by Leslie Gould
“Ah, Cate,” he said.
“Believe me,” I answered. “If I were going to, I would have before, instead of just dropping Betsy off.”
“Where are you going?”
“Driving.”
“How about if I go with you?”
“How about if you don’t.” I nodded toward the barn.
“Why so angry?” he asked.
I gave him a wilting look.
“So waspish . . .” he muttered, gathering his things. “So stingish.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Beware,” I sneered.
“Why do you push people away?”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
I scooted away from him. “You don’t really want to know.”
A pathetic expression crossed his face, and then he looked beyond me and pointed toward the fiery sky. The pink had disappeared and what was left looked like orange flames. His voice deepened as he spoke. “‘Where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury.’”
My face must have given away my confusion at his odd words, because he grinned and then quickly jumped down, tipping his hat. “See you tomorrow.”
His stride was confident as he made his way toward the barn. I turned the buggy around. I couldn’t figure out Pete Treger. I had no idea what he meant by his talk of fire and fury, but he intrigued me.
As I came back by, he stood in front of the closed door. He grinned again and waved. I kept a straight face but flicked my hand in his direction.
There was no doubt about it. Pete Treger was unlike anyone I’d ever met.
CHAPTER
5
The next morning, over oatmeal with Dat, I pondered Pete’s words again, wondering for the umpteenth time what he meant when he spoke of fire and fury.
“Cate?”
My head jerked up. “Jah?”
Dat had a pleased expression on his face. “Thinking about the singing last night?”
“Some,” I answered, hoping to evade a more specific question.
“What time did you and Betsy get home?”
“I was here by nine,” I said. “But Levi gave Betsy a ride home.” I yawned. “I’m not sure exactly what time she came in.”
“Oh.” Dat put his spoon in his bowl. “So how was the singing?”
I took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “Dat,” I said, meeting his gaze. I’d never lied to him. I wasn’t going to start now. “I didn’t actually go. I tried. Really I did.”
His face fell as I spoke.
“It’s just . . . once I got there and saw all the young people going into the barn, I couldn’t.”
He pushed his bowl away. “Cate.” His voice had that tone of despair that made me feel an inch tall.
“I know, I know. You have every right to be disappointed in me.”
“How am I ever going to be a grandfather if you won’t even go to a singing?”
“Just let Betsy court. She’ll be married within the year, and then you’ll be a grandfather by the next.”
Dat sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“What?” I nearly choked on the word.
“Betsy’s too young to decide who she’ll spend the rest of her life with. And she’s far too young to be a mother.”
I shook my head. “She’s so good at homemaking, though. And”—hard to believe, but I wasn’t so sure of the word I was looking for—“relationships.”
“Starting relationships, jah, but it’s not as easy as that. Just a little more time can make a big difference when it comes to being a wife.”
I stood and headed to the sink.
“You, on the other hand, are mature enough . . .”
I turned on the faucet, drowning out my father’s words. He still didn’t get it. No one wanted to court me. Why did he have to keep throwing it back in my face?
Fifteen minutes later, I was in my office, adding Pete’s information to our payroll database. I used a computer and copy machine, powered by solar panels atop the building, for business purposes only. We also had Internet to e-mail our Englisch customers and distributors and to check to make sure our Web site, maintained by a designer with photos of the cabinets we sold, stayed in good order. Plus, I did some research for the business, mostly checking out competitors and ordering supplies.
The operation of the office and the management of our house remained in stark contrast to each other. With the population of our people in Lancaster County growing exponentially, there was less and less farmland for the younger generations. So, although farming was our community’s preferred way of life, we had to adapt to support ourselves. Thankfully our family had the small property and could remain in the country—and make a living, thanks to Dat’s business skills.
At seven o’clock, the shop crew arrived. Soon I was engrossed in the flyer Dat had asked me to make for his business-consulting clients. He was offering a free hour for every referral sent his way. As I wrote the ad copy, I toyed with an article idea about what a person needed to do to start a small business, an Amish person in particular, wondering if it was perhaps an article I could write for one of the Plain newspapers or magazines.
At seven forty-five, as I was proofing the flyer, someone knocked on my office door.
“Come in,” I said absentmindedly, sure it was Dat with some new idea for me to implement.
It wasn’t my father; it was Pete. My heart fluttered at the sight of him. He smelled fresh, like the cold spring air mixed with the scent of goat’s milk soap, and wore a clean shirt and nicer pants than the ones he’d had on the other times I’d seen him, but they weren’t anywhere close to new. The scrape on his chin was noticeable around the bandage but had started to scab over.
“Am I supposed to check in with you?”
I shook my head. “With Dat. He’s in the shop, getting everyone going for the day. He’ll show you where the time clock is.”
He smiled sheepishly. “Okay. Have a good day.”
“You too,” I responded as he closed the door.
Throughout the entire morning, I was aware of Pete in the showroom. I imagined Dat explaining the products to him and the company’s sales philosophy. I imagined Pete asking questions, intent on learning everything he could.
At eleven thirty I started up to the house for dinner.
On nice days, the crew members ate their lunches at a group of tables Dat had made and set up between the shop and the herb garden. The workers were already outside for the dinner break, and I saw Pete sitting at a table reading a book. I felt a little foolish for noticing him but couldn’t help myself. He didn’t look up. Beside him sat Mervin, and across the table, Martin, who wore his insufferable sunglasses. The twins stared at the house, most likely waiting for Betsy to appear, which she often did when the men were outside, coming out to the garden for a sprig of rosemary or a handful of chives.
Mervin nudged Pete as I approached, and at the same time Betsy came through the back door. She wore her mauve dress with a perfectly pressed apron over it. Her Kapp was bleached and starched. She’d looped her arm through the handle of a basket, making her look as if she’d just stepped out of a picture book.
She pulled out her kitchen scissors and snipped a clump of parsley and then a few stems of thyme. Next she turned toward the waning tulips along the border and cut the best of what was left.
As I approached the garden, she straightened up and greeted me, but in a half second it was clear she was looking beyond me, most likely at Levi. I turned. He was off in the doorway, talking to Dat. But Betsy wasn’t looking at him. She had her eyes on Pete. But he, still engrossed in his book—one much thicker than last night’s Pilgrim’s Progress—didn’t notice her. Martin did, though, and he nudged Pete again. This time he did look up, showing the bandage still on his chin, meeting Betsy’s eyes and smiling.
A long moment later Betsy shifted her gaze to Levi. Poor thing, he had no idea just how short his courtship with Betsy would end up being.
Dat must have felt the earth shift a little, because he turned toward us and started up the pathway.
I spun around and headed toward the house. The lone cloud in the sky drifted over the sun, casting a shadow over the yard. A single swift flew out of the barn window. The leanest of our calicos ran between my legs. I stepped wide and hurried on, my face growing warmer with each step, embarrassed that I’d wasted my time thinking about Pete.
“We’ll eat in fifteen minutes,” Betsy called after me. “After Levi takes a look at the roses.”
I didn’t answer. That gave me a little time to read. And at least Betsy had the courtesy to follow up with Levi’s offer to give her some gardening tips.
When I reached the back steps, I turned again. Betsy ambled toward the rose garden with Levi at her side. Beyond them, Martin twirled his sunglasses between his thumb and index finger, stood, and pulled Pete up beside him. Mervin stepped around to the other side of Pete. And then both twins pointed at me.
Knowing they were up to no good, I hurried through the house and out the front door, circling through the far side yard and back around, willing to sacrifice a little reading time to figure out what was going on. I stopped behind an apple tree and held my breath as the white petals floated down around me.
Levi was bent down over a rosebush, gazing up at Betsy as he spoke.
Mervin and Martin stood on either side of Pete, whom I could barely see. Mervin slapped him on the back and then Martin shook his hand.
“All we ask is that you do your best,” Mervin said.
“Well, right now, my best needs to be in the showroom,” Pete answered, stepping away from the two, his book tucked under his arm. “But I appreciate your”—he hesitated—“interest in my future.”
My eyes narrowed as Pete strode away.
I couldn’t discern what was going on, exactly, but I knew the evil twins were up to no good, so as Pete stepped through the side door to the showroom, I marched from behind the tree and toward M&M.
“What are you scheming?”
Both of the twins froze.
“Tell me,” I demanded.
“Nothing,” Marvin sputtered.
Betsy’s voice floated down from the rose garden. “Cate!” Her quick steps followed. “Let’s go up to the house.”
I ignored her. My hands landed on my hips. “Tell me now,” I demanded of the twins.
Betsy reached me, linking her arm through mine. “Don’t,” she whispered. “You’re making a fool out of yourself.”
“I need to know.” I pulled away from her.
“They’re not up to anything.” She turned toward Martin and Mervin. “Are you?”
They both shook their heads adamantly and then said in unison, “It’s time to get back to work.”
“Come on.” She grabbed my hand and started dragging me toward the house, waving at Levi as he headed toward the shop, a concerned expression on his face. “You’re not going to have much time to read before we eat if we don’t hurry.”
I cooperated then, following her obediently, desperate to escape, if only for a few minutes, knowing sooner or later I’d have to deal with M&M—and with Pete Treger.
The next day when it was time to go up to the house to eat, I slipped out the back door of the shop after the crew members had all gathered outside in the sunshine. I intended to circle around the barn to the house, avoiding Pete. I wasn’t going to be made a fool of, not again.
Admittedly, before I had been feeling as if I could fall for Pete, but after yesterday’s encounter between him and the twins, I willed myself to feel absolutely nothing for the newcomer.
As I stepped behind the apple trees again, one eye on the picnic tables, Pete scooted off the picnic bench and marched toward me. I increased my pace.
“Cate!” he called out.
I hid behind the next tree, my pulse quickening.
“Cate!” he called out again.
The back door opened and out came Betsy, carrying the same basket.
“Would you give me a minute,” Pete yelled, presumably to me. “I have something to ask you.”
I made it to the barn but then stopped, not wanting to draw any more attention to myself.
He caught up with me. “Would you take a look at my chin?” He jutted it out. “And my hand?”
His face looked fine—the bandage was off and the wound had completely scabbed over. He held out his hand but I didn’t take it. Instead I motioned for him to raise it. The palm was red and looked sore. “Have you put more antiseptic on it?”
He shook his head. “But I’m thinking I should.”
“Don’t the Zooks have some you can use?”
“Not in their barn.”
“They probably do. Try the bag balm. That will do.”
“How about for today?”
I nodded my head toward our barn.
He frowned a little. I sighed. “Come on.” I led the way to the house, figuring Betsy would be right behind us soon, wanting to hear what Pete might say. But she continued on toward the herb garden.
When we reached the back door, I instructed him to wash up in the utility sink while I opened the cupboard where we kept the antiseptic and bandages.
When he finished, I sprayed his hand and rebandaged the deepest cut while he kept his attention on the back door. Obviously he was anticipating Betsy’s appearance too.
“All done,” I said, tossing the wrappers into the woodstove. The coals, still hot from the chilly morning, consumed the paper in a second with a quick sizzle.
“I need to ask you something,” he said. “Would you be interested in going on a hike Saturday afternoon? With me and a few others?”
“Such as?”
“Levi.”
“And Betsy?” I crossed my arms.
He nodded. “And Mervin and Martin.”
I may have been scowling by then.
“Think about it,” he quickly said, holding up his injured hand. “Don’t give me an answer right now. In fact there’s no need to tell me until Friday. I promise I won’t be”—his eyes sparkled—“stubborn about it.”
I uncrossed my arms, and he turned and walked, in his usual confident manner, toward the back door. But then he turned and said very sweetly, “Thank you for taking care of me.”
I nodded curtly.
And then, his brown eyes dancing, he winked at me.
I crossed my arms again, but before I could respond, Betsy came banging into the kitchen, yelling, “Cate! Cate! You’re never going to believe—” Her voice fell. “Oh, hi, Pete. What are you doing in here?”
“I was just leaving.” He turned back toward me, smiled again, and slipped past her, out the back.
Betsy lowered her voice as she reached for my crossed hands, but couldn’t contain her excitement. “Pete wants you to go on a hike with the rest of us.”
I must have still had a scowl on my face.
“Please,” she begged, pulling my hands apart and then swinging my arms. “You have to go. This is our lucky break.”
I scowled, sure Martin and Mervin had put him up to it. There was no way a man like Pete would be interested in spending time with me.
After dinner, as I walked back down to the office, a car pulled into the parking lot of the showroom. The woman who got out of the car wore a Mennonite Kapp, and it wasn’t until she turned toward me that I realized it was Nan.
“Hello,” I called out, hurrying toward her, before it dawned on me she’d probably come to see Pete, not me.
She squinted up the hill, holding her hand above her eyes to shade them from the high sun. Even though she wasn’t at work, she still had a pencil tucked behind her ear. “Oh, Cate,” she said. “I hoped I’d see you.”
Feeling a little awkward, I quickened my pace.
“You have a beautiful place here,” she said, gesturing toward the yard, the house, and then the barn. “Do you garden?”
“My sister does most of it.”
“Ah, the infamous Betsy.”
I sighed. “Aren’t you working today?”
“I have Tuesdays off,” she said. “It’s my writing day, but I thought I’d check on Pete.”
“He’s in here.” I stepped toward the door and opened it.
Pete and my Dat stood at the counter, huddled over an open three-ring binder. They both looked up quickly.
Pete broke into a grin. “Bob,” he said, “this is Nan Beiler. From back home, a distant cousin. Nan—Bob Miller.”
He sounded both professional and enthusiastic.
Dat and Nan shook hands.
“I’ve known Cate for several years,” she said. “I’m the bookmobile lady.”
Dat beamed. “Then you’re also the writer, jah? The scribe for The Budget?”
“That’s right,” she said. It was the first time I’d ever seen her blush.
I stepped toward the far door of the showroom, wanting to get back to my office. I’d been working on the inventory for the cabinet business and aimed to finish it by the end of the workday.
“Want to go on a hike on Saturday?” Pete asked. For a moment I thought he’d asked me again, but then I realized it was directed toward Nan.
“I haven’t been on a hike in years.” Her eyes shone.
He turned toward Dat. “We’d like to have you come along too,” he said.
“Who’s ‘we’?” Dat stroked his beard.
Pete looked straight at me. “Levi, Mervin, Martin, and your daughters, if Cate agrees to come along.”
Now Dat had his eyes on me too.
I stepped closer to the door.
Nan smiled at me. “I’ll go if Cate goes.”
Pete grinned.
I grabbed the doorknob.
“Looks like it’s settled.” Dat’s happy face matched Pete’s.
“Do you want to go?” Nan asked me. She wasn’t grinning. Instead a look of concern spread across her face. She was probably remembering the way I’d been treated at the bookmobile just a few days before.
I didn’t usually succumb to peer pressure, but in the moment I was feeling quite overwhelmed. “I suppose so,” I managed to squeak.