An Amish Holiday Wedding (Amish Country Courtships Book 3)

by Carrie Lighte

  “Neh,” Hunter contradicted. “You haven’t leaned too hard on me, Mamm.”

  “Jah, I have. And I couldn’t have made it to this point without your help, so I’m very grateful. But you’re a young man. You should be thinking about a wife, not about supporting your mamm. I know you’ll always care for me and help me wherever you are, Hunter. It’s what kind of suh you are. But I’ve decided I’m not going back to live in Indiana. There are too many memories of your daed there, and Ruth needs me here. I think you should consider selling the house. I know we won’t make much of a profit, but whatever we make, half of it is yours to do with what you choose. If you want to return to Parkersville permanently, you may. If you’d prefer to stay in Willow Creek, Ruth has already said you are wilkom to live with us.”

  “But, Mamm—”

  His mother squeezed his hand with her gloved fingers. “But nothing. The only thing worse than being in pain myself is watching my kind suffer. You didn’t have a choice about whether you suffered physical pain from the accident. But you do have a choice about whether you continue to suffer unnecessary emotional pain. It’s up to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think you know, suh,” she replied. “I’ve witnessed how deeply you and Faith cherish each other.”

  Even in the frigid air, Hunter’s ears burned. He opened his mouth to tell his mother she couldn’t be more mistaken, but the words that came out were, “I’m...I’m hungry. Are there any apple fry pies left?”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Faith!” Pearl exclaimed when Faith returned to the bakery. “Your face is so... Are you alright?”

  “It’s probably wind burn,” Faith mumbled, avoiding her friend’s eyes as she hung up her shawl. She couldn’t disclose that she’d wept so hard on the way back from Ruth’s house she had to dismount her bike three times because her lungs ached from inhaling deep, sobbing gasps of the arctic air.

  “Even so, you ought to take the afternoon off,” Pearl urged. “You don’t want to get sick right before Grischtdaag. I’ll stay here until the last customers collect their orders. Truly, it’s not a hardship, especially since I’m taking the day off tomorrow to meet our kinner at the van depot.”

  It didn’t take much to persuade Faith to go home early: her eyes were nearly swollen shut, her stomach ached and she couldn’t imagine being attentive enough to ring up a purchase or follow a recipe. Feeling as if there were an ox cart hitched to her bicycle, Faith slowly trundled along the winding roads leading to the farm.

  “What’s wrong?” Henrietta asked when Faith traipsed into the kitchen. “You look terrible.”

  “I feel terrible,” Faith replied.

  “Go straight upstairs and gather fresh bedclothes while I put on a kettle for tea and draw a bath for you,” Henrietta ordered, and Faith complied.

  But when she reached her room, Faith was so chilled and the bed looked so inviting she burrowed under her quilt and didn’t stir again until nearly five o’clock the next morning. Her first thought upon waking was of the conversation she’d had with Hunter, and she would have begun weeping again if she had any tears left to cry.

  She felt like a fool. All this time, she thought he was her friend—in fact, she even wondered if he wanted to be more than friends, considering his comments about her hair and her laughter. At the very least, she believed he cared about her and respected her goals as a businesswoman, just as she highly esteemed him and his interests. She assumed he understood how much her relationships meant to her. Come to find out, he saw her as vain and worldly, as someone who was interested only in her appearance and her business.

  I’d gladly gain fifty pounds if it meant I could have a bobbel, and I dare say I’d give up the bakery if I had to, too, Faith thought. Hunter had no idea what was important to her, and she was appalled to think she’d been on the cusp of sharing her most intimate secret with him. If his opinion of her was that low before she confided about her condition, what would he think of her once he knew?

  She’d be polite to him, but beyond the usual pleasantries, she had nothing more to say to him. Didn’t Ruth mention she was getting her cast off next week? Faith hoped Hunter would leave town as soon after that as possible. The past two months had been grueling, but Faith looked forward to starting the new year afresh.

  To her surprise, as she was tucking her shawl around her waist, Henrietta approached her in the kitchen. “Your nephews couldn’t rouse you for supper last night. I checked on you, but since you didn’t have a fever, I let you sleep. How are you today?”

  “Better now,” Faith said, hoping her sister-in-law wasn’t going to try to persuade her to stay home. Pearl was taking the day off to pick up her daughter’s family from the van depot, and Ivy couldn’t be left on her own.

  “I woke Reuben to take you to the bakery. He’ll pick you up, too.”

  Grateful for Henrietta’s nurturing gesture, Faith promised her sister-in-law she’d bring home special treats for dessert. She slogged through the morning, and by dinner break, Faith was exhausted. She knew she’d have to tell Ivy about the cannery closing, so in order to get her accustomed to the idea, she presented her with a little gift: a pair of blue oven mitts, Ivy’s favorite color.

  “Remember, you must never get them wet except to wash them,” Faith instructed.

  “But you said no more baking.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, and if you’d still like to bake, Pearl and I can give you lessons,” Faith said. Then she explained about the changes that were to occur at the cannery.

  “Ruth Graber isn’t coming back to the shop?” Ivy repeated.

  “Neh, but she’ll come into town to visit,” Faith explained. “And she’ll invite you to her home and you’ll see her at church, too.”

  “Did Hunter Schwartz tell her I ran away on his first day?”

  “Oh, Ivy, Ruth isn’t angry with you. She just needs a change in pace. She’s getting older and she needs to take care of her health.”

  “But her leg is mending.”

  Faith decided to switch tactics. “Ivy, don’t you want to continue working with Pearl and me? We really need your help.”

  “I dropped your applesauce cake.”

  “That’s alright. I made another applesauce cake.”

  The timer went off in the back room. Sighing, Faith rose to check on the rolls. She wondered if she’d made a mistake by telling Ivy today instead of waiting until after Grischtdaag. She didn’t want to spoil the holiday for the young girl. Her own holiday already felt ruined by her rift with Hunter.

  “Listen, Ivy, I have an idea,” Faith said when she came back into the storefront.

  The room was empty.

  Wearily, Faith glanced toward the coat pegs in the hall. At least Ivy remembered to take her shawl. Grabbing her own garment, Faith turned the ovens off and locked the front entrance before exiting through the back door. Until that moment, she’d forgotten her bike was at home, so she fled for the pond on foot. By that time, Ivy had taken a significant lead and Faith lost sight of her.

  For an instant, her thoughts turned to the day she and Hunter pedaled down the same lane, and her lips twitched at the memory before she blotted it from her mind. I’d better get used to solving problems on my own again, she thought. Or at least, solving them without any help from Hunter Schwartz.

  * * *

  After spending a sleepless night of ruminating on his mother’s words, “I’ve witnessed how deeply you and Faith cherish each other,” Hunter’s concentration was lagging. He had just finished refreshing the horse’s water when his balance was thrown off by a small dip in the floor. Spreading his arms, he tried to steady himself, but he floundered backward against a stack of baled hay. It knocked the wind out of him and pain coursed through his hips and back, but his landing was less damaging than it could have been. As Hunter lay supine, trying to
catch his breath, Proverbs 16:18 came to mind: “Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.”

  The truth of Scripture seared Hunter’s conscience, and he finally acknowledged he’d have many more falls, both literally and figuratively, if he continued to act in such an arrogant manner. Furthermore, his pride wouldn’t just destroy his own body and future; it would damage his relationships, as well. Hunter knew he had a long list of people to apologize to, including his aunt and mother, Joseph, the staff at the hospital and Faith. Especially Faith. But first he needed to ask the Lord’s forgiveness.

  Please Gott, forgive my disdainful attitude and with Your grace, help me to change, he prayed, and then propped himself up on his elbows. Was that a car door he heard nearby? The doctor paid Ruth a visit the day before—was he back again? As Hunter pulled himself upright, James Palmer appeared in the entryway.

  “Hello, Hunter,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind me paying you an unexpected visit. I looked for you at the cannery, but it was closed. A man named Joseph told me I could find you here.”

  “Wilkom,” Hunter replied. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m wondering if you might be able to refinish more furniture for me,” James requested. “You did a terrific job on the chair and my wife was thrilled. We’ve been storing an antique dining table and chair set in our attic for years. I’d like to have the furniture redone as a Christmas gift for Marianne. Obviously, I don’t expect you to finish them—or even begin them—in the next two days, but if I have your word you’ll start them soon, I can wrap a big bow around one of the chairs and set it in the dining room on Christmas morning as a symbol of what’s to come. Marianne will be delighted.”

  She’s not the only one! Hunter thought, amazed. Here was a provision to his financial needs he hadn’t had to strive for one bit: the Lord literally delivered it to his doorstep.

  “I’d be glad to,” he said, without hesitating to consider the project would extend his time in Willow Creek.

  After James left, Hunter hobbled to the house as quickly as his makeshift cane enabled him. Expressing sincere regret for his recent surliness, he promised his aunt and mother they’d see a changed man from now on. Then he told them about the restoration project.

  Ruth beamed. “Your onkel would have been pleased you’re using his workshop.”

  “And your daed would have been pleased, too,” his mother said. “He was always proud of your skills at the factory and of your handiwork, but he thought you were especially good with numbers, too. I think he always imagined you’d run your own business one day.”

  “Who knows, maybe he might yet,” Ruth suggested with a wink.

  Hunter ambled back outdoors to look at the supplies in his uncle’s workshop. Recalling how happy Faith was to tell him about her order from Marianne Palmer the day of the accident, Hunter wished he could share his good news with her. As much as she may have wrongly blamed herself for his accident, Hunter wanted Faith to know it was actually her customer who played a role in God’s provision for him.

  He was so lost in thoughts of her he imagined her calling, “Please come back. I need to talk to you. Please.”

  Then he realized, he was hearing her voice. He exited the workshop and surveyed the landscape. Down the hill at the pond, he spied Ivy ducking into her usual hiding place beneath the bridge. Perhaps the ground there was especially muddy or slick, but a moment later, she reemerged and sauntered across the snow- and ice-covered pond as nonchalantly as if across a field.

  “Ivy!” Faith hollered from a distance behind. “Stop right there! You’re walking on the pond! The ice isn’t strong enough to hold you!”

  Hunter darted into the stable, grabbed a rope and started for the pond just as a tremendous crack reverberated through the air like a gunshot, paralyzing Ivy in place.

  “I’m coming, Ivy. Stay right there,” Faith commanded.

  Loping down the hill, Hunter trained his gaze on both of them as Faith shuffled toward where Ivy was standing. When Faith was within a few feet of the girl, she tossed one end of her scarf toward her.

  “Hold on to that, Ivy,” she instructed, her voice carried by the crisp winter air.

  Ivy whimpered as the end of the scarf fell at her feet. When she crouched to lift it, the ice shifted again. Apparently startled by the sound, Ivy bolted past Faith back to solid ground, leaving the scarf behind. Faith cautiously rotated toward the embankment, leaning from side to side, as if trying to establish her balance. But the ice cracked a third time and down she plunged, the water closing over her head. Hunter didn’t so much run as hurtle himself forward.

  “Kick!” he remembered the Englisch swimming instructor urging him the summer Mason, Noah, Hunter and Faith fell into the creek. After the accident, their fathers enrolled the children in a special swimming clinic for Amish kids. Although the Amish rarely swam recreationally, after the footbridge mishap, their parents wanted the children to know what to do if they ever found themselves submerged. Pretend you’re a frog and kick, Hunter willed Faith as he reached the edge of the pond.

  She must have remembered the instructor’s directive, too, because suddenly she surfaced and took an enormous gasp of air before bobbing back under. As Hunter looped the rope around a nearby tree and began inching toward where she’d fallen in, Faith surfaced again, thrashing at the water. This time, she stayed afloat and Hunter could hear her breathing was fast and furious. Knowing her hyperventilation would subside within a minute as her body adjusted to the cold, he tossed the rope toward her, but it was too light and fell short. Faith continued to tread water until her breathing normalized, and then she flung her arms over the ice and pushed her torso upward, but the edge broke off and she nearly went under again.

  “Hold on, Faith, I’m almost there,” he shouted as he worked the end of the rope into a bulbous knot.

  A second time she tried to lift herself but Hunter could tell the ice was too slippery and she couldn’t heave her lower body from the water. Her arms wobbled, and she disappeared again. Hunter crept precariously close to the fractured ice, praying for the Lord to save her. When she came up again, he adroitly lobbed the rope straight to her. “Grab the rope, Faith, and wrap it around your wrist!” he coached.

  Faith clumsily grasped the knobby end and managed to stretch her upper body over the ice as she wound the rope twice around her wrist.

  “Gut, that’s gut! Now, on the count of three, you’re going to kick as hard as you can so your legs rise behind you, like a swimmer’s,” Hunter commanded. “You need to make yourself flat and straight so I can pull you forward. Ready? One...two...three!”

  As Faith vigorously thwacked her legs against the water, Hunter heaved with all of his might until Faith’s body jerked forward, out of the water and atop the solid ice. Hand over hand, he reeled her closer and closer until she lay not a yard from him and he swept her into his arms. By the time they reached the shore, her teeth were chattering so hard she couldn’t speak.

  As Hunter lurched toward his house, he didn’t register his own pain or the cold, nor could he fully process the words Ivy was screaming—all he noticed was Faith’s bluish pallor. He held her body close to his to try to subdue her shaking.

  His mother and aunt must have heard the shouting and seen what had happened, because they were ready with blankets and dry clothes. Ruth directed him to lay Faith on the bed in her room and for Ivy to put on a pot of tea. Then the women shooed him from the room.

  As he headed outside to get more wood for the stove, Hunter beseeched the Lord, using the simple petition he often uttered in regard to his own health, “Please, Gott, make Faith well again.”

  * * *

  Drifting in and out of lucidity, Faith had the impression she was sinking—not into water, but into sleep—and she felt unable to fight the enticing pull of its gravity.

  “She’s dry now, but we can’t let
her doze off,” Iris was saying. “Let’s get her back on her feet.”

  Even with Iris and Ivy supporting her, it took all of Faith’s strength to rise from the bed. She was fatigued when the day began, and her icy dunking drained the rest of her energy. She could barely move under the weight of the quilt wrapped around her shoulders. The three slowly made their way to the parlor, where Iris and Ivy settled her into a rocking chair positioned near the woodstove. Ruth placed her hand over Faith’s forehead.

  “That tea was enough to warm you but not enough to give you energy. You need sustenance,” Ruth decided, doddering toward the kitchen. “I’ve heated some soup. Ivy, kumme give me a hand.”

  “I don’t know if I could lift a spoon,” Faith mumbled, but the words felt funny in her mouth.

  “Let’s warm your toes,” Hunter’s mother said. Cupping Faith’s foot by the ankle, Iris slowly guided it onto a stool in front of the fire. Then she did the same with the other foot.

  “Whatever will I do if I’m sick when I live alone? How will I manage?” Faith tried to say, but the words were barely audible. She was so sleepy.

  Ruth gave her a gentle nudge and handed her a mug without any spoon. Faith’s hands trembled as she lifted the piping liquid to her mouth and blew on it. “It’s gut,” she said after her first swallow. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

  She was slurping the last noodle from her second serving when Hunter tentatively stepped into the parlor as if unsure whether he was allowed to enter. His arms were full of firewood. “I thought I should stoke the stove,” he proposed.

  “If I get any warmer, I’ll start to sweat!” For some reason, the notion amused her, and she giggled.

  “I think she’s still... She’s still thawing out,” Faith heard Iris comment to Ruth.