Adoring Addie

by Leslie Gould

  But that wasn’t why I admired my cousin more than any other woman I knew. I admired her because she was a loving daughter, Schwester, and wife, but still she was very much her own person, and somehow she’d managed to find a husband who appreciated that.

  I wanted what Cate had found.

  Hannah interrupted my thoughts again. “Phillip plans to buy the farm near his parents’ place, jah?”

  “Oh really?” I hadn’t heard.

  “And he’s hoping to get a loan from his district to finance the purchase.” Hannah leaned toward me again. “There are advantages to being a bishop’s son.”

  Phillip’s Daed was the bishop of the next district over from us, the one Onkel Bob and his family belonged to, but Bishop Eicher had a good reputation all around the area, and many, many people highly respected him, including my parents.

  “Who told you about the farm?” I wedged my hands under my legs, flat against the bench.

  Hannah’s voice rose in volume over the clickity-clack of the horse’s hooves. “Molly. She says he plans to marry soon.” Her dark eyes danced. “He says it’s official, you’re his Aldi.”

  We had been courting, so it was no surprise he considered me his girlfriend. Still, today, the term made me shiver.

  “Ach, Addie. He’s so tall and handsome.”

  He was.

  “And capable,” Hannah added.

  “Jah.” He longed to farm a place of his own—that I knew.

  “So what’s the problem, then?” She glanced my way, her dark eyes concerned.

  I sighed. I’d already told her, but she hadn’t been listening. I asked it again, slowly, “How do I know, for sure, that he’s the right one?”

  She chuckled. “If you figure it out, let the rest of us know. Okay?”

  I shook my head. She met more men—from Pennsylvania, Ohio, and even Indiana—over one weekend of Youngie parties than I’d met in my entire life. “But I haven’t gone out with anyone else,” I said, “except just that once with Mervin. What if there’s someone else out there who’s the right one?”

  She sighed. “Ach, Addie. Don’t think about it so much. It’s not as if you have a say in the long run anyway.”

  I sank back against the seat. “What do you mean?”

  “You have to marry someone who is Amish, whom your parents approve of, who lives somewhere close. The man can’t be a Mosier. And your Dat would prefer a farmer, jah?”

  I nodded. What she said was true.

  “In that case, consider Phillip the catch of a lifetime.” She scooted up on the bench, urged her horse to go faster, and changed the subject. As she prattled on about the party she’d attended last Saturday night, I thought about what she’d said. Did I really have so little control over my own life?

  To the right an Englisch farmer was baling his hay, and as Hannah turned the buggy onto the highway, the warm breeze, boosted by the force of his tractor, sent a cloud of dust our way. We both turned our heads. To the left a young Amish boy herded a group of cows across a pasture, and ahead, alongside the road, an older girl propelled a scooter with her foot.

  “There’s a party tonight. Want to come?” Hannah pulled farther to the right to let a car pass.

  “I have too much to do,” I answered. “I barely got to come along today.”

  Before we reached Paradise, the market came into view.

  Hannah turned the buggy onto the side road. “How long until the wedding, then?”

  “Hannah!” It wasn’t our way to speak so openly.

  “Oh, come on, Addie.” She slowed the horse. “Everyone knows it’s what your Mamm and Dat want—and we all know you’ll do as they say. Besides, you want to marry and leave home, jah? And soon?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You’ll come to love Phillip. By the time you marry, you’ll know for sure.” She didn’t wait for my response. “Just wait and see.”

  I craned my neck to see who was at the market—not wanting to think about, let alone discuss, my future.

  The booths sat on the corner of the Zooks’ farm, all manned by Youngie—and more girls than guys, who were more likely to be working in the fields or holding down regular jobs on a Saturday morning.

  With its inventory of vegetables, fresh-cut flowers, plants, breads and baked goods, jams and preserves, handwork, wooden planters, and homemade food, it attracted mostly weekend tourist traffic.

  As the buggy bumped over the rutted road, Molly waved from the center of the market, a bouquet of herbs in her hand. Tall and fair, with hair lighter than mine, her face lit up like a lantern in the night. Molly Zook was hard to miss.

  She had begun overseeing the market on her parents’ property in the middle of May, two months earlier. The Zooks ran a nursery stock business. They had transformed their family farm through the years, field by field, into rows of trees and shrubs. It was no secret the bust in the building boom had affected their profits. In hopes of supplementing their income, Molly’s father had planted flowers in a couple of fields the last few years, but her parents were older than most and obviously struggling to keep up with all the work on the farm. The boys in the family had moved away from Lancaster County and the older daughters were all married and had families of their own. Only Molly and her little sister, Bea, still lived at home.

  It seemed Molly aimed to bring in more income to the family through the market. She was the sort of girl who always had a new idea. Her enthusiasm alone could carry a project.

  Hannah and I would be sharing Molly’s booth, and I, no doubt, would be picking up all sorts of bits of gossip Aenti Nell would love to hear.

  Molly pointed at something beside her, blocked by a pole and canopy. I craned my neck as Hannah pulled the buggy into the pasture behind the booths, bringing the subject of Molly’s smile into clear view.

  Phillip Eicher, at six foot four, towered above everyone else in the market. He lifted his straw hat from his head, showing his dark bowl-cut hair, and waved at me with vigor.

  The mouth-watering smoke from sausage grilling, mixed with the smell of freshly baked pretzels and pungent herbs, greeted us along with the first sunflowers of the season, buckets of snapdragons, and containers of dusty pink lilies as we reached Molly’s table.

  Her blue eyes sparkled. “Look who’s here.” She swept her arm wide, gesturing toward Phillip, as if I might be surprised.

  He’d placed his hat back on his head and now had his thumbs hooked around his suspenders. His white shirt was neatly tucked into black pants.

  “Hello,” I said to him as I placed my basket on the tabletop. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m on my break.” He tipped his head toward where the smoke was billowing out of a barbecue, a row beyond us. “I already got something to eat.” Then he smiled, slightly. “And I was hoping to see you.”

  My face grew warm as I arranged the potholders on the table. He stepped toward me, and for a moment I thought he might comment on my work—or Aenti Nell’s, to be exact—but he didn’t.

  “I have something to tell you.” He leaned toward me, placing his palms down on the table. I was always surprised at how clean he kept his hands considering his work.

  I raised my head, my heart rate increasing. “Oh?”

  “There’s a farm close to my folks’ place,” he said. “I’ve been talking to the owners.” He stopped, as if waiting for my reaction.

  I wasn’t about to tell him Hannah had told me. I smiled and then said, “Go on.”

  “The soil has to be the best in the county. Even better than your Dat’s. And the barn is in good shape, although it does need a new roof.”

  Hannah and Molly leaned against each other, their Kapps touching, watching us. They were quite the contrast in height, coloring, and personality too—and yet they complemented each other perfectly. Every time I saw them together, I couldn’t help but wish I had a best friend. That’s why I wanted a husband who would listen to me, who would be that friend.

  Phillip’s
voice grew louder. “And the chicken coop is larger than your Mamm’s, almost as big as my parents’. The Haus is old but adequate.” I’d never seen him so animated.

  I stepped to the back of the table.

  He took a deep breath and then said, “What do you think?” His biceps bulged against the sleeves of his shirt as he crossed his arms.

  I met his gaze. “It sounds fine, just fine.”

  “Well sure,” he said. “You’ll want to take a look-see.” He grinned. “No need to worry about that.”

  The nagging sensation began to spread.

  Before I could speak, he continued, “The garden plot there used to be huge, as big as at your place, but now it’s just for two people. But I was thinking we could enlarge it and raise enough extra to sell.” He looked around. “Maybe here. You could be in charge of that.”

  I choked out, “Sure.”

  He chuckled. “You aren’t afraid of extra work, are you?”

  No words came—I simply shook my head.

  “Well,” Phillip said, a happy look on his face, “I should get back to work.” The place he hired out to was a half mile up the road. “I just wanted to tell you about the farm.” He grinned a second time. “Because the owner said I could give you a tour—next week.”

  Hannah and Molly shifted again, this time toward a commotion down the row of booths.

  “I’ll have to see if that will work with Mutter’s schedule,” I said to Phillip. But who was I fooling? We both knew it would.

  My attention drifted to the loud voices, certain they were familiar. I shaded my eyes against the morning sun. Sure enough it was Mervin Mosier and his twin brother, Martin, at the end of the row, eight or nine booths away from us. They were wearing matching mauve shirts, suspenders, black pants, and straw hats over their sandy hair. Plus aviator sunglasses.

  “Genuine Amish hope chests,” Martin called out to an Englisch couple passing by.

  “Custom-made and personalized,” Mervin interjected. “And we’re not joking.”

  “Or pulling your leg!” Martin boomed.

  They grinned at each other, and then Mervin’s voice rang out loud and clear. “You’ll also find mantels, bookends, and trivets too.”

  I stepped to the side of Molly’s table to get a better look. I could see a fireplace mantel, although I couldn’t make out the details, and beyond it were several chests. Phillip joined me, stepping close enough so that I could smell the scent of his Mamm’s strong lye soap on his skin.

  “Made by our cousin—who is new to Lancaster County, straight from Big Valley,” bellowed Martin.

  Hannah giggled.

  “What’s their cousin’s name?” I asked, impressed by the woodwork I could see and also by Martin and Mervin’s tribute.

  Phillip crossed his arms.

  “Ask Hannah.” Molly elbowed my cousin. “He wouldn’t leave her alone at the party last weekend.”

  “His name is Jonathan. His family’s moving back from Big Valley to take care of his grandfather.” Hannah wrinkled her nose. “He’s cute and nice and all, but when I told my Mamm and Dat about him they said he’s like all the Mosiers, that his family is trouble and to steer clear.” She pointed toward a figure wearing a black hat. “That’s him.”

  All I could see was his back, his suspenders crossed over his back in an X. His blue shirt was untucked and bunching up around his waist.

  “Too bad about the rift between our families.” I crossed my arms.

  “Jah, but it’s okay.” Hannah shrugged. “If I was going to court a Mosier it would be Mervin, not Jonathan.” She grinned.

  “Why?”

  She shrugged again. “Jonathan’s too much of a dreamer. Kind of a sap. Besides, he didn’t have much of a plan for his life.” She grinned again. “Not like Phillip does, anyway.”

  Instead of responding to Hannah, Phillip smiled at me and nodded. “Jah, I do have a plan. A good one.” Phillip stepped even closer to me, bumping my arm with his. “What time should I arrive tomorrow?”

  “Well,” I said, “around two. Any sooner and we’ll put you to work.”

  “I’d like that,” he said.

  “I was just kidding.” I didn’t want him to come early. “See you then.” I knew my voice lacked enthusiasm, but Phillip didn’t seem to notice.

  He strode off down the aisle between the booths, saying hello to Martin and Mervin as he passed. The two turned their heads toward me.

  Hannah and Molly watched Phillip go.

  Molly sighed and turned toward me, her index finger intertwined in the tie of her Kapp. “I hope you’re grateful,” she said.

  “For . . . ?”

  She tilted her head, gave me a scathing look, and pointed to Phillip just before he turned at the end of the row, by one of the vegetable booths. “You—any of us—could do a whole lot worse.”

  I must have grimaced, because she said, “Goodness, Addie. Get off your high horse and give him a chance. He might not be the brightest . . .”

  My face reddened. “It’s not that.” It wasn’t as if I thought I was too good for him. It wasn’t that at all.

  Molly grabbed a sprig of rosemary and held it to her nose. “What’s bothering you, then?”

  “How do I know?”

  She shook her head. “Know what?”

  “If he’s the right one.”

  She twirled the rosemary. “You don’t ever know. You decide. And then you train him.”

  Hannah laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile, but I couldn’t take what Molly said seriously. First of all, she wasn’t married. Second of all, I’d been trying to train members of the opposite gender my entire life—I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that in a marriage too.

  Before I could think of what to say to Molly, an older Englisch woman stopped at my table. Grateful for the interruption, I turned my attention toward her. She quilted too, and we chatted as she chose five potholders to buy.

  After the Englisch woman left, Molly sat down beside me, crushing the sprig of rosemary in her fingers, sending a pungent pine scent into the air. “Sorry if I said more than I should have.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I answered. I wasn’t opposed to hearing her opinions.

  “So if you’re not set on Phillip, why don’t you come to the singings? You might meet someone new.”

  “Jah,” Hannah said. “And to the parties too. Kids from all over have been coming. There are all sorts of good-looking guys.”

  I wouldn’t mind going to the singings, but I wasn’t interested in the parties, and besides, I wasn’t sure I wasn’t set on Phillip. No more than I was sure that I was. “We’ll see” was all I said.

  The next couple of hours sped by as the day grew warmer. Molly peddled her herbs, selling out of her gigantic dill, her silver-edge lavender, and all of her flowers in the next couple of hours. Hannah sold her half-pint jars of strawberry jam, which seemed to be the perfect size for the tourists. I didn’t need to do much to pitch the potholders; Aenti Nell’s work sold itself, and by noon over half of them were gone. All three of us fanned ourselves with folded newspapers Molly had brought to wrap herbs in.

  The dust from the field grew thicker as more and more feet pounded over it, and the line at the lemonade stand a row away from us grew longer and longer.

  Several times, I glanced toward the booth Martin and Mervin had been at, but I didn’t see them or their cousin again. Molly walked around the market several times and came back with bits of gossip. She said Mervin and Martin hadn’t left. Instead they’d parked themselves by the food booths.

  The sausage had been tempting me all morning, but I pulled out my ham salad sandwich from my lunch pail, the same one I used to pack for school, and shared half of it with Hannah.

  After that the day grew lazy as the heat hung over the pasture and settled under the tarp where we sat. Thankfully, the traffic of tourists stayed steady and kept me awake.

  After a while Mervin stopped by our booth to chat, but soon Martin yelled at him to
help him out at their cousin’s booth.

  “Jonathan took his buggy to get more hope chests,” Mervin said, twirling his hat in his hands. “They’ve been selling like hot cakes.” He turned and ambled up the row. A crowd of customers awaited him. Martin motioned for him to hurry and Mervin quickened his pace, but just a little.

  Sometime after three, the rumble of an engine caught my attention. It sounded like Timothy’s, but he was an hour early.

  I stood, ducking out from under the tarp. Sure enough, his Bronco was cruising down the side road along the market.

  I sat back down.

  “Timothy?” Hannah asked.

  I nodded, wiping away the trickle of sweat at my temple.

  “Maybe he’s going to look around for a while,” she said, a tinge of sarcasm to her voice.

  “Unlikely,” I said. “He’s come early for some reason.”

  Hannah groaned.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Maybe he’s looking to take care of some unfinished business.”

  That didn’t sound good. “Such as?”

  “Mervin and Martin. He had a falling out with them at that party last weekend. He’d been talking to their cousin Tabitha.”

  “Who is she?” I’d never heard of her.

  “She lives on the other side of the county—her mother is Mervin and Martin’s Daed’s sister. She came over to help out with their grandfather, until Jonathan’s parents move here for good.”

  “Oh.”

  “Timothy had been drinking, and Mervin and Martin told him to back off.”

  My face grew warm.

  Hannah continued. “When Timothy left, he shouted he’d get even.”

  “Oh dear.” I snatched up my lunch pail and dropped it into my basket. Timothy didn’t take kindly to being bossed around, and even less so when he’d had too much to drink. He was sure to be vindictive. I gathered the potholders that hadn’t sold, slipped them into a plastic bag, and put it in the basket too. Then I grabbed my money box, took out the wad of cash I’d earned, slipped it into the pocket of my apron, and dropped the box in the bottom of the basket, where Timothy wouldn’t see it. If he did, he’d realize I’d earned money and ask to borrow it.