Читать книгу A Match for Addy - Emma Miller - Страница 9

Chapter Two

“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.