by Sarah Price
“Careful now,” John said. “It might be slippery—”
No sooner had the word slipped through his lips than Bethany felt herself sliding off the last step. She reached out with her hand as if to protect herself from hitting the ground, but she found herself in John’s arms, her hand pressed against his shoulder and her face against his chest.
“Oomph.”
She tried to escape his grasp, but he held on to her.
“You all right?”
All right? Yes. Embarrassed? Definitely.
“Ja, I . . . I’m fine.”
“Look at me.”
She looked up.
“Oh, Bethany.” He made a face and shook his head.
“What?”
“Snow. You have snow on your face.” He placed one of his hands on her shoulder and, with the other, reached up to touch her forehead. “There. All better now.”
“Oh help!” She freed herself at last and quickly lifted her hands to her face, rubbing her fingers across her cheeks and eyes.
Watching her, he laughed. “I told you it’s gone.”
She felt foolish. John, however, appeared most amused.
Ten minutes later, she rode silently in the buggy, her eyes straight ahead but her heart beating rapidly.
He was quiet for the first part of the trip, and that made Bethany feel nervous. Once again, she began to have self-doubts. Had she misinterpreted his intentions? Was he merely being a nice young man and helping out his mother? Surely he would talk to her if he was interested? Jonas, after all, had done nothing but talk to her whenever he had the chance.
Clearly, however, John Esh was nothing like his younger brother.
As they approached the outskirts of Shipshewana, he cleared his throat. “I need to stop in town,” John said, his eyes focused on the road ahead of them. “I could drop you off first, or”—he glanced at her—“mayhaps you might want to accompany me.”
She hesitated. She’d have liked nothing more than to spend more time with him, but she didn’t want to appear overly eager. Quickly she tried to think of how to respond. “I don’t want to put you out of your way.”
“I’d like the company.”
Bethany caught her breath. Had he truly just said that? “Oh, well, I don’t mind, I reckon.”
He raised an eyebrow, an amused look in his blue eyes and a hint of a smile on his lips. “You didn’t ask where I was going.”
Embarrassed that she’d accepted his invitation without inquiring further, she felt the heat intensify on her cheeks. “I did not.”
“You trust me so much?”
The truth was that she did trust him. She couldn’t quite understand what the difference was between Jonas and John, but the feelings she had about the former were most certainly not the same as what she felt for the latter. “I suppose I do,” she whispered.
He cleared his throat. “I thought to stop for a cup of coffee. Mayhaps a piece of pie, too.”
She fought the urge to smile. “That was your errand in town, then? Your friend’s project?”
He turned his head and met her gaze. “Ja, Bethany.”
While she admired his creativity in asking her out on a date, she found herself concerned that he had deceived his mother. “You lied to your maem,” she said in a soft, reproachful tone.
Immediately, he rebutted her accusation. “Nee, I did not lie.”
“Having coffee and a piece of pie is not helping a friend with a project.”
“The friend is myself—we should always be our own best friend, don’t you think?—and our friendship is the project.” He waited as if gauging her reaction. When she said nothing, John took a deep breath. “I would not want to presume anything, Bethany Ropp, about you. I would, however, like to learn more. And I do not think my interest in you is something that I want others interested in. It is better to mislead my mother than to embarrass either one of us, wouldn’t you say?”
There was wisdom to his words. Bethany felt that familiar tickle inside her chest, her heart feeling as if it skipped a beat at the way he had opened up to her. While she might interpret his words in a variety of ways, she realized that, indeed, he was navigating the waters of courtship with her. Like many of the older Amish folks, he preferred to do it in secret, a way of preserving reputations and saving face. She appreciated that and better understood why he had misguided his mother as to his true business in town.
“I understand, John Esh.” She shifted her eyes from his face back to the road. “And I think having a cup of coffee and a piece of pie sounds right gut.”
Half an hour later, she sat across from him at a coffeehouse along Van Buren Street in Shipshewana. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d been at a restaurant in town, and she felt conspicuous, too aware that other people—Englischers!—were staring and smiling at them. Surely they suspected that John and Bethany were courting.
“How’s your coffee?”
She’d forgotten to taste it, but John’s question prompted her to do just that. “Gut.” She set down the mug. “Hot.”
He chuckled. “That’s gut, because iced coffee is best served in the summer.”
Uncertain what to say, Bethany took another sip of the coffee. She wished she knew what to talk about. Had she been with Jonas, that wouldn’t have been a problem, because Jonas loved nothing more than to talk. She could’ve just sat there, nodding her head and saying an occasional “ja” as she pretended to listen to him. But with John Esh, Bethany would never do such a thing.
“You work near here, then?” she asked.
“Ja, I do.” He gestured over his shoulder, but not at anything in particular. “Down the road that way. Not far from here.”
She nodded, even though she didn’t know exactly where he was indicating. “You like it?”
Immediately, she noticed that the jovial gleam in his eye faded. Just a bit. “Nee, Bethany, I do not.”
She raised her eyebrows, surprised at both his candor and his confession. “Then why are you working there?”
“I have to.” He played with the paper napkin under his coffee mug. “The truth is that I’d like to be a farmer, but right now, my family needs my income.” He glanced at her as if to make certain she was paying attention. “My daed’s a dairy farmer, and the dairy market isn’t so good these days.”
Bethany wasn’t certain how to respond. She knew that much was true from listening to her father talk about it. But she hadn’t paid much attention. After all, her father worked in town, and they had no family who would be impacted by the downturn in the dairy industry. “But if you want to farm, why don’t you just help your daed at his farm?”
John gave a little shrug. “He has enough help with Jonas and Jeremiah.”
From the way Jonas talked, Bethany didn’t think he much cared about being a farmer. She couldn’t help wondering why Jonas didn’t find a job outside the farm so that John could follow his dream.
“Perhaps one day it will work out,” she said, wishing she had stronger words of encouragement for him. “After all, God has plans for us, and He doesn’t always reveal those plans when we want, but when He wants.”
John raised his mug of coffee to his lips, peering at her over the rim. His blue eyes seemed to dance behind the steam. “That’s a right gut way of looking at it, Bethany.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
On Sunday, Edna found herself fighting sleep as the preacher stood before the congregation, speaking about supporting the community and giving back. With the upcoming holiday season, Edna didn’t have time to give more to the community, even if she wanted to. Besides, with all of the weekly baking for Yoders’ Store, the proceeds of which were donated to Amish Aid, she certainly felt as if she was doing her part to help the community.
Sometimes when the preacher gave his sermon, his voice seemed to drone on, and Edna couldn’t help but shut her eyes. Just a little. With so many people crammed into the shop over the Rabers’ barn where worship was being held th
at day—it was larger than the room in their house—the air was warm, and Edna wished one of the men would open a window for a small breeze. But no one else seemed bothered by the warmth.
Taking a deep breath, Edna sat up straighter, blinked her eyes rapidly, and tried to focus on the preacher’s words, hoping to fight the weight of sleepiness that fell over her.
Stay awake, stay awake, she told herself.
The previous day had been a hectic one. The large group of women had been more needy than usual, and Edna had done her best to run interference so that they didn’t bother Bethany. Fortunately, John had come into the kitchen just in time to help Edna serve the women so that Bethany could stay in the kitchen.
Exhaling, Edna scanned the room until she found John, seated on the other side with the other unmarried men. How handsome he looked, she thought, watching as he stared at the preacher, his eyes never wandering. He seemed to absorb every word, unlike her; she wasn’t finding the sermon particularly interesting this morning. She wasn’t alone, however. John’s companions fidgeted a little or glanced over to where the young women sat.
At twenty-six, John was the oldest of the unmarried men in their church district. Like the older women and men, the unmarried members of the church sat together, and in the order of their age. Whenever the unmarried men entered the worship service room, it was John who led them, followed by twenty-three-year-old Peter Herzberger, who sat to his right. Rumor had it that Peter was courting Hannah Schrock, and if the Amish grapevine spoke the truth, they were likely to be married over the winter. That would leave John seated next to his brother Jonas, the next youngest of the unmarried men.
If John didn’t get married soon, he would most likely make the decision to publicly announce his status as a bachelor. He’d grow a beard, even though he wasn’t married, and sit with the married men at church. Most young men who weren’t married by twenty-six or so did just that. It wasn’t terribly common, although she remembered John Stoltzfus from her youth. He’d never married. Instead, he had made the silent—but public—declaration of his perpetual bachelorhood by growing a beard and sitting with the married men one day. Years later, he had died unexpectedly, still a bachelor and living at home with his elderly mother.
Edna felt a wave of panic. She wasn’t certain how she’d feel if her John made such a declaration.
At least she could take comfort in knowing that regardless of his marital status, John was a devout member of the church. That was something that gave her secret pride: all of her sons had taken the kneeling vow. She couldn’t imagine how she’d have felt if one of her children had refused to become a baptized member of the church.
Automatically, her eyes shifted to Susan Schwartz, who sat toward the front of the room among the other elderly women. Fifteen years ago, three of her six children had left the Amish faith, two refusing to be baptized and one leaving the church after being baptized because he fell in love with an Englische woman. Even worse, it had all happened in rapid succession over a six-month period of time.
For several years after her sons’ decisions, Susan had been depressed, her heart broken about what she viewed as her failure to raise her children properly. Edna knew that many people whispered behind Susan’s back, wondering aloud about the reasons half of her children had left the faith. Edna hadn’t been one of them, but she had felt tremendous compassion for the older woman.
For Amish parents, there was no pain worse than a child who refused to join the church.
Someone nudged Edna.
“Quit your daydreaming!” the woman seated next to her hissed.
Edna blinked and looked around. Everyone was getting to their knees to pray. She, however, had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized it.
Quickly, Edna turned around and scrambled to her knees. She folded her hands and rested them on the bench, lowering her forehead against them. Despite her best efforts to pray for her family, friends, and community, she kept thinking about John.
She loved all three of her sons, but she was proudest of John. He was kind and conscientious, always thinking about other people’s needs before his own. And his loyalty to the church, God, and his community made him especially endearing to her. Why, just yesterday he’d offered, again, to drive Bethany home, even though there had been a recent snowfall.
She hadn’t objected, because she secretly hoped that he was making that drive for other reasons.
Such a good man deserved a good wife. If only he might find someone to suit his fancy, especially if that someone was Bethany.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“And I heard,” Wilma said as she leaned across the table so that no one could overhear her, “that Timothy Metz heard from the bishop about the miserable state of his mules.”
Mary pursed her lips and shook her head. “Such a shame. I always wondered why no one said anything to him. It’s just not right.”
“A man who can’t take care of his animals has no business farming,” an elderly woman chimed in. “That’s what my daed always used to say when I was growing up.”
Without saying so, Mary secretly agreed. Timothy Metz was a very conservative Amish man who, with his family, lived just on the border of their church district and the neighboring one. She’d always thought that it would have served the Metz family better if the district lines had gone around them. They were one of the few farming families in their church district, and that created its own problems.
“Those mules need some more groceries, that’s for sure and certain,” Wilma said in a terse tone. “Bishop made a comment about the Englische authorities catching sight of them. Apparently, someone already complained once.”
Mary gasped. “No!”
“Ja, that’s true.” Wilma nodded. “And Bishop doesn’t think it’s good for the community to have Englischers complaining about animals.”
It was true that some people liked to cause trouble for the Amish. And the church leaders often spoke about how they needed to give the Englischers no reason to make accusations. All of the Amish farmers that Mary knew took wonderful care of their animals. But all it took was one bad apple to ruin the bunch, and that was definitely what Timothy Metz was doing.
Another elderly woman spoke up. “I feel for those farmers,” she said with a long, drawn-out sigh. “It’s not like it used to be when everyone farmed and could live a good life doing so. There’s just so little money in farming anymore.”
“So true.” Wilma gestured toward Mary. “You know that Bethany’s working at Edna Esh’s place.” She paused when the two other women frowned as if trying to recall whom Wilma was referring to. “Elmer’s Edna? She runs the tourist business from her farm?”
“Ah, ja! Edna Esh.”
“She does that because of the poor price of dairy,” Wilma stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
“It’s a wonder they can survive,” one of the women said.
“But it sure is fortunate that Edna’s bishop permits such businesses in the home,” said the other woman. “Why, my sister made dinners for tourists in her home, but when the church district lines were redrawn, her new bishop forbade her to conduct business like that. Can you imagine?”
“Oh help!” Mary clucked her tongue. “Such a shame.”
“Reckon Edna doesn’t have to worry about that,” Wilma said. Then, with a sly look at Mary, she added, “Mayhaps she’ll turn that business over to Bethany when she marries John Esh!”
Stunned, Mary’s mouth dropped, and she sat there, speechless.
But the older women reacted with joy. “Is that so? Bethany’s to marry?”
“Oh, I know nothing about any such thing,” Mary said quickly. It was the truth. The only thing she knew was that Bethany surely was happy about something, but she hadn’t confided in Mary as to what, exactly, was making her so joyful.
“But are they courting?” the other woman asked.
“Does he come calling at the haus?”
Mary frowned at Wilma for having sta
rted the scuttlebutt. She certainly hoped that Bethany didn’t overhear the women talking. She’d be completely mortified if she thought people were gossiping about her. “It’s best not to speculate about such private matters, don’t you think?”
A satisfied smile crossed Wilma’s lips.
Irritated by her friend taking such pleasure in her discomfort, Mary quickly changed the subject.
“With the holidays coming up, we should be thinking about other things anyway.” She turned away from Wilma. “I was thinking of making some knot quilts to donate to the Mennonite church for the homeless.”
Both of the older women gave a nod of approval.
“Since I’m laid up for a while and all,” she added.
“I imagine you could start getting around soon,” Wilma quipped.
Mary raised an eyebrow. “You’re right, I’m sure. Mayhaps I could get Abram to bring me to your haus to make those quilts.” She put her finger to her cheek as if thinking. “In fact, mayhaps Verna could join us, too. A fun quilting bee, and I’m sure that Rachel and Ella Mae would love to help out.”
Wilma’s eyes widened.
“It being for charity and all,” Mary concluded, trying to hide her own satisfaction at Wilma’s reaction.
“I’d be happy to donate some fabric,” one of the women said. “In fact, I could cut the pieces into six-by-six squares tomorrow.”
Clapping her hands, Mary couldn’t hide her grin. “That’s so wunderbarr. Perhaps others would do the same, and then Wilma, Verna, and I could piece them together while Rachel and Ella Mae tie the knots!” She turned toward Wilma. “Mayhaps Friday would be a gut day to start this project? And Bethany could join us after she’s finished at Edna’s. I’m sure she’d love to help, too.”
From the expression that Wilma wore, Mary felt certain that she wanted to reach out and throttle her. Of course, Wilma would never do such a thing, nor could she back out. But the look on her face said it all. Wilma had never hosted such a gathering, and to do so with only one week’s notice would certainly keep her busy.
Mary didn’t particularly mind if Wilma was uncomfortable. She had, after all, shared Bethany’s secret without any regard for her daughter’s—and John’s!—apparent wish to keep their budding friendship private.
