by Sarah Price
Lizzie frowned and, for the first time, turned to face Wilmer. “You know Frederick Detweiler, then?”
He seemed excited. “Oh, ja! Indeed!” Then he paused. “Rather, I know of him, I should say. He is the nephew of the former bishop. But he resides within a neighboring g’may. Bishop Bechler’s fraa is Frederick’s aendi and was quite instrumental in my being nominated to become a preaching member of the g’may. When her husband passed, I received the lot to take his place.” He paused and sighed as if remembering Bishop Bechler with great admiration. “Mighty shoes to walk behind!”
Curiosity got the better of her, and she heard herself ask, “So how do you know of Frederick?”
“Oh, everyone knows of Frederick!” He laughed, a hollow sound that escaped his lips. She cringed at the news and was glad to see her parents’ farm appear down the road. “He’s quite the well-respected man in the Dutch Valley! Has helped many a young Amish man by giving them work on his farm, teaching them agriculture and enabling crop sharing. Christiana speaks quite highly of him and has hopes that he shall marry her husband’s niece, Anna.”
“Is that so?” Lizzie murmured disinterestedly, hiding her satisfaction. If this Christiana Bechler wanted Frederick to marry her niece, that might explain why Frederick so studiously ignored Carol Ann. Frederick certainly did not look like the type of man who would encourage the attention of one woman if it were expected that he should marry another. After all, no honorable Amish man would do such a thing, and Frederick appeared to take great pride in appearing to be a most proper Amish man. Of course, Lizzie was still quite certain that Carol Ann might have fancied such a union with Frederick and, therefore, might not be as honorable as Frederick.
When Lizzie did not respond further to his piece of news, Wilmer fell silent. Lizzie turned her face to look out the window once again, more than relieved when Wilmer no longer forced a conversation on the rest of the way back to her parents’ farm.
Chapter Nine
LYDIA STOOD IMPATIENTLY in the middle of the road, staring back at her sisters who were lagging behind her. Jane and Lizzie were the farthest behind, talking to each other as they walked, while Catherine and Mary quickly caught up with Lydia. The sun was overhead and Lydia’s cheeks were flushed. Beads of sweat formed on all of the girls’ foreheads.
“I can’t believe Daed wouldn’t let us use a buggy!” Lydia complained when Catherine was near enough to hear. “It’s such a bother to walk so far!”
Jane laughed. “Oh, Lydia! It’s a beautiful day.”
“It’s hot!” she whined, fanning herself with her hand. The gesture was overexaggerated, and it highlighted the fifteen-year-old girl’s tendency for preferring public drama to inner reflection, despite the unattractive nature of calling attention to oneself by complaining. “I’m sweating.”
Lizzie teasingly knocked her youngest sister with her shoulder as she passed her. “It’s hot at home too. So what’s the difference?”
Lydia rolled her eyes and moved closer to Catherine, her special sister and one with whom she shared more in common. It was clear that Jane would not give her any compassion for her plight, especially since all five of the sisters were experiencing it at the same time. So, instead of wasting her words of unhappiness on Jane, Lydia took comfort by sharing them with Catherine.
Despite her own tendency to be the first to reprimand Lydia for complaining or other inappropriate behavior, Lizzie secretly agreed with her youngest sister but knew better than to voice such an opinion. To do so would set Lydia off on a tirade of complaints, presuming she had an active audience and a partner in disagreeing with their parents’ not permitting them the use of their horse and buggy. There had been too many complaints of young people piling into buggies, and as a result, one or two would hang out of the side. Besides the fact that this was quite a dangerous practice, the fact that the youth were still doing it, despite the reprimand of the bishop, was something that infuriated both church and parents alike.
So the girls had put on their plastic clogs and begun the long trek toward town, knowing that the walk would take at least an hour, but they wanted to look for new yarns and fabrics at the dry goods store on the outskirts of Intercourse. As usual, Jane never complained and seemed quite happy with the long walk. Her ankle had long since healed, and her eyes seemed distant and far away.
Lizzie was certain that she knew why.
Once again Charles had stopped by to check on Jane the previous day. He had also whispered to her that he wanted to take her home from the singing Sunday evening, even though it was to be held at his farm. Despite the forwardness of his request—for most young men asked the girl of interest while they were at the singing, not beforehand—Jane had shyly nodded her head in agreement. When she confided this to Lizzie later that evening, both girls had giggled and hugged each other.
“Why, you can be sure he’s going to ask you for November!” Lizzie had whispered so as not to disturb the other girls who were sleeping. Most marriages took place in late October and November, well after the autumn harvest. “If he’s asking you to ride home with him beforehand, that means he’s considering himself your beau!”
Jane had blushed and turned her head away but not soon enough for Lizzie not to notice the smile on her sister’s face.
That was how some courtships went. Lizzie envied Jane for the ease with which she befriended others and caught the attention of so many Amish men. Yet Lizzie also knew that this interest in Charles was different. Jane was not just being friendly and kind. Her heart was involved, and that made all of the difference in the world.
“Sure is a hot day for walking,” a voice called out from behind them.
Lizzie snapped out of her own thoughts and looked up, surprised to see George driving an open wagon behind them, his horse just about to pass the group of walking women. He slowed the horse down and gestured to the open bed in the back. “Climb in,” he offered, a broad smile on his face. “Let me take you to where you need to be.”
Without a moment’s hesitation Lydia jumped into the back of the wagon with Catherine close behind. “Oh, you are right kind,” Lydia gushed, brazenly resting her hand on George’s arm. “I was just saying how hot it is, and I was starting to regret our trip to the store! It’s just too hot to walk! And then you just seemed to read our minds and stopped to offer us a ride. I can’t thank you enough.”
Ignoring Lydia’s open flirtation with the older man, for certainly he was in his early twenties, Lizzie climbed into the wagon. With Jane, they positioned themselves in the back, waiting patiently for Mary to climb in and settle beside them.
“Which store are you headed toward?” George asked, slapping the reins on the horse’s back and clicking his tongue to get the mare moving.
“The dry goods store,” Lizzie answered, gesturing with her hand in the direction that they were headed. “Just down a spell on the right lane after the turn in the road.”
He nodded. “Sounds gut. Along the way I’m headed too!”
George was most different from Charles, yet Lizzie could see the family resemblance. With bright eyes and a fast smile he was just as charming as his older cousin. Yet there was also something mysterious about him. Lizzie couldn’t put her finger on it but found herself wanting to find out. What exactly was behind those dazzling blue eyes?
During the short ride, for the girls had walked almost halfway there by the time George had happened upon them, he chatted with everyone about the differences between Ohio and Pennsylvania and how much he was enjoying himself. He commented on the landscapes being so different, with Leola being much flatter and spread out than where he lived in the Dutch Valley. He also laughed at a buggy that passed by, commenting that the gray-topped buggies of Lancaster County looked very fancy compared to the all-black buggies that were used in Holmes County by the Amish. He even mentioned that some church districts in Ohio refused to use the government-mandated orange reflective triangle on the back of their buggies. “But those are the most
conservative districts, like the Swartzentruber Amish,” he explained. “They use reflective tape instead.”
Lydia and Catherine hung on his every word and giggled far too much for Lizzie’s liking, but she was hesitant to say anything to them for fear of an unbecoming scene.
“What are you working on at the farm?” Jane inquired.
“The cows arrive next week,” he said, a broad smile lighting up his face. “It will be right gut to start a regular morning routine again.”
His remark struck Lizzie, for she had noticed that George had not been around during the two mornings she had stayed at the Beachey farm. She had thought she had heard him returning home in the early morning hours. Yet she wondered now if she had been mistaken. Perhaps he had truly been up so early and working already, eager to get started rather than sleep late from running around with other unbaptized young men.
When no one else responded to his comment about the cows, he continued speaking. “Charles sent me to pick up some more wire and a few boards for the back pasture. Apparently it was broken, so we are fixing it today.”
This time, Lizzie frowned. Hadn’t it been Frederick who had discovered the broken fencing last week? Why hadn’t they fixed it until now? She could distinctly remember hearing Charles volunteer George to pick up the wire and boards once the roads were clear. Yet here it was, almost two weeks later, and just now they were getting the supplies? If that had been her own daed, that fence would have been fixed the next day. It was unlike an Amish farmer to postpone fixing something once it was discovered broken.
She was still pondering this mystery when he pulled into the parking lot of the dry goods store. To her further surprise Lizzie watched as George hitched the horse to the post and hurried to help the women jump down from the back of the wagon: a true gentleman. Then, without a word, he accompanied them into the store, opening the door for the five sisters and stepping inside behind them.
With his hands behind his back, he proceeded to walk alongside Lizzie. She didn’t say anything to him, more curious about his behavior than anything else. Despite Lydia’s and Catherine’s best attempts to capture George’s attention, he seemed to focus more on monitoring what Lizzie was doing and commenting on the fabrics she was selecting.
“I always liked a pretty blue,” he said, pausing at the pale blue fabric on the table. He ran his hand over the material, and Lizzie noticed that his hands were small and dainty, quite unusual for a farmer.
“That blue is for wedding dresses,” Lizzie pointed out pragmatically. “It’s not very practical for day-to-day wear since it’s so light. Your Ohio women wear light blue for the weddings, ja?”
He glanced away and withdrew his hand. “I reckon you’re right,” he said and moved farther down the aisle. “But I bet you’d look right nice in that blue,” he added over his shoulder, his voice low so that no one else could hear.
His words gave her a moment’s pause as she lingered in front of the various fabrics. Had George Wickey been flirting with her? She hadn’t truly thought of him in such a manner. However, she realized that the idea didn’t seem too distasteful. She would have to pay closer attention to learn more about his character before she made up her mind, she realized, for what little she knew seemed confusing and contradictory. It was true that she did not have a lot of exposure to men, preferring to enhance her mind rather than her social standing among her peers. Yet George was different, and after witnessing Frederick’s harsh treatment of him, she was inclined to see if she could discern for herself what manner of man he was.
After the sisters had paid for their purchases, George offered to take them home if they did not mind stopping by the farm supply store along the way. Being that it was just a mile out of the way, it only made gut sense to ride along with him, for both the company and the convenience. It was still hot out, and no one wanted to walk back to the farm in such heat, especially after having been afforded the comfort of a ride.
This time Lydia and Catherine sat toward the back of the wagon, discussing their purchases at the dry goods store, while Mary gazed into the sky during the ride. At one point Mary reached into her pocket for the harmonica and fiddled with it, her fingers stroking the sides, but for fear of reprimand, she did not venture to play it. Despite her love of music, it was most unbecoming for a young woman to play, at least in public.
For a long moment Lizzie watched them, amazed at how different her sisters were. The silliness of the younger two seemed balanced by the common sense and steadiness of herself and Jane, while Mary floated somewhere between the two ends of the spectrum. It always made her curious to think of how the extremes in their personalities had formed, especially as they had the same parents and the same upbringing. It was a most peculiar question that she had never been able to answer.
A buggy was passing by, and by way of habit, Lizzie glanced to see who was driving it while lifting her hand to wave in greeting. To her surprise, she recognized Frederick as the driver, but he must not have noticed them for he merely stared straight ahead, not once even glancing in their direction. Peculiar personalities indeed, she thought, wondering how on earth Charles Beachey found anything in common with that man.
“Sure is hot for June, ja?”
George’s words interrupted her train of thought, and she looked at him. She and Jane were seated beside him rather than in the back of the wagon. “June tends to get hotter as it approaches July, ja,” she responded. “What is Ohio like?”
“Vell,” he began, holding the reins in one hand and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of the other, “hot, but not quite like this, I reckon. It’s definitely more humid here, that’s for certain.”
“It was nice of you and Frederick to accompany Charles to help him settle into Pennsylvania,” Lizzie said, knowing that she was opening a doorway to get some of the answers to the questions that were lingering in her mind without looking too curious.
George smiled. “It was natural for me, I suppose,” he started. “You see, I was practically raised by Jacob Beachey.”
Now this was news! Even Jane turned her head to listen to the conversation. Lizzie shook her head and encouraged him to continue with his story by saying, “I had not known that.”
“Ja,” George affirmed. “I was an only child, the firstborn, and my parents were killed in a buggy accident when I was just a small boy. Naturally, my onkel raised me, so Charles and I are more like brothers than cousins.”
At his news Jane gasped. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, ever the tenderhearted one of the sisters. “I hadn’t heard that your parents were deceased.” Even Lizzie felt a pain in her chest at the thought of a young boy being left parentless at such a tender age.
“Danke,” he replied politely. “It was Jacob’s hope that I would help Charles and settle down out here, mayhaps on the Beachey farm in the grossdawdihaus at some point until I could establish my own farm. I was to have one in Ohio, you see. A property left to me by my parents. It was just land but adjacent to my onkel’s. They had planned to build their own buildings on it when they had more children. When they died, it became mine. Legally, anyway. While I was too young to farm at that age, I had intended to do the very same thing when I became a man and had the resources to do so.” There was a momentary pause, and he sighed. “But I fear that it was not meant to be.”
“Why ever not?”
He shrugged and looked forward, his eyes on the road. “Frederick managed to buy the property away from me as it abutted his own.”
Both women caught their breath, and Jane laid her hand on Lizzie’s arm, a warning to tread cautiously with this conversation. Lizzie had been more than vocal at home about what she thought of Frederick, with his proud demeanor and disapproving looks. Yet Lizzie was not about to let the conversation stop without learning more.
“That does not sound like a very kind thing to do,” Lizzie started, trying to pick and choose her words carefully. “Certainly there is more to the story than that.”
All five sisters were listening now, Lydia and Catherine with wide eyes and their mouths gaping open in complete disbelief.
“It’s not in our nature to argue or sue,” George sighed, referring to the Amish. “So it was best that I’d search for a new farm. When I heard that Charles was coming to take over the old Beachey farm here in Pennsylvania, I thought it would be a gut opportunity to start fresh in a new place.”
Lizzie frowned. “Surely the bishop could have gotten involved!” she declared.
Another casual shrug. “It is not for me to disrupt the g’may,” he said softly. “Old Bishop Bechler did not like strife among his church members.”
“That’s just downright horrid!” Lydia exclaimed. She crossed her arms across her chest. “No wonder he looks so miserable all of the time! It’s a wonder he can live with himself, such a selfish and heartless man!”
Jane shot her a glance, but Lizzie did not. She stared straight ahead, trying to digest the words that George had just spoken. If true, Frederick Detweiler was certainly a very proud man with more focus on personal elevation than spiritual! It also explained a lot, especially the very obvious bitterness between the two men. However, she couldn’t help but wonder why Jacob Beachey would have entrusted the care of his son, daughter, and nephew to such an awful man as Frederick Detweiler!
Chapter Ten
THE LONG ROW of gray-topped buggies greeted the Blank family as they walked down the lane. Since the storm, Charles had hired some Englischers to pave the driveway so that there were no longer dips and ditches or risk of pockets of water. Since none of the Blanks had been at the Beachey farm since after the storm, it was the first they had seen the fresh-topped macadam. With the buggies along the side, it was a grand entrance to the farm with freshly painted barn, stable, and house. Impressive to say the least, Lizzie thought with a moment of tender feeling toward her elder sister. One day Jane might raise her kinner on this well-maintained property and with a truly godly man as Charles Beachey.