A Little Bit of Charm (44 page)

Her pulse quickened when she detailed how they had fallen in love while teaching blind children to ride, raising money for juvenile diabetes research, and ferrying stray cats back and forth to a low-priced vet for spaying and neutering. Because both of her sisters had hearts of gold, they would be pleased by all three activities.
Once Rachel reached the third sheet of her missive, she knew her update would not be as well received. How could she tell her elder sister, Amy, a member of an ultraconservative district in Harmony, Maine, that she was jumping the fence?

And how would free-spirited, independent thinker Nora react to her leaving the Amish faith after what she experienced with Elam Detweiler? Nora's first love had left the Plain lifestyle when she chose a quiet, unassuming shopkeeper over him. Nora and Lewis were happily settled in the aptly named town of Paradise, Missouri. Nora had chosen the simple life over Elam's offer of reckless excitement, and now that she was married and with her first baby on the way, she knew she had made the right choice.

Would either woman understand her desire to marry an
Englischer
, or would they dissolve into tears as Beth had done? Poor Beth. She had written no less than six letters trying to change Rachel's mind. A few had contained subtle manipulations by guilt over their dead parents or for their grandparents' broken spirits. A couple letters used logic and reason to convince her that Amish was a more practical way to live. And Beth's final plea had been a dire, doom-and-gloom forecast of Rachel's descent into a godless existence, ending with the eventual loss of her eternal soul. Rachel imagined either her grandmother or Aunt Irene standing over Beth's shoulder during the writing of that letter. She sent up a silent prayer and forged ahead. To the best of her abilities she explained to Amy and Nora that she might have fallen in love, but she would stay Christian until she drew her last breath. In closing, she invited both sisters to their late fall wedding—a good time to get away for people in agriculture, whether Amish or English. She could only hope her
schwestern
would still accept her after hearing her decision.

July

The hot sun beat down on Rachel's back and shoulders, raising beads of moisture just below her hatband. Her T-shirt stuck to her back, while her blue jeans felt like sauna body wraps with the humidity. Sarah wouldn't permit her to wear long, baggy shorts like Keeley—her partner on the tour wagon, but it didn't matter. She was doing a job she adored with the two most docile draft horses on the planet. “Get up there, Bess,” she called, shaking the reins. “A mani-pedi awaits you in the barn.” The bells attached to the leather straps sent up a musical progression of notes. After explaining to tourists a dozen times that only reindeer on sleighs wore bells to work, she and Keeley finally gave in. They purchased strings of one-inch bells at the craft shop and painstakingly sewed them to Bess and Buster's harnesses on their day off.

“What about your boy horse?” asked an adorable five-year-old. Sitting in her mother's lap, the little girl had asked plenty of questions for someone so young.

Rachel grinned at the tiny tourist. “A big strapping horse like our Buster with painted toenails? Goodness, no. We reward him for a job well done with Granny Smith apples. Those are his favorites.”

“Mine too!” she said. Her large brown eyes shone with delight.

“At the end of the tour you can feed Buster an apple if it's okay with your mommy,” said Rachel. The child's expression rivaled that of a lottery winner. After everyone petted and fed the plump draft horses or bought souvenirs and ice-cream cones, Rachel passed out the brochures detailing the services at Twelve Elms.

Unexpectedly, the apple-lover broke free from her mother's grip and ran toward Rachel. “I wish I could live here with you and Miss Bess,” she wailed, wrapping her arms around Rachel's leg. “I want a horse so much!”

She patted the child's head. “Maybe someday you will have one.”

“I won't. We live in an apartment in Lexington.” As she cried, her mother slashed a finger across her throat and shook her head vigorously. “We can't have a dog or cat or even a goldfish.” The child's sobs increased.

Rachel picked up on the woman's body language. “It's just as well. All horses do is eat and then eat some more. You should see the mess we must clean up from all that eating. This way you can visit Bess and Buster without any stinky chores to do.”

The child wasn't buying it. She clung tighter to Rachel's leg. Gently Rachel pried off her hands and kneeled down to speak eye to eye. “Don't cry, little one. Someday you might move to where you can have a horse. No one knows what the future holds. In the meantime, you can read books about them and color pictures, and a tall horse will keep watch as you sleep. We have some special presents for you since yours were the best questions ever asked at Twelve Elms.” She rose to her full height. “Can you spare a few more minutes?” Rachel addressed the woman. “I would like you and your daughter to come to the gift shop with me.”

That afternoon, little Nancy took home several coloring books, two collections of horse stories, an oversized T-shirt displaying various equine breeds, and a four-foot-tall stuffed Appaloosa with bold white and tan spots. Rachel paid for everything. The young mother relaxed now that the tears had ceased, and the child went home fortified with dreams for the future.

Rachel knew all about dreams and how they sometimes did come true.

“There you are!” Jessie walked toward her with the zeal of a schoolteacher on playground duty. “I have been looking for you since the last tour ended.” She reached Rachel's side, breathless.

“Your search is over. Here I am.” She flourished a hand from her head down to her toes.

Grabbing her by the sleeve, Jessie dragged Rachel to the house.
“We need to get your wedding plans underway, missy. It's already July. Your wedding is
this
November, not next. That's only four short months away.”

Rachel allowed Jessie to pull her up the steps and through the back door into the kitchen. Glossy magazines, menus, colorful brochures, and catalogs covered the surface of the oak table. “Which months are the long months?” she teased.

“You sit there.” Jessie pointed at a chair. “And your wedding planner will sit here.” She plopped down at the head of the table by a yellow legal pad and a row of sharpened pencils.

“Wedding planner? Who's that? And why would I need one?” Rachel reached for a cookie off the plate in the center.

“It's me, you goose. Every bride-to-be of the twenty-first century uses a wedding planner. I shall be yours.”

Rachel bit the inside of her cheek. “Jessie, the marriage will be at the First Baptist Church of Charm, the reception here in the indoor arena, and the meal will be cooked by some of your mom's celebrity chefs. They have already volunteered. I believe everything's planned.” She smiled, unable to contain her mirth, and reached for a second oatmeal raisin crisp.

“What about your wedding dress? Or do you plan to wear your Levis and riding boots?” Jessie tapped her tablet with a pencil point.

“No. I thought I would sew my dress.” Rachel dabbed crumbs from her lips.

Her future sister-in-law's face fell. “Don't you need my help?” Jessie couldn't have sounded more pitiful.

“Dear me, of course I do.” Rachel picked up a brochure. “What have you got here? Let's take a look at these wedding cakes.”

The cake featured on the cover was a veritable garden of flowers, arbors, and hedgerows made of spun sugar. A tiny bride and groom stood hand in hand under a lacy plastic archway. The creation
couldn't be fancier unless a real babbling brook flowed across the surface from a hidden water pump. As much as Amish folks loved their sweets, they would be aghast at such an extravaganza. “So…are these wedding cakes for sale?”

“Relax. I know you probably want to bake your own, but the guest list will probably top two hundred and may approach three if your kin come from Lancaster County. So I suggest a compromise. Mom's best friend loves to bake. She wants to make your cake as a gift to you and Jake. All you need to do is pick out a general idea from these photos and tell her your favorite flavor. What do you say?”

“What a generous gift. I like spice cake and Jake loves chocolate. Could we do a layer of each?” Rachel's excitement began to build as she thumbed through the cake brochure.

“Certainly you can. You're the bride. Here among the English, that's a very big deal. You can have anything you want for your wedding and even boss people around to do your bidding.” Jessie grinned, perhaps anticipating this attention for herself one day.

The idea of barking orders didn't appeal much to Rachel. Weddings within the Plain culture were certainly special occasions, complete with a buffet meal, practical gifts, flowers, a cake, and one attendant each for bride and groom. But marriages rated no higher than any other life passage—birth, graduation, baptism, joining the church, birth of each child, and finally, death. But not wishing to hurt Jessie's feelings, she looked at the pictures and chose the simplest of wedding cakes. No babbling brooks or fountains spouting pink lemonade.

That afternoon Rachel and her maid of honor, serving in a dual capacity as wedding planner, selected the floral arrangements for church and reception and the menu for the meal—roast rosemary chicken, prime rib, new potatoes au gratin, green beans with mushrooms, fruit ambrosia, Caesar salad, and corn bread rather
than dinner rolls. Rachel insisted Jake join them for the menu planning. The corn bread had been his suggestion. Jessie rolled her eyes twice at his insistence of something so down-home at a formal affair, but he said he loved it. When Rachel objected to the term “formal,” Jessie readily approved Jake's choice of bread.

“Okay, we're making progress.” Jessie placed a large check mark next to the third item on her list. “Now let's talk dresses, both for you and your attendants. How many bridesmaids will there be?”

Jake raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, here's where I make my he-man exit.” He kissed Rachel's cheek and scrambled from his chair. “All I need is the final number so I know how many buddies to ask besides Virgil.”

“You're abandoning me to your sister?” asked Rachel, only half joking.

“Where's your cell phone? Keep it close by. Remember your first wagon tour when you had the walkie-talkie next to you?” He ruffled his fingers through her hair, which fell freely down her back today. “Just press my speed dial number, and I'll come running from wherever I am, night or day.”

Jessie arched a well-plucked eyebrow. “There will be
no
panic situations for our bride with me as wedding planner. Be off with you. You're only the mildly consequential groom. We still have a lot to cover—invitations, the photographer, music both during the service and the reception, and of course the bridal shower, to be thrown by me and Keeley.”

Jake bent low to Rachel's ear. “If she tries to plan our honeymoon or suggests she tag along as tour guide, don't waste time with the phone. Just run for the door and don't look back.” His whisper was loud enough for his sister to hear.

“Go now,” she warned. “Before there's bloodshed.”

Once the door had closed behind him, Jessie focused on her legal pad. “Regarding your attendants, do you think either of your
married sisters want to be matrons of honor or maybe both? What about Beth? Will she serve with Keeley as a junior bridesmaid? Between Bonnie, Ruby, Rosanna, and Mary—which of your friends will you invite to stand up with you?” Instead of looking exhausted after all the planning already, Jessie's blue eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Rachel had heard the English expression three-ring circus many times, but it never made much sense until that moment. “I heard from my sisters. Amy and John will not attend, although I will always be welcome in their home in Maine, along with my husband. Due to her pregnancy, Nora and Lewis most likely will not attend, either. And I probably won't know until shortly before the wedding regarding Beth. As far as my Mennonite friends? They will be invited guests. I don't need more attendants if I have you and Keeley and maybe one sister.”

Jessie's mouth formed the letter
O
. “But with a wedding as large as this, it's customary to have—”