An Amish Holiday Wedding

by Carrie Lighte

  “We’re going to ride the bike?” Hunter asked. He seemed to be moving in slow motion and Faith wondered what was wrong with him. Was he in shock?

  “Jah, now hop on,” Faith ordered, hoping her no-nonsense attitude would bring him to his senses. “I’ll tell you more as we ride, but for now I need you to pedal as hard as you can.”

  They wobbled a bit as they started down the secondary road running parallel to busy Main Street, but after three or four rotations, Faith felt the bicycle surge forward and suddenly they were sailing. She immediately recognized Hunter’s reputation for stamina was well earned: the heavy bike never glided so briskly when Faith rode it alone. If she weren’t so distraught about Ivy, she might have enjoyed the rush of nippy November air against her cheeks as they cruised along together.

  “Where are we going?” Hunter shouted.

  “Wheeler’s Bridge,” Faith spoke loudly over her shoulder.

  The covered bridge spanned the far end of Willow Creek, which wound its way through much of the farmland in the area, including the Yoders’ property. As a small, single-lane structure, the bridge was mostly used by Amish buggies or by tourists taking photos. It was situated just before the point where the current pooled into a deep and sizable pond.

  Faith noticed an immediate lag in their speed as Hunter gasped. “Do you think Ivy might have jumped off the bridge?”

  “Neh, neh! Of course not. Ach, I’m so sorry, I should have explained.” Faith panted. She felt terrible to have alarmed him, but she was winded from talking and pedaling. “When Ivy gets upset, she goes to the pond and hides under the bridge. No one knows why. Usually, she crouches on the embankment underneath it, where she’s relatively safe. Our fear is she might slip and fall into the water. Like most Amish in Willow Creek, she can’t swim.”

  The bike jerked forward as Hunter rapidly increased his pedaling again.

  Touched by his unspoken concern, Faith promised, “It’s going to be alright, Hunter.”

  “I shouldn’t have let her out of my sight,” he lamented. “There weren’t any customers in the store. They were the ones I thought I had to watch. I never thought Ivy would leave.”

  “I know it’s upsetting, but it’s not your fault,” Faith tried to comfort him as they rounded the final bend. “It happens so often Pearl gave her the nickname Wandering Ivy.”

  “Look! Under there!” Hunter whooped. “I see bright blue. It’s her dress. Steer right, Faith, right!”

  “I’m steering, I’m steering!” Faith declared, giddy with relief as she angled the handlebars to the right.

  It didn’t take long to coax Ivy from beneath the bridge. For one thing, the girl had neglected to put on her shawl before leaving, and the air was bitterly cold. For another, Faith promised they’d share a cream-filled doughnut when they returned, warning Ivy they’d have to hurry back before the sweets were sold out.

  “Hunter Schwartz didn’t want to eat dinner with Faith Yoder,” Ivy mumbled as Faith took off her own shawl and wound it around Ivy’s shoulders.

  “That’s okay,” Faith patiently explained. “Men don’t always like to eat dinner with women, especially if they aren’t well acquainted with them. Maybe Hunter will join us one day for a special occasion after he gets to know us better. And when Ruth returns to the shop, she’ll eat with us again. Until then, you may kumme to the bakery by yourself for your dinner break.”

  This compromise seemed to be acceptable to Ivy, who nodded and repeated the phrase, “Men don’t always like to eat dinner with women.”

  “Here,” Hunter said to Faith. He slipped off his coat and placed it over her shoulders. It was still warm from his body, and as she snuggled it tightly around her, she felt as if she’d received an affectionate embrace. Such a silly thought! she told herself. It’s no different from me letting Ivy use my shawl.

  Since Ivy didn’t know how to ride a bicycle and it seemed unwise for Faith to leave her alone with Hunter since she’d just been so upset by him, the three of them sauntered back to town together. With Faith limping, Hunter pushing the bicycle and Ivy stopping every five yards to adjust her borrowed shawl, it took them over an hour to return. But at least Ivy was happy: there was one—and only one—cream-filled doughnut left in the display case.

  “Denki,” Faith mouthed to Pearl, who undoubtedly saved the doughnut, knowing Faith would have used it as leverage to bring Ivy back. They’d been down this road before.

  Faith sighed as she heard the clock strike three. She’d have to stay at the bakery past supper time again if she was going to catch up with the baking, and Henrietta undoubtedly would have something to say about her tardiness. Still, Faith had missed dinner and she was so hungry that the apprehension she felt about eating in front of Hunter was all but forgotten.

  When he came in from stowing her bike in the back, she asked, “Would you like a hot cup of kaffi? A little dessert after our long walk, perhaps?”

  “That’s kind of you to offer, but I’ve got to get back to the shop,” he said. “I’ve been away from it too long. Who knows how many sales I already lost?”

  As if that’s my fault! Faith bristled inwardly, noticing he was standing in that wooden manner of his again, as if on guard against her friendliness, and the tenderness she’d felt toward him on their bike ride vanished.

  “Well, don’t let me keep you,” she replied, lifting his coat from her shoulders. “And don’t forget to take this.”

  I hardly need a man’s coat wrapped around me anyway, she thought. The ovens in my bakery will keep me plenty warm.

  * * *

  Faith turned on her heel and disappeared into the kitchen before Hunter had the opportunity to thank her for her help. He stood by the table where Ivy was eating her doughnut, awkwardly holding his hat in front of him, unsure whether to wait until she finished or to leave without her.

  “If you’d like, I’ll see to it Ivy returns when she’s finished,” Pearl suggested.

  “I’d appreciate that,” Hunter said. He glanced toward the kitchen, wondering if Faith might reappear. When she didn’t, he requested, “Would you please tell Faith I said denki for—”

  He was going to say, for helping me find Ivy, but the young girl seemed to be absorbing his every word as she licked chocolate from the top of her treat. He didn’t want to offend her by drawing attention to the fact she’d run away.

  “Please tell her I said denki for the bicycle ride. I appreciated it that she knew where to—er, that she showed me the pond,” he finished, and Pearl winked at him above Ivy’s head.

  Although initially the bicycle ride caused his back to knot up, the combination of pedaling and then slowly walking from the pond caused Hunter to feel more limber than he had since before he quit going to physical therapy. However, while his bodily aches lessened, his mental unease intensified. What should he tell Ivy’s grandfather when he arrived to pick her up? How would he explain to Ruth sales were already down because he’d temporarily lost her employee and had to close the shop in the middle of the day? Some help he was turning out to be. His aunt would have done better to keep the shop closed—that way, she wouldn’t have to pay Ivy’s salary.

  But his worries about what to tell Ivy’s grandfather proved needless: when the clock struck five, Ivy put on her shawl and announced, “Mervin Sutter waits for me at the hitching post behind the mercantile at five o’clock.” Then she walked out the door.

  He wished it would be as easy to avoid telling his aunt about Ivy’s escapade, but he knew Ruth would be waiting to hear how things went. He reconciled the cash with the receipt tape, checking his figures twice, and locked the money in the back room. At a minimum, he wanted to assure Ruth he’d efficiently managed the bookkeeping.

  He dimmed the lights and pushed his arm through the sleeve of his coat. He hadn’t noticed earlier, but the wool absorbed the smell of whatever ingredients Faith was using—c
innamon? nutmeg?—before she’d worn it this afternoon. Pausing to savor the fragrance, he noticed her storefront was closed, but a light glowed from the hall leading to the back kitchen.

  He wondered if he should pop in and thank her in person for her help that afternoon. He certainly appreciated how calm and focused she’d been. Her patient kindness, both to him and then to Ivy, hadn’t escaped his attention, either. He found it hard to believe someone like Faith wasn’t walking out with a suitor, as Penelope implied. Perhaps because Faith was so dedicated to her business, she didn’t have time for socializing? Or was it because the men in Willow Creek weren’t acceptable to her? What qualities did she prefer in a suitor?

  The clock struck on the half hour, jolting Hunter from his thoughts—he didn’t know how his mind wandered to the subject of courting. He decided not to disrupt Faith since he’d already taken her away from her responsibilities once today. As the person who’d be making her deliveries, he wanted her to be confident he was efficient. Instead, he trekked home, glad for the cover of darkness. His spine had begun to tighten again and he walked so crookedly he feared if anyone saw him, they might assume he’d had too much to drink—something he never did.

  “Hunter, kumme tell us all about your first day,” his aunt beckoned from the parlor before he’d even latched the kitchen door behind him.

  “I will, Ant Ruth, as soon as I tend to the stable,” he stalled. “I came in to retrieve a pair of gloves first.”

  “If Ivy Sutter can walk from Main Street to Wheeler’s Bridge without a shawl, I hardly think you need a pair of gloves to pitch hay,” his aunt joshed.

  Hunter poked his head into the room where his aunt and mother were giggling behind their hands like two schoolgirls.

  “You heard?” he asked, his ears aflame.

  “We saw,” his mother replied, pointing to the large window, which in daylight afforded a view of the bridge and pond.

  “I’m sorry, Ant Ruth,” Hunter began. “I can explain—”

  “No need to explain,” his aunt protested. “I’m used to Ivy’s ways and I can guess what happened.”

  Hunter hung his head. “But you trusted me to supervise Ivy and I failed. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want me to—”

  “You didn’t fail,” Ruth lectured, bending forward over her cast and pointing her finger. “You encountered a setback. That’s not failure—it’s life.”

  Hunter nodded solemnly and his aunt leaned back against the cushions again.

  “The important thing is, when the challenge arose, you managed it,” Ruth emphasized. “Of course, we noticed you had a little help. Faith Yoder is a very special woman. It’s confounding that she’s not walking out with anyone.”

  So, Faith wasn’t being courted? Startled by the twitch of pleasure in his ribs, Hunter tempered his response. “She’s a decent cyclist,” he stated blandly.

  “A decent cyclist?” Ruth snorted. “You and Faith sped so fast on that double bicycle, your mamm and I thought we’d seen a couple of wild geese flying by, didn’t we, Iris?”

  “Jah, the two of you made quite some pair!” His mother laughed exuberantly for the first time in a very long time.

  In spite of his doubts he’d ever make a pair with any woman, especially not Faith Yoder, Hunter joined his aunt and mother in hearty merriment, laughing louder than both of them combined.

  Chapter Four

  “You’ve gone as white as flour,” Pearl commented after Faith hung up the phone on Friday shortly before noon. “Whatever is the matter?”

  “That was Marianne Palmer, checking on the cupcake order for her daughter’s engagement party this afternoon,” Faith muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Pearl beamed and asked, “Did you tell her how beautiful they look? It’s a gut thing we’re allowed to take liberties with how we decorate our confections for Englisch customers, because I’ve never seen anything so fancy.”

  Pearl was right. The blush-pink frosting rosettes framed with white lacy ruffles was by far the daintiest, most complex design Faith had attempted for such a large order. Staying at the bakery until nine o’clock on Thursday night and arriving earlier than usual the next morning paid off: the three hundred cupcakes looked almost too pretty to eat. There was only one problem.

  “I told her they’re ready to be picked up,” Faith answered, “but she said I promised I’d deliver them.”

  “You did?”

  “Neh, of course I didn’t,” Faith adamantly objected.

  On rare occasions, she employed one of her younger brothers to make local deliveries using their courting buggies or even the tandem bicycle if needed. But the boys worked erratic schedules during nonharvest months, both on their farm and off, and she couldn’t count on them having free time in advance. She never would have committed to delivering such a large, important order to the Palmers, who lived on the other side of Willow Creek.

  Pearl harrumphed. “Then she’ll just have to pick them up herself.”

  Faith and Pearl strived to delight their customers, but Marianne had a habit of taking advantage and she could be uncompromising about her demands.

  “She can’t—she was calling on her way to pick up her daughter at the airport. Her husband is at home without a car, since their son is collecting the daughter’s fiancé separately. The party starts at two o’clock and it’s supposed to be a big surprise.”

  “Oh dear, I wish I could offer you my buggy, but as you know, my husband’s fetching me at noon to accompany him to his doctor’s appointment,” Pearl apologized. “If you hurry home and retrieve your family’s buggy, you should be able to make the delivery in time.”

  “I can’t,” moaned Faith. “Henrietta is using the buggy to fetch her sister from the van depot. I don’t want to pedal all that way only to discover none of the other boys are home, either. I have no choice. I’ll have to call a taxi.”

  “Ach!” Pearl’s hands flew to her cheeks. “The nearest taxi will have to drive all the way from Lancaster, with the meter running. Won’t that cost more than we’ll earn from the cupcakes?”

  “Probably, but I can’t risk a dissatisfied customer, especially not such a loyal one. We fill our biggest orders for her.”

  “My Wayne will take you when he arrives,” Pearl volunteered. “He’ll be only too happy to cancel his appointment.”

  Faith squeezed her friend’s arm, moved by her generosity. But as the business owner, this was her problem to solve, not Pearl’s.

  “You’ll do no such thing. It’s far more important for you to help your husband take care of his health than it is for me to save a few dollars. It will all work out. But I’d better let Ivy know no one will be here for dinner today, lest she finds the bakery empty and runs away again.”

  “I’ll call the taxi while you go tell her,” Pearl proposed.

  Before she reached the stoop, Faith spied Hunter through the window of the cannery. Leaning against a stool behind the cash register, he was poring over an open ledger with a serious expression on his face. It seemed he often wore a serious expression lately, quite unlike when they were younger. What was it that caused him to frown so frequently?

  Yet when Faith tugged the door open, Hunter’s head snapped upward and his eyes twinkled with a zest she remembered from when they were teens. It was no wonder the meed had been so enamored of him. At that age, girls were often taken in by any measure of attention paid to them, and Hunter’s ebullient gaze made it seem as if there was no one else in the world he’d rather be speaking to.

  “Guder nammidaag, Faith,” he said, rising. “What a pleasure to have you visit the shop. How may I help you?”

  In her frazzled state, Faith was so moved by his kind tone that she was momentarily at a loss for words. How many times had she asked her customers, How may I help you? Hearing Hunter direct the question toward her in such a genuine manne
r made her forget how irritated she’d been at him the last time they parted.

  “Guder nammidaag, Hunter. I actually came to see Ivy.”

  Hunter’s shoulders drooped. “Mervin stopped by this morning to tell me Ivy is home sick with a cold. She won’t be in tomorrow, either.”

  “I suppose that’s what happens when she flees to the creek without a shawl,” Faith said, shaking her head. Then she divulged the reason she wanted to speak to her.

  “A taxi from Lancaster? That will cost a fortune!” Hunter exclaimed when he heard Faith’s plan. “I took the buggy into town this morning. I’ll deliver the cupcakes, but since I don’t know where your customer lives, you’ll have to accompany me.”

  “Neh, Hunter, that’s very kind, but Pearl already called the cab company.”

  “Then she should call them back and cancel while I’m hitching my horse. I’ll meet you in back of the bakery and we’ll load the carriage there,” Hunter instructed, removing the cash box from the register.

  “Neh,” Faith protested again. She was an independent woman, accustomed to addressing her business dilemmas on her own. She didn’t need a man to rescue her. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve got your shop to mind.”

  “You didn’t ask—I offered. As for minding Ruth’s shop, I won’t close the store to take a dinner break, and I can keep it open as late as needed this evening. Besides, Ruth would want me to help. Let me stow this box and we can be on our way.”

  Faith opened her mouth to object a third time, but there was something so sure-minded about the look in Hunter’s eyes that when he returned from the back room, she accepted his offer of assistance without further hesitation and followed him straight out the door.

  * * *

  As Hunter yielded off the battered side roads onto the main highway leading to the commercialized end of Willow Creek, Faith complimented his skills.

  “You handle your horse expertly. If one of my brothers were making this delivery, I’d worry the cupcakes would be upside-down cakes by the time he arrived!”