by Linda Byler
Dat—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word used to address or refer to one’s father.
Der Saya—To wish someone God’s blessing.
Dichly—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning head scarf or bandanna.
Doddy—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word used to address or to refer to one’s grandfather.
Driver—When the Amish need to go somewhere, and it’s too distant to travel by horse and buggy, they may hire someone to drive them in a car or van.
English—The Amish term for anyone who is not Amish.
In-between Sundays—Old Order Amish have church every other Sunday. This is an old custom that allows ministers to visit other church districts. An in-between Sunday is the day that a district does not hold church services.
Mam—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word used to address or to refer to one’s mother.
Maud—A Pennsylvania Dutch dialect word meaning a live-in female helper, usually hired by a family for a week or two at a time. Mauds often help to do house-, lawn-, and garden-work after the birth of a baby.
Mutsa—an Amish man’s suit coat.
Nehva-sitsa—a wedding attendant.
Ordnung—The Amish community’s agreed-upon rules for living, based upon their understanding of the Bible, particularly the New Testament. The Ordnung varies some from community to community, often reflecting the leaders’ preferences and the local traditions and historical practices.
Risht dag—The day of preparation for an Amish wedding. Since Amish weddings typically take place at home, this is the day when the family prepares much of the food for the wedding and sets up the benches and tables used during the ceremony and the meal that follows.
Risht leid—the four Amish couples who prepare the Roasht for an Amish wedding.
Roasht—Chicken filling. Mam prepares both a Lancaster County and an Ohio roasht.
Running around—The time in an Amish young person’s life between the age of 16 and marriage. Includes structured social activities for groups, as well as dating. Usually takes place on the weekend.
Snitz Pie—Made from dried apple slices, Snitz Pie is often served at the lunch which follows the Amish Sunday church service.
Vocational school—Attended by 14-year-old Amish children who have completed eight grades of school. These students go to school three hours a week and keep a journal—which their teacher reviews—about their time at home learning farming and homemaking skills from their parents.
Big Decisions
Lizzie Searches for Love
Book Three
Linda Byler
Copyright © 2014 by Linda Byler
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Good Books, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.
Good Books books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Good Books, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or [email protected].
Good Books in an imprint of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation.
Visit our website at www.goodbooks.com.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Inc., Minneapolis, Minnesota
Design by Cliff Snyder
Print ISBN: 978-1-4532-7590-0
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-68099-092-8
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
The Recipes
The Glossary
Chapter 1
THE LEAVES TURNED SHADES of bright orange, red, and yellow, and the squirrels scurried in short swift trips up the rough bark of the trees. Their cheeks were stuffed full of acorns and nuts which they stashed away in a deep, dark, cozy chamber for their winter nourishment.
Lizzie and Stephen walked together on a Sunday afternoon along a creek, kicking the brown leaves and bending their heads to the stiff autumn breeze. Lizzie wrapped her sweater tightly around her chilled body, crossing her arms in front of herself to keep warm.
“I should have worn a scarf!” she said her teeth chattering.
“Hey, Lizzie, I just had a great thought. Thursday evening I’m going archery hunting again. Would you like to come along?” Stephen asked.
“Archery? Bow and arrow? I can’t shoot a bow and arrow,” Lizzie said.
“No, you don’t have to shoot. Just go along and be with me. There’s nothing quite like it. Honestly. It is the most exciting, the most intense sport there is. To sit in a tree somewhere, waiting quietly until you hear leaves rustling, or maybe spot a reddish-brown color gliding along through the trees, is an incredible experience. Your heart starts thumping so hard you feel like your head will burst. There’s just an unbelievable amount of excitement in all hunting, but archery is my favorite.”
That was quite a speech for Stephen, so hunting must be more than a hobby—closer to an obsession, Lizzie thought.
“How can it be so thrilling? Actually, all you do is sit in the woods,” Lizzie said, still less than enthused.
“No, that’s not true, Lizzie. Come along, and I’ll show you.”
So that was how Lizzie found herself careening across the mountain at breakneck speed in an old, white work van, driven by a friend of Stephen’s. His name was Ryan Gustin, and he was quite a character, speaking the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect as fast as he drove his rattling old van.
Lizzie enjoyed his company, sometimes laughing uncontrollably at his version of a Dutch expression which served to take her mind off the alarming rate of speed he maintained down the winding road. Stephen seemed quite comfortable in the front seat beside him, so Lizzie decided Ryan must be a competent driver if Stephen was so relaxed.
Turning north, they came to a valley between two mountains. Old buildings and beautiful, prosperous farms dotted the scenery, while simple family dwellings sat along the road. The mountains were colored with every brilliant hue imaginable, and Lizzie was content to ride along and enjoy the beauty. She was just starting to become a bit bored and uncomfortable when Stephen yelled for Ryan to stop. This was the place. Ryan stomped on the brakes.
As the van shuddered to a stop, Lizzie peered out of the splattered window at a dilapidated, old, three-story house. Broken shutters hung from single hinges, the porch railing looked as if it had been ripped from its base, and pieces of gray siding lay strewn across the yard. The porch roof gapped where the wind had torn shingles loose.
Lizzie shivered, wondering if the house was haunted at night. She knew there was no such thing, but old, unoccupied houses always gave her the blues. The real, sad blues. Not that she felt depressed. Not the crying blues. Just the kind of blues where the sun was hidden behind a dark cloud in her feelings.
She didn’t really want to get out of the van as she looked a bit timidly at the steep, brush-strewn hillside directly behind the creepy old house. The sloping fields led to dense forest, real mountain woods that suddenly looked quite dark and spooky.
Stephen and the driver w
ere already out, unloading their archery gear, still talking and laughing and having the time of their lives as Lizzie pulled her white cotton scarf tighter under her chin. She sniffed nervously, running a hand hastily across her hair to straighten it.
She wished she had worn some heavy material around her legs, because her thin woolen knee socks were not going to be heavy enough to wade through the unkempt woods. She remembered the hillside along the ridge in Jefferson County and the horrible scratches she and her sisters got every day from the long, spiny raspberry bushes that lined the trail.
She sniffed, squinting nervously to see if she could locate any brambles, but then sighed, gave up, and sat back against the old plastic seat. Stephen would take care of her, she decided, so she would relax.
“Ready?” Stephen stuck his head around the door, extending his hand to help her down. Lizzie took it gratefully, searching his eyes for reassurance. Stephen smiled, and her heart melted as she stood beside him. If your boyfriend was so nice to you, it didn’t take much to believe you could do anything at all.
Ryan strode off in the opposite direction, and Stephen swung his bow under his arm as he headed out. Lizzie followed, determined to be a good sport. She would certainly not be a hindrance to him or hold him back by telling him she was uncomfortable.
Stephen parted the tall weeds as they started the gradual uphill slope. Lizzie grimaced as heavy seedpods slapped her cheeks, raining prickly, granular seeds down the neckline of her coat. She slapped at the heavy pods, shaking the front of her dress to get rid of the itchy feeling, her mouth pressed in a line of determination. She would not grumble or complain, knowing Stephen would not appreciate a whiny girlfriend tagging along.
Stephen stopped after a short distance and said, “Whoa.”
“What?” Lizzie asked, trying to peer around him.
“These brambles are pretty thick here. Think you can make it without getting scratched too badly?”
“I think so,” Lizzie answered, with all the false bravado she could muster.
“I’ll try and hold them for you,” he reassured her.
He must have forgotten about her the minute that statement was out of his mouth. Lizzie found herself in one of the worst situations of her life, trying to hold back a long bramble with one hand, only to rake a thorn across the palm of her hand, while two more long whips with briars intact tore across her thin woolen socks.
Grimly, she untangled herself, putting the injured palm to her mouth as she tried to free her legs by tramping on the briars. As she bent to hold back the brambles, a long vine yanked her hair, pulling horribly as her white scarf slid around her neck. She grabbed quickly to retrieve the scarf and was promptly scratched by another sharp branch.
“Ouch!” she yelled, completely undone by this thorny predicament.
Stephen’s instant response was, “Ssshhh!”
“Why? Why can’t I holler? These brambles are unbearable!” Lizzie wailed, close to tears.
Suddenly retrieving his manners, Stephen mumbled an apology and came to her rescue, holding aside the long spiny branches until they came to the forest’s edge. Lizzie shook her head grimly, smoothing her hair with scratched fingers and adjusting her white head scarf.
“Okay,” Stephen whispered, “step as quietly as you can, and when I come to a suitable tree, I’ll motion for you to follow.”
“F … f … follow?” Lizzie whispered back, aghast.
“Yeah. Up the tree. We have to sit in a tree so the deer don’t see us.”
“I can’t climb trees!” Lizzie hissed, her eyes narrowing.
“Pine trees are easy. Now be as quiet as you possibly can.”
That was how Lizzie found herself halfway up a scaly pine tree, positioned so that she had the same view Stephen did. The bark was rough and very uncomfortable. She sat on the side of her leg, holding onto a branch beside her. The first five minutes weren’t too bad. She rested from the strenuous climb, breathing in the pine tar and admiring Stephen’s profile as he stood alert and absolutely motionless in the tree, waiting breathlessly for the sight of a deer.
The wind swayed the branches as Lizzie strained to see through the thick growth. It would definitely be exciting to see a deer with huge antlers come walking across the pine needles, but who knew when that might happen? Deer roamed acre after acre of woods, but having one walk in front of you seemed about as possible as finding a needle in a haystack, so what was the sense of sitting in this tree? The deer were probably all on top of the mountain or in some farmer’s cornfield having a bedtime snack.
Her leg ached and her arm became very stiff, so she shifted her weight to her other leg. Instantly, a small branch broke loose, rattling down through the pine boughs with the noise of a shotgun, or so it seemed.
“Sorry!” Lizzie hissed.
Stephen drew his eyebrows down. “Shhh!” he warned, putting a finger to his lips.
Boy, he was serious. All right, she would be more careful. So she sat quietly. And sat. And sat. Her nose itched, her feet hurt, her whole leg was numb, and still she sat. The sun slid behind the opposite mountain, casting long shadows through the thick forest, and still she sat.
This is a lot worse than council meeting or communion or sitting at Emma’s wedding, she thought grimly. A hard bench would seem like a recliner if you compared it to this pine tree. Sitting like this for hours in a darkening woods would be a good form of torture if you wanted to force someone to talk. She would gladly say anything to get out of this tree.
She tried shifting her weight to the opposite side as slowly and quietly as she possibly could, loosening some bark in the process. She looked at Stephen beseechingly, but he only frowned seriously. She groaned inwardly. She wished she had never agreed to go hunting with him. It was the most uncomfortable, boring thing she had ever done in her entire life. She hated hunting and was never, ever going to get herself in this predicament again.
Suddenly there was a decided rustling in the underbrush. Stephen’s head turned slowly, and he brought his bow up to a more ready position. The rustling continued. Lizzie listened with bated breath, watching carefully in the direction the sounds were coming from. Would they actually see an honest-to-goodness deer? She didn’t know if she could stand to see Stephen put an arrow into the poor, innocent animal.
She didn’t know if she wanted to be disappointed or relieved when a busy gray squirrel emerged and raced across the thick pine needles.
“There’s your deer!” Lizzie mouthed.
“Shh!” Stephen warned.
What was the use of holding so perfectly still? It was getting dark, and there was no possible way he could shoot a deer now. She was getting very tired and impatient, wishing with all her heart that the night would be over. If Stephen didn’t soon come down out of this tree, if he kept up this stupidity of sitting in a tree when it was almost dark, she was going to say no if he asked her to marry him.
What about returning to the van? How would they get through those dreaded brambles again?
“Stephen!” she whispered.
“Shh!”
This time he was serious. Turning his head slowly, he peered intently into the semi-darkness as, much to Lizzie’s disbelief, two deer stepped out of the thicket. How could they be so quiet? Lizzie’s heart rate increased, but mostly out of fear for the deer’s safety. She so definitely did not want them to be killed with arrows stuck into their hearts. They were such beautiful creatures, completely at ease roaming their mountain, so why did anyone have to kill them?
Then as Stephen started to raise his bow to the proper position, they walked just as silently back into the forest. When Stephen finally turned to Lizzie and spoke to her in a normal tone, she knew the whole hunting ordeal was over. Carefully, with aching limbs, she made her way out of the pine tree. Rubbing her back, stretching, and sighing, she regained a sense of normalcy, grateful to be standing on solid ground and able to move at free will.
Lizzie stared at Stephen in disbelief when he tur
ned to her and said cheerily, “That was fun, wasn’t it? I bet you really enjoyed it.”
“It … it, yes, well, it was all right. Mmm-hmm.” That was the closest thing she could say that was honest and still not hurt his feelings. She couldn’t say just how tedious her evening was, but he must have known because he laughed out loud quite suddenly.
“Not exactly a hunter, are you?” he said, smiling mischievously.
“Just get me off this mountain safely, and I’ll be fine,” Lizzie said.
They took a detour under a barbed wire fence, which Stephen held so Lizzie could easily slip through, before walking across a nicely cropped pasture until they came to the old house. Lizzie stared up at the attic windows in spite of herself, wondering who had built this huge three-story house and why it had been left to rot away, the wind and rain and snow all taking its toll on the sturdy structure. Probably the squirrels and the rats had a grand time gnawing at the lumber that held it together.
Ryan appeared shortly and shared his story with Stephen about having spotted a few deer but too far in the distance to have a decent shot. They stowed their hunting gear in the back of the van before climbing in. Finally, Lizzie was on her way home, away from the pine tree, the dark forest, and the creepy, sad, old house.
They turned into a little restaurant, Ryan saying he was starved because he hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime.
Lizzie was only too happy to sit in the tiny booth, eating French fries with plenty of salt and slathered with ketchup. They were the most fattening, most unhealthy thing, Mam said, but one of the most delicious foods in the world. Lizzie enjoyed every one, and then ate her way down the entire length of a tall chocolate sundae topped with whipped cream and nuts.