by Mary Ellis
“Well, danki very much,” she said, rising to her feet. She pulled the stockpot from the cabinet with a clatter. “I would’ve liked to discuss the matter with you before you went out and withdrew our savings, but since it’s too late for that, I might as well start my chicken stew!” Hannah tried to keep her voice down so she wouldn’t draw Phoebe to the kitchen, but there was no disguising her emotions. She took celery from the crisper drawer and began to chop stalks with zeal.
“Hannah, Hannah. You’ve got a bee in your kapp.” Seth spoke softy as he walked up and placed his big hands on her shoulders. “Calm yourself, dear one. You’re my wife now. You are no longer making independent decisions like you did following Adam’s death. I’m in charge of these matters now.” He patted her back, the same way she often stroked ewes before a shearing.
Hannah stopped attacking the celery stalk, fearful for her fingers. Her hands were shaking badly. Sucking air into her lungs, she gritted her words through clenched teeth. “I have no bee in my kapp; it’s on the table.”
But her pronouncement echoed in an empty kitchen. Seth had gone out to his evening chores before dinner. The screen door slammed resolutely behind him. Hannah was left alone to do women’s work as she tamped down uncharitable thoughts toward the man she pledged to love, honor, and obey.
The first two were easy as pie.
The third was proving to be more of a challenge than she ever would have imagined.
They say a watched pot never boils. The same idea must be true about calendars. Emma thought Saturday would never arrive. The volleyball party would be her first social outing since turning sixteen and declaring her Rumschpringe. She had spent the week catching up with her barn chores and in the garden, besides helping mamm and Leah with the baking, sewing, and laundry.
Leah had it so easy. She didn’t have farm chores, such as tending sheep or hauling feed buckets. Leah would also arrive late to weed or water the garden, and she usually found an excuse to leave early—either a roast needed to come out of the oven or the bread needed to go in.
But Emma wasn’t complaining. Even drudgery tasks, such as coring apples or shelling peas, didn’t bother Leah. While her sister loved helping mamm in the kitchen, Emma preferred the great outdoors. And whenever it rained, plenty of work waited in the loft or in her herb shed.
For the rest of today, however, play awaited. And Emma was ready.
Wearing new tennis shoes, she tapped her toe on the porch until Matthew finally brought the pony cart around. Daed had decided Matthew could attend the volleyball party since he didn’t want Emma going alone. Even though her brother was only fourteen, this daytime party included those younger than courting age.
Courting age. She was finally old enough to attend Sunday night singings, summer corn roasts, fall hayrides, and winter skating parties with Plain people her age without her parents watching like a hawk. Now she could stay out late, as long as a young man asked to bring her home in his courting buggy. But the only young man occupying her thoughts lately drove a very big truck with four knobby tires across the back axle instead of the normal two.
Thinking about James made her feel a little sad as Matthew drove toward the center of town. Partly because she didn’t want to miss activities Amish girls enjoyed, and partly because she knew how much seeing James would upset her parents. They would never allow her to court an Englischer, running-around years or not. That could easily lead to shunning and eventual banishment from the church, and no girl in her right mind wanted that.
“Woolgathering even when you’re not with your sheep?” asked Matthew. Their mamm had trimmed his hair far neater than her bangs, and he’d shaven the first peach-fuzz whiskers from his chin, but he still looked like a little boy beside her in the pony cart.
“It’s what I’ve gotten good at lately,” she said. “Can’t this horse go any faster? They will already have started the games by the time we get there.”
He clucked his tongue to the horse, which seemed to have forgotten what that sound meant. “Nah, this old mare is just plain worn out. The pony cart is the only thing Pa lets her pull. She’s pretty much only good for keeping the pasture grass trimmed.”
Emma watched the passing scenery, occasionally waving to a neighbor. Why would she even think about upsetting her parents when James Davis probably had no intention of asking her out? She was sure she wasn’t the only Holmes County female to notice him. People probably called him on the telephone all the time, or sent him those email messages—of which she had only a vague idea what they were.
In Winesburg the pony cart turned south. Within a quarter mile they heard shouting and general ruckus before the trees allowed them a view. But once the mare dutifully delivered them to the home hosting the event, both Emma and Matthew uttered simultaneously, “Good grief.”
“Jump down, sister. I’ve got to park the cart and turn out Belle.” Matthew had caught sight of nearly a hundred teenagers involved in three volleyball games, playing horseshoes, or already munching hot dogs under the food tent. He couldn’t wait to join the fun.
Emma jumped down but then hung back under the shade of a willow tree, watching the goings-on from a distance. She’d been to barn raisings; her own family had held one last year after a fire destroyed their barn. She’d attended preaching services every other Sunday since she was a boppli. She’d been to weddings from time to time. But never had she been to a place where everyone was around her age.
“Hi, Emma,” said two girls at once. Emma’s time of shy observance came to an end when her friends Sarah and Martha approached. “We were hoping you would come. Isn’t it wonderful? Everyone we know is here,” Sarah said. Tall and very thin, Sarah Hostetler’s brown eyes sparkled with delight.
“There are people from five different districts. And some folks from New Order have shown up too, plus some Englischers,” her sister whispered almost conspiratorially.
“Do tell,” Emma said, craning her neck around the pair to peruse the crowd. Her brother had already disappeared from sight.
“Do you know Samuel Yoder?” asked Sarah eagerly.
Emma thought for a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t reckon so.” The three girls looked toward the loudest of the volleyball games. Shouts of victory had drawn their attention.
“He’s been asking about you—if you were coming, if anyone had seen you yet.” Both sisters eyed Emma curiously. “Why would he be asking about you? Are you sure you’re not acquainted?”
But Emma was as befuddled as her friends. She couldn’t remember meeting any Sam Yoder. Of course, the surname was second only to hers in commonness. “I can’t place him,” Emma said. “What district is he from?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s New Order and lives over by Charm.”
Emma stopped dead in her tracks, causing the girls to leave her behind. Charm? How does the mere mention of a town’s name turn my stomach to gelatin?
“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, turning back. “Do you remember him? Is he a pesky gnat you’d rather not run into?” She whispered so she wouldn’t be overheard.
“No,” answered Emma. “I’ve only been to Charm once and met no Sam Yoder.” Oddly, beads of sweat formed above her lip though they stood in the shade.
Martha huddled close to Emma’s side. “Well, don’t look now, but he’s coming this way—the boy who’s been asking about you.” Her hushed words drifted on the breeze.
Emma couldn’t help but pivot around to see a tall, dark-haired fellow walking toward them. He wore a big smile and offered a friendly wave, but Emma was quite certain she’d never seen him before. Her two friends moved into protective flanking positions.
“Hullo, Emma Miller?” the stranger asked.
“Jah,” she said shyly.
“I’m Sam Yoder. I doubt you recall, but we met five years ago at a wedding of my second cousin to some kin of yours. The wedding was at my uncle’s place, Abram Yoder.”
Even close up she didn’t recognize him, but five y
ears was a long time. She nodded politely. “Sorry, but I don’t remember you, Sam. Sometimes when a person goes to many weddings in a row, they start to blend together.” She offered her hand hesitantly to shake. “This is Martha and Sarah Hostetler.”
Sam nodded to the other girls as he shook Emma’s hand. His focus remained on Sarah longer than necessary. “Shucks, that’s okay, Emma. I might not have remembered you either, but I asked my ma what you looked liked. She’s seen you somewhere else since the wedding.”
Emma’s forehead furrowed with confusion. “Why would you ask your mamm about me?”
Sam rocked on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve got a friend who was hoping to run into you again, and we both thought you might show up today.”
Martha and Sarah watched her while suppressing grins.
The bottom of Emma’s stomach seemed to give way. “And who might your friend be?” Her voice resembled the squeak of a mouse.
Sam turned and waved at the road. No one was standing in the vicinity he was looking, but then James Davis popped from behind an ancient oak tree, and he began walking toward them.
“Yet another stranger,” whispered Sarah.
“And this one’s English,” added Martha.
“Oh, my goodness.” Emma could manage nothing else.
Sam Yoder leaned forward. “Martha, Sarah, why don’t we join that game over there?” He pointed in the general direction of the volleyball field. “They sure can use more people, considering the number of times the ball hits the ground. You don’t have to worry about Emma. My friend is as harmless as a mayfly.”
Both girls looked at Emma warily. “Is that what you want us to do?”
“Jah, go on ahead. I’ll be there shortly. I know this Englischer from my wool business.”
Martha cast her a worried backward glance as they walked off, but Sarah had already struck up a conversation with Sam.
“Good morning, Miss Miller,” James said upon reaching her. “Are you surprised to see me?” He had on clean blue jeans and a navy shirt with short sleeves. For a moment, his arm muscles drew her attention. Plain men never bared their upper arms.
Pulling her attention away from his biceps, she said, “Shocked is more like it.” She took a step backward from his close proximity.
James hooked a thumb in his pocket. “Good kind of shocked? Or the kind when you discover a snake in your boot?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “That remains to be seen. I didn’t know English people came to these parties.”
“Sam Yoder invited me along. I think mainly because he wanted a ride.”
“Yes, I imagine so. Well, are we going to play volleyball or not?” She felt nervous and fluttery again with him so close. She started walking toward the nets.
“That’s why I came. I love the game! I strongly suggest you join the same side that I do.” He easily caught up and fell into step beside her.
She smelled the spicy, cinnamon scent of his gum again. “Why should I do that?” she asked.
“Because then you’ll end up on the winning team.” He laughed and pulled one of her kapp strings, something her bruders did too many times to count. But this felt quite different.
A new volleyball game was getting ready to start as James and Emma walked up. Because people arrived at the same time from the opposite direction, they did end up on the same side of the net. Emma took a spot in the front row, while James squeezed into the middle of the pack. After some successful volleys back and forth, a few assists, and even one blocked spike, Emma relaxed into the game.
The day was sunny but not too hot. A light breeze refreshed overheated skin. The other players were loud, but friendly and noncompetitive. Emma played well and shouted encouragement to her fellow teammates. When other girls kicked off their shoes to play barefooted, she did the same. The thick grass felt cool and soft between her toes.
Even though their team lost two games in a row, they were just beginning to hit their stride. That is, until a particularly high ball proved difficult to judge. Emma continued to back up, positioning herself for the shot until a voice exclaimed over her shoulder.
“Right behind you, Emma. I’ve got it!”
The familiar male voice, soft and husky, startled her worse than any snake in a boot. She quickly pivoted around to meet almost nose-to-nose with her fellow sheep farmer.
James was smiling like a cat in the cream.
The volleyball landed next to them, just missing her head.
“Better call your shots, you two,” someone shouted, “before someone gets knocked unconscious.” Everyone at the game laughed.
Everyone but Emma. “Whew, I need a break,” she called to Sarah. “The sun is flaming hot.” They walked off the playing field together.
But what truly is flaming is my face. James made her nervous. She knew what that meant. And she knew only too well that letting members of her district know that was surely a bad idea.
“Wait up,” James called, hurrying after them. “Let’s get something to drink. I’m parched and can also use something to eat.”
“All right. I’m a little hungry too,” Sam called.
They all drank lemonade and ate a hot dog each. But during the meal James was entirely too silly and flirtatious. Emma wasn’t accustomed to flattery and felt uncomfortable with the attention they seemed to be attracting.
As soon as she could, she found Matthew, pleaded a headache, and insisted they leave the party.
James walked her to their pony cart and helped Matthew hitch up the elderly horse. With only the briefest of goodbyes, Emma lightly slapped the reins on poor Belle’s rump, something she wouldn’t normally do. She was grumpy and confused and hadn’t been able to locate her new tennis shoes when it was time to go. The last pair left by the net was dirty and worn-out, but she had no choice but to put them on. She couldn’t leave barefooted.
And for some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about the cause of her irritation all the way home.
June
Emma had thought things would get easier once she reached Rumschpringe, but she felt more confused than ever. She wasn’t used to making a spectacle of herself in public. When the volleyball hit the grass between them, she and James had locked eyes like two hawks vying for the same rabbit. Everyone had noticed…and laughed.
You’re facing the wrong direction, Emma.
Don’t use your head; this isn’t soccer.
Did you two come to play or to make goo-goo eyes?
Goo-goo eyes, indeed. She’d never before felt so humiliated. Yet all morning long she couldn’t keep from thinking about the man who had caused her mortification. First, she’d scorched the oatmeal at breakfast. Then, she’d forgotten to close the gate behind her, so several ewes retreated to the barn instead of marching to the pasture where their food and water were. Finally, she’d cut spinach and not lettuce in the garden and pulled onions instead of carrots to earn a scolding from mamm. Her mother kept looking sideways at her during lunch, expecting her to do something else senseless, but she managed to serve tomato soup with toasted cheese sandwiches to her father and brothers without mishap.
She didn’t like the effect James had on her mental state, but that was only one thing she didn’t like about him. When she’d headed to the lunch tent with Sarah and Martha, he and Sam Yoder had tagged right behind them. Both had asked her friends endless questions about the food choices as though hamburgers, hotdogs, baked beans, and coleslaw were unusual decisions.
Several Amish young men had noticed how much attention the Englischer was paying her. Emma didn’t need gossip starting behind her back. The final straw came when he followed her to the pony cart, and then acted as though he’d run into a long lost friend with Matthew. They’d only met once before, for all of two minutes, when James delivered the loom.
What if Matthew started questioning her in front of their folks? Worrying them unnecessarily was a bad idea, especially since she didn’t know how she felt. James
was much too flirtatious to be friends with a Plain girl.
“Emma, mind what you’re doing. You’re slopping dishwater on my clean floor.” Her mother put an end to her daydreaming as Emma scrubbed the morning’s baking pans.
“May I go to Aunt Hannah’s this afternoon?” she asked.
Julia, who’d been trying to let down Henry’s trouser legs, slanted her an odd look. “Now that you’ve got your own spinning wheel and loom, I would think you’d have enough to keep busy here.” Her poor bent fingers dropped the needle yet again. In exasperation, she pushed the garment away.
“Jah, I do,” Emma agreed. “But it’s questions I need to ask. I want to pick Aunt Hannah’s brain.”
Julia looked aghast. “I don’t care for that expression, daughter. Where did you hear it? At that volleyball party?”
“Yes’m.” Emma set the last pan in the rack to dry.
“Don’t use it again,” Julia said. Then in a softer tone she added, “You may go to Hannah’s when your chores are done. Take that extra apple crumb pie on the windowsill. It’s Seth’s favorite. Be home in enough time to give Leah a hand with supper.”
Emma nodded and flew out the door to get the laundry off the line. If she hurried through her ironing, she’d have plenty of time with her aunt. Hannah would know what she should do. She had straightened out a hornet’s nest of problems with Uncle Seth before they were hitched last fall. If anyone could explain these strange feelings she had for an inappropriate match, it would be Aunt Hannah.
After all, she and Uncle Seth were still like two sweet lovebirds, roosting in the eaves, after almost a year.
Hannah lifted bedsheets off the line to fold, careful not to let them touch the ground. She was surprised a sudden storm hadn’t undone her hard work, considering how the rest of her day had gone. First, there was her monthly onset, reminding her once more she was not in a family way. Would she ever know the thrill and joy of a baby growing inside her? Would she one day be able to present Seth with another precious daughter like Phoebe, or his first son? An Amish farmer needed sons to help when backs grew stiff and eyesight faltered. Who would take over Seth’s farm and tend it with the same loving care?
