“Tomorrow morning, I want details.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Heat crept up Moriah’s face. “Details?” she said, feigning ignorance. She loved her romance-crazed sister, but she could be nosy—and inappropriate—at times.
“You know what I mean.” Moving back, Elisabeth winked at her sister, then handed a glass of lemonade to the next guest at the table.
“What did Elisabeth say?” Levi asked.
“Nothing.” She hoped her husband didn’t notice her blushing. Her sister might want “details,” but she wouldn’t get them. Moriah wasn’t about to discuss her wedding night with Elisabeth. Five years separated them, but despite the age gap, they had shared nearly everything with each other. However, her wedding night with Levi was private, and it would stay that way.
The calm she’d experienced moments before evaporated, replaced by a new worry that tapped on her nerves. Would she disappoint him? She couldn’t bear the thought of that.
Beside her, Levi talked with guests, grinning and laughing, unaware of the sudden turmoil churning inside her. Moriah stared at her food, her appetite gone.
Suddenly she felt Levi reach for her hand under the table and give it a squeeze, as if he had sensed the chaos in her mind. She tilted her head toward him and smiled. He grinned in return.
A semblance of peace washed over her, and for that she was grateful. With the smallest of gestures, Levi had calmed her down. She was thankful to the Almighty for Levi’s love. He would be a fine husband and father. She knew of a couple of women in the community whose husbands treated them badly, and she pitied them. But with Levi, she wouldn’t have that worry. He was kind, trustworthy, and loyal. They would be there for each other, through the good times and the bad.
Chapter 2
Tobias Byler could pinpoint the precise moment he had noticed Rachel Detweiler had become a woman. Last year, at a Sunday night singing in late May. She had just turned nineteen. Before that night he had thought of her as the biggest thorn in his side, a bratty, boyish-looking girl who acted way too big for her britches. Fiercely competitive, she often nagged him into sporting contests—usually fishing, volleyball, or softball. Lately she’d also become an expert corntoss player, tossing the corn bag easily into the hole of the wooden platform. He hated that she won their matches on a regular basis, and she never missed an opportunity to rub it in his face.
But that night six months ago, when he saw her at the singing, his attitude had changed. She was still a pest, but now he thought her a beautiful one. The plain, light-green dress she had worn that night, one that left everything to the imagination, accented her womanly figure. Until then he had never noticed how smooth her cheeks were, or how her bright blue eyes were framed by long, silky, light-brown lashes. He’d also never noticed how sweet her smile was, but that was probably due to her genuinely smiling at everyone but him. Usually he received a smirk or a haughty frown. Yet that spring night at the Yoder’s, he would have done anything to have her grin at him the same way she had smiled at Christian Weaver.
Of course she didn’t, and Christian had taken her home in his buggy after the singing. The two of them had never become an item, though. That had surprised everyone, including Tobias. Probably Christian too, even though he’d never said anything about it. Since then Rachel had allowed nearly every young man in the community to take her home after social events, save for him. Ordinarily this would have given her a loose reputation, except all the fellows knew Rachel wasn’t interested in them like that. She was their pal, friendly to everyone, with one exception: him.
Of course, just because he thought Rachel was pretty didn’t mean he liked her. How could he like a girl who kept showing him up in front of his friends? He had no choice but to put up with it. His father had always taught him to be a gentleman, to respect women and to treat them well. Not all the men in the community did that, but Tobias honored his father’s wise edict. He hoped to emulate his parents’ wonderful marriage.
But not—definitely not—with Rachel Detweiler. For some reason being friends with Rachel, much less having any other kind of relationship, was like searching for a rainbow in the middle of a thunderstorm. While wearing a blindfold. In other words, impossible.
Right now he was annoyed with her for joining their game. She had taken off her cloak, clearly warmed from the combination of the strong sunlight and the exertion of playing during his sister’s wedding dinner. He and his friends had discarded their black overcoats as well, and Christian had already rolled up his sleeves. At least they were on opposite teams.
He picked up his old wooden bat, one his father had made many years ago. Despite the nicks and chips accumulated from years of use, it still had a nice sweet spot. The handle had been worn down so that it matched his grip perfectly. He’d hit many a home run with this simple stick of wood, and he intended to take another trip around the makeshift bases today.
Stepping up to the flat rock that served as home plate, he stared her down. Rachel was rolling the grimy ball around in her right hand, not caring that her palm had turned black from the sticky mud or that her dress was smudged with it. He’d never admit it out loud, but she was a good pitcher too, which made him hot under the collar. No way would he let her strike him out. Not again.
“You don’t scare me,” she said, giving him a cool glare. “You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”
Considering they’d moved their game from the Byler’s front yard to the field behind the house, where the barn was in plain view, he now had the prime opportunity to make her eat her words. But before he could get set up in the batter’s box, a fastball whizzed past him.
“Strike!”
Tobias glared at his younger brother Stephen, questioning the wisdom of having a thirteen-year-old referee their game. However, since Stephen was a stickler for rules, he had been everyone’s unanimous choice for umpire.
“I wasn’t ready,” Tobias groused.
“You’re in the box, you’re ready.” Always serious, Stephen pulled his black hat low over his brow and bent at the waist behind the home plate rock. “Play ball.”
Tobias adjusted his grip on the bat. This time he wouldn’t miss. He swung at the next pitch.
“Stee-rike two!”
Rachel smirked.
Ach, he hated when she did that. But he was just warming up. Now he would hit the broad side of his barn, and he couldn’t wait to rub it in her face for once. When the third pitch flew by, he connected with a crack of the bat.
But instead of hitting the whitewashed wood structure a hundred yards away, the ball plowed right into Rachel’s shin. Tobias watched in horror as she crumpled into a heap on the grassy ground, clutching her leg, her forehead touching the top of her knee.
“What’d you do that for?” Stephen hollered.
Tobias ignored him and threw down the bat. He sprinted toward Rachel, reaching her before anyone else. He knelt down beside her. “Are you all recht?”
She looked up at him with watery eyes, her teeth biting down on her plump bottom lip. He noticed her cheeks were rosy from the cold and exertion, and now probably from the intense pain. Without giving him answer, she folded herself into a tight ball and put her head down.
Tobias felt as if he’d taken a boot in the gut. He looked up at his friends—Christian, David Yoder, Isaac Stutzer, and his two younger brothers, Lukas and Stephen. Their expressions were filled with concern and . . . blame. More blame than concern, truth be told.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Tobias exclaimed.
“No one said you did.” Christian hunkered down and put his arm around Rachel’s small shoulders in a friendly, but somewhat intimate, gesture. “Rachel, can you stand?”
When she lifted her head, Tobias felt like he had been knocked in the stomach again. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn’t utter a sound, only nodded in response to Christian’s question. She was trying to be tough; everyone could tell that. With Christian’s help, she rose to her feet,
gingerly putting pressure on her injured leg.
Tobias went to her other side and offered to prop her up. “Let me help you in the house.”
“You’ve done enough.” Her voice sounded hoarse. And angry. He caught the black expression on her face. Surely she didn’t think he meant to hit her? He’d never stoop so low.
Christian intervened, pulling her closer to him. “Tobias, go tell your mudder we need a cold cloth. Lukas, let’s get her to the kitchen. Mrs. Detweiler can take a look at her leg there.”
Scrambling back to the house, Tobias burst through the back door, nearly running over a woman who was picking up a big pot from the top of the stove. “Where’s Mami ?”
“Land sakes, boy, watch what you’re doing.” Ida Yoder tightened her grip on the cast-iron pot. “She’s busy in the front room, taking care of the guests. What do you need?”
“A cold cloth,” he mumbled.
“Then get it yourself.” Ida huffed and carried the stuffing out of the kitchen. “There’s a cooler of ice in the barn.”
Tobias ran back outside, passing by Christian, David, and Rachel, who were slowly making their way to the house. He dashed into the barn and found the cooler. He pulled his handkerchief out of the pocket of his good trousers, thankful it was clean. Laying it over his hand, he filled it with cold cubes before folding it into a pouch. He sped back to the kitchen, arriving just as Christian eased Rachel down on one of the chairs.
“Mami’s busy,” Tobias explained, holding the freezing handkerchief in his hand, but he barely felt it as he focused his attention on Rachel. “All of the women are.”
Rachel leaned back in the chair, her eyes screwed shut. “Just give me the ice,” she groaned through gritted teeth.
Silently Tobias handed her the cloth. She bent over and lifted up her mud-spotted dress, resting the hem above her knee. His mouth went dry as he scanned her shapely leg, a sight he rarely witnessed. All Amish women wore their dresses to at least shin length, if not longer. He found himself staring at the view, until he spotted her injury. Despite her dark stockings, he could see the hard bump swelling on her shin. No wonder she was in such pain. He sucked in his breath through his teeth. “Rachel . . . I’m sorry.”
“Don’t talk to me!” Strands of her wispy blonde hair had escaped from her prayer kapp, lying against her cheek near her eyes. Before he could stop himself, he touched one of the feather-soft locks. Quickly she jerked her head up, gaping at him as if he’d lost his mind. He glanced around and saw his friends staring at him with the same shocked expression.
Snatching his hand back, Tobias cleared his throat. “Think I’ll see if I can find your mudder.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he ran out of the kitchen as if his pants were on fire.
Stupid, stupid. What had he been thinking, touching her like that? In front of his friends? Wouldn’t be long before word got out that Tobias Byler not only slammed a baseball into Rachel Detweiler, but he’s sweet on her too.
Threading his way through the mass of people in the front room, he caught sight of his sister, Moriah, and her husband, Levi. They’d finished their meal and were now visiting with friends. Although she’d seemed nervous before the ceremony, now she wore a smile. At least someone was happy today. He’d never been so embarrassed in his life.
Blades of searing heat shot through Rachel’s shin, making her stomach churn. She gritted her teeth, refusing to let anyone, especially Tobias and the other boys, see her in pain. The ice did little to relieve the burning sensation. Tobias had said he would look for her mudder, but she wondered if he would keep his word. By the way he’d scuttled out of the room, she suspected his promise was just an excuse to leave the kitchen . . . and her.
Whatever. She was glad he was gone.
Christian knelt in front of her, concern etched on his lightly freckled, boyish face. Kind, considerate Christian. Tall, with dark brown hair and a five o’clock shadow that never seemed to go away. He’d always been like a big brother to her, convincing the other boys to let her play with them, never bothered when she beat him in a race or threw a better fastball.
Unlike Tobias, who took everything she did as a personal slight.
Christian fixed his gaze on her. “I should see what’s taking Tobias so long. You gonna be all right?”
Rachel nodded, even though her shin continued to throb. The other guys had already abandoned her now that the excitement was over, saying something about apple pie as they’d left the kitchen. But Christian had stayed. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’ll survive.”
He chucked her under the chin with a light tap of his fist. “I never do. You’re the toughest person I know—male or female.” Rising to his full height of six feet, he gave her a sweet smile, then left.
Moving her leg, Rachel gulped at the pulsating pain radiating from the lump. She gingerly touched the skin and felt warmth seep through her black tights. Tobias had hit her hard. If she’d been paying better attention, she would have jumped over it, and he probably would have had at least a triple, considering his speed. But she’d been so focused on striking him out, she hadn’t thought about him actually hitting the ball.
She’d never admit it to anyone, but she considered him the most talented athlete in the settlement. And although she’d spent a good portion of their childhood defeating him in most of their games, he’d matured physically in the last year, and she doubted she could keep up with him much longer.
But Tobias Byler acted like he was oblivious to everything, so maybe he wouldn’t notice that he could beat her. After all, either he didn’t notice or he ignored the attention of several of the girls in the community.
She was sure his blasé attitude was insincere. There was no way he couldn’t be aware of the female attention he received at the singings and frolics this past year. She’d heard the girls giggling over him time and time again, swooning about his mischievous blue eyes and crooked smile.
Sure, she might admit he was nice looking. But how could he not be, blessed with that mass of dark-golden hair that couldn’t be restrained even under a hat. His forearms were finely muscled from hours and hours spent in his father’s woodworking shop, sanding and carving rough cut wood into elegant pieces of furniture . . . Her cheeks suddenly heated, and a funny tickle started in her stomach. Probably a reaction from the injury. A part of her believed Tobias hit her on purpose; she knew he disliked her that much. True, she brought it on herself most of the time, but he was so infuriating, with his cocky attitude that he seemed to save mainly for her. Someone had to put him in his place. This time, however, she should have kept her mouth shut.
A lock of her hair dangled in her face again, and she remembered Tobias brushing it back. Why had he done that? That was the type of gesture a man made to a woman he was smitten with, or even a woman he loved. Didn’t make sense, because he practically hated her. But he smoothed her hair nevertheless. He was a boy—no, a man, she had to at least admit that—filled with contradictions. If she lived to be a hundred years old, she’d never understand him.
Christian returned with her mother in tow. He had already explained to her what had happened during the game. After taking one glance at her leg, Sarah Detweiler told her daughter to go home.
“I’m fine, Mudder, really. I can stay.”
“Nee, you need to put your leg up. That will help the swelling go down. Christian, would you mind taking her?”
“Not at all,” he replied.
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me.” Sarah gave her a stern look, one Rachel had seen a million times before. “Aaron’s home, he can keep an eye on you.”
“More like I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Rachel didn’t want to get into an argument with her mother, especially in front of Christian, and particularly not about her brother, who was in the throes of his rumspringa, running around and giving the family fits. “I’ll go.”
“I’ll get my coat and bring the buggy around,” he said.
Sarah nodded her approval. “Danki, Christian.”
When he left, Rachel looked at her mother, not missing the exasperated glint in her eyes. She steeled herself for her next comment, which was sure to come.
“Rachel, your dress.” Sarah sighed as she scanned her daughter’s attire. “We’ll never get the stains out of it.”
“I’m sorry, Mudder.”
“There was no reason for you to be outside with the boys, Rachel. Not when there is so much work to be done in here.”
Glancing away for a moment, Rachel said, “I asked several women if they had anything for me to do. They said no. So I went outside.”
Her mother leaned over slightly, her lips drifting into a frown. “We’ve had this discussion before. You are no longer a child, Rachel. You need to think about your future, about your responsibilities as a woman and soon, Lord willing, as a wife. No man is interested in a tomboy.”
Rachel fought the urge to roll her eyes. Her mother had been saying such things since Rachel had turned thirteen, and they disagreed about it frequently. But she kept her annoyance at bay, trying to show her mother respect. “Ya, Mudder.”
Apparently satisfied she’d gotten her point across, Sarah switched topics, softening her voice a tad. “Such a nice young man, that Christian.”
“He’s very nice.”
“Didn’t he bring you home from a singing one time?”
Surprised her mother remembered that, Rachel replied, “He did.”
“I’ve always thought you two would make a good match.” Sarah raised a light-brown brow. “But I only saw him that one time. Why hasn’t he come around more often?”
Rachel leaned back against the chair and shrugged. “I don’t really like him that way.”
“But why don’t you? He would make a good husband. He is kind and smart. Most of all, he is already a member of the church.”
Rachel started to speak, but thought better of it. Her mother would never understand. She liked Christian, but when it came to romantic notions about him, she felt nothing. Weren’t you supposed to at least feel something for the man who courted you?
The Hearts of Middlefield Collection Page 3