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A Match for Addy
Emma Miller


In Search of True LoveSpinster Addy Coblentz fears she'll never marry. So her parents hire the new matchmaker who's moved to their Amish community of Seven Poplars. But Addy doesn't just want a match. She wants love. While some of her potential suitors are perfectly fine, only one man catches her eye. Gideon Esch is everything Addy's looking for: strong, kind–and handsome. But he's only a poor hired hand who can never give her family the stability they want. With her future happiness at stake, will Addy follow the rules…or follow her heart?THE AMISH MATCHMAKER: Bringing love to Seven Poplars–one couple at a time!







In Search of True Love

Spinster Addy Coblentz fears she’ll never marry. So her parents hire the new matchmaker who’s moved to their Amish community of Seven Poplars. But Addy doesn’t just want a match. She wants love. While some of her potential suitors are perfectly fine, only one man catches her eye. Gideon Esch is everything Addy’s looking for: strong, kind—and handsome. But he’s only a poor hired hand who can never give her family the stability they want. With her future happiness at stake, will Addy follow the rules…or follow her heart?

THE AMISH MATCHMAKER: Bringing love to Seven Poplars—one couple at a time!


“You can’t walk home alone.”

Gideon caught her by the arm.

“Stay away from me. You’re jealous because a boy wants to walk out with me. No matter who it is, you find fault with them,” Addy sputtered. “Even the butcher. You did everything you could to show him up for a pompous fuddy-duddy.”

“He was a pompous fuddy-duddy.”

“You know what?” She started walking again. Fast. “The trouble with you, Gideon Esch, is that you like me yourself. And you’re too much of a coward to admit it!”

“Ne! That’s not it,” he protested, following her. “I’m just... I’m looking out for you. You deserve better than that boy, who isn’t old enough to grow a proper beard.”

“At least he’s man enough to court a woman!”

That stopped him short in his shoes. “Addy...”

“Addy, nothing.” She stopped and turned back to him. “If you’d be honest with yourself, you’d know that I’m speaking the truth.” She started walking again. “I’m going home.”

Gideon could do nothing but watch her go.

He always tried to be honest. But could he be so now? Could he admit she was right?


EMMA MILLER lives quietly in her old farmhouse in rural Delaware. Fortunate enough to be born into a family of strong faith, she grew up on a dairy farm, surrounded by loving parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Emma was educated in local schools and once taught in an Amish schoolhouse. When she’s not caring for her large family, reading and writing are her favorite pastimes.


A Match for Addy

Emma Miller






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Behold, you are beautiful, my love; behold, you are beautiful.

—Song of Solomon 1:15


Contents

Cover (#ub3e4047d-34b1-5817-8bf1-f36704bd0f31)

Back Cover Text (#uc4a34d99-7c88-571f-9603-0fbf356ab386)

Introduction (#u6beeb81d-53c0-5c04-a8dd-bf90089c329d)

About the Author (#u200f95ea-75bb-54a5-bcbc-ca612faa6b29)

Title Page (#uc9f33275-78a0-5713-8598-f46daba2e78e)

Bible Verse (#u5ff7a99f-d54c-5fdf-a35e-ebe575941540)

Chapter One (#ulink_a7bb4de0-532f-55e4-b5ae-9efc7451f4c7)

Chapter Two (#ulink_a74d9de9-4996-5b3f-be8d-9ca7dd5d299b)

Chapter Three (#ulink_9e707044-e63b-5fe5-ba22-69986100d7eb)

Chapter Four (#ulink_081d11f2-ed7b-5a54-9978-d55f38809987)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_0a362ee1-ec06-5f95-a05c-02efed67e8e7)

Kent County, Delaware...June

Dorcas Coblentz walked at a brisk pace, eager to reach Sara Yoder’s farm. Today was going to be an exciting day; she could feel it. She just wished her mother hadn’t insisted that she wear her church shoes to her new job. They were black leather oxfords, old-fashioned, heavy and exactly like the ones her grossmama wore. Dorcas understood the value of Plain shoes that would hold up to mud and rain, but these were more suited to a sixty-year-old woman than one less than half that age.

And they had rubbed a blister on the big toe of her left foot.

It didn’t matter that they were the same size her mam had been buying for her since she was fourteen; this pair had never fit right. Dorcas had tried to explain the problem to her, but as long as she lived under her parents’ roof, she would be allowed little choice in her own clothing. No one ever asked for her opinion on anything, and when she dared give it, she wasn’t taken seriously. Martha and Reuben Coblentz believed that a girl’s parents should make decisions for her until she moved into her husband’s home. Then it was his responsibility to make those decisions. What was funny about that idea was that, as far as she could tell, it was her mother who made all the decisions in their house.

Dorcas sighed as she walked along the wooded path between her parents’ property and Sara’s. Dealing with her parents was becoming more and more frustrating. She should have been married years ago, like her pretty Yoder cousins. Then she would have had her own husband, household and children. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her parents or honor them, as the Bible told her she must. But every once in a while, Dorcas longed to have more independence. Almost as much as she longed for a beau.

That thought elicited another long sigh from Dorcas.

She’d just learned that chubby Barbara Beachy had a young man courting her, a man with his own horse and buggy. And Barbara was barely seventeen. Sunday, Barbara had confided in Dorcas that she should try prayer to find a husband. The thing was, Dorcas had been praying for one every night since she was fifteen. Maybe that was where she had made her mistake. Maybe it wasn’t right to pray for a husband. Good health, rain, even patience—she could understand asking God for those things. But maybe bothering Him about a husband was irreverent. Maybe that’s why she’d never had a boy ask her to a singing, or even offer her a ride home from a frolic.

Dorcas straightened her thin shoulders and walked a little faster. Now her right shoe was rubbing her heel, which took her mind off the left foot a little. She didn’t want to be late on her first day at her new job. It was important to make a good impression on cousin Sara, who was new to Seven Poplars, and—her mam said—rich enough to set sausage, bacon and scrapple on her breakfast table every morning. Sara had offered to pay Dorcas well for her assistance in getting settled into her new house, and then, if things worked out, Dorcas would continue to help with cleaning and cooking on a regular basis.

Dorcas caught a flash of the hem of her dress and smiled to herself. Her shoes were awful, but at least she could be happy with her new dress. Her mam had paid cousin Johanna to sew it for her, and the material was the nicest that Dorcas had ever worn. It was the prettiest shade of lavender; she’d never had a lavender dress before. Her mother always chose dark colors for her. This morning, she had covered it with a full-length work apron. The fabric felt soft against her skin and made her smile every time she looked down at it.

Dorcas’s own sewing wasn’t that good. She supposed that she could have done a better job if their treadle machine didn’t keep breaking the thread and grinding to a stop in the middle of a straight seam. Finances were tight in their home, and her mam said the old worn-out sewing machine was the least of their worries. Dorcas was glad to have an opportunity to help her family by working for Sara. Her dat had promised that she could keep part of her wages, and it was exciting to think that, for the first time ever, she’d have money to spend as she chose.

Dorcas intended to work hard for Sara and prove that picking her, when she could have had any of a dozen unmarried girls in Seven Poplars, had been the best choice. Dorcas had been so eager to start that she’d hurried through oatmeal, stewed prunes and coffee this morning, not even taking time for toast and apple butter. And wanting to be there early, she decided to cut through the woods by the old logging road rather than walk down the blacktop from their farm to Sara’s place.

There was no gate at the end of the woods road, just a four-foot wire fence, overgrown in a morass of poison ivy, thorns and wild roses. There was an old wooden ladder, a stile, to get over it. Almost to the stile, Dorcas stopped and shifted her right foot inside her shoe. She was definitely working on a blister on her heel. She glanced up in indecision. It was another quarter of a mile to the farmhouse. How was that going to look to Sara if her new employee showed up for her first day of work limping like a foundered mare?

The clunky shoes just weren’t going to do today.

Dorcas glanced around, hands on her hips. The path was used by plenty of the neighbors, but there was no one in sight. No one would ever know. She quickly untied her shoes, slipped out of them and removed her black stockings. Into the shoes the stockings went, then she put them behind a tree. They would be safe there, and she could retrieve them on her way home, without her mother being any the wiser.

With the grass delightfully cool beneath her feet, Dorcas gazed up at the fence. While the rungs on the stile were old and covered with moss, she knew she could easily climb them. Without any trouble, she scrambled up. She’d taken the first step on the far side when suddenly wood cracked under one foot. As she started to fall, Dorcas threw out her arms and windmilled, in an attempt to catch her balance. It was too late. She tumbled sideways and somehow fell headfirst into the tangle of fencing, vines and briars.

“Ach!” she cried as she hit the ground.

One shoulder had slammed into the wooden fence post as she went down, and for an instant, the wind was knocked out of her. Dorcas lay caught in a snare of green briars and stared up dizzily at the bright blue sky. How did these things happen to her? She was a good girl who obeyed her parents and tried to follow the laws of God. Things like this were not supposed to happen—not on the first day of work at her very first job!

Dorcas’s right knee and the palm of her left hand burned; she was sure she’d cut herself on something. Her knee felt as though the flesh had been gouged, and she felt a warm trickle of blood.

Her eyes welled up suddenly, as much from disappointment as pain. Today was not supposed to go like this. Today was a new start. She’d decided that this morning when she’d risen from her morning prayers.

But Dorcas wasn’t a crier. She’d learned long ago that tears didn’t do a body a bit of good. She shoved her dress over her bare legs and tried to sit up, but the briars scratched her arms and legs, seeming to pull her down. The harder she tried to get up, the more it hurt. She lay back for a second to think. How was she going to get out of the hedgerow without further injuring herself? Maybe if she could get her feet beneath her, she could wiggle her way out. Dorcas rolled to one side, only to find that her skirt was snagged on a splinter of the fence post. She rolled onto her back and tried to free the material, but she couldn’t work it loose. The only way she could get free, at this angle, would be to tear the dress off the post.

Her throat constricted. Now she wanted to cry. Her mam had warned her to wear her old burgundy-colored dress, but it was patched and scandalously short, sewn for her when she was younger and hadn’t yet grown to such an unseemly height. She’d so badly wanted to wear the pretty new dress on her first day of work. Now she was paying the price for her vanity.

“Was in der welt?” It was a male voice.

Dorcas froze.

“Are you hurt?” He switched to English.

Dorcas tried wildly to think who it could be. He was Amish. She could tell that by his use of the Deitsch dialect. But she couldn’t recognize this stranger’s voice, which didn’t make any sense. Seven Poplars was a small community; she knew everyone.

Heat flashed under the skin of her throat and cheeks. If she could have suddenly made herself invisible, she would have. Frantically, she drew her legs up, attempting to cover her bare shins. “I’m caught,” she managed, her voice coming out in a squeak. “My dress...”

The sun was so bright that when she looked up, she could only make out the silhouette of the stranger as he leaned over her and closed his hands around her shoulders. “Ne, maedle, lie still.”

His husky voice was rich and compassionate. She squinted in the sunshine. This was no lad, but neither did his tone have the weight and gravity of age—a young man, then. Which was even worse. She clamped her eyes shut, hoping the ground would swallow her up.

“Easy,” he said. “I’m just going to—”

She felt the tension on her dress suddenly loosen.

“There you go.”

At once, she tried to struggle to her feet, but she couldn’t find anything solid to grab on to. Before she could protest, he had wrapped his arms around her and was lifting her out of the briars.

He cradled her against him, one arm under the backs of her knees, the other supporting her shoulders. “Best I get you to Sara and have her take a look at that knee. Might need stitches.” Instead of putting her down, he turned and started to walk across the field toward Sara’s.

Dorcas opened her eyes and looked into a broad, shaven face framed by shaggy butter-blond hair that hung almost to his wide shoulders. He was the most attractive man, Amish or English, she had ever laid eyes on. She parted her lips, but words wouldn’t come. He was too beautiful to be real, this man with merry pewter-gray eyes and suntanned skin.

I must have hit the post with my head and knocked myself silly, she thought.

She was breathless again, but now it wasn’t from the fall. Other than her father, she’d never been this close to a man. And this one was so large, so beautiful. And his smell. She hadn’t known a man could smell so good. A small part of her brain registered the thin, patched shirt with its frayed collar, as she took more of the details in. This dream man was even more poorly dressed than her father.

“I can...I should...” She pushed against his shoulders, thinking she should walk. She could certainly walk.

“Ne, not on that knee. It may need stitches. If you try to walk, you could do yourself more harm.” He shifted her weight. “You’ll be more comfortable if you put your arms around my neck.”

“I...I...” she mumbled, but she did as he said. He kept walking. She knew that this was improper, but she couldn’t figure out what to do, what to say. The sun shone warm on her face; she could hear a mockingbird singing.

“You must be the little cousin Sara said was coming to help her today,” he said. “I’m Gideon, her hired man. Gideon Esch. I just arrived last night from Cashton.”

Little cousin? Gideon’s words sifted through her tumbled thoughts. Little? She was five foot eleven, a giant compared to most of the local women, and taller than three quarters of the men in her community. She almost giggled. No one had ever called her little before. But what came out was only “Vo?” She’d never heard of Cashton.

“Wisconsin. My home.” He smiled down at her, and sunlight lit his face. His eyebrows were fair and neat, his face clean-shaven. He wasn’t married. Her heart pounded.

She didn’t know what to say. She had to say something, didn’t she? “The...stile...step broke,” she managed.

“I saw. Falling into that fence. You could have been seriously hurt.”

She nodded. Gulped. Maybe this was a dream...

“You don’t say much, do you?” He looked down at her in his arms and grinned. “Not like my sisters, eight of them. Talk, talk, talk, all the time, until a man can’t hear himself think. You know what I mean?”

Dorcas nodded again.

He grinned. “I like you, little cousin. Do you have a name?”

“Dorcas. Dorcas Coblentz.”

The gray eyes narrowed, and Gideon shook his head. “You don’t look like a Dorcas to me.”

What was she supposed to say to that? She’d never thought her name suited her, either, but it had never mattered. Dorcas was the name her parents had given her at birth.

He stopped walking to look down at her with a serious face. “I don’t suppose you have a middle name?”

She nodded. “Adelaide.”

“Better.” He grinned down at her. “Adelaide,” he repeated. “Addy. That’s what I’ll call you. You look a lot more like an Addy than you do a Dorcas.”

“Addy?” The syllables rolled off her tongue, not quite the same as the way Gideon said it with his Wisconsin Deitsch accent, but well enough. The idea settled over her as easily as warm maple syrup over blueberry pancakes. “Addy,” she repeated, and then she found herself smiling back at him. Addy was such a pretty name.

Dorcas wasn’t pretty. She had never been pretty. Her parents and grandmother had made that clear to her as a child. “Teach that one to cook,” her grossmama had declared on the morning of her first day of school. “She’s as plain of face as you were, Martha, too tall for a girl and skinny as a broom handle. And that mouth...” Her grandmother had spread her hands hopelessly. “Be firm with Dorcas while she’s young, or I warn you, you’ll have an old maid on your hands, just like my sister, Jezzy.”

“Almost there, Addy,” Gideon said, bringing her back to the present.

She opened her eyes, half expecting to find that it wasn’t a handsome young man carrying her across the field, but some shriveled-up old farmer with straw in his beard and hair growing out of his ears.

But there he was. Dorcas sighed with relief, as a smile bubbled up and spilled out of her wide mouth and spread across her face. Gideon Esch—a perfect name for any Plain girl’s secret wishing.

“Gideon Esch! Was in der welt?”

Dorcas turned her head to see Sara Yoder drop her basket of laundry at the clothesline.

She hurried toward them, apron flying. “How bad is she hurt?”

“The stile broke on the south fence line, and she fell into the hedgerow. She cut her knee on a nail, I think. She might need a tetanus shot,” Gideon told Sara.

“Had one this year,” Dorcas squeaked.

“I thought...it might not be goot for her to walk on it.”

Sara looked at Dorcas then at Gideon and then back at Dorcas again. Her dark eyes narrowed, and something passed over her caramel-colored face. A thought Dorcas couldn’t identify. Then Sara’s eyes snapped wide and she said sternly, “Dorcas, have you lost your mind? Unless you’ve got broken bones protruding from that knee, you’d best get out of Gideon’s arms this instant!”

Dorcas’s fantasy evaporated as she realized how inappropriate this must look to her new employer. She squeezed Gideon’s shoulders. “Put me down,” she urged. “Now!”

He let go of her, practically dropping her, then thought the better of it and caught her before she hit the ground. Holding her under her arms, he gingerly tilted her upright.

Dorcas took a single step, winced and looked down at her leg. Below the hem of her torn, blood-stained dress, a thin trickle of blood oozed down her shin. “It’s not so bad,” she said.

“I think it might need stitches,” Gideon protested.

Sara leaned over and carefully raised the hem of Dorcas’s dress high enough to examine her knee, but not so high as to expose too much leg to Gideon. “Don’t be silly,” she huffed. “A little soap and water, maybe a butterfly bandage, and that knee will be as good as new.” She stood up, lowering Dorcas’s dress hem. “Into the house with you. Come along.” She turned on her heels and started for the back door.

Dorcas hobbled after her. As they reached the porch, she glanced over her shoulder to see Gideon still standing there in his shabby, patched clothes and battered straw hat. Her cheeks burned, but beneath the flush of embarrassment, her skin still tingled with the excitement of Gideon’s touch.

* * *

After supper that evening, Gideon sat in Sara’s kitchen and watched as she and Ellie cleared away the dishes and put the room in order. Although he was new to Sara’s, the familiar routine felt comforting. He liked this time of night at home, when supper was over and there was time to talk as the day came to an end.

The house in Wisconsin where he had grown up had always buzzed with the female chatter of a bevy of sisters, both older and younger than he was. And his mother reigned over them all. Sara reminded him of his mother in a lot of ways. She wasn’t stern, but she had a commanding way about her. And she was every bit the cook his mother was. Sara Yoder set a fine table, and the bountiful meal had included a fine sage sausage and the excellent cheddar cheese one of his sisters had tucked into his suitcase. Although coming to Delaware hadn’t been his choice, it appeared as though his stay might not be unpleasant, after all.

Ellie, who was a little person, had set a stool at the sink and was washing dishes while Sara dried. They were an unusual pair, and would have stood out in any group of Amish women, but both were interesting and good company. How the two had come to live together, he didn’t know yet, but he had already learned that diminutive Ellie was the new schoolteacher in Seven Poplars. The previous teacher, Sara’s cousin Hannah Yoder, had recently wed and, like most Old Order Amish women, had chosen to stay at home with her husband rather than work full-time. Ellie would begin teaching in September.

Gideon’s gaze shifted to Sara. He guessed she was between forty and fifty years of age. She wasn’t that tall, about his mother’s height, but that was where the physical resemblance ended. His mother’s hair was as yellow-blond as his own, but Sara’s was walnut-brown and so curly as to be almost crinkly, what he could see of it under her prayer kapp. Her skin was the color of his morning coffee, a chocolate with extra dollops of heavy cream. Sara was a puzzle: not black, not white, but an exotic mixture. She was unusual because most Amish were as pale as winter cream.

Ellie, in contrast, was in her early twenties, and although she was the shortest girl he’d ever known, barely four feet tall, she was quite attractive, with her neat little figure, blond hair and blue eyes. Ellie’s freckled face was as fair as any of his sisters’, and she was always smiling and laughing. He liked her. Not in the romantic way that a fella might like an unmarried girl, but in a brotherly way. Within the first few moments of meeting Sara and Ellie at the bus station in Dover, he had known that he and Ellie would be good friends.

Sara seemed more serious, though she certainly didn’t seem unwilling to laugh. She had a take-charge attitude and a determined gleam in her dark eyes. Just the kind of woman one would expect to be a matchmaker. Though Sara was the only matchmaker he’d ever met.

Sara was the reason he was here in Seven Poplars, a thousand miles from home. Although he wasn’t ready to settle down yet, his parents were eager for him to take a wife and start raising a household of little Esches. They’d been trying to match him up, unsuccessfully, with one local girl after another for years. Coming to Seven Poplars had been a way to escape his family’s good intentions, yet he had quickly realized that it was a little bit like jumping out of the kettle into the fire.

Gideon had promised his mother and father that he would help Sara settle in to her new farm and, while he was there, let her look into finding him a suitable wife. What he hadn’t told them was that just because the matchmaker might find him a girl, that didn’t mean he would be willing to walk out with her.

Gideon simply wasn’t certain that he was ready to marry; he still enjoyed being single too much. He loved women, young and old, tall and short, plump, thin and in between. He liked to watch them as they walked and as they sat in service, heads nodding as gracefully as swans as the preacher delivered the sermon. And he never tired of hearing female laughter. He loved escorting girls to frolics and singings, and he even enjoyed the workdays when unmarried men and women would join forces to help someone in the Amish community.

He didn’t believe, as many Amish men did, that females should keep to the house and minding of children. Not at all. Having such a gaggle of sisters who helped with the family business had taught him that women could be just as clever and hardworking as men. Respect for the opposite sex Gideon possessed aplenty. What he didn’t have was a desire to give up his bachelor’s fun and settle down with just one fräulein. And he highly doubted that any eager girl that Sara could dangle in front of him would cause him to change his mind.

He was thirty years old, and his parents had been making decisions for him since he was born. He had honored them as the Bible instructed. He loved them as they loved him, as they loved his sisters. He’d always been a dutiful son. He’d studied the craft his father expected him to follow, and he’d joined the church at twenty-one, as his family had urged. Every day, he tried to live the life his family and faith inspired. But he would not marry a bride someone else thought was right for him, and he wouldn’t be rushed into matrimony until he was good and ready—which, if he had his druthers, would be five, maybe even ten years in the future.


Chapter Two (#ulink_a1572baf-aa3d-588f-a9c9-2686da70ac93)

“Gideon,” Sara said.

He glanced up as she wiped a plate dry and put it onto the cupboard shelf. “Ya, Sara?” He waited, needle and thread in midair. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he wasn’t sure what he’d missed.

Sara raised one brow quizzically, and stared at him. “What are you doing with that nodel?”

“I was wondering the same,” Ellie commented.

Gideon secured the final knot with the sewing needle and snipped off the end of the thread with small embroidery scissors. “Just fixing the tear in Addy’s dress that you had her leave here.”

“I would have gotten to it,” Sara said.

“I know, but it wasn’t any trouble. I was able to get the blood out with peroxide, and now it’s as good as new. Or nearly. I didn’t even have to patch it.” With satisfaction, he smoothed the lavender fabric. He wasn’t ashamed of his sewing skills. They were handy for a bachelor, and he had his sisters to thank for teaching him. He could take measurements of his old shirts and trousers and make his own patterns from brown paper, too. He’d never tried making a vest or coat, but he was pretty certain he could if he needed to.

“You sew?” Sara narrowed her eyes with skepticism and came to stand beside him. “Let me see what you’ve done.” She inspected his repair. “Amazing.” She turned to Ellie. “Look at this. Such neat, little stitches. I couldn’t have done better myself. I never thought to see a man with such skill. I suppose we’ll have to list that on your résumé, won’t we, Gideon?” She picked up a damp dish towel she’d been using and hung it over one of the chairs to dry. “So that the girls who might consider you for a husband will know your full worth. I don’t suppose you wash dishes?”

Gideon grimaced. “Not unless cornered.” He looked to the sink to see what was yet to be done. “Am I cornered?”

“Ne, ne.” Sara chuckled. “Don’t worry. Ellie and I can manage well enough without your help. I’m too particular about my kitchen to let a man help. You stick to the duties I’ve given you, and we’ll handle the inside chores. You’ve enough to keep you busy outside, I’ll guarantee you that. My woodpile is practically nonexistent and even in Delaware, winter will come again.” Her tone became firm. “You can chop wood, can’t you?”

Gideon grinned. “I know how to use an ax as well as a needle and thread. My father used to send me lumbering. And you know the size of the woodpile we need in Wisconsin.”

Sara nodded with approval. “There’s hope for you, then. But you’re going to have to get girls’ names right if you expect me to find you a wife. You can’t go around making up nicknames for every woman you meet the way you tried with Dorcas.”

“I don’t make a habit of it,” Gideon assured her as he smoothed the wrinkles from the lavender dress and hung it on a hanger. “But she looks a lot more like an Addy than a Dorcas to me. She’s too young to be a Dorcas.”

“I agree,” Ellie put in. “The last Dorcas I knew was ninety, and snored through every church sermon.”

“And I didn’t really change her name,” Gideon defended. “She told me that her middle name was Adelaide. I thought Addy fit her better.” Remembering how Addy had smiled at him when he called her by that name made him smile.

Sara took a fresh tablecloth from the chest under the window and spread it over the table. “I would think that Dorcas would have a thing or two to say about what she’s called,” she mused.

“I think she liked it.” He went into the large utility room off the kitchen and hung Addy’s dress on a hook where she’d see it when she came again. Then he returned to the doorway. “If you don’t need me to do anything, I think I’ll go sit awhile on the porch.”

“Mind if I join you?” Ellie removed her apron, then glanced at Sara. “Unless there’s something else you’d like me to do?”

“Ne.” Sara made shooing motions with her hands. “It’s a good thing for you young people to get to know each other. Ellie has made quite a few friends since she arrived,” she explained to Gideon. “She can introduce you around.”

“I’d be glad to. There’s a singing on Thursday night at the Peachys’ for older singles,” Ellie told him. “Charley and Miriam Byler are chaperoning. You’ll like them, and they know everyone.”

“You two go on outside and enjoy the evening breeze.” Sara took paper and a pen from a drawer in one of the cherry sideboards she’d brought with her from Wisconsin. “I have letters to write. There’s a young woman wanting to come here from Canada, the cousin of a girl I matched last year.”

“Hope you have better luck with her than me,” Ellie teased. She followed Gideon out onto the porch that wrapped three-quarters of the way around the Cape Cod. “I think Sara’s none too happy with me being so picky with who I’ll court.”

“I hope she’s not plotting to match the two of us up.” When Gideon realized that what he’d said might offend her, her went on, quickly. “I didn’t mean that you...that I thought you...” He trailed off. “I’ve put my foot in my mouth, haven’t I?” He looked down and self-consciously rubbed the neat patch on one trouser leg knee.

Ellie chuckled. “Ya, you have. But don’t worry. I’m not that anxious to have a match, either. I’ve turned down four men that Sara offered me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My parents.”

He nodded, understanding perfectly. A mother and a father, no matter how loving, could be demanding.

“For now,” Ellie went on, “I’m happy being single. I’m excited to teach at the Seven Poplars schoolhouse come fall.”

Gideon sat down on the step and leaned back against a white post. It was solid enough, he noted, but probably needed another coat of paint. “I’m happy being single, too. It’s my mother who’s anxious for me to marry. And my dat. I’m the only son,” he admitted sheepishly. “It’s up to me to carry on the family name. It’s a big responsibility.” He frowned. “I probably shouldn’t have said that, either.”

Ellie boosted herself up into the porch swing and scooted back until her tiny feet stuck straight out. “I understand,” she said. “And don’t worry about saying what you think with me. I like it.” She flashed him an impudent grin. “And I like you. You treat me like I was average-sized.” She arranged her dress. “Not everyone does.”

“Sometimes people feel awkward with those who are different. That kind of thing doesn’t bother me. I have a cousin who’s like you.”

“A little person? Really?” She seemed surprised.

“Ya. My second cousin Abraham is a harness maker, a good one. And he’s a great guy, hardworking. He married a regular-sized woman a few years ago, and they have two sons.”

“Big or little, the kinner?”

“Average size.”

“Ah. They could have been small. I think it’s a worry for some. But I’ve never minded being short.” She shrugged. “It’s just who I am. God has given me good health and a good mind. Why should I complain about how tall I am?”

Gideon bent to retie a bootlace that had come loose. “If they hired you to teach school here in Seven Poplars, then your height must not matter to the community.”

“I have Hannah Yoder to thank for my new position. I stayed at her house last year when visiting with Sara, and we got to know each other. When she found out that I was looking for a teaching job and had been turned down twice elsewhere, she suggested me. And...” Ellie spread both hands, palm up. “Since two of her sons-in-law are on the school board, they accepted my application. My parents thought I should come to Delaware now with Sara, rather than waiting until fall.”

“Has it been hard? Moving from Wisconsin?”

“Ya. I miss my family, but this is a nice place. I like it here. Still, it would be nice to have a friend from Wisconsin.” She uttered a small sound of amusement. “If we were friends, like a brooder and schweschder, we wouldn’t have to feel awkward about being together.”

“Friends.” He removed his hat and pushed back his thick yellow hair as he considered it. “Ya,” he said. “I’d like that. And we wouldn’t have to worry about Sara matching us up.”

Ellie chuckled. “She could try, but it wouldn’t work. As nice as you are, I’m not...” She looked at him. “Now I’m the one putting my foot in my mouth.”

Gideon cocked his head. “You aren’t attracted to me?”

She shook her head. “Ne.”

“What’s wrong with me?” he ventured, feeling a little disappointed. Girls usually liked him.

“Besides being so pleased with yourself, you’re too tall,” she said. “Too much of you altogether. It would give me a stiff neck to be always staring up at you.”

“Right, with me being tall and you not,” he answered, ignoring what she’d said about him being conceited, which he didn’t agree with. Though she wasn’t the first girl to ever say that, he didn’t want to ruin their budding friendship by arguing with her. “I guess we’d make quite the pair, wouldn’t we?”

She giggled. “Daykli and a grohs beah. Not good.”

A tiny lump of dough and a huge bear. Gideon laughed. “You think I’m a bear?”

“As big as,” she said. “But a nice bear. Maybe one who could learn to dance.”

“Amish don’t dance,” he reminded her. “It goes against the ordnung.”

“Voah.” True. “But bears do not live by the ordnung. And if you were a bear, I think you would be one that danced.”

He laughed. “Do you always get the last word, Ellie?”

“Not always,” she replied saucily, “but I try. Maybe that’s why even Sara can’t find a husband to suit me.”

* * *

Two days later, Dorcas, who was beginning to think of herself as Addy, carried a plate of scrapple, eggs and fried potatoes to her father at the breakfast table. The cut on her knee was on the mend, and she was excited that she’d be going back to work at Sara’s house. She wore her second-best dress, a sensible blue one that was starting to fade from repeated washing, but was still good enough for housework, and her old blue sneakers. She’d washed and ironed the lovely green dress that Sara had loaned her to wear home after she’d made such a mess of her new lavender one. She planned to return it today.

“Danke,” her father said, setting down his mug of black coffee and picking up a fork. They’d already sat together for a moment of silent grace before her mam had poured the coffee.

Breakfast with her parents was always a good time. Her mother was cheerful in the morning, or at least as cheerful as she permitted herself to be, and her father liked to ask about her plans for the day and tell the two of them his own.

He poured catsup over his scrapple, cut off a bite with his fork and popped it into his mouth. “Goot, Dorcas. You make it crunchy-brown, the way I like it.”

“Enjoy it, Dat,” she said. “This was the last of it.”

“The last of all that you and your mother made?” He took a cloth napkin and carefully wiped his mouth. He was always neat when he ate, careful never to leave the table with bits of food clinging to his beard, like some men. Dorcas thought her father a very respectable man, and she couldn’t help being proud of him. Of course, their faith frowned on pride. It was considered hochmut. But how could she not be proud of a father who was one of the two preachers in their congregation, a truly good man who lived according to the rules and thought the best of everyone?

“I saw the bishop’s wife at Byler’s Store yesterday,” her mother said as she took the seat across from her husband. Her mam liked her coffee sweet, with lots of milk. Luckily, it was summer, and the milk cow gave more than they could use. She hadn’t taken any of the scrapple for herself, leaving it for her husband, but he didn’t know that, or he would have insisted that they share. “She told me that Sara Yoder has a new hired man. Not from around here. Up north, somewhere.”

“Wisconsin,” her father said as he used the pepper shaker liberally on his eggs. Two eggs, sunny side up. It was what he wanted every morning. He was a hearty eater, and he never minded what they put in front of him. He ate roast turkey breast and beef tongue with equal enthusiasm, which was a good thing, because they often had to borrow from Peter to pay Paul to keep up with the bills. “The new hired hand is from Wisconsin, same as Sara.”

“If she needed the help, she could have asked one of the Beachy boys,” her mother put in, sipping her coffee. She had a single egg, poached, with a slice of toast spread with honey. Rain or shine, summer or winter, so long as the hens were laying, she liked her single poached egg. And she made it herself, because she didn’t trust anyone else to cook it to her liking. “Plenty of strong young men looking for work around here, without hauling one all the way from up north.” Dorcas’s mother glanced at her. “You didn’t mention a hired hand, Dorcas. Did you see him the other day when you were there?”

Dorcas busied herself buttering her toast. “Ya, I saw him.”

“But you never said so.”

Dorcas took a big bite of toast.

“Now, Martha, don’t pick at the girl. She’d taken a tumble. I’m sure her mind was on her hurt knee and that pretty new dress you got her.”

Dorcas smiled gratefully at her father. She sometimes winced when he called her a girl, but this time she didn’t mind. She’d told her parents about the fall she’d taken, but she had omitted the part about Gideon and his rescue of her. She hoped he and Sara wouldn’t tell. It had been most inappropriate, but it had been the most exciting thing that had happened to her in years, maybe ever. She didn’t want to share what she’d done with anyone, least of all her mam and dat.

“I’ve been wondering,” Dorcas said, in an attempt to turn the conversation to a safer subject. At least a little safer. “If you would care if I started using my middle name.” She looked up cautiously at her parents.

“Adelaide?” Her mother’s eyes widened in surprise. “Whatever for? You’ve been called Dorcas all your life and now you want—”

“What harm would it do?” her father interrupted. “It is her name.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I’ll be thirty soon, and Dorcas sounds too...too fancy.” She didn’t know where that had come from and looked down quickly at her plate. It wasn’t like her to fib like that.

Her mother thrust out her chin. “Adelaide?” she repeated. “That sounds more worldly to me than Dorcas. It was your grossmama who gave you your middle name, after her favorite grandmother.”

“I...I was thinking of Addy,” Dorcas dared. Again, she looked up quickly at her parents then back at her plate. “I think it has a nice, mature ring to it.”

“Mature?” Her mother sniffed.

Her father took another sip of coffee and nodded to his wife. “Come now, Martha, what harm will it do?”

Her mam shrugged and sighed. “If you have your heart set on it, and your father doesn’t object, do as you please. But it’s a fernhoodie to me why you want to do such a thing. Dorcas is a goot, Plain name, for a goot, plain girl.”

“I just think I’d like to go by Addy,” she said lightly, not wanting her mother to know how much it suddenly mattered. Such a small thing, but the suggestion, coming from a man like Gideon, seemed right. “Addy’s plain enough, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s a fine name,” her father said. “So, Addy it is.” He glanced at her mother. “Perfect, don’t you think, Martha? For a new beginning.” He patted his wife’s hand.

Addy was surprised. It wasn’t like her parents to show affection for each other in front of her.

“I think you should tell her,” her dat said.

“Tell me what?”

Her mam pulled her hand free. Her pale cheeks flushed just a little. Addy could tell that her mother was pleased by the gesture, but she wasn’t willing to show it. Some people thought that her mother and father were a poor match. Her mam had a sharp side and was quick, always busy, always in motion, and her dat was generally easygoing and slow. He could spend the better part of an hour leaning on the garden gate deciding which chore he’d start on first. And sometimes he was so busy thinking that the day got away from him. But her father was a pious man and a good preacher. Life had not been easy for him, but he’d never lost faith that the Lord would see him through.

Her mother frowned. “I didn’t want to have this talk this morning, Reuben. No need to make her self-conscious. She’s liable to let it go to her head and make a fool of herself in front of the matchmaker. But since you’ve taken the lid off the pot, you may as well serve the stew.” She gestured for him to speak.

Addy looked at her father. She had no idea what they were talking about. “Dat?”

He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Your mother and I... We thought... We’ve been talking about...about the fact that you’re not getting any younger, and you don’t seem to be able to—”

“Reuben!” Her mother rolled her eyes as she interrupted. “That’s no way to put it.” She turned to Addy. “We’ve spoken to the matchmaker about finding you a husband.”

“Me?” Addy sank back into her chair. For a moment, she was stunned. “You asked Sara to... For me?” she protested. “But we don’t have the money to pay a matchmaker’s fee.”

“Ach,” her mother soothed, pushing a bite of soft egg into her mouth. “You’re not to worry about the money. We’ll find it somewhere. Your father can always sell off some of his beef cattle.”

“Or maybe those acres of woods that Charley’s been wanting to buy,” her dat suggested.

“Ne.” Addy shook her head. “I don’t want you to sacrifice what you worked all your life for. Tell Sara that we’ve changed our minds. Maybe if I went to visit our Ohio cousins, I could meet someone there.”

“Not every girl’s family pays,” her mother explained. “Sometimes, it is the man or his parents who bear the expense. I’ve already brought that possibility up with Sara.”

Addy’s heart sank. Who else knew about this? Who had Sara told? Did Gideon think she was one of the girls who had to pay to find someone? How could she face him again? “Is that why Sara hired me?” she asked.

“Of course not, you silly goose.” Her mam stood and came around the table to hug her, an act Addy found almost as startling as the fact that her parents had engaged a matchmaker without consulting her. But Addy couldn’t pull away, and her mother’s embrace, so rare, was all the more precious. “The new teacher helps out, but she doesn’t have the strength to keep up that house. Sara needs some painting done, and help to do her canning. She’ll have more girls coming to stay, and she needs someone she can count on.”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind and you don’t want to work for her. I thought you could give your mother half of your pay and keep half for yourself,” her father said. “As any other unmarried daughter would do.”

“Ne, Dat,” she assured him. “I want to work for Sara.”

“Goot,” her mother said. “It’s settled. You’ll work and while you’re at Sara’s, she’ll give you some instruction. You’ll follow her advice and meet the men she wants you to meet. And let us worry about Sara’s fee. If she makes a good match for you, you’ll be in a position to help us in our old age.”

Addy nodded. She had other siblings, but they were older and lived far away. It would be her duty to care for her parents when they were too old to work. It was what was expected of Amish daughters, and she would do what she could for them with a whole heart.

“Don’t look so glum,” her father said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “It’s time you were married, with a good husband and children of your own. My other grandchildren I never get to see. We only want what’s best for you.”

“Ya,” her mother agreed. “I’m weary of going to my sister-in-law’s family’s weddings. It’s time we had one of our own.”

Maybe the idea of having Sara find her a match wasn’t so bad. Addy did want a husband, and she was tired of serving as an attendant at her cousins’ weddings. But—she sighed inwardly—who would want her, at her age? Most girls were married and had several children by thirty. No young man would want her. Sara would most likely find her an older widower, someone who already had children. She tried to imagine what such a man would look like. She wouldn’t mind being a stepmother, but she hoped this bridegroom wouldn’t be too old or too ill-tempered.

She wouldn’t set her hopes too high. She would do as her father always did and place her faith in God. It should have been easy. If only Gideon Esch hadn’t pulled her out of a briar patch and carried her across the field like some English girl out of a paperback romance.


Chapter Three (#ulink_cdf18212-ece7-5265-ab30-803c044b0006)

With trepidation, Dorcas—Addy, she reminded herself, she was Addy now—approached the fence line that bordered Sara’s property. The dreaded stile.

The sun was bright, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The day promised to be warm and humid, and she could already feel a sheen of moisture on her face and throat. She hoped she wouldn’t arrive at Sara’s all hot and sweaty; she wanted to appear mature and competent. Especially after last time.

But first things first—her good leather shoes that she’d left behind the tree two days ago. What if they weren’t there? It hadn’t rained, but the dew had been heavy the previous morning. What if they’d gotten mildew on them? Replacing the pair would be an expense that she couldn’t expect her parents to pay. And she’d be mortified to show up at church in her old sneakers. She’d have to use two weeks’ wages to replace the shoes, if they were ruined. And all because she hadn’t wanted to put up with a blister or two.

Of course, the condition of her shoes and getting over the fence were small concerns compared to the nervousness she felt about seeing Gideon again. What must he think of her? Did he know that Sara was seeking a husband for her? Had he known before she did?

Her mother said she hadn’t told her about the matchmaking agreement right away because she didn’t want Addy to feel self-conscious or to make a fool of herself on her first day of work. She had done that anyway.

Addy couldn’t decide whether to be pleased or annoyed that her parents had contacted the new matchmaker about her. She did want a husband, and she’d had no success in finding one on her own so far, but...she wished that her mam and dat had talked to her first. She might have been more careful to make a good first impression on Sara and Gideon. Not that Gideon would be interested in her—a good-looking, smart, sweet boy like him—but maybe he had a friend or a cousin who was seeking a bride. Maybe he even had an uncle whose wife had passed away, a settled man with a trade, who might be willing to make a match with a woman nearing thirty. She didn’t want Gideon to think that she was immodest because she’d allowed him to carry her across the field. It hadn’t been prudent, but at the time...

Addy sighed. Whatever had possessed her? She’d thought she had better sense, but he’d just taken over the situation. And she couldn’t deny that she’d been thrilled by the experience. Nothing like it had ever happened to her before. Not that that was an excuse for her inappropriate behavior. She’d have to be cautious so as to not find herself in a compromising position with a boy again. Any boy. She was a respectable member of the church, and she was expected to follow the ordnung, which forbade certain behavior between men and women. While there might not be a concrete statement concerning girls letting boys carry them across fields, she knew full well that it wasn’t acceptable.

Nearly to the stile, Addy peered behind the tree where she’d deposited her shoes. To her relief, the black leather oxfords were exactly as she’d left them. She picked them up and brushed away the spider webs. Then she lifted the dress that Sara had loaned her from her split oak basket, put the shoes on the bottom and carefully replaced the folded garment on top.

When she turned to the fence, to her surprise, she saw that the old fencing and stile were gone and the briars had been cleared away. In their place were solid new posts, shiny, five-feet-high stock wire and a sturdy set of steps with a handrail. Someone, Gideon, she supposed, had been busy. At least twenty feet of fencing had been replaced, and there was a pile of new wooden posts waiting to be put into the ground.

Addy climbed up and over the new stile with ease and then strode purposefully across the pasture toward Sara’s outbuildings. Two sorrel mules that she hadn’t seen before grazed on the lush grass. The first animal paid her little attention and kept eating, but the second lifted a big head, twitched its long ears and stared curiously at her as she passed. She felt like it was staring at her—the girl who needed a matchmaker to get a husband.

Which was silly, of course. Lots of Amish girls needed the help of a matchmaker to find a good husband. There was no reason for her to feel embarrassed. Sometimes it was just a matter of fitting the right girl with the right boy. Was it her fault that she had been born plain, or that she’d grown so tall, taller than her dat and many of the men in Seven Poplars? And wouldn’t it be worth it if Sara found her a good husband? She smiled to herself at the thought...a husband she could love. A husband who would love her. Love between a man and woman wasn’t a subject discussed in her parents’ house, but she had only to see her Yoder cousins and the fine matches they had made to know it could happen.

The rhythmic thud of an ax striking wood cut through her reverie. As she entered the barnyard, she looked up to see Gideon.

“Good morning, Addy,” he called. He was standing at the edge of a pile of freshly split sections of logs.

Addy stood for a moment, mesmerized.

He lifted the ax to rest on his shoulder. “You’re feeling better today, I hope.”

“Ya,” she answered. She felt her cheeks grow warm, and she fought the urge to look at the ground. “I am.”

His grin lit up his handsome face, and warmth swirled in Addy’s stomach. Gideon was so clean and wholesome, standing there in his worn clothes and battered hat, that she had to remind herself that he wasn’t for her. It was likely his parents had sent him to Seven Poplars so that he could marry up. Hired man or not, with a strong back, an easy manner and a fair face like his, he’d be guaranteed a match with a pretty girl from a wealthy family or a plump widow with land of her own.

“Sara tells me that this is a church Sunday coming up.” Gideon took off his hat and pushed his hair off his face. Moisture dotted his forehead and soaked through his shirt, revealing more of his muscular chest and shoulders than was proper.

Realizing she was staring, Addy swallowed and glanced at the ground. “At my Aunt Hannah’s. Close by. You can walk.”

“I’m looking forward to worshipping with your congregation.”

She knew she shouldn’t be standing there chatting when Sara was waiting for her, but she ventured another glance at him. “My father is one of the preachers.”

“Ellie told me. She liked his last sermon, on Noah’s faith.”

Addy nodded. That had always been one of her favorite stories from the Old Testament. “Dat says that people must have thought he was crazy, Noah. To build a boat when they were so far from the sea.”

“I wish I’d heard the sermon.” He had the nicest eyes, she thought, so large and full of life.

“I think Bishop Atlee will preach on Sunday, or maybe Caleb. He’s married to my cousin Rebecca.”

Gideon sank the ax into a stump and rubbed his hands together, easing the strain of gripping the ax. “I’m looking forward to it, and to meeting your neighbors. Sara says the congregation has welcomed her.”

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Ellie said, appearing from behind one of the outbuildings. “Addy’s here, Sara!” she called toward the house. For a small girl, she had a big voice.

Sara came out of the utility room onto the porch with a basket of wet laundry. “You’re early. Goot. Help me hang these sheets, and then we’ll start painting the big bedroom. I may have girls coming in soon to stay with us while I find matches for them. It’s the way I like to do things.” She glanced at the woodpile. “My, you’ve done a lot since breakfast.”

Gideon wrenched his ax from the stump. “Best to get the heavy work done early. The day promises to be another scorcher.”

“Hotter here than in Wisconsin, I imagine,” Addy said, unwilling to walk away without saying something sensible.

“Ne.” He shook his head. “You’d be surprised how hot it gets there in the summer. Unless you’re near one of the lakes.”

“The big difference will be in the winter. Delaware winters are mild, so they tell me.” Sara held up the basket of laundry toward Addy, then set it on the porch. “If you’ll take this, I’ll go back for the second basket.”

“I brought back your dress.” Addy showed it to her in the basket on her arm. “I appreciate you loaning it to me.”

“No need for you to return it.” Sara’s round face creased in a smile. “I meant it as a gift. It will hardly fit me or Ellie.”

“Because...I’m so tall,” Addy supplied.

Sara’s smile widened. “Or we’re so short. Right, Ellie?”

“Ya, Sara, right about that,” Ellie agreed.

“But it could be hemmed,” Addy suggested. The dress was so nice, but she didn’t want to appear needy.

“Nonsense,” Sara shot back. “The green color suits you.”

“It does, Addy,” Gideon added. “I thought that when you left here wearing it the other day.”

Sara’s dark eyes narrowed. “Gideon and Ellie seem to think you’d prefer to be called by your middle name. So which will it be? Dorcas or Addy? I need to know these things.”

“Addy...I think... That is...” Addy hunched her shoulders and tried to make herself smaller. “Unless you think...Dorcas is better.”

“I think that you can call yourself whatever pleases you, so long as it doesn’t offend your parents or your neighbors. Addy sounds fine to me.”

“Ya. And me.” Self-consciously, Addy set her basket on the porch and picked up the laundry basket. “I’ll start hanging these,” she said. “And thank you...for the dress. It’s kind of you.”

“And kind of you to come and help us get settled. It’s a good house, but it needs work.”

As do I, Addy thought, if I’m to ever have a chance at finding a husband. I just hope Sara is good at her job. Because finding someone for me might be her most difficult match yet.

* * *

Sunday, Gideon, Sara and Ellie headed for the Yoder farm for church services. And as Addy had promised, her aunt’s home was near enough to walk, which he appreciated. He’d always believed that, as much as possible, the Sabbath should be a day of rest for the horses as well as their owners.

As they walked up the long Yoder lane, buggies full of families passed them. Those inside waved and called out greetings. As in his community in Wisconsin, each man was garbed in the black mutze, suspenders, trousers and vest, and white long-sleeved dress shirts. The men’s wide-brimmed hats were black wool, similar to those worn back home. The women were in blues, greens, purple or even lavender, with white organdy kapps, and capes known as halsduchs. Children were dressed like the adults, although most boys had black straw hats.

In the Yoder barnyard, Gideon shook hands with several men. He was introduced to more people than he could keep straight, and turned to Charley Byler for help. Gideon soon learned that Charley had married one of the many Yoder girls.

“Hannah lives in the big house. She married Albert Hartman,” Charley explained. “That’s him over there talking to Preacher Caleb. Albert used to be a Mennonite, but he joined our church. He and Hannah live here, and my Miriam, our boy, and Miriam’s sister Ruth and her husband and boys live in that house.” He pointed to a small house in the distance. “Eli works at the chair shop. I farm this place. Albert is a veterinarian.”

Gideon arched his brows. He’d never heard of an Amish vet.

Charley shrugged and laughed. “Long story. If Sara has any problems with her mules, she should send you for Albert straight off. He’s got a real touch with livestock.”

“So Albert and Hannah live in the big house, but you work the farm?” Gideon asked.

“Right. I was doing masonry full-time, but I’ve been lucky enough to cut my hours back so I can spend more time here, now that my family is growing. It’s rich soil, a good farm, and Hannah and Albert let me make all the decisions on what to plant and what animals we raise. Other than Albert’s alpacas. You’ll have to take a look at them after church. He and Hannah are pretty attached to those silly creatures.” He slapped Gideon on the back in an amiable gesture. “Who knows? Maybe by the time my son’s ready to take over the farm, people will be calling it the Byler place.”

Gideon nodded in agreement. He liked Charley. They were close in age, and Charley seemed such a pleasant and interesting person that it was impossible not to like him. “Sara said you are chaperoning the singing coming up. I hope I’ll be welcome, although I can’t promise how well I can sing.”

“You’re more than welcome,” Charley assured him. “We can always use more men. There are a lot of single young women here, if you get my meaning.”

Gideon grimaced. “That should make Sara happy. Not much call for a matchmaker if you don’t have girls wanting husbands.”

“Or the other way around.” Charley motioned toward the house. “I see Samuel and Bishop Atlee are on their way in. I think we’d best find our seats.”

* * *

Several hours later, the long church service came to an end. Bishop Atlee had given a good sermon. The little man didn’t raise his voice as he quoted from Exodus, but he didn’t need to. As one, the congregation leaned forward to hear the commands that the Lord gave to Moses. So fervent was the bishop’s telling of the Bible story that Gideon could almost feel the heat of the desert sun and taste the hardships of God’s chosen people as they journeyed toward the Promised Land. And when the listeners rose to sing the traditional German hymns that brought the worship service to a close, Gideon joined them without reservation. He’d always loved singing, and he liked to think that he had a strong voice, even if he wasn’t always quite on key.

Sitting to his left was Charley, to his right, Charley’s brother-in-law, Eli. Around them were fathers, brothers, husbands and sons. The Yoder farmhouse was a spacious, two-story farmhouse with large rooms that opened through wide doors and removable partitions to join parlor, hall and sitting room. As was customary, men sat on backless benches on one side of the house, women and younger children on the other. The deacon, the two preachers and the bishop, as well as older members of the congregation, had chairs, and along the wall were several rockers for the elderly. The walls were a soft cream, the floors hardwood, the furniture sparse, and every inch was clean enough to eat off.

The song ended, and Bishop Atlee gave his closing thoughts before indicating that the congregation should kneel for a united prayer. The words were familiar and comforting to Gideon. He’d never been away from his home for any extended length of time, and he’d feared he’d feel lonely. But here, he felt instantly at ease. Even though these people were strangers, they were united by faith and common customs, and he was pleasantly surprised by how comforting that was.

He liked what he’d seen of Seven Poplars. The community was conservative but not harsh in their interpretation of the ordnung, and they had made his first week there a welcome one. The county was known to be good farming country, and the small Amish community seemed industrious and well-off. Houses and barns were well cared for; the livestock was sleek and healthy and the roads not too busy for horses and buggies. Gideon would be pleased to write his parents that night and tell them that he was settling in and in good health. He would not mention what he found most delightful—the abundance of rosy-cheeked young women, as fair as he’d seen anywhere.

He and Charley joined the others as they rose for the final hymn. Afterward, Charley had promised they’d enjoy a communal meal served on tables set up outside under the trees. Gideon supposed that he and the other men would carry the benches out of the house for seating. His stomach rumbled. They’d eaten nothing before service this morning, and he couldn’t wait to taste whatever the women had whipped up for the meal. Like at home, he knew the women hadn’t cooked today, but they’d prepared so many delicious dishes the day before that there would be plenty to eat.

After the final prayer, it took a good ten minutes for Charley and Gideon to get outside to the well where other men were washing their hands at a pitcher pump. He could see that Charley was popular. He took the time to introduce him to at least a dozen of the congregation, male and female, that Gideon hadn’t met yet.

“It was a fine sermon, wasn’t it, Charley?” a tall, fair-haired young woman remarked. And then to him, she said, “I’m Mary, and you must be Sara’s—”

“Who else could it be?” Charley cut in and then chuckled. “This is my sister, Gideon. And yes, she’s unmarried and not walking out with anybody I know of.” He grinned at her. “Unless she has a secret admirer that she hasn’t revealed to me yet.”

“Charley!” Mary’s eyes narrowed. “What will Gideon think of me?” And then she smiled at Gideon. “Pay no attention to my brother.” She extended her hand and shook his, as a man might do. “I’m pleased to meet you, and I hope you like it here in Seven Poplars,” she said.

He was surprised at her boldness, but not put off by it. Mary Byler was interesting, and he liked girls who were different. At home, few women would touch a man not related to them, and he wondered if the rules were different here. Mary had a firm grip and a pleasant voice. Strange that such an attractive woman was as yet unmarried by her late twenties, which was how old he guessed her to be.

“Charley has invited me to a young people’s frolic,” Gideon said. “Will you be there?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said with another smile. And then she waved to two other girls. “Lilly, Violet, come meet Gideon.”

Two attractive young women joined them. The first, not as tall as Mary, had curly blond hair, dark eyes and a dimple on each cheek when she smiled. “Welcome to our community,” she said sweetly. “It’s good to have you at our worship service.”

“Gideon, this is Lilly Hershberger, one of my dearest friends.” Mary indicated the second girl, a brunette with blue eyes and a pleasant face. “And this is another friend of mine, Violet Troyer.”

“Violet’s family just moved into our church district from Peach Orchard,” Lilly explained. “That’s about ten miles from here.”

“You’re from Wisconsin?” Violet asked, smiling up at him. “I have family there. My mother’s side. The Harvey Zooks. Do you know them?”

“Ne,” Gideon admitted. “I know there are some Zooks near Brushy Lake, but I don’t remember meeting them.”

Violet shrugged. “You couldn’t forget. They’re a big family. Especially cousin Abram. They’re all big, but Abram is huge. He’s over six feet tall and weighs—” She rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say there’s a lot more of him than there should be. My uncle wrote that Abram has won the county fair pie-eating contest six years straight. Last August, it was four entire blueberry pies.”

“Four pies?” Lilly struggled to control her amusement. “That’s a lot of pie.”

“Charley!” A woman motioned to him. “Time to eat.” She had a baby in a white bonnet and gown balanced on one hip.

“My wife and boy,” Charley explained proudly.

Gideon nodded. He didn’t dislike babies, but they seemed to make a lot of noise, and they all looked alike to him. “A little woodchopper,” he commented, since Charley obviously expected him to say something complimentary about the child. “Healthy?”

“Ya, thanks be to God,” Charley answered. “My wife and me, we waited a while for him. I was starting to worry.”

“For nothing,” Mary told him. “The Lord chooses His own time for His blessings.” She smiled again. “See you at the singing, Gideon.”

“Ya,” Lilly agreed. “And you’d better sing, not just sit there like some of the young men do.” Then the two of them giggled and hurried away, heads together in hushed talk.

As was the custom at home, the men ate at the first seating, and there was a definite hierarchy to the arrangement. The bishop, preachers, deacon and elders sat at one end of the table. Next came the senior men, then the middle-aged and younger married heads of households. As a guest, Gideon was offered a place halfway down the table, next to Charley. He knew without being told that the next time he attended church, his spot would be farther down toward the end of the table with the other single adult males. Teenage boys filled the last empty seats on the bench. Little boys, Gideon assumed, would eat at the second sitting with the women and girls.

There was a moment of silent grace, a few words from the bishop and then everyone at the table began to enjoy the food. There was little talk. Appetites were high, and it was only good manners to eat quickly, so that the second seating could have their turn. Young women moved back and forth behind the men, filling glasses and replenishing trays of bread and cold cuts. Platters and bowls were passed from diner to diner: tomatoes, green beans cooked with bacon, macaroni and potato salads, slaws, pickles, sliced ham, roasted chicken, summer sausage and roast beef.

Everything Gideon tasted was delicious, especially the raisin bread and the apple-rhubarb tarts. He wondered if this was the usual communal fare, or if Hannah Yoder and her daughters put on a special spread when they hosted Church Sunday. It wasn’t uncommon in his community to just have sandwiches for Sunday dinner. Too many dinners like this, and he’d have to worry about his waistline.

“More tea?” A young woman with dark hair and bright blue eyes leaned over to fill his glass. “Did you want more ice? I can get ice.”

“Ne, I’m fine,” he assured her.

A minute later, another unmarried girl stopped to try to fill his glass again.

It was no wonder Sara had moved her business here to Delaware; there seemed to be plenty of available young women looking for husbands. Of course, no Amish woman wore a wedding ring, so he had to guess who was single, but he’d gotten pretty good at it. Even the shy girls had a way of letting you know that they were “in the market,” so to say.

When Gideon couldn’t eat another bite, he finished his tea, then waved away the blue-eyed girl who wanted to refill it, yet again. “Danke,” he said. “I couldn’t drink another drop.” She giggled and stood there just a few seconds too long before moving on to fill someone else’s glass. Gideon wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and glanced around the yard.

Children of various ages sat in the grass with books or played quietly. Several little girls had what looked like a Noah’s Ark with tiny, wooden animals. Another girl, about ten or eleven, held the hand of a toddler who was dressed like Charley’s son, in white bonnet and gown. It was hard to remember that he was in Delaware, a long way from his home community. Although these were unfamiliar faces, and the hat and bonnet shapes were just a bit different, these could have been his neighbors and relatives.

Gideon felt at peace. He always felt good after Sunday services, and he enjoyed meeting and talking to people. Some Englishers thought that Amish life was severe and harsh, but he’d never believed that. So long as a man believed in the Word and followed the ordnung of his church, he was assured of salvation. What could one ask for but faith, family and community? When he considered how much he received every day, the hard work of living apart from the world was a small sacrifice.

The bishop rose from his seat, followed quickly by the older men. Gideon stood up and left the table as teams of teenage girls cleared away the dishes and glasses for the next seating. Charley and Eli stopped to speak to their host, Albert Hartman, and Gideon decided to walk back and take a look at the alpacas that Charley had mentioned.

As he left the farmyard and strolled past the line of buggies and tethered horses, the clamor of friendly voices and laughing children faded. Earlier, Charley had indicated the smaller of two barns. A pasture with a high fence ran behind it, and sure enough, Gideon caught sight of a group of animals grazing at the far end. He started toward them when someone called his name.

“Gideon! Wait up.”

He turned to see Addy walking toward him.

“I was waiting to get a chance to speak to you,” she said, as she drew closer. “To thank you for mending my dress.” She was, he had noticed earlier, wearing the lavender dress that he’d managed to rescue. “I thought Sara had done it, but Ellie said it was you.”

She looked uncertain, and he smiled at her. “No problem. My sisters taught me. Nine of us, and me the only boy. They weren’t too good at baseball, but...” He shrugged. “Not many men you know sew?”

Addy had nice hair, a soft brown with just a little hint of auburn. She was tall for a woman. He thought he could smell honeysuckle. Was there such a thing as honeysuckle shampoo, he wondered? She wasn’t what you’d call a pretty girl, but she had nice eyes and an intelligent face. Her kapp was spotless white and starched stiff. He knew how much work it took to make it just so. He’d watched his sisters ironing their kapps on many Saturday evenings and now imagined Addy standing at an ironing board, using an old-fashioned iron she heated on the woodstove.

“Not one,” she said.

He suddenly realized that he’d been daydreaming. “I’m sorry?”

“Not one man that I know can sew a tear so that you can hardly see it. I don’t think I could have done it so well myself. And you got the bloodstain out of the hem. Thank you. I thought the dress was ruined.”

“Well, it’s not,” he said. For a moment, she just stood there, and the silence stretched between them, not an uncomfortable quiet, but a reassuring one. He liked that. Addy might not have the fairest face he’d ever seen, but there was just something about her... “I guess you think I’m odd that way. That I know how to sew.”

“I think it’s wonderful.” She produced a carrot, went over to the fence and whistled. She waved the carrot, and the whole herd of alpacas trotted toward her. Carefully, she snapped the carrot into small pieces and tossed them to the eager animals.

Again, there was an easy stillness between them as he came over to stand beside her at the fence.

“I suppose you heard...” she said, breaking the silence. She grimaced. “My parents...they...” A flush spread over her face. “They asked Sara to find a husband for me.”

“And you don’t want them to do that?”

She dropped onto the grass, folding her long legs modestly under her skirt. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s...well, it’s embarrassing...telling everyone that I need help finding someone.” She tugged at a blade of grass, plucking first one and then another. “That, otherwise, I’ll be an old maid peeling potatoes in my mother’s kitchen when I’m sixty, with gray hairs on my chin.”

He chuckled. “Sounds pretty bad when you put it that way.”

She tugged at more blades of grass. “I figured you knew. Ellie does, for sure. Who knows who else does?”

“But you want to marry, don’t you?”

“I suppose, but I always thought I’d find my own husband. Or...” Her eyes glistened as if she might start to cry. “Or he’d find me.”

“Not everybody does it that way.” He sat down beside her in the grass. “Why do you think my father and mother sent me here? I could have found work as a hired man in our community. Or I could have gone on helping my father.”

“What does he do?”

“Makes sausage. Sells it to people.”

“Ach. Sausage. Everybody likes sausage.”

“And it’s good sausage.” He smiled at her. “So what I’m trying to say is that you aren’t alone. My mam and dat and Ellie’s parents think like your mother and father. They’re trying to do a good thing. Because they love us and want us to be happy.”

“I suppose, but...” She tossed the grass through the fence to a young alpaca. “What if I don’t like who Sara picks for me?”

“Then you say no. ‘Danke, Sara, but no.’ It’s easy.” He grinned. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

She turned to him with surprise. “You’ve turned down matches?”

“A handsome, hardworking man like me?” He winked. “I’ve escaped more pretty girls than you have fingers on both hands. If you think you’re hard to please, I’m impossible.”

“So we’re both being difficult,” Addy mused.

He plucked idly at the clover. “It seems that way.”

“My grossmama says that it’s pride that keeps me from finding a good marriage.” She looked at him. “Do you think it is?”

“Hochmut?” He thought for a moment. “I hope not,” he answered honestly. “I’d not want to think of myself as a prideful person. Hardheaded, maybe, but not full of a false sense of my own importance.”

“Goot,” Addy replied. “Because I wouldn’t want that, either.” She got to her feet and brushed off her skirts. “I have to go. My mother will wonder where I’ve gotten to. There’s bound to be cleaning up.”

He stood. “Should I come to help?”

She shook her head. “Women’s work, and not so hard as to break the rules of the Sabbath. Only dishes and food to clear away.”

Gideon stood there awhile, leaning on the fence after Addy left and unable to get what she’d said out of his mind. Could her grandmother be right? he wondered. Was his reluctance to choose a wife hochmut? He tried every day to live by the principles of his faith. Was it wrong to hope that there was someone waiting...someone he could love with all of his heart...someone special that he just hadn’t found yet?


Chapter Four (#ulink_008bfbef-3bcf-520a-acf8-6b13ba1b1a17)

Addy arrived at Sara’s promptly at 8:00 a.m. Thursday morning, and by nine, she and Ellie had cleared away the breakfast dishes, picked crook-neck squash, eggplant and tomatoes from the garden, and swept the front and back porch. Now they were busily taping Sara’s parlor in preparation for painting the walls and trim. The previous day, Gideon had given the ceiling two coats of a soft white and carried in two gallons of pale blue, two brushes, two rollers and a shiny new paint tray.

Addy stood on a stepladder to tape off the white ceiling molding while Ellie applied the blue tape to the floor molding. Addy never ceased to be amazed at how quickly and efficiently the little woman worked. She put Addy in mind of a honeybee, laughing or singing instead of buzzing, but constantly in motion. Any preconceived notions Addy had had about a little person had been quickly replaced with respect. Not only did Ellie do her share of the housework—Addy also found she had to scramble just to keep pace. And Ellie was always good-natured and fun to be around.

Addy had lived in Seven Poplars all her life, and it was rare that she got to spend time with another Amish girl from far off. And although, from what Ellie said, life was much the same in her home community in Wisconsin, Addy found her stories of girlfriends and rejected suitors and new jokes fascinating.

She guessed that Ellie was a few years younger than she was, but like her, past the age that most Amish girls in Seven Poplars married. She supposed that it had to be difficult for a little person, even one as pretty and personable as Ellie, to find a husband. Not that Ellie seemed to mind. According to what Sara said, Ellie was one of her most difficult girls to match, more because she was picky than because she was a little person. Addy was dying to ask how many matches Ellie had turned down, but didn’t want to seem rude.

Addy slowly inched the roll of blue tape along the crown molding with one hand, smoothing it with the other. “Do you know the Zook boy Mary and Violet were talking about on Sunday? The one in Wisconsin?”

“Abram?” Ellie paused, a strip of blue tape suspended between her hands. “I don’t really know him, but Sara asked my mother if she thought I’d be interested. He’s a nice fellow, so I hear, a hard worker, but...” She grimaced. “Too much of him for me, my mam and dat said. Too much Abram altogether.”

“He’s a large man?”

“About the size of one of my father’s Percheron draft horses.” She giggled. “Or maybe the whole team.”

“Ellie,” Addy scolded, a little titillated by her new friend’s daring. “That isn’t kind. My dat says that a person is the way God made them, and we should accept them as they are.”

“Ya,” Ellie agreed. “But think about it. How foolish would we look together? Me little, Abram...well...Abram. If we sat on the porch swing and it didn’t break, it would be like a schoolyard seesaw. He’d sit down, and my end of the swing would fly up.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Ne, Addy. Better I be an old maid knitting baby bonnets for my sisters and mufflers for my brothers than be married to such as Abram.”

“I suppose.” No fat boy had ever asked to walk out with her. No boy, fat, skinny or in between, had even driven her home from a singing or a work frolic. The truth was that she’d passed her dating years watching other girls ride out with boys in their buggies, and play badminton with them on their front lawns.

Her one venture into the marriage market had been a near miss with the then-new preacher in Seven Poplars, Caleb Wittner. Her dat and mam had wanted her to marry him, and for a while, Caleb had come to several family dinners. But they’d never gotten past the considering-each-other part of dating. Caleb was a respectable enough man, but she hadn’t felt as if he were someone with whom she could spend the rest of her life. He seemed a little boring to her, with nothing to talk about but his woodworking. To her parents’ regret, she’d put an end to that courtship before it had even started. Which turned out to be just as well because he soon married her cousin Rebecca, and they were a perfect match.

Addy sighed. It would be nice to have someone she liked pursue her, even if she did later turn him down. But there always seemed to be more eligible young Amish women than suitors, which was why Sara’s matchmaking services were in such high demand.

She climbed down the ladder, moved it over a foot and climbed up it again. The smell of baking bread wafted in from the kitchen. Sara was a fantastic baker, and she preferred to make rye or whole-wheat loaves with yeast instead of the baking powder biscuits that Addy had grown up eating. Sara liked to get her baking out of the way early in the day, and Addy’s mouth watered at the thought of the midday meal they would be sitting down to in a few hours. Between the apple tarts, the lebkuchen, the fastnachts, the streusels and the shoofly pies that Sara whipped up in her kitchen, it was a wonder that she wasn’t as plump as Addy’s cousin Anna.

Thinking of Sara’s round face brought a question to mind. Addy glanced around to see that they were alone and lowered her voice. “Why is Sara’s skin darker than ours?” she asked Ellie.

Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t you have anyone with dark skin in your community?”

“Ne.” Addy felt her face grow warm, and she was sorry she’d asked. Most Amish she knew were fair-skinned, with rosy cheeks and German features. Sara had curly, almost blue-black hair, but she didn’t look African-American. What was her family background? Mam had asked her this morning if she knew.

Ellie bent over and measured out another length of tape for the windowsill. “Not so unusual to have members with darker skin in other Amish settlements. I went to school with a girl who was very brown, but she was a foster child that a family in our church adopted. Louise, her name was. Very good at arithmetic. She won the prize every year at the end-of-school picnic.”

“I just wondered.” Addy turned back to her task. “It’s not important.”

“Not all people are alike,” Ellie said. “And a good thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Addy nodded, liking the way Ellie looked at things. “Ya, a good thing.”

“What’s a good thing?” Gideon came into the parlor carrying a toolbox in one hand and a door latch in the other.

“Nothing,” Addy said quickly, concentrating on unrolling more tape.

Why did she always feel as if she was showing herself at her worst when Gideon popped up? She didn’t want him to think of her as nosy or disapproving of the good woman who paid their wages. She’d only asked because her mother’s question had made her curious.

Gideon stared at her, narrowing his gaze. “But the two of you were—”

“Is that latch for the closet door?” Ellie interrupted, thankfully coming to Addy’s recue.

“Ya, Peanut, what else would it be?” Gideon shot back.

Addy glanced at Ellie to see if his retort or the nickname would hurt her feelings, but Ellie only laughed.

“Hard to say what you might be up to, Long Legs.” Ellie winked at Addy. “All he could talk about this morning at breakfast was the Beachys’ singing. Asking who might be there and if I was going. His mind was on funning and not on his plate and he salted his coffee instead of his eggs.”

Gideon laughed and set down his toolbox by the closet door. “A little salt makes everything taste better, Short Stuff. And you never did tell me if you were going.”

“What did I tell you, Addy? You’d think he never got away from the farm. Poor, overworked Gideon. And maybe these Delaware girls won’t think you’re anything special, once you’re at the singing,” she teased, wagging a small finger at him. “I heard you sing at church on Sunday.” She crinkled up her nose. “You probably shouldn’t be the loudest.”

Gideon laughed and slapped his knee.

Addy pretended to concentrate on peeling back a little bit of the blue tape where she’d laid it crooked. She wondered why Gideon was so amused by everything Ellie said, even when she made jokes at his expense. She treated him like a pesky younger brother, and he seemed to love it. The thought that Gideon might be interested in Ellie gave her a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she immediately felt guilty. What if they did like each other?

Maybe Ellie’s parents wouldn’t care if a poor hired hand courted her. Addy didn’t know how much Ellie’s family was offering to entice a husband, but if there was land or a nice dowry at stake, Gideon’s family might well overlook her size. Clearly, he didn’t mind.




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