Читать книгу A Match for Addy - Emma Miller - Страница 10
ОглавлениеWith 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?
