The Matchmaker (9 page)

“Well, your secret is not so secret anyway,” she countered, not buying into his teasing. “I already knew of this proposal.”

Gideon leaned over her shoulder to look at the quilting. He paused to point out that she had missed a small section in one of the leaves that she was stitching. She swatted at his hand, but her cheeks colored at the error that he had pointed out.

“So she took you in her confidence, did she?” When Emma did not respond, he paused, and as the realization of the full meaning of her statement hit him, he stood up straight, his eyes scanning the horizon through the window. “Of course she did and she must have said no,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Otherwise, you would not have thought of Paul Esh when I first mentioned the matter.” He took a
deep breath and placed his hands on her shoulders, spinning her around so that she faced him. “Emma, what did you do?”

“I did nothing,” she started, but the words sounded meek. It was clear that she was not telling the entire truth, even to herself.

“Emma . . . ”

She shrugged her shoulders so that his hands fell back to his side. She did not like the scowl on his face nor the tone of his voice. His constant disapproval was grating on her nerves. Despite his being a part of the family, Gideon King sometimes took his self-appointed role as her big
bruder
a step too far. “
Ja vell
, I did nothing more than a true sister would do.”

“A true sister?” He stared down at her and shook his head. “That would have been a
wunderbaar
match, Emma, even if it did not fit your plans.”

“Wunderbaar
for Ralph Martin, I’m sure.” She tried to spin her chair back to continue quilting, but the way that Gideon was standing blocked her way.

“I admit that you have helped her tremendously, Emma, but I am not so sure that your presumption about Ralph Martin is fair. She is a young woman with a questionable family background and upbringing.” Emma gasped at his words, but he did not let her interrupt him. “As for Ralph, he’s a godly man with a spotless reputation and a lot to offer your friend.”

“He’s a pig farmer.”

Gideon tilted his head and blinked his eyes just once. There was a look of complete disbelief on his face that made her feel uncomfortable, and she tried to look away. “What does being a pig farmer have to do with his being a fine match for your friend? He’s a hard worker, honest, and kind!
Aren’t those the most important things, besides that she finds a man who honors God and his community? And lest you forget, he seems to be quite taken with her.”

To this statement she did not reply.

“Why, Emma Weaver! This has nothing to do with Ralph Martin or his occupation, which you find so distasteful for some unknown reason! It has everything to do with your fixation on Paul Esh marrying her instead!” He laughed, but there was no mirth to his laughter. “That is most ridiculous. You know that, don’t you?”

“I’m sure I do not know what you mean!”

He placed his hand under her chin and made her look at him. “You should know better than to meddle, Emma. Ralph Martin may be a pig farmer, but he is a right
gut
man and is well thought of in his
g’may
. I think highly of him and know that he would make your friend a fine husband. She would have a
gut
future with Ralph, and that is what you should be focused on.”

Placing the needle on top of the quilt, Emma stood up and moved away from Gideon. His brotherly advice was getting on her nerves today, and she was having a hard time holding her tongue. “A girl like Hannah would do far better with someone like Paul,” she proclaimed. “She is not farm girl material, Gideon. Certainly she is more familiar with labor in a store than a field.”

“Not farm girl material?” He ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes wide and full of disbelief at her statement. “Since when have you become so very proud, Emma Weaver? I am disappointed in your hand in this matter.” He didn’t wait for her answer. “There is so much advantage for Hannah in this match, one that is before her and not one that you dream of! Even I would think that you would see that!”

“Then you must think very little of me!”

“What I think of you right now, I prefer not to say,” he admitted rather harshly. “The goodness and godliness of Ralph Martin is unquestionable. Despite your desire to seek better for your friend, I do fear that you will not find it, Emma. I only hope that Ralph will be able to move on and maintain his godly spirit that you so quickly dismiss because of his occupation.” He turned his back to her and stared out the window. “And for what? A hopeless dream that Paul Esh will fulfill your need to meddle and matchmake?
Ja vell
, Emma, I dare say that Paul will think more rationally than you. His desire is to marry a woman who is suited to be part of a bishop’s family. Despite your protests, Hannah is not that woman!”

Emma caught herself from gasping at Gideon’s words. Lifting her chin, she narrowed her eyes and looked at him. “You criticize me for thinking Ralph is not good enough for Hannah, and then declare that Hannah is not good enough for Paul.”

“Indeed it appears that I did,” Gideon shot back, leveling his gaze at her as if speaking to a child. His condescending tone did not go unnoticed by Emma, and she fought the urge to squirm under his rebuke. “Apparently I have a much more mature awareness of what matches are suitable as well as realistic.”

Emma tried to hide her discomfort and hurried over to the kitchen, wishing that her
daed
would return from his walk. While Gideon always tended to be on the critical side when it came to Emma, he had never spoken so harshly to her. She felt tears stinging the corner of her eyes, but blinking rapidly, she willed them away. When she had control of her emotions, she forced a smile and turned back to
look at him. “If I had hopes of Paul with Hannah, that is not the motivation, I can assure you,” she finally said. “I only hoped to keep Hannah from making too rapid a decision, Gideon, and an unwise one at that.”

To her surprise, Gideon made a groaning noise, one that spoke of vexation and frustration. He spun around on his heels. “Please beg forgiveness of my departure from your
daed
,” he snapped. “I have suddenly lost my appetite for conversation, never mind fellowship over a meal.” Without another word, he stormed out of the kitchen. Within minutes Emma heard the familiar clip-clop of horse hooves and the gentle humming of buggy wheels, an indication that Gideon had left to return home.

Chapter Five

T
HE TWO YOUNG
Amish friends were walking at a brisk pace down the street, Emma in a freshly laundered and crisply ironed pale green dress, which contrasted sharply against Hannah’s faded pink one with the torn hem and the hole in her skirt. Both were carrying a basket filled to the rim with fresh vegetables and canned fruit. Emma smiled as they walked toward the row of ranch houses along the main thoroughfare, her face turned toward the sun as if drinking in the wholesome goodness that shone down upon them. Besides quilting and entertaining visitors, there was nothing Emma enjoyed more than her weekly visits on Thursday to the elderly widows who lived near her home. That pleasure was now showing on her face. As for Hannah, she was happy to spend time with her good friend Emma.

While most of the widows and widowers lived with their grown
kinner
on the family farms, usually in the
grossdaddihaus
, there were just as many of them, mostly women, who lived in the smaller portion of the more contemporary homes scattered in the community, houses that were occupied by their older children who worked at market or at local stores. Several years back Emma had taken it upon herself to
visit with these elderly women each and every week. Anna had often accompanied her, but today it was Hannah who walked beside her.

“It’s so nice of you to visit with the widows,” Hannah gushed. “I’m sure they truly appreciate it.”

Emma glanced at Hannah. “I suppose I appreciate the visit as much as they do.” She sighed after she spoke and gestured toward the first house so that Hannah knew to cross the street with her. “It’s right rewarding to bring sunshine into their lives, I reckon. And, in turn, they give it back tenfold.” It was indeed something that Emma truly enjoyed doing for her community, but little did people know that she found as much enjoyment in the deed as the recipients. For Emma, this was a way to stay abreast of what was happening in the
g’may
, who was getting married and who was not, who was expecting a new
boppli
, who was moving and where to . . . all little tidbits of information that she could not possibly glean while staying home, taking care of her
daed.

Their first visit was to Mary Yoder, an older woman who could not walk very well without the help of a cane. Way back when Mary had been considered a pillar of strength in the community. All the women had known her quite well and she too knew most of them, for Mary had been the only midwife within a thirty-mile radius. There was scarcely a day when her services were not required to assist in childbirth, for which
Englische
doctors were rarely consulted. Mary had a Mennonite acquaintance, John Bucher, a pious and righteous man who drove her at any time of the day or night, as emergencies arose. She was the only Amish woman in the
g’may
authorized by Bishop Zook to keep a telephone in her kitchen, but only for such emergencies.

Now these days were long gone, and Mary was no longer
helping anyone in her community. But some of the elders, when reminiscing about the past, never failed to mention how many dangerous complications Mary had been able to overcome, sometimes even saving a mother in the process.

Emma always stopped to visit with her first in case Mary needed anything before her
dochder
returned from cleaning houses, at eleven o’clock. In fact, Emma timed her visits with all of the women to make certain she was there when others were not, in case they needed any assistance while alone.

“Gut mariye
, Mary!” Emma called out from the front step, her voice louder than usual since Mary was hard of hearing. The elderly woman sat on the porch and looked up when she heard Emma’s voice. Emma waved and stepped forward to join her. “I brought a friend with me today!”

“Anna?”

“Nee
, Mary. You know that she was married to Samuel Wagler just last month.” Emma reminded her. “She lives farther away now and couldn’t visit.” There was a look of disappointment on Mary Yoder’s face. “But I have someone new for you to meet today! I’ve brought my new friend, Hannah Souder, with me. She’s just moved here from Ohio. Wasn’t that nice that she came along, Mary?”

When Emma glanced at Hannah, she was surprised to see her hanging back at the gate, seemingly reluctant to greet the aging woman. Mary sat in her rocking chair, her left eye clouded over with white from a cataract which would keep growing until the day when she would be called back to her Creator. Her skin, leathered and wrinkled, drooped with old age. Her smile showed that she barely had any teeth left. But there was a joy in her face as she turned her head in the direction of Emma’s voice.

“We brought you some freshly canned peaches, dear Mary. Hannah and I canned them just last week. Shall I get you a bowl and spoon for you to enjoy some right away, or would you prefer to save them for later?”

Reaching out a wrinkled and trembling hand, Mary patted Emma’s arm. “Such a good girl,” she replied. “So thoughtful and kind. I’ll save them for later. I don’t have much appetite these days.
Danke
, Emma.”

Hannah finally inched forward for proper introductions. Her shyness amused Emma, who thought it rather charming despite being unusual. It wasn’t as if Hannah hadn’t been meeting people since having moved to Lancaster!

For the next fifteen minutes Emma sat in the chair next to Mary, talking with her about the quilt that she and Hannah were making for the Mennonite Central Committee’s upcoming auction. In great detail she explained the pattern and colors, taking special delight in Mary’s reaction to the description of the different fabrics being used. For a woman in her nineties, Mary still had some interesting anecdotes to contribute to the subject. At one point the two younger women laughed out loud when Mary admitted how she despised quilting so much that, whenever she was invited to a quilting bee, she made sure to use her right hand—she was a leftie. Her stitching was so horrible that soon enough the invitations ceased to come her way. “What a relief!” she exclaimed. “But don’t let anybody know now.” She ended the story with a twinkle in her eye.