A Husband For Mari (The Amish Matchmaker 2) (4 page)

Not that she was interested in him in any romantic sort of way. Her life was complicated enough without that. She’d proven with Ivan, Zachary’s father, that she didn’t have good judgment when it came to choosing a partner. And she had quite enough on her plate without more complications. A man was the last thing she needed.

She found her voice. “My day was good,” she said. “Everyone was really nice. There’s a lot to learn. I don’t know anything about the business, but I want to know everything.”

“I’d think Gideon would be an easy boss to work for. And Addy is fair. She speaks her mind and some might fault her for that, but there’s not a mean bone in her body.” He removed his heavy leather work gloves and shoved them into his coat pockets. “This can’t be easy for you, losing your job, your home. Making the move with Zachary and starting over in a new town.”

She looked up at him. How did he know about her being evicted from her trailer?

He smiled. “Sorry,” he said, seeming to know what she as thinking. “Zachary told me all about it. I hope that’s okay. He’s a good kid, Mari,” he added thoughtfully. “I don’t think there’s any need to worry about him.”

She hesitated. “I wanted to thank you for letting Zachary help you today.” She looked down at her sneakers and them up at him again. “And...I don’t know what you said to him, but it must have been the right thing. I was afraid he’d be in a funk when I got home, but he’s not. In fact, he’s great. He seems so...happy. And he apologized to me for his behavior this morning.”

The easy smile reached his eyes, lighting them from within and revealing hints of green and gray that she hadn’t noticed before. If he’d been a woman, people would have said that they were her best feature. In a man, they were remarkable.

“
Ya.
We kept him pretty busy,” James went on. “He carried a lot of coffee, fetched some nails and did some sweeping. We worked on how to drive a nail properly.”

“He told me you were going to bring a hammer for him to use. He was really excited about it,” she said.

“Good.” James nodded his head slowly. “I like your Zachary. You must be very proud of him.”

“I am.” She smiled. “It wasn’t necessary to pay him.”

“But it was.” He settled his gaze on her. “He earned it. I try to give fair wages for good work.”

She pushed her cold hands into the pockets of the coat, trying to warm them. “It was still good of you to take the trouble to make things easier for him. Kids don’t like change, and he’s had more than enough of it.”

“He was no bother. He really wasn’t. In fact, it was fun having him with us today. I’m looking forward to spending time with him tomorrow.”

James squatted in front of a wooden toolbox on the ground just outside the addition and began to unload his tool belt and fit everything inside. It was an orderly box, his tools clean and well cared for. Mari admired that. She liked order herself, when she could find it in her life.

“Zachary has a quick mind,” James continued. “And he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty. It’s plain to see that you’ve done a good job with him.”

“I try.” She stood there for a minute watching him, then realized it was silly for her to just be standing there. She’d passed on Sara’s message. There was no reason for her to linger. She put her hands together. “Well, I hope you like ham,” she said. “I saw one in the oven. I think Sara and Ellie made enough food for half the county.”

“Sometimes it seems like half the county’s eating with them. Sara has an endless string of pretty young women and their beaus as dinner guests. She hasn’t been in Seven Poplars that long, but she’s made a lot of friends here, and there’s no doubt she provides a much-needed service.”

“Not for me,” Mari blurted out, then felt her face flush. “I mean, I’m not here to find a husband. That’s not why I came here. We’re old friends. From Wisconsin. She’s just giving me a hand until I can get settled here in Delaware. I came for the job.”

He glanced up from his toolbox. “That’s what Zachary told me.”

“I’m not married. I’m not even Amish.” She felt as if she was babbling. “Not anymore. I was, but—” She pushed her hands deeper into the coat pockets. “Not anymore,” she repeated.

He nodded, holding her gaze. There was no judgment in his eyes.

“But you were born to Amish parents.”

“Sara told you?”

James shook his head. “A name like Mari Troyer?” He smiled that easy smile of his again. “It’s not hard to guess what your background is.”

“I left that life a decade ago.”

“It’s hard, leaving. Hard coming back, too.”

“Oh, I’m not... I didn’t come to be Amish again. It’s not who I am anymore,” she added softly, wondering what it was about James that made her feel as if she could stand there in the bitter cold and discuss things she hadn’t talked about in years.

“I think the people who raised us, our parents and grandparents and their kin, they’re always a part of us, whether we want them to be or not.”

“I don’t know about that. I guess I’m part of the English world now.”

He thought for a moment before speaking. “Has it been kind to you, that world?”

She glanced away. The way he was looking at her made her feel nervous about herself. About things she believed to be true. “Not particularly, but it suits me.” She shrugged. “And I can’t come back. It’s too late.” She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling oddly wistful. “Zachary and I are just here for a little while. I’ve done fine out there. It was just that the plant where I worked closed down. Jobs were hard to come by.”

James hefted the heavy toolbox. “I’ll be pleased to join you for supper. Mattie, she’s my sister, and the kids went to have supper with their
grossmama
. Mattie and her mother-in-law get on like peas in a pod. And Agnes can’t get enough of the new twins.” He took a few steps and then stopped, obviously waiting for her.

“Your sister has twins?” She caught up with him. “How old?”

“Six weeks last Sunday. William, he’s the oldest, and Timothy. They’re good babies. It’s their big brothers who cause all the fuss in our house.”

“How old are they?”

“Roman is three, and Emanuel is twenty-two months.”

She couldn’t help chuckling. “Bet they’re a handful.”

“Emanuel takes close watching. Turn your back on that one and he’ll be up the chimney or have the cow in the kitchen.” They reached the back porch and James carried his toolbox up the steps and set it against the wall of the house. “It will be fine here until morning. Saves Jericho, he’s my horse, from hauling it home and back tomorrow.” He opened the back door and held it for her.

Mari walked through the doorway into the utility room. Instantly, she was wrapped in the homey smells of food and the sounds of easy conversation and laughter. She slipped out of the coat, hung it on a peg. James did the same and began to wash his hands in a big utility sink.

Mari walked through the doorway, feeling as if she was drawn into the embrace of Sara’s warm kitchen.

“Mari, James, this is Peter Heiser.” She indicated a thin, beardless man in his early forties sitting at the table. “I know you’ll help to make him feel at home here in our community.”

“Peter,” Mari said as she slid into an empty chair between Ellie and Zachary. “Nice to meet you.”

Peter’s mouth opened, then closed; then his lips moved, but no words came out. Sweat beaded on his acne-scarred forehead as he nodded in her direction. His pale brown eyes were wide and stunned in appearance, like a frightened deer caught in the headlights of a car. His lips parted again, and something like a croak emerged. Mari expected the poor man to leap up from the table and flee the kitchen at any second.

James came to his rescue, sliding into a chair. “Good to have you with us,” he said to Peter. “Everyone. Shall we?” He closed his eyes and slightly inclined his head, a signal for silent grace.

Mari reached for her son’s hand under the table. He gripped her fingers, his small hand warm, clinging to hers. She smiled at him reassuringly, and he nodded before closing his eyes and lowering his head in imitation of the men and women around him. Mari did the same.

* * *

Mari’s head was still bowed when James opened his eyes. She looked so relaxed in prayer.
A brave woman and a good mother
, he thought. He didn’t care what she’d said; life couldn’t have been easy for her in the English world. It never was for those born into a different one. Not that the Amish lifestyle was a perfect one. Nothing on earth was, he supposed. But it was obvious to him that Mari’s struggles must have been more difficult than his own, and he admired her for her pluck and fortitude.

Sara’s cheerful urging for someone to pass the ham jolted James from his musing. He caught Peter’s gaze and offered him a friendly smile. Poor Peter. No wonder he needed Sara’s help to find a wife. The man was obviously terrified of women. Hands trembling, Peter almost dropped the plate of meat into Hiram’s lap. Hiram caught it in time, moving faster than James had thought him capable. Peter went white and his ears reddened. He was so flabbergasted by his near mishap that he hadn’t even taken a slice of ham for himself. Hiram, who never missed an opportunity to fill his stomach, helped himself to two pieces.

“
Ach
, I forgot the butter,” Ellie said. She started to rise, but Mari was quicker.

“I’ll get it.” Mari moved gracefully to the refrigerator and came back with the butter, offering it to James.

James glanced at Peter and then back at Mari and wondered if Sara had any notion of matching the two of them. He doubted it. Sara was good at reading people; Mari’s personality was too strong. Peter needed a gentle woman, maybe someone a little older than he was, someone who could overlook his social deficiencies. And Mari had made a point of saying she wasn’t here to find a husband. James knew Sara well enough, though, to suspect that didn’t mean anything to her if she set her mind to it. Sara could be a determined woman, especially when it came to the idea of there being someone for everyone. Of course Mari would have to join the church to marry an Amish man, but that wasn’t a far-fetched idea, especially since she had grown up Amish.

Mari took her seat again, murmuring something to her son. James couldn’t hear the boy’s reply, but whatever it was, it made his mother smile. A warm expression lit her brown eyes. She was an attractive woman, probably around his own age. She was rounded rather than thin and not more than medium height for a woman, but she gave the appearance of someone much taller. Her hair was russet brown, her brows dark and arching over intelligent, almond-shaped eyes. Mari wasn’t a flashy beauty like Lilly Hershberger, but James liked Mari’s wholesomeness better.

“Pass the ham back to Peter,” Ellie instructed.

Peter reached for the platter, his hands shaking.

James glanced at Ellie. Surely Sara wasn’t trying to match Peter with Ellie. She was
definitely
too strong to make a wife for Peter. He was very fond of Ellie. He didn’t care that she was a little person, but there was no spark between them. And he had no intentions of settling
for a wife. Maybe he’d picked up too many English ideas about romance when he was out in their world, but he wanted more than a sensible partner who shared his Amish faith and had reached the age of marriage. He wanted someone to love, a woman who would love him. He wanted a smart, sensible woman who would light up his life. He’d been waiting for that lightning strike, but so far that special person had never crossed his path.

His gaze gravitated to Mari again. At least he didn’t
think
he’d met
the one
yet.

It would be good to find the right woman, to move on from being alone to being the head of a family. He wanted a wife and children. He was ready to settle down, but he was a patient man. When the right girl came along, he’d court her properly, treat her tenderly and offer her his head and his heart for a lifetime.

Just as that thought went through his head, Mari met his gaze across the table and she smiled. He got the strangest feeling in the pit of his stomach. When he’d returned to Seven Poplars and been baptized, he’d made the decision to return to the Amish way of life, and that meant marrying an Amish woman. Mari had told him she had no intention of returning to her roots. She’d also said it was too late. But James knew firsthand it was never too late for God’s work. Which made him wonder what God had in store for Mari Troyer...and him.

Chapter Four

T
he following day James pushed open the back door of his old farmhouse and was greeted by the acrid stench of something burning, the fretful cries of a newborn and the combined wailing of two small boys. “Mattie!” he shouted. In the kitchen, smoke was rising from the stovetop in clouds, and from the hall came the shrill blast of a smoke alarm.

James crossed to the gas range and turned off the flame. Using the corner of his coat to protect his hand from the hot metal, he slid the pot over onto a cool burner. “Mattie!” he called. “Everything all right?” The kids continued to cry, but he knew them well enough to know they weren’t hurt. He opened a window to let out the smoke, dodged a yellow tabby cat that was fleeing for her life and scooped up twenty-two-month-old Emanuel, who was in hot pursuit of the cat.

The smoke alarm continued to squeal.

With his squirming nephew tucked football-style under one arm, James walked into the living room. Roman, age three, was sitting at the foot of the steps with his eyes shut and his hands over his ears, shrieking. “Roman,” James said. “You’re fine.” Then he called up the stairs. “Mattie? You up there?”

“
Ya.
Just finished feeding the twins!” his sister called from upstairs. Both of the newborns were crying now. “Can you make that smoke alarm stop? I don’t know why it went off! I almost had William to sleep!”

“That supper on the stove?” he called above the racket.

“What? Can’t hear you!” Mattie shouted back.

James deposited Emanuel on the bottom step beside his sniffling brother and grabbed a broom from the corner of the hall to wave it under the smoke detector and clear the smoke. Some men might remove the battery, just to shut the contraption up, but not James. He’d heard too many tragic tales of smoke detectors without batteries; his family meant too much to him.

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you for that noise!” His sister, scarf askew and face red, appeared at the top of the landing. A fat little baby, six weeks old and as bald as an onion beneath his tight-fitting baby
kapp
, was screeching like a guinea hen.

Like his brothers
, James thought. A healthy child with good lungs. The smoke detector finally went silent, and he lowered the broom. “I asked if that was our supper on the stove.”

“Not the chicken stew? Did I burn it?” She looked down at the screaming baby in her arms, then at James. “Again? I ruined our supper
again
?”

“Not ruined.” James waved her back. “You tend to the twins. I’ll see what can be done about the meal.”

Just then, Roman yelped, “
Mam!
Emanuel bit me!”

“Emanuel!” Mattie took a step down the staircase.

“I can handle this,” James insisted.

She smiled gratefully. “You’re a peach.”

He picked up the nearest small boy. “Time-out for both of you.” He pointed to a small wooden stool. “Three minutes for you, Roman, one for Emanuel.” The oldest child started to cry, but James remained firm. “Three minutes.” He put the second one on the sofa. “Stay there, Emanuel. If you get down before I say you can, no cookies after supper.” Emanuel might have done the biting, but if he knew Roman, the older one, had done something to offend the younger. Easier not to try to figure out who was at fault each time.

James returned to the kitchen, found that most of the smoke had cleared out and closed the window. He removed his coat, hung his black wool hat on a hook by the door and rolled up his sleeves. “All right, Emanuel. You can get off the sofa,” he called.

“Can I get up now?” Roman whined.

“Not yet. I’ll tell you when.” James washed his hands, went to the stove and tasted the stew. The burned taste wasn’t awful, but it was there, and there was a thick layer sticking to the bottom of the pot. He carried the offending stew to the sink and poured it into the strainer. As he suspected, the stew in the bottom of the pot was unsalvageable, but large chunks of chicken, the carrots and the onion would be okay with a fresh gravy.

By the time Mattie came downstairs, the two boys were playing peacefully with a miniature horse and wagon, and James had whipped up a batch of corn bread to go with the stew.

Mattie was carrying one of the twins. “William won’t go to sleep.” She settled into the rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen and watched as he cut potatoes into small chunks, added them to the rescued stew, poured broth from a carton from the pantry into the pot and put the whole thing back onto the stove.

“I didn’t get bread made today,” Mattie said. “Not even biscuits.” She sniffed, searched in her apron pocket, then sniffed again.

James removed a clean handkerchief from his own pocket and handed it to her. “No need crying over burned stew, Mattie. It will be fine. You’ll see.” He rummaged around on a shelf for some bay leaves, pepper and tarragon. He stirred the spices into the stew and adjusted the flame under it. “Shouldn’t take too long to finish, And I’ve got corn bread in the oven.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” Mattie managed, barely holding back tears. “It should be me. I’m not holding up my end.”

James crouched down in front of her and patted her hand. “None of that, now. Who took care of me when I was growing up? It’s only fair that I repay some of your kindness by helping out. You’ve got your hands full with four children so close together.”

Their mother’s death had made Mattie a mother to him when she was nothing but a girl and he was no older than Roman. They were closer than most brothers and sisters. She’d always been there for him, and he valued her wise council. With qualities like that, who cared if Mattie could cook or not?

“You should let me hire a girl to help for a few weeks,” he told her.

“Ne.”
Mattie sighed. “I can’t let you spend money so recklessly. I’ll be fine.”

James shook his head as he rose to his feet. “I never liked this idea, Rupert working away from home. You know he can come and work on my crew any day.”

Mattie blew her nose again, threw the apron over her shoulder to cover herself and began to nurse little William again. “He wants to do this, James. Work is good. He’s getting overtime every week. We should have enough money to start building our cabin in the spring.” She smiled at the thought. “You should be happy. You’ll get your house back.”

“It’s
our
house,” he replied. It had never seemed fair to him that his father had willed the house and farm to him. James had given Mattie and Rupert twenty acres across the field to build on, though. Two years ago, when jobs had been scarce in Kent County, Rupert had taken a job in Pennsylvania with a small company that made log-cabin kits and shipped them all over the country. The money was good, better than James could have afforded to pay his brother-in-law, but it meant that Rupert could come home only once a month.

The baby began to make contented sounds, and the tension drained from Mattie’s face. She looked up at James. “It’s a chance for us. And it won’t be long. Once Rupert starts work on our cabin, he won’t work away from home any longer. We’ll be grateful for a job with you then. And...” She threw him a meaningful glance. “You’ll be able to start looking for a wife.”

“I will, will I?” His finding a wife was one of Mattie’s favorite subjects.

“Lots of nice girls available. You’ve been back home two years, and you’ve been accepted into the faith. It’s time you thought about settling down.”

When James first returned to Seven Poplars, he’d felt self-conscious when reminded about the period he had spent among the English, but that had passed. Over time, he’d come to believe that his time in the English world had made him a better man. A better Amish man.

“Did you have anyone in particular in mind? For my wife?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

“You know I’ve always liked Lilly Hershberger. And then there’s Jane. She likes you a lot.”

“Jane Peachy?” He made a face. “Isn’t she a little old for me? She’s got to be eighty, at least.”

She laughed. “You know perfectly well which Jane I mean. Jane
Stutzman
. She’s a good cook. And I know she likes you. I’ve seen her watching you in church.”

He gathered dishes and utensils to set the table for the evening meal. “I met a nice girl this week at Sara’s,” he said casually.

“
Ya?
Who? Sara’s got so many coming and going these days, I lose track. Do we know the family?”

“Her name’s Mari Troyer. She’s from Wisconsin.”

Mattie’s eyes narrowed. “Troyer? You don’t mean that girl who went English? Sara mentioned her Sunday last. She’s going to find her a husband.”

“You think?”

“Well, why else would she be staying with the matchmaker?” Mattie asked, sounding as if James was foolish not to have known that. “Of course, first she’ll have to join the church. She was never baptized, according to Sara, so it’s just a matter of taking the classes with the bishop and making the commitment.”

He turned from the stove. “Mari’s joining the church?” he asked, trying not to sound too interested; otherwise, his sister would get herself worked up. That wasn’t what Mari had said to him. But there had been something in the tone of her voice that had made him think that she wasn’t as sure as she wanted him to believe.

Mattie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I don’t think a girl like that is someone you should court, James. You haven’t been back that long.”

“Two years.” He turned back to the stew.

“It’s better if you marry a girl who hasn’t been influenced by Englishers. That way you won’t be—”

“What?” he asked, staring into the pot and stirring it slowly. “Lured away by fancy cars and HBO?”

“I don’t even know what HBO is, but you know what I mean.” The baby started to fuss, and Mattie put him on her lap and began to pat his back. “This Mari has lived among the English. She might put ideas in your head to leave again.”

James laughed and then frowned. “You think I can be influenced by every pretty English girl I meet?”

“She’s pretty, is she?”

“
Ya.
And she has a way about her that’s...endearing. One minute she seems confident and the next so unsure of herself,” he said as much to himself as his sister. He looked over his shoulder at Mattie. “And she’s a good mother.”

“She has a
child
?”

“A boy. Nine years old. A man marries a woman with a boy nine years old and he’s got an instant helper around the farm,” he teased. “Makes sense to me. You know, rather than starting a family from scratch.”

“James Hostetler,” she admonished. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” She cuddled the baby against her. “Well, it’s not funny. You’ve been baptized into the church. If you left again, you’d be lost to us...to me and the children.” Mattie shook her head. “It’s not a joke, brother.”

He went to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere, Mattie. And I’m not running off with Mari Troyer.” He kissed the top of his sister’s head and wondered to himself what the chances were that Sara knew Mari Troyer better than Mari knew herself.

* * *

Friday was hectic at the butcher shop, but Mari already thought she was getting a handle on her responsibilities and a good working knowledge of how the scales and cash register worked. She’d even learned a bit about sausage and scrapple making from Gideon. There was a lot she had to learn, but whenever she hit a snag, Addy or Gideon was there to throw her a lifeline. Ending up in Seven Poplars was really quite a turn of events, when she thought about it. Of all the ways she’d tried to imagine finding self-sufficiency, she’d never thought it would be working in an Amish butcher shop and living with an Amish friend.

At five o’clock she hung up her apron and walked out the door feeling as though she’d earned her day’s wages. Her only regret was that she had been unable to enroll Zachary in school. The local school secretary had been polite but firm. The school’s policy was not to accept a new student without proper documentation, which meant waiting on the school records she’d requested Wednesday.

On the plus side, while at work, Mari had been confident that Sara, Jerushah or James was at the house and watching over her son. But it was unfair to expect them to take responsibility for Zachary when he should be in school. Zachary, however, was more than pleased that he couldn’t start yet. And to hear him tell it, he was practically a member of James’s crew and on his way to being a journeyman carpenter. As relieved as she was that Zachary was happy, she knew that she had to get him back into class before he fell further behind in his studies.

When the van dropped Mari off at Sara’s, the house was quiet. Nothing bubbled on the stove, and the table was not set for the evening meal. Instead of the usual Friday evening supper, Sara was hosting a neighborhood evening meal in a barn that stood behind the stable where she kept her animals. Ellie had pointed it out earlier in the week and explained that Sara had purchased it in the summer for practically nothing because it was about to be torn down at its original location to make room for a development. With the help of friends and neighbors, James’s construction crew had dismantled the barn and then rebuilt it on Sara’s acreage.

Mari changed out of her work clothing, dressed warmly and followed the pathway through a grassy field to the barn, where light shone from every window. By daylight, it was a postcard-perfect gambrel-roofed building with a metal roof, red siding and jaunty rooster weather vane, but Mari couldn’t imagine why Sara would plan a supper in a barn on a cold January evening. Once she pushed open the white wooden door, Mari was immediately reminded of why she should never doubt her friend. Sara’s barn was amazing.

Mari gazed around at the interior, taking in the high ceiling, the massive wooden beams and the spotless whitewashed walls. Not only had the inside of the building been insulated, but the old wood floor had been sanded and refinished. Two enormous woodstoves stood in opposite corners, making the main room so warm that she was going to have to take off her coat. And it smelled so good, the scent of burning hickory mixing with one of Sara’s cinnamon-and-clove potpourris bubbling on the back of one of the stoves.