A Match For Addy (The Amish Matchmaker Book 1) (8 page)

Gideon had caused the trouble. It was only common courtesy for a person to let others know when they walked into a house. And creeping up on her and Ellie and then commenting on a private conversation wasn’t right. Gideon should be ashamed of himself. What really stung was his remark about her liking money. It was so untrue. The very idea of idolizing wealth went against the teachings of the church. Was he accusing her of being greedy?

“Addy?”

She snapped her head around to see Sara standing a few yards away. “I’m coming. I was just rinsing out the—”

“Leave the bucket,” Sara told her. “Walk with me to the garden. I need to thin the green beans I planted two weeks ago. You can help.”

Addy set down the bucket and dried her hands on the work apron. Why did she feel like a schoolgirl about to be chastised by the teacher? She followed Sara across the yard, not speaking until they reached the garden. “Maybe I was too sharp with Gideon,” she offered hesitantly.

“Perhaps you were.” Sara paused with her hand on the garden gate and looked into her face. “I’ve noticed that you sometimes have a sharp tongue, and it troubles me, because I’m sure you have a good heart and don’t wish to hurt others.”

Addy pressed her lips tightly together. Sara wasn’t the first person to say such a thing about her—both the tartness of her nature and the belief that she meant no harm. Her own mother was quick to find fault, and Addy had often been the object of that criticism. The thought that she was following in her mother’s footsteps stunned her. “I suppose I am too direct.”

“It isn’t my wish to bring you pain,” Sara continued, fixing her with those penetrating black eyes that made Addy’s stomach go queasy. “I only mention it because I share the same fault. It is my way to speak as I find, and sometimes people are less than pleased with me.”

Addy stared at the grass in front of her left shoe. Had Sara heard what she’d said to Ellie? She wanted to tell her employer that Gideon had hurt her feelings, as well, but it was best just to keep still and wait for Sara’s displeasure with her to pass.

“Your mother and father asked me to find a good match for you.” Sara smiled at her. “I take that duty seriously, and I think that you would like a good husband. Is that true?”

Addy nodded. What Amish girl didn’t hope for a marriage and her own home? She wanted children, and without a husband there could be no babies and no grandchildren for her mother to bounce on her knee. Did she dare tell the matchmaker that she dreamed of a good man who would show affection for her? One that she could learn to love? Or should she say that she hoped for a man not too old or too sour in disposition?

A dozen things came to her head to say to Sara, but most seemed ungrateful or selfish. Hadn’t her own mother said that she must have a man of material means, someone who could help to care for her parents in their old age? Wasn’t it her duty to keep
Mam
and
Dat
’s needs above her own? Maybe she had been hasty in turning down scarred Preacher Caleb. He’d been a widower, but not old, and if she’d married Caleb, she’d not have to leave her family and go to some far-off community where she would be a stranger.

“Do you want me to tell Gideon that I’m sorry?” Addy murmured. The words might choke in her throat, but if Sara insisted... She didn’t want to lose her job. What would her mother say to that? If Sara wouldn’t have her as a helper in her house, she’d certainly never risk her reputation as a matchmaker by trying but failing to find her a husband. What a mess. And all because Gideon had been listening in corners, when he should have been in the field working.

“You’re not a child,” Sara said, pushing the gate wide and beckoning to her to follow her into the garden. “It’s not for me to put words in your mouth. Only you know whether what you said to Gideon was deserved.”

“Men are often careless about how a house looks,” Addy said. “So says my mother. Even my father doesn’t always think to scrape off his shoes before he comes into the house. And when his mind is on the sermon he will give on Sunday, he leaves doors open and forgets to come in on time for meals.”

Sara laughed. “Husbands. Who should know husbands better than me, who had three? All dead and gone to a better place. All faithful to the church and to our community, but all men, just the same. You think I haven’t had cause to find fault now and then with their actions?” She chuckled again as she dropped to her knees beside a row of curled green shoots pushing up from the rich earth. “Start there and work toward me so that we can talk.” Sara waved to a spot about ten feet down the row of green beans. “Leave about so much space—” she used her thumb and forefinger to show about four inches “—between the beans. Otherwise, the plants will be too close together and choke each other.”

Addy nodded. She’d been working in her mother’s garden and thinning vegetables since she was four or five years old. She knew how far apart green beans should be, but again, she’d show proper respect for Sara, who was her elder and her employer.

“I’m not one who believes that a man is always right,” Sara continued. “Not even a husband or, in your father’s case, a preacher. But there are ways to speak to people. And the same rule holds for women and children. If you speak too sharply, like as not, the other person is offended and either snaps back or says nothing and goes away thinking the worst of you.”

“So I should have just let Gideon muddy the floor?”

Sara plucked a plant and dropped it into a pile. “Some toss these seedlings aside, but I’ll sort through them and replant them at the end of the row. A few will wither, but most will slowly recover, sink deeper roots, and make a fine crop of late beans for my table.”

Addy waited for Sara to answer her question, but she went on talking about green beans, about different kinds of beans, how long they took to mature and what kinds could continue to produce when the summer heat grew more intense.

“Plants are a lot like children, I’ve always thought,” Sara mused.

“Do you have children?” Addy asked, thinking that was a safe subject and might get her past the notion of her own inadequacies.

“Dozens.”

“Dozens?” Addy looked at her in surprise. Her mother hadn’t been certain. She’d thought Sara had mentioned several daughters. But dozens? How old could she have been when she married the first time?

“It has never been the Lord’s will that I give birth to a child,” Sara said softly, “although I spent many an hour on my knees praying for one. Yet two of my husbands brought children to our marriage, all good girls and boys. And, in my years as a matchmaker, I have been blessed with helping many young men and women. In a way, all of them have become my children.”

Addy nodded, sorry to know that Sara was barren and that she had thoughtlessly asked another question that might bring regret.

“I think it was part of His plan for me,” Sara explained. They were only two arms’ lengths from each other now. “Now we move farther down the row,” she said. “You here, and I’ll start there.”

Addy dropped the bean plants into Sara’s hand and continued down the row.

“I was fortunate in my husbands and in my marriages,” Sara went on. “Some more than others, but that’s the nature of things. Maybe I could have been wiser the first time around. As I said, I was born with the same fault as you. A quick temper and a prickly disposition.”

“Do you think I have a prickly disposition?” Addy’s face warmed as she stopped thinning the beans and glanced at Sara. Why did Sara want her working for her if she found so many faults in her?

She bent over the beans, the color of her dark skin blending with the rich garden soil. “You’re intelligent, strong, not lazy, and devout, so far as I can see. Yet you are bearing down on thirty and yet unmarried.” She shrugged. “Either the young bachelors in Delaware are sadly deficient, or there is something you have yet to learn in finding the right husband.”

“Maybe I’m just picky,” Addy said, and then admitted what she truly feared. “Or maybe it’s because I’m too tall, too plain and as skinny as a beanpole.”

Sara scoffed. “Nonsense. Look at me. Short, brown as a wren and round as a barrel. And I’ve exchanged vows three times, each with a match who owned better livestock and broader fields than the one before.”

“How can you say that, when boys flock around the pretty girls like bees to honey?”

Sara shook her head again. “A man may be attracted by a pretty face or a shapely figure, but he doesn’t choose a wife for those things. A man chooses a woman who makes him feel better about himself. Who can help him be a better person. At least, it has been my experience with Amish men, who seem to me to be most sensible when it comes to marriage. A woman’s challenge is to present herself as an appropriate candidate. Not a scold or a wet blanket that will hang around a man’s neck and drip cold water down the back of his shirt on a winter day. I lost two suitors that I greatly favored until I learned that lesson.” She shook her head. “I fear, Addy Coblentz, that I have always been a slow learner.”

“And you think that if I am more careful about the way I speak to men, you might find someone for me?”

“It is my job to make strong matches, matches where both husband and wife are happy together. I’ve always prided myself on taking on the most difficult cases, but I’ve never failed yet. And I have no intention of allowing you to be the first. What would it do for my reputation if I couldn’t find someone worthy for my own cousin’s daughter?”

“I had an offer of marriage once...at least, almost an offer,” Addy said. “But I rejected him, and he married someone else. What if I don’t like the man you find for me? What then?”

“Then I’ll find another. And another, until you are satisfied. Have a little faith in me and listen to what I try to teach you. You’ll make some man a fine wife. All you have to do is bend a little.” She held up a bean seedling. “See how they uncurl as they break through the surface of the ground? Then they stretch toward the sun, stretch their arms toward heaven and accept His blessings.”

Chapter Seven

T
uesday morning, Gideon threw open Sara’s back door and stood aside to let in a very wet Addy Coblentz. Beyond the porch, in the farmyard, a horse and buggy moved slowly away through the pouring rain.

“I know I’m late.” Addy shrugged off her wet jacket and removed her black bonnet. “
Dat
insisted on driving me over, and he was working on a sermon.” She spread her hands helplessly. “I guess the time got away from him. Sara will think I’m a slugabed—”

Ellie entered the utility room to take Addy’s soggy coat.

“I should hang that outside on the porch,” Addy protested. “It’ll drip all over the floor in here.”

Ellie frowned. “But will it dry out there? I think not.” She gave Gideon an amused glance. “This one insisted on firing up the woodstove this morning. I’ll hang your jacket on the hook behind the stove, and it will be dry by this afternoon.”

“The woodstove in June?” Addy remarked.

“Gas is handy, but a woodstove gives food the best flavor,” he said.

Addy stood in the center of the utility room with her bonnet in her hand and a puzzled expression on her face. Gideon noticed that she was wearing her prayer
kapp
this morning instead of her usual workday headscarf. She had on a green dress, the skirt streaked with rain.

“Is Sara here?” Addy asked, glancing around.

“Gone out.” Ellie headed for the kitchen.

“On a day like this? Surely, she didn’t take the buggy?”

“Ne,”
Gideon explained. “She’s hired a driver and gone off to Wilmington to the train station.”

“She’s to pick up a new boarder,” Ellie explained, stopping in the doorway. “Her word for her
candidates
. This one’s name is Joseph. Sara invited him to come, but didn’t know he was arriving so soon. That Irwin Beachy that lives with your Aunt Hannah came over with a message yesterday. Joseph called the chair shop where Irwin works, and Irwin passed on the message. Sara must have given Joseph that number.” Ellie wrinkled her small, freckled nose. “Hope she’s not intending him for me.”

“I thought that’s why you were here,” Gideon teased. “To find a husband.”

“
Ya
, but I’m in no hurry. I haven’t even started teaching at the school yet.”

Addy’s lips parted, as if she were going to say something, but then she pinched them together and looked uncomfortable. “Will Joseph be staying long?”

“Until Sara finds him a wife, I suppose,” Gideon said. “I think she has someone in mind, so it may not be long.” He caught a whiff of burning sausage and slipped past Ellie and into the kitchen. “Oh, no. I already burned one batch this morning.”

The two girls followed him into the kitchen. He rushed over to the woodstove, grabbed the smoking frying pan and slid it off the hottest section of the cook surface. “Ouch!” He let go of the handle and went to the sink to run cold water over his hand.

He hoped the sausage patties weren’t too burned to get a good taste of them. He’d used extra sage and garlic, and thrown in a measure of dried thyme, as well as red pepper flakes. He was experimenting with different recipes. His
dat
had three recipes that he favored, but the only way to find something new was to try something new. “I want you two to taste this batch,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. If he pretended that he’d meant to cook the sausage well-done, maybe they wouldn’t notice the black parts on the bottom.

“Not me.” Ellie hung the jacket behind the stove. Then to Addy she said, “I’ve been eating sausage since seven this morning. Sausage with chopped onion and garlic, sausage with fresh rosemary and sausage with sage and basil. Another bite of sausage and I’ll oink like a piglet.” She laughed merrily. “I’m back to my sewing. You’ll have to be Gideon’s official sausage taster.”

“Coward,” he teased Ellie. He was getting a blister on his thumb, but what could you do? Great recipes didn’t come without effort, and scorched fingers were as good as sweat. “Come on, Addy.” He flashed her what he hoped was his most charming smile. “You’ll help me out, won’t you?”

Addy was staring wide-eyed at the kitchen.

He couldn’t figure out what she was staring at. Surely, she’d made sausage before. Sara had all the tools he needed: good knives, a hand-grinder, bowls, cast-iron frying pans. He’d bought the meat from a neighbor down the road. The pork shoulder was lean, and the smaller choice bits from here and there on the pig weren’t too fatty. He’d had Sara pick up the spices at Byler’s store last time she was there.

“I’ve had my breakfast,” Addy hedged. Frown lines appeared on her forehead. “When will Sara be back?”

“She said not to expect her before late afternoon,” he answered.

“A good thing.” She was gazing at the meat grinder on the table that he hadn’t gotten around to washing out yet, the cast-iron frying pans on the stove, the bowls of ground meat and the containers of seasoning on the table, some of which may have spilled...just a little.

All right, he conceded, there
was
a pile of dirty utensils and dishes in the sink, and a scale was standing on the counter. You couldn’t make decent sausage if you didn’t measure your ingredients by weight. Some people just eyeballed their sage, salt and pepper, but when you were careless, you never knew what you would get. And if you turned out a special batch, how could you ever expect to duplicate it?

Making good sausage, sausage that went fine with breakfast but could also make a respectable showing at dinner, or be stuffed into a goose or turkey, was an art. Not everybody was cut out for it. His
dat
’s recipes had been handed down from generation to generation for more than a hundred years, and his father thought that he ought to be satisfied to keep to what worked, but it wasn’t Gideon’s way. He always had it in his mind to try something different. He wanted to make a sausage that people would be pleased to share with their friends and relatives, used in a recipe that might be printed in
The Budget
. If that was pride, he was more than guilty of it.

“This kitchen looks like it exploded,” Addy ventured hesitantly. “You made all this mess just from making sausage?”

Ellie giggled again and made a hasty retreat. “Sewing,” she called over her shoulder as she left the kitchen. “Enjoy your sausage, Addy!”

“Sara will have your head in a bucket if she sees this,” Addy told him. She pulled out a chair, regarded the seat with disgust and went to a kitchen drawer to retrieve a clean dish towel with red roosters printed on it.

“You want bread or a biscuit with your sausage?” he asked, trying not to be hurt that she’d criticized his kitchen manners. He wanted to explain that he had every intention of cleaning it up before Sara got back. Hadn’t Sara told him to do as he liked? Even told him where to find her grinder and the freshest spices in the pantry? Could you make custard pie without cracking a mess of eggs? How was a man supposed to concentrate on creating a superior sausage recipe if he stopped what he was doing every two minutes to sweep the floor, scrub the countertops and wash up his equipment?

“Just the sausage.” Addy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. She sniffed the air, letting him know that she was all too aware that he’d nearly burned the sausage beyond saving.

From the expression on her face, you’d think she’d been asked to taste muskrat stew. That was Addy for you. She didn’t give a man an inch of wiggle room. To his way of thinking, she was far too critical for a young woman. And she didn’t hesitate to voice her opinion. And maybe that was why he wanted to hear what she thought. Everything he’d learned had been from watching his mother, father and sisters. He was no cake baker, and his bread was only passable, but sausage he could make.

He watched her wipe off the chair before she sat down.

If he was just striving for
acceptable
, Gideon wouldn’t have had the least concern. Even a little overcooked, this new batch of sausage was a good one. But he wanted better than good. He wanted a recipe that would make his father slap his thigh and nod with pleasure. He wanted to make a sausage that his grandchildren would be proud to serve their neighbors.

“Be honest with me,” he said as he slid a patty onto a flowered saucer and carried it to Addy.

“What? You don’t think I was honest?” Ellie called from the next room. “I said it was good, didn’t I?”

Gideon rolled his eyes. “You know how Ellie is,” he said in a low voice to Addy. “She’s so easygoing. ‘Really tasty, Gideon. This is the best one yet.’” He sighed. “But she said that even when I mixed up the samples and gave her the same one twice.”

“I heard that,” Ellie called.

He leaned closer. “Ignore her, Addy. Just taste it. Please.”

“Do I get a fork? Or do you want me to just pick it up with my fingers?”

“Women.” He went back to the cabinet, located the knife-and-fork drawer and took a fork to Addy. Then he folded his arms over his chest and waited.

“Were you really hungry, or did you just get up this morning and decide to make three pounds of sausage?” she asked.

She still hadn’t tasted the sausage. She was stalling.

“Addy—” he began.

Then she cut off a piece with the side of her fork and brought it to her lips.

She was going to say it was awful. He knew it. He’d wanted an honest opinion, and he wasn’t about to get it, because she was as stubborn as a setting hen. Addy had already made up her mind that because he was a man, he didn’t know the first thing about cooking.

She took a bite and slowly chewed. He turned back to the stove, took out another section, wrapped it in a slice of Sara’s yeast bread and ate it.

Addy didn’t say a word.

He finished his sandwich and wiped his hands on a towel.

Why had he even asked her? Ellie had said she liked it. He should have waited for Sara. “Just come out with it, Addy,” he said, unconsciously straightening his shoulders. He could take it. He’d just keep trying. He knew that if he put his mind to it, he’d come up with something special.

“I like the bite,” Addy said, looking right at him. “Just the right amount of red pepper flakes. And I like the amount of sage you used. Not too much. Too many people use too much. What else is that I taste?” She hesitated. “Thyme?”

Gideon could hardly contain his satisfaction. He turned back to her with a big smile. “You...like it?”

She nodded. “Really good, but...”

He leaned toward her. “But?”

“Maybe a little sugar? I could take or leave the garlic, but the onion definitely works.” She held out the plate. “Let me try another piece.”

“
Dat
puts a lot of onion in his one recipe, but I was trying for something a little different...something that...”

“That makes you hungry for more,” she supplied.

He stabbed another piece with a fork and put it on her plate. “Exactly!”

She took another bite, chewing slowly. “There’s something else I’m tasting. Something I can’t quite—” She smiled at him, and her eyes sparkled. “Mustard seed?”

Gideon nodded and grinned back at her. “You’ve got a talent for being able to taste the different ingredients. Not many people do. You must be an excellent cook.”

She grimaced and shook her head. “Not really.
Mam
says I don’t have the patience for it.”

He shrugged. “It’s been my experience that most people who point out a lack of patience in someone else don’t have much of it themselves.”

Addy chuckled. “Best not let my mother hear you say that.” She glanced at the overflowing table. A large pottery bowl held the remains of some ground pork. “You really made more than one batch this morning?”

“This is the third.”

“Were you going to make more?” As she rose from the table, she looked at the ground pork. “You shouldn’t leave it unrefrigerated. It doesn’t do to leave meat out in a warm kitchen, not if you don’t want to poison the bishop.”

He laughed. “Haven’t done that yet.”

“Good for you. I nearly did in a preacher. He was coming by our house to...” Her cheeks took on a rosy hue. “Visit the family,” she added, a little too quickly. “
Mam
had insisted I make hasenpfeffer because he—” She pushed up her sleeves, stepped to the sink and began to run water.

“Go on,” he urged. “Why did she want you to make kidney pie?”

“Because he’d mentioned he was fond of it.” She went on, her voice a little smoother. Her back to him, she added dish detergent and began to wash a frying pan. “But I never made it before, and I used all vinegar instead of half vinegar and half water and—”

“Shtobba!”

“Stop what?” Addy turned back to face him, hands dripping water down the front of her apron.

He folded his arms over his chest. Had he spoken too firmly? He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but neither would he be managed by another woman. He’d had enough of that with his mother and eight sisters. “Stop washing the frying pan. It isn’t for you to clean up after me. I’ll do that.”

“When?” Her mouth was pursed in what he’d come to realize was her stubborn mind-set. “You should clean up as you go. It’s the only way to keep a kitchen clean. Wash up as you—”

“
Ne
. It is not the only way.”

They stood there looking at each other for a second.

Addy was hardheaded; he already knew that. But so was he. “Cleaning up as you go is
your
way, Addy, not mine. And who am I to stand back and let you take on extra labor to clean up after me? In my own good time, I’ll set Sara’s kitchen to rights.”

“There’s no need to shout at me. I was only trying to help.” Little red strawberries bloomed on her cheeks.

She blushed a lot. Instantly, he felt contrite. His intention wasn’t to bully her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. But how else am I to stop you? Once a woman starts cleaning, she puts her whole mind and body into it. My
mam
and sisters once started scrubbing woodwork for a church service at our house and worked through dinner and past the supper hour without stopping. My father and I had to make an evening meal of bread and cheese and pickles.”

The hint of a smile passed over Addy’s features. She had a nice smile. He decided that she should smile more often.