by Ruth Reid
She whirled around, confused. “Ruth, I’m not Nathaniel’s keeper. He’s free to court anyone he wants to.”
Ruth dug her hands into her coat pockets. “You know how shy he is, so if you’ll just give him a nudge in mei direction. A small one. Then I’ll take care of the rest.” Before Anne Marie could respond, Ruth added, “I have to geh or Hannah will have a fit.” She touched Anne Marie on the arm. “Danki.”
“You’re wel—”
But Ruth had disappeared before the words left Anne Marie’s mouth.
She stood there in the living room, feeling the warmth of the woodstove and looking at the Scrabble board, trying to absorb what her friend had told her. Ruth liked Nathaniel. She hadn’t seen that coming. She also hadn’t thought her friend would be so forward about it. And she wouldn’t consider Nathaniel shy. Reserved, sometimes. But not shy. As she walked back to the kitchen, she tried to picture Ruth and Nathaniel as a couple. But she couldn’t see him with Ruth. She thought about other young women in the district. Who would she pair up with Nathaniel? For some reason, she couldn’t imagine him with anyone.
“Ruth blew out of here in a hurry.” Mamm wiped down the counter to the left of the white cast-iron sink. “Is everything all right?”
“Ya. I guess.”
Mamm lifted a questioning brow. “What does that mean?”
“Sorry I’m late.” Nathaniel appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Jonah let me in.” He’d already removed his jacket and hat, his thick, dark-brown hair popping up in hanks all over his head. He tried smoothing it down, but it was no use. He’d always had trouble taming his hair. When they were sixteen he had come over to help her spread sawdust on the floor of the barn. Before they started, he’d tripped into the huge pile. She remembered how the small chips of wood and dust had stuck in his hair, how she’d run her fingers through the thick strands to help him get it out . . .
“Something smells gut.” He lifted his nose as he stepped into the kitchen.
Anne Marie shook her head, clearing her mind of the memory, and the tingly sensation suddenly coursing through her.
“What are you making, Lydia?” Nathaniel asked.
“Pumpkin pie.” Mamm cast a sharp look at Anne Marie. “Keep your comments to yourself.”
Anne Marie held up her palms. “I wasn’t going to say a word.”
“Are there samples?” Nathaniel asked.
“Of course.” Her mother cut another slice. “I’m glad someone appreciates my cooking.”
“Now that’s not fair,” Anne Marie said. “You know I like everything you make. Everything that doesn’t contain pumpkin, that is. Plus, your cookbooks are in such high demand, we can barely keep up production. Clearly, many people in Paradise love your recipes.” She moved away from the counter. “That reminds me, I can help you bind the rest of the cookbooks and fill the Christmas orders. It’s just a couple weeks away.”
“I think you have enough to do with your candle orders,” Mamm said.
“I can handle both.”
“Always thinking about work.” Mamm shook her head. “We have time.” She looked at Nathaniel, then at Anne Marie. “Now geh play your game.”
When they entered the living room, he moved one of the chairs closer to the coffee table and sat down. He leaned over and started selecting tiles. But Anne Marie’s mind wasn’t on Scrabble. She was still thinking about Ruth’s request. How should she tell him that Ruth liked him? Just blurt it out? Hint at it? She had no idea what Ruth meant by nudging Nathaniel in her direction. She’d never played matchmaker before.
He glanced up. “You going to sit down?”
She looked at him. Saw the competitive gleam in his eye. Ruth could wait—they had a game to play. She grinned and sat down.
He wiggled his dark brows. “Ready to lose?”
“Um, nee. When was the last time you beat me at Scrabble?”
“A month ago.”
“I let you win.”
He smiled and clasped his hands behind his head. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Determined to prove him wrong, they began to play . . . and she forgot all about Ruth.
Nearly two hours later, the game was almost tied. Nathaniel didn’t know how she did it. But with stealthy play and a lot of thought—sometimes so much thought he had to prod her to take her turn—she’d racked up the points. She twisted the end of one of her kapp strings as she surveyed the board. Her thin finger traced a line across the top of one of her tiles leaning against the holder, her blond eyebrows forming a V above her pale-blue eyes. He tapped his foot, glancing at the clock hanging on the wall. “Anytime now.”
“Don’t rush me. I’m thinking.”
“Think a little faster. I have to get home.”
“Ready for more pie?” Nathaniel looked up to see Lydia walk into the living room carrying a tray with one piece of pie and two glasses of tea. Anne Marie took the glass. She sipped, her attention still on the board. Nathaniel accepted the pie and tea. “Danki.” He took a huge bite, the taste of cinnamon and pumpkin exploding in his mouth. There was a good reason Lydia Smucker’s holiday cookbooks sold out every year right before Christmas. He scooped a smaller portion with his fork and held it out to Anne Marie. “Sure you don’t want a little taste?”
She smirked at his offering. “Ya. I’m sure.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.” He waved it in front of her. “It’s the best pumpkin pie I’ve ever had.”
“That’s kind of you to say, Nathaniel,” Lydia said.
He moved his fork closer to Anne Marie. “I know why you won’t try this.”
She folded her arms. “Why?”
“Because you’re afraid you might like it. Then you’ll have to admit you were wrong.”
“Fine.” She grabbed the fork and stuck the tip of her tongue to the pie. She closed her mouth and smacked her lips. “I tasted it. I still don’t like it.”
“More for me, then.” He finished off the bite, looking up at Lydia. He paused at her puzzled look, the fork still in his mouth. “What?”
Anne Marie’s mother looked at him, then at her daughter. “Nix. Just . . . nix.” She turned and left the room.
“What was that about?” Nathaniel asked after he polished off the bite.
Anne Marie shrugged, still focused on the game board. With a swift movement she grabbed the rest of the tiles on her stand and placed them on the board. T A S T Y. She gave him a triumphant smile.
“More like ironic.” He set down the empty dish. “Congratulations. You won.”
Her smile widened, the tiny scar at the corner of her mouth disappearing. He remembered the day she’d gotten it. They were both seven, and he’d pushed her a little too hard in the swing at school. She face planted on the ground and the ragged edge of a stone had sliced her lip. Thirteen years later, he still felt bad about it.
After cleaning up the game, he and Anne Marie walked to his buggy. “Same time next week?” He grabbed the horse’s reins. “Although I’m picking the game this time.”
“Life on the Farm?”
“Of course.” He unwrapped the reins from the hitching post underneath the barn awning and took the blanket off his horse. He folded it and tossed it in the buggy.
“Before you geh . . .” She moved nearer, rubbing her arms through the thin long sleeves of her dress. “I have something to tell you.”
“Okay.” He faced her.
“Um . . .” She looked away.
Nathaniel frowned. “Is something wrong?” She had never been hesitant to talk to him before.
“Nee.” She faced him again, drawing in a breath. “Ruth Troyer likes you.” The words flew out of her mouth like a caged bird being set free.
He leaned against the buggy, his cheeks heating against his will. Ruth was one of the prettiest girls in their district, but he had never thought about her romantically.
“Well?” Anne Marie drew her arms closer to her chest.
“Well what?”
>
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know. Give me a minute to think.”
“You should probably ask her out.” Her eyes narrowed in the faint yellow light from the lamppost down the street.
He didn’t respond. He’d gone out with a couple of maed in the past two years. Yet he wouldn’t have called the dates successful. More like awkward. And forgettable.
“Don’t be so gun-shy.” Anne Marie rubbed his horse’s nose.
“Don’t be so bossy.”
She glanced at him. “Sorry.” She faced him. “Nathaniel, if you don’t ask her out, you’ll never know if you’re well suited. Maybe ask her to next week’s singing.”
“What about our game night?”
“We can miss it for one week. Especially for a gut reason.”
Nathaniel climbed into the buggy. “I’ll think about it.” He looked at her. “Why are you so eager for me and Ruth to geh out?”
She took a step back and looked at the ground. “Because . . .”
“Because?”
She finally met his gaze. “I just think you two would be a gut couple. That’s all.” She turned and hurried toward her house.
“Gut nacht,” he called after her.
She gave him a half wave and ran inside, like she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
Huh. He frowned, wondering why she was acting strange all of a sudden. Things were fine all evening until she brought up Ruth. Was something else going on? Maybe, but knowing Anne Marie he’d have to pry it out of her. Or wait until she was ready to tell him.
He tapped on the horse’s flank with the reins and headed home, his mind on Anne Marie, not Ruth Troyer.
The story continues in A Gift for Anne Marie by Kathleen Fuller.
OTHER BOOKS BY RUTH REID
The Amish Wonder series
A Miracle of Hope
Always His Providence, a novella in An Amish Miracle
The Heaven on Earth series
The Promise of an Angel
Brush of Angel’s Wings
An Angel by Her Side
OTHER AMISH NOVELLA COLLECTIONS
An Amish Garden
An Amish Christmas
An Amish Gathering
An Amish Love
An Amish Wedding
An Amish Kitchen
An Amish Miracle
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Author photo by Lexie Reid
Ruth Reid is a full-time pharmacist who lives in Florida with her husband and three children. When attending Ferris State University School of Pharmacy in Big Rapids, Michigan, she lived on the outskirts of an Amish community and had several occasions to visit the Amish farms. Her interest grew into love as she saw the beauty in living a simple life.
