Isaac glanced around, saw a few familiar faces, but Molly was nowhere in sight. They hadn’t agreed to meet at church when they’d gone their separate ways the night before. She’d gone to her room without a glance back, and he’d avoided the kitchen when he’d left early that morning in hopes of avoiding Ulla.
Several of the elders filed into the church through the building’s side door. Isaac recognized Mose, and his father, Bishop Otto Fischer.
A line of married men went into the church. He entered with the single men. He was pleasantly surprised to see the church had been well cared for and freshly painted.
He took his seat and positioned his leg for comfort. He knew the three-hour service was going to be taxing, but he’d made a promise to Gott about being an active member of this new church, and he was going to keep that promise.
Opening prayers were said. Mose Fischer sang a hymn, his voice a rich baritone. He led the congregation in several songs, some Isaac knew from his home church services and some new to him. Peace calmed his troubled soul. He sang with all his heart, his love for Gott deepening as he took in the words of salvation. Gott’s promise of hope and forgiveness reached him, the needed words preached by a zealous pastor whose youthful voice still broke at times.
Gott spoke to Isaac’s heart, revealed His promise of forgiveness for all who would ask. The pain of his bottled-up grief and guilt eased some. Perhaps his Father’s love for him had remained strong, even though Thomas was dead.
A child began to cry, drawing Isaac’s attention to the women’s side of the church. Molly sat beside a red-haired woman who held a small bobbel in her arms.
He caught Molly’s eye and nodded. She nodded back, a quick smile playing on her lips, but then she turned back toward the singer standing at the front of the church.
Three hours later his leg hurt like stinging ants and his stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d missed breakfast. He needed to move around, get the blood flowing back in his leg. He also needed to eat. Living off two meals a day was hard on a man, especially one with his big appetite.
When he had entered the church, he had noticed signs for the church-wide meal Molly had mentioned the night before. The food would be served on the grounds at Pinecraft Park directly after the service. The thought of good homemade Amish food had his mouth watering as he headed out the door into the bright Florida sunshine. Maybe he’d get a chance to talk to Molly if he hurried.
* * *
Two containers of hot food fit in Molly’s bike basket, with just enough room for condiments and dessert. She pedaled as fast as she could, but a combination of cars and bikes whizzed past, forcing her onto the graveled verge for the last mile. Hopping off the bike and pushing it through the grass, she looked around for her mother and found Samuel Bawell waiting for her at the end of a row of long plastic tables. Women with hungry husbands bustled around, quickly covering the tables with white tablecloths.
Samuel frowned into the sun as she approached, his rich brown eyes looking her up and down. He wore a blue shirt of fine cotton fabric, his dark suspenders holding up well pressed and creased dark trousers.
A gust of wind blew off his straw hat, exposing his mussed mahogany-colored hair cut bowl-shaped around his ears.
“Here, let me help you,” he offered, and began to unload her basket, wanting to make points with her no doubt and squelch any possible rumors of her and Isaac’s budding courtship.
She avoided giving him a side hug of thanks, as was the custom for non-courting couples that were looking for mates—not that she would want Samuel as a future husband, or any other man for that matter. Samuel was her mother’s idea of the perfect Amish man. Not hers. His controlling nature and self-importance irritated Molly beyond words.
Every time she saw him, he pushed for a commitment from her. Just because she was twenty-one years old and a spinster didn’t mean she had to throw herself at the first man who asked her to marry him.
Samuel grabbed her hands, held her gaze. His dimpled smile should have set her heart to racing, but it didn’t.
She sighed, hearing her mother’s rasping voice in her head. You need to make a good marriage so I can end my days in comfort, Molly.
Everyone knew the Bawell family had big money—a lot more than most Amish families who came to Pinecraft for the winter. Their large farm prospered, the rich Ohio soil yielding big crops that added to their wealth yearly.
Samuel made sure everyone heard about their success each winter. He was proud of the farm and how successful the family had become after leaving the dry dirt of Lancaster County. Molly wasn’t impressed and prayed Gott would speak to him about sharing more with his community and talking less about his prosperity.
His thumb rubbed her hand as he spoke. “I missed you.”
“You just saw me last night at the singing.” Molly pulled her hands away. She took a plastic container of whoopie pies from her basket and placed them on the table. Samuel groaned, a hopeful smile playing on his lips as he recognized the container of mouth-watering desserts. “Did you make red velvet this time?”
With a nod Molly continued to unpack. The first wave of men lined up at the head table. She had to hurry.
Busy watching Molly, Samuel almost spilled a covered plate of fried chicken. He performed an impressive balancing act, recovering cleverly. He bowed at the waist, impressed with himself. “Have I told you how sweet you look today?”
“Nee. I’ve told you repeatedly that compliments embarrass me. I’m not a vain person, Samuel. I don’t need to be told when my hair shines or my eyes sparkle.” Knowing she was being harsh, she put her head down as she took the pickle relish out of her bike basket and then grabbed for a large pickle jar full of hot celery soup that needed to be poured into her mother’s old tureen.
“Ya, sure. I’ll try to remember. No more compliments.” Samuel rushed around the table and poured the soup for her, smiling, trying to be helpful.
Molly shrugged, her stomach roiling. She had to explain to him about her and Isaac and finalize the lie about their courting. Her words would confirm Samuel’s suspicions and make him furious, but they would hold back his advances and send him home to Ohio single.
Maybe one day she’d be ready for marriage, but never to Samuel.
“I saw you with that cripple last night,” Samuel said, handing her a container of chocolate-chip cookies for the children.
“That’s cruel, even from you, Samuel.” She turned her back on him.
Several servers showed up, stopping Molly and Samuel’s conversation, but she knew he’d have more to say. He always did.
“I’ll find us a spot under our tree.” Samuel walked past her and began filling his plate with most of the crispy fried chicken she’d brought and a huge mound of hot potato salad. He headed for the shaded area where the youngies gathered during outdoor meals. Molly watched him walk away, his stride long and confident. He was handsome, but his good looks hid a dark side she wanted to avoid at all costs.
Molly welcomed her mother and several friends as they approached the tables.
“Where’s Samuel?” Ulla asked, setting down a huge platter of potato pancakes covered in waxed paper. The older woman wiped sweat from her face with the hem of her apron.
“Somewhere with the singles, I guess.” Molly moved the pancakes over, removed the covering and added a fork for serving.
“You should go join him, take him a plate of food.”
“Ach, he’s got plenty to eat. He’s a real wutz.”
“So the man likes his food. That doesn’t make him a pig. Did you talk to him, serve him yourself?”
“Ya. We talked for a few moments.” A strong gust of wind ruffled her hair, pulling strands from her bun and tickling her neck. “He seemed in a hurry to eat and rushed off.”
“Join him. Let him know you’re intereste
d in being beside him. You’ll never catch a husband like this, Molly.” Her mother leaned in close. “Remember what I told you. We’re getting fewer and fewer renters each year. Soon we’ll be alone in that big house, just you and me...with little money coming in and a burden on our community. A good marriage would end all that.” Ulla’s eyes narrowed as she hissed, “Go on. Show him what a catch you are.”
This seemed the perfect time to tell her mother she meant it when she said she had no interest in Samuel, but people mingled around them, gathering food, making small talk.
Molly filled a plate for herself and walked away, leaving her mother to believe she was being an obedient daughter. But she had no intention of finding Samuel. A solitary meal near the river appealed to her more. She’d worked hard all week at the café and delivered two babies, both late at night, the births cutting deep into her sleep. Tired in body and spirit, she longed for a place to contemplate all the wonderful nature around her and leave her stress behind.
* * *
Isaac’s boots dug into the soft sandy dirt as he gathered a plate of food and made his way across the small park, leaving the swarm of chattering people behind. He was in no mood for idle chitchat. The sermon had stirred his heart, put a grain of hope in his heart for the future. He had a lot to think about. It didn’t matter where he ate, as long as it was quiet and peaceful. Over the course of the past few months, he’d grown used to eating alone.
Clusters of young orange trees grew all around the park. An old picnic table called to him, and he headed toward it.
Setting his plate on the warped wood, he took a seat, glad to be off his aching leg. True to the doctor’s words, his bones were mending, his leg hurting less and less, but the way he was forced to walk hadn’t changed. He’d live with the noticeable limp in his stride forever. He knew he deserved nothing more.
He prayed silently over his food, grateful for the chance to eat and not worry how he’d pay for his next meal. His savings spent, Gott’s mercy and love surrounded him as he whispered his appreciation for this bounty provided today and the fresh, growing peace in his heart.
Isaac lifted his head and began to eat, shoveling in food as fast as he could chew. For days his lunches had consisted of nothing more than crackers and peanut butter. Ulla had warned him she’d start charging extra for evening meals. This free Amish food tasted like manna from heaven.
“You miss breakfast?” Molly meandered up the slight grassy incline, her plate in hand. A cool breeze tilted her white kapp, leaving it at comical angle.
“Ya, I did. Willkumm. Share my table.” Isaac motioned for her to join him. He brushed leaves off the table and watched her hesitate only a moment before sitting on the other side of the wooden bench.
Her presence was a breath of fresh air, a joy to his senses. He longed to share his newfound appreciation and love for Gott, but sharing meant explaining why he’d run away from Missouri, why his life was broken into pieces. Perhaps he’d tell her about Thomas’s death one day, but he wasn’t prepared to share the raw pain today. Not even for Molly.
“Danke,” Molly murmured, and began to nibble at her food.
“I’m surprised you’re not with your friends.” Isaac stuffed a round whoopie pie into his mouth. He struggled to politely chew the enormous mouthful. The red velvet cake was as light as a feather and moist, better than any he’d ever eaten. He grinned at her and stuffed in another small pie. “I’m going to marry whoever made these,” he teased, and reached for the last pie on his plate.
“You’ll be marrying me for real then,” Molly said, giggling like a young girl.
He set down the last of the round cake. “I had no idea...” Isaac coughed.
For the moment Molly seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. Her smile was wide and easygoing. “Oh, now he tries to rutsch his way out of a fine proposal,” she said to the wind, her smile growing as his embarrassment increased.
“Nee, I didn’t mean to suggest...”
Molly forked a tiny red potato and held it near her mouth. “What? Suggest we really court, get wed this Christmas season?”
“I was just saying how delicious this whoopie pie tasted. My remark was meant only as a joke. Something to laugh at.” He felt his face grow warm. He prayed he wasn’t blushing like a foolish youngie.
“It wonders me. Are you saying you don’t want to marry me for real, Isaac Graber? That I’m not good enough for you?” Molly’s expression had been playful and relaxed, but now she looked serious, her brow furrowed, her mouth a firm, angry line.
At first he’d enjoyed the idea of pretending to be Molly’s future husband, but now her teasing conversation awakened new thoughts in his mind. What if she had taken his comments seriously? He hadn’t meant to make her believe he was truly interested in her, in a real courtship.
They had no future together.
Pain pierced his knee. He’d never forgive himself for what he’d done to Thomas, even if Gott forgave him. His newfound joy evaporated. He cleared his throat and spoke without humor. “What I meant to say was, you’re a wonderful cook.”
* * *
Cleanup was always the worst part of church picnics, especially if the person cleaning up was in a bad mood of her own making.
Molly pulled a big plastic trash can over to the table and began disposing of leftover food, banging plastic containers against the soft side of the plastic-lined trash container. Deep in thought, she ignored the shadow falling across her face and kept working.
“I thought we were going to eat together,” Samuel said, his brow arched in an angry scowl. “I looked everywhere for you. Where’d you disappear to?”
Molly stilled, the pot she’d been scraping forgotten. Samuel stood in front of her, his hands planted on his hips, a frown on his sunburned face. Behind him the sinking sun created spikes of pale reds and yellows behind wispy gray clouds.
This is not the time to push me, Samuel Bawell.
Her attention wandered back to the pot in her hand. “I never told you I was joining you.” A stubborn glop of burned cheese refused to budge. Her temper flared. She exchanged her spoon for a dull knife and scraped as if her life depended on removing the gluey food.
“You didn’t answer my question. Where did you go? To find that cripple, Isaac Graber?”
“That’s my business, Samuel. Not yours.” Her eyes cut in his direction, narrowed, angry. Words were about to be unleashed, and he wouldn’t like them.
“This is no way for a courting woman to act, Molly. I know you’re inexperienced, but...” He took a step around the table and reached for her hand.
Molly inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and forced it out again. It was time he understood where they stood. “We are not courting. I keep telling you over and over again, but you don’t like what you hear so you refuse to listen. We are just friends. We have gone to a few volleyball games and attended church singings. Nothing more. I am not your girl.”
“But your mamm said you were interested, that we could be wed in the church by the end of this year.”
A tide of fury washed over her. “I’m sorry. My mamm was wrong to tell you I was ready for marriage. I’m not interested in you that way, Samuel. You’re not my type.”
“But Isaac Graber is?”
“My mother doesn’t own me, nor can she decide who I marry. This talk of courtship and marriage has to end now.”
Somewhere close by, a seagull shrieked a warning and Molly glanced up, watching Samuel.
He flushed red. His gaze dropped. “You’ll be sorry you turned me down someday. You’ll see. But I won’t bother you again, Molly.” No dimples appeared on his cheeks as he turned on his heel and walked away, his broad shoulders squared, his gait fast.
Her thoughts scrambled. The idea of hurting anyone wounded her soul, but it had to be done. She had to have a serious convers
ation with her mamm. These embarrassing situations had to stop. Why wouldn’t she let her live her own life, make her own choices? Everyone in Pinecraft seemed to know all her business, think it was their job to give her advice, and she was tired of it. She would have to go through with the farce she’d planned with Isaac if she was to find peace. She had no other choice.
She scrubbed with renewed vigor until the pot’s bottom was spotless. Something drew her eye, and she watched as Isaac hobbled across the grass toward the walkway, his dark hat pulled low on his head. He spoke to no one as people passed.
She grabbed a pan and began to fight the dried-on food, thinking back to Isaac’s expression when he’d told her what a wonderful cook she was, but in the same breath proclaimed his lack of real interest in her.
A refreshing wind blew, ruffling the loose hairs on her sweaty neck and cooling her. She silently prayed as she finished emptying the last of the dishes and pans, asking forgiveness from Gott for her show of temper.
People passed, spoke and strolled away. Men assigned to help the ladies fold away tables and carry dishes finally showed up full of conversation about the awesome domino gamed they’d played.
“Ya, I would have won if I hadn’t used that double ten when I did.” Chicken John Schwarts, one of Pinecraft’s favorite pranksters, cackled like one of the hens he raised on his farm just outside Sarasota. The thin, frail man had gained her mother’s interest the past few weeks, and they had begun to court. But with their growing money problems, and Molly’s refusal to marry, she knew her mother was probably leading the wealthy man on in hopes of a profitable marriage. If he didn’t propose soon, her mamm would drop him, leave him with a broken heart and look for another man with money. Not that their financial problems were so dire. If her mamm would stop spending foolishly, they could make ends meet, pay all the bills beginning to pile up.
Chicken John lifted a box filled with plastic food containers that belonged to the church and the bottom fell out. Dirty containers scattered in the ankle-high grass. Everyone laughed, enjoying the scene of the little man on his knees, scurrying around picking up lids and containers. But Molly remained somber, her heart heavy. She carried two lightweight boxes to the golf carts lined up as transport back to the church. There’d be dishes to wash and put away. She looked forward to the hard work. Her mind would be too busy to think about what she’d said to Samuel and what he’d said back to her.
The Amish Midwife's Courtship and Plain Truth Page 7
