Plain City Bridesmaids

by Dianne Christner

  “Just curious. That why your friend Lil warned me off?”

  It had been three weeks since they’d started working together and since Lil had warned him to stay away from Megan. He’d never brought it up again. Until now. They had fallen into an amiable work relationship and routine of sorts. At first, she had meditated on her “don’t be yoked” Bible verse daily. But after it had fallen from her visor, she’d forgotten to replace it.

  “No boyfriend.”

  “If you did, what would he be like?” He glanced at her prayer covering, a reminder of the dos and don’ts of her religion. “I’m sure he’d drive a car,” Chance teased.

  “He’d be a Conservative Mennonite guy, if that’s what you’re asking.” This was her opportunity to make him aware that she was unavailable to guys like him.

  “He couldn’t just be a Christian? Is that why you wear that net cap? To set your boundaries?”

  “No.” The covering was an object of curiosity for outsiders, but a topic that couldn’t be explained without getting into scriptures and deeper Mennonite theology. She didn’t think he was after that.

  Chance perched on the edge of her desk, in the place that she had intentionally cleared for him after he’d knocked her stapler and plastic in box on the floor way too many times. “I ever tell you what happened to the first Christian men who visited the Auca Indians?”

  With hesitance, Megan repeated, “No.”

  “The Aucas have been called the worst people on earth. They hated all strangers, lived to hunt, fight, and kill. Even their neighbors—the Jivaros, who were famous for shrinking human heads—feared them. They buried alive their old and sick. Strangled babies with vines—”

  Megan threw up her palms. “Please stop. I understand. The worst people on earth.”

  “Sorry. Anyway, they were territorial and didn’t like strangers or intruders. Five men from different mission groups all got the calling to take them the Gospel. They teamed together and studied the language; then they flew over the tribe and made air drops of gifts useful to the Aucas. The Indians knew the gifts came from the men in the planes, who shouted down at them in their own language, ‘We like you. We are friends.’ The Indians accepted the gifts. So one day the Christians landed. But the Indians viciously killed them and vandalized their plane then ran for the jungle, waiting for other strangers to come and retaliate. But of course, they didn’t, and missionaries continued to pursue them for the Gospel. Today about a third of the tribe is believers, and they are more commonly called the Waorani.”

  “That’s a touching story.” Megan considered the costs of the missionaries and their families, wondering how she would have responded.

  “Don’t be an Auca, Megan.” Having just searched her soul, she narrowed her eyes and tried to follow his line of reasoning—comparing her to the most awful people on earth instead of the Christian missionaries. “I’m harmless. Please, don’t shoot me out of the sky.”

  “They didn’t shoot the plane out of the sky. They had spears and had to wait until it landed.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. I landed on your turf. But I’m not the enemy. Especially if there’s no boyfriend itching to pick a fight with me.”

  How quickly he could twist a story for personal conquest. “Conservative men don’t fight.” She wasn’t giving him the green light, just correcting his understanding of Mennonite men.

  “They don’t stand up for their women?”

  “We are nonresistant.”

  Chance scowled. “Pacifists?”

  Feeling his disapproval, she tried to explain. “Sort of. There’s a difference. Pacifists use political means to gain their end.”

  “You’re referring to activists?”

  Megan nodded. “They would defend themselves in a lawsuit. Nonresistance is a submissive term. It stems from peace with God. Pacifists aren’t necessarily Christians. While both groups abhor violence, pacifists think more about war and human rights. We would give up our rights to help a neighbor. We are mostly concerned about his soul. There’s a big difference.”

  Chance looked concerned. “Your men don’t go into the military, either?”

  Megan shook her head. “But during the draft, they served in other ways. Like medical workers and firefighters. And we still help our country by volunteering after natural disasters.” She tilted her head, studying him. “What about you? Are you a pacifist?”

  “I’d rather be a lover than a fighter.” He raised a sandy eyebrow. “Hypothetically speaking, what would a jealous Mennonite man do? Or a protective father?”

  She didn’t appreciate his menacing question, especially after her lengthy explanation. “Why does it matter? It doesn’t pertain. You’re not an enemy.”

  “Then we can be friends?”

  “That’s not a good idea. You’re my boss, and we work together.”

  “You’re friends with Paige.”

  “Only here at the office.”

  He gave her a sly smile. “You’re forgetting something important. I’m not really your boss.” He shifted off her desk, and she gave an inward sigh of relief. “Who needs to get back to work. But sometime we should go to lunch. Or let me take you out to dinner. You can tell me why you wear that net cap. I’m really interested in that.”

  “It’s called a prayer covering.” She clamped her lips, aggravated that he could easily bait her.

  “Even more intimidating. But keep in mind that the Aucas couldn’t hold off the Christians forever.”

  He strode into his office, and Megan stared after him with a heart full of concern. She figured she’d better copy that Bible verse again and tape it inside her desk drawer this time.

  CHAPTER 6

  By Friday Megan was exhausted and confused from a week of having to fend off Chance’s advances. Ever since he had told her the story of the Aucas, he had initiated a campaign to break down her personal boundaries. She had purposefully taken great pains to establish lines that would help her fend off his charms.

  Sure her workload had lightened a bit as Chance had become accustomed to the office routine, but not enough to make up for the time he spent perched on her desk or interrupting her for no good reason.

  She turned the Nova onto her road, stirring up a trail of billowing dust when she hit a patch of loose gravel. The heat sapped energy from her, too, and she swiped her hand across her forehead. While driving the old car was fun, it had summer drawbacks, such as its lack of air-conditioning.

  Weary, she whipped the Chevy into the front circle drive. No need to put it away when she was going over to Lil’s for supper. She had looked forward to spending time with her friends all week. Finally she could unwind. It was even a holiday weekend. There were festivities in Plain City, celebrating the Fourth of July.

  Chance had tried to worm his way into an invitation to attend some of those events with her, but she’d been able to make valid excuses, until finally, he’d relented. Now she took a satisfied breath, looking forward to a sweet snack and a cool shower. Snatching her purse off the seat next to her, she got out of the car, moved up the steps to the country-style porch, and reached for the screen door. Her hand was already on the doorknob when she heard a familiar creaking sound.

  Thinking it was Mom, but surprised that Mom would be swinging this time of day instead of preparing dinner, Megan glanced at the white porch swing. Instead of Mom, a male figure lounged on their porch. She felt a moment of alarm until she remembered the preacher candidate. “Hello?”

  “Hi. Hope I didn’t startle you.” He had a deep-timbered voice.

  “A bit.” The buckeye tree next to the porch set a deep shadow across his face. She stepped closer and realized that she was speaking to a much younger man than she had expected. “I’m Megan Weaver.”

  “I know.” His voice held amusement laced with triumph. “We’ve met before.”

  Something familiar about the voice niggled at her. Confused, Megan took a few steps closer and halted. Her eyes widened when she recogn
ized him. She felt as though she’d walked straight into a living nightmare.

  “Micah?” Aye, yi, yi. Skinny Man? At college, the name had been a play on Zimmerman, and she’d also thought of him as stick man. “You’re here about the preacher’s position?” Her question came out more disdainful than polite.

  He chuckled. “I guess you’re not the welcoming committee.”

  She scowled, having no intention of welcoming him into her community or her life. “That would be Mom and Dad. I wasn’t expecting you. I was expecting some old Joe Zimmerman.”

  He grinned. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Oh no. You didn’t.” If he was Dad’s candidate, she needed to show him some respect. Anyway, disappointment was far too weak for the emotion she was feeling about him. Outrage? But now it made sense that this former Rosedale Bible student would be the professor’s recommendation. She hadn’t considered one of the professor’s students. Dumb. Well, if it had shocked her, his age would be a shock to the rest of the congregation, too.

  She recalled the mischievous glint in Dad’s eyes when he’d worked over her Nova and discussed the candidates. Bill Weaver probably thought bringing in a younger man was going to be a wonderful surprise for her. He had no idea what he’d set into motion, inviting this man into their home, because he did not know that she had spent her entire first semester fending off his clumsy and dogged pursuit, which had made her skin crawl every time they’d been in the same room.

  She forced away the image of him trying to give her a tiny stuffed bear after she’d refused to go to the Columbus zoo with him. The thought of him mooning over her the whole day at the zoo and even bringing her back a souvenir had almost given her the feeling of being stalked. That was when she’d determined to make it clear to him that she wasn’t interested. That was right before she’d hurt his feelings.

  He stood now, and his smile faded. He towered over her, a Mennonite Ichabod Crane. His brown eyes scrutinized her, not in a suggestive way, but as if trying to pull something out of her soul that wasn’t there to give. It had always been that way with him. It gave her the shivers. She’d never been able to understand why his actions disturbed her so deeply.

  “As I remember, there was plenty of disappointment. But I’m hoping we can put that behind us.”

  “Oh that.” She lowered her lashes in embarrassment then glanced back up at him. “Sure.” As long as he didn’t start it up again. He had been a piece of double-stick tape that was impossible to remove, and she didn’t want to find herself back in that predicament.

  “Good. I—” He sneezed midsentence.

  “Bless you,” Megan said, and then, her eyes widening, she pressed her finger to her upper lip, trying to ward off a similar impulse. She saw the branches over the swing fluttering and knew that the breeze would bring in more pollen, that she needed to get inside, but her sneeze wouldn’t be denied, either.

  “And to you,” he said softly.

  “Allergies. I’d better get inside.”

  “Wait. Me, too.”

  Dread engulfed her. So it was already beginning. His trailing her around. Was there to be no peace at home this entire weekend? She’d looked forward to relaxing and having fun. She strode into the kitchen, Skinny Man at her heels. “Hi, Mom.”

  “So you’ve met.” Mom beamed and wiped her hands on her apron.

  Megan smelled meatloaf baking, which meant her mom was going all out, heating up the kitchen in the summer. She was preparing to cook a big kettle of corn on the cob, too. “Yes.” Wanting nothing more than to escape to her room and take a shower, and not get forced into a polite conversation that Mom would initiate with the candidate, Megan quickly added, “You remember I’m going to Lil’s for supper?”

  “No.” Mom looked disappointed. “I’d forgotten.”

  “You need some help?”

  Mom’s gaze held a yearning for Megan to stay, but she waved her away, “No, I’ve got it covered here. Your dad will be in soon. Some others from the committee are coming over after supper to get to know Joe.”

  Joe. Even his name provoked Megan. Imposter. She didn’t want to hear why he was Joe now and Micah at school.

  “Thanks, Mom.” She glanced at Micah. “See you later.”

  “I believe I’ll freshen up before supper.” He followed her to the stairway. She cringed. As they climbed to the second story, he said, “I like your mother. What’s your dad like?”

  “His nickname is Blues Man.” Let him fret over that. Think he was gloomy and mean. It was the only thing she could think of that might give Micah a little anguish before he found out how friendly and good-natured her dad really was.

  In the hallway, Micah stopped at the first door. “Megan. Can I call you that?”

  Her neck bristled. “Sure.”

  “What happened at school … can we keep that confidential?”

  She braced her back against the cream-colored wall with dark-stained moldings. His question carried a lot of weight because she was ready to explode, had already envisioned venting to her friends. “I have to tell Mom and Dad. Otherwise, I’d feel uneasy with you staying two doors down from me.” When she saw his expression fall, she tried to soften her words. “Not that I don’t trust you.”

  He glanced down the hall and bit his lip. “I understand.”

  “To be honest, I’ll probably tell my best friends, Lil and Katy, too. But they’ll keep it confidential. So, yeah, your secret’s pretty safe.”

  He looked at her with resignation. “Thanks for the honesty. This position means a lot to me. It’s important that I find a church. Start a ministry.”

  She nodded. “I understand. But just so you know, Brother Troyer’s shoes will be hard to fill. I’m not sure how this will go for you.”

  Micah softly chuckled. “I know. Nothing like a pair of broke-in shoes for comfort. Thanks for the warning.”

  She didn’t like his flippant reference to Brother Troyer. “I miss him. He’s not an old pair of shoes.”

  “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.”

  Realizing she’d snapped when she was the one who’d brought up Brother Troyer’s shoes in the first place, she replied, “God’s will be done.” Inside her room, she leaned against the smooth surface of the door. Aye, yi, yi!

  Micah Zimmerman watched Megan disappear, regretting his stupid blunder. Frowning at the awkward incident, he went into the Weavers’ pale yellow guest room that Anita had offered him earlier. Megan hadn’t changed much, unless she’d grown lovelier. She’d taken the shock of his appearance gracefully, but he’d felt her resistance as strongly as he had that time he’d asked her to the talent show back at Rosedale. He’d quickly discovered her talent was evasion. She did this constant magical act of vanishing into thin air.

  She’d refused to accept any goodies from him at the coffee shop, and she hadn’t been interested in his disc golf skills either. Her disinterest wasn’t merely indifference. She’d been passionate and creative in her snubs and rebuffs. And foolish as it seemed to him now, he’d been just as zealous to change her mind. Only she hadn’t given him a chance.

  But he hadn’t returned to Plain City because of her. It was just the way things had fallen into place. Micah sank onto the yellow-and-blue star quilt, but the soft bedding didn’t comfort its guest. He couldn’t forget the blond woman who’d given him such a frosty look in the hall, made him feel like an intruder. One whom she feared and disliked. But he wasn’t intruding. He’d been invited by Bill Weaver, her own dad, to come to Plain City for an interview. To stay at this house. Her house.

  He’d been looking for a church and praying about his future, and the Big Darby Conservative Mennonite church was the only offer he’d gotten. The recommendation had come from Professor Maust, a man who had been influential in his spiritual growth and education. The offer had both excited him and set his neck hairs on edge. He loved Plain City, Ohio. When he’d gone to Rosedale, he’d enjoyed the area. But he hadn’t forgotten that Megan resided in P
lain City.

  It wasn’t like he still mooned over her, but he did remember her on occasion. In fact, to receive the letter from her father had been a shock. He hadn’t been positive it was her family, but he certainly hadn’t been surprised when she stepped onto the porch, either. Now that he knew her dad had invited him, he wondered if she planned to ruin his chances. He didn’t know if he could face yet another humbling lesson. Unless God meant to give him another chance with her.

  He leaned back on one of the freshly ironed pillowcases. He couldn’t allow that far-fetched hope to niggle away his peace of mind. Perhaps it would be a lesson on denial. He imagined shepherding the Big Darby flock and being forced to stuff his attraction for Megan. To do that would be to give God everything.

  When he’d accepted the invitation, he’d determined to do exactly that. It didn’t seem impossible at the time. He hadn’t seen Megan for more than three years. During that time, his grandmother had died, and his brother had moved away. Megan’s rejection was just another major disappointment to add to his string of losses. But he’d survived.

  As he considered all this, he realized he was rubbing his eyes. They itched. His throat burned, too. He sat upright and examined the pillows. Down. He wouldn’t be able to sleep on them. In fact, he would have to act quickly to ward off a more serious allergic reaction, one that would spoil his evening or even his entire weekend. He rose and fumbled through the zipped linings of his suitcase for his allergy pills. He stuck his head in the hall, figuring he needed to get water from the bathroom. The only thing moving was the floor-length sheer panels from the window at the end of the hall. The bathroom was positioned between his room and Megan’s.

  The handle turned freely, and he entered, closing the door behind him. Inside he caught a citrus scent. Her scent. He realized she must have recently been in the room. Frustrated in more ways than one, he clutched his collar and wiggled it, unable to resist clawing at his neck a few times. But he didn’t want red scratches when he needed to make a favorable impression. Micah willed himself to quit. He popped the pill into his mouth and leaned over the faucet, taking just enough tap water to swallow the pill. He needed about twenty minutes for the medicine to kick in and work. He didn’t want to trouble Mrs. Weaver about the pillows and risk coming across as a wimp. If he could get them out of his room, he’d make do without them.