by Leslie Gould
“No. That’s it. Really.”
I’d come across a book about remarrying not too long ago. “I read somewhere—”
Betsy groaned. “I hate it when you say that.”
“What?” I turned my attention to her.
She mimicked my voice. “‘I read somewhere . . .’ It sounds so opinionated.”
“Oh.” So that was how she felt about the interesting facts I gleaned from books—apparently she’d confused sharing knowledge with opining.
In a sympathetic voice, Dat said, “Go on.”
“It’s nothing.” My gaze fell on Mamm’s rocker through the doorway in the living room.
“Tell us.” Dat leaned toward me.
I took a deep breath. “Just that remarriage is a compliment to the spouse who died. That’s all.”
Betsy reached for my plate. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That Dat and Mamm had a good marriage. For Dat to remarry wouldn’t discredit Mamm—it would compliment her.”
Dat didn’t seem to have heard me. “That I didn’t remarry is one of the reasons I want the two of you to turn out well.”
“What?” Betsy sat up a little straighter.
“Well, there was talk that a widower raising two girls, especially two beautiful girls”—Dat sounded a little boastful for a Plain man—“wouldn’t be able to keep them on the straight and narrow. But we’ve all done just fine. Don’t you think?”
Betsy and I both nodded in agreement. I felt the same way as Dat—pleased that, even though she was flighty, I’d done a good job mothering my little Schwester and, for the most part, managing myself. Just before our grandmother died there had been an incident that raised the bishop’s concern, but I’d responded with determination, keeping myself in line and working even harder at caring for Betsy to the best of my ability.
“Back to business,” Dat said, rubbing his rough hands together, signaling it was time to reveal his latest edict.
I exhaled slowly.
“What I want”—Dat looked at Betsy and then at me, focused and intent—“is for both of you to experience marriage and motherhood, God willing. Your Mamm was the best wife any man could have. And the best mother too. That’s what I want for my girls.
“So,” he continued, “I’m implementing a new policy in our family, beginning tonight. Betsy doesn’t go to the singing if Cate doesn’t go.”
“Dat, I’m a grown woman,” I gasped.
“I’m not done.” He squared his shoulders. “Betsy doesn’t court unless Cate courts.”
Betsy moaned.
It was a good thing I wasn’t still trying to eat, or I might have choked.
Dat leaned forward. “And Betsy doesn’t marry unless Cate marries first.”
Betsy burst into tears—something she’d perfected through the years. When she was little she had been known to put her finger in her eye to make herself cry.
I fell back against my chair.
Dat boomed. “Understood?”
Betsy sobbed. I couldn’t move. Neither one of us answered.
“That’s the final word,” Dat said. “I’ll not budge an inch.”
In shock, I watched as he stood and retrieved his Bible from the sideboard. Dat was a kind man, but when he made up his mind, he stuck to it. It made us love him even more because he usually acted in our best interest.
I couldn’t think of a thing I wouldn’t do for him—except get married.
Dat sat back in his chair and opened his Bible, holding it like a shield between him and me. “I finished Revelation this morning.”
It seemed as if it had been a lifetime ago.
“So, tonight, Genesis one,” he proclaimed.
Betsy whimpered. I stared straight ahead. Dat ignored us both. “‘In the beginning,’” he read, “‘God created . . .’”
The only other words I heard were “‘Be fruitful and multiply.’”
“Cate, you have to find a husband.” Betsy attacked the kitchen floor with the broom as she spoke. “Or I’ll never be able to get married.” Her tears had turned to anger, an emotion not usually displayed by my sweet sister.
I added more water to the dishwater, drowning out the sound of Betsy’s voice.
Dat had gone out to the shop to meet the landscaper—jah, M&M were right about that—and then he said he would do the choring by himself. I would have rather been out in the barn too, visiting my horse, Thunder, than trying to ignore Betsy and her lament.
A new round of emotion overtook her an hour later as we readied ourselves for bed.
“Who are we going to find to court you?” She sat on her twin bed as I braided her fine hair by the light of our propane lamp.
I didn’t answer.
“How about Joseph Koller?”
I didn’t mean to yank. It just happened.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“He’s not so bad.”
“He’s how old? Fifty?”
“Oh, I don’t think he’s more than forty-five,” Betsy said.
That made him older than Dat. “And he has eight kids,” I added.
“Half of them are grown.”
I wrapped the tie around Betsy’s braid, biting my tongue as I did. Two of Joseph Koller’s kids were older than I. One of them had children. I had no desire to become a grandmother at twenty-three.
She turned on the bed and fixed her gaze on my face. “You know you’ve gotten really pretty in the last year or so.”
I frowned.
“Your eyes are such a beautiful blue. And your hair is so dark now it’s almost black. And your ears don’t look so big anymore. And your temper’s better than it used to be, although—”
“Stop!” I couldn’t suffer her comments.
“No, it’s true,” she said. “I think you were just a late bloomer.”
I hobbled off her bed, my right leg asleep, and limped across the room to my side, determined to distance myself from her.
“But you should smile more. That’s when you look your—”
A pebble hit our window. Then another one. She quickly turned off the lamp and opened the curtain as a third pebble pinged against the glass.
I followed her, wondering if someone new might have made the late-night trek. She opened the window and stuck out her head. “It’s Levi.” She giggled.
I stared into the darkness, letting my eyes adjust. I could make out the outline of a man standing at the edge of the lawn. He stepped out of the shadows of the chestnut tree. I could see why Betsy thought him good-looking with his square jaw and broad shoulders. His hair was the color of his straw hat, and his smile grew brighter the longer he looked at her. He had a shyness about him that I found endearing, and he clearly adored her.
She called out, “I’m coming down.” She plucked her robe off the end of her bed. “I’m just going to tell him to come by tomorrow, so Dat will hire him. That’s all. It’s not like we’re courting or anything. Honest.”
I put the brush on our bureau. “Don’t worry about it.” I couldn’t seem to stop the sarcasm in my voice. “It’s not like I’m going to tell Dat or anything. Honest.”
She seemed to be unaware of my tone as she stepped across the room and grabbed my hand, squeezing it. “You’re the best big sister . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Surely Dat’s money will attract someone.”
“Betsy.” My entire body bristled. “I don’t want ‘someone.’ Don’t you remember? I tried that. It didn’t work. He was only interested in Dat’s money—I won’t go through that again.”
“But what about me?”
We stared at each other a minute. “Well, that’s our dilemma, isn’t it?” was all I could manage to say.
Another pebble hit the window.
“We’ll find the right person.” Betsy let go of my hand. “I’ll put the word out. Tonight.”
“Don’t,” I said as she dashed out of the room. I heard her steps on the stairs, and
then the back screen door banged. “Please don’t,” I whispered, knowing it was already too late. I’d made peace with my being a Maidel for the rest of my life. Why couldn’t Dat?
I turned off the lamp and climbed under my quilt, my book in one hand and my flashlight in the other, ready to finish off Rural Country Medicine. I’d already read all the other books I’d checked out. Thankfully I’d visit the bookmobile the next day. The driver, a Mennonite woman named Nan Beiler, was becoming a friend of mine. Besides working for the Lancaster County Library, she also wrote for The Budget, a Plain newspaper, and a few magazines. I was interested in writing, but even more so in editing and eventually publishing. Dat said there wasn’t much money in it, though.
All of the women entrepreneurs I knew were single, widowed, or had grown children. It was hard to run a business and raise a family at the same time. Being single would make it much easier. I would make not being married work for me. Now I just needed to figure out what kind of business I could make a living at.
And how to get around Dat’s newest edict.
CHAPTER
2
All the next day, Dat micromanaged my every move.
He knew it was bookmobile day—my stack of library books sat on the edge of my desk—yet he still delayed me. First with Levi’s paperwork, then an unexpected billing, and finally a lecture on tracking our inventory. Granted, it wasn’t as if I’d find a husband at the bookmobile, but I wasn’t going to find one in my office either.
The bookmobile stop was just outside of Paradise, in a parking lot near a public school. By the time I reached the highway in my buggy, I knew chances were I’d be too late, but in case Nan tarried, I pressed on, snapping the reins, urging Thunder to go faster.
If my father had been along, I wouldn’t have driven Thunder at more than a trot. Dat had heard too many reports of me racing my standard-bred horse along the back roads of Lancaster County.
But Dat wasn’t with me today. “Giddy up!” I scooted to the edge of the bench seat.
I passed rich brown soil, freshly plowed and ready to plant. Then dark strips of alfalfa. Next, a light green pasture. I never grew tired of admiring the countryside. In the springtime, as well as in the summer and the fall, I longed to spread out a blanket and lose myself in a story. But not today.
I crested the hill just past Township Road. Ahead I saw the blue-and-white bookmobile van turning right out of the parking lot. I was practically standing now, willing my horse to go faster and yelling for Nan to stop. I couldn’t survive without anything new to read.
The van accelerated, heading back toward Lancaster. As I slapped the reins again, Thunder lunged forward, and the bag of books beside me tumbled to the buggy floor. The van gained speed, leaving a growing gap of gray highway between us. Finally, in defeat, I sank back against the bench, slowing Thunder to a walk.
Tears of exasperation stung my eyes. I’d have to convince Dat I needed to go into Lancaster . . . for something. We were getting low on toner for the printer. I’d need to hire a driver. I’d need to figure out a way to make Dat think it was his idea.
In the distance, the panel van slowed, then pulled to the side of the road and stopped. I blinked back my tears. Nan must have seen me in her rearview mirror. By the time she pulled a U-turn, I was snapping the reins again, imploring Thunder to move, offering up a prayer of thanks that Nan had taken pity on me. By the time I reached the parking lot of the school, she had parked the van and was climbing out of the driver’s seat.
She wore a floral dress and a sweater. Her light blond hair, mostly covered by her rounded Mennonite Kapp, glowed as if it were a halo. “Cate!” Her voice radiated warmth. “I thought I was going to miss you today.”
I stuffed the books back into the bag and jumped from the buggy. She stepped forward and gave me a hug.
“Thank you for coming back.” I was a little breathless as I spoke, not from exertion, though, but solely from relief. “I had to work late.”
I waited as Nan lowered the steps and opened the door. I followed her inside, handing her my returns, breathing in the peppery scent of the old books lining the van’s walls.
It was my favorite place on earth. I loved the endless possibilities of the stories. I loved the places they took me. And I loved being with Nan. There was something so accepting, so kind and hopeful about her, that for a few minutes I’d forget how disappointing I was to others in my life.
It didn’t take long to choose my books. Two on parenting teenagers, because I wasn’t done with Betsy yet; three cookbooks to make Dat think the bookmobile would help make me a better Haus Frau; a book on quilting, again to keep Dat thinking good things about me; a how-to-write-articles handbook; a book on pregnancy, because medicine intrigued me, perhaps because of my mother’s early death; and a book on gardening for Betsy.
Nan checked out the books, stamping each one in an efficient manner. “Oh, and here’s the one you put on hold,” she said, holding up the biography on Abraham Lincoln.
I put the book on pregnancy at the bottom of the bag and the biography on top and thanked her again for coming back. “You can’t know how much I appreciate this,” I gushed.
“Oh, I think I do.” She smiled and led the way out of the bookmobile. Although reluctant to leave, I followed. After I reached the ground, she lifted the little staircase back into the van. As she did, Levi walked around the back. And then Mervin and Martin. I stifled a groan.
“Look who it is!” Martin whipped off his hat, nearly upsetting his ridiculous dark glasses.
Mervin started looking around, glancing from my buggy and back to the bookmobile. “Is Betsy with you?”
I shook my head as Nan asked if they wanted to check out some books, saying she’d be happy to give them a few minutes.
“Ah, thanks anyway,” Mervin said, hooking his thumb into his suspenders. “We were just seeing if anyone was with Cate.”
I glared from Mervin to Martin, and then my eyes landed on Levi. He was staring at the asphalt, the brim of his straw hat pointed downward. I guessed M&M didn’t know he was courting Betsy.
“We were hoping her sister—Bitsy—would be with her,” Martin said, grinning.
“They’re looking for Betsy.” I scowled from one to the other. The boys in our district used to call her Bitsy because she’d been the smallest girl in school for years and years. I, on the other hand, had been a certified giant. I was still taller than Betsy, but I no longer towered over her, or anyone else, for that matter, although everyone still seemed to think I was some sort of freak.
I thought her nickname had been abandoned, but apparently I was wrong.
Martin stepped closer to me. “We heard about your father’s proclamation.” He nodded toward Levi. “About Betsy not being able to court.”
I balled my free hand into a fist, shoving it into the pocket of my apron. “Proclamation?” What a ridiculous word for him to use. I put out my foot as if I might trip him. He jumped back, obviously remembering our school days together too.
“Who’s that?” Mervin asked, apparently unaware of my foot and its intention.
I turned toward the road. A car had stopped in front of the coffee hut on the other side of the highway, and a man climbed out of the back seat.
“I don’t recognize him,” Martin said.
As the car drove away, the stranger came toward us, calling out, “Hello!”
Nan stepped toward the road.
“He’s not from around here,” I said. His clothes were faded and worn. He was tall and wiry and carried a backpack in one hand and a wool coat in the other. He wore a straw hat, suspenders, a light blue shirt, and black pants, splattered with mud. Instead of shoes he wore brown hiking boots.
Nan was walking toward the newcomer now, her steps hurried. “Pete?”
Surprised, I focused on the two of them.
“Little Pete Treger?” she called out.
The man ambled across the road, squinting into the afternoon sun.
&
nbsp; “Nan?”
She hugged him tightly.
Martin let out a laugh. “He’s not so little.”
It wasn’t that he was that big, or that old, maybe midtwenties or so, but he had an air of independence and confidence to him that was anything but little, and he did tower over Nan.
He stepped away from her embrace. “I heard you were in Lancaster. In fact, I was going to look you up.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Traveling.” He flashed a grin, showing off the hint of dimples. “I’ve been all over. But I decided to stop in Paradise before I eventually head home.”
I couldn’t help but wonder where home was.
“Come meet my friends,” Nan said, leading the man back to us.
Martin stepped forward, extending his hand. “Welkom.” He introduced himself and Mervin and then Levi.
“And this is Cate,” Nan said, motioning toward me.
He shook my hand, holding it too long. His skin was rough and cracked, but his grip was firm. His hair was a little long, but it looked as if the last cut could have been in the Amish style. “Short for Catherine?” he asked.
“No, just Cate.”
“Plain Cate?” His brown eyes danced.
I’d always known I was, in more ways than one. I jerked my hand away, not amused.
His eyes kept smiling. “Pete Treger from Cattaraugus County, New York.”
“We knew each other back home,” Nan said.
“Distant cousins, right?” Pete took off his hat and ran his fingers through his dark hair.
“Third or fourth, I think. On your mother’s side,” Nan clarified. “Of course, Pete was barely a teenager when I left.”
“How long ago was that?” His expression was kind as he looked at Nan.
“Thirteen years.” She sighed and then asked, “What brings you to Paradise?”
He put his hat back on his head. “Besides you?”
She laughed.
“I’m looking for work, for a man named Bob Miller, in particular. People in Ohio said to look him up.”
Mervin’s eyes twinkled as he said, “We’ve heard of the man.”
