothing.

  He put the toolbox back where he found it and turned to head back outside.

  “I just don’t understand what got into her.” Gracie’s mamm slammed something down on the counter.

  Zeke stopped. Turned. Opened his mouth…

  “Three years they courted. Three years! And then as soon as they are published she wants to talk about whether she and Timothy are right for each other. Isn’t that something she should’ve figured out sooner than two weeks before the wedding?” She looked at
Zeke as if he had answers.

  He didn’t. Except, a tiny part of his heart latched on to the fact that she had doubts about her groom. Which meant her rush of emotion wasn’t as much about loss as it might be about guilt or relief.

  “Timothy is from a good family. His mamm and I are friends. It’s cold feet, is all, because if it wasn’t she would’ve broken it off with him long before. Ain’t so?”

  Zeke didn’t know the answer to that, either. He shrugged. But if the mamms were friends, maybe she’d felt pressured to go along with the wedding instead of forging her own path.

  Maybe.

  Gracie’s mamm chuckled. “Just agree with me. I’m right.”

  He smiled. “Okay. If you say so.”

  “I say so. I’m Barbara. Everyone calls me Barbie.”

  “Ezekiel. Everyone calls me Zeke.”

  “Nice to meet you, Zeke. If you don’t mind, ring the dinner bell, okay? We’re ready to eat.”

  He nodded. “What about Gracie?”

  “She knows better than to ignore the dinner bell. She may not eat much, but she’ll join us.”

  His glance slid over the wedding feast they’d be enjoying. “Okay. But this particular meal might be a little hard on her.”

  Barbie looked at the food; then understanding dawned. “Ring the dinner bell; then take a sandwich up to her. I’ll excuse her this time. But tell her that she needs to keep her strength up, and encourage her that Timothy will be found.”

  Zeke nodded, opened the backdoor, and clanged the bell. Rather pointless since everyone, except Vernon, was right there.

  Wait. Vernon appeared at the back of the property. With a cow.

  Zeke sagged. Well, he was happy the family had a cow again.

  He quietly shut the door, trying to shut his inadequacies out with it.

  “Take your bag up, too. You’re upstairs. First door on the right.”

  He nodded, picked up his bag, and took the sandwich Barbie held out.

  “Gracie is on the left. Last door. Tell Patience to come down.”

  “I will,” he said quietly. He left the room, blowing out a puff of frustration, and went upstairs.