by Leslie Gould
I watched my Mamm, my breathing ragged. I never would have imagined her pressuring me to marry.
Nor that we might lose our farm.
I half listened as Nell told me about the quilt she was making, watching as Mervin stood along the highway, waving a bunch of flowers to attract business. It really wasn’t our way, but Mervin could pull it off with his sunglasses and goofy grin. He was a people person, like me.
And unlike Bea. She wasn’t shy one-on-one, but she definitely didn’t like crowds. Nor did she like the market. “All those strangers,” she’d say, “tramping around our property.”
I saw the activity as money to pay the bills. She saw it as an intrusion.
If we couldn’t save the farm, what would happen to Bea? And where would I host my farmers’ market? And where would Mamm live out the rest of her life?
Sweat trickled down the back of my knees. Mervin enjoyed the work of raising flowers, trees, and shrubs, plus he really was good at selling.
I pulled the white cloth of my apron up to my face, blocking the sun for a moment, dabbing at my forehead, as Nell prattled on about the shadow design she’d modified for the quilt she’d just started. When I put my apron down, an Englisch couple with three young children, all boys, approached our booth. The youngest one, around three, began to cry, and the father scooped him up, jostling him around. The boy smiled for a moment but then began to fuss again.
“Have you seen the handmade toys?” I asked the father as his wife looked at Nell’s potholders. “Right over there?” I pointed to Joseph Koller’s booth. The two older boys tore across the aisle at the word toys.
The father turned.
The youngest son pointed at the booth and squealed. The father headed that way, and the mother let out a sigh of relief and then bought a pot of geraniums.
As she turned to leave, Mervin headed back toward me, his hands empty, except for the money in his fist.
“Denki,” I said, as he came near, his hand extended. I took the money. “You should go eat.”
Mervin smiled broadly. “After you. I’ll stay here with Nell.”
Her eyes lit up.
“You can tell me the latest,” he said to her.
“Well, well, well,” she said, standing. “You won’t be sorry. I’ll leave you in anticipation for a bit though. Be back in a minute.”
A mock expression of surprise passed over Mervin’s face, but then he smiled as Nell headed over to Joseph’s booth.
In that moment, marrying Mervin didn’t seem like such a sacrifice to me. After all, he was probably on my list of the top five men I could marry—now way above Phillip Eicher, but still below the man I hoped was still out there, that I had yet to meet. The one who, as Mamm would say, would arrive like a bolt of lightning. How’d she know that’s what I’d set my sights on once things had fallen through with Phillip?
Jah, Mervin was right up there. I knew I could do a whole lot worse.
Mervin tilted his head. “What are you thinking?”
Actually, Mervin might be at the top of the list. If Mervin was interested in me, who was I to say I couldn’t be interested in him?
“Molly?” Mervin stepped closer to me, taking his sunglasses off. His hazel eyes shone bright and clear.
I grabbed for his glasses, thinking I’d wear them for a while.
He laughed and ducked away, but I still got a hold of them—probably because he let me. Mervin grinned and his eyes danced, but then, in a split second, they fell flat, as if he’d been reprimanded.
I slipped the glasses onto my face anyway, hoping to make him laugh again. “What do you think?”
From behind me a voice—Hannah’s to be exact—said, “Not your style.”
I spun around. Hannah stood with her hands on her hips. I removed the glasses and handed them back to Mervin. He positioned them on his face and stepped away, over to Joseph’s booth.
“Hi,” I said to Hannah, hoping my voice conveyed how happy I was to see her.
“I thought you were in mourning,” she said, a note of sympathy—and concern—in her voice, but also a hint of disapproval.
I nodded. I definitely still was.
“It didn’t look like it.”
“We were joking around,” I said, taking a deep breath. It seemed Hannah still liked Mervin. How foolish I’d been to think otherwise.
“I was going to call . . . but decided to come by instead.”
“I’m glad you did,” I said. “I’ve been missing you.”
She smiled then, clearly pleased. We were opposites in several ways. I was fair with blue eyes. She had dark hair and brown eyes. I had a pale, heart-shaped face. She had an amazing olive complexion and dimples. I was thin. She had curves. I was the optimist. She could be a little pessimistic, at times. I was responsible. She was lackadaisical.
“We have so much to talk about,” she said.
“Jah . . .” I agreed, expecting her to say something about Mervin.
But she said, “Like the camping trip.”
We had talked about a trip—it wasn’t unusual for a group of Youngie to go camping for a few days. In fact I’d suggested it after church a few weeks ago, thinking it might take my mind off my Dat, but I hadn’t given it much thought since then, except to mention it to Mamm, in passing. In her usual supportive way, she’d agreed it was a good idea, as long as I took Beatrice along.
But Hannah and I hadn’t talked about who else would go.
“Molly?”
“Jah,” I said again. “Let’s talk about it soon.”
“Like this evening? Can you spend the night?”
“Maybe.” I couldn’t ignore my feeling of apprehension though. I shouldn’t be going anywhere—not even to Hannah’s—if Mamm was ill.
A hurt expression—one I knew too well—passed over Hannah’s face.
I whispered, “Mamm hasn’t been well.”
Hannah pointed behind me. “She looks fine.”
I spun around again. Mamm was standing with a small bucket of rosemary in her hand. “Go,” she said. “I’m fine. And Edna will be here tonight.”
I took the bucket from her.
She glanced toward Mervin. He must have said something funny because Nell and Joseph were laughing.
“Go to Hannah’s,” Mamm said. “It will give you two a chance to talk.”
“I should stay,” I said.
“No. It’s good timing,” she answered.
There was no church service the next day. We used to visit friends and relatives in other districts on our off Sundays, but we hadn’t since Dat died. Mamm turned to Hannah. “She’ll be over before supper.”
Hannah smiled.
“I’ll see you then,” I said.
I expected her to seek out Mervin next, but she didn’t. Instead she started toward Addie and Jonathan’s booth.
Mamm headed back to the house, and Mervin joined me again, taking the rest of the snapdragons to try to sell along the road. And then, a few minutes later, Hannah headed toward her buggy without talking to Mervin at all.
Chapter
3
We closed the market at four. Mervin stayed and helped me—picking up trash, putting away our tarp and tables, carrying our buckets back up to the barn, and helping vendors carry their unsold wares to their buggies. I appreciated how I hardly had to boss Mervin around at all. He seemed to know what needed to be done and took the initiative to do it.
As I interacted with each individual, I asked how he or she’d done that day. Jonathan and Addie did the best—but his hope chests and fireplace mantels were high-end, and each one sold for more than all of my herbs, flowers, and plants put together.
Nell did well too, and so did Joseph. Everyone, except Jonathan and Addie, said they’d see me next Saturday as they paid their rental fee for the market. By the time Mervin and I hauled everything up to the greenhouse, I was sticky from the heat. Mamm soon joined us.
“Go ahead and get cleaned up,” she said to me. “And be
on your way to Hannah’s. She’ll be expecting you. Mervin and I can finish up.”
After I handed Mamm the money I’d taken in, and then turned to leave the greenhouse, Mervin followed me. “There’s a party tonight,” he said. “At Timothy’s. Are you two going?”
“Probably not,” I answered. “Hannah didn’t mention it.” The last thing I wanted to do was go to a party with Hannah—if she was still interested in Mervin. She could be fickle—and moody. She was definitely better than she’d been a couple of years ago when she ended up spending a few nights in a clinic and then got some much-needed counseling. Still, she had her moments. Perhaps she’d been unsure about her interest in Mervin, but she seemed focused on him today at the market.
I cleaned up quickly and hitched our gentle horse, Daisy, to the buggy. Mervin waved, with Love at his side, as I started down our lane toward the highway. I waved back, hoping I appeared enthusiastic. I really did need to speak to Hannah, even though I dreaded it.
As Daisy trotted along the pavement at a reasonable speed, my staccato thoughts matched the pounding of her hooves. Hannah didn’t have to worry about saving her family farm. Many years ago the Lapps had turned an old dairy into a successful equestrian business. The family boarded, raised, and trained horses. Their seventy acres included a system of corrals, a huge barn, pastures, and a wooded area.
They’d stayed humble, but it was obvious they had more income than most, especially my family. Their house was fairly new. Hannah had her own buggy and horse, plus a Thoroughbred of her own. She’d been riding since she was five and was good at it. It wasn’t the norm for an Amish girl to ride horses, but it wasn’t totally unheard of either.
At their sign for Paradise Stables, I turned down the poplar-lined lane. Through the trees, in the first pasture, three knobby-kneed colts frolicked close to their mothers. One, with a star on his forehead, stopped and watched me pass by. It was cute, I had to admit, but I’d never been horse crazy like some girls.
Next was the first corral. A man had a palomino on a long lead, running it in a circle around him. The figure was too lanky to be Hannah’s Dat.
An early evening breeze danced through the tops of the poplars. I leaned toward the side of the buggy, hoping to get a better view through the trees. The man didn’t have a beard, and he wore a funny hat and jeans, but his suspenders and shirt were definitely Amish.
I slowed the buggy.
He called out to the horse, which trotted to the middle of the ring. Then the man looked up, straight at me.
Embarrassed, I urged Daisy on again, stealing one more glance at the stranger. He stared at me but didn’t wave. I hurried on.
Hannah met me at the barn to help me unhitch Daisy.
“Who is that?” I asked, nodding my head in the direction of the stranger.
Hannah gave me a puzzled look.
“Training the horse. In the first corral.”
“Oh, him.” Hannah patted Daisy’s neck. “Some new guy Dat hired.”
“Is he as handsome up close as from a distance?”
Hannah shrugged. “I haven’t met him yet. He just arrived today.”
“Where’s he from?”
“Montana.”
“Montana?” I knew there were Amish settlements out that way, but I’d never met anyone from there. “What’s his name?”
“Leon,” Hannah answered, tilting her head. “I don’t think Dat told me his last name.”
“How did he end up out here?”
“Dat put an advertisement for an experienced trainer in The Connection. Leon responded, so Dat’s giving him a try.”
“Don’t they train horses differently in Montana than here?” After all, it was the Wild West. I imagined Indian ponies, not Thoroughbreds or quarter horses.
Hannah laughed. “I’m sure it’s pretty much the same. His father grew up in Lancaster County and used to train horses. He probably taught Leon.”
She led Daisy to their red barn and into one of the many stalls. Our barn was big, but the Lapps’ was humongous. We used to play in it as girls, setting up whole settlements with our dolls, and then playing house with Hannah’s little sisters when we were older.
“I’ll get the brush,” I said, heading toward the tack room. It had been one of our favorite places to play when we were young.
I opened the door, breathing in the scent of leather and soap and oil. Dozens of saddles rested on wall trees, and a few more were slung over the half wall that separated the room from a storage area. Bridles, harnesses, collars, and ropes hung from pegs. I grabbed a brush from the lower shelf and then turned toward the storage room, where we used to set up our pretend house.
“Don’t go in there,” Hannah said from the doorway.
“Why not?”
“That’s where Leon is staying.”
“In the storage room?”
She nodded. “It was his idea. I think he thought it improper to stay in the house with all of us girls.” She giggled. “At least that’s what I guessed from what my Dat said. Doesn’t that seem a little backward? Like something a country hick would think.”
I wasn’t sure. I stood on my tiptoes, looking over the half wall. In the dim light I made out a cot with a sleeping bag and a table with a Bible, some sort of other leather book with a pencil box beside it, and a lantern.
“Come on,” Hannah said, nodding to the brush in my hand. I followed her back to Daisy’s stall and sat on the railing while Hannah took care of the horse.
“There’s a party tonight,” she said.
“So I heard.”
Hannah slipped to the other side of Daisy. The horse was in hog heaven. “Timothy left a message saying he’d give us a ride.”
Timothy was Hannah’s cousin, and also Addie’s brother. He was a bit on the wild side.
“Mervin said he was going.” I stepped to where I could see Hannah’s reaction.
Her face brightened as she brushed Daisy’s flank. “I was hoping he would be.”
“So, you are still interested in him.”
“Jah, of course.” Her voice faltered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You didn’t talk to him today.”
“He’s been distant. So I’ve been playing hard to get.”
“Oh,” I said, my heart twisting inside my chest. “We hadn’t talked about it for a while. I wasn’t sure . . .”
“Well, you haven’t been very available,” she said, bending down as she massaged Daisy’s leg, and then added, “for good reason.”
Then she gasped and her head popped back up, the brush in midair, a look of horror on her face. “Why do you ask? Is Mervin courting someone else?”
“No,” I answered. “At least I don’t think so.” My face grew warm. I could only hope I wasn’t blushing and giving myself away. “We should go help with supper,” I said quickly.
“Jah, Mammi Gladys has been a handful lately.” That was Hannah’s grandmother. “Mamm’s been overwhelmed with her since Tinker was born.” Tinker was the nickname the girls called their little brother—the first boy after seven girls—claiming he wanted to tinker with everything. At a year and a half, he was into everything. He was named Owen after his Dat, but Tinker seemed to work well for him.
I took the brush from Hannah and returned it to the tack room, glancing again toward Leon’s sleeping quarters. I’d read about bunkhouses in the West. Perhaps that was what he’d had in mind. Thinking of him made me think of Pete, my friend Cate’s husband. Because of my contacts with Youngie in Ohio, he’d stayed with us and slept in our barn when he first came to Lancaster County. But then he’d married Cate, and after a short time in New York, where he was from, he and Cate moved into her Dat’s house.
I doubted Leon would marry anyone from Lancaster. If he did, the woman would have to give up her family and move to Montana. I shuddered. Who would want to do that? Surely, he was just here for a short time, probably to learn what he could from Owen. It was a pity he was so handsome yet so unavailable.
>
“Come on,” Hannah called out from the barn door.
I grabbed my overnight bag from the buggy, and we headed toward the house. “You seem quiet,” Hannah said. “Is something wrong? You know, besides . . .”
“Not really,” I said. “Except . . .” I took a deep breath. “Mamm had some kind of spell yesterday. Ivan and I took her to the doctor. She needs to have another test.” Before Hannah could respond, I said, “Plus she’s worried about the farm—about the finances.” I couldn’t say any more than that.
“Oh,” Hannah answered. “Well, you’re certainly doing what you can. With the market and all.”
“Jah,” I answered, suddenly feeling weepy. I’d never cried in front of Hannah, not even when I’d broken my arm when we were girls. I swallowed hard.
“It will all work out. You’ll see,” Hannah said. “Your Mamm’s smart.”
I nodded. “Jah, I know,” I answered, biting my tongue from revealing her only plan so far was for me to marry Mervin. And that I could actually see her point—if it weren’t for Hannah.
“We don’t have to go out tonight,” Hannah said. “I can see Mervin some other time.”
“Denki,” I said, relieved.
No matter how compatible Mamm thought Mervin and I might be, I couldn’t do that to Hannah, not even to save our farm. I’d tell Mamm as soon as I got home.
I’d been friends with Hannah since she started school, when I was in my second year. I wasn’t going to throw that away for Mervin or for my Mamm and . . . I stopped.
But what if it meant we would lose the farm?
We walked in silence for a few minutes, me fretting about my dilemma, Hannah most likely fretting about Mervin. Finally she said, “Let’s talk about the camping trip.”
“We should go help with dinner,” I said.
“We can clean up—since we’re not going out.” She stopped at the edge of the grove. “Whom shall we invite?”
I didn’t want to invite anyone. I didn’t want to go.
“We’ll need chaperones,” she said. “What about Bob Miller and Nan?”
“They’re getting married in a few weeks.”
