by Anna Schmidt
“Is your great uncle inside, Jeremiah?” Lydia asked as he helped her down from the wagon. Jeremiah’s uncle was the head of their congregation.
“Yes. Is there a problem? Has something happened?” He was clearly mystified that Lydia’s first comment would be to ask the whereabouts of the congregation’s bishop without so much as a greeting for him. Greta felt a touch of relief as she realized that at least Jeremiah seemed to have no idea at all that Josef had quit her.
“Greta just needs to ask him a question,” Lydia replied with a smile. She waited for Jeremiah to help Greta down then turned to Luke. “Thank you, Luke Starns, for the ride. My sister and I will be staying to help Pleasant prepare the barn for tonight’s singing and can find our way home after that.”
In spite of her own worries, Greta rolled her eyes heavenward as if seeking God’s help. No wonder Lydia had never had a serious beau. She treated every man she met as if he were one of her students. She saw that Luke had been about to say something to Lydia, then thought better of it.
“Are you better?” Greta heard Luke murmur and realized that he was addressing her while Lydia was already halfway across the yard on her way to the large farmhouse.
“I am perfectly fine, Luke.” She offered him a tight smile. “And having kept my end of our bargain I trust that...”
“I’m not given to gossip, Greta, but you should prepare yourself because soon enough...”
“Greta.” Lydia was expert at delivering an entire lecture with a single word. In two syllables she had effectively reminded Greta that it was the Sabbath, that they were to turn their hearts and minds to God and that the bishop was no doubt awaiting her arrival.
As the two sisters walked toward the house, Greta glanced back over her shoulder toward the barn where Luke was now unhitching the horses while Jeremiah greeted more neighbors. Luke was right, of course. It hardly mattered what he might have said to Roger Hadwell. By the end of today’s service everyone would know.
“Let’s get this over with,” she said as she and Lydia reached the front door of Pleasant’s home.
Inside the modest white frame house, the backless wooden benches, transported from house to house for the biweekly services, had been set up in the two large front rooms that were a feature of every Amish home. From down the hall that led to the kitchen, Greta could hear the voices of those women and girls who had already arrived. They would gather there to deliver their contributions for the light meal that would follow the three-hour service. She and Lydia were each carrying a basket that held their contributions for the meal. It was a comfort to realize that the women all seemed to be talking in a normal tone, not whispering as she might have expected.
Pleasant rushed forward to greet them.
“Could you take these?” Lydia asked, handing Pleasant her basket. “Greta needs to speak with Bishop Troyer.”
“Of course,” Pleasant replied, taking Greta’s basket, as well. “Something to do with a certain announcement to be made today?” she asked and she actually winked.
Greta forced a smile as Lydia took her arm. “We won’t be long,” she assured Pleasant.
“Maybe it would be better if we just told everyone now,” Greta murmured. “At least then it would be out in the open.” On the other hand, there was still time for Josef to find her, tell her he’d been wrong, beg her forgiveness.
They passed through the front hall separating the rooms where services would be held. They dodged a group of small children racing up the stairs. The younger men and boys tended to linger outside until others took their places for the service.
Glancing around for any sign of Josef, Greta turned toward the hallway that led to a downstairs bedroom, knowing the bishop and other elders always gathered there before the services began. She was about to tell Lydia to go to the kitchen when she practically ran into Josef. Through the open doorway behind him, she could see Bishop Troyer and the two other preachers who would speak that morning. They were all looking at her, their eyes full of pity.
“Guten morgen, Josef,” she said brightly as she edged around him in the narrow hallway.
“I have just told them,” Josef said without returning her greeting or meeting her eyes.
“Gut,” Greta murmured with no further pretense at acting as if anything about this morning was normal.
“Greta?” Bishop Troyer had come to the doorway. “I wonder if I might have a word with you and Josef before services begin?” The other church elders left the room and Bishop Troyer closed the door.
Woodenly Greta sat down on the only chair in the room. Normally she would have remained standing out of respect but the truth was that, upon seeing Josef, her knees had gone weak and she wasn’t at all sure that she could maintain her balance without support. Josef stayed close by the door, studying the wide planks of the wooden floor.
“Josef has told me of your decision,” he began.
Her decision?
She glanced up at Josef and saw that his cheeks had gone red. “It was my decision, Bishop,” he muttered. “Greta...” He shrugged which only infuriated her more.
Greta what? Had no say in the matter?
Bishop Troyer seemed momentarily perplexed. “I see,” he murmured. “When you told me that you and Greta would not be marrying this autumn, I just assumed that...”
“It was my decision,” Josef repeated.
“The fact is, Bishop, that we won’t be marrying at all,” Greta added, surprised to hear the words come out of her mouth.
Josef looked up then, his eyes wide with shock. “Well, that is...”
“Isn’t that what you told me?” she challenged. She stood up and realized that her anger at the unfairness of the situation had given her strength. “It’s for the best, don’t you think?” This she directed to the bishop.
The kindly white-haired man who had been the head of their church for as long as Greta could remember looked at her and then at Josef, his brow furrowed with concern. “This is a time for prayer—not haste. You must both ask God to show you His plan for your lives. It is true that you and others have long assumed that His intention was for the two of you to share a life. And that may yet be the way of it. This is not for either of you to decide without first praying on the matter.”
“It was not a decision made in haste,” Josef replied.
“Then why?” Greta blurted out before the bishop could speak. “Is there someone else?”
Josef looked at her and she saw for the first time the pain that lined his features. “How many times have I asked you that question,” he said softly. “I have asked it time and again.”
“And time and again I have told you that you are imagining things.”
“And yet, not once have you said that you love me, Greta.”
It was true and there were no words to deny it. Fortunately she was saved by a soft knock on the door. “Pastor?” she heard one of the other ministers say. “It’s time.”
Josef opened the door and brushed past the two other preachers waiting in the hallway.
“Come along, child,” the bishop said as he led the way down the hall and into the front room where Josef had already taken his seat with the other men. Greta took her place next to Lydia on the first of two benches where the unmarried girls and women were seated.
* * *
In spite of the cool reception he’d received from Lydia that morning, Luke was determined to ask to see her home later that evening. If she refused him at least he would know where he stood. It would have complex ramifications, for if Lydia Goodloe turned him down, he might have to think seriously about moving on to another community. But one step at a time. Having settled on his plan, he was free to focus all of his attention on the words of Bishop Troyer—a lesson that seemed directed at him. But, of course, that wasn’t possible. He’d taken care to keep his past to himself since his arrival in Celery Fields. But the flicker of panic he felt whenever he thought there was the possibility of others learning of his past was never
far from the surface of his emotions.
The lesson came from the twenty-ninth chapter of the book of Genesis. It was the story of Jacob’s love for Rachel and how her father, Laban, tricked Jacob into marrying his elder daughter, Leah, instead. Two sisters, the elder less desirable than the younger. And although the minister’s sermon was about Laban’s deceit, all Luke could think about was the biblical sisters. In the end Jacob had married them both but God had given him children by Leah while the much beloved Rachel remained barren. Had that been God’s punishment? And if so, why punish a man like Jacob who had worked years for the privilege of marrying the woman he truly loved?
Luke shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench as he remembered another pair of sisters—this time in Ontario. Their father had also been anxious to see his eldest daughter married and he had set his sights on Luke as the best possible candidate. But Luke was drawn to the man’s younger, fairer daughter just as Jacob had been. And just like Jacob the father had tried to trick him into the match with the elder daughter. Only Luke— unlike Jacob—had refused to be drawn into such a plot.
When everything had turned out for the worst, Luke had often wondered if God had punished him for his refusal to even consider courting, much less marrying the older sister. But in that Biblical world multiple wives were allowed—Jacob could marry Leah and the beloved Rachel, as well. Luke did not have that choice. In the end his only real choice had been to leave the community where he had lived his whole life and move to a place where he could start over. Celery Fields had seemed the perfect place.
He glanced over to the bench where Lydia Goodloe sat, her eyes riveted on the pastor, her hands folded piously in her lap, her face intent as she took in the lesson of the sermon. Luke did not love her—how could he? He barely knew her other than to nod politely whenever they crossed paths. Still he had observed that she was a good and steadfast woman. In spite of her strictness, the children who were her students clearly admired her. Yes, Lydia Goodloe would be a wise choice to manage his home and raise his children in the faith of their ancestors. He could do a lot worse than Lydia Goodloe.
But then his gaze was drawn to the sister—Greta. Unlike Lydia, Greta’s eyes did not remain fixed on the minister. Instead, she glanced around, out the window, up at the ceiling, at some lint she picked off her dark green cotton dress. Although she sat relatively still, her eyes darted around the room like a butterfly pausing at one flower and then quickly moving on to the next.
It occurred to Luke that if he were successful in his courtship of the elder sister, he would no doubt be expected to take in the younger one, as well. In the absence of her late parents, he and Lydia would be Greta’s guardians, at least until she married. He could only pray that Josef Bontrager would reconsider his decision and take Greta for his wife.
Just then Greta’s eyes lighted on him for an instant and he saw her scowl before quickly ducking her head and folding her hands in her lap. Likewise, Luke turned his attention back to the minister. As the words of the lesson continued, Luke silently prayed for God’s guidance for this treacherous trip he was about to take down the path of courtship. At least this time he had chosen the elder sister with his eyes wide open. In this case there was no father to trick him as Laban had tricked Jacob or the man in Ontario had tried to deceive Luke.
No. The challenge facing him was to persuade Lydia Goodloe that they could make a nice life together. Convinced that he was up to that challenge, he risked one more look across the aisle at the Goodloe sisters and was unnerved when he realized that his gaze had settled first on Greta before moving on to Lydia.
Chapter Four
Greta squeezed her eyes shut tightly as the service came to an end, praying that God might forgive her for not listening to the lesson for the day. Oh, she had gotten the part about two sisters—one fairer than the other—but then her mind had started to wander. Surely the Lord would understand that she had so many things to consider—so many things to work out. The worst of it would be how best to handle the barely perceptible murmur that would surely spread through the congregation after Bishop Troyer announced the couples planning to marry that fall. That list, of course, no longer included Josef and her. So, soon everyone would know at least a part of the story. She brightened a little as it occurred to her that, like the bishop, most would simply assume that Greta had quit Josef rather than the other way round. Their pity would be directed toward him.
But then her relief collapsed as she realized that this was only a momentary reprieve. Soon enough everyone would know the real story. She glanced over toward the men’s section, meaning to see how Josef was handling things but her eyes had settled instead on Luke Starns. The man was watching her and the only way she could describe his expression was one of disapproval. At that very moment, Lydia nudged Greta with her elbow—her signal for Greta to stop fidgeting. Those two were going to make a perfect match, she thought, as she laced her fingers together in silent prayer. It would appear that Luke Starns followed the rules as strictly as her sister.
The announcement of coming nuptials was made and the congregation reacted exactly as Greta had imagined. When the service finally ended, the women moved as one toward the kitchen to lay out the meal while the men and boys began rearranging the benches into tables and seating. She heard Josef’s laugh and whipped around to see him stepping aside to allow Esther Yoder to pass by on her way to the kitchen.
Esther was the eldest daughter of the Yoders who owned the dry goods store. She was two years younger than Greta and it was well-known throughout Celery Fields that her mother thought it high time she found herself a husband. From the looks of things she had set her sights on Josef.
Well, she can have him, Greta thought swallowing her bitterness even as Lydia took hold of her elbow and turned her away from the scene.
“Come along, sister.”
On their way to the kitchen they crossed paths with Luke, one long black bench under each powerful arm. He looked from Lydia to Greta and then back again. To Greta he seemed rooted to the spot like the giant live oak tree that stood outside his shop and she couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculous comparison.
He cleared his throat. “May I speak with you later, Lydia Goodloe?”
Greta thought she had never seen her sister quite so shaken. Her lips were pressed together so tightly that no sound could possibly be expected to come out, so Greta took matters into her own hands.
“We are needed in the kitchen. But if you plan to attend the singing, then there will be time enough to have your say. Excuse us, bitte.”
Luke stepped aside and this time it was Greta who guided her sister the rest of the way to the kitchen.
“How could you say such a thing?” Lydia whispered when she had recovered her voice. “I had thought you of all people would wish to skip this evening’s singing.”
“Of course we must attend the singing, Lydia. Luke Starns wishes to see you home afterward. Will you accept or not?”
Lydia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “How do you know such a thing?”
“He told me so.”
Further conversation was not possible as they joined the other women in the kitchen. As Greta had feared, the room went silent the minute that she and Lydia entered.
Greta saw her choice plainly—she could pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary or she could address the matter and get it over with. She took stock of the glances flying among the women—lifted eyebrows of speculation and worried frowns of curiosity.
“Well,” she said brightly as she picked up the baskets that she and Lydia had brought and began setting out the goods. “It sounds like we’re going to have a busy season of weddings here in Celery Fields.” She grinned broadly at the three other women whose betrothals had been announced that morning. “Perhaps it’s a good thing Josef Bontrager changed his mind about marrying me.”
She couldn’t help it. Her voice broke on those last words, but she kept her tears in check and continued to place the f
ood from the basket on the table.
Almost as one unit, the women gathered around her. She felt consoling hands placed gently on her shoulder and gratefully accepted the healing power of their murmurs of concern, which comforted her like a soothing balm for her jumbled spirit.
“Perhaps the Lord has another plan for you, Greta,” Pleasant said softly. “We sometimes think we know what He has in store for us but then things change.”
Of all people, Pleasant knew what she was talking about. Certainly she had thought she would never marry and then she had agreed to marry the widower, Merle Obermeier. He had died soon after, leaving her penniless with his four children from his first marriage to raise. And then Jeremiah Troyer, the bishop’s great-nephew, had moved to town, just as the depression was starting, to open—of all things—an ice cream shop.
But the likelihood of some stranger moving into town and making everything all right again for Greta seemed remote at best. With the combination of droughts and deluges that had plagued the fields of celery and other produce crops over the last few seasons, people were beginning to move away from Celery Fields—not settle there. The last person to actually come to town had been Luke Starns.
Luke Starns...and Lydia.
Suddenly Greta saw her opportunity to turn the attention of the women away from her and on to something that would give them far greater pleasure. “You are right, Pleasant. After all, who knows what the Lord has in store for any of us when it comes to matters of the heart.” She cast a sideways glance at Lydia, leading the other women to do the same.
As usual Hilda Yoder took charge. “I noticed that the two of you arrived for services with the blacksmith, Luke Starns. Has your horse pulled up lame, Lydia?”
“The blacksmith was kind enough to offer us a ride,” Lydia replied as she sliced a loaf of bread.
“Roger tells me that he will definitely be settling here permanently. His business is doing surprisingly well given the fact that there’s less call for services like his these days,” Gertrude Hadwell, wife of the hardware store owner, said with a sly glance at Lydia. “It’s hardly any secret, Lydia, that he has his eye on you.”