But maybe she was looking at relationships from the wrong angle. Truly, there was nothing wrong with Christian. Nice looking, a complete gentleman, and as her mother had already pointed out, a member of the church, as she was. When she viewed him objectively, she saw a good Amish man, strong in his faith and devoted to his family.
Sarah took the damp, cold handkerchief—Tobias’s handkerchief, Rachel couldn’t help but notice—out of her daughter’s hands. She crossed the kitchen and shook out the partially melted ice cubes into the large metal sink. “All right, then. If you don’t like Christian, then I’m sure there are several other young men who could spark your interest. What about Tobias?”
Rachel scrunched her nose. “Nee. Nee, nee, nee. You see what he did to me.”
“That was an accident,” Sarah said, glancing over her shoulder.
“Maybe.”
“I’m sure he feels terrible about it.” Sarah turned around and folded the handkerchief into a small, neat square, then laid it next to the sink.
“That’s the problem, Mudder. I don’t think Tobias feels anything. About anything. He just floats through life, without a care in the world, thinking all he needs is his charm and good looks.”
“Oh, so you think he’s charming?” her mother said teasingly.
“I didn’t say that.” She swiveled in her chair so she could face her mother directly. “I never said he was charming.”
“But you have to admit he’s good-looking.”
“I’m not admitting anything!” Now it was Rachel’s turn to be exasperated. She turned back around, the pain in her leg growing more intense. She heard the soft ruffle of her mother’s skirt as she neared.
Sarah put her hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “There’s no reason to get upset about this. I keep forgetting you don’t like to be teased. Much like your bruder, Aaron.”
“I am nothing like Aaron.”
“Ach, I think you are more alike than either of you are willing to admit.” She walked around Rachel’s chair until she stood in front of her. She touched her cheek. “Just know that your daed and I love you. You are our only dochder, and we want what’s best for you.”
“Which is to get married.”
Her mother smiled, her grayish eyes twinkling. “Ya, Rachel. You are of age now to at least be thinking about your future, which should include a husband.”
Rachel expelled a heavy breath. She had no argument, because her mother was right. Deep down, she wanted to get married and have a family. Not necessarily right away, but eventually. At the moment she was happy and successful enough in her job as a waitress at Mary Yoder’s Amish Kitchen. There really wasn’t any urgency to find a suitable mate, even though her mother obviously felt otherwise.
The kitchen door slammed shut. Both women turned to see Christian walk into the room. “Ready?” he asked, looking at Rachel.
She hadn’t expected him back so soon. He must have hitched up his buggy in record time.
“I can carry you, if you want,” he added, looking directly at her.
Rachel couldn’t believe he’d asked her that, especially in front of her mother, who would eagerly blow any hint of prospective romance for her daughter into epic proportions. But then she caught the teasing spark in his eyes, and she relaxed. “Nee, I can manage to walk to the buggy, thank you very much.”
Sarah helped Rachel to her feet. “Your daed will be home soon to check on you. I will stay late and help Emma with the cleanup, but tell Aaron I’ll bring him a plate home for supper.” She gave Christian one of her trademark sweet smiles. “I know I’m leaving you in gut hands.”
Rachel’s cheeks burned. Could she be more obvious?
Fortunately Christian hadn’t caught her meaning, or if he had, he graciously chose not to say anything. As her mother opened the door to the front room of the house, Rachel heard voices intermingling, then muffling when the door closed again.
Rachel fought the urge to breathe out a sigh of relief. She loved her mother, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t occasionally embarrassed by her. Taking a step forward, she winced as pain shot up her leg.
“Here, let me help you.” Christian came up beside her and wrapped his arm around her waist.
She leaned against him only slightly, not wanting to appear as pitiful as she felt. He helped her into the buggy, placed a heavy quilt on her lap to keep her warm, then jumped in beside her. Within moments they were heading for her house a few miles down the road.
Several cars whizzed by as their buggy slowly made its way down the asphalt street. It shook as each vehicle zipped alongside them. Christian’s horse, with its blinders on, remained unfazed, used to dealing with traffic. Rachel wrapped her black cloak more tightly around her, warding off the chilly, late afternoon air. A few clouds had appeared in the sky, with one large fluffy one blocking the sun, taking away its soothing warmth.
“You’re awful quiet,” Christian said suddenly, breaking the silence that had been between them since they’d left the Bylers. “Something bothering you?”
“Nee, not really.” Not anything she wanted to talk about anyway. “My leg hurts, that’s all. I do appreciate you taking me home.”
“Don’t mind at all.” He pulled up on the reins a bit, slowing down his horse. “Gives me time to ask you something.”
Turning her head, she looked at him, her curiosity piqued. “What?”
“I wondered if you’d mind me courting you.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “Did Mudder say something to you?” she blurted out, then wished she could take it back. Christian had been nowhere near the kitchen when she and her mother had their conversation.
He glanced at her, confused. “No, she didn’t say a word to me. Should she have?”
“Nee,” she said, slinking down in the seat.
Christian cast her a sideways glance. “Gut. Because I really don’t want to talk about your mudder now. I want to talk about us. Or the possibility of there being an us.”
One thing she could say about Christian is that he was to the point. He deserved her directness in return. “I’m surprised, Christian. This seems rather sudden.”
“I guess it does in a way. But I thought I made it pretty clear last May that I liked you.”
“I like you too.” It wasn’t a lie, she really did like him. She just wasn’t sure she liked him.
“That’s good to hear.” He grinned at her, taking his eyes of the road for only a few seconds.
“As a friend,” she quickly added, worried she’d inadvertently given him the wrong message.
His smile diminished somewhat. But he remained undeterred. “I understand that. But I think our friendship could grow into something else. Especially if we spent more time together.” He gazed her again, his eyes latching onto hers. “Alone.”
Suddenly the painful lump in her leg had become the least of her problems. Christian was serious, and from the determined look on his face, it didn’t appear he’d give up easily. Uncertainty filled her. “Christian . . . I don’t know . . .”
“Why won’t you give us a chance, Rachel? We’ve known each other a long time. Our families are good friends. You’re not seeing anyone else, and neither am I.”
They were at the top of a gently sloping hill. The trees lining both sides of the road had shed their dead leaves, the naked, spindly branches pointing skyward. They passed by a white Amish house with the black buggy parked beneath a pristine carport, flanked by two fancy brick Yankee homes. Rachel spied her house in the near distance. Christian looked toward it and slowed his horse up even more. “Is it because you like Tobias?” he asked.
“What?” Rachel let out a strained laugh. “How could you even think such a thing? Tobias Byler is the last man I’d be interested in.”
“Just checking. I thought maybe you two had something private going on, especially after he touched your hair back there in the kitchen.”
“I have no idea why he did that,” she said, her face heating from the memory. She l
ooked straight ahead, hoping Christian was doing the same so he wouldn’t see the flush blooming on her cheeks. “Probably because he’s seltsam.”
Christian chuckled. “Okay, you proved your point, especially if you think he’s weird. Tobias is definitely out of the picture.” Then he sobered quickly. “Look, all I’m asking is that you give us a chance. If it doesn’t work out, then no harm done. We both move on, and we’ll stay friends.”
She averted her gaze and looked at the countryside. The jagged tops of cut, dried cornstalks jutted out from a nearby field, presenting a raw and desolate landscape. Maybe she wasn’t being fair. Maybe there had never been any sparks between her and Christian because she hadn’t been open to the possibility. Maybe he and her mother had been right all along. Still, she wasn’t completely sure.
Despite his efforts to prolong their ride, they arrived at her driveway. He turned onto a narrow dirt road and drove straight back to her house. He halted his horse, jumped out of his seat, and met her on the other side. Holding out his hand, he helped her out of the buggy, offering to assist her inside.
“I think I can manage,” she said, limping toward her front door. “It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.”
“Gut. Glad to hear it.” He paused for a moment, then reached down and lightly cupped her shoulders with his hands. “Promise me you’ll think about what I said, Rachel.”
She could feel the warmth from his palms through her cloak. Lifting her face, she gazed up at him. His black, wide-brimmed hat sat low on his head, nearly covering his eyes and shading the rest of his face. But she could still see his beseeching expression, and heard the pleading in his voice.
“I promise,” she heard herself say softly.
His face split into a wide grin. “Gut. Sehr gut. You’ve made me one happy man.”
Unable to resist his joy, she smiled back. Perhaps there was a chance for them after all.
Chapter 3
The movement beside her woke Moriah out of her light sleep. Her eyes opened and tried to adjust to the darkness as she sensed her husband getting up from their bed.
“Levi?” She heard the scratchiness of her voice as she sat up.
“Shh.”
She couldn’t see him in the engulfing blackness of the room. In the four months since their wedding she was still getting used to living in a different house, especially sharing a room with Levi. Leaning on her side, she picked up a small battery-operated flashlight and flicked it on. A chill cloaked the room, a byproduct of the typically cold February weather. Scanning the room, she spotted Levi by the closet, taking out one of his blue shirts. “What time is it?” she asked “
Time for you to go back to sleep.” He slipped on the shirt, then pulled his suspenders over his shoulders.
“Where are you going?”
“Same place I’ve been going for the past month, Moriah.”
“Gates Mills? I thought you were finished with that job.”
Levi shook his head as he reached for his boots. He didn’t bother to sit down, instead choosing to hop on one leg, then the other, as he put them on.
She thought he’d said he would be finished working at that horse ranch this week. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part. She threw off her covers, gooseflesh rising as the coldness of the room seeped into her skin. “I’ll start some coffee.”
“Nee.” He held up his hand, but he didn’t come near her. Instead he reached for his black hat, which hung on a peg next to the closet. “I’ll get some on the road.”
Already out of bed, she wrapped one arm around her body, shivering in her white cotton nightgown. The light from the flashlight illuminated the distance between them. Although it was only a few feet, lately it seemed like miles separated them. And at times it did, as the affluent community of Gates Mills was farther than the twelve-mile limit a horse and buggy could manage. But physical distance wasn’t their only problem. An emotional chasm had grown between them, and she had no idea why.
“When will you be back?”
He shrugged. “Not exactly sure.” Finally, he looked directly at her. “Don’t hold supper for me.”
Unable to stand being apart from him anymore, she closed the space between them. “Tomorrow is our four-month anniversary.”
“Already?” He put his hat on his head, but averted his gaze. “Time flies, don’t it?” He went past her to walk through the doorway of their room.
“Levi?” she called out.
He stopped, then slowly turned around. “Ya?”
“I’m making a special supper for you tomorrow night. To celebrate. All your favorites. Liver and onions, green bean casserole, sweet cornbread, and cinnamon pumpkin pie. I even got your daed’s German potato salad recipe.”
“Sounds gut. Moriah, I got to go. My ride’s probably already here. I’ll see you later on tonight.”
“Okay. I love—” But he was gone before she could finish the sentence.
She turned the flashlight toward the small clock near on the bed table. 5:45. Levi had given her the porcelain clock on their wedding night. Pure white, with a picture of a cherub painted in washes of pale blue and light pink on the base. It was fancy and looked expensive, but he had said he wanted to give her something special, something she could look at every day and remember him by. The clock wasn’t really her taste, as she preferred simple, unadorned things, but she cherished the gift because it was from him, and he had seemed so pleased to give it to her.
Grabbing a quilt off the end of the bed, she wrapped it around her shoulders and looked out the window. She and Levi had moved into his family’s house after they had married, and from the view from their bedroom—Levi’s old room—she saw two figures moving in the shadows. One was Levi; the other had to be Gabe. The men talked for a few moments, then Levi walked off to the end of the driveway, where a white van arrived to taxi him to Gates Mills. He climbed in, and she watched until the van’s red taillights disappeared in the darkness.
For over a month now, they had followed this pattern. Usually he left before she awakened and returned after she had fallen asleep. She had been so tired lately, and even when she tried to wait up for him, she usually didn’t succeed. The only day he didn’t leave was on Sunday, but even then it was as if he were gone. He picked at his food, seemed distracted during their conversations, and went to bed before her on Sunday nights, saying he was exhausted from working so hard during the week.
Tugging the quilt closer to her body, she wondered if this was normal, if the blissful bloom of the first weeks of marriage usually withered so quickly. She could barely remember the last time he kissed her, held her, shared the joys of marriage with her. Open displays of affection between a man and a woman weren’t the norm among their people, but she hadn’t thought that extended to the privacy of their home. Even her parents had shown their love for each other with tender words or a brief clasping of hands.
She must be doing something wrong. She had overheard some of the older women say that a husband’s happiness often depended on his wife’s competency. Maybe he didn’t like her cooking, although he had never complained about it before. Or her housekeeping skills were lacking, even though not a speck of dust could be found in the house. Or perhaps she had disappointed him in more intimate ways.
Biting down on her lip, she chased away the thoughts. The wretched job in Gates Mills was the problem, not her . . . she hoped.
Turning from the window, she was tempted to crawl underneath the warm covers. Sleep beckoned her, but she had too much to do. Gabriel and his daed would open their blacksmith shop soon, and she needed to prepare coffee and breakfast for them. Gabriel and John had voluntarily relocated to the dawdi haus, a small three-room cottage situated a few feet behind the shop. Typically, a dawdi haus was built to house aging Amish grandparents, but the houses and shop had been in John Miller’s family for years. He had inherited them when his father had passed, and he had gifted the main house to Levi and Moriah as a wedding present. Ever since, he
and Gabriel had spent most of their time either in the small cottage or in the shop. They had never once asked her to fix their meals. But she enjoyed doing it, and wouldn’t think of leaving them to cook for themselves. They were her family, and it was her responsibility, and joy, to take care of them.
Dressing quickly, she made her way downstairs to the first level of the house, leaving the flashlight behind. She knew the way in the dark, and when she reached the kitchen, she turned on the tall gas lamp in the corner and started on her morning chores, distracting herself from her troubling thoughts about Levi and their marriage.
“You’re going to Gates Mills again?” Gabe watched Levi grab two leather bags of horseshoes and tools and hoist them over his shoulder. Despite the early hour, Gabe had been in the shop for half an hour already. After Levi retrieved his tools, he followed Levi outside, his irritation with his twin rising.
Levi headed to the end of the driveway, where he’d arranged for a taxi service to pick him up. Although their Old Order community forbade their members from driving an automobile, the Ordnung—the unwritten rules their Amish community followed —allowed them to pay a driver to take them longer distances. Some communities had different rules for their members concerning travel by car and other “modern” conveniences, and while his church allowed its members to ask Yankees to take them long distances, members weren’t permitted to own cars themselves.
The bags were heavy, but Levi easily hauled them as if they were filled with feathers instead of metal. “They have a lot of horses,” Levi said, not bothering to turn around and look at Gabe.
Gabe continued to dog Levi’s heels. His brother had been gone every day save Sundays for the past month, working on that fancy horse farm in Gates Mills, a ritzy suburb of Cleveland. Levi had started shoeing their horses when the farm’s owner, Mr. Johnson, had come to Middlefield to check out their blacksmith and farrier business. Their shop was so simple it didn’t have an official name, but the Millers’ reputations as excellent smiths and shoers had extended beyond their settlement. Now Levi spent more time away than in the shop.
The Hearts of Middlefield Collection Page 4
