A Match For Addy (The Amish Matchmaker Book 1) (2 page)

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

“G
ideon,” 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—”