The Amish Bachelor's Choice

by Jocelyn McClay

  How ironic that here she was again, crying. Willing to give up woodworking if only she could have the new owner for her own.

  * * *

  Malachi walked back through the workshop. He could have sawed off all his fingers and he wouldn’t have noticed. All he could feel was the pain evident in Ruth’s eyes. He had no words against that kind of heartache. Maybe what he’d done was wrong, but it’d been done for her.

  All morning he’d been trying to think of something to say that would breach whatever happened between them on the ride home yesterday. Something about Leah’s pending visit had disturbed her. Before he could think of a way to broach the subject, the bell had jangled as the store door opened and Leah had come in. Malachi hadn’t been expecting their visit this early. Correction—he hadn’t been expecting their part of the visit to him this early.

  He’d shaken her hand, asking after her and Solomon’s well-being, when Ruth stepped through the shop door, a stunned look on her face. She’d slipped quickly into the office. Not knowing what else to do in the situation, he’d introduced the two women. From what he’d glimpsed of Ruth’s face as she dashed back out the door, that’d been a mistake.

  Turning to follow her, not sure what he’d do beyond wrapping his arms around her when he caught her, Malachi had felt a gentle touch on his sleeve.

  “Your aunt and I came into town to do a little shopping. Miriam was drawn into a discussion at the quilt shop.” Leah smiled charmingly. “I wanted to see your store. We thought you might give me a ride to the bishop’s home, where my daed is visiting as she didn’t know how long she’d be.”

  Malachi looked at her blankly, thinking that she’d be able to walk to the place faster than he could harness his horse and drive her there. He shot a glance at the closed workroom door. Perhaps he could ask Samuel to give Leah the ride, while he checked on Ruth. Samuel never minded driving with a pretty girl.

  Good manners and appreciation for the opportunities Leah’s father had given him over the years made him reluctantly nod. But, he resolved, good manners wouldn’t prevent him from making himself scarce during the rest of their visit to his aunt. Good manners also didn’t stop him from telling Leah to wait in the store while he checked something in the shop. Ruth.

  Never, in all his years of working with furniture, had trying to make something better actually made it worse. Returning to the store after seeing Ruth—seeing her devastated for some reason she wouldn’t say—Malachi noticed his hand trembling as it closed around the knob. He paused and exhaled slowly. After stepping through the door, he closed it on the normally comforting sounds of the shop and turned to see Leah watching him, a smile on her beautiful face.

  “Are you ready?”

  Malachi’s eyes swept over her. There wasn’t anything out of place. Except her presence in his business and life.

  “Ja.”

  * * *

  If Kip was surprised about the unexpected outing in the middle of the day, Malachi wasn’t. It seemed to be Leah’s way. She never outright asked. She sweetly maneuvered. With quiet, gentle nudges.

  Malachi didn’t like it. But he’d always allowed himself to be nudged along.

  It was a primary reason he’d left Ohio. He was afraid he’d be nudged right into standing in front of the district as the bishop joined them as man and wife. It was obviously what Leah and her father wanted. As to what Malachi wanted, well, it hadn’t felt right. It’d felt like a harness collar that didn’t fit well. After a while the collar would wear a hole in his hide. And who knew how long the nudging would stay gentle.

  Malachi took his time harnessing the gelding. It was some time later when he poked his head in the store door and advised Leah the buggy was out front. If she’d wanted to check out the shop, she’d had plenty of time. Hopefully enough so she wouldn’t need to come back.

  Climbing up by the wheel, he felt somewhat churlish when he didn’t offer Leah assistance into the buggy. She gave him a sweet smile, but her eyes reflected surprise as she settled into the seat on his left side. A wife’s side, Malachi noted sourly as he gathered the reins. Leah gracefully tucked her cape around her and Malachi signaled Kip to head out.

  Malachi glanced over at the perfect profile visible just beyond the edge of her black bonnet. Returning his attention to the horse in front of him, he sighed. Yes, she was perfect, but for someone else. Not him. He clicked to Kip, who picked up his pace. Malachi’s tense shoulders began to relax. The sooner he delivered Leah to her father, the better.

  Kip made Malachi think of his new Belgian geldings. And another way to encourage plodding companions other than nudging. Jeb, the older Belgian, would get the field plowed or the lumber hauled in a slow and steady pace. It was his teaming with eager and enthusiastic Huck that got work done more quickly, and Malachi could tell, more enjoyably, for the pair. Malachi’s lips quirked. Kind of like him. And...his badger. He could put his shoulders into the collar every day and pull willingly to accomplish things, but it was being in harness with Ruth that brought joy and passion to those accomplishments.

  Malachi sat up straighter at the realization. Leah looked over and smiled. Sweetly. Gently. Her right hand gracefully dropped, palm up, to the seat between them. Malachi kept his focus on the straps of leather and brown back that moved in steady rhythm ahead of him. He could still see the hand rested on the seat. Kip’s ears flicked back at the instructions that telegraphed down the reins to move faster. Malachi subtly shifted to the right until his elbow brushed the side of the buggy.

  * * *

  “Everything all right?”

  Ruth wasn’t surprised at Rebecca’s question. She forced her stiff lips to smile and strove to ignore what she knew were red-rimmed eyes.

  “Everything’s fine, thanks,” she lied to the waitress, trying not to wince as she said the words. Everything was far from fine. Which was why she was taking action. Do not ask the Lord to guide your footsteps if you are not willing to move your feet. The proverb popped into her head. I’m moving my feet, Lord. I just omitted the asking part.

  A grimace edged across Ruth’s face. She had no excuse not to ask Gott to guide her steps. It was why she always wore the kapp. Women covered their heads when they prayed. As they were to pray continually, the kapp was always worn.

  But if it was Gott’s will that she stay, why would He make it so painful? So it must be His will that she go. And it was what she wanted, so she was keeping her promise to Daed that she choose her path. She was simply going to move her feet before she could change her mind.

  “I just need to use the phone.”

  “Oh, sure,” the young woman agreed before turning to the next customer with a smile. A big smile. Even in her misery, Ruth turned her head to see who was greeted with such enthusiasm, then instantly wished she hadn’t. It was Samuel. Of course.

  She whipped around and hunched her shoulders, trying to make herself smaller or, hopefully, even disappear before he saw her. It didn’t work. She caught his quizzical glance at her before he flashed a smile that matched the one the pretty waitress offered him. Ruth waited for a minute before she picked up the phone receiver, hoping Rebecca would ring him up and he’d move on. No such luck. Samuel was in full flirt mode and Rebecca was a willing recipient. She even rang up a few other customers, who looked askance at Ruth as they passed her hovering at the end of the counter.

  Sighing, Ruth lifted the receiver and dialed the number she’d memorized. As she listened to it ring, she cleared her throat several times. Maybe no one would pick up and she wouldn’t have to do this. No. It had to be done. She drummed her fingers on the countertop to drown out the sound of the man’s voice behind her. The voice that was too much like his brother’s.

  “Hello, Mr. Morrow? This is Ruth Fisher of Fisher Furn—I mean Schrock Brothers Furniture. Yes. I’m fine, thank you. How are you doing? That’s gut to hear.” She let the man ramble on for a moment. He ta
lked even faster than she did.

  “Say, Mr. Morrow,” Ruth interjected when he took a breath. She hunched around the phone, dropping the volume of her voice. “When we visited you earlier, you mentioned you knew of a few people in Portage or Madison who might be interested in hiring me if I was available. I was wondering if you could provide some names and numbers.”

  Ruth squeezed her eyes shut as Mr. Morrow exclaimed over this request. Although not listening, she was throbbingly conscious of the conversation behind her and who was in it. “Yes, yes. I realize it’s a big step. But it’s one I’m ready to make. Things have changed here and I...I need to make a change, as well.” A tear dripped down from her compressed eyes and splashed on the black plastic phone. Opening her eyes, Ruth hastily wiped it off.

  “If you could give me a few names now, that’d be wonderful. Yes, you know we’re not available at phones for a callback. Yes, I’ll wait.” Briefly and painfully. Her heart thumped with every second as Mr. Morrow apparently pulled up a computer screen. “Yes, I’m ready. Okay, got that. And the next? Could you please repeat those last two numbers?” She struggled to make the pen mark on the sweat-dampened note in her hand. “Okay. No, that’s enough for now. Thanks so much, Mr. Morrow.”

  Carefully setting the receiver into the cradle, Ruth muttered thanks to a distracted Rebecca and hustled out the café door. Once outside, she flicked a quick glance back through the glass windows that fronted the café. To her relief, Samuel wasn’t paying any attention to her. And as she had his attention, Rebecca wasn’t, either.

  Pent-up energy ebbed out of Ruth. She managed to get two storefronts down before she leaned against a hitching post, knees weak from making the call and the realization of the change in her life that she’d just implemented. She blew out a deep breath. Perhaps it was possible to go back.

  The rapid tattoo of hoofbeats filtered through her bonnet. Turning her head, she saw a bay coming down the street. It was Kip. In the buggy was Malachi, his face turned in conversation to Leah, seated on his left. Where Leah would continue to sit with Malachi. Ruth watched them travel down the street and turn the corner.

  No. Going back wasn’t possible.

  * * *

  Malachi looked up from the onerous task of accounting to see Samuel prop a broad shoulder against the door frame. He frowned. Samuel never sought him out in the office. If he had something to talk about, he’d call Malachi over when he was in the workshop or wait to discuss it at home over chores or supper.

  “Well, big bruder. I don’t know what you did, but apparently you did it with your standard flair for effectiveness.”

  Setting his pencil down, Malachi swiveled the wooden desk chair to meet his brother full on. Something in Samuel’s normally irreverent tone conveyed that complete attention was necessary. Attention that’d been fractured since Ruth had stared at him with devastated eyes.

  Since returning from driving Leah to meet her father at the bishop’s house, he’d thought of nothing but Ruth, which was why he’d pulled the accounting out to punish himself. Several times he’d sprung from the desk chair to pace to the workshop door, only to return and plop down in the chair again. He didn’t know yet what to say to settle whatever was going on in that active mind of hers.

  She was a reasonable woman. Normally. Sometimes. Maybe his drive home would provide time to consider a reasonable response. He’d leave a little early and stop by the shop where Hannah worked and let her know he’d be picking up Ruth in the morning. It was unlikely Ruth would jump out once she was in the buggy, regardless of what she thought of their conversation. It’d be a good time to talk. Maybe she’d calm down overnight, a little at least. If people started speculating from the frequent buggy rides that they were walking out—Malachi shuffled that around in his mind much as a horse might work a new bit in his mouth—maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

  “She’s leaving.”

  Malachi was confused with Samuel’s flat statement. “Of course she is. She and her daed weren’t planning to stay long.”

  “I don’t mean Leah. I mean the other one. The one you want, big bruder. Ruth is leaving.”

  “What?” Malachi stood up so fast the wooden desk chair rocked against his leg. Its motion slowed much faster than his suddenly racing heart.

  “Just overheard her using the phone at the Dew Drop. She called a Mr. Morrow.” Samuel’s eyes quirked toward Malachi to see if the name meant anything to his brother. Reading that it did, he continued, “She was asking about names and numbers of people in Portage and Madison that might want to hire her. She said something about needing to make a change. I think you had a change in mind for her, as well. But I don’t believe it was this one.”

  When Malachi’s gaze darted to the workshop door, Samuel straightened from his slouch against the doorjamb. “She’s not there. You’ve got some work to do, bruder.” He shook his head. “When I find the woman I might want to marry, I’m going to make it a lot less complicated than you.”

  Staring at the door, Malachi eased back into his chair. He didn’t like complicated, either. How did it get to this point? How did he fix it? As he gazed unseeingly out the office window to the well-ordered showroom beyond, things finally started to fall into place like the handcrafted furniture it displayed. Intricately, seamlessly, beautifully.

  He wanted Ruth for his wife. It was as simple as that. He’d come to Miller’s Creek for a business and had found a match. Now if only he could make Ruth see that, as well.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bits of red rubber flew across the lamp-lit table as Ruth furiously erased what she’d just written. She slumped back in her chair and tossed the now-eraserless pencil onto the table. If she hadn’t already gone back and forth several times between knitting and the coursework tonight, she’d go back to knitting again. But she’d dropped two stitches on one row of the much-abused afghan and picked up three stitches the following row. Those were just the mistakes she was aware of. It was a mess. So was Ruth.

  The pup lay at her feet under the table. Even he was tired of the pacing back and forth. Ruth curled her toes to keep her foot from tapping and stayed put, although her eyes returned to the mound of yarn in the rocker. She sucked in and blew out a breath in a long huff.

  Usually her knitting, unlike her inept quilting, was impeccable. And calming. Nothing was calming tonight. Ruth’s mind churned as much as her stomach. The challenge with the knitting wasn’t just this evening. She’d been making one mistake after another on the project. Several rows required ripping out and redoing, an exercise Ruth despised.

  She frowned at the pile of dark blue. The pup raised his head at a few escaped foot taps. How far down did it need to be ripped out? The rows had been neat and organized. Until she met Malachi. No, she’d managed to keep it together beyond that. The stitching had gotten uneven when she’d fallen in love with him.

  Crossing her arms on the paperwork strewed over the kitchen table, Ruth dropped her head upon them. Experience is a hard teacher, the old adage said. She gives the test first and the lesson afterward. Ruth clenched her jaw. She’d failed the test. Miserably. She’d done the opposite of what she’d planned—she’d fallen in love with an Amish man.

  Ruth bit her lower lip as another unwanted homily surfaced. Advice when most needed is least heeded. She hadn’t listened to her own advice. If she had, she wouldn’t have fallen in love. And definitely not with a man who already had a sweetheart. How foolish was that?

  I will not cry, she vowed as she pushed off the table, though her lips felt numb and her eyes hurt. Sitting back, she stared at the papers spread over the table’s surface. The writing on the pages could be hieroglyphics for all she saw.

  Apparently it was Gott’s will for her to leave Miller’s Creek. Because she certainly couldn’t stay. Not now. An Amish man had tempted her from her path. Ruth pressed her lips together to prevent a sob. But Gott had wisely put an obstacle
in that direction. Malachi’s already-chosen match. So Ruth’s path must lie in another direction. One she’d finally set in motion.

  Her eyes wandered around the home she’d grown up in. The one she’d shared with her daed. She looked at the furniture pieces he’d made. Those would go with her, of course. Even if she had to cram them into a tiny apartment with considerably less space than the rambling farmhouse had. But all her memories of her father were here or at the shop or somewhere in the community. And he wouldn’t be around to make new ones in new places with her anymore.

  A few shallow breaths fought off her threatening nausea. She calmed herself with the realization that she didn’t have to sell the farm. The acreage could be rented, while the house remained available for her to stay in. Should she come back for a visit. Or return permanently, if the Englisch world wasn’t all she hoped it to be.

  But if she stayed in the Amish community, she’d already disregarded the other husband prospects here. She’d be an old maid. Bile crept up the back of Ruth’s throat. The pain of that stigma and loneliness would be less than the ache of seeing a married Malachi every day and every other Sunday at church. Assuming she could get her job back.

  Dropping her chin, she tried to focus on the rows of numbers in front of her. Concentrate on this. This test you won’t fail. With a sigh, Ruth shoved the coursework to one side of the table. The challenge of learning didn’t bring the joy it once did. The pencil rolled and dropped to the floor with a clatter, and the puppy scrambled after it.

  Ruth wearily got up, amazed at how tired just trying not to cry made her, and picked up the pencil before Rascal gnawed on it with his needle-sharp teeth. Picking him up as well, she rested her chin on his head.