“And I’m glad to be back.”
His dat rocked for a few minutes, struck a match and lit the pipe. Finally he said, “Do you think you’ll stay?”
“Ya. I told you that. I’m done wandering.”
“Because it would break your mamm’s heart for you to leave again. That’s why she’s so intent on finding you a fraa.”
“I thought it was your idea.”
His dat held the pipe by its bowl, pointed the end at him. “Wouldn’t hurt you. Personally I think a man is happier when he’s married with a family.”
“I know you do.”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t know. I used to. I used to be able to picture myself that way, but life seems to have different plans.”
“Life doesn’t have plans at all. ‘For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord.’”
“Well, maybe the Lord’s plan isn’t for me to be married.”
“Have you prayed on it?”
“I guess.”
They sat in silence, his father drawing on the pipe. Noah stared out into the darkness. Fireflies darted back and forth, and he could hear an owl call out to its mate.
“You’re not the first in our family to wander, you know.”
“I’m not?”
“My bruder Josiah.”
“You never speak of him.”
“What is there to say? He wrote, at first. I was only seventeen when he left, and he was twenty-two.”
“A long time ago.”
“Indeed.”
“Where did he go?”
Instead of answering that question directly, his dat said, “Josiah was never happy. If it was winter, he longed for summer. And in the summer, he couldn’t wait for the snows to come. There was something restless about his spirit, about his attitude toward life.”
“So he left?”
“He did. The first couple of years, he would come back every few months. Long enough to raise my parents’ hopes that he was staying. But he never stayed. Last I heard from him, he was in Nova Scotia living with the Mennonites. That was over twenty years ago.”
“Nova Scotia?” Noah tried to imagine that. “Is he still Amish?”
“Couldn’t say. I suppose some part of him will always be.”
“You’ve never told me this before.”
“You didn’t need to hear it before.”
“And now I do?”
“I’m not sure, son.”
Noah thought about that a moment. He had no doubt that his dat cared for him, that he always had. He did question whether he’d ever be able to live up to his parents’ expectations. So instead of trying to explain how humiliating his most recent venture into dating had been, he said good-night and walked into the house.
Chapter Seven
Olivia Mae sat at the kitchen table, her Bible open in front of her, clutching a cup of hot tea. On the floor beside her sat the bags of thrift-store sweaters. She’d intended to frog at least one of them, but then a heavy exhaustion had claimed her and she’d found herself unable to do anything but clutch the tea and occasionally take a sip of it. Darkness had fallen outside the window.
She wondered about Noah and Francine. Had their date gone well? Why did that thought not fill her with as much happiness as she’d thought it would? She wanted to find Noah a wife. She couldn’t do anything about her bleak situation, but she might be able to help his. She told herself that maybe that was her purpose in life—to find love for others.
Mammi walked into the room, hobbled over to the stove and placed her fingertips against the teapot.
“Should still be hot,” Olivia Mae said. “Want me to make you a cup?”
Mammi shook her head as she reached for the tin of tea bags and plopped one into a cup. She covered it with hot water, dunked it repeatedly and then dropped the tea bag into the trash. Finally she joined Olivia Mae at the table, her fingers interlaced around the cup, a smile on her face.
“We have much to be grateful for.”
“I guess.”
“You’re worried about him.”
“Of course I am.”
“But he’s home now, and he wasn’t harmed. You did gut, Olivia Mae. You found him, and you brought him home.”
Olivia Mae wasn’t sure how to respond to that. When she’d found her grandfather, sitting with his back pressed to the neighbor’s barn, unsure of where he was or why he was there, her heart had broken. It was past time that she stopped ignoring their situation and did something about it. If she didn’t, someone else would. Their neighbor, Isaac, had looked terribly concerned when she’d stumbled out from behind the barn, guiding her bicycle with one arm and her grandfather with the other. “Isaac will speak to Lucas.”
“Of course he won’t. There’s no reason—”
“There is a reason, Mammi.” She raised her eyes and studied her grandmother. This was a gut evening. Mammi was in the present for now. Perhaps she could make her see how desperate their situation was becoming. “It’s Lucas’s job—every bishop’s job—to look after the people in their community.”
“We are fine.”
“We’re not fine.”
Mammi had been staring into her tea, looking out the window at the darkness, even studying the ceiling, but now she met Olivia Mae’s gaze. “He frightened you.”
“Ya, he did. Daddi didn’t know where he was. He didn’t recognize Isaac at all.”
“We’ve known him for years, since before we moved to this house.”
“Isaac is a gut neighbor and a gut friend. He’ll speak to Lucas.”
“And what will Lucas do?” Mammi’s chin came up defiantly, and Olivia Mae almost laughed. Eighty-eight years old and still stubborn.
“Lucas will come and speak with us. He’ll want to know what he can do to help, and he’ll insist that we take Daddi to the doctor.”
“There’s nothing the doctors can do. We both know that, and Lucas does, too.”
“Maybe. Or maybe there are new medicines.”
But Mammi wasn’t listening.
“I wish you could have known your daddi when he was younger. I first met Abe when he’d come down to help his parents with the harvest. Have I told you this before?”
Olivia Mae nodded slightly, but she didn’t mind hearing the story again. There was grace and mercy and hope in the telling.
“He’d moved to Maine, where your bruders are now. I suppose they heard the way he bragged about the land there, heard his memories of a different time and took them to heart.” Mammi sipped the tea, smiled slightly. “Abe was a hard worker, always was. When I first saw him he was covered in dirt, sweaty and he smelled bad. But I lost my heart the first time he smiled at me.”
Olivia Mae was listening to Mammi, but instead of imagining her grandfather, her mind drifted to Noah, standing on their front porch and handing her the letter box, smiling shyly... Yes, she could see how a girl could lose her heart over a single smile.
“He was so strong, and I knew... I was certain he would take care of me. I never...” Her voice wobbled. “I never imagined this.”
“Daddi may have many years left, but we need help. This isn’t the first time he has wandered off. What if he ended up on the main road? What if he accepted a ride with a stranger? How would we find him?” Her resolve hardened at that thought, and the look of fear on Mammi’s face. This was too much for her, too much for the both of them. Olivia Mae had thought she was doing the right thing by allowing them to stay in their home, to spend their final years in a place they loved and were familiar with, but now she wasn’t so certain.
“I’ll call Ben tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. Your bruder won’t be checking the phone shack.”
“Then I’ll call him on Monday. I’ll call him and tell him how things are.
Maybe he will think of something that we haven’t.”
Mammi nodded, but only slightly. They both knew that Ben would want them to sell the house and move to Maine. He’d mentioned it more than once, and he’d only agreed to let Olivia Mae move in with their grandparents as long as it remained a healthy environment. Those were his exact words, and the memory of them almost made Olivia Mae put her head down on the table and weep.
Mammi had been determined to stay in Goshen—to cling to their old life. Moving to Maine wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she’d envisioned all of those years ago.
Daddi didn’t seem to know where they were, and there was at least that to be thankful for. As far as Olivia Mae knew, he’d be just as happy living somewhere else.
And Olivia Mae? She didn’t know what she wanted. She only knew that she had somehow failed in her attempt to allow her grandparents to spend their final years in the community where they’d always lived.
* * *
She dreamed that she was still searching for Daddi, only in the dream she couldn’t find him. The days and nights melded together in the way of dreams, and she wandered constantly, calling his name with Mammi’s pleas in her ears.
Find him, Olivia Mae. Please find him.
She woke more tired than when she’d first lain down.
When she walked into the kitchen, she found Daddi sitting at the table, smiling and talking about a wren that he’d seen at the feeder. Mammi stood at the stove, pretending that all was well.
The morning sped by in a blur of activity—preparing for church, harnessing the mare to the buggy, helping her grandparents make their way down the porch steps. May sunshine splashed across the road, and birds sang and the mare clopped merrily down the road, tossing her head occasionally. Olivia Mae realized there was much to be grateful for, even in these times of trouble.
Perhaps she was being overly dramatic. There would be sunny days in Maine, as well. Or maybe Ben would think of another solution. She was determined to speak to Lucas after the service, which was taking place at his house. She wanted a chance to explain things without her grandparents interrupting.
The service calmed her fears and strengthened her resolve. The first sermon was from the Old Testament—Genesis, Chapter 37. Ezra was preaching, and his voice was calm, confident, assuring. “Gotte provided for Joseph, even as he sat in the well that his brothers had thrown him in. Gotte hadn’t forgotten Joseph, and he hasn’t forgotten you.”
Daniel King preached the second sermon. It was from the book of Acts, the twenty-fifth verse of the sixteenth chapter—the story of Paul and Silas in prison. Olivia Mae knew the passage well. She’d often marveled at the terrible things the apostles had endured. More than once, she’d read this particular passage and been inspired by the fact that Paul and Silas were singing hymns to God, even as they were shackled in a cell.
“We’re shackled, too,” Daniel said. “For sure and certain we are. Only our shackles are made of different things—our fears, our disbelief, even our past can shackle us. But Gotte, His eye isn’t on our past, it’s on our future.”
If ever there was a service that spoke to Olivia Mae’s heart, that calmed her troubled thoughts, this was it. After the final hymn and prayer, she helped in the serving line and decided she would eat later. Looking out across the tables that had been set up on the lawn, she saw that Lucas had finished eating and was speaking to a group of children. It was a perfect time to ask if he had a few minutes to talk. She was walking toward him, when the shouting started behind her.
She turned toward the voices and was shocked to see Noah and Francine nose-to-nose.
Everyone was staring as she hurried over to them, though no one had interrupted the argument yet. It wasn’t unheard of to have a disagreement at an Amish gathering, though it was rare at a church meeting. Most people were on their best behavior at church, but the Amish were as human as everyone else. Apparently either Francine or Noah had reached the limit of their patience.
“A horse blanket, Noah. I’m still itching.”
“I’m sorry that I’m not fancy enough for you.”
“Fancy? We didn’t even have silverware.”
“What does that—”
“You didn’t even ask me what I would have liked to eat, or where I would have liked to go.”
Jane was tugging on Francine’s arms. Olivia Mae expected to find her friend in tears, but that wasn’t the case at all. Francine was angry, and she was bound and determined that Noah know it.
Olivia Mae put a hand on Noah’s arm. “Let’s go for a walk.”
He jerked away his arm, his attention still on Francine, on defending himself. “You didn’t even try the food.”
“I couldn’t!” Francine turned and stomped toward the barn, Jane jogging to keep up.
Noah finally seemed to realize that they’d caused quite a scene. “Women,” he muttered, and strode off in the opposite direction—toward the horse pasture.
Olivia Mae stood there, unsure whether to go after Francine or Noah.
“Want me to talk to him?” Noah’s brother Justin was trying to hide a smile as he spoke to Olivia Mae.
“You think this is funny?”
“I think it’s typical.”
“Of?”
“A man who’s on unfamiliar ground.”
Which made a certain amount of sense. “I’ll talk to him.”
She hadn’t had time to find out how the date went the night before, but from what she’d just seen, it had been a disaster. Why was she not surprised?
By the time she reached Noah, he was sitting with his back against a tree, studying the horses cropping at the new May grass.
She sat down beside him and waited.
Finally he said, “I told you I wasn’t any good at this.”
“You might have mentioned as much once or twice.”
He turned to her, and she thought that Noah would proceed to defend himself. Instead he shook his head, smiled sadly and said, “You certainly do say what you think.”
“As do you, from what I heard back there.”
Noah tore off his hat, as if he needed something to stare at, something to do with his hands. He twirled it round and round, pausing now and then to dust off some imaginary dirt. Finally he said, “I thought I was doing what you said.”
“Such as?”
“Well, I thought a picnic would be nice. You know, instead of a gas-station date.”
“What’s wrong with a restaurant?”
“I don’t know. Too many people watching you. You’re trapped at a table with nothing to look at but each other. It’s all very awkward.”
“A picnic, it sounds good in novels...”
“Don’t read many of those.”
“But in reality a lot can go wrong.”
“So I learned.”
“Why don’t you start from the beginning?”
He went through it all—how he’d arrived early, the food that he’d picked up, even the horse blanket and the kiss.
“Oh, my,” she said, when he was finished.
“Ya.” He smiled at her ruefully, like a schoolboy caught skipping class.
Telling the story seemed to have eased some of his tension. At least he was able to laugh at himself now. He stuck the hat back on his head and smiled at her. “So...”
“What?”
“Tell me what I did wrong.”
“Are you sure you’re ready to hear that?”
“You’re the dating expert.”
“Matchmaker—it’s not the same thing.”
“Whatever.”
“All right. Well, as I said, a picnic is a chancy thing, especially for a first date.”
“I should have stuck to a restaurant.”
“Definitely. Then you don’t have to worry about the food. You know it
will be good, and your date can choose whatever she wants, which for Francine is very important.”
“I don’t understand.”
Olivia Mae sighed, stared out at the horses and finally said, “Francine is diabetic.”
Dawning spread across Noah’s face. “All I had to drink was sodas.”
“Plus fried chicken, potato chips and cookies—none of those things are good for a diabetic, and combined they probably would have sent her blood-sugar levels sky-high.”
Noah sat forward and studied her. “I’m an idiot.”
“Nein. You couldn’t have known, but that’s an important component of dating—you learn about the other person. For a fourth or fifth date, a picnic might be nice. But for a first date?”
“Chancy.”
“Ya. I think Francine would have told you about her condition...eventually. She doesn’t hide it exactly, and most of us know.” Though as she thought about it, that alone didn’t seem to explain the angry reaction that she’d seen from Francine earlier. “Was the park busy?”
“Ya. Kids everywhere.”
“Oh.”
“Oh what?”
“I’m sure she’d tell you herself if she was speaking to you, but Francine moved in with her bruder not so long ago, and she’s been a little overwhelmed by the sheer number of children he has.”
“She was probably hoping for an evening away from kinder.”
“Probably. And then the kiss...to have it interrupted by two of her nephews, that was just a fine icing of embarrassment on top of an already overcooked cake.”
Noah flopped back on the ground, staring up at the white wisps of clouds that were scudding across the sky. “Dating is so complicated.”
“People are complicated, Noah. Whether you’re dating or working on a business deal or being a gut neighbor. Every single person you meet is dealing with something.”
He rolled over on his side, propped himself up on his elbow and asked, “How did you get so wise?”
“Never said I was.”
“I’m being serious. Don’t look at me like that. I really am. How did you learn to navigate so seamlessly through these kind of interactions, and why aren’t you married?”
A Perfect Amish Match Page 8
