Jeremiah had expected such a reaction from this nephew, who’d shown no signs of settling down or joining the Old Order church. And maybe he was being overconfident, assuming Lydianne fully intended to marry him.
What if she’s only teasing me, playing that little game about popping the Big Question? What if I ask and she shuts me down, the way she rejected Glenn?
Every now and again, these niggling thoughts had filled Jeremiah’s mind when he’d wakened in the night lately—because he didn’t have Lydianne’s answer. They weren’t engaged yet. And if he waited too long to ask, or she had a change of heart, he would indeed have spent a lot of money on home improvements without improving his life one iota.
If Lydianne didn’t agree to marry him, Jeremiah suspected he might become as embittered and desperate and depressed as Glenn was, even if it was for totally different reasons. And he would look like a fool, because after the events of the past week, his friends and family already considered them a couple.
But he didn’t express his doubts to Pete.
“Patience is a virtue,” Jeremiah finally replied. “Lydianne hasn’t been married before, as I have. She deserves some time to be courted, and to adjust to the idea of living in a different home—”
“With a mother-in-law,” Pete said in a purposeful tone. “Lydianne might recall that when Uncle Jude was courting Leah last year, Margaret Shetler was not a happy woman. She made no bones about Leah being the wrong choice for Jude—to the point that she moved out of his place.”
“And the rest of us could understand Mamm’s concern, because we shared it,” Jeremiah reminded him. “Leah was most at home with her cattle and other animals—to the point she hardly knew how to make coffee, much less cook or handle kids. Your mammi has come around to considering Leah the perfect wife for Jude, however—and she’s ecstatic because I’ve finally taken her advice, and Lydianne has responded to my attention.”
“Jah, Lydianne responded to Glenn’s attention after his mamm’s funeral, too,” Pete murmured as he began to pick up his tools. “But seriously, Unc, I hope it works out for you, and I’m happy to have these projects to work on this winter. I also appreciate the way you’ve been paying my rent since I left the pet food factory—”
“Maybe with this winter’s income locked in, you can pay your own rent, ain’t so?”
Pete raked his hand through his collar-length blond hair, mentally adjusting to the suggestion. “Jah, it would look better if I was taking charge of my own finances—and of my life, in general,” he mused aloud.
“It would look even better if your mammi made you some Plain shirts and broadfall trousers, so you wouldn’t be wearing those jeans with the big holes in them—”
“These jeans are all the fashion now!” Pete protested. “English folks pay big money to wear worn-out denim like I’ve been hanging around in for years—because it’s what I can afford.”
Jeremiah waited him out, to see if he’d respond to the deeper issue beneath his suggestion to wear Amish clothing. Pete was nearly twenty-nine—far past the acceptable age for remaining in rumspringa—but Jeremiah knew there was no pushing his nephew to conform. If Pete felt his uncle, the bishop, or his mammi was forcing him to fit into the religious mold of the Old Order, the young man was likely to flee Morning Star and never come back.
“Maybe someday,” Pete hedged after a few moments. “For now, it’s a big improvement that I’ll be supporting myself, the way Molly and Marietta have been doing for years now, ain’t so?”
Jeremiah clapped his nephew’s shoulder as they started toward the front of the house. “It’s a step in the right direction,” he agreed. “And denki for saying you’ll do my renovations, because your workmanship is the best, Pete.”
His nephew smiled modestly. “I’ll be over later today to measure for the new windows. When I go to place the order at the lumberyard on Monday, I’ll need a down payment for them, you know.”
“I’ll be ready with that money, and I’ll give you an advance on your pay, too,” Jeremiah replied happily. “Come for supper tonight—bring the girls, if you’d like,” he added with a wink. “I’m going to mosey past The Marketplace and invite Lydianne, too. We can talk about what she and Mamm might want in the way of those renovations.”
Chapter Thirty
When Lydianne entered the large, homey Shetler kitchen ahead of Jeremiah, she inhaled the heavenly aromas of frying chicken and the golden cornbread muffins that were cooling on the countertop. The table was set for four with a clean blue tablecloth and what she suspected were the better-than-everyday dishes. Bowls of coleslaw, mashed potatoes, strawberry jam, and home-canned peach halves sat ready, and she assumed the lidded metal pan on the other counter held some sort of dessert.
“It’s gut to have you here, Lydianne,” Jeremiah’s mamm called from the stove as she carefully took pieces of crispy chicken from her cast iron skillet. She drained most of the grease and poured in milk thickened with flour. “We’re not having anything fancy for supper, understand—”
“Fancy doesn’t matter,” Lydianne replied. “After a busy day at The Marketplace, it’s wonderful to have someone else cooking my supper. Denki for having me over, on what I suspect was spur-of-the-moment notice,” she added with a wry nod in Jeremiah’s direction.
Margaret waved off her remark as she scraped the bottom of her skillet with a metal spatula. “Never you mind about that! It’s nice to have some company tonight—and you never know what Pete might add to the conversation. I suspect, because the Helfing twins have also been at The Marketplace all day, he wouldn’t be getting much in the way of supper, either.”
Jeremiah’s expression suggested a secret as he hung his and Lydianne’s jackets on pegs inside the mudroom door. “I’ll give you two a hint before Pete arrives, so you can be thinking about your requests,” he said, sounding extremely pleased with himself. “I’ve asked him to replace all the windows as well as to paint the outside of the house as soon as he can get to it. And this winter he’ll be doing some extensive remodeling inside.”
His mamm was so surprised she dropped her spatula. “What brought this on? Will this extensive remodeling mean we’ll be living with construction mess for months on end?”
“You will be living in your dawdi haus rooms, away from most of the commotion,” he reminded her kindly. “Although, if you want some improvements in the dawdi haus, besides the fresh paint I’ve already mentioned to Pete, just tell him what you’d like.”
Lydianne’s heart beat faster. Amish homes typically underwent renovation only when major changes happened in the family—such as adding rooms to accommodate a growing family or aging parents—or preparing for a new woman to take over the household.
“Otherwise,” Jeremiah continued, gesturing at the kitchen walls around them, “I’ve asked him to build us new cabinets in here, and to paint all the rooms and refinish the hardwood floors, and to update the bathroom. Because Priscilla doesn’t live here anymore, and I’m ready to start fresh.”
The way he added those final words, in a voice that thrummed with emotion, told Lydianne that the big change he was making in his life hadn’t come easily. Her heart went out to him, and she wasn’t sure what to say.
Margaret gazed at her son for several moments. Her smile came on like an autumn sunset, with a slow glow that brightened her entire outlook. “Gut for you, Jeremiah, and thanks be to God,” she murmured gratefully. “In that case, whatever commotion Pete causes while he works will be well worth it.”
As though the word commotion had been his cue, Riley burst through the mudroom and ran an excited lap around the kitchen table, yipping gleefully.
“Riley! Whoa!” Pete called out as he, too, entered the kitchen. “Don’t you dare grab hold of that tablecloth—”
“Riley,” Jeremiah murmured, establishing eye contact with the dog. “Sit, boy.”
Immediately the huge dog plunked himself on the floor at Jeremiah’s feet, gazing up at him with a doggy g
rin as he leaned into his leg. It was such a funny, endearing thing, watching the bishop so effortlessly make Pete’s retriever behave, that Lydianne almost laughed—but she sensed Margaret didn’t find the dog’s antics the least bit humorous.
“Pete, if that dog doesn’t settle down, he’s going outside,” Jeremiah’s mamm stated, crossing her arms. “We have a guest for dinner tonight and we don’t want to scare her off.”
Pete flashed Lydianne a wink. “I don’t think we have a thing to worry about, Mammi,” he replied. “Riley will settle down now that he’s seen everybody. If he can’t keep a lid on it, I’ll put him out.”
When Pete bussed his mammi’s cheek with a noisy kiss, the stiffness went out of Margaret’s shoulders. “I hear Jeremiah invited Molly and Marietta to join us tonight, but they declined his offer,” she said as she turned off the stove burners. “You haven’t been causing them any trouble, have you?”
Pete bit back a grin. “I suppose they decided to do something with Jo again tonight. Those maidels are as thick as thieves—present company excepted,” he added quickly as he glanced at Lydianne.
Lydianne laughed and held the bowl steady as Margaret poured the steaming gravy into it. “After a busy day at The Marketplace, we like to unwind over a pizza uptown—and chat about what we sold and who was there. Business talk.”
“Girl time,” Margaret put in. “Nothing wrong with that on a Saturday night—but we’re mighty glad you’ve joined us, dear. Denki for your help. We’re ready to sit down and enjoy our meal now.”
Lydianne didn’t miss the way Jeremiah pulled out the chair to the left of his place at the head of the table—where his wife would normally sit. As Margaret took the seat to Lydianne’s left and Pete sat down across the table from her, it felt more like a cozy family gathering she’d attended dozens of times, than a first dinner at the home of her potential husband . . . and mother-in-law.
Help me to say and do the right things, Lord, she prayed as they all bowed their heads for the silent grace. After all the years of eating with my girlfriends, keeping the secret I believed would prevent me from ever marrying, it’s such a blessing to be here in the Shetler home with the man who knows my past and loves me anyway.
As Jeremiah took two pieces of golden fried chicken and passed Lydianne the platter, his dark eyes glimmered with questions. “What does the ideal kitchen look like these days, Lydianne? What kind of cabinets are best—and how would they be arranged? And what sort of flooring would it include? Trends and products have changed over the years,” he added in explanation, “and I haven’t paid the least bit of attention to such stuff.”
Lydianne gripped the platter so she wouldn’t drop it. Jeremiah hadn’t said anything about the kitchen being hers—nor had he teased about renovating the kitchen when and if he asked her to marry him.
“I’ve never had to think about that,” she replied carefully, “because I moved into a rental house owned by an English landlord. And when I bought the place, I didn’t have the money—or the inclination—to change it around.”
His smile acknowledged her diplomatic dodge. “But if you did think about it, what would you choose?”
She took a chicken leg, not at all sure she could eat it. This conversation felt a lot like the open-ended essay quizzes she sometimes gave her older scholars, who were often hard-pressed to write the answers they thought Teacher Lydianne would consider correct. As she passed the platter to her left, she noticed that Margaret’s expression remained unreadable—and Jeremiah’s mamm didn’t seem eager to mention her own ideas, either.
“I’d need some time to give a gut answer,” Lydianne finally said. “The kitchen’s the hub of a household, and it wouldn’t do to make such decisions without considering the possibilities—or at least without spending time at a home improvement store to see what the options are. What do you think, Margaret?” she asked quickly.
The woman beside her let out a short laugh. “To me, a kitchen’s a kitchen, and as long as all the appliances work and the drain’s not clogged, I’m happy. But Jeremiah didn’t ask for my opinion,” she pointed out as she handed the chicken across the table to Pete. “What might be just as important is what you’d choose to put inside those cabinets—how much of the old cookware you’d replace with something new. And I’m happy not to be making that decision, either.”
Margaret’s answers sounded as vague as her own—probably because her son hadn’t yet announced that he and Lydianne were getting married. Even though their engagement would be welcome news, Jeremiah’s unspoken proposal was like that proverbial elephant in the room—everyone knew it was there, but no one wanted to talk about it.
Lydianne nodded as she accepted the bowl of mashed potatoes from Jeremiah, who showed no sign of commenting. It would be a major decision for any woman he chose as his new wife—how many of Priscilla’s pans, dishes, and appliances would remain—yet many Amish men wouldn’t even consider it a choice. They would simply assume that everything in the kitchen was fine and that any woman would be satisfied with the way it was.
With a glimmer of mischief, Lydianne decided to use a favorite classroom tactic to shift the focus away from her. “Jeremiah, it’s very progressive of you to solicit my opinion about what makes an ideal kitchen,” she remarked, keeping a straight face as she passed the potatoes to his mother. “Why do you ask?”
Startled by her direct question, Jeremiah dropped the gravy bowl. Thick, golden goop splattered his shirt and the tablecloth as the heavy bowl’s edge hit his dinner plate and broke it. Pete burst out laughing, which in turn made Riley jump up from his spot under the table to start barking as though a fire had broken out.
Lydianne sprang to her feet with her paper napkin, immediately sorry she’d caused such a ruckus. As she and Jeremiah hurried to wipe the gravy from his shirt before it dribbled down farther, she tried to think of an appropriate apology.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t—”
“No, you’re not,” he said under his breath.
“—mean to come at you broadside with—”
“Yes, you did.”
Lydianne blinked. She tossed her saturated napkin onto his broken plate, confused by his muttered responses—until she noticed the lines around his eyes crinkling with suppressed laughter. Still seated calmly, Margaret was also fighting a smile. Pete was laughing so hard he was wiping his eyes, and Riley’s excited barking escalated into howls as he circled the table with his wagging tail held high.
Lydianne couldn’t recall the last time she’d caused so much chaos—
Oh, but I upset the apple cart big-time when I confessed that Ella was my child. Jeremiah took that in stride, too—just as he’s chuckling at the way I tried to flush out his real question.
Jeremiah pointed at Riley. “Sit.”
The golden obeyed his quiet command immediately. The kitchen filled with welcome silence.
As the man beside her rose from his chair, he held Lydianne’s gaze. “I’ll deal with you later,” he murmured with a smile. “You folks go ahead and eat while the food’s hot. I’m changing my shirt.”
When Jeremiah was out of earshot, his mamm went over to lift the overturned gravy bowl from the table.
Lydianne stood to pick up the two halves of the plate, careful to keep the gravy and Jeremiah’s food on it. “Margaret, I’m sorry your pretty plate got broken—”
“All you did was ask the same question that was buzzing around in my mind,” she put in lightly. “It was worth a broken dish to see you take Jeremiah by surprise.”
“Got what he deserved,” Pete said, scraping gravy from the tablecloth with his spoon. “And you gave him a reasonable answer, too, Lydianne, about going to the home improvement store to see what sorts of cabinets and flooring are available.
“Don’t let him off easy, girl,” he added with a laugh. “It’s gut when somebody makes Jeremiah toe the line the same way he insists that folks at church—and me—live up to his expectations.”
<
br /> * * *
As he and Lydianne strolled down the lane toward the river, Jeremiah’s emotions bubbled like a copper cauldron of the apple butter many folks were making as October came to a close. After getting through the rest of supper without further incident, he knew it was time to state his case—yet he still felt more jittery than a teenager asking a pretty girl to ride home from a Singing. Even though he and the lovely young woman walking beside him had teased each other about his proposal for quite a while, wording it just the right way was another matter altogether.
And now that Lydianne had called his bluff with her purposeful question, his proposal really had to measure up. Any woman who could make him drop a bowl of gravy deserved words as effective as hers had been. Lydianne was intelligent, with a sharper sense of timing and humor than any other woman he knew. Those attributes were among the many reasons he loved her—but what a challenge she was!
“It’s a beautiful evening,” Lydianne murmured as she slipped her small, sturdy hand into his. “These maples and sweet gum trees are the most colorful I’ve seen this fall, with their bright reds and oranges and golds.”
But their beauty doesn’t hold a candle to yours.
Jeremiah hesitated to voice that sentiment. Would it sound too sappy or old fashioned for a forward-thinking woman like Teacher Lydianne? Her true beauty was inside, after all. She was more than just a pretty face.
“This section of the farm is one of my favorites,” Jeremiah responded, hoping he hadn’t let too many seconds tick by. “From here, you can see the fields where my popcorn crop’s been harvested, as well as the pasture where our horses graze—”
“And look at the way your house is shining in the last rays of the sunset,” Lydianne murmured with awe in her voice. “The white walls seem to glow from the inside out, radiating all the love of the family who lives there.”
Jeremiah’s throat tightened with emotion. As he gazed at the house he’d looked at thousands of times in his years of living here, with and without Priscilla, his heart suddenly saw it in a whole new light—
First Light in Morning Star Page 26