A Groom for Greta (Amish Brides of Celery Fields)

by Anna Schmidt

  If Bishop Troyer should recommend leniency, Greta knew that there was no possible way that Josef would vote in favor of forgiving Luke and accepting him back into the Celery Fields congregation. For the hundredth time she considered the idea of standing with Luke either way, thus assuring that if the vote went against him then she, too, would be shunned and placed under the Bann. But they could go somewhere new—start over...

  As if reading her thoughts, Lydia leaned close. “Do not act rashly, sister,” she said softly. “Whatever the day brings you must accept that this is God’s will and He alone can determine the course your life must take going forward.”

  “I am not thinking of myself,” Greta grumbled. “I am thinking of Luke.”

  Lydia lifted one skeptical eyebrow, then led the way inside the farmhouse where a hush fell over the women gathered in the front hall. By now everyone knew that it was Greta that Luke had courted all these weeks. It was Greta who would be heartbroken—again. Like clusters of sea grass along the shore, they parted to allow the two sisters to pass on their way to the kitchen—where yet another silence surrounded them. They set the baskets of food they’d brought for the meal after services and then without a word Lydia led the way into the front room where they took their places on the bench reserved for the unmarried females.

  They had arrived late—Greta’s fault. She had dawdled longer than usual over dressing that morning and then she had burned their breakfast and insisted on making a second round of food. Lydia had not protested and Greta was grateful that her sister seemed to understand her need to avoid arriving for services a minute sooner than absolutely necessary.

  Slowly and silently the room filled. There were so many people present that it became necessary to press closer together on the narrow benches and Greta found herself pinned between Lydia on one side and Esther Yoder on the other. Across the aisle and at the far end of a row sat Josef. He was positioned closest to the door. If only she could come up with some way to get him out the door before Bishop Troyer announced his recommendation and the vote was called. She squeezed her eyes shut to stem the wave of rage she felt toward Josef. He had ruined her future with his meddling and for what? Hadn’t he been the one to quit her?

  She felt Lydia’s nudge and opened her eyes as the congregation stood for the singing of the first hymn. The service had begun. In just three hours, it would be over and then...

  Her heart hammered and her knees seemed to hold no strength for standing. She wavered and Lydia glanced her way—as did Esther. “Are you all right, Greta?” Esther asked in a tone that oozed concern but came from a mouth that was fighting a smirk.

  “I am fine.” Greta straightened, locking her knees to maintain her posture. She had less than three hours now to come up with some plan, some way to save Luke, for she knew that he would never allow her to stand with him if the decision went against him. She heard nothing of the sermons delivered first by the second minister and then by Bishop Troyer. Three hours passed and she was still no closer to coming up with a plausible strategy. She made her lips move during the singing of the final hymn but no sound came out as she gripped her side of the Ausband that she was sharing with Lydia. Instead she silently repeated the same phrase again and again—Help me please!

  Finally the service ended and Bishop Troyer stepped to the front of the room. He stood for a moment as quiet settled over the congregation. Everyone knew what was coming and the tension in the crowded room was palpable. Bishop Troyer cleared his throat, then bowed his head in silent prayer. Everyone else in the room followed suit. After what seemed an eternity, he cleared his throat again and there was a general rustling of bodies as everyone turned their attention to him.

  “We have before us today a most serious business,” he began. “Luke Starns came to us nearly a year ago. He bought a business and has served his customers fairly and well these last months. He has attended services without fail and made himself available to serve others in need. He has in short made every effort to be a good neighbor and friend to everyone living here in Celery Fields—as we have been to him in return, for he has been as a brother.”

  Greta saw a few men nod involuntarily and took hope from the action. But Josef’s scowl only deepened as he leaned forward as if to stop the bishop’s praise of Luke.

  “The charges against Luke Starns in his former community are not to be taken lightly,” Bishop Troyer continued. “I have spoken with him at length about this matter and he has requested the opportunity to come before you today to have his say before I offer you my recommendation for his future with this congregation.”

  There was a gasp of surprise and Josef was practically halfway out of his seat when Luke entered the room from the small bedroom where he’d obviously been waiting. He looked worn and exhausted, the lines around his eyes and mouth more pronounced than Greta recalled. He stood before the bishop for a moment and then turned to face the congregation. He glanced around and for a brief moment his gaze settled on her. She gave him what she hoped was an expression that mirrored her firm belief in him and her determination to stand with him no matter what.

  The flicker of a smile skated across his lips but it was gone before it could blossom as he focused his attention on the rest of the congregation. He straightened to his full height and allowed his eyes to skim over every member of the congregation before speaking. Everyone leaned forward to catch every word.

  “You have all by now heard some version of my situation in Ontario,” he began, his voice raspy as if he badly needed a drink of water. Bishop Troyer moved a step closer to him, but Luke just kept talking. “I have explained to the bishop and deacon and other leaders of this congregation what happened there and why in the end I acted as I did. I am deeply grateful for their willingness to hear me and for the way you—” He raised his hand and gestured toward those seated before him. “The way you have held me in your thoughts and prayers during these difficult days. I want you to know that whatever comes of this, the community of Celery Fields will always be a place that I think of as my home. I have come here today to seek your forgiveness. I have wronged you—especially some of you...” His eyes darted toward Greta then back to the others. “I ask your forgiveness for not revealing the circumstances that brought me to Celery Fields. I ask your forgiveness for placing this entire community in a difficult position as it relates to the Ordnung and this congregation’s relationship with the greater church. I ask your forgiveness for my arrogance in thinking that I could manage the business of my past alone. And I assure you that whatever the outcome may be, I accept that as my doing and no one else’s. God’s will be done.”

  He sat down then, his shoulders hunched tensely, his hands clenched together. Greta had never wanted to go to him more than she did in that moment. She wanted to wrap her arms around those broad shoulders and assure him that everything would work out. God would see to it. But as a low murmur made its way across the room, Bishop Troyer raised his hands and said, “I am prepared to offer my recommendation for the vote of this congregation. Before I do, let us all bow our heads once more in silent prayer as we seek God’s guidance in this matter.”

  Greta bowed her head but she kept her eyes riveted on Josef. He sat upright, his eyes focused coldly on Luke, his arms folded across his chest in a gesture so completely devoid of forgiveness that Greta felt physically ill. Bile rose in her throat as beads of sweat lined her upper lip and forehead.

  She stood up and let out a low moan as she clutched her stomach. “I need some air,” she whispered as she clamored over Esther Yoder and headed for the door. She was aware that Lydia had followed her as she ran from the house and out onto the porch. But far more important was the fact that Josef had followed her, as well. As she clung to a post that supported the covering over the porch, he came to her.

  “Greta?”

  “I’ll be all right,” she assured him. “It was just so very close in there and...”

  Josef took hold of her elbow and led her to a chair. Lydia
came running from the kitchen with a glass of water.

  “This has been too much for her,” Lydia said, her words directed at Josef. “What is your purpose in all of this, Josef Bontrager?”

  “I care for your sister,” Josef snapped defiantly. “A great deal.”

  “You have an odd way of showing that care,” Lydia groused as she used a handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from Greta’s brow.

  “No more arguing,” Greta said softly as she heard the low murmur of Bishop Troyer’s voice and knew the vote was imminent. And in that moment she knew that she must allow whatever was about to happen without her interfering. She had no doubt that Josef would stay with her even if that meant that he would miss the vote. And if the bishop recommended leniency, as he seemed inclined to do given the way he had allowed Luke to address the congregation, then Josef’s absence gave Luke the best possible chance to have things turn out in his favor and therefore to turn out well for them. But she found that she could not tamper with whatever course God had set for Luke. She would place her faith in His will.

  “They are about to take the vote, Josef. You should go back inside,” she said softly. “I will be fine and Lydia is here. Go on.” Josef straightened and looked at her for a long moment. She met his gaze and knew that he understood what she was doing. “Luke’s fate—and mine—are in your hands, Josef,” she said softly. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “No,” he protested. “I only wanted to be sure you would be happy—that you would not cast your lot with a man who...”

  “Makes me happier than I have ever dreamed possible?”

  Josef looked out toward the horizon where the sky had darkened and a thunderstorm threatened. “I wanted to be that person,” he admitted. Then he looked back at her. “But I never was, was I? I mean we were good friends—the best of friends but...”

  “We are and ever shall be the very best of friends, Josef. Now please go,” Greta urged. Before I change my mind and do whatever it takes to keep you here. She turned away as she felt the tears she’d held in check all morning start to spill. She buried her face in Lydia’s apron as her sister wrapped her arms around her, crooning to her that all would be well. And when she looked up to protest that idea, she saw that Josef had gone back inside and through the open window she heard Bishop Troyer clear his throat and then call for the vote.

  She clutched Lydia’s apron in her fists as the tears leaked down her cheeks and onto her dress. From inside she heard a chorus of Ayes.

  “And those against the recommendation for forgiveness and reinstatement?” the bishop said.

  Greta held her breath.

  There was no sound except the rumble of distant thunder.

  “Then we are agreed,” Bishop Troyer said softly.

  And then even as there was an outpouring of relief and warm greetings for Luke inside the house, the skies opened up and released a downpour. The storm that had seemed so ominous just minutes earlier now seemed to release all of the fear and tension that Greta had been holding in check these last weeks. It was over. Truly over.

  She looked up at Lydia who was beaming at her. “Feeling a little better, are we?” she teased.

  Greta laughed and then she saw Luke standing in the doorway and uncaring of protocol or rules, she ran to him, stopping just short of embracing him. Instead she touched his cheek. “It is at an end?” she asked, her voice seeking his assurance.

  “Neh,” he said, “For us it is just the beginning.” And then he grinned at her and before she could say anything more the two of them were swept back inside the house in a circle of friends and family as everyone hurried to set out the meal they would all share.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Greta awoke on her wedding day to find Lydia preparing their breakfast. Set on the table by Greta’s plate was a small covered jar. “Oh, Liddy, it’s some of Pleasant’s starter for sourdough, isn’t it?”

  Lydia smiled. “Pleasant brought it by yesterday.”

  The tradition of a mother giving her daughter a jar of the base for making the traditional bread the way she’d been given a jar on her wedding day was an old one. Greta had often thought about her mother as she baked bread for herself and Lydia through the years. But their mother had been sot young when she died and in truth their older half sister had been their only true mother for all of their childhood.

  “Pleasant and I set it to ripen at the bakery so you wouldn’t accidentally see it at her house.”

  Greta hugged Lydia tight. “It’s the very best wedding present, Liddy. Thank you.”

  Lydia pulled back and studied Greta closely. “Are you ready, Greta?”

  Mistaking her sister’s concern as that of asking about the preparations, Greta laughed. “I think so. I’m glad we decided on setting up the food in the barn. The house is bound to be stifling by noon and...”

  “I’m asking if you are sure, Greta,” Lydia said softly as she touched Greta’s cheek. “Is Luke Starns the man you wish to spend the rest of your days with?”

  “Oh, yes,” Greta said without hesitation. “I love him so very much that sometimes my heart hurts from the fullness of that love.”

  Lydia smiled. “Then let’s get you married.”

  Together the sisters walked through the small farmhouse that they had shared their whole lives. Some of the larger pieces of furniture had been moved down to Luke’s shop to make room for the benches and extra seating that would accommodate the guests for the ceremony. There was little doubt that every Amish family that lived within ten miles of Celery Fields would be there along with many families from further north—as far away as Ontario—that would travel south to celebrate the occasion. In the kitchen they could hardly find space to set a single dish, so filled were the counters with the variety of cakes that Pleasant had created for the occasion.

  Towering above the others was the wedding cake—a four-layer confection with each layer being nearly six inches thick. Pleasant had piled on white frosting, covered the confection with shredded coconut and studded the entire cake with tiny silver candies. To either side of the main cake was a smaller cake frosted and decorated with the words “Best Wishes” on one and “Good Luck” on the other. These three cakes would make up what was known as the “wedding corner”—the place where Greta and Luke and the members of their wedding party would sit for the meal following the ceremony.

  “Did Luke bring the dishes?” Greta asked. Tradition held that the groom provided the dishes for the wedding party’s meal as a gift to his bride.

  “He did, but he made me promise not to set them out until after the ceremony.”

  “Is he afraid I’ll change my mind?” Greta asked. She had meant the comment to sound light and teasing but her voice caught.

  “Not at all,” Lydia reassured her. “He wants to surprise you is all.”

  “Well, I have a surprise for him, as well,” Greta said.

  “Hello,” someone called out from the back porch.

  “It’s Pleasant and the others!” Greta cried and ran to greet the women who had arrived early to finish the preparations for the big day. “Now we can make the Nothings and finish decorating the tables.”

  Nothings, a traditional pastry for weddings, were nothing more than round concave saucer-sized pieces of dough, deep-fried and sprinkled with powdered sugar. They were stacked around the cakes in the wedding corner and on the larger table that held the cakes and pies for the guests. In addition to the piles of Nothings, each table for guests held a glass vase filled with stalks of celery. It was an old tradition, as well, but seemed especially applicable to their community of Celery Fields.

  “Oh, it’s going to be such a wonderful day,” Greta squealed as she ran from house to barn and back again, checking to be sure everything was just exactly as she had always imagined it would be.

  “You have been planning this wedding day from the time you were five,” Pleasant said, laughing at her half sister as Greta traded one bunch of celery for another with mor
e foliage. “Why wouldn’t everything be perfect?”

  Greta grinned. “There are always surprises,” she reminded Pleasant.

  “Yes, well, in your case I think we’ve had all the surprises we can take.”

  All of the women joined in the laughter that followed as they worked in happy concert to prepare everything for Greta’s wedding day.

  Because others had been steadily arriving all morning, the kitchen rang with laughter and excited chatter of the women. On the porch several young girls gathered in clusters, whispering and giggling together. In the yard the men and boys stood around sharing stories about the coming growing season or the price of crops while the younger children raced around, infected by the excitement of the day.

  “You keep looking out that window as if you are expecting someone,” Pleasant said.

  “I had hoped...” Greta’s voice trailed off and then a moment later she let out a whoop of excitement as she raced out to the porch and pointed to a wagon pulling up to Luke’s shop.

  * * *

  Luke had just finished dressing when he heard the creak of wagon wheels outside and realized that the vehicle was not following the lane that ran up

  to the Goodloe house as every other wagon or buggy had that morning. This one had instead stopped in front of his shop.

  Figuring that it was one of his Englischer customers with some emergency, Luke sighed and headed down to his shop. After all, business was business and these days he could not afford to turn anyone away. He just hoped that he could persuade whoever it was to let him get married first before he fixed whatever was broken.

  He walked through the livery part of his business to the blacksmith shop in front and pulled open one of the large double doors.

  “Guten...”

  The rest of his greeting lodged in his throat as he saw his father being helped down from the wagon by his three brothers. The four men of his family lined up and faced him. Behind them, still in the wagon, were his sisters-in-law and at least a dozen children and all of them seemed to be holding their breath.