An Unexpected Amish Romance

by Patricia Davids

  “Leave off teasing Mark and sit down for supper,” Anna Bowman said, carrying a steaming pot of roast beef and vegetables to the kitchen table using her folded black apron as a hot pad for her hands.

  “I can’t leave off teasing him, Aenti Anna. It’s Gott’s will that I annoy my big brother since Mark annoys the rest of us. He has become a tyrant.”

  “I never ask anyone to do more than I can do myself.” Mark pulled out a chair and took his place at the long table. His uncle Isaac sat at the head of the table with his oldest son, Samuel, at his right hand. The rest of Isaac’s sons were arranged according to age down the length of the table with Mark and Paul taking up the last two chairs. The wives and daughters of Mark’s cousins were seated on the opposite side, all in plain Amish dresses with their black work aprons and white prayer kapps. It made a big family gathering when everyone was home. The room was filled with chatter and the clinking of dishes along with the pleasant aromas of the stew, cornbread muffins and hot coffee.

  Anna surveyed the table and then took her place at the foot. The noise died away. Isaac bowed his head, and everyone did the same, reciting the blessing in silence. When Isaac raised his head, signaling the prayer was finished, the business turned to eating. The talk was minimal until the meal was over.

  After finishing his peach cobbler, Isaac leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “It was a goot meal.”

  “Danki, husband. What time do you expect to start the frolic in the morning?”

  “I imagine most workers will be here by eight o’clock as long as the rain holds off.”

  All the members of the Bowman family had arrived to help with the work party set for the following day. The women had spent the day cooking and cleaning since Isaac and Anna were hosting the party. Most of their Amish community would come to help clear the logjam beneath the only bridge into and out of the valley on the far side of the river. While the men worked, the women would usually visit then serve coffee and a hearty lunch, but tomorrow there was to be a quilting party for the women, too. As the rest of the men went into the living room, leaving the women to clean up, Mark went upstairs to his room at the back of the house.

  His window was open, and the evening breeze fluttered the simple white curtains his aunt had in all the upstairs bedrooms. Outside, the spreading branches of a huge ancient silver maple tree kept the room cool, but it obstructed the view of the river from this room. Mark didn’t mind. It was more practical to have a cool place to sleep in the summer than a view.

  His uncle had been talking about cutting the tree down. The old thing was past its prime, having as many dead limbs as live ones branching off its enormous trunk. Silver maples were notorious for breaking in wind storms. Two large limbs had come down in the last storm, fortunately on the side away from the house, but it was only a matter of time before one fell on the roof. Mark’s aunt was the reason the tree hadn’t been taken down already. She had an irrational, sentimental attachment to it because Isaac’s parents had planted it the year Isaac was born.

  Mark pulled out his letter and sat on the edge of his bed. Angela’s letters came like clockwork every Tuesday, and today was no exception. She normally wrote about the weather and the people back home, about her father’s lumber milling business and about what changes she hoped to make to the farm when she and Mark were married. Unlike with the overly emotional woman on the bus, he knew exactly what to expect from Angela.

  His letters to her were about his work and the ways he saw he could incorporate his uncle’s teachings into the business he would own one day. The day was fast approaching when he could put his plan into effect.

  It had been her father’s business and the location of their farm that first gave Mark the idea to build his future workshop there. Otis Yoder’s small farm had poor, rocky soil, but it fronted a busy road in an area where tourists flocked to gawk at Amish folks and buy Amish-made goods. The fact that Otis could supply almost all the raw lumber Mark would need cinched the plan in his mind.

  When Mark had approached Otis about buying some of his land, Otis wasn’t interested. He saw value in Mark’s idea but wanted his farm and business to go to Angela, his only child. Mark persisted, and eventually Otis made a surprising counteroffer. If Mark would marry Angela, then Otis would enter a partnership with him. Angela was a widow a few years older than Mark. She was quiet, hardworking and practical. To his amazement, she agreed with her father’s proposal.

  Getting a wife along with the land was a bonus in Mark’s eyes. He’d never had the time or the inclination to date women, but he did want a family one day. He wanted sons to carry on the business he would build. The idea of romance and falling in love to achieve that didn’t make sense. Why base one of the most important decisions a man could make on something as flimsy as a feeling? In his mind, it was much better to base it on mutual respect and shared goals than love.

  He and Angela had settled on a long-distance courtship while Mark apprenticed with his uncle. Mark sent her a portion of his paychecks each month as a down payment on the land.

  Little by little he had been accumulating the machinery and tools he would need and had them stored in his father’s barn not far from the Yoder farm. Isaac had put him in contact with people who were interested in purchasing Pennsylvania Amish–made furniture. Things were almost ready for him to open his business.

  He slipped his finger under the envelope flap and tore it open. He quickly skimmed through her short letter. It didn’t contain any of the usual news. Mark couldn’t believe his eyes. He read the note again. Angela wanted to end their engagement.

  For almost two years he had been working toward a goal that would provide them with a lifetime of security and now, two months before he was due to return home, she was tired of waiting for him?

  They had talked about this before he left, and she had assured him that two years would pass before they knew it. Angela agreed they had to stick to a plan if they were going to succeed. He read her words again. She was sorry, but she no longer wished to marry him.

  What was the plan now? What about the land? What about his partnership with her father? What about the money he’d sent? He had no idea where all of that stood. He crumpled the note into a ball and threw it toward the wastebasket in the corner. It bounced off the rim.

  The door opened, and Paul stuck his head in. “What did the fair Angela have to say? Did she send you a hug and kiss with an x and o ?”

  “My business is my own, Paul,” Mark snapped. He wasn’t ready to share this news, certainly not with Paul.

  “Hey, you look a little funny. Is something wrong?” Paul took a step into the room.

  “Your harassment is what’s wrong. I’m tired of your jabs.”

  Paul held up both hands. “Bruder, I never mean you harm. I hope you know that. Forgive me if I have offended you.”

  Mark rose from the bed. “Please forgive me also. I’m tired tonight, that’s all.”

  He took Paul by the shoulders and turned him to the door. “I need my sleep and so do you. We’ll have a hard day tomorrow.”

  “You might. I intend to have fun.”

  “When do you have anything else?” Mark gave him a friendly shove out into the hall and closed the door behind him. He bent to pick up the crumpled letter. Instead of throwing it into the trash, he smoothed it out. He had planned a future with her for so long that he wasn’t sure how to plan one without her.

  If she didn’t want to marry him, that was fine, but what about the land? All she said was that her feelings toward him had changed. How was that possible if they hadn’t seen each other? Although their intentions hadn’t been made public, he saw her request as a breach of contract. With a few strokes of her pen she upset his carefully thought-out plan and left him twirling in the wind like a new-fallen leaf.

  He needed to consider all the ramifications of what this meant. He didn’t have enough
information. He sat down to write and ask for more details. Even if Angela’s father still intended to sell Mark the land, he now faced the distasteful task of finding another woman to marry. In his opinion, courting was a waste of a man’s time.

  Unbidden, the memory of the woman from the bus slipped into his mind. She was the perfect example of why he dreaded looking for a mate. All he had done was try to help. In the first instance, his words had sent her fleeing in tears. In the second, they had made her spitting mad, and he still had no idea why.

  Who was she? Why had she been crying? Abner had said she was going beyond Bowmans Crossing. The chances of seeing her again were slim.

  So why couldn’t he get her tear-stained face out of his head?

  Chapter Two

  Two days after arriving unannounced at her aunt’s home outside of Bowmans Crossing, Helen Zook sat in the buggy beside her aunt Charlotte wishing she had thought to plug her ears with cotton before leaving the house. The woman had been talking nonstop for the past two miles. Her basset hound had been barking loudly for almost as long.

  “Remember, Helen, as far as anyone knows, you are here to visit me for the summer. The less said about your unfortunate incident, the better. In fact, don’t say anything about it. Unless you are specifically asked, then you mustn’t lie. Liars never prosper.”

  “It’s cheaters.”

  “What did you say, Helen? Clyde, do be quiet.”

  “I said cheaters never prosper.”

  “Of course they don’t. I’m sure you have never cheated anyone. I know I haven’t. The truth is the best defense, Helen, but there’s no point in telling people everything. Bowmans Crossing is a wonderful community, but there are those among us who like to spread gossip. I shouldn’t name names, but Verna Yoder and Ina Fisher are the worst offenders. Clyde, get down, can’t you see I’m driving?”

  Charlotte gently pushed aside the overweight brown-and-white hound dog trying to climb onto her lap. Helen took him by the collar and tugged him back to the floor. He gave her a mournful look before settling all seventy pounds of his wrinkles and flab on her left foot. Gritting her teeth, Helen tried to move him, but he refused to budge another inch.

  Charlotte slowed the horse as the buggy rounded the curve beside the district’s one-room school. The playground and swings were empty now. The students were home for the summer, but Helen couldn’t go home.

  “Are you paying attention to me, dear? I feel as if I’m talking to myself.”

  Helen freed her foot, but her shoe remained under Clyde’s slobbery chin. “I’m paying attention, Aenti Charlotte. I’m visiting for the summer. Don’t mention that my fiancé humiliated me in front of all our family and friends when he threw me over because he wanted to marry my sister one week before the banns for our wedding were to be announced. Bowmans Crossing is wonderful, except for the gossiping pair Ina Fisher and Verna Yoder. Cheaters never prosper, but they can get married and live happily ever after, but I don’t have to watch them moon over each other. How could my own sister do this to me? How could Joseph?”

  Helen didn’t share the part she had played in the disaster. Why should she? She was the one suffering now.

  It was all so horrible. She might have been able to bear the pitying looks and well-meaning comments that only served as salt in the wound. The real thing she couldn’t tolerate was seeing how happy they were together.

  “You girls will make up, and this will all be forgotten in time.”

  “I don’t see how. She stole the man I wanted to marry.” Helen’s voice crackled.

  Joe should have stood by her. If he loved her, he would have. Helen raised her chin. It was painful, but it was better to know how shallow his affections had been before they wed.

  “You must not look at what you have lost for it is not your will that is important. It is His will.”

  “His will was to marry my sister, and he did just that.”

  Charlotte cast Helen a sidelong glance. “I’m not talking about that young man’s will. It is Gott’s will you must accept. You must forgive your sister and her husband as is right.”

  “I forgive them.” Helen spoke the words, but they didn’t echo in her heart. The pain was too new and too raw.

  “That is goot. Forgiving blesses the forgiver as much as the forgiven.” Charlotte clicked her tongue to get the horse moving faster.

  The road straightened, and a covered bridge came into view. The weathered red wooden structure stood in sharp contrast to the thick green trees that grew along the roadway and along the river in both directions. Wide enough for two lanes of traffic, the opening loomed like a cave. A new community awaited Helen beyond the portal. What would she find? Hopefully employment.

  Charlotte pointed with her chin. “Just the other side of the river is Isaac Bowman’s home, but you have to go about a quarter of a mile farther down the road and turn the corner to reach their lane. That’s where the frolic is being held today. He and his wife, Anna, have five sons. I’m sorry to say the young men have all married, but Isaac has two nephews from Pennsylvania living with him now and they are unwed, although one has a girl back home.”

  It had been dark when the van stopped to let her rude companion out, but Helen was almost certain the Bowman house had been his destination. They hadn’t exchanged names so she couldn’t be sure of his identity. She hoped and prayed he wouldn’t be at the frolic. Her behavior hadn’t been the best but neither had his.

  “Isaac also employs a number of unmarried fellows in his furniture-making business. You will have plenty of young men to pick from.”

  Helen rolled her eyes. “You make it sound like I’ve arrived at the husband orchard.”

  “The husband orchard. How cute. It should be the title of a book. I’d read it. Oh, that’s very clever.”

  It hadn’t taken Helen long to realize her aunt was an avid reader. Her living room held stacks of dog-lover magazines and heaps of novels, from an extensive collection of the classics to some popular romance stories the bishop might raise an eyebrow at if he knew she had them.

  Charlotte chuckled and looked at her dog. “Isn’t Helen a clever girl, Clyde?”

  He took it as an invitation to climb into his mistress’s lap. Helen used the opportunity to grab her damp shoe.

  “Not now, Clyde, I’m driving.” Charlotte pushed him aside. Helen quickly drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them to give the hound more room to spread out on the floorboards. He locked gazes with her but didn’t test her patience by trying to climb in her lap. Instead, he started barking at the roof. Scrabbling overhead accompanied by a chittering sound proved her aunt’s pet raccoon was still safely riding atop the buggy.

  “Did we have to bring Juliet?”

  “Her feelings would be hurt if I took Clyde along and didn’t take her.”

  “We could have left them both at home.” The buggy rolled into the dark interior of the bridge. The horse’s hoofbeats echoed back from the rafters. Helen stared through the slatted sides at the Bowman house on the hillside across the river. She could see tables had been set up on the lawn, and groups of people were already gathered there.

  “Honestly, Helen, I don’t think you like my little friends. Please remember they had made their home with me long before you arrived, and they’ll be with me long after you have gone back to Indiana.”

  “I’m not going back to Indiana.” Helen had no idea where she was going, but she would make her own way in the world. As soon as she found the means to support herself.

  Charlotte’s brow wrinkled with concern. “You are welcome to reside with me for the summer, but you never said anything about staying permanently.”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be burdened with me for long.”

  “That’s the spirit. Things will work out for you and your sister. You’ll see. Oh, Clyde won’t be happy until he can look ou
t the windshield. Helen, take the reins.”

  Helen grabbed for the lines her aunt dropped as she scooted over to make room for her dog. The horse veered sharply to the right as they came out of the dark bridge into the bright sunlight. A man standing on the edge of the roadway was forced to jump backward to avoid being run down.

  Helen managed to stop the horse. Clyde, now taking up more than his fair share of the front seat, started barking wildly. Helen leaned out the door to look back to see if the man was injured. He appeared unharmed as he got to his feet. “I’m sorry,” she called out.

  Her breath caught in her throat. The man picking his hat up off the road was the fellow from the bus. She knew by the way his eyes widened that he recognized her, too. His brows snapped together in a fierce frown. “If you can’t drive any better than that, you should give the reins to the dog,” he shouted at her.

  Of all the nerve. As much as Helen wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of his rudeness, she held her tongue for her aunt’s sake. It wouldn’t do to start her time in Bowmans Crossing by embarrassing Charlotte in front of her friends, for several women were walking along the roadway with hampers and baskets over their arms. The women all waved or called a greeting to Helen’s aunt. Charlotte waved Clyde’s front paw at them. Helen slapped the reins on the horse’s rump, and the mare trotted forward.

  “Who was that rude man?” she asked, glancing in her rearview mirror.

  Charlotte turned to look behind them. “The one standing by the bridge? That’s Mark Bowman. The nephew. He has a girl back home. I admit he’s a nice-looking young man with those striking green eyes, but handsome is as handsome is.”