by Emma Miller
Marshall strode toward the house, eyeing his grandmother. This was no slipup, her inviting the Kings to supper on the same night he’d invited Lovey and her family, and he was more than a little exasperated with her. “Grossmammi, where do you want me to put these pies the Millers brought?”
“In the pantry.” Lynita opened the screen door for him.
“Where in the pantry?” He looked down at his grandmother. “You’d best show me.”
“Atch, what’s gotten into you, sohn? You know full well—”
“Show me where you want them, Grossmammi,” he repeated, holding her gaze. His tone wasn’t unkind, but the look on her face told him she knew he wasn’t happy with her.
His grandmother’s eyes behind her wire-frame spectacles darted in the direction of the Kings, now coming up the walk in a row like ducklings. All three had their arms laden with food, with Faith bringing up the rear, her little legs pumping to keep up with her parents.
“But the Kings have just arrived—” Lynita began.
“They will find the kitchen easily enough,” he told her. “They’ve been here before.”
His grandmother puckered up her mouth until she looked like she wasn’t wearing her teeth. “Fine,” she declared.
Marshall walked through the large country kitchen, past the Stutzman women, who were setting out food, and directly into the pantry. The moment Marshall and his grandmother were inside the eight-by-ten room that had floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves on three sides, he set down the blueberry pies he was carrying and slid the paneled pocket door shut behind him. She took a step back from him, fussing with a row of jars of freshly canned tomato sauce on the counter.
“You invited the Kings to supper,” he said. Realizing he was still wearing his straw hat, he swept it off. “Without telling me, Grossmammi. What do you have to say for yourself?”
She looked up at him, fiddling with her fingers now.
“You knew I specifically invited Lovey and her family for supper because I wanted us all to get to know each other better. Because Lovage Stutzman is the woman I intend to marry. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Faith King is a sweet girl, but she’s not for me.”
Lynita tucked her hands behind her back. “Eunice Gruber said she heard that Lovage Stutzman hasn’t even agreed to walk out with you. She says you’re making a fool of yourself, telling everyone you’re going to marry her when she’s not all that interested in you.” She drew herself up to her full five feet. “Eunice said she heard from her cousin that Lovage was betrothed to be married back in New York and the boy broke it off. Eunice didn’t know why, and it’s not our business, but you do have to wonder—”
“Let me stop you right there,” Marshall said, holding up a finger. “What did our preacher say only a few weeks ago about gossip? You and Sam and I discussed the matter that Sabbath after services. Something from Ephesians, I think.” He stroked his chin.
“Sohn—”
“I remember,” he interrupted her. He felt bad that he was practically chastising his grandmother, but as the only adult male of the household, the faith of everyone under his roof was his responsibility. And his grandmother would certainly never hesitate to call him on such a misstep. She was the one who had taught him when he was barely off lead strings and into long pants that one of the cornerstones of their faith was their intention to strive every day to live the life God wanted them to live, not just to talk about it come each Sunndaag. “‘Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen,’” he quoted.
Lynita looked as if she had swallowed a sour, unripe grape from the vine in the yard. “Was she?”
“Was who what?” he asked.
“Lovage.” She lowered her voice. “Was she betrothed in New York?”
He looked down at the blueberry pies Lovey had brought him. And thought of the lemon meringue pies she’d left in the wagon so as not to make Faith feel bad about bringing the same pie, or, he suspected, the fact that Lovey’s pie was much nicer-looking. Faith’s meringue wasn’t as stiff or high and looked weepy, not to mention she’d burned it just a tad. But Lovey hadn’t said a word; she’d just put her pies away. No one would accuse Lovey of hochmut, improper pride. She was a woman who lived her faith without making a show of it like some did.
“I don’t know if she was betrothed, Grossmammi,” he said carefully. He could hear Lovey and her mother and her sisters talking out in the kitchen. They were discussing a quilting project the women in Hickory Grove were planning to benefit the schoolhouse. “I don’t care if she was previously betrothed.”
“You don’t care?” Lynita questioned. “But what if she did something improper? What if she’s not...suitable to be your wife, a man as upstanding in our community as you. A man who has the care of his young brother and old, feeble grandmother.”
He looked down at her and scowled. And then he had to smile, because there was nothing feeble about Lynita Byler. “You shouldn’t have invited the Kings without talking to me first about it. You and Lois’s scheming, it’s doing nothing but making Faith uncomfortable.” He leaned over her. “Because she doesn’t like me.”
“Atch! She likes you. What young unmarried girl in Hickory Grove doesn’t like you?” She threw up her tiny hands. “Any girl in the county would have you for her husband.”
“But, Mammi, I don’t want any girl,” he said, returning his wide-brimmed hat to his head. “I want Lovage, and if you can’t be happy for me, I’d ask that you at least not interfere.”
“But I haven’t—” His grandmother pressed her lips together.
And Marshall knew that was as close to an apology as he was going to get from her. Hearing Lois King’s high-pitched voice as she touted her daughter’s stitching abilities, he moved to the pantry door. “Let’s plan on making our plates in the kitchen and then eating out back under the trees at the picnic tables. I need to talk to Lovey. We’ll be back in ten minutes and then we can eat.”
“Sohn. I don’t think you should—”
Marshall slid open the pantry door and everyone in the kitchen went silent...as well as his grandmother. They were all looking at him, the women and Benjamin and Ephraim, when he stepped out. He strode across the big room, the heels of his boots sounding loud on the wide-plank floorboards. “Come outside with me.” He walked past Lovey, grabbing her hand as he went by.
She gave a huff but allowed him to lead her out of the kitchen and across the back porch. He heard the sound of Will and his brothers in the barnyard as he led their stepsister around to the side yard, where they could have a bit of privacy. He halted in front of a purple flowering butterfly bush. He looked into her pretty green eyes. “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t tell now if she was amused or upset. “My grandmother. The Kings.” He still clasped her hand, and surprisingly, she was letting him hold it.
“It’s fine,” she said. “I was just surprised to see them.”
“Me, too. You probably guessed, but my grandmother invited them.”
“Because she and Lois are hoping you and Faith will get together.”
“Ya.” He took a step closer to her. “But Grossmammi and I have had a talk.”
“Ah.” She smiled at him, a smile so beautiful that it made his heart swell. “We wondered what was going on in the pantry.”
“I reminded her that you were my choice, not Faith. I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble with her.” He took Lovey’s other hand. He could hear Sam laughing. He and Jesse had gotten out a red rubber kick ball and were playing with it in the grass near the barn. “The Kings are good people. They’re good neighbors. I enjoy sharing supper with them. I’m just disappointed they’re here because I wanted to spend time with you and your family.” He took a deep breath and let it go, letting his annoyance over the change of pla
ns go with it. “Before the Kings came up the driveway, I think you wanted to tell me something?” He cocked his head. “About...us maybe?”
Lovey blushed and looked down, but then up at him again. “Ya.” She said it in an exhalation. “Just that...that I’ll be your girl.”
He pulled his head back. “Not that you’ll marry me?” he teased, pretending not to understand. “I thought you were going to tell me you want to be wed as quickly as I can make the arrangements with the bishop.”
She laughed. “That’s putting the cart in front of the horse, don’t you think? Since you’ve only been my beau less than a minute.” Her green eyes twinkled.
He squeezed both her hands, smiling so hard that it hurt his face. He wanted to ask her what had changed her mind, but didn’t want to push her. He could be impulsive at times, but his Lovey took time to consider words before speaking them, deeds before acting on them. And he liked that in her.
She tugged on his hands, but not hard enough to break his clasp. “I’d best get back to the house, and you should probably be a good host and go talk to my brothers while we lay out supper.”
“Why can’t we stand here a minute longer?” he said quietly. “So I can look into your beautiful eyes.” He winked at her. “I might even try to steal a kiss.”
She bit down on her lower lip, suppressing a giggle. “We can’t stay any longer like this because we have an audience,” she whispered. Then she pulled one hand from his and pointed over his shoulder.
He turned around to see his little brother and hers standing side by side, not twenty feet from them, the red ball idle between them. Both were gawking, their eyes wide, as if they’d never seen a courting couple standing so close, holding hands.
Marshall turned back to her and they laughed together, and the sound of her laughter in his ears made him wish time would move swiftly forward, because he couldn’t wait to make Lovey his wife.
* * *
It was just after breakfast, the dishes were drying in the rack, and Lovage and her sister Tara were washing eggs Tara had collected in the henhouse that morning. It was the first week of September already, but the summer heat hadn’t yet broken. Benjamin’s Englisher fan rattled in the far side of the kitchen. For once the house seemed quiet, though. Rosemary had gone upstairs to strip the sheets on her bed and had taken Nettie with her. Ginger and Bay were working at the harness shop. Lovage had no idea where Jesse was, but she could guess he wasn’t far from Benjamin’s side; the two were becoming inseparable. Their stepbrothers were all occupied in the north field cutting the summer wheat before the real heat of the day was upon them.
With the kitchen empty for once, Lovage was enjoying spending a few minutes alone with her sister. Being seven years older, Lovage never felt she was as close to Tara as their other sisters. Since she’d arrived in Hickory Grove from New York, she’d been making an effort to do household chores with her because it was a great way to better get to know her little sister, who seemed to have grown into a young woman overnight.
“My friend Sarah says you and Marshall are going to get married,” Tara said to Lovage as she handed her two fresh eggs.
“I am walking out with Marshall, but I’ve not agreed to marry him yet,” Lovage explained, feeling a flush in her cheeks. She glanced at her sister. Tara was skinny like her but shorter, so she didn’t look gangly. Her eyes were green, too, but her hair was the prettiest shade of light red under her the scarf she wore. Their mam called it strawberry blonde. “How about you? Any boy caught your eye? You’ve been going to the Fishers’ singings pretty regularly.”
Tara shook her head, seeming emphatic. “I just go so Sarah can go. My friend Sarah Gruber. Her parents won’t let her go without me. They say I’ll keep her out of trouble.”
Lovage set the eggs on the wet dish towel in the sink and took two more from her sister. “Is Sarah the kind of girl to get herself into trouble at a church singing?”
Tara shrugged, hesitated and then went on. “Ginger doesn’t think you really like him.”
“Thinks I don’t like who?” Lovage picked up one of the eggs and rubbed a dirty spot with the dishrag. They never soaked eggs to clean them because the shell was semipermeable. Instead, they rinsed them off and gave them a good rub with a dishrag. If the egg was really dirty, she might spray a little watered-down vinegar on it.
It had been Bay’s idea to sell extra eggs in the harness shop from their mother’s hens. At first, Rosemary had thought it a silly idea. Their Amish customers all had their own eggs. But it turned out that Benjamin had enough Englisher customers that they were selling out what eggs they had every day. They were doing so well that Bay was talking about buying her own chicks come spring and raising them just to have eggs to sell.
“She says you don’t really like Marshall.” Tara kept her gaze fixed on the basket of eggs. “She says you’re just walking out with him because he, you know...asked. And there hasn’t been anyone since Ishmael,” she added quickly, and then stole a peek at Lovage. “But I think she’s just saying that because she’s jealous. Because she liked him first.”
Lovage sighed. Living with so many sisters, there was always some sort of mild drama, and she had learned a long time ago not to get worked up over things that were said. Especially when she was told something secondhand rather than receiving it directly. “I’m sure that’s not it,” she said, wanting to give Ginger the benefit of the doubt. “Hasn’t Ginger been spending time with Sarah’s big brother Thomas? They were sitting together at the school picnic Friday night.”
Tara giggled. “Sarah says Thomas is definitely smitten with her. But all the boys are.”
Lovage set the clean eggs on a towel on the counter to dry. “Your time will come. You’ll see.”
Tara shook her head. “Not me. I’m not walking out with anyone for years. How would I decide who to let court me?” she said, sounding worried. “Who to marry? It’s such a big decision.”
“Tara!” Nettie called. “Tara, we need help!” She sounded as if she was shouting from the top of the back staircase.
“Coming!” Tara shouted at the ceiling.
Lovage handed her a dish towel to dry her hands. “Go, I’ll finish here. Don’t let Mam lift those heavy baskets of laundry,” she warned, as her sister hurried out of the kitchen. “You girls carry them.”
Lovage started transferring more dirty eggs from the basket into the sink, gazing out the window as she went about the familiar task. She found it interesting that Ginger was telling Tara that she didn’t really like Marshall. Lovage wondered if maybe Ginger was a little jealous, although maybe jealous was too strong a word. Envious perhaps. She’d always been that way. As children, if Ginger picked a butter cookie and Lovage a molasses one, halfway through her snack, Ginger would always wish she’d chosen the molasses cookie and would then spend five minutes trying to convince her big sister to give up the remainder of hers.
It had to be something akin to jealousy, because nothing had passed between Lovage and Marshall in the last three weeks that could have been interpreted as Lovage not really liking him. The truth was, the more time they spent together, the more she liked him. There was something about Marshall’s easygoing attitude that gave her a confidence she’d never felt before. Not that she never questioned herself anymore, but he was making it easier for her to believe that she really was the things he said she was. Maybe even pretty. She smiled to herself. Pretty in a gangly kind of way.
A part of Lovage still wondered why a man like Marshall would be interested in someone like her. And sometimes at night, she lay in bed thinking of all the things that could go wrong between them. She worried he might become bored with her, because while she was trying to be more spontaneous, she was never going to be a girl like Ginger. Also, she was sticking to the guidelines of proper chaperoning. She rarely spent time completely alone with him; they almost always had other couples, Jesse, Sam or
even Lynita. But what if he was looking for a fast girl? He was always teasing her about trying to kiss her, even though he hadn’t actually tried. Would he be upset with her if he tried and she said no? Almost worse, what if she was so daring as to let him kiss her, and she was terrible at it?
Moving the clean eggs into a square cardboard egg carton, Lovage almost laughed aloud. Mam often teased Tara that she would go out of her way to find something to worry about. Was Lovage being just like her? Because she didn’t want to be a worrywart. She wanted to enjoy her courting time with Marshall and let their relationship unfold as it may over the next few months. The fact that he was still asking her to marry him every time they were together had to be a good thing, didn’t it? So maybe she needed to just relax and enjoy getting to know each other. And maybe she could even let herself start dreaming of being his wife, because suddenly it seemed that her life was full of possibilities. And all because she’d been slow to put sugar in lemonade!
Chapter Ten
Lovage lifted the skirt of her green dress and got down on her knees to restock the shelf of horse salves and ointments. Initially, when the family moved to Delaware, Benjamin had intended only to repair items likes harnesses and bridles, and sell a few goods like halters and bridles. But the old dairy barn was so spacious, and Tara so enterprising, that over the last few months more shelving was going up in the front of the shop and they were selling more and more items like the topical agents she was restocking now.
As she opened each box, she checked the packing slip to be sure they’d received what was ordered wholesale, just the way Tara had shown her. Marking each item as accepted, she then lined up the bottles and boxes on the right shelf. Today she was restocking wound dusting powder, antibacterial spray and a betadine solution for horses and other livestock. All the items were treatments most Amish kept in the barn. Not that they wouldn’t call a veterinarian when they needed one. Most families in Hickory Grove used Albert Hartman over at Seven Poplars. Once Mennonite, he was now Amish. Will had explained to her the other day, when Albert came out to have a look at their mares, that Albert’s bishop had permitted him to continue his veterinary work and even to drive a truck, but only during working hours. The rest of the time, he used a horse and buggy like all the other Old Order Amish.
