by Amy Lillard
Abram jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door of the barn. “Seems like your Annie has taken to Plain livin’.”
“She’s not my anything,” Gideon protested, the taste in his mouth as sour as his thoughts. Never had been, never would be.
“That’s good to know.” Abram nodded. “Our ways aren’t for everyone. It’s hard goin’ for the Englisch to try and join up.”
Gideon knew that. It was more common for Plain folk to jump the fence than outsiders to climb over onto their side.
“She’s just not unser satt leit.”
He knew that too. She was not their kind of people, but it rankled him to hear his father say it all the same. “Is that what you came all the way out here to tell me?”
Once the words were out he couldn’t take them back. His father seemed not to notice his surliness.
Abram shook his head, his eyes growing cloudy, and the thin line of his mouth flattened out even more. “We’re havin’ a family supper tomorrow night. You need to be there.”
It wasn’t a We’d like to have you or Come join us invitation. Not that his father had ever been one for soft words. But there was an urgency in his statement, a “no room for noncompliance” in his tone that made the hair on the back of Gideon’s neck stand up.
“What’s this about?”
Abram pressed his mouth together before answering. “We’ll talk tomorrow. When everyone’s together.”
Gideon ran a hand around the inside of his collar. “Is this about a meidung? Just go ahead. I deserve it. I knew what I was doin’.” He wasn’t sure if he could say the same about allowing Annie to stay in his home.
“You know as well as I do that shunnin’ ain’t about punishment.”
“I do.” Shunning was more about bringing somebody back into the fold. Gideon just wasn’t sure if he was ready for that either. “But I’ve done what I had to do. If’n the bishop’s not happy with that—”
“This has nothin’ to do with the bishop. It’s . . . it’s somethin’ else.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but his father cut him off. “Not now. Tomorrow night. Five thirty.”
“Five thirty,” Gideon repeated. He watched his father turn and walk back out of the barn.
Something was wrong, and it ate at him to not know what. You’ll find out soon enough, he told himself. Then he rolled his shoulders in an effort to get those prickly hairs to go back into place.
Avery was surprised when the door opened at a little after six. She hadn’t expected Gideon to come in for supper. He had been avoiding her all day, sneaking into the house to snatch up food while she worked outside in the yard.
It hurt to see him try so hard to keep away from her, but was to be expected. She had overstepped the bounds, and though she had apologized, the action couldn’t be taken back.
“Is there enough for two?” He smiled a little sheepishly, the slashes of his dimples nearly gone in his quickly growing beard. It would have taken Jack a month to have what Gideon had grown in a little over a week.
“Of course,” she said, relieved that he wanted to eat with her. Or perhaps he had grown tired of cold meals. Whatever the reason, she was glad to have the company. Have him for company.
She finished putting the food on the table, and they sat down to eat like so many times during these past few weeks. Avery bowed her head, and thanked God for the food, the beautiful day, and all the blessings she had. She had never before counted her life in blessings, but now she could.
This time she didn’t peek to see if Gideon prayed as well.
They loaded up their plates with food and ate in companionable silence, but Avery could tell that Gideon had something on his mind. He usually devoured his food, bite after bite with steady concentration. Tonight he took extra care in buttering a roll. Lingering as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t know what.
Avery ate her fill, waiting patiently for him to find the words. She needed to say things too, but didn’t want to say them yet. She needed to ask him about going to town—and about going home—but she hadn’t even called her father. She just couldn’t. As much as she needed to leave, a big part of her longed to stay behind. So she waited for Gideon.
Finally, he looked at her, those smoky green eyes filled with uncertainty. “Dat came by.”
She nodded. “I invited him to come have a glass of tea, but he seemed like he was in a hurry.” She tried to hide her disappointment. She really wanted to get to know Gideon’s father, and if she were leaving tomorrow, today was her last chance. Although she hoped to come back and visit, she knew she never would. In Dallas, her life was hectic, filled. If she couldn’t find the time to drive over to Ft. Worth to go horseback riding, no way could she make it all the way back to Oklahoma.
“He . . . invited me to supper tomorrow night.”
She heard the pause before “invited,” but didn’t mention it.
He looked down at his half-eaten meal, then out the kitchen window. “I want you to come with me.”
“You do?”
“Jah.” The word came out quietly and heartfelt.
Avery realized that the biggest part of her that wanted to stay in Oklahoma was her heart. And she needed to get back where she belonged before she lost the rest of it. She swallowed the knot of emotion that had formed in her throat. “I think it’s time I went home.”
Gideon’s forehead creased. “Because of yesterday?”
She nodded.
“You don’t have to go home, Annie. I said you could stay here as long as you wanted. That offer still stands.”
“You don’t regret it after . . .” She couldn’t say the words out loud.
“No.” He turned his gaze on her, and Avery could tell that he was worried about much more than an almost kiss.
“What’s happened?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Dat said for me to be there, and so I will.”
“But I don’t think—”
“I want you there.”
How could she refuse him? “All right, then. I’ll be there.” But delaying her move back to Dallas would only make leaving harder when the time came.
“Yoo-hoo! Annie? You in there?”
Avery poked her head out of the bedroom door, thankful to see Lizzie standing on the porch. “I’m here,” she called. She turned back to the garments laid out on the bed and studied them some more.
The screen door creaked open and slammed shut, then the young girl was beside her.
“What are you doing?”
Avery cocked her head. “Trying to decide what to wear.”
Three dresses lay across the bed, each one fresh from the line outside. A little wrinkled, but smelling like sunshine and late spring. To an outsider they would have looked the same, but to Avery, there were subtle differences that made each one special—puffed sleeves, a slightly shorter hem, or a more flattering color.
The young girl didn’t hesitate. “The green one.” She paused. “Where are you going?”
“Supper at your grandparents’ house.”
Lizzie squealed and clapped her hands together. “Really? That’s wunderbaar!”
Avery wasn’t so sure. She wanted to go, but at the same time, she worried that spending time with Gideon and his family would make it harder for her to leave when the time came. As much as she wanted to deny it, put it off, and pretend that it wasn’t imminent, her return to Dallas lurked just around the corner.
She pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on the matter at hand. “I like the green, but . . .”
“Green is Onkel’s favorite.”
All the more reason not to wear the soft, jade-colored dress.
“He’ll probably be wearing a shirt that matches and the pair of you will look so handsome together
. Like at the work frolic.”
This solidified the suspicions Avery had on Saturday morning about their matching outfits. Lizzie was responsible. She looked into the young girl’s blue eyes and saw love and hope shining there. It seemed that Amish girls were no more above matchmaking than English ones. “Mary Elizabeth.”
“Jah?”
“Get that look off your face right now, missy.”
“What?” Her expression looked innocent and wide-eyed.
“Quit trying to set up your uncle and me. We’re just friends.” It was true. They were friends. A friend was someone you could talk to and count on. Gideon Fisher was all that . . . and more. “And that’s all we’ll ever be.” She hated saying the words.
“You can’t blame me for trying.”
“Sure I can.”
Lizzie laughed. “It would be so wunderbaar having you around all the time.”
And it would be wunderbaar to be around all the time. Just not feasible. “Despite your not-so-subtle attempts at matchmaking, I’m wearing the green dress anyway.” She sniffed. “It’s my favorite, and it has nothing at all to do with your uncle.”
“Have it your way.” Lizzie’s smile stretched all the way across her face.
Avery hung up the other dresses.
“Oh, no!” Lizzie cried.
“What? Look here.”
“It has a stain. Guck datt hie.” She smiled sheepishly.
Avery studied the frack. It did, indeed, have a stain. And the dress was her favorite. She sighed. “Lavender or brown?”
“I like the green best,” Lizzie stubbornly replied.
“I do too, but I can’t go to dinner at your parents’ house with a stain on my dress.” Some things just couldn’t be unlearned.
“Too bad you don’t have a for-gut dress.”
“Too bad.” Avery stared at the stain, wishing it would disappear.
“’Course no one could see it if’n you wore the apron.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The apron. Where’s the other stuff I sent you that first day?”
Avery searched through the bottom of the closet and pulled out the bag with the other items Gideon had brought her.
“This is a cape.” She took out a garment that looked like a long vest with a point in the back and two narrow flaps in the front.
Lizzie gave it a shake, and then laid it on the bed. “And this is an apron.”
Both garments were faultless black. If she wore them, the apron would cover the stain. She hesitated. At the work frolic, it was obvious that Avery was an outsider. She wore the dress, but no prayer kapp or apron or cape. And she felt a little odd not dressing like the rest. So though it might not be healthy, for this one night, Avery wanted to do it up all the way.
“Are you sure it’ll be all right?”
“Of course.” Lizzie smiled, hope returning a sparkle to her expression. “In fact, I think it’ll be brechdich.
“Is that Amish for disaster?”
“It’s Deutsch for magnificent.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Avery said with a smile. “Especially not with all these wrinkles.”
“I don’t suppose they taught you how to iron in that fancy school you went to.”
Avery shook her head.
“That’s okay.” Lizzie smiled again. “I’ll teach you how.”
She turned and made her way into the kitchen, muttering all the while about shoes.
10
Gideon rubbed his palms down his pant legs. Why was he so naerfich?
Maybe it was his father’s attitude about the upcoming dinner. Abram Fisher was a hard man. He’d not been the same since his sister Megan had left. Even though it was customary to allow Amish teenagers to “run around” and experience the Englisch world before settling down and joining the church, it was difficult when someone left the fold for the sins and pleasures outside their community. For the elder Fisher, it was as if somehow he had failed.
Gideon took a deep breath to settle the uneasiness in his middle. Or maybe it was waiting for Annie that had him as skittish as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. It had been a long time since he’d had to wait on a woman. He propped his feet on the porch railing and tried to create a nonchalant pose.
The screen door banged against the house. Gideon’s boot heels hit the boards with a thud. Mary Elizabeth appeared, her checks flushed and a wide smile on her lips. “Are you ready?”
“Been that way, jah.”
Mary Elizabeth’s grin grew wider still, if that was possible, then she stepped to one side and another woman walked onto the porch. Ten full seconds passed before Gideon realized it was Annie.
Ach, she looked different. The shock of it rendered him speechless. She wore the green frack that she had borrowed from Mary Elizabeth, but she had also put on the black “for good” cape and apron like a proper Amish woman. Even more proper, she had somehow pinned up the short strands of her hair and added a prayer kapp.
She took his breath away.
Annie beamed. “Well, what do you think?”
He thought she was the purtiest thing he had ever seen, but what was the benefit in telling her so? She would be gone soon, back to her fancy world. It’d do them no good a’tall to start up something that could never be.
“You look fine.” He hated that his voice sounded gruff, like Gabe’s . . . or his father’s.
“Danki,” she said.
Mary Elizabeth echoed the word.
Annie looked more than fine from the top of her head to the tips of her polished black shoes. Suddenly, he felt like a heel. He should have given her shoes a long time ago. She was Englisch, not used to runnin’ around barefoot like an Amish girl. He should have realized that. But instead it was Mary Elizabeth who had brought her shoes to protect her feet and go visitin’. Where she got them, he had no idea, but they looked fairly new.
Now he understood why the young girl was so determined that he wear his green shirt tonight—so he’d match Annie like they had at the work frolic. It seemed Mary Elizabeth had it in her head that she would match them as well, but it wouldn’t work. Well, the matchmaking would work, but the match never would.
He’d speak to her about that later. No sense in letting her get false hopes.
“Ready?”
The girls nodded.
“Then let’s go. Mary Elizabeth, do you want to put your bike in the back of the buggy?”
She shook her head so hard he thought her kapp might fly off. “Oh, no. I’ll just ride it back to the house.” She gave them a little wave, then jumped off the porch and raced to her bicycle as quick as a fox.
She was halfway to the road before Annie turned to him. “Is this bad?” she asked, biting her lip, her mouth a crooked line of indecision. “Lizzie said it would be okay if I wore this. I mean, I can take off the apron and cape and . . .” As she said the words, her fingers flew to the front tie of the apron.
All he could manage was, “Nay.”
“Are you sure?” Her big violet eyes filled with a mixture of hope and hesitancy.
Gideon nodded and held out a hand. “We should go.”
She dipped her chin and placed her hand in his. Her fingers were warm, her palm starting to bear the calluses of her work on the farm. Gideon had mixed feelings about that. He was impressed with her ability to adapt, yet somehow sad that she had traded her soft, sweet skin for a garden of vegetables and flowers.
Molly and Kate stood patiently by, waiting for the signal to pull the buggy wherever Gideon needed to go. He helped Annie into the seat, and then swung himself up beside her. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, and they started off in his niece’s wake.
The evening was warm, the sun creating a golden halo in the
sky, the breeze making the rays bearable. Gideon loved traveling by buggy. On the occasions when he had the opportunity to ride in a car, he found it unnerving. He enjoyed the gentle sway of the horses as they clopped along, the fresh air on his face, and the opportunity to slow down and talk to one’s companion.
He cleared his throat, feeling like a teenager at his first singin’. “The flowers are coming in nice.”
“Yes. Yes, they are.” She tilted her face toward the sky, and Gideon could see the tiny beat of her pulse in the side of her neck, and the edge where the sun’s color ended and her own began.
“Won’t be long now, and we—there should be some vegetables to gather.” He had almost said, We will have some fresh food for the table, but stopped himself just in time. There was no “we.”
“Are you sure this is all right?”
“You look fine,” he said again.
“I mean the two of us going to this dinner at your family’s house.”
“Mamm will be glad you came. She loves to feed anyone who will sit down long enough for her to fill a plate.”
Annie let out an audible breath. “I feel like I’m meeting the parents. I mean, I am meeting parents, just not the parents of a boyfriend. Suitor.”
“No.”
“I’m just nervous.”
“Don’t be.” His words belied his own feelings.
“Who’s going to be there again?”
Gideon shrugged. “Mamm and Dat, Gabe and his boys, Katie Rose, Mary Elizabeth, and my brother John Paul. You’ve met ’em all.”
“So why am I quaking inside?”
He would like to know the answer of that for himself. “It’s just nachtess.”
“Just supper,” she repeated.
Somehow he knew this was something more. Whether it was that Annie had gone all out in dressing like a Plain woman or his father’s serious tone when he demanded that Gideon come eat, he wasn’t certain.
