by Mary Ellis
Caleb walked onto the porch with a cold cup of coffee. He’d finished his share of morning chores while managing to stay out of his father’s way the best he could. His mother had cleaned up the breakfast dishes and gone quilting with his youngest sister, Katie. Sarah and Rebekah were at Country Pleasures, leaving him alone in a large, silent house.
He’d endured his first full week of work without getting fired or pulled into another argument with his daed. He should celebrate, yet his day off stretched before him with few options. In the city he could go to the zoo or the lakefront park or ride the train downtown to watch the ships in and out of the harbor. Once he rode the elevator to the top of the Terminal Tower. What was there to do in March in Fredericksburg?
Of course, all he had to do was find his father. There was always something to do on a farm, even one as small as theirs. Tools needed sharpening, gardens could be tilled, and farm animals were always in need of some kind of care. But Caleb wasn’t accustomed to only one day to himself—Sunday. He’d grown lazy while in Cleveland and old habits would be hard to break.
He sat down on the porch steps to pet his gray-muzzled sheepdog. It took little to make a dog happy. As long as someone regularly filled his bowl with kibble and occasionally scratched behind his ears, Shep wagged his tail, licked your hand, and would follow you anywhere. And what would make Caleb happy? For the past week, all he could think about was Josie. They had gotten along well at the pancake breakfast. Unlike most women, Josie didn’t chatter incessantly or pout for no reason. She knew the right thing to say in every situation.
Or maybe it just seemed that way because Caleb was smitten with her.
But each time he considered driving his buggy to her house after work or hiking the back path with a flashlight on some thinly disguised errand, he remembered his father’s warning: No Amish woman in her right mind would ever marry you. What would Mr. Yoder think about his tattoo? More to the point, how would Josie feel about the name Kristen emblazoned on his arm until his dying day?
Caleb stared off in the distance. The sight of his father plowing the cornfield filled him with guilt. “Come on, old boy. Let’s see if we can’t make ourselves useful.”
However, he didn’t get a dozen yards from the house when the crunch of car wheels on gravel caught his attention. Shep started to bark. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes, Caleb watched a shiny gold convertible crawl up the lane. The top was up on the cool spring day.
“Cal Beachy, as I live and breathe.” A familiar voice floated from the driver’s window.
He waited at their turn-around for the fancy car to stop, unable to believe his eyes or his ears. Shep started to bark. “Quiet, boy,” he ordered.
Pete Taylor opened the driver’s door and jumped out. “You can run, but you sure can’t hide. At least, not for long.”
Caleb stepped forward to embrace his Englisch best friend in a clumsy man-hug. “How did you find me?”
Pete slapped him on the back. “It wasn’t easy. Do you have any idea how many Beachys live in Wayne County?”
“Quite a few?” Laughing, he leaned on the car’s fender.
“There are hundreds of them. And you left no forwarding address at that luxury apartment on Davenport Drive. Your former landlord couldn’t believe you abandoned so much quality furniture.” Pete rolled his eyes. He’d been appalled by Caleb’s furnishing each time he visited.
“I am a firm believer in recycling,” said Caleb, eager to forget his former residence. “Sorry I didn’t send a letter or call. When I arrived home, I wasn’t sure how long I would be staying.” Regret over treating his only Cleveland friend shabbily brought a blush to his face.
“Don’t worry about it. I know how touchy your homecoming might have been.” Pete pivoted in the middle of the driveway. “Wow, your family has a really nice farm. This looks like one of those pictures on a calendar.”
“Not one of your calendars.” Caleb remembered seeing Pete’s wall-hanging of women in very skimpy swimsuits. Leafing through the photos, he’d never felt so embarrassed in his life.
“Now that I’m about to become a married man, I threw that calendar in the trash. My new replacement has pictures of dogs, cats, and horses.” He grinned and then hooked his thumb toward the car. “Do you remember my fiancée, Michelle?”
As though on cue, a long-legged, dark-haired girl got out of the passenger side. She wore a low-cut sweater, very tight jeans, and high-heeled leather boots. “Hi, Cal,” she said, flashing a bright white smile.
He startled, not because of her appearance, but because he hadn’t noticed anyone else in the car. Caleb had met her once and been thoroughly intimidated. He still wasn’t accustomed to the Englischers’ revealing clothes and heavy makeup. “Michelle, excuse me. I didn’t realize you’d come along with Pete.” Caleb strode to her side and accepted a loose hug.
“I decided to stay low-profile until you two had a chance to get reacquainted.” Michelle stepped back, but her perfume continued to overwhelm his senses.
“Let’s go up to the house. We could sit on the porch or maybe go inside.” Caleb led the pair to the porch swing and a row of rocking chairs.
“Maybe inside would be better.” Pete grinned. “We didn’t dress for the weather. We’ve been relying on the car’s heater to keep us from freezing to death.”
“No problem.” Caleb opened the door on his family’s kitchen. Was this their first time in an Amish home? Of course it was. He wondered what they would think of the simple appointments. Most Englischers adored gadgets, rooms filled with furniture, and endless decorative objects. But he didn’t have long to wait for his answer.
“What a kitchen! It’s so huge,” said Michelle. “I love how uncluttered it is.” She pranced around the room like a spring filly. “And I’ll bet you can fit twenty people around your oak table.” She trailed her hand down the waxed surface with appreciation.
“Yeah, at times we’ve had more than that for dinner.” Caleb pulled out two chairs at the table and then went for a hot drink.
“I understand why you decided to stay once you were home.” Pete glanced around the room and then locked gazes with him. “So, how’s life going?”
Caleb knew his friend didn’t want some phony answer. They knew and respected each other better than that. “It’s been fine with my mom and sisters, but tense with my dad. He keeps waiting for me to bolt for the door and not look back.” He forced a wry smile.
“It takes time, I suppose. You were gone a long time. Once you stick around, he’ll get used to seeing you.” Pete chuckled, finally drawing a matching response from Caleb. “Did you find a job yet?”
“Just started work this past Monday. Roofing and general construction for my father.”
“Well, that might bring the pimple to a head sooner.” Pete guffawed good-naturedly.
Caleb didn’t quite understand the analogy but he nodded anyway, looking anywhere in the room but at the bubbly Michelle. The woman made him nervous. She was always watching him from the corner of her eye, like a bug under a microscope. “Tell me about your upcoming wedding—everything set for the big day?” he asked.
“Two months and counting. We’ve lined up eight bridesmaids and groomsmen, but I can make room for one more if you’d like to stand up as my best man.” Pete lifted one eyebrow.
“Thanks, but I had better pass. I hope you understand.”
“No problem. We’ve booked the Old Stone Church on Public Square with an evening reception in the ballroom of the Renaissance Hotel. Michelle’s an only child so her parents have decided to pull out all the stops: open bar, heavy appetizers, and then a sit-down dinner of surf-and-turf.”
“What’s that—seawater and dirt?”
Pete smirked. “Even better—lobster tail and filet mignon. Nothing but the best for daddy’s little girl.”
“Good grief, for a wedding?” Caleb thought about Amish marriages. Although lavish in variety and quantity of food, they were just a step above a church potl
uck.
“Everybody is having extravagant weddings these days, so I said why not?” Michelle leaned forward to resume the narrative. “My parents have plenty of time to pay it off before retirement. We’re flying in fresh flowers the night before from Hawaii, plus there’ll be a molten chocolate volcano for the centerpiece of the dessert buffet.” Her pretty face glowed with excitement.
Caleb was struck speechless. He didn’t know whether to say “Congratulations on one-upping the competition,” or “Sorry to hear your parents will be shackled to their jobs for years.” However, his shock over their wedding arrangements paled in comparison to his father’s.
Eli had entered through the mudroom and stood in the doorway, his mouth agape. “Caleb,” he said, “who are these Englischers?” There wasn’t a hint of hospitality in his tone.
Caleb sprang to his feet. “Daed, this is my best friend, Pete Taylor. Don’t you remember him from the Wilmot project?”
Pete also scrambled up and stretched out his hand. “How do you do, sir? I’m very pleased to see you again.”
Perhaps it was due to Taylor’s formal and respectful tone and choice of words, but Eli’s frown softened. “Thank you, young man. I trust you’ve been well.” He shook Pete’s hand briefly.
“Very well, thank you. May I present my fiancée, Michelle Moore. We’re to be married in May, unless she comes to her senses.” Pete laughed wholeheartedly, while Eli blinked like an owl.
Michelle jumped up and practically sprinted around the table.
Please, God, don’t let her throw her arms around my father’s neck. The prayer flitted through Caleb’s mind in an instant. Even after five years, he still didn’t understand Englisch forwardness or public demonstrations of affection. But thankfully, Michelle stopped short in front of Eli and kept her arms at her side. “I have wanted to visit Pete’s Amish friends for months. You have such a super home. I want to live in a big house like this someday, but maybe one a little closer to civilization, and not set so far back from the road. Passersby can barely see it. And was that a pig I spotted next to your barn? Do you own a real pig? It’s so huge compared to those potbellied mini ones.” She grinned as though pleased with herself.
Eli was utterly flabbergasted. “Yes, the pig is real.”
“Why don’t we have some lunch?” Caleb broke his father’s inertia. “I know Mamm left a plate of sandwiches. Why don’t I get a jar of peaches from the pantry?”
“Lunch in a real Amish kitchen? Wait until I tell my friends at work. They’ll be so jealous.” Michelle returned to her seat next to her intended spouse.
Eli shook off his trance and began to wash at the sink. “Yes, lunch is a good idea. Then I’ll need your help this afternoon in the fields, Caleb.”
“I would love to pitch in too, Mr. Beachy,” said Pete. “I’m fascinated with farming. What are you planting—wheat, hay, oats? Maybe soybeans? Alfalfa? Barley?”
When it became apparent that Pete’s guessing would continue until he exhausted the name of every grain and vegetable, Caleb intervened. “We need to plant seed corn—both sweet and field.”
“I should have known.” Pete slapped his forehead with a palm. “Good cash crop, right?”
“The market fluctuates, but right now it’s not too bad.” Caleb fought back a grin. Pete hadn’t known the difference between beets, turnips, or kohlrabi during their trip to an open-air market and had shown no interest in learning. “These sandwiches appear to be ham and Swiss cheese on rye with tomato—everybody okay with that?” He set the plate down on the table, along with jars of mustard and mayo.
“Knowing your mamm, there should be enough.” Eli murmured, carrying over plates, napkins, and forks.
Pete placed a sandwich on both his and Michelle’s plates. “We’re fine with these, thanks.”
“But they’re ham!” Michelle gasped, pressing a palm to her chest. “I surely hope this isn’t that pig’s sister or brother.”
Eli settled himself at the head of the table before answering his female guest. “Worry not; this particular hog was a total stranger to us.” He fluffed his napkin over his lap.
“Oh, thank goodness.” She bit into her sandwich with zeal. After Caleb spooned peaches into small bowls, Michelle’s admiration rose to a new height. She forked one peach half and held it aloft. “Did your wife actually can these from your own peach trees, Mr. Beachy?”
“Of course she did.” Eli began eating as though late for an appointment.
“Then she should put those little doily-hats over the jar lids and sell them at a roadside stand. I’ll bet she could make tons of money.” Michelle popped the entire peach half into her mouth.
“If we sold our peaches at a stand, Miss Moore, what would we possibly serve when Englischers drop in unannounced from Cleveland?”
That curtailed Michelle’s enthusiasm a tad, along with the majority of the conversation for the rest of the meal.
Sarah walked home from Country Pleasures with a spring in her step, mainly because she walked home alone. Mrs. Pratt had hired Rebekah for several hours of extra work. Apparently, she wanted to clean out closets and the attic—areas of her house unconnected with the inn. Rebekah had been the first to volunteer for overtime. Not that Sarah didn’t need extra money with her marriage less than eight months away. But with Mamm and Katie at quilting all day, she vastly preferred an afternoon to herself. Maybe she would nap, or read stretched out on the sofa or under a quilt on the hammock. Maybe she could...
Her musings ceased when Sarah spotted an unfamiliar car in the driveway—an expensive sports car with shiny wheels and a license plate that read DADSGRL. Sarah ran up the steps and threw open the kitchen door. “Hello,” she crowed, scanning the four people at the table. “I take it that car is yours?” Her focus landed on a pretty girl with a vast expanse of chest showing.
“It is,” said the girl. “Are you Sarah?”
“I am.” Shutting the door behind her, she heard her father release a deep sigh.
“I’m Michelle Moore. Pete told me so much about you—how you three walked the beach at Edgewater Park and ate lunch at the Westside Market. If I had known about your visit, I would have taken the day off. I’m a legal secretary, plus I’m taking classes at Tri-C to become a paralegal.” She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Your mom makes great peaches, by the way.”
Sarah could barely take her eyes of the energetic woman. “Nice to meet you, Michelle. Hello, Pete. My brother said you were engaged. When’s the wedding?”
Eli pushed his chair away from the table. “Fix yourself a sandwich, dochder. The ones your mother made are gone. Miss Moore has already described the lobster extravaganza her parents will be paying for into their dotage.”
Sarah glanced between her brother and father on her way to the fridge. Caleb was glaring at his sandwich while her daed was frowning as though suffering heartburn. But the engaged couple didn’t seem to notice.
“Thanks, Sarah,” said Pete. “In less than two months we’ll be honeymooning in Maui. That’s one of the Hawaiian Islands.”
Sarah winked over her shoulder as she fixed a sandwich. “Yes, I remember studying U.S. geography in school. Hawaii was our fiftieth state, right?”
Michelle squeezed Pete’s hand. “That’s right. Daddy rented us a condo for two weeks, right on the beach. Pete said you had a serious boyfriend too.”
“Yes, Adam and I are getting married this fall.”
“Where do you plan to honeymoon?”
Sarah carried her plate to the table. “Not as far away as Hawaii. We’ll probably visit Adam’s relatives in Indiana and Pennsylvania.”
“Sounds nice. Why don’t you plan a Saturday in Cleveland with us? We could go to lunch at the mall—I know a great home décor shop that sells every gadget shown on those TV cooking shows. If you stay overnight, we can visit the Cleveland Zoo and the art museum.” Michelle’s fervor knew no bounds. “I heard you missed those during your last trip. We could be like tourists.”
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br /> Sarah glanced at her father. Her intuition was correct—Daed’s face had turned so red she feared his head might explode.
“That is out of the question, young lady. My daughter is about to take classes to join the church, which means her rumschpringe is just about over. She has no use for art museums, or culinary gadgets, and even less for shopping malls. She’s about to become an Amish wife and mother, very different from the life you’re preparing for.” Eli balled his napkin and tossed it down on his plate. “If you’ll excuse me, Miss Moore, Caleb and I must get to work. You’re welcome to join us in the fields, Pete, if you’re not worried about ruining your clothes.”
Caleb’s face flushed almost as bright as Pete’s red shirt. “I have a jacket and boots he can wear.”
Pete carried his plate and glass to the sink. “I would love to, and these are my old clothes. I expected to get dirty in the country.”
“You men run off,” said Michelle sweetly. “The two brides-to-be will make short work of these dishes.”
Sarah bit her tongue until Pete, Caleb, and her father had donned coats and left the house. Then she burst into giggles while Michelle stared with confusion. “I am so glad to meet you, Michelle,” she said. “You and Pete will make a good match together. How about a slice of chocolate cream pie to celebrate your upcoming marriage?”
“That sounds wonderful. Say, you don’t grow cocoa beans on this farm, do you? If so, I must text my mother—she won’t believe how clever you Beachys are!”
Sarah and Michelle enjoyed their pie and cleaned up the kitchen in no time. Then Sarah took her on a grand tour of the house, chicken coop, and their recently tilled vegetable garden. Pete’s fiancée had to be the friendliest person on earth. She asked dozens of questions—some ridiculous, some soul-searching, but never made a single disparaging remark. Despite working for a B&B that catered to Englischers, Sarah had never met anyone so curious about Amish life.
“My mom told me she used to dream about marrying an Amish man.” Michelle pulled up a long, tasseled weed as they strolled back toward the house.