Never an Amish Bride

by Ophelia London

  “I did want to ask you about a story in the Bible.” He waited a beat before beginning. “It’s in Luke chapter fifteen.”

  “Ah.” Brother Sol nodded and laced his fingers. “The return of the Prodigal Son.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Esther checked her wristwatch for the third time. Silly mule was taking her sweet time. If they kept this pace, she’d be late to Lucas’s.

  Stop it, silly heart. Don’t go beating a mile a minute just because I thought his name. Lucas was a friend—that was all he could be. They were helping each other, a mutually beneficial arrangement.

  But he had looked adorable when they’d been Rollerblading a few days ago. And then when he’d gotten serious about finding answers for the both of them, her heart felt pretty close to melting.

  To free herself of those kinds of thoughts, it helped when Esther recalled a happy memory with Jacob. Once, he’d arranged a sleigh ride for just the two of them. He’d seemed so strong and capable, and because of the cold, his eyelashes had frozen. They’d sledded all the way to the diner in Bird-in-Hand, where they’d ordered potato soup and hot cocoa.

  Dwelling on that memory, however, didn’t seem to help this time. And after clicking her tongue to get Peanut to a faster clip, her heart did another set of quick trots when she remembered to where she was racing.

  Back to that gray house with the comfortable couch and warm wood-burning stove.

  The overcast October afternoon brought with it a chilly breeze—hints of the cold weather to come. Daed had talked at lunch about a storm passing this way, but it must not be much, since he didn’t fuss when she’d spoken of harnessing the mule. She was glad she’d worn her heaviest cloak, thick black outer bonnet, and warm gloves, as she grasped the material at her throat when another gust of wind shook the small buggy.

  “Whoa,” she said, steadying sweet Peanut. The mule shook her head but corrected her footing. Wanting to get out of the wind, Esther gently wiggled the reins, coaxing Peanut to pick up the pace. Another gorgeous golden twilight sky led her east toward their destination.

  Maybe hearing the buggy and Peanut’s clomps, Lucas came into view in his front yard. It was certainly the pounding of the hoofs and not her heart that made Esther gulp for air.

  He waved, but with the quick pace she was traveling, she was nervous to let go of the reins. Instead of waving back, she gave him the biggest grin she could.

  “Hi!” she called.

  “Hello! Want a hand?”

  “Please!”

  He opened the door of the buggy and she happily leaped out, taking a quick moment to inhale as she passed him… Clean and crisp, yet woodsy with a touch of sweet. She filed it away inside her mind, convincing herself that the lingering was nothing more than research for a new soap fragrance. Maybe a whole line for men.

  “Don’t you own any bright red sweatshirts?” she asked, noticing his black pants and dark blue pullover. “How about a nice neon yellow snow jacket?”

  “What’s wrong with this?” He pulled at the neck of his sweater.

  “If you’re not careful around here, you might be mistaken for any number of Anabaptist sects. Someone might hitch you up to a plow.”

  She was rewarded for her silly joke by one of Lucas’s belly laughs.

  “Would it bother you if I dressed more plain?” he asked. “I’m not in the church anymore.”

  “Not at all.” She observed him, unabashed now. “You’d look…” Handsome, she wanted to say, picturing him wearing a traditional wide-brimmed hat. “Comfortable. Which you should be when you’re at home, jah?”

  The smile he shot her made a light bulb turn on in her chest.

  And then there was that time Jacob gave me a bouquet of daisies, my favorite flower…

  “What about you,” Lucas said, rubbing his thumb and index finger over his chin. “You look…um…happy.”

  A grin tickled the corners of her lips. “I am! My ride over was chilly but exhilarating. We got going pretty fast, faster than the other day with you.”

  “I believe it.” He patted Peanut. “Your cheeks are glowing and your eyes are like…”

  “Like what?” she asked when he didn’t finish.

  “Sapphires.” He dipped his head and kicked a rock. “Sparkling blue.”

  She felt her smile stretch wider at the compliment. And for some reason, she could not recall one Jacob memory.

  Lucas twisted the reins in one hand, displaying long muscles along his forearm, which Esther would’ve had to have been blind not to notice. “Remember that oversized art book your brother checked out of the library?”

  Esther thought for a moment. “The one about Greek mythology?”

  “Exactly. There’s a photo of an exotically beautiful woman riding bareback on a horse. It’s stuck with me all these years.”

  “What did she look like?”

  Lucas sent her a playful look that made her skin tingle, then gazed off to the side. “Big eyes, dark eyelashes, long legs. Her ears were tall and pointy and her nostrils flared too much—”

  “Lucas!” Esther covered her giggling mouth. “You’re describing the horse.”

  “Oops.” He grinned. “Well, the woman in the painting was fair-skinned with blushing pink cheeks. The brightest blue eyes. Her hair was waist-long and tangled, blowing away from her face and flowing down her back.” His gaze turned to her. “Her hair was red, I believe, but still, you make a pretty good resemblance.”

  It took a moment for his words to register. Lucas Brenneman thought she was exotically beautiful?

  “Danke,” she said, suddenly feeling shy. Vanity was one of the seven deadly sins. Still, she couldn’t help but bathe in his words for a nice long moment, her heart nearly beating out of her chest.

  He’s too much of an outsider, she told herself when the silence between them felt alive. Has living in the modern world for so long turned him into a great big flirt?

  Out of nervous habit, she reached for the ties of her head covering, but they weren’t there. Not until then did she realize—due to her high-speed chase against the wind—her prayer kapp had blown off and was probably crushed on the side of the road. Leaving her head and hair completely exposed.

  Realizing the impropriety way too late, Esther froze in place, while basking in the heart-fluttery feeling of Lucas’s gaze glued to her at her most vulnerable.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lucas knew it wasn’t gentlemanly behavior, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off Esther. “I haven’t seen your hair down since we were children,” he observed, allowing his gaze to linger on those wild tresses—just like in that painting. “It’s lighter now. Like wheat in the—”

  Before he could finish, Esther spun around so her back was to him, sweeping up her hair. In a flash, it was tied into a bun.

  “Lucas Brenneman, you shouldn’t say things like that—it’s not proper.”

  Of course not. But how could he ignore her hair? Even the most pious man in the Old Order would at least notice.

  Out his kitchen window, then from his front porch, he’d watched as she’d galloped toward him like an angel sent to rescue him. It was going to take a lot of complicated recipes to get that image out of his head. More realistically, though, some mighty fervent prayer.

  “It won’t happen again,” he said, then quickly added, “but I won’t take it back.”

  What’s the matter with you? This is Moses Miller’s Esther. The love of Jacob’s life. Not a little girl but a woman trying to find her way. She’s confused but wants to please Gott. Unlike many plain folk, she has interests outside their basic traditional way of life. She makes soap and appears to be quite successful at it.

  For a moment, he wondered if Jacob had known all of this about her and appreciated her talents. He couldn’t help mentally giving his shoulder a friendly punch, feeling good that
he appreciated them.

  Still, it was dead wrong on every level to flirt with her, or to have these ridiculous thoughts, as fleeting as they were. He made a vow then and there to never forget who she really was: an Amish woman who’d been engaged to his brother.

  When the mule kicked the side of the gate, Lucas snapped himself back to reality. After securing the gate and giving the animal some water, he walked toward the house.

  From the way she jumped when she saw him, Esther appeared as if she’d been caught in deep thought as well. Though surely not in the same direction his had been.

  “Coming in?” he said, holding open the front door.

  “Yes!” she said with a breathy gasp.

  “Make yourself at home, please.”

  After taking a few steps in, Esther stopped in place, her eyes moving over the room. He’d tidied up since she’d been there a few days ago. He’d even brought in daisies from the backyard and put them in a vase—the only thing in the room that didn’t scream “bachelor pad.” He’d also built a fire, which he assumed she approved of, since she wandered straight there and sighed contentedly.

  Even this deep into the fall months, Lucas hadn’t once turned on his electric heater. He preferred the fireplace, its crackles and sparks bringing back childhood memories.

  “Temperature’s dropping tonight,” he said by way of explanation.

  She exhaled what he hoped was a hum of approval. “Lucas?” She wrinkled her nose. “Is something burning?”

  Quick as lightning, Lucas raced across the room and slid a pot off a hot burner, trying to keep his mutters under his breath.

  “Conducting experiments?” Esther giggled, coming to his side.

  “Heating applesauce,” he explained, staring in defeat into the pot. If Top Chef could see me now…he thought, then caught himself wondering what rerun of that show would be on tonight. Didn’t matter. His dish was long gone. No regrets.

  Esther took the pan from him and gazed in at the black crispy substance. “Maybe less fire next time.”

  “I think I ruined the pan.”

  “It’s salvageable.” She walked the pan to the sink and filled it with water. “Let me teach you a trick.” She placed it back onto the hot burner.

  “It’s already fried to a crisp.”

  “When this water comes to a boil, it’ll be a cinch to scrub clean.” As it began to bubble, she took a small scrub brush and easily scoured away the stuck-on remnants. “See?” She held it up. “Good as new.”

  “It’s a miracle.”

  “Simple chemistry.” She grinned, picking up a hand towel.

  “Let me do that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please, I know how much men loathe washing dishes.”

  “I have to because I live alone.”

  “True.” She shot him a smile that went straight to his heart.

  “Sorry again,” he said, “about the other day when we were skating. I know you were only trying to help.”

  “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to interfere—I mean, I obviously was trying to interfere; I just shouldn’t have been.”

  Lucas couldn’t help chuckling. A big smile stretched across Esther’s face, then she glanced at the kitchen table, her brow furrowing in confusion.

  She’d noticed the two place settings he’d laid out and could probably smell meat roasting in the oven.

  “Are you expecting someone?”

  “You,” he said. “I thought we’d enjoy a meal together this time.”

  “Oh.” More confusion clouded her expression, and he was still a bit baffled by the decision himself.

  It had been an impulse to cook for her. Though too early for suppertime, he hoped it would make her feel more comfortable than last time, especially after he’d nearly snapped her head off the other day.

  Besides, he hadn’t hosted anyone to a meal at his house yet. It was time he tried harder—one step at a time—to see how it would feel to be home to stay.

  “Is that okay?” he asked, wondering if he’d overstepped his boundaries by about a hundred miles.

  “It’s okay.” A timid smile brightened her face. “It smells delicious. May I?” She touched the handle to the oven.

  “You might want to put on your anti-fire gear first.”

  “I think it’s safe.” She removed the lid of the ceramic Dutch oven. After the steam cleared, two thick-cut pork chops appeared, perfectly browned on both sides—his own spin on Paula Dean’s pork chops with garlic and honey-glazed pears.

  “These look wonderful!” she exclaimed.

  Lucas felt his shoulders relax. “They should be done now, if you’d like to pull them out.” He backed up so she’d have room on the counter.

  “Do you have a platter?”

  He quickly handed her his best one.

  She helped herself to a knife on the counter and carved through one of the chops. As steam escaped, she bent her face down and took in a long inhale. “Perfect,” she whispered. “Where did you get such fresh meat? I didn’t notice any pigs out back.”

  “Duerksen’s farm.”

  “The Mennonites in Blue Ball?”

  He nodded, then waited, knowing she’d figure out his motive without him saying another word.

  “Because you’re worried about being seen in Honey Brook.”

  He nodded again. “Even though we’ve got the best farms in all of Pennsylvania—they,” he corrected. “They have the best farms.”

  “Why did you do that?” She leaned a hip against the counter. “Why did you change ‘we’ to ‘they’? You live here. This community is just as much yours as, well, your family’s.”

  Lucas didn’t want to get into that subject with Esther again. He was having a hard enough time processing what he and Sol had discussed the other night.

  “Habit, I suppose,” he finally said. “But I’m working on it. Why? Trying to get me to run myself out of town?”

  “Not at all.” Esther smiled. “I want to keep you around so I can taste more of your yummy cooking. Now, bring me a plate before everything gets cold.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Esther piled on thick slices of the pork, added a pinch of salt, then reached for the skin-on mashed red potatoes keeping warm on the stove. “Did these come from Duerksen’s, too?”

  “How did you know?”

  She poked a finger in for a sample taste. “Mmm. They must have something in the soil over there. All their potatoes, sweet potatoes, squash, and carrots come out so nice.” She shot him a look. “Never tell Papa that.”

  Lucas laughed. “You have my word.”

  “What about these?” she asked, holding up a jar of canned pickles.

  “Those are from a shop in town. The display is right across the aisle from a stand of soaps that smell like heaven.”

  Esther’s cheeks flushed pink as she tossed her head back and laughed, exposing her long bare neck. Lucas swallowed hard, trying not to stare.

  “And the bread?”

  Taking a moment to clear his throat, he said, “I made it.”

  She lowered the knife. “You did not.”

  “I promise. And I’m dismayed at your doubt.” He took the knife from her and cut a thick slice from the loaf that still hadn’t cooled all the way, then slathered on a generous layer of homemade honey butter. “Tell me what you think.”

  She crossed her arms, as if wondering if she should believe one word out of his mouth. After the first bite, she slowly chewed until there must’ve been nothing left to swallow.

  “Well?”

  She held up a hand to silence him. Then she took another bite, a bigger one. Before she’d finished chewing, she opened her mouth and tried to speak, but all that came out was a shower of crumbs. Her eyes went wide as she covered her mouth, blushing once more.

 
Lucas chuckled and rocked back on his heels. “What was that?” he asked, playfully cupping his ear.

  “I said…it tastes like cake.”

  Lucas needed to remember where he’d found that recipe so he could make it again…maybe the next time she came over. If there would be a next time after what he planned to say to her tonight.

  She licked her top lip. “It’s moist and dense and sweet like dessert.”

  “So what you’re saying is, you like it.”

  “Yes!”

  A funny warmth pooled in his blood as he watched her devour the whole piece. The woman could eat. Lucas liked that about her.

  He liked a lot of things about her.

  “Shall we?” he asked, pulling out a chair for her to sit.

  This was not the Amish custom, for two unmarried people of the opposite sex to have dinner together, not unless they’d just announced their engagement. Hours ago, as he’d been preparing the meal, Lucas hadn’t considered what Esther might read into it.

  “Danke,” she said as she slid into her chair. “Would you hand me a napkin?”

  Another warming wave.

  While they ate, Esther chatted about visiting one of her friends a few days earlier—how she was 99 percent sure this friend was in a secret relationship. “At our age, though, it’s not like the ministers would say anything. They want us married off so badly, they allow almost any—”

  With her mouth still hanging open from the last word, she cut herself off. “Well, not anything. Obviously.” She pressed her napkin to her lips, and Lucas noticed another blush creep up her throat. Because she’d piled her long hair onto the top of her head, it was easy for his eyes to trace the sweeping color.

  He wondered what she’d said—or almost said—to make her suddenly so embarrassed.

  When the silence took on an awkward feel, he coughed gently and asked, “How is your family?”

  “Anna—” She, too, coughed into the crook of her elbow. “Anna’s trying to grow a garden. When she lived at home, she was the worst at it. I honestly think she’d rather be milking cows at four a.m. than anything.”