A Match For Addy (The Amish Matchmaker Book 1) (4 page)

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.”