by Emma Miller
“Maybe.” Ginger nibbled on her lower lip. “From this stool, I hear all sorts of things in the front shop. Last week I heard that Mary Aaron Troyer is trying to match her twin boys with twin sisters from Kentucky.” She shrugged. “Not sure they’re keen on the idea. Are you going to the softball game?”
“You’re certainly interested in my comings and goings.” Lovage crossed her arms over her chest, pretending to be put out with the whole discussion. The truth was she was flattered by Marshall’s attention. Though she didn’t quite understand it. Not many boys expressed interest in her. She wasn’t pretty enough or flirty enough. If a boy wanted to walk out with a Stutzman girl, Ginger was his choice every time. “And no one invited me.”
Ginger ran the length of stitch and when the sewing machine was quiet again, she said, “It sounded to me as if Marshall Byler just invited you. Everyone’s invited, anyway. It’s a neighborhood game. We’ve gone before. Sometimes boys from Rose Valley even come.” She snipped off a bit of loose thread from the halter with a pair of homemade scissors. “We play at Bishop Simon’s house. He has a good field, even a backstop. He’s nice. Jolly. And not too long-winded on Sundays. You’ll love his wife, Annie. She’ll make chocolate whoopie pies with peanut butter filling for the snack table. Wait until you taste them.” Ginger took a breath and went on without waiting for Lovage to respond. “You should accept Marshall’s offer.”
“I certainly should not.” Now Lovage was slightly peeved with her favorite sister for listening to what should have been a private conversation. Or maybe embarrassed. “I don’t even know him—don’t care to.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind if I ride home with him.” Ginger tilted her head and giggled. “Will you?”
“You’re impossible.” Lovage tried to sound vexed, but it was all she could do not to laugh at her sister’s boldness. She knew she should admonish Ginger for eavesdropping, but with four sisters, and now a houseful of brothers, who could expect privacy? It was impossible. And she could never be cross with one of her sisters for long. Certainly not over a boy. “You like all the single young men,” she reminded her.
“Most, but not all,” Ginger agreed. “Nothing wrong with liking the boys, so long as I remember everything Mam taught me about protecting my reputation.” Her sister’s amusement brought out her dimples. “I think Marshall is fun. Bay does, too. I know she’d ride home with him if he asked.”
“He thinks he’s so good-looking. Charming.” Lovage frowned, secretly wondering if she dared be so bold as to accept Marshall’s invitation. Then she asked herself, what would be the point? She wasn’t the kind of girl a boy like him would be interested in. She couldn’t fathom why he’d asked to take her home from the softball game. Was it a way to get in good with Ginger? But that made no sense, because Ginger already said she was interested in him. Marshall Byler probably knew he could get any girl in the country into his buggy.
“Marshall is good-looking. But also faithful.” Ginger carefully studied the halter she’d finished, found no flaws and set it aside. She looked up at her sister. “And you really aren’t interested in him?”
“Ne, I am not.” Lovage said it with more conviction than she felt. “I just arrived in Hickory Grove. I’m certainly not going to get involved with some fast-talking farmer my first week here. Especially not now when Mam needs my help more than ever.”
Ginger rolled the remaining thread onto the spool and tucked it into the drawer under the tabletop. “Probably just as well.” She wrinkled her nose. “Marshall’s not your type.”
“And who is my type?” Lovage rested on hand on her hip. “Ishmael Slabaugh?” she asked, referring to the young man she’d come close to becoming betrothed to.
Her sister shook her head so hard that her scarf slipped off the back of her head. “Ne, I didn’t care for him. Too serious. I’m glad you didn’t marry him. You can do better.” She removed the navy scarf and tied it over her hair again. Unruly tendrils of curly yellow hair framed her heart-shaped face, a face with a complexion like fresh cream, an unusually pretty face with practically no freckles and soft, dark brows that arched over thick lashes and large, intelligent eyes.
Envy was a sin, and only a wicked girl would be envious of a much-loved sister. But not resenting Ginger’s golden hair, rosebud lips and pert nose wasn’t easy when you were a brown-haired string bean with a too-full mouth and a firm German chin. Lovage had to remind herself to put it all into proper perspective. She, Ginger, Bay, Tara and Nettie had always been close, and having sisters that everyone called the catch of the county was her burden to bear. Aunt Jane, her dat’s older sister, hadn’t made it any easier, always pointing out that Lovage took after her plain, sensible father and not her mother with her pretty face and quirky ways.
“It’s probably just as well you don’t ride home with Marshall. You’re not suited for someone like him,” Ginger continued. “He’s looking for a fun girlfriend.”
“What? And I’m not fun?” Lovage frowned, opening her arms wide. “How can you say that? I’m fun. I like to do fun things.”
Ginger giggled. “You are a lot of things, but fun isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when I think of you. You’re strong and brave and caring. And you’re dependable. You’ve always been there for your family and anyone in need. But fun?” She wrinkled her nose. “Not so much.”
Lovage rolled her eyes.
“If anything,” Ginger went on, “you can be the opposite of fun. You never do anything that’s not comfortable for you. You never... What’s the Englisher phrase? Step out of your box? Bay and I are sure you’d have a better chance of finding a beau if you didn’t take yourself and life so seriously.”
“You’re wrong,” Lovage insisted. “I don’t have a beau because I don’t want one. And I certainly don’t want a husband. Not right now, at least.”
“Me, neither,” Ginger confided. She rose from her seat and carried the newly finished halter to a peg on the wall. “I want to go to frolics and enjoy myself for a few years. When I marry, it will be for life. Plenty of time to be serious then.”
“Mam thinks I should be looking for a husband,” Lovage mused. “Just last night when we were getting ready for bed, she reminded me that I have a birthday coming up.”
“You’ve got time. Twenty-five isn’t old age.” Ginger stood and perched on the edge of the worktable, crossing her legs at the knee and swinging a slim, bare foot. “And the sooner you marry, the sooner Mam will start thinking it’s time for Bay and me to make a match. And, like I told you, neither of us is in a hurry.”
“Goot. We agree on something.”
“But...” Ginger chuckled and shook her head. “Since you brought up the subject, I may as well have my say as chew on it like an old cow’s cud.”
“Say it then,” Lovage replied. “You know you will, anyway.”
“Okay, so maybe...” Ginger leaned forward and looked her straight in the eye. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so stubborn, and listen to someone once in a while. You know I love you more than gingerbread, and I only want what’s best for you.”
Lovage grimaced. “All right, all right. Say it and get it over with.”
“I’ve been talking to Bay and we agree. Our advice to you as the new girl is to make friends and go to the singings and the ball games and the frolics. Enjoy yourself before you settle down with a husband and babies. I’m going to the softball game. I think we all are. You should come with us. You’re a mean catcher, and we need one. Most of the girls are afraid of the ball.”
Lovage suddenly felt nervous. “What if this Marshall pesters me to ride home with him?”
Ginger shrugged. “I doubt he will.” She broke into a sassy grin. “Not when I give him my best smile.”
Lovage sighed and glanced away. A part of her wanted to go to the softball game, but this thing with Marshall suddenly seemed like so much pressure. “But what if he does?”
Lovage crossed her arms over her chest. A part of her wanted to tell Marshall she’d ride home with him, just to prove to Ginger that she could be fun.
“Come on. I dare you to do it.” Still grinning, Ginger poked Lovage in the arm with her finger. “Tell you what, sister. If you ride home from the softball game with Marshall Byler Saturday night, I’ll take your turn at washing dishes for a whole week.”
Chapter Two
Lovage knelt on a carpet of thick moss and pulled up a few dandelions that were sprouting up beside the fish pond. “Your herb beds are coming along beautifully, Mam. I didn’t think you’d be this far along with them.” She dropped the dandelions into a bucket with the few weeds she’d already pulled. “And the waterfall is perfect for this spot. I love the sound of the water. It’s so relaxing.”
Her mother placed freshly cut sprigs of lavender in a basket and rested her large, dirt-streaked hands on her hips. “I’m so glad you’re finally here, Lovey. I’ve missed you so much. No one appreciates my garden like you do.” She studied the twenty-foot, oblong pond with its bubbling cascade, miniature lily pads, cattails and decorative rock border, and smiled. “I wish I could take credit for this, but I can’t. The pond, the Irish moss and the wrought-iron bench were already here when Benjamin brought me to look at the farm. When I walked through that gate and saw this herb garden and the flowing water, I fell in love with the place. I told him that this was the one before I even set foot in the house.”
Lovage stood up and brushed the soil off her apron. She was barefoot, as was her mother, and both wore midcalf-length dresses, oversize aprons with large pockets and wide-brimmed straw bonnets over their prayer kapps.
Lovage was pleased that she and her mother had found a few minutes to be alone, even if it was to work in the garden. As the firstborn, she and her mam had always been close, and had become more so after her mother had been widowed three years ago. Lovage had missed her mother dearly in the time they’d been apart. She’d always considered her mother her best friend, so this morning was doubly precious.
When her mother married their late father’s best friend the previous year, Lovage had remained behind in New York when her mam and her new husband, Benjamin, and all their children, had made the move to Delaware. Lovage had four sisters and a brother, and Benjamin had five sons still at home, so it had been quite an effort to move them all. While the family got settled in Delaware, their mother had entrusted her with the responsibility of selling the livestock and the farm equipment, as well as disposing of the household goods.
Blending two large families and two homes into one wasn’t done easily or quickly, and the couple had decided that a new start, a new home and a new community would give them the greatest opportunity for success. Lovage was glad to remain behind to help her mother in whatever way she could, but she’d missed the bustle of her large family and was glad when the last of the decisions were made, the final shipment of household goods was on its way to Delaware, and she was free to come.
“Smell this lavender,” her mother said, bringing her back into the present. “And see how the thyme is growing. I was afraid that it wouldn’t. But there’s more rainfall here than back home, and the pond helps. There’s a good market for dried lavender, for sachets and hanging arrangements.”
“The soil seems free of rocks,” Lovage observed.
Her mother laughed. “No rocks in Delaware. At least not down here. Benjamin says it gets a little rocky upstate near the Pennsylvania state line. This whole garden used to be fenced in for the dairy cows. I wouldn’t be surprised if my hoe took root and blossomed.”
“The cows had a pond and wrought-iron bench? I’m confused.”
“For years it was a cow pasture and then, when the English farmer retired, his wife wanted a pretty pond and an herb and flower garden. You can see someone loved and tended it. Either that or the cows wanted somewhere nice to sit.”
Lovage laughed, picturing a cow sitting on the iron bench with a gardening trowel between her hooves. “I can see that this is a wonderful spot for you. But you inherited Grossmama’s green thumb. Any plant will grow for you.”
“And you have the gift, too,” her mam replied. “It’s a true blessing.”
Lovage clasped both of her mother’s strong hands and led her to the wide iron bench with the high back and the grapevine pattern. A grape arbor arched overhead with spreading leaves and tiny green concord grapes, providing relief from the hot July sun, something they both could relish. “Sit with me,” she urged. “You’ve been on your feet since before six this morning.”
Her mother’s smile lit her green eyes. “And that’s different from every other morning in what way, dochtah?”
“It isn’t. That’s the thing. You shouldn’t have to get up so early. You have Ginger and Bay and the younger girls to help you with breakfast and the chores. And now me. I want you to take better care of yourself.”
“It’s a wonder how I managed before you got here, my love.”
“Be serious.” She caught her mother’s hand again and clasped it with affection, taking in the broken fingernails and calluses. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Lovage thought with a glance at her own hands. Too bad she didn’t inherit Mam’s sunny disposition and lovely features instead of taking after her father.
She looked into her mother’s smiling face and tried to reason with her. “You have to let us help you, especially now with all these extra boys in the house. Boys needing clothes washed, eating everything that isn’t tacked down, tracking in mud and wood shavings. And now that I’m here, I’ll be able to take over a lot of your chores, just like at home in New York.”
“This is our home now.” Her mother pulled her hand free and hugged her. “And those boys are Benjamin’s sons and now my sons and your stepbrothers.”
“I know that.”
Her mam patted her cheek fondly. “Of course, I know how much you did for me both before my marriage to Benjamin and after. But...now that you’re here, things have to be different. It’s time you started thinking about yourself. About the life you’ll have separate from me—marriage, your own home, babies, God willing.”
“I told you I don’t want to talk about that.” Lovage gazed out over the garden. “My place right now is with you, helping you.”
“Oh, Lovage.” Her mother sighed. “You being my eldest, it’s natural that you feel the most responsible. But it’s time you flew the coop, my chick. Find yourself a good man and let him court you the way you deserve.”
Against her will, Lovage thought of Marshall Byler and how he had flirted with her the previous day at the harness shop. “And what if that’s not what I want?”
Her mother drew back, looking at her with true concern. “You don’t want to marry and have your own home? You don’t want a husband and children? I don’t believe that. Children are God’s greatest blessings. And His grace, of course. If any woman was born to be a mother, it’s you, Lovage.”
Lovage removed her straw hat and dropped it onto the brick walkway, letting the breeze ruffle her hair. Carefully thinking over her words before they spilled out all higgledy-piggledy, she straightened her starched white kapp and repinned the back of her hair securely. “I do want those things. It’s every girl’s dream... Her own kitchen...red-cheeked babies with sticky hands and butterfly kisses. But—”
“But nothing. If you want those things, you need a husband. And you need a partner to share the burdens of life,” her mother said softly. “A godly man who shares your faith, and will laugh with you and lend you his strength when you most need it. Don’t you want that?”
“I do want all those things someday,” Lovage assured her. “But not now. Now, I want only t
o be here with you, to help you through this.”
“Help me through this?” Her mother’s eyes widened in puzzlement and then she sighed. “Lovey—”
“There you are, my Rosebud,” boomed a deep male voice. Benjamin was a sturdy, fiftyish man of medium height, with rusty brown hair streaked with gray and a pleasant, weathered face with a high forehead and a broad nose under his straw hat. His full beard had a reddish cast and that, too, had begun to gray. At the moment, he was carrying a tray of assorted herb seedlings and had a twenty-pound bag of bonemeal tucked under one arm.
“I should have known to look here first.” He swung the white picket gate wide and strode into the garden. “And you with her, dochtah. What do you think of the place? I warn you, your mother had the final say. So if it doesn’t please you...” He chuckled. “You must blame her.”
Lovage’s mother laughed with him.
“Speak up, wife,” he implored. “Where do you want the bonemeal?”
She got up and went to him. “Anywhere at all, Benjamin,” she answered, taking the tray of seedlings from him.
“That’s no answer. Shall I drop it in the pond or balance it on a fence post?”
“Anywhere will do, but preferably not in the water,” Rosemary said, setting the plants on the ground. “Here.”
“She’s full of honey-do’s, this wife of mine.” Benjamin winked at Lovage conspiratorially and lowered the bag of bonemeal to the ground beside a section of newly worked, bare dirt. “You see how she treats me?” He straightened and slipped an arm around her mother’s waist.
“Go on with you.” Her mam blushed like a schoolgirl. “You’re embarrassing Lovage. What will she think of us?”
“That we suit each other like bread and honey,” he teased, wrapping his other arm around his wife.
Giggling, Rosemary tried to push her husband’s hands away, but with no great effort.
Uncomfortable, Lovage glanced away. She truly liked her stepfather, but their outrageous behavior was going to take some getting used to. She could never remember her father acting so, and she knew their marriage had been a happy one. Physical affection wasn’t something one saw often with an Amish couple. And certainly not one of their age. Both were old enough to be grandparents and Benjamin soon would be. His married daughter, Mary, was expecting twins.
