Courting Cate (10 page)

Betsy claimed not to know what I was talking about when I confronted her as she put the groceries away. “That’s ridiculous,” she said.

“Are you denying it?”

She shrugged and turned back to the bag.

“How could you? After all I’ve done for you!”

“Whoa, Cate.” Betsy held out the jar of mayo. “Mervin and Martin were probably joking but Molly believed them.” Her voice trailed off. “And what do you mean all you’ve done for me?”

“Taken care of you. Put your every need before my own. Raised you.”

She had the bag of apples in her hand now. “Yeah, well, we can talk about that later, after you’ve calmed down.”

“No, let’s talk about it now.” I held the empty paper bag in my hand as if I were about to stuff her inside it.

“Talk about what?” Dat stood in the kitchen doorway. I’d thought he was out in his office.

“Nothing,” I barked.

Betsy put the apples in the fruit bowl, one at a time. “Cate was just having a little . . . relapse. But she’s better now.”

“
Gut,
” Dat said. “Glad to hear it.” He headed to the back door. “I’m going to spend some time in the shop today. Sure am looking forward to tomorrow . . .” The screen door slammed shut behind him.

I crossed my arms as the old familiar rage grew.

Betsy hissed, “Don’t you dare mess this up.” Her eyes were barely slits, her back was hunched, and her mouth was pursed. “The best thing you can do for all of us is forget what Hannah and Molly said. They’re just a couple of silly girls.”

“M&M are silly. And now H&M are too? My, there’s a lot of silliness going on, isn’t there? And it sounds like you’ve known about it all along.” I met her gaze. “How could you?” I demanded.

When she only shrugged in response, I spun around in a fury. I marched out of the kitchen through the living room, and up the staircase, wounded to the core by the conspiracy that had been swirling around me. Why, oh, why hadn’t I heeded my suspicions? Why had I agreed to play along when I knew I couldn’t trust any of them?

I wasn’t sure what to do about the next day, so I decided to hole up in my room. I didn’t usually read on a Saturday afternoon, but today was an exception. I’d renewed the pregnancy book and decided to skim through it. Ironic, jah, considering I’d never experience it for myself. I read about signs of pregnancy and prenatal care. Health care choices and complications. Weight gain and fetal development. Every bit of it was fascinating, except I couldn’t quite fathom why I was torturing myself.

Betsy and I didn’t talk the rest of the day. I went down for supper—barley and beef soup—but we didn’t go to the volleyball game. She didn’t ask to, and I didn’t offer. Levi was helping to finish up the barn that had been started the weekend before, so I figured she didn’t have much of an incentive to go. It was becoming clear that he was the young man she would choose to marry or, more accurately, would have chosen to if the deal wasn’t null and void now.

The next morning, I still didn’t know what to do about dinner, but I knew it was too late to cancel. After a silent breakfast, Dat escaped to the shop again. Betsy began readying the roasts to pop in the oven, and after I made a trip to the root cellar to gather the potatoes, I started peeling them, something I could manage.

I held a peeled one in my hand. It was cold with flecks of dirt on its white flesh. It looked exactly like I felt. I plunged it into the bowl of water, swishing it around. That was what I needed. To be cleansed of all the scheming around me.

I swallowed hard, knowing this would be a good time to say a prayer, but I was too hurt. Why had God allowed this to happen? I picked up another potato, grabbed the paring knife, and cut all the eyes off, one by one, digging deep.

Betsy stood on the other side of the sink, glancing at me now and then. “How are you feeling?” she finally asked.

“Fine.”

“About yesterday—”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re not planning to make a scene or anything, are you? With Mervin and Martin? And Pete? Because if you are, I think we need to tell Dat what’s going—”

“I said I was fine.” The paring knife slipped from my hand, clattering to the counter and then falling to the floor. I jumped back.

Even though I was a peace-loving Amish girl, I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

I continued to stew over the best way to confront Pete as our guests arrived. Surprisingly, Addie’s aunt Nell, who was known as a bit of a gossip and usually visited as much as she could, didn’t tag along. She sent her regrets, saying she needed a day of rest. The way Addie’s youngest brothers were running around, I didn’t blame her.

Pete, along with Nan, who wore a yellow floral dress with a blue sweater and looked even prettier than usual, arrived last. She immediately cornered me in the kitchen and asked me what was wrong. I evaded her question.

The twins’ mother, Eliza, pitched in to help while Aunt Laurel stood back and watched. She soon struck up a conversation with Nan. Pete asked what he could do to help, and I bit my tongue to keep myself from saying,
Get lost.

“Would you go tell Dat everyone’s here?” I managed to say. “He’s out back with the other men.”

Fifteen minutes later we were all seated around the big table. Addie’s little brothers poked at each other at the far end, and Dat, Uncle Cap, and M&M’s father, Amos, sat together at the other end. Dat led us all in prayer, and then we started passing the food. Eliza oohed and aahed over each
dish, pleased that Betsy had made almost all of it, except for the rolls, which Addie had brought, and the pies Eliza and Nan had contributed. I couldn’t help but wonder if Eliza thought Martin had a chance at Betsy. Finally she asked what I’d made.

“Nothing,” I answered, dreading the rest of the conversation.

“She peeled the potatoes,” Betsy offered up sweetly.

Eliza didn’t seem to know how to respond.

“Well, they’re delicious,” Pete said, a glob on his fork.

“Betsy whipped them.” I looked away from Pete as I spoke. He sat across the table and down several spaces, and I kept my eyes averted, not wanting to make contact.

Nan, who was sitting in the direction I turned, started to say something but then stopped. I dropped my eyes away from her too and kept them mostly on my plate for the rest of the meal.

Afterward Dat suggested that we have dessert outside. He had the horseshoes ready to play, and there was also croquet. Addie’s little brothers practically fell over each other to get out the door. I was pretty sure they planned to make a contact sport out of our croquet set.

The women offered to help clean up, but I insisted they go out. Betsy too. She’d already washed the pots and pans before we ate.

“I’ll come out with the pies when I’m done,” I said. I knew it went against our principles of community for them not to help, but the day was gorgeous, and the thought of lounging outside in the sunshine must have been much more appealing than spending time in a hot kitchen with a shrew like me.

“I’ll start a pot of coffee,” I said. “And bring it out as soon as it’s done. And I bought creamer yesterday at the store.” That was a special treat.

That seemed to do it, because they filed out, one by one.

However, Pete lagged behind.

One of the calico cats had slipped into the kitchen, and I brushed it with my leg, turning it toward the door. As it scooted away from me, I knocked the step stool over.

Pete jumped.

It may or may not have appeared as if I’d kicked the stool on purpose. I didn’t take the time to upright it, but went after the cat, who had headed under the table. I caught it quickly as Pete righted the stool. I tossed the calico out the door, yelling, “Scram.”

Pete jumped again as he stood at the door of the pantry and then laughed. “I thought you were talking to me,” he said.

“I was,” I answered, holding the door wide for him too, directing him outside. “Go play horseshoes with the men.”

“I’d rather help you.”

My eyes narrowed as I gestured toward the yard. “Go.”

“No,” he responded, standing his ground.

I decided to ignore him and go on with my work, turning my attention to the stove. I grabbed a potholder and lifted the teakettle, pouring the boiling water through the coffee press into the carafe.

As I did, Pete scraped the leftover food on the plates into the compost bucket, stacking them beside the sink. When he finished, I ran the hot water, adding soap and stirring the bubbles. Next I plunged the glasses into the suds.

“Cate.” He grabbed a towel and stepped closer. “Can we talk?”

“No.”

I quickly washed the sink full of glasses, rinsed them, and placed them in the rack. He dried them quickly and put them away, one after the other.

I checked the coffee, gathered up a tray of mugs, grabbed the creamer from the fridge, headed outside without saying a word to Pete, and placed everything on the picnic table. He didn’t follow me.

“I’ll be out in a jiffy with the pies,” I announced. No one answered me, but the croquet mallets cracked ominously behind the apple trees. When I returned to the kitchen Pete was washing the plates, so I started another pot of coffee and turned my attention to the dessert, gathering forks from the drawer and then pulling down a stack of small plates.

As I placed them on the tray, Pete turned from the sink and said, “Let me carry that.”

“No thanks.”

He started to reach for it.

“I said no.”

His hands gripped the sides, bumping into mine.

I flinched, pulling away as if I’d touched a hot burner. “I’d hate to have to pay you for your services.”

The tray wobbled, but he steadied it.

His eyes narrowed, locking on mine. “What are you talking about?”

“M&M might be foolish enough to pay for your help, but I’m not.”

His face began to redden.

I stepped wide, opened the fridge and took out the whipped cream Nan had brought, then headed for the pies.

“Cate.” Pete was behind me, the tray still in his hands. “We really need to talk.”

I grabbed a spoon, plunged it into the whipped cream, and then yanked it out, my back to him. “So you know what I’m referring to?”

“Look at me,” he pled.

I spun around, the scoop of whipped cream clinging to the spoon in my hand, which I may have been holding in a threatening manner.

He stepped back, balancing the tray.

I held the spoon higher. “I am not a source of income. Or a project. Or a joke.” My voice was clear and steady, but my knees shook. More than anything, I wanted to fling the cream into his face.

The timing couldn’t have been worse when M&M came stumbling through the back door, laughing. “We’re going to walk down to the creek. Want to come?” Martin had his sunglasses in his hand.

“No!” Pete and I said in unison.

“You go,” I said to Pete. “But first take out the tray.” I pointed to the cream pies and then to Mervin. “You take those.” He reached for them.

“Martin, you take your Mamm’s pies.” I turned around and flung the whipped cream back into the bowl, as if it were Pete’s face. “And this.” I spun back around, as Pete put the tray back on the counter. I thrust the bowl at him and started toward the living room.

“Cate?” Pete’s voice had a frantic edge I hadn’t heard before.

I ignored him and headed to the stairway.

“Are you going to the singing?” Martin called out from the hallway.

“Nope,” I said. “Not even if you paid me.”

Their silence said it all.

Pete’s voice grew louder. “Cate! Give me a chance.”

I stopped on the landing. Pete stood on the bottom stair, looking up at me, the bowl of whipped cream still in his hands.

“Wasn’t the payment from M&M just a stepping stone to what you were really after?”

He shook his head. “I can explain, honest.”

“Why would I believe a single word of it? You will amount to nothing—absolutely nothing—without my Dat’s money. Which is clearly what you were after all along.”

He locked eyes on me one more time, and then he stepped out of my view. A moment later the back door opened and then closed.

By the time I reached my room, tears poured down my face. My heart might have been as cold as a potato straight from the cellar, but my grief was real. It was my comeuppance for thinking I had a chance at love.

It wasn’t Dat or Betsy or Addie who came to check on me. It was Nan. I knew by the knock on the door. It was kind, just like her. “Cate?” she softly said.

“I’m fine,” I squeaked.

“May I come in?”

“There’s not anything you can do,” I answered.

There was a long moment of silence. Finally she said, “Ach, Cate. Let me in. I won’t stay but a minute.”

I rolled off the bed and trudged to the door, opening it quickly, hoping to get the encounter over as soon as possible.

Nan’s fair face was flushed, probably from the heat of the day. “Pete asked me to come up. He’s worried about you.”

“More likely worried about his bleak future,” I muttered, heading back to my bed where I settled on the edge.

Nan followed me. “He’d really like to talk with you.”

I shrugged. “It’s too late for that.”

“He said it’s not.”

“No, it definitely is,” I said, meeting her eyes. “And it’s worse than I thought. Mervin and Martin are paying him to
court me. No. Correction. They were paying him to court Dat’s money.”

She shook her head slightly. “He said he has a good explanation.” Nan’s face was full of pain. “If you’ll only listen.”

“It’s too late.”

She sat down beside me, one hand flat against the bed, the other on my shoulder, bringing me a measure of comfort.

“I can’t put myself through any more of this,” I said. The pain was nearly unbearable.

“Love can be scary, sure, but sometimes you have to take a risk, before—”

“You haven’t taken a risk again—not in all these years.”

“I’m waiting for the right man,” she responded. “Which I think Pete is for you.”

“No, he’s not.” I was done with men.

After a moment of silence, she spoke again. “Just know Pete can be stubborn.” Even though she didn’t say it, I was sure she was thinking
too.
“He gets it from his mother. I just hope the two of you don’t let a misunderstanding”—clearly she didn’t fully comprehend the situation—“get in the way of your future.”

“We have no future.”

She pulled me close, our kapped heads touching. “I’ll be praying,” she said. “For both of you.”

She left after that, as peacefully as she’d arrived. If anyone else had told me the same thing, I would have been offended, but I knew Nan meant well. She just didn’t know what she was talking about.

I slipped the Mary Todd Lincoln biography from my nightstand and curled up on my bed, ready to escape. I’d survived before after my heart was broken. I would again. One last time.

I longed for a good sleep that night, but Betsy’s sobbing kept me from it. I pulled my pillow over my head, but still the sound of it filled my ears. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, there was a ping on the window. She must have stopped to breathe, because otherwise we both would have missed it.

I was pretty sure it wasn’t Pete.

I peeked out from under my pillow. Betsy sat up, took a ragged breath, exhaled, and then hurried to the window. I could tell from the expression on her face it was Levi. It wasn’t one of bliss or happiness or even contentment. It was pure pain.

She waved at him, pointed to the back of the house, and then grabbed her robe, her hair bouncing on her back.

I sat up in bed. “Stop.”

She glared at me. “He’s waiting for me.”

“I know you’re mad at me. But this is the way it has to be.”

She stepped toward the door.

I stood. “You had no right to encourage Mervin and Martin—to not tell me what was going on.”

She turned her profile toward me. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I truly love Levi. I want to marry him.”

I chose my words carefully. “I’ll talk to Dat again, but even if by some miracle he agrees, promise me you’ll wait awhile. You’re still too young.”

She shook her head. “I’ll be eighteen soon.” In two steps she was at the door.

As I called out, “Betsy!” her footsteps fell on the stairs, in quick succession. I turned toward the window. A moment later, she was running into Levi’s arms.

I crawled back into my bed, my flashlight in one hand and a book in the other.