The Amish Spinster's Courtship

by Emma Miller

  She smiled at him, her gaze seeming to search his. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the dare. Once I got to know you, I should have told you.” She shrugged. “I guess I forgot about it. It just didn’t seem all that important. Not once we started walking out together. Once I began to...care for you.”

  “You’re right, it wasn’t,” he agreed.

  She nibbled on her lower lip. “But I still should have told you.”

  He took her other hand so that he was clasping both of them. He had so much to say, words he hoped he would have a lifetime to share with her, but for now, he just wanted her to know how he felt. How much he cared for her. “Lovey, from that first day I walked into Benjamin’s shop and saw you, I’ve been in love in you. I know I may seem lighthearted at times, but you have to believe me when I tell you I was never playing games with you. From that first ride home in my buggy when I asked you to marry me, I meant it, then and each and every time. I mean it now.”

  Tears filled Lovey’s eyes and he squeezed her hands.

  “I was never playing with your heart, either,” she said, taking a step closer to him. Standing so close now that he could feel the warmth of her body and smell her honeysuckle shampoo. “Because I love you, too, Marshall. So, ya, I’ll marry you. But only if we can marry soon, because I don’t think I can wait much longer to be your wife.”

  And then she shocked him by pressing her mouth to his as she held his gaze. Her kiss was so sweet, so tender, that Marshall’s knees felt weak. And just when he feared he wouldn’t ever be able to stop kissing her, he heard a peal of giggles. The two of them parted and turned to see Ginger, Nettie, Bay, Tara and Jesse all standing on the far side of the woodpile watching them, and he and Lovey laughed, too.

  Epilogue

  Four Years Later

  “Marshall! Elijah! Dinnertime,” Lovage called from the steps of the screened-in porch.

  “Coming,” Marshall called, striding across the grass toward her. “We were in the orchard.” He opened his arms wide to her. “Wait until you see how many Asian pears we have on the trees this year!”

  She smiled and felt a little flutter in her chest that had been there since the first day she met him. “Where’s Elijah?” she called. “He needs to wash up.”

  “Coming, Mam!” Their son, almost three years old now, burst out of the orchard and raced past his father.

  Marshall scooped up the little boy, who looked just like him but had her green eyes, and plopped him on his shoulders.

  “Look at me!” Elijah called. He was dressed just like his father in dungaree jeans, a blue shirt, suspenders and a battered straw hat. He held his little hands high. “Look how big I am, Mam!”

  “Just don’t fall and crack your head like an egg,” she warned. Then she looked to Marshall, who was grinning at her. She felt her cheeks grow warm. The Thursday in November almost four years ago when they had married, she thought she had loved him. But what she felt in her heart now was so much more. Her love for him had grown and matured beyond what she could possibly have imagined.

  “Grossmammi and Sam have gone to the Grubers’,” Lovage told Marshall. “I think he’s sweet on May. He jumps at every invitation he can get out of the family.” She held open the screen door for them.

  “Where’s Elsa?” Marshall asked, flashing her one of his handsome smiles.

  “Napping.” She sighed. “Thank goodness. I have a pile of ironing to do that’s a mile high and she’d have no part of that this morning.” She pointed to the table they kept on the porch most of the year round. It was their favorite place to eat. Here they were protected from the bugs and the sun and the wind, but in full view of their orchard, which was flowering now. “I’ll be right back with the food.” She looked up at their son on his father’s shoulders.

  Marshall lowered him to the porch floor and Elijah scooted past his mother and into the house.

  “Sit down,” Lovage told her husband, pointing to his chair at the table on the porch. “I’ve got everything on a tray to bring out. I just need to grab sugar.”

  “You want any help?”

  “Ne. How are your hands?” she teased from the kitchen door.

  He held them up, palms to her. “I washed at the barn because I knew better than to come to your table with dirty hands.”

  Lovage laughed and walked into the kitchen. First, she checked the baby, who, thankfully, was sound asleep in her little cradle Marshall had made with his own hands. Then she picked up a tray with ham sandwiches, broccoli slaw, potato salad and a measuring cup with sugar in it. “Hurry up, Elijah,” she called in the direction of the downstairs bathroom. She could hear the water still running. “We’ll wait for you.”

  Using her foot to open the door, Lovage stepped out onto the porch, just in time to see Marshall lift a glass of lemonade to his mouth. He must have poured it for himself from the big glass pitcher in the center of the table.

  “Atch! Don’t—”

  But it was too late. He took a big gulp of the fresh lemonade she’d just made, and his eyes got wide as he struggled to swallow.

  “You’ve done it again,” she said, trying not to laugh as she set down the tray and raised the measuring cup of sugar. She looked at the pitcher of lemonade and then at her husband. She couldn’t help but laugh because his eyes were watering and his mouth puckered.

  “I’ve done it again,” he choked. And then he grabbed her by her hand and pulled her against him.

  Lovage gave a little squeal. “Marshall, Elijah will—”

  “Elijah will what?” Marshall asked, taking the cup of sugar from her and setting it back on the tray. “See that his parents love each other? Or that his mother’s trying to poison his father?”

  She sighed with happiness as he pulled her close, and she pressed her hand to his chest to look into his eyes. “I’ll have you know, husband, that no one has ever died of unsweetened lemonade.”

  “Ne? Are you sure of that, wife?”

  Marshall kissed Lovey on the mouth and she laughed as she tasted the sourness of the lemonade, and the sweetness of her life.

  * * *

  If you loved this book,

  pick up these other stories of Amish life

  from author Emma Miller’s previous miniseries

  The Amish Matchmaker:

  A Match for Addy

  A Husband for Mari

  A Beau for Katie

  A Love for Leah

  A Groom for Ruby

  Available now from Love Inspired!

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from Their Convenient Amish Marriage by Cheryl Williford.

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  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for joining me in Hickory Grove, an Amish community just a stone’s throw from Seven Poplars in Kent County, Delaware. Rosemary and Benjamin have their hands full with their new blended family, don’t they? I suspect there will be bumps in the road, but the family’s love for each other and their faith will see them through.

  I hope you enjoyed Lovey and Marshall’s story. Marshall had me worried there for a few minutes. Thank goodness his grandmother intervened. We all make mistakes sometimes and it takes a wise man or woman to accept our loved ones’ shortcomings. I think Lovey and Marshall are perfect for each other, don’t you?

  I hope you’ll join me in Hickory Grove again soon. I have a wonderful story of forgiveness to share with you when I introduce Benjamin’s son Joshua to a newcomer, Phoebe. The love they find will truly warm your heart.

  Until we meet again, friends.

  I wish you peace and happiness.

  Emma Miller

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  Their Convenient Amish Marriage

  by Cheryl Williford

  Chapter One

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. A peek out the window showed another band of drenching rain coming in from the west.

  Finished with a sink of dishes, Verity Schrock wiped the sweat from her face on the sleeve of her dress and hurried out of the steamy kitchen with several ladies following on her heel.

  It seemed lately she rushed from one task to another, never finding time to sit down and enjoy a moment of the day.

  Fanning her hot face, she quick-stepped down the hall, ready to join the cluster of singers regathering in the great room.

  She’d been up since five, long before the old rooster had had a chance to give his first crow of the morning. An experienced cook, she enjoyed the task of making a tower of assorted shoofly pies, a chocolate cake with rich mocha icing, and for herself, a gooey pan of rich golden-brown apple crumble, her favorite dessert.

  Taking in a calming breath and clearing her voice, she surveyed the room for the soprano singer’s section and found Bunhild, the community’s seasonal matchmaker standing in the place she usually occupied. Purposely avoiding the meddling old woman, she slipped into the end of the alto singer’s section.

  Acting as if she were listening to the song director’s instructions, Verity situated herself closer to Clara Hilty, who was making a point of ignoring her best friend since childhood while holding back a fit of giggles behind her petite hand.

  With her gaze straight ahead, Verity’s finger searched for and found Clara’s rib cage, and gave her very pregnant friend a playful poke.

  Clara jumped, nearly knocking over the young lady standing in front of her.

  Everyone in the lines turned and glared their way.

  “Shame on you, Verity,” Clara muttered out the side of her mouth.

  Verity leaned in close to her friend’s ear. “You should have warned me Bunhild showed up for singing practice. I could have hidden in the kitchen closet until she’d left.” Putting on a heavy Pennsylvania Dutch accent, Verity held back her own giggles as she muttered in Clara’s ear, “Those Lapp bruders are still marriage-minded, and looking for a pretty young woman like yourself to wed.”

  Clara laughed out loud, amused by Verity’s rendition of Bunhild’s heavy northern accent. Verity couldn’t help but laugh with her. For as long as she’d known Clara, which was going on fifteen years, they’d both been consummate pranksters. Nothing had changed now that they were adults.

  Still grinning, Clara’s arms came up and rested on her rotund stomach. There would soon be a long-awaited first boppli for her and her husband, Solomon Hilty. Verity couldn’t help but be excited for them—and a little envious. She loved children, especially tiny babies. She had hoped for a half-dozen kinner of her own, but Gott had other plans for her life and gave her and Mark just the one sweet dochder. But she wanted to ignore unhappy memories. Her excitement grew as she thought instead about a new boppli in the community to care for and cuddle.

  Clara’s giggles turned into a delighted smile. “I could have warned you, but it’s so much fun watching you squirm under Bunhild’s gaze.” But then her expression went dead serious. “You know her matchmaking skills are known far and wide, and you being such a young widow makes the opportunity to play matchmaker too tempting for the old girl.”

  Verity pretended to adjust her kapp and readjust the pins holding down her bun, so she would have an excuse to lean in close to Clara again. “You’d better watch out. I could tell Solomon how much you really paid for that new sewing machine you bought off that Englisch woman.”

  Two spaces down, Pinecraft’s best solo soprano hissed like a leaky gas valve and gave both women a disapproving glare before going back to listening to Sarah Beth’s information on the upcoming fund-raising frolic where they’d be singing at Benky Park.

  When Verity looked back, Clara’s playful smile was gone. “You wouldn’t tell on me?”

  “I might,” Verity whispered, her eyebrow raised in a mock threat. But she’d never say a word about the extra twenty dollars spent. The seller had kindly thrown in a sewing basket full of threads and four packs of machine needles. A real deal.

  Known for his penny-pinching ways, Solomon Hilty would still grumble about the extra money spent. Verity wasn’t about to blab, but she ought to. Determined to wed Verity off, Bunhild Yoder was no laughing matter, and now she had to deal with her as soon as singing practice was over.

  Feeling eyes on her, Verity glanced up and released an irritated sigh. Bunhild was staring at her again from across the room and wearing that exasperating expression of eternal hope. Verity inwardly cringed. “You know I respect Bunhild’s skills as much as everyone in the community, but if I must listen to one more of her sermons on how marriage is Gott’s plan for your life, I think I’ll scream.”

  A loud knock at the front door sounded, redirecting Verity’s attention. “Whoops! Excuse me.” She slipped out of line and hurried to welcome the late singer at the front door. Working as Albert Hilty’s live-in housekeeper the last few years had proven to be hard work, but she’d grown to love the aging widower she’d known most of her life and his growing family. Life ran smoothly on the orange grove, which brought a sense of peace to her and her young daughter Faith’s lives.

  Verity hurried, convinced it was Helen at the door. She often came late to practices, especially if her precious three-month-old boppli had once again kept her up with night colic.

  “Well, it’s about time you got...” Verity’s playful words died in her throat at the sight of a tall well-built Englischer standing on the porch. He wore tight faded jeans and a white T-shirt that strained to cover his broad chest. A baseball cap perched on his long dishwater-blond hair advertised some brand of soft drink she’d never heard of.

  Her heart skipped a beat and then two. Overtly handsome men always made her nervous, like ants crawling all over her skin. This one made her extremely nervous. “Oh, I’m sorry... I thought you were Helen.” She took a quick survey of his smiling face and then glanced down at the sleeping dark-haired toddler he held. The pink-cheeked kind looked completely out of place next to the man’s firm biceps. “Are you looking for Albert or Solomon?”

  “Both.” He grinned. A dimple appeared in his cheek. “What are you doing here, Verity?”

  A chill rushed down her spine. The man’s words were spoken in the same husky voice that sometimes disturbed her dreams at night.

  “Leviticus?” It didn’t seem possible. Now that she took a good look he did seem slightly familiar, but nothing like the young Amish boy she’d loved and promised her heart to all those years ago. How many years had it been since Leviticus abandoned Pinecraft and their engagement plans? Nine, maybe ten? Yet h
ere he was on his father’s doorstep, activating the nerves in her stomach.

  He flashed a full-blown smile at her, again revealing the familiar dimple near his left cheek. “No one’s called me Leviticus in a long time. My Englischer friends call me Levi.”

  Her angst against the man revived, even though she thought she’d forgiven him a long time ago. “I’m not one of your Englisch friends, Leviticus.” She tried hard but couldn’t manage to take her eyes off his suntanned face and the way his blue eyes twinkled behind familiar thick brown lashes.

  She detected an angry red scar running the length of his unshaven right cheek. Her gaze dropped to the blond stubble peppered with ginger covering his chin. When he’d left Pinecraft, there’d been no scar and not much stubble, for that matter. He’d left wearing the plain clothes associated with their strict faith. Today, the man he’d become seemed perfectly comfortable in his Englischer clothes and worn-out running shoes.

  Averting her eyes, she let him pass through the front door. There were so many reasons why she didn’t want him back in Pinecraft. Forefront in her mind was the way he’d broken her heart and abandoned their dream of a life together. So why is he back? She motioned him farther into the house. “Komm. Your daed’s in the garden. I’ll fetch him for you.” A slight tremble in her voice revealed more about her irritation toward him than she wanted. She made her way past her mother and several chatting women, ignoring their inquisitive expressions and quiet murmurs as they moved down a long hall that led to the great room.

  “Verity, wait.” Leviticus tugged at her arm, his fingers barely touching her skin.

  Verity looked down at his tanned fingers pressed against the paleness of her arm and sent him a cautionary look. Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever touch me again.