The Matchmaker: An Amish Tale of Jane Austen's Emma (The Amish Classics Book 2)

by Sarah Price

  And then there was Alice. Her demeanor was beyond forward, and Emma found herself doing all that she could to avoid being in her immediate presence. There was a vulgarity about the woman. She spoke her mind, laughed far too loud, and barely paid a lick of attention to her husband. For a newly wedded couple, the lack of communication and, for that matter, any signs of affection between the two were most surprising to Emma.

  While she found the woman socially distasteful, it was increasingly clear that the feeling appeared to be mutual. Emma suspected that Alice was unaware of the fact that if Paul had his way with his original proposal, it would be Emma who bore his last name and not Alice. Still, Alice did all she could to blatantly disregard Emma by not including her in any conversations and interrupting any comments she tried to make. It was all too clear that Alice had not taken to her. While Emma found that she didn’t particularly care that Alice was not partial to her friendship, she did, however, wonder why.

  Additionally Alice practically announced that she was enamored with Jane, determined to help the young woman come out of her shell of propriety in order to attract a beau, so that she would not have to return to Ohio. When Alice glanced over at Gideon, Emma felt her heart pound, a sudden feeling of irritation developing in the pit of her stomach.

  “It’s so pleasant here,” Alice announced as she linked her arm with Jane’s. “Don’t you agree? I love the landscape, so much flatter and spread out than in Ohio. Why, driving here today I saw a valley with a dozen or so farms! Simply breathtaking!”

  “It is lovely,” Jane agreed noncommittally.

  “And the people, for the most part, are pleasant enough,” Alice added. “If not a bit provincial, I suppose.”

  Emma rolled her eyes at that last statement.

  “Isn’t it interesting, Jane, that one of my favorite people here is another woman from Ohio?” Alice laughed at herself. “It makes sense, of course. We Ohio Amish simply better understand each other, ja?”

  With Alice’s hoity-toity mannerisms and rather verbose opinions, which she was all too willing to share, Jane’s quiet reserve had not stood a chance of arguing against such a ridiculous proposition.

  The only consolation for Emma was that, upon arriving at the gathering, she immediately noticed that, despite Alice’s proclamation to the opposite at her welcome dinner a few days before, a heart-shaped prayer kapp now rested upon her head. Secretly it delighted Emma to imagine the conversations that must have taken place to convince Alice of the errors of her ways on that particular subject! Was it a compelling argument on Paul’s part, or simply a spousal request against which she had no recourse?

  Hetty sat upon the blanket, legs crossed under her and her dress tucked under her knees as she spread the food from the baskets for all to see. She fussed and prattled on, moving dishes and plates, assessing them, and then quickly rearranging them once again. The older woman’s nervous energy did nothing to soften Emma’s mood, especially when it dawned on Emma that, between Hetty and Alice, no one would ever be able to get a word in edgewise.

  Disgusted with the negative feelings that seemed to dwell within her heart, Emma sat to the side, her eyes staring across the glistening pond. She tried her best to ignore the irritation that slowly arose within her chest. How so much could change in such a short period of time, she wondered. Everything had been so pleasant and predictable before Anna got married and moved away. Now it seemed that everything Emma thought turned out to be the complete opposite.

  Her eyes fell upon Samuel, Anna, Hannah, and Francis, who were walking around the pond. Hannah had reluctantly joined them, encouraged by Francis. As the foursome rounded the far side, Emma saw that they were headed toward the large oak tree that had a wooden swing hanging from a branch. Emma smiled wryly, knowing which woman would be the one that, inevitably, sat upon it, a man standing behind her to gently push the swing so that she could enjoy the breeze as she swung through the air: Francis and Hannah. Would that not make a suitable pair! His charm could serve as cover for her shyness, and her reserve would atone for his overfamiliarity.

  “Emma! Emma! Come join us! You shouldn’t sit alone on such a beautiful day!”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Hetty and forced a weak smile. “I’m just admiring the beauty of this glorious day God gave us. Soon it will be winter, ain’t so? Won’t be many more opportunities to enjoy the outdoors without heavy coats.”

  Her excuse was met with nods of approval and Emma said a quiet prayer of gratitude to God for allowing her the wisdom to speak kindness and not the turmoil of such negative thoughts as the very ones that were brewing inside of her.

  “Such a lovely young woman,” Emma heard Hetty say to Jane. “So reflective and godly!” Hetty must have turned toward her mother for she repeated herself loudly. “Why, if ever there was a godly young woman, I always say that Emma Weaver is she! Oh, indeed! Don’t I, Maem?” A pause. “Godly! Emma!” she repeated loudly. There was no response from her maem. “Why, I can only think of our own dear Jane as being as godly and righteous as our Emma.” Hetty patted her niece’s hand. “I am so blessed to know and love them both.”

  “We are fortunate indeed,” Gideon commented.

  At his words, Emma glanced over her shoulder, catching his eyes on Jane. When she followed his gaze, she noticed that Jane was more than unusually silent at Hetty’s double compliment.

  There was, however, a voice that spoke out in disagreement. “There is a time and place for reflection,” Alice said teasingly, yet in a haughty tone grating on Emma’s nerves. “Personally, I find isolating oneself from a group to smack of pride.” Her loud voice carried in the wind. “Are we not good enough? What say you, Paul?”

  To Emma’s relief, Paul did not respond to his wife’s question.

  Oh bother, she thought and stood up, rejoining the group on the blanket so as to stop any further potentially controversial statements.

  Pretending that she had not heard Alice’s comments, she sat next to Hetty and reached out for a cup to pour herself some fresh lemonade. To both her relief and displeasure, Emma realized that, despite her sarcastic complaints just seconds before, Alice was already moving on to something else, directing her attention to Jane, as she inquired about the small Amish community where she had been raised. It was almost painful to watch the abortive exchange, because as Alice enjoyed hearing herself talk, despite her questions of Jane, she refused to let another person steal her stage. That left Jane in the lurch, for whenever she tried to get into the conversation, Alice would merely talk over her.

  Bored, Emma sipped from her cup and let her eyes drift. The Waglers and Hannah were headed back toward the group, Francis walking beside Hannah, making her giggle at his comments. As Emma returned her attention to the long-winded Alice, she caught Gideon watching her. She tried to smile and was about to say something to him when she realized that, once again, Gideon’s eyes were actually not quite upon her but on Jane.

  Her heart sank, and for reasons unknown to her, she felt even more irritated. She was sorry that she had let Alice’s comments goad her into returning to the group. She had been much happier by herself, regardless if this talkative, loud woman thought she was prideful or was just teasing. Her irritation only increased when the Waglers and Hannah returned, all smiles and sunshine from their little adventure.

  Francis knelt down in the grass by the blanket and noticed the dark mood over the group. “Now, now,” he started, plucking a piece of grass and tossing it at Emma. “What’s this? A gloomy picnic party?” He laughed as Emma plucked the blade from her lap and played with it between her fingers. “Let’s play a game, shall we? That should liven up the mood of the gathering.”

  “A game?” Hetty seemed delighted at the prospect. “Oh yes, let’s play a game. What shall we play then, Francis?”

  “The suitcase game!”

  Hannah laughed. “I used to play that in school when I was learning English!”

  Emma fought the urge to roll her eyes.
/>
  It was Gideon who inquired about the game next. “You must share the rules,” he said. “I fear it’s been quite a few years for some of us since we’ve played such a game, and some of our Ohio transplants might not be familiar with it.” He smiled at Jane. Perhaps he only meant to draw her in as a politeness, but the gesture further soured Emma’s mood, even if Jane seemed to ignore it.

  “It’s easy, really.” Francis shifted his weight so that he was no longer kneeling but sitting on the ground. “We used to play it with the alphabet and take turns, listing items we would pack in a suitcase to go on a trip. As we take turns, you have to repeat whatever items were previously mentioned, in the same order, then add your own.”

  Jane smiled and Hetty laughed outright.

  “Of course,” Francis said slowly. “We don’t have to pack a suitcase. We could change it up a bit. Perhaps we could alphabetize words about Emma instead.”

  At this change to the game, Emma frowned and looked up. “Me?”

  “To cheer you up! You look so glum!”

  Emma dared not protest more lest she draw unwanted attention to herself. Silently she hoped the idea would die a quick death. However, Hetty quickly seconded the notion and Hannah also thought that it was a grand idea. If Samuel, Anna, or Gideon thought the game unsuitable, they held their tongues. And Jane seemed to sink into a deeper silence, if that were possible.

  Not to anyone’s surprise, Alice had something to say about Francis’s suggestion. “A game?” She raised an eyebrow and stared at Francis for a moment. “A schoolhouse game? I think I’ll pass on that one. Come along, Paul. Let’s go walk around the pond! I saw Francis pushing Hannah on that swing over there. That seems like something we should do!” Without waiting for his answer, she began walking.

  Obediently Paul followed, pausing to take breath and stretch as he stood. “No parlor games for this old married man,” he said. “Besides, I’m certainly not clever enough to think of anything that might amuse anyway, especially Emma.” He said this last part under his breath, but Emma had clearly heard it.

  As he hurried after Alice, Emma scowled and wondered which one of them would actually push the other on the swing.

  “Shall we begin? Remember, we are to cheer up our Emma, so be as clever as you can!” Francis displayed a childish delight at the idea of this game, blatantly ignoring the glances exchanged between Samuel and Anna and the decided disinterest of Jane. “I’ll start and say a word that I feel describes Emma, starting with the letter A. Hannah will continue, repeating my word then adding one that starts with the letter B. Hetty, you’ll do the same, only your word will start with C.”

  “Just one word? Only one?” Hetty interrupted him, her voice cheerful and delighted at the thought of this game. “Oh help!” She gave a soft laugh. “Describe our Emma? That should be easy, shouldn’t it?” She looked around and smiled. “Why, I’m sure that I could think of dozens of interesting words to describe our dear Emma!”

  Irked at being pushed into the center of attention, Emma turned to Hetty and said, “I’m sure you’ll find it most difficult to speak just one word of interest at all!” As soon as the words slipped from her tongue, Emma caught her breath and bit her lower lip. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. And the sharpness of her tone clearly indicated that there was no hint of teasing behind her words.

  Silence befell the group. But it seemed to take a moment for Hetty to realize the meaning behind what Emma had said.

  “Oh!” The older woman frowned and lowered her eyes. “Oh my,” Hetty said softly, her liveliness quickly evaporating. The color drained from her face as her eyes widened. “I see . . . I mean, I think I understand what Emma means.” She glanced around at the downcast eyes that avoided hers. “I suppose I should be silent now so as not to further . . . well, there I go again, being disagreeable, I imagine . . . ” She paused. “I . . . I’ll . . . mayhaps I might go for a walk, I reckon.” Without any further words, Hetty rose to her feet, a hand at her throat, and hurried away.

  The silence that surrounded the group deepened.

  Emma felt the heat under her skin. Refusing to look at anyone, she knew that her cheeks were turning crimson from embarrassment. Instead, she shut her eyes and pressed her lips together, wishing that, once again, she had thought before speaking. The nasty tone and horrid words that had slipped past her lips were uncharacteristic of Emma, that was for certain, but whether she could be forgiven was yet to be determined.

  “I suppose it is a bit too silly of a game,” Anna finally offered, a gentle way to break the silence as she forced an air of cheerfulness that no one felt. “Mayhaps it’s just better if we have dessert before it’s time to return home for evening chores, ja?”

  Despite Anna’s attempt, there was still a heavy tension over the group. Emma gave a quick glance around and noticed that no one was either nodding in approval or, for that matter, even looking at her. No one, that is, except Gideon. The displeasure on his face did not need words, and he gave a single shake of his head before he stood and followed in the direction of Hetty.

  Disgusted with herself, Emma jumped to her feet and walked up the incline toward the road. The tears started falling before she made it there, and once away from the group she allowed herself to sob as she started the long walk home by herself. Each footstep brought her more pain as she berated herself. How could she have said something so cold, rude, and insulting? The look in Gideon’s eyes, so full of disappointment, stayed with her long after she left the pond.

  She didn’t go immediately home, however. Instead, she let her feet take her down the back roads so that she could be alone and calm her nerves. The last thing she wanted was to return home and face her daed. If he thought that she had been crying, the questions would never end.

  The sun had started its descent over the horizon and a definite chill was now in the air. Emma did not know whether the shivering that had overtaken her was coming from the outside or from the inside, on account of the icy words she had directed toward Hetty. Those words were, indeed, very uncalled for. Emma knew only too well how Hetty held her in such high esteem, often looking upon her as a niece or even a daughter of sorts, especially after Emma’s maem had passed. For Hetty, Emma was the daughter she never had. She had even confided to Emma that if she had ever married and reared a daughter, she would have wanted her to be just like Emma. While Hetty, despite being over twice her age, did not have Emma’s wits, her poise, and certainly nothing close to the same effect on others, she often tried to emulate Emma, considering her as a role model in all and everything that she did or said. Emma was well aware of the quasi veneration bestowed upon her by her surrogate aendi, and while not admitting it publicly, could not help feel a little vanity at such reverence. Not a very Christian feeling, she had told herself time and again; so she was quite ambivalent about it, sometimes accepting it, yet at other times, genuinely feeling undeserving of it.

  Today, however, she had definitely committed an act of wrongdoing and displayed an unchristian behavior, belittling one of the people who loved and admired her the most.

  While walking the back roads, the same roads that she had taken so many times before when making her rounds of visits to the elderly and less fortunate widows in her g’may, Emma pondered the changes that were taking place not only within the community, but also and especially—within her. Was she starting to lose faith? Was her set of beliefs and values crumbling? What is happening to me? she asked herself, a heavy wave of sadness invading her soul.

  “Emma!”

  As she was just about to walk past the mailbox and turn up the driveway, she was startled by the sound of someone calling her name. She had been so distracted by her thoughts that she hadn’t heard the horse and buggy approaching her from behind. When she turned to see who it was, she felt her stomach flip-flop: Gideon.

  He directed the horse to pull the buggy up to the driveway and then stopped, stepping on the brake and jumping down to the macadam. There was a sharp look i
n his eyes as he walked around the back of the buggy to face her.

  “Where have you been?”

  She lifted her chin defiantly. “Walking home.”

  “You left an hour ago!”

  Had that much time truly passed? She glanced again at the sky and noticed how quickly daylight was slipping away.

  “What do you want, Gideon?” she asked, steeling herself against his inevitable reprimand and ensuing lecture.

  “How could you do that to Hetty?” he demanded. “How could you be so unfeeling toward a woman so dear to you? Badly done, Emma! Badly done indeed!”

  “It . . . it was meant in jest, Gideon,” she said, although the words sounded meek and contrived from the moment she spoke them.

  “I can assure you,” he said angrily. “In jest it was not taken! You have wounded a woman who has no greater flaw than constantly praising Emma Weaver, both in front of her and when she is not near. Why, Hetty considers herself part of your family! You are as dear to her as Jane!”

  “I highly doubt that!”

  “Whether you believe it or not, I frankly don’t care.” He stood with his legs apart and his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. His short tone indicated just how vexed he was with her and her terrible behavior. “What I do care about is the fact that you just demonstrated such an uncharacteristic lack of compassion, and as a result humbled her, not just in front of friends but in front of her family!”

  She was stunned by the anger and hurt that he wore on his expression. While she had known that her words had disappointed him, she had no idea how much! She fought the urge to cry once again. “What would you have me do? I shall apologize when I see her next.”

  “What would I have you do?” he repeated her question, mockery in his voice. “Why, Emma Weaver, I have proven myself, time and time again, to have your best interests at heart and to be a true friend. My counsel, while most often ignored, has always been faithful. What would I have you do?” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “The only thing you can possibly do is to prove to me that I was justified in putting my faith in you!”