An Amish Wedding

by Kathleen Fuller; Beth Wiseman Kelly Long

  “I’m casting plenty, believe me. But lately those cares have been multiplying faster than I can get rid of them. I just want everything perfect for Priscilla.”

  “I know you do.” Zeke leaned against the counter he’d installed earlier that day while Chester was at work. He’d had to do the job twice, thanks to Naomi ruining his concentration. Again. Not that he minded. But he wasn’t telling Chester any of that. He seemed worried enough as it was. “Tell me something. Do you think Pricilla will love you any less if things aren’t perfect?”

  “Of course not. But I want her to be happy. She’s so excited about getting married. I don’t want to disappoint her.”

  Zeke nodded. “Well, maybe I’m not the best person to give advice about marriage, but seems to me you’re gonna disappoint her somewhere down the road. Probably more than once. She’ll disappoint you too. It’s how you handle the disappointment that will make your marriage, not what happens on your wedding day.”

  Chester stood. “Sounds like something mei daed would say. So how did you get so wise in the ways of marriage? Being a lifetime bachelor and all.” His cousin’s tone was genuine, not mocking.

  “Sometimes you learn a lot from paying attention.” He remained silent about the state of his parents’ marriage. Zeke was pretty sure his cousin’s family didn’t have any idea that his parents barely spoke to each other. They always put up a good front for family and friends. Home . . . well, that was a different story. He picked up one of the cabinet doors and started screwing it on. “I don’t plan on being a lifetime bachelor, by the way.”

  “Oh?” Chester grabbed another door and got to work. It was dark outside, but the gas lamp they’d set up in the middle of the kitchen cast plenty of light. “You’ve got your eye on someone back home, ya?”

  “Not exactly.” He pushed the door back and forth, making sure the hinges worked and didn’t squeak. Satisfied, he put on the opposite door.

  “Someone here, then?”

  When Zeke didn’t answer, Chester asked, “Who? You haven’t been here that long. There’s only been one maedel I know that you’ve met—” His cousin stopped working. “Naomi?”

  Heat suffused Zeke’s face. He wasn’t used to talking about such things with Chester. Or with anyone.

  “It’s Naomi.” Chester grinned. “You could do a lot worse.”

  Zeke looked at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  Chester held up his hands, gripping the Phillips screwdriver in one of them. “Nix. I just meant that Naomi’s a nice maedel. I can see why you like her.”

  Zeke hadn’t realized he’d been that obvious. Although telling Naomi straight out that he liked her qualified as pretty obvious. He recalled her reaction, a mix of surprise and uncertainty, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a little distrust. That bothered him more than anything. Being upfront with her made her suspicious. At least she hadn’t rejected his request for a date outright. Somehow he would convince her that she didn’t have to be wary of him. “She’s smart. Confident. Not to mention pretty.”

  “And you’re gone.” Chester chuckled. “You sound like I did when I fell for Priscilla.” He checked the door the same way Zeke did and nodded. “So when’s the wedding?”

  “Hold up. I haven’t gotten a date with her yet.”

  “Then ask her.”

  “I did.” Zeke put down the screwdriver.

  Chester looked at him. “She turned you down?”

  “She didn’t give me an answer either way.” A thought occurred to him. “She’s not seeing anyone, is she?”

  Chester scoffed. “Not that I know of. I can ask Priscilla to make sure. But, Zeke, Naomi’s not that kind of maedel. If she’s with someone, she’d let you know.”

  “Ya, I figured as much.” The men went back to work, but a couple of nagging questions remained in Zeke’s mind. If she was available, why wouldn’t she agree to go out with him? And if she was so against dating him, why didn’t she tell him no outright?

  When they finished putting the doors on the cabinets, Chester said, “I’m calling it a night.”

  “Sounds gut to me. I’ll come back in the morning and start on the floor.” There were planks of sanded, stained oak floorboards in the brand-new barn out back.

  Chester looked at his cousin. “Thank you, Zeke. I don’t know how to repay you.”

  “By not saying things like that.” Zeke clapped him on the shoulder.

  “If you and Naomi ever need anything, let me know. I’ll be there.”

  Zeke shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You already have us married off.”

  “Of course.” Chester made a funny face. “We Lapp mann are impossible to resist.”

  Zeke laughed. He hoped Naomi thought so.

  “WHY CAN’T I GET THESE STITCHES STRAIGHT?” NAOMI looked at the curved quilt strips laid out on her kitchen table, frowning at the fabric puckering on one seam. She grabbed her seam ripper, then heard a knock on the front door. When she opened it, she saw her youngest sister standing there.

  “Sarah Mae.” Naomi tamped down her frustration and opened the door wider for the little girl to come inside. She crouched down to meet Sarah Mae at eye level. “To what do I owe this surprise visit?”

  “I made something for you.” Sarah Mae held out a plastic pitcher filled halfway with red juice. “Cherry Kool-Aid!”

  Naomi wasn’t thirsty, but she smiled at Sarah Mae and took the pitcher. She didn’t want to risk Sarah Mae tripping and spilling it. “Why don’t we geh in the kitchen, and I’ll pour both of us a glass?”

  “Nee.” Sarah Mae patted her stomach, the pleats of her light green dress covering her rounded tummy. “I’ve already had my share.”

  Knowing Sarah Mae, and seeing the bright red strip across her upper lip, Naomi suspected her little sister had had more than her share. “Then I’ll pour myself a glass and give you the pitcher back.”

  “That’s okay. I made another one for everyone else.” She yawned, and Naomi noticed she wasn’t wearing her small black kapp. Thick locks of her dark hair hung loosely from the bobby pins struggling to keep it in place.

  “Does Mamm know you’re over here? Or did she tell you to geh upstairs and get to bed?”

  Sarah Mae looked sheepish, and Naomi had her answer. She set the pitcher on the coffee table. “Get back to the haus, Sarah Mae.” She grasped her little sister’s shoulders and gently turned her around. “You don’t want Mamm mad at you.”

  Sarah Mae looked over her shoulder. “I wanted you to have some before it was all gone.”

  “I know. And danki for thinking about me. Now, geh home.” She kissed the top of Sarah Mae’s disheveled hair and gave her a gentle nudge out the door. She could only imagine what the rambunctious girl had gotten into tonight. With her mother preoccupied with wedding preparations, Sarah Mae sometimes got lost in the shuffle. Naomi made a mental note to spend some special time with her when the wedding was over.

  When her sister had left, she took the pitcher and set it on the kitchen table, then sat down to figure out how to fix the quilt. She should have volunteered to bake a cake instead. She’d wanted Priscilla and Chester to have something they could enjoy for years, and possibly pass down to their children. But at the rate she was going, she’d finish it by the time they had grandchildren.

  Thinking about Chester and her sister drew Zeke back into her thoughts. She had to get control of the situation with him, but she still had no idea how. Pushing him out of her mind, she focused on the quilt. She spent the next hour bent over the kitchen table, removing the stitches and carefully redoing them. She had just flattened out the fabric to inspect her work when she heard another knock on the front door. Glancing at the clock, she frowned. It was past eight thirty. Who would stop by for a visit at this hour?

  She got up and answered the door, and her stomach dropped. “Hello, Zeke.”

  He took off his hat and turned the battered brim in his hands. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he sa
id.

  In fact, he was interrupting everything—her organized routine, her placid emotions, and for the past twenty-four hours, every facet of her life. But she couldn’t just turn him away. She shook her head. “You’re not. I was just working on Priscilla and Chester’s quilt. Come inside.”

  As he walked through the doorway behind her, she heard him sniff. “Chocolate?”

  “I made some brownies earlier.” Although she wasn’t emotionally prepared for him to stay, politeness overruled. “Would you like one?”

  “Sure.”

  The grin she was used to seeing on his face returned, and he followed her into the kitchen. She put a brownie square on a plate as he sat down at the table. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “This looks interesting.” He pointed to the pitcher on the table.

  “Oh.” Naomi smiled a little. “Sarah Mae’s special-recipe Kool-Aid. She usually doesn’t put enough sugar in, so I don’t recommend drinking it with the brownie.”

  “Pour me a glass anyway. Never could resist cherry Kool-Aid.”

  She laughed despite herself. She poured him a small glass and joined him at the table. She started to fold up the quilt fabric when he stopped her.

  “This is what you’re working on?” He studied it for a moment, and she squirmed under his scrutiny. Did he notice the uneven stitching? The puckered seam? “This is going to be a beautiful quilt, Naomi.”

  His compliment brought a blush to her face. She ran her hand across the soft fabric. “I don’t know about that. I’ll probably have to take half of it apart and redo it. Again.”

  “Why? It looks fine to me.”

  “Spoken like a mann.”

  He smirked. “Are you saying that I don’t know my quilts from my roofing shingles?”

  She smiled. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “You know, living on my own for a while, I learned to do more than cook. I couldn’t geh running to mei mamm every time I ripped a seam in my pants. I learned how to manage a needle just fine. I just don’t geh around advertising the fact.”

  She hadn’t thought about that before. She looked down at the quilt section again. “You really think it’s okay?”

  “I do. And even if it’s as bad as you think it is, which it’s not, Priscilla and Chester won’t notice or care.”

  “I know. I just want it to be perfect for them.”

  He chuckled. “You sound like Chester. He was saying the same thing an hour ago at the haus.” He looked at her steadily. “Perfection is impossible to attain.” Then his eyes turned dark, almost smoky green in color. “Although I think you’re pretty close.”

  She sucked in a breath, surprised and touched by his compliment and his intense expression.

  He pulled back, and his elbow knocked over the glass. Naomi yanked on the quilt and jumped up from her chair, watching helplessly as the white background fabric turned pink.

  Chapter Eight

  ZEKE GAPED IN HORROR AT THE RUINED FABRIC. HE’D come over here to reassure her that he wasn’t going to push her into anything, and not only did his mouth get the best of him, but he destroyed something she’d worked so hard on.

  “Naomi . . . I’m sorry.”

  The words were weak. He expected her to yell at him, or at the very least tell him to leave. But she just rushed to the sink and ran cold water over the fabric, then poured dish detergent over it and started scrubbing. After a few moments, she shut off the water and leaned against the sink, tossing the fabric to the side.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. Dummkopf. A dripping sound caught his attention, and he looked down to see the Kool-Aid dribbling over the edge of the table and onto her spotless floor. He spotted the napkins in the holder in the middle of the table, snatched a few, and started mopping up the mess, trying to think of something to say to salvage the situation.

  “It’s all right.” She knelt beside him, paper towels in her hand. “I’ll get this.” When he protested she put her hand over his, stopping him. “Let me do it.”

  He let go of the napkins and stood while she finished cleaning up. “At least let me get the table.”

  When she didn’t answer he took that as a yes and wiped up the rest of the mess. He tossed the red-stained napkins into the trash, glancing at the now-pink quilt segment lying limply in the metal sink. He turned to face her, swallowing hard. “I’ll pay for the fabric, Naomi. The thread, anything else you need.”

  She shook her head. “Nee.” Her voice sounded thick, as if she were trying to speak through a mouthful of peanut butter. “It was an accident. I should have put the quilt away.”

  “I should have been paying better attention.” The defeat in her eyes tugged at him.

  “It’s probably for the best,” she said, sounding a little clearer now. “I wouldn’t have finished it in time for the wedding anyway. I’ll have to think of another gift for them.” But while her words sounded nonchalant, he saw the strain on her face.

  “I can help you with the new one,” he said, desperate for anything to cheer her up. “I don’t know how to quilt, but I can help you piece it together. I can put all that bragging about my sewing skills to gut use.”

  She gave him a half smile that quickly disappeared. “I think you should geh.”

  “Naomi, I’m really sorry. Give me the chance to make it up to you.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t need to make it up to me. I meant it when I said it was okay. Accidents happen. I could have spilled the whole pitcher on it.” She paused, biting her lip. “I just think . . . we shouldn’t be here alone like this.”

  “That’s what I came here to tell you.” He longed to move closer to her, but that would only make her more skittish. The last thing he wanted to do was make even more of a mess of things. “I shouldn’t have been so straightforward with you at the Pantry. Believe me when I tell you I don’t normally put my feelings out in the open like that.”

  “Zeke—”

  “And I want you to know I wouldn’t do anything to pressure you or make you afraid.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long time. Instead she stared at the damp fabric, running her finger over one of the seams. Then she looked at him. “I’m not afraid of you, Zeke.” She licked her lips. “I couldn’t be.”

  His pulse went into overdrive. Here he was praying she wouldn’t hand him his hat, and now she’d given him more hope than he deserved. “I’m glad you believe that.”

  “I do.” She took a breath. “But I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

  THE DISASTER OF THE QUILT WAS FORGOTTEN AS NAOMI took in the pained look on Zeke’s face. The hold he had on her emotions amazed her. Just a moment ago she’d been in near tears over the quilt being ruined, and then just as quickly ready to laugh at his offer to help her start a new one. She couldn’t imagine any man being willing to do that, sewing skills or not. And at the same time that she’d told him she didn’t think they should see each other, her heart spoke something else. Being here with him felt right.

  But it had also felt right with David. Her feelings were unreliable, and she couldn’t trust them. She forced a lie off her tongue. “I’m flattered, but I believe that’s the way it has to be.”

  He straightened his shoulders, but she could see doubt creeping into his eyes. “I didn’t tell you my feelings to flatter you, Naomi. Or to take advantage of you.”

  “I know.”

  “I told you I liked you because I meant it. And I thought . . .” He sighed, his shoulders rounding. “I thought you might feel the same.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “And I’ll geh and not bother you again. But before I do . . .” His gaze bore into her, challenging her to speak the truth. “I would like to know why you think we shouldn’t see each other.”

  “It’s not practical.”

  He frowned. “Practical?”

  “We barely know each other, Zeke.”

  “I’d like to change th
at.”

  She drew in a breath. “You live in Middlefield, Zeke. You have your own business. Your familye is there. Are you willing to leave that all behind because of some infatuation?”

  He tilted his head. “I’m not infatuated. And I still don’t think you’re being completely honest with me.” His voice lowered. “What are you really afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.” But when he kept his gaze focused on her, she glanced away. “I’m not being unreasonable. You said yourself you don’t waste time dating. I’m trying to save you from wasting your time, just to find out that we weren’t meant for each other.”

  He moved toward her. “But you were willing to let me waste my time with Margaret, ya?”

  “I thought . . . I thought you two might be gut for each other.” But she thought about everything that had gone wrong with Margaret and Zeke, while she and Zeke got along from the very beginning, even easier than she had with David. Was God trying to tell them all something? The practical side of her dismissed it. “I still think you should give her a chance.”

  “Even though you won’t give me one?” He sighed. “Naomi, I don’t know why you’re so determined to hand me off to Margaret, when I can see—nee, I can feel—that you like me. But maybe you’re right. If you don’t trust me enough to tell me the truth, then this won’t work.”

  She was tempted to tell him about David, only to remember all she’d tried to forget over the past three years. David had said the same things Zeke did. He’d cared for her. Thought she was special. That she was the one God had made for him.

  Then he left and never came back. There was no guarantee Zeke wouldn’t do the same. She couldn’t glue her heart together again if he did.

  He let out a breath, and the pain in his hazel eyes slashed at her. “I think I’ve got my answer.”

  She turned around, unable to speak. With each thud of his boots against the wood floor as he left, she blinked back the tears.

  ZEKE CLIMBED INTO THE BUGGY, WHIPPED OFF HIS HAT, and slammed it against the seat. He leaned forward and let his head drop into his cupped hands. Was I wrong, Lord? Did I let my feelings cloud my thoughts and Your will? If he’d asked those questions before seeing Naomi tonight, he would have answered no. But now he wasn’t sure.