A Marriage for Meghan (29 page)

He took his focus from the road long enough to offer a toothy smile. “Best wishes to you. Mr. Graber is a lucky man.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Catherine corrected. “And I trust you’ll mention nothing of this while you’re mingling with the crowd today. Most people suspect our intentions, but nothing is official yet.”

“My lips are sealed.” He ran his thumb and index finger across his mouth.

“
Danki
for that.” She noticed Thomas glancing at a black box on the dashboard that displayed the route to the Yoder home. She wondered if
Englischers
had a gadget for everything in life. “And what about you?” she asked. “Are you married, Agent Mast? Since you were nosy, I will be too.”

“No wife, and presently no serious girlfriend. I just broke up with someone.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. None of us are getting any younger,” she teased.

Thomas laughed. “You’re right about that, but my former girlfriend wasn’t the right one. At least, that’s what my mother kept telling me.”

“Amish mothers often say the same exact thing.” Catherine spotted the Yoder farm on the right just as the black box announced they had reached their destination. “I agree. It’s better to wait than chance the consequences of hasty action.”

Thomas parked under a shady tree, close to the house and away from the long queue of buggies. People milled everywhere like ants around their proverbial hill. The rough framing of two walls of the new market were being assembled on the ground, while two other walls were already standing. So many Amish men hovered around the building that they had to be getting in each other’s way.

“This is quite a turnout,” he said. He stretched out his back muscles next to the car.

“Please open the trunk. I want to put the food in the house and start sewing.” Catherine felt the excitement of being with women her own age instead of only family members and school children. “I do love quilting outdoors when it’s sunny, but they probably set up the looms in an outbuilding in case of rain.” She pulled two hampers from his trunk, and he lifted the heaviest roaster.

“Thank you for letting me come, Catherine.” Thomas flashed a bright smile.

“You’re welcome. Just set that pan on the porch. Good luck with your surveillance. I’ll see you later.” She practically ran with her hampers of food toward the Yoder house. Grown Amish women were not supposed to run.

That spring fever bug apparently was highly contagious.

“You’re here already?” Meghan stated the obvious as Catherine climbed the steps of the Yoder home. “How did you get here so fast?” She lifted off the top hamper to carry inside.

“Thomas drove me because he wants to observe the goings-on,” Catherine whispered near Meghan’s ear.

“Good idea. Lots of people have come to help, many I don’t recognize.” Meghan added the desserts Catherine brought to a long row across the counter, and then she found room in the fridge for the cold salads.

Catherine brought in the roaster Thomas has set down, and then she pulled off her outer bonnet and looked around. “Where is everybody? Why are you in here alone?”

“Because I dodged a bullet,” explained Meghan, using her favorite English expression—one her
schwester
hated. “All the other women were eager to quilt. They’re working hard in the barn on five different frames.
Mamm
knows sewing isn’t my best talent, so she suggested I volunteer for kitchen duty. I’m taking the food from folks and making sure the men and women have enough water and iced tea to drink. When it’s time to serve,
mamm
and Mrs. Yoder will come up to the house to help me.”

“So you have it made.”

“In the shade.” Meghan completed Catherine’s favorite expression for her. “
Mamm
carried your sewing basket out to the barn already.”

Catherine nodded. “
Gut
. If you don’t need my help, I’m going to join the fun around the quilt frames.” Out she dashed before Meghan could decide whether she needed help or not.

Join the fun? Not exactly
. The only thing Meghan liked about sewing bees was catching up on current gossip. With church services every other week, socials allowed a chance for the women to talk. But today she would rather remain within the quiet confines of the Yoder kitchen because she was sure some of the gossip might be about her.
What is the district saying about my teaching?
Hopefully, the uproar over her Bible lessons had died down. But what if some parents didn’t like her phonics approach to reading?

She so wanted the district to like her.

She so hoped the school board would rehire her.

And she so wished she would stop worrying so much.

“I give this up to You, Lord. You know what’s best for me and for the
kinner
of this community.” She voiced the words aloud, assuming she was alone in the room. But she had been wrong.

Jacob Schultz stood in the doorway, looking embarrassed. “What are you doing in here?” he asked, slipping his hands beneath his suspenders.

“I’ve been assigned kitchen duty—iced tea, lemonade, and preparation of the meat and cheese trays for lunch.”

He shifted his feet. “I would have thought one of the Yoder gals would be in charge of that.” He met her gaze, his green eyes turning very dark.

She stared at him, amazed by how much of the doorway he filled. “Both of them prefer quilting.”

He took a step closer, scanning the counters.

“Jacob, this isn’t a good time for us to talk. Somebody could come in at any moment and overhear us.”

Those emerald eyes of his flashed with annoyance. “Do you think I came in looking for you, Meghan Yost? To
talk
to you again about a matter that’s settled and forgotten?” He lifted his chin with defiance. “You have made your opinion perfectly clear once or twice before.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m confused about a lot of things.” She wrung her hands like a worried
grossmammi.

“I heard your prayer. Sounds to me like you know exactly what you want.” Then in a softer tone he added, “And I hope you get it.” His mouth pulled into the briefest of smiles and for a moment, she glimpsed her cherished friend. “But what I came for is a stack of cups. Someone put a big jug of iced tea and a jug of water out but nothing to drink it with. We can’t very well hold our mouths under the spigot.”

Meghan searched the cupboards until she found several packages of plastic cups. “I was the forgetful person. Here you go.” She handed him the cups, feeling a spark of awareness from the touch of his fingers. He didn’t seem to notice, but the contact struck nerves inside she’d long forgotten about.

“
Danki.
Now I have to get back to work. I’m not here to jawbone with women, whether they be former girlfriends or old friends or anything else.” He strode from the house, leaving a void where his large frame had just stood.

When the screen door slammed, she hurried to the window to watch. He walked with long, purposeful strides, swinging the bags of cups like pendulums. He held his head high with his eyes focused straight ahead…and he did not look back.

He’s happy without me.
He’s gone on with his life and doesn’t even miss me.

She shook off her silly insecurities and dog-in-the-manger feelings. She found what she wanted after all, so his indifference should be of no concern. Yet while she brewed another batch of tea to chill, arranged the lunch meats, cheeses, pickles, and olives on several trays, and then filled fabric-lined baskets with sliced bread, thoughts of Jacob Shultz drifted back to torment her. The more she tried to think of something else, the more she fixated on him.

She remembered one warm May afternoon when she had been eight and Jacob had been ten. He had passed her a note in class telling her to excuse herself to the girls’ lavatory. He pleaded the urgent need to use the boys’ facility. Once outdoors, they crept away from the schoolhouse, careful to stay out of the teacher’s view. When sufficiently safe from detection, they ran across the field. Like wild colts broken free from the paddock, she and Jacob scampered through woods and meadows down to their favorite swimming hole. Where the river flowed over the ravine’s granite outcroppings, there was a small waterfall. At the bottom, the clear-water collection pool formed the perfect spot to cool off. The two truants shed shoes and socks and then waded in up to their chins. With the crystalline shower from above, the squishy mud between their toes, and the warm sun filtering through the tree canopy, the day had been the most delightful of her childhood. But one warm afternoon, splashing around like two river otters, couldn’t last forever. The teacher had not been amused by their escape, and trouble awaited both of them at home. It had been the only time Meghan could remember her
daed
spanking her backside. Yet it had been
infinitely
worth it.

Shaking off the pleasant reverie, Meghan dragged over a five-gallon container of water and carefully added powdered lemonade mix with a funnel. After rocking the jug back and forth to mix the batch, she sliced up lemons to float across the surface. She would set out a bowl of lemon slices to add to individual glasses for a fresh-squeezed touch. She loved the smell of lemons, but as she cut up the fruit another memory of Jacob drifted back unbidden—one not of balmy summer days but of the cold, dead of winter.

She’d lain in bed for days, bundled with quilts and hot water bottles, dreadfully ill with pneumonia. Her
mamm
brought her endless cups of lemon tea to keep her hydrated. A trip to the doctor produced antibiotics but no immediate relief to her aches and pains. Dozing fitfully, she awoke to the sound of something hitting her bedroom window. Dabbing her nose and wiping her reddened eyes, Meghan hoped the hailstorm would soon pass. After a while she heard the distinctive sound of her name being called. Curiosity overcame discomfort, and she threw back the covers and padded across chilly floorboards to the window.

The sight below warmed her heart enough to forget about cold feet. A six-foot snowman stood facing her window. He wore an old straw hat and a tattered muffler, and a hand-lettered piece of wood rested against the bottom snowball. The sign read: “Get well, Meghan.” After a moment, Jacob Shultz stepped out from behind his creation. He stuck in a carrot for the nose, waved at her enthusiastically, and then disappeared into the lightly falling snow.

How could a person not recover quickly after such a get-well card?

How could she ever replace a friend like Jacob?

How could she ever find another man who would love her so much, or one she could be so utterly herself with—runny nose and all? Two large tears ran down her cheeks and dropped onto the cutting board.

“What’s wrong?” exclaimed Catherine from the doorway. “Did you cut yourself?” She flew to her sister’s side.

“No, and I wish folks would stop sneaking up on me!” Meghan didn’t try to hide her irritation.

“What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” As usual, Catherine ignored her crustiness and slipped a comforting arm around her shoulder.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” Meghan softened her tone and wiped a sleeve over her face. “It’s a reaction from squeezing all those lemons.”

“You’re talking to me, dear heart.” Catherine tightened her embrace.

Meghan allowed herself to be enfolded in her sister’s arms. “I’m crying because I’m sad, that’s all. Just plain, old, garden-variety sadness.”

Catherine patted her back but blessedly didn’t press the issue. “It happens to all of us, sooner or later,” she murmured. “But God makes sure our melancholy doesn’t last too long.”