“Nein. Nothing like that.”
“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.”
A look of vulnerability crossed her features. Her customary mask—the one that said she knew what the answers were and had no doubt how things would turn out—slipped. Then a bird called out from a neighboring bush, broke the spell and the proper Susannah was back.
“It’s not such a mystery, and honestly I didn’t know that you didn’t know. Maybe I did realize you didn’t know, but then it seemed awkward to bring it up.”
“What don’t I know?”
She looked left, then right, then out across the garden. When he didn’t rescue her from the discomfort of the moment, she met his gaze and said simply, “I had cancer.”
It was the very last words he would have expected to come out of her mouth.
“What? When?”
“Diagnosed two years ago, just before my twenty-third birthday. We didn’t catch it early enough, so I had chemo before and after the surgery.”
“Chemo?”
“Ya. It caused my hair to fall out.” She ran a hand over the top of her head, as if she needed to assure herself it was no longer bald. “It’s growing back quicker than I thought.”
Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “Soon no one will be able to tell.”
“Who cares about your hair?” The words came out more abruptly than he’d intended. “What I mean is, your hair looks gut that way, but more important, how are you? Are you still sick? And why did you never tell me this?”
“Why would I tell you?”
“Because we’re friends!” Micah wanted to jump up and pace back and forth, but he forced himself to remain seated. When Susannah still didn’t look at him, he put a hand on each of her shoulders and waited until she finally raised her gaze to his. “We’re friends. Right?”
“Ya. Of course.”
“So tell me about this. How do you feel? Will you need more surgery or more chemo? And what is your prognosis?”
“Fine, probably not and gut.”
Micah let his hands fall to his side. There was something about the way that Susannah was looking at him that made him squirm. As if she were waiting for him to figure it out. But figure what out?
Then it occurred to him. Like a bolt of lightning illuminating a dark night, his mind put the pieces of Susannah’s puzzle together.
“This is why you don’t date?”
Susannah became suddenly interested in the dirt under her thumbnail. “Maybe. I guess.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“How would you know?”
“Because it doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.”
“No, what matters is what type of person you are and whether you have feelings for someone—not that you had cancer and are now in recovery.”
Susannah tapped a finger against her lips. Her eyebrows were pulled down into a V, and her eyes seemed to be glistening. Was she going to cry?
“I can’t have children, Micah.”
“What?”
“Because of the type of cancer I had, I can’t have children.”
“What does that have to do with anything? Why would that make you decide to stop dating?”
“Because there’s no point.”
“No point?”
She looked at him directly now, her chin up and her eyes daring him to argue with her. “We both know what that means to an Amish family, to an Amish man. Sure, I dated before my diagnosis, but now I understand—”
He cut her off, his impatience suddenly overpowering his vow to let her tell the story in her own way.
“You understand what exactly? That no one would want you? Because that’s foolish and... Well, it’s wrong.”
“Is it?”
“Yes!”
“I don’t exactly have men lining up at the door.”
“Maybe because you keep everyone at arm’s length.”
“Or maybe because they would want children.” Her anger was winning out over her embarrassment.
Micah was almost relieved to see the return of the Susannah he’d come to know—obstinate and strong-willed, sure, but not heartbroken. One more minute of the heartbroken Susannah, and he would have pulled her into his arms and embarrassed them both.
“Not all men want kinner.”
“All Amish men do. Trust me, I know.”
She leaned her neck forward, twisted her hair into some sort of knot and then secured it with bobby pins that were lying on the bench. How did women do that? He couldn’t brush his own teeth without looking in a mirror.
She adjusted the kapp on her head, then turned and stared at him, as if she was daring him to push further.
Fine.
He’d push.
Because Susannah needed to realize that any man would be lucky to have her as a fraa, children or no children.
“Not everyone wants children, Susannah. You can’t not date because of that.”
“Of course I can, and that’s a personal decision, thank you very much.”
“So what do you see as your future? Living with your parents the rest of your life? Hiding in your sewing room and making quilts for other families because you don’t deserve to have one?”
He knew he’d hit a nerve by the way she catapulted off the bench.
“I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my future.”
“Oh, really? Because you’re pretty intent on sticking your nose in mine.”
“I have been trying to be your friend.”
“You’ve been trying to corral me, to keep me away from anyone in this stupid town, to keep your girlfriends safe from me as if I’m some kind of ogre that might corrupt them.”
But Susannah wasn’t listening to him anymore. She was storming away as if they were an old married couple having a fight. He didn’t know if he should follow her or not, but by the time he made up his mind that he should, she’d gone into the house and slammed the door quite forcefully behind her.
Which pretty much ended any conversation they were having.
Chapter Six
“You haven’t talked to him in two days?” Deborah yanked on the yarn she was knitting with. It was a pastel color and self-striping. She was making a baby blanket for her schweschder. Someone in Deborah’s family was always about to have a baby. It was a good thing that she was a fast knitter.
Susannah had stopped by to drop off some hot pads and aprons she’d made from fabric scraps. Deborah’s family had a good-sized produce shed where they sold everything from fresh vegetables to eggs to knitted items. Susannah kept a corner table filled with quilts, pot holders, aprons, even table runners. Though she offered to work one day a week at the shed, Deborah’s parents insisted there was no need. They had twelve children, so there was always someone willing and able to work a few hours.
She’d brought along an infant quilt that she was hand sewing the binding to. As she knotted her thread and pulled it through the back of the quilt, she tried to think how best to answer Deborah’s question.
“It’s a simple yes or no.”
“Yes. We haven’t spoken since Tuesday.”
“Because you’re embarrassed?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Why would you be embarrassed, Susannah? It’s not like you dyed your hair pink.”
“Indeed.”
“Anyway, I think I know what’s really going on here.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“It’s so obvious.” Deborah waved a knitting needle at her and then stuck it back into her next stitch and tugged again on the ball of yarn. “You have a crush on Micah Fisher.”
“I do not!”
“I think you do.”
“And I think you’ve been staring at that ball of yarn too
long, because you’re sounding a little crazy.”
“You don’t want him dating anyone else.”
“Of course I don’t. He’s trouble wrapped up in suspenders.”
“Okay. That sounded plausible when you first told me of your plan to tag along with him. I even admired you for sacrificing your free time to keep him in check.”
“I do not keep him in check. Trust me on that.”
“Many in our community were perhaps too quick to believe the rumors about Micah, and I’m embarrassed to admit that I might have been one of them. You have to admit that he is...different.”
“Oh, I’m aware of that.”
“Does he still have the phone?”
“Of course.”
“Still wearing Englisch clothes?”
“He occasionally swaps out his straw hat for his baseball cap.”
“But none of those are actual crimes.” Deborah finished the row she was knitting and turned the blanket to purl in the opposite direction. “After he first arrived, when he was sneaking out of his own house, I thought he wouldn’t last more than a week.”
“The trouble he does manage to get into is so...” Susannah stared down at the needle and thread in her hand, trying to remember what she was doing with it. “Trivial. That’s what it is—trivial. Silly stuff.”
Deborah stopped knitting and waited for Susannah to look up at her. Lowering her voice, as if she could cushion the blow, she asked, “Did you hear about his picture in the paper?”
“What?”
Deborah reached down into her large purse. She pulled out a paperback book, what looked like a sandwich wrapped in wax paper, a bottle of water and a tube of hand lotion.
“Doesn’t that bag hurt your shoulder?”
“Mostly it sits on the ground.”
“I still don’t understand why you carry so much around.”
“If you had eleven siblings, you’d understand.”
“I suppose.”
“Here it is.” Instead of looking pleased with herself, Deborah’s expression said that she wanted to apologize. She didn’t, though. Without saying another word, she handed a copy of the local newspaper to Susannah.
“Why would I want to read about the city’s contract for a new water tower?”
“Not there.” Deborah reached over and flipped the paper so that Susannah could read below the fold. “There.”
Susannah actually felt light-headed as she stared down at the photo of Micah standing in front of the barn that was only partially completed. He was wearing his usual cocky smile. In the background it was plain to see several other Amish workers picking up tools or climbing down from the roof. If she guessed, Susannah would say he’d taken it as they were breaking for lunch.
“I can’t... I can’t believe he’d do this.”
“Trivial, as you say, and yet plenty of folks in our community are upset about it.”
“Why did you wait so long to show it to me?”
“You’ve only been here a half hour.”
“Still, I would think you’d have pulled it out as soon as I climbed down from my buggy.”
“I’m not any happier about this than you are.” Deborah resumed knitting. “I don’t like being the bearer of bad news.”
“I just... I can’t believe Micah would do this. He submitted it for photo of the week?” As she continued reading, her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “He won fifty dollars?”
“So it says.”
“He doesn’t even need the money. I know he’s making plenty from my dat, and besides, he rarely has time to spend it, since he’s working for his daddi in the mornings and with the horses in the afternoon.”
“It wonders me.”
Susannah refolded the paper and held it out to Deborah.
“I’m sorry,” Deborah said.
“For what?”
“Ruining your day.”
“I’m glad you showed me.” Susannah stared down at the paper that they were now both holding, then she jerked it back. “Maybe I should keep it, if that’s all right with you.”
“Sure. Of course.”
Susannah set the offending newsprint down next to her purse. She tried to focus on the quilt in her hands. Sewing always relaxed her. It was immensely satisfying to see random pieces of fabric become something that would warm or comfort another person—often a person she didn’t even know. She slipped her needle into the binding of the quilt, pulled it through, then slipped it into the quilt itself. The ladder stitch was one of her favorites, invisibly closing the two seams together. If only life were so easily patched.
Deborah cleared her throat. “So, about your crush...”
“I do not have a crush on Micah.”
“Then why did you wait so long to tell him about your cancer? Why did you wait until he stumbled over the fact?”
“I don’t know, honestly. I thought about telling him—a few times. But always it seemed like such a downer, or like I would be asking for sympathy.”
Instead of answering, Deborah raised an eyebrow and motioned for her to continue.
“And I didn’t want his sympathy. You have no idea how tiresome it is to have people pat you on the hand and ask ‘how are you getting along, dear?’ in that syrupy-sweet voice.”
“They mean well, I’m sure.”
“Of course they do, but I’m not fragile. I’m not going to break in two simply because I had cancer. In fact, you know what?” She tugged three more stitches through the binding, tacked down the corner and then stowed her needle by rocking it through both layers of fabric. “I do like being around Micah, or I did, because he didn’t know about my cancer. He treated me like he would any other woman.”
“Ah.”
“Ah? That’s your response? Ah?” Susannah realized in that moment that she’d been avoiding examining her feelings toward Micah. Was she afraid that she was falling for him? That was ridiculous. Micah Fisher was not her type, and even if he was, he wasn’t staying in Goshen. Still, there was something about him that she’d never encountered before in the few men she’d dated.
“What response did you expect?”
“I don’t know. I thought you might understand. You know how it was when I first found out.”
“I’m the first person you told.”
“And then when Samuel broke up with me.”
“He didn’t deserve you. By the way, I heard that girl from Shipshe he was dating dumped him.”
There was a time when news of Samuel caused her heart to twist, but Susannah realized she wasn’t really interested in his dating life. Sometime between their breakup and now, she had moved on.
“I never felt around Samuel like I do around Micah.”
“Oh, my. That sounds serious.”
“Nein. It’s not like that. I keep telling you. It’s less like when you have a crush on someone and more like I can be myself. Not Cancer Survivor Susannah but...just Susannah.”
“I suppose it makes sense.”
“What does?”
“This strange attraction you two have, and don’t deny that he likes being around you, too. It’s plain as day to anyone with eyes and a brain.”
Susannah folded her quilt, stuffed it into her sewing bag and sat back in the lawn chair. “Please explain.”
“Micah is attracted to you—”
“He is not.”
“He touched your hair.”
“Whatever. Probably he was in shock. Go on.”
“Micah is attracted to you because you’re not a risk taker. You’re a rule follower. You’re the ultimate challenge to a guy like him.”
Susannah felt an irrational urge to cover her ears, and yet, didn’t she want to hear her friend’s opinion? Deborah had always been the one person who would be completely honest with her. Even during her
illness, when she was bald and exhausted and looked terrible, Deborah had been refreshingly candid. Instead of claiming she looked fine, Deborah had suggested they add color to her wardrobe. Then she’d proceeded to knit incredibly soft hats and scarfs in blues and greens and lavender, claiming the color gave her a healthier glow.
Susannah didn’t know if it had helped her glow. She’d never really thought of herself as a glowing type of person. But the small gifts definitely lifted her spirits, that and the fact that her friend had been honest with her.
“You’re an attractive woman, Susannah. And it’s not prideful for me to say that about you. It’s only prideful for you to think it of yourself.” Deborah paused, stared out at the tables laden with goods to sell and then glanced back at Susannah, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Or maybe pride isn’t involved at all. Maybe it’s just an observation.”
“Danki.”
“Where was I?”
“You were explaining why Micah is attracted to me, something that I have to tell you I don’t see at all.”
“What about the night you were fishing, when you thought he was going to kiss you?”
“I should never have told you that.”
Deborah frowned down at her knitting, paused to count her stitches, placed a marker and resumed working on the row. “We’ve been telling each other about first kisses since we were fourteen.”
“You and Josiah behind the schoolhouse.”
“Uh-huh.” Deborah grinned at the memory. “As I said earlier, I think maybe you and Micah started out as enemies...”
“Scripture reminds us to have an attitude of kindness to all.”
“Then whatever you felt for one another moved to friendship when you began to understand each other.”
“We’re also called to be friends to one another—love your neighbor as yourself.”
“And now it’s blossoming into something more than mere friendship.” Deborah focused on the row she was knitting with a flourish of needles and waited.
Susannah had no idea what to say. Was it possible that Deborah was right?
“Comments? Insights? Objections?”
Susannah felt an unexpected release of the tension she’d been carrying around for some time. Her shoulders relaxed and the headache that had been teasing her all morning dissipated. She had the sense that she was letting go of something that she’d been holding on to for a long while, perhaps since she’d first talked to Micah standing in the road leading to their respective houses.
An Unlikely Amish Match Page 8
