An Amish Holiday Wedding

by Carrie Lighte

  Hunter didn’t confide he’d perfected his technique while he was recovering from his accident, when even the smallest variation in pavement or jerking of the horse’s gait could ignite his body with unspeakable pain.

  Instead, he said, “Denki, that means a lot to me, especially coming from someone who routinely transports oier on the back of a tandem bicycle.”

  “If you think that’s impressive, you should see the tricks I can do on my unicycle,” Faith quipped. They erupted with laughter and then the two of them fell into easy conversation.

  Although severe back pain had kept him awake most of the previous night, causing him to take the buggy into town that morning, Hunter hardly noticed the lingering knot in his muscles as the horse carried them toward the Palmers’ house. If he wasn’t mistaken, Faith also appeared more carefree, giggling at his jokes and making some of her own, until eventually they pulled up at their destination: an enormous, newly constructed home situated on an elaborately manicured lawn at the end of a private lane.

  “They must have a lot of kinner,” Hunter commented nonchalantly.

  “Neh, just two. One son and one daughter.”

  “That’s a shame,” Hunter said, thinking aloud as he brought the carriage to a halt.

  “A shame? What’s so shameful about that?” Faith asked in an exasperated whisper. “They’re Englisch, not Amish. Not every family has half a dozen kinner.”

  “I only meant that they have such a large dwelling. It seems a waste of resources when there are only four people living in it,” he explained.

  “Well, please keep your voice down so they don’t hear you,” she hissed.

  Hunter didn’t know what to make of Faith’s sudden annoyance. He hadn’t intended to distress her, nor to insult her customers. Following her to the large entryway with a tray of boxed cupcakes in his arms, he attributed the abrupt shift in her mood to nervousness: from what Faith told him, Marianne Palmer was a bit intimidating.

  However, Marianne’s husband, James, couldn’t have been more congenial. After introducing them to two young women dressed in black-and-white uniforms, James said, “Sharon and Isabella will take the trays into the kitchen. While you’re unloading the rest of the order, I’ll get the checkbook. I know it’s around here somewhere.”

  Several minutes later, James reentered the foyer just as Faith and Hunter were carrying the last of the cargo into the house.

  “Here’s a pad of paper, Faith,” James said. “If you’ll itemize a receipt, it will keep me from getting in trouble with my better half, since she’s keeping track of the wedding-related expenditures. Why don’t you have a seat? You look as if you could use a rest.”

  He pulled out an antique, elaborately carved armless walnut chair beside an equally impressive walnut desk.

  “Thank you,” Faith said in Englisch, moving toward it.

  “Neh!” Hunter interjected, causing Faith to hop back. “You shouldn’t sit in that chair. You might crack it.”

  “She might crack it?” James questioned. “That chair is made of walnut. It’s a very sturdy wood.”

  “The wood is solid, jah. But look at this here,” Hunter said, pointing to a barely noticeable line in the middle of the seat. “That’s a hairline crack. The wood might be fine for years, or someone could sit on it at just the right angle and it would split in half.”

  “I never noticed that,” James mused. “This chair is one of my wife’s prized possessions, an heirloom from her grandmother. She’d be crushed if anything happened to it.”

  “I could fix it for you,” Hunter offered. “My onkel was a master furniture restorer, and I have access to his tools and workshop. Your wife is right—it is a handsome piece. But if it’s going to be used for functional purposes, it ought to be safe.”

  James knitted his brows. “You won’t damage the original design of the chair?”

  “I’d have to remove the seat in order to repair it. I’d match the epoxy to the original shade of the chair and you won’t even be able to find the crack again. There’d be absolutely no damage to the design of the chair. Your wife runs a greater risk of damaging it by allowing people to sit on it in its current state. If someone puts their full weight on it—”

  “Here you go, James,” Faith interjected, holding out a sheet of paper. Hunter discerned by her brusque interruption she was eager to cut the discussion short so they could get back on the road, and he let the conversation drop.

  After scanning the receipt, James signed a check with a flourish and tore it from his checkbook.

  “Thank you, Faith. I anticipate your cupcakes will be the talk of the party,” he said. Then he turned to Hunter. “I’d appreciate it if you’d fix the chair as a surprise of sorts for Marianne, and now is the perfect time to do it. My wife will be too caught up in the party to realize it’s missing.”

  “It will be my privilege,” Hunter replied.

  He really meant it, too; he was itching to get his hands on a carpentry project again, even a small one. Besides, by offering to repair the chair for Faith’s Englisch customer, he hoped to prove to her he didn’t intend any disrespect to the Palmer family with his earlier remarks about their house. After agreeing on a fee, giving James his contact info and arranging a date for him to pick up the piece of furniture, Hunter hoisted the chair to his shoulder with one hand and opened the door for Faith with the other. He felt more adroit and upbeat than he had since before his accident.

  * * *

  Faith couldn’t even look at Hunter strutting down the walk beside her like a rooster. It was disgraceful enough that he’d witnessed her splinter an entire footbridge in front of her Amish peers. But to have him point out to her Englisch customers that their chair wouldn’t hold her weight—that was too great an indignity to bear! She took her seat in the buggy and fixed her gaze straight ahead. Hoping her cheeks didn’t appear as blazing as they felt, she tried to distract herself by counting the rhythmic clip-clop of the horse’s hooves against the pavement.

  After traveling a mile in silence, Hunter said, “So, you mentioned your sister-in-law’s sister is visiting for Thanksgiving?”

  “Correct,” Faith uttered. Her cheeks still smarted.

  “That’s nice. What’s her name?”

  “Willa. I’ll introduce you if you’d like.” Faith couldn’t believe Hunter was adding insult to injury by expressing interest in her sister-in-law’s sister.

  “Are you alright? You seem upset.”

  “Upset? Why would I be upset? Just because you completely embarrassed me in front of my customer, why is that any reason to be upset?” Faith blurted out.

  “Embarrassed you?” Hunter looked as surprised as he sounded. “Faith, James couldn’t have heard what I said about the house and even if he did—”

  “It’s not what you said about the house,” Faith broke in, folding her arms across her chest. How could he be so dense? “It’s what you said about the chair.”

  Hunter threw his free hand up in the air. “I honestly don’t know how expressing concern about the condition of the Palmers’ chair caused you any embarrassment, but I assure you, my intention was to do them—and you—a service.”

  He sounded so perplexed that Faith realized he truly didn’t know how insulting it was that he publicly called attention to the crushing effects of her size. She had no intention of reliving the humiliation by detailing the nature of his offense.

  “Never mind,” she said, waving her hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me,” Hunter persisted. “I wasn’t being critical of their furnishings, if that’s what you think, but if you believe James received my gesture as an insult, I’ll apologize.”

  Noticing how a shadow seemed to creep over Hunter’s profile, Faith suddenly questioned whether she was overreacting. After all, it wasn’t Hunter’s fault she was on the chubby side. And she would
have been a lot more embarrassed if she’d actually broken the chair—at least he’d prevented that from happening. Faith shivered as she recognized once again Hunter was only being helpful and she’d rewarded him with a temperamental display of her own wounded pride.

  What had gotten into her to act in such a way? If one of her brothers had offered to fix her customer’s chair, she would have been grateful, not indignant. She had no right to lash out at Hunter as she’d done.

  “Neh, I’m the one who needs to apologize to you, Hunter,” she said in a small voice. “You showed the Palmers a kindness, just as you’ve shown me one by helping me make the delivery. I should have been more appreciative of your efforts. I’m sorry.”

  Hunter shrugged and mumbled, “It’s alright.”

  Faith tried to think of something to ask to break the discomfiting silence that followed, but she came up blank until Hunter pulled to a stop behind the bakery.

  “I’ll let you off here,” he indicated.

  “Oh, okay,” she said, although she wouldn’t have minded walking back with him from the hitching post lot. “Denki for your help, Hunter.”

  “You’re welcome,” he duly responded and clicked for his horse to walk on.

  Faith stood outside the back entry, her key poised to unlock the door, but she hesitated before going in. She felt completely deflated. The ride to the Palmers’ house had been an unexpected resolution to her delivery issue, and she’d reveled in exchanging chitchat with Hunter. But on the return trip, she felt as if someone had doused them both with a bucket of ice water—and that someone was her.

  She knew she couldn’t fully blame her outburst on the pressures of running a business, but right then, her heart weighed like a brick within her and she wished she didn’t have to enter the bakery. She wished she could run to the creek, like Ivy, or return home and help Henrietta fold laundry and mind the children. Feeling weary and alone, she prayed, Please, Lord, give me the strength to serve my customers well. But more importantly, help me to serve You well. Forgive me for my prideful attitude and help Hunter to forgive me, too.

  It wasn’t until she’d hung up her shawl and was about to wash her hands that Faith realized she was still clutching the check from James. She unfurled it and gasped at the amount. He’d given her far too much. She’d have to call and notify him of his mistake. But then she squinted to read the memo line: “cupcakes & delivery fee & well-deserved tip for both” it said in tiny print. She tapped her heels against the floorboards—she could keep it!

  Well, most of it. She’d give Hunter the delivery fee, of course. She’d also give him the entire tip to demonstrate just how appreciative she really was. She wouldn’t even wait to deposit the check—she removed his portion from her cash box and slipped it into an envelope, and then dashed across the street.

  She burst through the door and nearly exclaimed, “Hunter, guess what!” before realizing he was helping a customer retrieve a jar from a shelf.

  “Let me get that for you,” he said to the diminutive Amish woman who was standing on her tiptoes beside him, her fingers wiggling to reach a large jar of corn relish. “I wouldn’t want it to crash down on your head.”

  “Denki.” She giggled, accepting his aid. “Your arms are much longer and stronger than mine.”

  Faith forced a cough and they both turned at once.

  “Faith!” the young woman exclaimed. Her high-pitched voice was familiar, but Faith couldn’t place her slender figure and delicate facial features until the woman teased, “Don’t you recognize me? I’d recognize you any day. You look as healthy as ever. It’s me, Willa, Henrietta’s sister.”

  “Jah, of course. Wilkom, Willa,” Faith responded haltingly. As she enfolded the young woman’s tiny frame in an embrace, she couldn’t help but notice how bony she’d become. “What are you doing here?”

  Willa tee-heed. “I’m visiting for Thanksgiving. Didn’t Henrietta tell you?”

  Faith didn’t know if Willa was acting kittenish for Hunter’s benefit or if she really didn’t understand the question. “Neh, I mean what are you doing in the cannery? We’ve put up plenty of corn relish at home.”

  “Really?” Willa asked innocently. “Henrietta directed me here to purchase a jar. She had items to buy at the mercantile, so we divided the errands to make them go faster. Besides, my sister knew that after being in the van for so long, I’d appreciate the opportunity to walk around and meet the leit of Willow Creek.”

  You mean the bachelors of Willow Creek, Faith thought as Willa fanned her eyelashes. The arrangement smacked of Henrietta’s matchmaking schemes; it was obvious Henrietta sent Willa to the cannery to meet Hunter. From Henrietta’s numerous remarks, Faith knew her sister-in-law wanted Willa to find a spouse as much as she wanted Faith to find one. But there was one significant difference: Willa keenly desired to get married, whereas Faith positively did not. Especially not if it meant sharing her secret again.

  Regardless, it riled Faith that Henrietta decided Willa was a more worthy candidate for Hunter’s affections than Faith was, presumably because Willa was likely able to bear children. Faith was so irked to be reminded of her own physical inadequacies she couldn’t drum up a single word of civility. Standing opposite the thin young woman, she sucked in her stomach and tried to remember why she’d come into the cannery in the first place.

  * * *

  Hunter shuffled impatiently. He’d hoped to wolf down a few bites of his dinner before the Friday afternoon tourists began streaming in, but he wouldn’t have time if Faith and Willa didn’t leave soon.

  “If you aren’t sure whether you need corn relish, I’ll set it aside for you,” he suggested to Willa. “Faith can pick up the jar whenever you run low, right?”

  “Gut idea,” Faith piped up, “but before I go, may I speak with you for a moment in private, Hunter?”

  He scrunched his eyebrows together. “Jah, alright.”

  When Willa looked at them askance, Faith explained, “It’s about a business matter,” and motioned for Hunter to follow her into the back room, where she presented him a white envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s the delivery fee for taking me to the Palmers’ house,” she declared, her face aglow. “Plus a tip!”

  “A delivery fee? A tip?” Hunter repeated, deeply offended.

  “Jah, although we don’t accept tips in the bakery, sometimes the customers give us a gratuity with their large orders, which is what Mr. Palmer did today,” Faith expounded, as if he didn’t know what she’d meant by a tip.

  Hunter stood with his mouth agape before shoving the envelope back into Faith’s hand. The offer of payment for something he’d done as a...a friend was an affront.

  “I don’t want your money,” he stated definitively. “And I certainly don’t need a gratuity. I’m not your employee. Not yet, anyway.”

  “But, Hunter, you took me all the way to the other side of Willow Creek in the middle of your working day,” Faith protested. “If one of my brothers had made the delivery, I would have paid him and he would have accepted it. I don’t understand—it’s just a practical matter of business.”

  “That’s what everything is to you, isn’t it, Faith? Just a practical matter of business?” Hunter spouted. “Okay, then, fair is fair. I ought to have compensated you for taking time away from your business to find Ivy with me on Monday.”

  “That’s entirely different and you know it,” Faith countered, blinking rapidly.

  Her face looked as crimson as Hunter’s face felt and her shoulders sagged in apparent dejection, but it wasn’t his fault her feelings were hurt. She’d brought it upon herself by being prideful, and not allowing him to help her without turning it into a financial transaction. That may have been the Englisch way, but it wasn’t the Amish way. It wasn’t the neighborly way.

  Just then the bells on the door jangled. “Excu
se me, I have customers of my own to serve now,” Hunter said, grateful for the opportunity to distance himself. He stepped past Faith into the storefront, where he discovered Henrietta Yoder whispering with Willa near a display of preserves. Initially they didn’t notice his presence, so he allowed them to browse while he gathered his thoughts.

  Eventually, he cleared his throat. “Guder nammidaag, Henrietta. There was some question about whether you need relish or not. Have you made up your mind? I can ring it up for you, or if you’d prefer, I’ll return it to the shelf.”

  “Jah, we’ll take it, please,” Henrietta replied as Faith drifted into the room. “There you are, Faith! Willa and I stopped at the bakery earlier and the store was locked. She was concerned something awful must have happened in order for you to close down your business early on a Friday.”

  “Neh,” Faith answered feebly. “I had an order to deliver.”

  “Didn’t I tell you!” Henrietta trumpeted, turning to Willa. “Didn’t I say the only reason Faith would close her business in the middle of the day would be to serve another customer?”

  Hunter noticed Faith’s eyes flash as she responded, “That’s not entirely true. We close the bakery every day for our dinner break—”

  “Speaking of dinner breaks—” Henrietta snapped her fingers, as if just remembering “—I wanted to invite your ant and mamm and you to our house for Thanksgiving dinner, Hunter. I understand Ruth’s abilities are limited, and rather than have your mamm prepare such a big meal for the three of you, we’d like you to be our guests.”

  Ordinarily, Hunter might have treasured celebrating Thanksgiving with the Yoder family, but after today’s thorny interaction with Faith, he couldn’t imagine feeling comfortable spending the better part of a day at their house.

  “Denki,” he replied noncommittally as he placed the relish in Henrietta’s canvas bag. “I’ll extend your invitation to my ant and mamm.”

  “Perfect!” Henrietta remarked. “We’ll check back to confirm you’re coming.”

  “I know some special games we can play in the evening,” Willa suggested. “The more the merrier, I always say.”