by Leslie Gould
“I was told he owns a cabinet shop.” Pete lowered his backpack to the ground. “And that he has two beautiful daughters.”
“You’ve got part of the equation right.” Martin took off his sunglasses. “Two thirds of it, anyway.”
Pete didn’t seem to catch M&M’s attempt at humor.
Mervin nudged me. I took a step backward, causing my book bag to slam against his leg. He yelped.
“I’m hoping to find a job—and a wife,” Pete said, causing me to gasp at the brashness of his statement. He glanced around our small circle. “Where would I find Bob Miller?”
Martin nodded toward my buggy. “That rig right there could take you to him in no time.”
I waved my hand a little, annoyed. “They’re teasing you. Bob Miller is my father. But he’s not hiring.”
Levi stepped forward and blurted out, “But he is looking for a husband for a certain daughter.”
I glared at Levi as his face reddened, desperate that he not say another word. “Ignore him,” I ordered Pete.
Another grin spread across the stranger’s face and he swept his hat off his head. “I see I put my foot in my mouth already. Cate, I’m doubly pleased to meet you,” he said. “And I would be most grateful if I could hitch a ride to meet your Dat.”
Our eyes locked. Nan knew and liked this man. I would try my best to not be rude. I bit my tongue, except to say again, “He’s not hiring.”
“Where are you staying?” Nan asked Pete, obviously trying to redirect the conversation.
He dug a piece of paper out of his coat pocket. “The Zooks’ barn. On Mill Creek Road.”
“It’s not far from here.”
“Is it close to Bob Miller’s shop too?” He actually winked at me.
Appalled, I hoisted my heavy bag into my arms. “I need to go,” I said and turned toward Nan. “See you next time.”
“We’ll have a chance to visit then.” She patted my shoulder.
I hoped to. I’d wanted to ask her about her writing, but there was no way I was going to do that in front of M&M and Levi—and Pete. I waved to all of them, unable to force a smile, and then started toward my buggy.
Behind me, Martin laughed and then said, “One sister is known for her charming beauty and the other for her scolding tongue. . . .”
“We used to call her Cate the Cursed,” Mervin added. “Still do when—”
Nan’s voice drowned him out. “Boys!” Then she said something more I couldn’t hear because I was practically running toward the buggy.
Pete spoke loudly. “Cate, could I at least meet your father?”
“I already told you—twice—he’s not hiring,” I called out, not daring to turn my face toward them.
“Are people always this friendly in these parts?” His sarcasm came through clearly, his comment obviously directed at me.
“Martin and Mervin can tell you how to reach the Zooks’ barn,” I yelled as I reached my buggy.
I jumped up to the bench seat, put the book bag on the floor, and grabbed the reins. Next I let go of the brake and pulled a quick U-turn out of the parking lot. In a minute I was speeding down the highway.
Obviously Betsy had told Levi about Dat’s edict and he had told the evil twins. By now the whole county knew. My already humiliating life was growing even worse.
The rapid clop of Thunder’s hooves on the highway drummed along with my anxious thoughts. Sure, I’d joined the Amish church. Sure, there were two given roles for an Amish woman: being a wife and mother. But there were a few single women who supported themselves. I could too. There was no reason for me to marry a forty-five-year-old widower to have a fulfilling life. Sure, I’d been responsible for Betsy her entire life, but I was not going to marry for her sake. She’d have to figure this one out on her own.
I turned off the highway onto our country lane. The closer we got to home, the faster Thunder galloped. I couldn’t stop smiling, in spite of my angst.
Until the back wheel fell off the axle of the buggy.
The buggy lurched and screeched as it crashed to a lopsided halt, catapulting the books out on to the lane as the wheel rolled into the ditch.
I immediately checked on Thunder, who whinnied and sidestepped away from me. It turned out he was spooked but fine. By the time I calmed him down and unhitched him, I heard faint whistling coming up the lane. The tune grew louder as I quickly gathered up the books and rolled the wheel back to the buggy. In the distance a man marched toward me.
“Need some help?”
I groaned.
“Oh, it’s you.” He was jogging now, his backpack bouncing on his shoulder.
“How’d you get here so fast?”
“Nan dropped me off at the end of the lane.”
I felt a little betrayed. Hadn’t I made it clear Dat wasn’t hiring? But then again, Nan had known Pete since he was born. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to help him.
But I could blame him for being such a pain. “I told you numerous times that Dat isn’t hiring.”
“Looks like you’ve had some trouble,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard a word I just said.
“Are you always so stubborn?”
“Ha,” he said, shifting his backpack to his other shoulder as he stopped in front of me. “This doesn’t come close to stubborn. I’d define it as persistent. And it’s a good thing for you I am—looks like you could use some help.”
“I’m fine.”
“Do you have a jack?”
I nodded. “But I don’t need your assistance.”
He squinted down at the wheel, tilted his head, and pointed. “The boot’s cracked.”
I took a closer look. He was right. “I only have a half mile to go,” I said. “I’m going to walk.”
“You’re lucky you weren’t hurt.”
I shrugged.
“Or the horse.”
I turned toward Thunder. His head was up, and he was staring at me, his brown eyes as trusting as ever.
Pete stepped over and patted the horse’s neck. “I’ll walk with you.”
“You just want to meet my father.” I crossed my arms.
He smiled. “Well, sure . . .” His eyes danced under the brim of his hat. I imagined, after what M&M most likely told him after I left, that he also wanted to meet Betsy. “But I really would like to help you,” he added.
What choice did I have? Obviously he was determined to meet the rest of my family, one way or the other.
He took my bag of books, slinging it across his free shoulder, while I led Thunder, keeping a few paces ahead. A lone blue jay, perched on a post, scolded us and then flew off over the field. In the distance Dat’s handful of cows grazed, safe, secure, and solitary behind the white rail fence.
“Want my coat?” Pete offered. The late afternoon had grown cool.
“I’m fine,” I answered.
We walked in silence for a few more minutes.
“Not much of a talker, are you?” he finally said.
I ignored him and quickened my steps, urging Thunder to speed up his pace.
“Okay, then I’ll talk. I’ve been traveling for about six months.”
I kept my eyes straight ahead. I wasn’t interested in his bragging.
“I’ve spent time in different settlements, just passing through. Indiana. Colorado. Montana.”
I slowed a little. I’d always wanted to travel.
“Then I hitchhiked back east and worked the last few weeks in Ohio. I hope to stay in Paradise for a good long stretch to save some money, then go on home, for a bit.”
When I didn’t respond, he peered into the bag of books. “Mind if I take a look?”
Before I could say, Jah! I do mind! he’d pulled out the first one—the biography on Abraham Lincoln. I’d started with George Washington and was making my way through all the presidents and first ladies, although I hadn’t found biographies on a few of the lesser-known wives.
“I stopped at Lincoln’s birthplace when I went through
Illinois,” Pete said.
I raised my eyebrows.
“I toured the site with a group of schoolchildren. They made a big deal about the cabin not having an indoor toilet.”
That made me smile.
He shook his head. “Who had indoor toilets in 1809?”
I rolled my eyes. He was only trying to impress me that he’d been to Illinois and knew the year Lincoln was born.
Changing the subject, I asked, “If you’re rich enough to travel, why the interest in working for my Dat?”
“Oh, I’m not rich,” he answered. “Far from it. In fact, I’m downright poor. Grew up that way and remain that way. I’m a genuine pauper, if you want to know the truth.”
I raised my eyebrows again.
“’Tis a good thing it’s the mind that makes a body rich. I’m the fourteenth son—and the last. Believe me, there’s not even a flowerpot of dirt left for me.”
“Any sisters?”
He shook his head.
“Your poor Mamm.”
“Indeed,” he said.
“So why go back? If there’s nothing there for you?”
“I have some unfinished business. I can’t put it off forever—unless I find a really good reason to stay in Paradise.” He grinned.
I quickened my pace.
The sun passed halfway behind a cloud, and the hill in front of us cast a long shadow. A breeze wafted through the row of birch trees lining the edge of the emerald-green field. In the distance a bird called out. On the slope of the hill, which was part of my uncle Cap’s farm, a herd of Holsteins grazed, appearing as fancy black-and-white polka dots on green fabric. Beyond them a wooded area led down to the creek.
I hadn’t traveled far, but I’d certainly read wide. Even though I hoped to see more of the world, I was sure the countryside around Paradise had to be the most beautiful place on earth—even when a braggart was pestering me.
“How long have you lived in these parts?” he asked.
“I have a feeling you probably already know that answer.”
He chuckled again. “You’re right. I was told your entire life.”
My maternal grandfather, Dawdi Cramer, had left his son, Uncle Cap, his farm, except for a ten-acre strip with a second house and barn, which he’d left my Mamm. My Dat, whose Ohio family was probably poorer than Pete’s, had used the property for his shop and to raise a few head of cattle and then to launch his businesses.
Uncle Cap did quite well with farming, with the aid of his sons, six altogether, although the youngest two didn’t do much yet at five and seven. He had one daughter, Addie, who was just older than Betsy, smack in the middle of the brood, and she practically ran the household, even though her Mamm and her aunt Nell were around to help. Addie was one of those practical girls who had always seemed much, much older than she was.
Still skittish, Thunder nudged up against me, knocking me off-balance. I stumbled and fell against Pete, bumping his shoulder.
He grabbed my elbow, but as soon as his hand touched me I jerked away, as if I’d been stung. I pulled Thunder closer, giving him less wiggle room.
Unable to contain my curiosity I asked, “Who in Ohio told you about us?”
“The Yoders.”
“That takes care of about half of Holmes County.” That was where my Dat hailed from. They tended to be more conservative than the Lancaster County Amish.
“Nathan Yoder. His wife is Miriam. I worked on their dairy farm.”
He was Dat’s cousin.
Pete asked how long I’d been out of school, and as I answered I knew he was guessing at my age.
I couldn’t help but enjoy his attention, even though once he saw Betsy he’d have no interest in me.
Like all the rest, he’d be smitten.
The lane curved. To the right were the showroom, office, and shop, and then the big red barn. Straight ahead stood our three-story home with the covered porch, the sloping lawn, the white rail fence, the apple trees, and gardens. Pete whistled under his breath. I winced, thinking he was impressed by our property.
Pete stopped walking. I knew then he’d spotted Betsy.
Twenty yards away, she stood with her profile toward us. Wisps of blond hair had escaped from her heart-shaped Kapp and fell around her face. She had a basket in one hand, filled with April flowers—daffodils, tulips, and forsythia.
Pete froze. Betsy turned toward us, slowly. Her burgundy dress complemented her brown eyes.
“Who’s with you, Cate?” she called out, her voice kind and sweet, the anger from the night before long gone. Her hand shielded her face from the afternoon sun.
Inwardly, I predicted it would be one of those moments she and Pete would talk about for the rest of their lives and pass down to their children and grandchildren. Because even I knew this stranger surpassed the men we knew, regardless of his arrogance. If Levi came around tonight, I doubted Betsy would go to the window.
“Who is it?” she asked again.
“It’s just a vagabond I found along the lane,” I responded, figuring I might as well make a joke of the whole sorry situation.
“Where’s the buggy?” She moved toward us.
I stepped forward. Pete didn’t. I elbowed him in the side. He lurched, awkwardly.
In a raspy whisper he managed to say, “That’s Bitsy? Who Mervin and Martin were talking about?”
I poked him again, surprised at the sense of satisfaction I felt as my elbow connected with his ribs. “Her name is Betsy.”
“And it’s true your Dat won’t let anyone court her until you’re spoken for?” His voice was raw.
A twig snapped.
Pete spun around. Thunder snorted. Dat stood right behind us.
CHAPTER
3
As we’d walked up the lane, I’d harbored a small measure of hope that Pete might be different.
But he wasn’t. So as he stared at my Dat, I elbowed him a third time. This one hard enough to make him yelp just as Dat boomed out, “Hello!”
After Pete’s typical response to Betsy, I wished Dat would throw him off our property. I wished Dat would tell him never to come back. But Dat wasn’t that kind of a man. He always welcomed a stranger.
As Pete introduced himself, Betsy floated toward us, holding a bouquet of tulips in one hand.
When she reached me, she smiled—brilliantly, of course—and then said, “Joe Koller is coming to dinner!” She beamed. “Isn’t that great?”
“What?”
Dat and Pete conversed behind us.
“I saw him at the grocery store,” Betsy said, “and asked him on a whim. I told him you’d be late tonight because it’s bookmobile day, so he’s coming at six.”
“No.” I choked on the word, feeling a surge of anger. It was useless to react, the invitation had already been both given and accepted, but I couldn’t stop the emotion welling up inside me.
“All by himself. Without any of his kids. That was his idea.”
“Betsy, how could you?”
She wrinkled her forehead. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
My hand flew to the top of my Kapp as I bowed my head.
“But after our talk last night, I thought . . .”
And I thought I’d made it clear I didn’t want to court at all, let alone an old man. It was so like her to confuse what she wanted with what I wanted.
I didn’t realize I was shaking my head until Dat put his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve met my older daughter, Cate,” he said to Pete. “And this is my younger, Betsy.” Dat nodded toward her.
I turned away. Still, I caught Betsy’s radiant smile as Pete shook her hand.
“Looks like we’ll have another guest for dinner,” Dat said.
“Oh, that’s wonderful-gut.” Betsy’s voice was all sweetness and light.
As I grabbed my bag from Pete and started for the house, Betsy reached out for my arm. “Could you take the flowers in? For the table.” She thrust them in my face. I batted them away with my f
ree hand, sending a red bloom bobbing back and forth, but then took them from her.
“And I’ll need help getting dinner on the table,” she added.
As I started toward the house a second time, Pete asked Dat about a job.
I slowed, straining to hear his answer.
“I might have a position in our showroom, now that you mention it.”
I picked up my pace again. Dat must have thought Pete was something special. He wouldn’t consider him for the showroom job unless he thought Pete could do it. He was big on first impressions.
“Cate, after you take care of those flowers, come back down to the office,” Dat called out. “I might have some paperwork that needs to be done.”
My back still to them, I held the flowers up in a wave to acknowledge I’d heard him. There was no way I was going to turn around and show all of them the look of disappointment on my face.
Stepping into the kitchen, my mouth began to water from the mingling smells of freshly baked bread, a beef dish, and an apple pie with a noticeable dose of cinnamon.
I fetched a vase from the top shelf of the pantry, filled it with water, and plopped the flowers into it. Just as I placed the vase on the table, Betsy came in the back door, humming a tune.
She stopped when she saw the flowers. “You didn’t arrange them.” She hurried over. “You have to trim the stems. And then put the tallest in the middle.”
I gave her a blank stare. Although I’d read about arranging flowers, I’d never actually done it.
She threw up her hands in mock despair. “I’ll do it.”
“Denki,” I muttered. Betsy appreciated beauty. Our simple home reflected our Amish values, but Betsy liked to add little touches, such as flowers and candles.
“Pete seems really nice,” Betsy said. “And he’s awfully handsome—don’t you think?”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Even cuter than Levi . . .” She stepped toward the cupboard, pulling down another plate and glass. There was a time, up until about three years ago, when Betsy listened to me. Back then I’d told her, over and over, not to judge people by the way they looked. Or where they lived. Or by their horse or their buggy or their barn. But those days when I held such influence were long gone. I had to trust I’d taught her most of what she needed back then—had to hope she would remember it when the time came.
