The Amish Bride (11 page)

Simeon grinned and glanced at Ellen. “Neziah and I brought that painted hope chest he’s been working on. He walked over to your house this morning to tell you it was done, and your mother said you were here. I was going to the mill for feed, so we just brought the chest along.”

“Does Neziah need help carrying it in?” she asked.

“
Nay
, we brought Abram with us.”

Neziah was a fine craftsman. He built his chests, stools and small tables out of white pine and then painted old Pennsylvania Dutch patterns on them in primitive reds, blues and yellows. His stylistic doves and flowers were particularly popular with the English tourists.

“I can hold the door open, at least.” Ellen went out the front door and from the front porch saw the two men unloading the pretty piece of furniture from the back of the wagon.

“Morning, Ellen,” Neziah said. “The finish on this is dry, so I thought you wouldn’t mind if we delivered it today.” He smiled up at her. She returned his greeting and exchanged a few words with Abram.

“Where are your boys?” she asked as the two men carried the chest up onto the front porch and into the store. “Here, let me get the door for you.”

“Micah took them fishing,” Neziah answered. “The last time we took them to the feed mill, we almost lost one in the millpond and the other in the machinery. Didn’t want the same thing to happen today. I try to watch them, but they’re unruly.”

Abram laughed. “You can say that again. Joel put two worms in my lunchbox last week.”

She smiled, remembering Sunday’s pie episode. “I hope you didn’t get in trouble with the bishop about yesterday.”

“Nay,”
Neziah said. “Bishop Andy came by the sawmill early this morning. Wanted to order oak posts for his new stable. I asked him if he’d heard about my pie snatchers, and he said he’d spent a lot of church services as a boy trying to figure out how to do exactly the same trick and not get caught.”

“We’re fortunate to have such a wise spiritual leader,” Ellen commented as she showed them where to put the chest.

“
Jah
, but don’t forget,” Simeon reminded them. “Bishop Andy was God’s choice. He doesn’t make mistakes in those he leads to head up the faith.” He walked slowly with the aid of his crutches to admire the chest. “I think the blue and yellow ones are the best. This should sell quick, don’t you think?”

“I believe it will,” Dinah said. “I had a customer earlier this month who asked about a hope chest. I didn’t even know that English girls collected linens and such for their weddings anymore.”

“If you have anyone show interest, you can tell them that Neziah can carve the names of the bride and groom on the front,” Simeon said.

Neziah nodded. “Or make something special to order.”

“Come back to the office with me, and I’ll give you a receipt,” Ellen said.

“No need for that, is there?” But he followed her, leaving his father, Abram and Dinah to continue talking about the items that sold best to the tourists.

“It’s a beautiful piece,” Ellen said, turning on the light in her office. “I don’t know where you find the time. You keep pretty long hours at the sawmill.”

“Not as much as I’d like,” he said. “The mill is our livelihood. I took up the job of sawyer because it was my father’s craft, but the woodworking, that I do for pleasure. It calms me—sanding, fitting together the joints. I like taking a length of wood and turning it into something useful.”

“And beautiful,” she reminded him as she entered his bridal chest in her ledger.

“
Jah
, if you say so. That, too.”

He moved closer to her desk, and she looked up at him. He’d put on a clean blue shirt and dark trousers to come to town, but the scents of fresh sawdust, leather and evergreen boughs hovered around him. She knew that scent, and with it came a wave of memories, memories she thought she’d forgotten.

“Ellen, I wanted...
we
wanted to invite you and your parents to supper tonight. It won’t be fancy. None of us are great cooks, but it would make me happy if you would join us.”

She nodded, wishing he wasn’t standing so near. “Will Micah be there, too?”

“
Jah
, he will. Just our family, though. My father, Asa and Joel, my brother and me.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d thought to have this evening to herself. But the days were fast coming one after another. One month, she’d promised her father. She’d said she’d give this seeing both Shetler boys a month. But she knew very well that her father, that all the men in her life, including the Shetlers, would expect to hear her opinion after that time. And while no one had suggested she need to choose one of the brothers by October, she knew that’s what everyone expected of her. Which left her with what? Three more weeks? Of course, she could choose to stop seeing both Micah and Neziah, but that was seeming more unlikely as time passed. She was becoming accustomed to thinking of herself as someone who would marry in the immediate future...a woman who could look forward to being a mother and managing her own home.

“Thank you for asking me,” she said softly. “I would like to come, but...” She hesitated.

“But what?” He leaned over her, making the room seem suddenly small.

“But...” She smiled up at him. “I think it would be best if I came alone this evening, if you don’t mind. It might be easier for all of us if we didn’t feel that my mother and father were watching every move, listening to every word.”

He smiled in response to her smile and nodded. “A good idea. A very good idea.” He rested a hand on her desk. “They
do
seem in favor of you marrying a Shetler. I just hope it isn’t Micah they’re rooting for, because I would make you happiest.”

She got to her feet. “I think I’m the one to decide that. It is my future, after all.”

“Not just yours, but mine and my sons’. And Micah’s, too.”

He reached out and brushed her cheek tenderly with a callused thumb, a touch as gentle as the one she’d used when she’d caught a Luna moth trapped inside the screen porch and set it free. Ellen’s mouth went suddenly dry at his familiarity.

“You need to think this through carefully,” he said quietly. “Because whatever you decide, nothing will ever be the same for any of us again.”

Chapter Ten

A
t six o’clock that evening, after she’d finished the milking and seen that her parents were sitting down to a light supper, Ellen started down a lane that led from her father’s property to the Shetlers’. It was an old logging road: narrow, dirt and wooded on both sides. She’d taken care to use mosquito repellent liberally before she began the walk. She carried a wicker basket with cinnamon-raisin sticky buns and her birding binoculars.

Evening was the best time to sight unusual species. She’d heard warblers in the orchard, but the little birds had been fluttering from one heavily leafed branch to another, making it difficult to identify them. She’d seen a magnolia warbler on Saturday and wanted to log it before they took on autumn coloring and became what birders referred to as
confusing fall warblers
, because they looked so much alike. Like many other birds, warblers migrated from north to south, and birds that had spent the summer in Pennsylvania would soon be leaving for warmer climates. Lancaster County was a good place for birding, but not as good as the coastal areas farther east. Someday, Ellen hoped to be able to travel to Chincoteague, Virginia or the Delaware Bay during fall or springtime migrations.

As she walked, Ellen thought about the girl who had been sleeping on her porch. It pained Ellen to think that the girl might spend another night in a barn. Should she have done more for her than just given her a meal and let her take a shower? Had she failed in charity by merely giving her food and a place to bathe and then sending her off with nothing more than a prayer? Where was the line between helping a stranger in need and putting one’s self and family in danger?

Ellen had never hesitated when it had come time for her to join the church, but for Amish young adults, it was a personal decision. Naturally, families wanted their children to accept baptism in the faith, but no one could make that decision for them. In the Honeysuckle community many families had a child who’d chosen the English world, and so long as they hadn’t joined the church when they left, they were usually welcomed home with open arms. If she knew Gail better, there wouldn’t be a question about helping her—unless Gail had accepted the faith and
then
run away. Then Gail would have been under a ban. No one in the community would be able to eat with her. They weren’t even supposed to speak to her. It wasn’t meant as punishment but as a way to bring the lost sheep back to the fold; anyone who returned to the faith was welcomed with open arms. Gail hadn’t said if she had been baptized or not, and Ellen hadn’t asked. Should she have?

Perhaps, after a year or two away, Gail would decide to return to the faith. Staying away was difficult because church was the heart of Old Order Amish lives. Or maybe family was the heart of the church. Ellen couldn’t imagine living without the quiet beauty of community worship or living apart from those she loved.

That was one reason Simeon’s suggestion was gaining so much favor with her. Amish wives accepted that they would go wherever their husbands chose to live. Some families who’d lived in Lancaster County for generations were pulling up roots and moving out west, where there was cheap land to be had. She’d read that their county had some of the richest farmland in the world, and very little was ever sold. And the majority of that farmland was already in Amish hands, land never to be sold, but passed down to sons and grandsons.

The sound of hooves and the creak of wheels pulled Ellen from her reverie. As she glanced up, Butterscotch came trotting around the bend ahead. Simeon waved from the two-wheeled cart. Joel smiled at her but kept both hands tightly on the reins.

“Guder owed,”
she called.
Good evening.
She’d half expected either Micah or Neziah to walk out to meet her, but she was surprised to see Simeon and Joel. Simeon waved and returned her greeting. “I’m driving!” Joel shouted. His grandfather slipped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and aided him in gently reining the little palomino to a walk and finally a halt. “I drove all the way here,” the little boy boasted. “Did you see me?
Grossdaddi
hardly helped at all!”

“Wonderbor,”
Ellen said, brushing the golden mane out of the pony’s eyes and stroking his face and velvety nose. “Your
dat
will be pleased with you.”

“We thought you might like a ride up to the house,” Simeon explained. “Mosquitoes are pretty fierce out here in the evenings.”

“Haven’t been bitten,” she replied, coming around to climb up into the cart beside Joel. “Mosquito spray.”

“Micah always tells me to put it on,” Simeon said. “But I hate the smell of the stuff. And it always feels greasy on my skin.” He took the leather reins from Joel, gave the pony the command to walk on and turned the cart at the first wide place in the lane. “The boys are putting supper together,” he explained. “I have to warn you, I’m not sure what they’ll come up with. Neziah wanted to make a chicken stew, and Micah argued for spaghetti.”

“
Onkel
Micah burned the biscuits,” Joel volunteered. “Asa had to throw them to the chickens.”

“Whatever we have, I’m sure it will be fine,” Ellen said.

“Neziah and Micah are both trying their best to impress you,” Simeon confided. He made a clicking sound, and Butterscotch broke into a trot. “Either one would be a good match for you. Neziah inherits the house, but Micah won’t come to a wife empty-handed.” He stole a glance in her direction. “You know I’ve made provision for his future. There’s land for him here, and he’ll always have a job with Neziah. He’s a hard worker, and you’d never do without.”

She turned her head to face him. “I’m making no promises, Simeon. I haven’t said I’d be willing to marry either of your sons.”

“
Nay
, you haven’t said, but you and I know you will. Come on, you can tell me.” He ran his fingers through his beard thoughtfully as he studied her. “Which one is your favorite?”

“My
mam
likes Micah for me, but I think
Dat
favors Neziah,” she replied. “Although he hasn’t come right out and said so.”

“But you,” Simeon persisted. “Which one do
you
like best?”

“It’s not a matter of which I like best, is it? If I choose, I have to choose who would make the best husband for me. Who God has chosen for me.”

“
Onkel
says you like him best,” Joel put in. “Because if you marry our
dat
, you get stuck with Asa and me.” He made a face. “
Grossdaddi
says we are not
goot
boys.”

Ellen wasn’t sure how to reply to that. Joel was young, but he took delight in being mischievous in order to get attention. So if she agreed with him, she would only add to the problem. “I think that when you go to school and see how the bigger boys behave, you will do better,” she pronounced. “Especially since you are the older brother, and Asa watches you to see how he should act.”

Joel seemed to consider that for a moment then nodded.

“Would you like to have a new mother?” Ellen asked him thoughtfully. “Or do you like having your
dat
all to yourself?”

“Just me and Asa and
Dat
,” he said loudly. “
Onkel
says that a
mutter
will make us wash behind our ears and eat cauliflower and Brussels sprouts every day.” He screwed up his face. “I don’t like them. Yuck.”

She met Simeon’s gaze and they both laughed. “It doesn’t sound like Micah’s playing fairly,” she pointed out.

“It sounds like he wants you for his wife,” Simeon countered.

Ellen returned her attention to Joel. “I don’t have Brussels sprouts with me, but do you like raisin-cinnamon buns and
kuchen
?” she asked. When he nodded, she lifted the cloth on top of the basket, letting Joel get a whiff of the sticky buns her mother had sent. “So, if a
mutter
cooks healthy vegetables,” she told him, “she can also bake delicious goodies that small boys enjoy.”

Simeon chuckled. “She has you there, Joel. This boy can eat his weight in raisin buns.”

“With sugar icing!” Joel exclaimed, and his round little face creased in a grin. “Can I have one now?”

Ellen shook her head. “After supper, and only when your
vadder
or
Grossdaddi
says you may.”

Joel frowned and his lower lip came out, but when neither of the adults paid attention, he reached for the pony’s reins again. “I want to drive,” he insisted. “Let me drive,
Grossdaddi
!”

“
Nay,
enough for tonight.” Simeon held on to the reins. “Maybe tomorrow if you get into no trouble tonight.” He glanced at Ellen. “You have a
goot
way with
die kinner
. You will make a fine mother, and I know my Irma would be pleased whichever of my sons you choose to marry.”

The pony cart jounced into a rut in the dirt road, and Ellen took hold of the seat to keep her balance. “
If
I choose either,” Ellen reminded him. But from the satisfied expression on Simeon’s face, she knew that he took her agreement to wed either Neziah or Micah as something she had already accepted.

* * *

Ellen remembered the Shetler household back when Neziah and Micah were small and their mother, Irma, was in full control of the house. It had been a tidy, pleasant place, smelling of newly baked bread and polished floors. Lines of laundry had stretched outside on Mondays, which was always wash day, and she’d often seen the brothers on hands and knees scrubbing the porch or washing the windows. But this evening, she was clearly in a home managed by three men and occupied by active children.

Wash hung on the line still, although it was past the time to bring it in. And had her mother seen the manner in which the clean clothes had been hung, she would have thrown her apron over her head and wailed in disapproval. Most things had merely been thrown over the line, rather than pinned neatly. There was no order. Towels dragged on the ground, and men’s trousers were interspersed with boys’ nightshirts, washcloths, undergarments and scrub cloths. Sheets had been tossed over shrubs, and one had slid off and lay in a damp pile on the ground. Worse, blackbirds sat on the clothesline, soiling clean, or what should have been clean, garments and linens.

Inside the house, an effort had clearly been made to sweep the floor and put the kitchen in order. Someone had scrubbed the floor; the bucket full of dirty water and the mop remained in a doorway. The windows needed cleaning, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Thanks be, there were no food scraps or unpleasant smells in the kitchen, but in order to reach the table, Ellen had to step over or dodge a whirl-a-gig, a child’s toy wagon missing one wheel and turned upside down, and a collection of wooden toy animals. The wagon was attached to Asa, or Asa to the wagon, by a rope looped around his waist, and he was demanding that someone replace the missing wheel.

Neziah stood at the stove stirring a huge kettle of what, Ellen wasn’t certain, but he welcomed her in and waved her to a seat at the table. Micah came in right behind them, scooped up Asa and the wagon and carried them both down the hall. “Evening, Ellen,” he called over his shoulder. “Glad you could come have supper with me.”

There was a loud squawk and Asa squealed with laughter. Joel rushed through the kitchen into the front room and immediately joined the fun. Something heavy fell or was pushed over, and Micah came out with a brown hen tucked firmly under his arm. “Asa let Rosy in again,” he explained, stray feathers trailing behind him. Asa, protesting loudly, was right behind him. Micah carried the chicken to the back door and deposited her on the porch. “Rosy cannot come into the house, Asa. Chickens belong outside.”

“I want Rosy!” Asa cried.

“You heard your uncle,” Neziah threw over his shoulder from the stove. “No chickens in the house. Now, wash your hands for supper. You, too, Joel.”

“Something smells good. What are we having? Stew or spaghetti?”

“Neither,” Neziah said. “Vegetable soup.” He smiled at Ellen as he carried a loaf of store-bought white bread and a cracked saucer containing a stick of butter to the table. “I hope you like vegetable soup. Have a seat.”

She glanced at the bread as she sat and wished she’d brought a loaf of her homemade honey-wheat bread with her. She’d almost tucked it into her basket, then thought better of it, not wanting the Shetlers to think she thought they couldn’t set a meal to a table.

Micah commanded the seat next to hers. “It’s sort of a spaghetti, stew, steak and vegetable soup,” he explained. “What would you like to drink? We have milk, coffee or water. Or...” He winked at her. “Water, coffee or milk.”

“Water, please.” She noticed gratefully that the faded tablecloth was clean and the mismatched dishes and bowls spotless. The place settings were haphazard. Her spoon had a bent handle, the fork was missing a prong and her knife was tarnished silverplate.

Simeon took a seat at the head of the table. “Crackers? Are there crackers for my soup?” he asked.

“I’ll get them.” Micah jumped up and went to the cupboard. He rummaged through several tin cans and then another cupboard before producing an unopened box of saltines. He returned with a triumphant grin, and the boys cheering him. But before he reached the table, Neziah pulled out the chair his brother had just vacated and sat beside Ellen.

“Tricked by my own father,” Micah declared dramatically. “You’re on his side, aren’t you,
Dat
? You like him best.”

“He does,” Joel said. “Jah,
Grossdaddi
likes our
dat
bestest.” He giggled. “But I love you,
Onkel
.”

Asa pounded his spoon on the table. “Me, too!
Onkel!
Onkel!
”

Ellen looked from Micah to Neziah, saw that they were all in on a family joke and laughed with them. Then Simeon motioned for grace, and everyone, even Asa, grew quiet and closed their eyes. When the silent prayer time was over, both Neziah and Micah rose to serve the heavy pottery bowls of thick vegetable soup.

“We like to talk about our day when we finally all get together for supper,” Micah said as he placed Ellen’s nearly overflowing bowl in front of her. “Did you see anything interesting today?”