Marrying Matthew

by Kelly Long

  “Then that means I’ll take young Matthew ice fishin’ !”

  “All right, but see that it’s by moonlight that ya fish and not with moonshine!”

  “Ya needn’t fear, Anke!”

  And they laughed together aloud.

  * * *

  Tabitha knocked softly on her daed’s door and was bade to enter. He had been sent home to rest and recover, and today, Tabitha was glad to see that he was sitting at the window, watching cardinals at play near the bird feeder.

  “How are you, Fater?”

  “Well enough. I think of the saying, ‘When a cardinal appears, an angel is near’.”

  Tabitha smiled and drew a rocking chair close to her fater’s knee. “You’re in a thoughtful mood, Da.”

  “Well, when you have a brush with death, Tabby, it makes everything in this world look different.” He turned to give her a sad smile and she reached out to take his hand.

  “Do you . . . want to talk now, Daed?”

  She bit her bottom lip, wondering if her question was inopportune. She had tried not to ask about his words to the community right before his heart attack.... Now she hoped she wasn’t pressing too hard.

  But her fater seemed to welcome the chance to talk, for he turned to her eagerly. “I remember what I said, Tabby—right before my heart attack. I . . . meant to say more, of course, but now I’m seeing things in a different light, which I believe to be a change wrought by Derr Herr.”

  Tabitha found she was holding her breath and quietly exhaled. “What do you want to say?”

  “I’m the reason your mother left Blackberry Falls. I chased her away. I was jealous, I suppose, of the gift Derr Herr gave her.” He looked at Tabitha and nodded. “She was the best wood carver I’ve ever seen. But maybe, maybe you have the gift as well.”

  Tabitha swallowed hard. “I love to carve.”

  “And I had you shunned for that love. Just as, years ago, I used my influence on the mountain to convince a newly widowed Bishop Kore that women should not be permitted to carve wood.”

  She was appalled to see his eyes fill with tears. “Ach, sei se gut don’t, Fater.”

  “Nee, these are gut tears. Tears of regret, jah, but tears also of rejoicing—rejoicing for you and Matthew, Abner and Anke, and your skill and craftsmanship.”

  She felt truly humbled by his words, but she had to ask. “What happened to my mother?”

  “Ach, child.... I forced her to leave, to choose between wood carving and life here. Remember again, this was jealousy on my part. A great sin. She left our life behind, never to return, but she wanted me to promise to give you the ladle. You teethed on the beautiful thing.”

  “I have it still.”

  “I know.” He cleared his throat. “The doctor said I’ve got to settle down, change my way of living. I can’t run the mill anymore, Tabby.” He caught her hand and drew her close. “But I’ve been thinking on it, and I know that, in other communities, Amisch women run their own businesses. Even here, Abigail runs the pottery.” He smiled at her and there was confidence in his voice. “You can run the mill, Tabitha. You can do it.”

  She stared at him. “What—did you say?”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Thanksgiving flew by in a whirlwind of pumpkin spice, pudding and cake, braided raisin breads, and rich meats from the depths of the forest. The festivities didn’t end with the holiday, though, as Tabitha and Anke’s quilting was set for the following Saturday and a large quilting frame was assembled in the Stolfus living room.

  No mention had been made yet that Tabitha was to run the mill, but the family rejoiced in the private knowledge. Still, John said that the men would need convincing to be led by a woman and that he was praying for the right way to tell them. In the meanwhile, though, Tabitha reveled in the preparations for the quilting and Anke and Abner’s upcoming wedding.

  The day finally came for the quilting and Anke insisted on making some of the food herself. So, the kitchen was piled with platters of delicate finger sandwiches—egg salad with olives, ham salad, cheese and pimento, and cucumber and chives. And the women of the community had plans to bring food as well. Outside, the first snowstorm of the season was making the woods into a fairyland.

  Tabitha soon found herself sitting between Grossmuder Mildred and the only man at the event—her husband, Matthew.

  “But you can’t quilt,” she’d sputtered when she’d first heard of his plan to stay.

  “And why not?” he’d asked with a teasing smile on his handsome face.

  “Because you’re a—man.” Tabitha realized the error in her thinking. If a woman could run a mill, then a man could surely quilt.

  Matthew had kissed her soundly, and now she was grateful for his long legs brushing hers beneath the quilt as he sat beside her, quilting like a true craftsman.

  “Ya say ya like ta quilt and sew, young Matthew,” Grossmuder Mildred observed from her seat, where she deftly used her fingers rather than her eyes to produce tiny stitches with ease.

  “I do. Learned from my mamm’s sister when my daed wasn’t looking.”

  His remark set the women off into gales of laughter.

  Later, though, when Tabitha’s turn came to have a break and let another woman take her place, Matthew pulled her into the kitchen.

  “What is it?” she asked, wondering at the dimple beside his mouth—a sign that he was up to some mischief.

  “Wrap up warmly and put on Anke’s boots. I have a theory I want to test out.”

  Bewildered, she did as he asked, and soon he was helping her through drifts of snow.

  * * *

  Anke shyly embraced her special day with quiet grace. It was difficult for her to be the center of attention, but Abner had made her promise that she would enjoy herself at the quilting and she discovered that she was having fun.

  She was seated next to Abigail from the pottery on her left and Grace Fisher, who had kumme, after all, on her right. Anke concentrated on not asking Grace any personal questions and kept the talk light. She needn’t have worried, for Grace seemed to be enjoying herself.

  Abigail, though, spoke quietly. “Tabitha told me of John’s wishes for the mill.”

  Anke was surprised but nodded.

  “Please tell her and John that I think I have a plan to help convince the men.”

  “All right. Danki, Abigail.”

  Anke didn’t want to ask any more questions lest someone overhear, so she accepted a piece of chocolate cake with fluffy peanut butter icing and took it into the kitchen to eat, far from the quilt top’s bright, pretty surface.

  She was surprised to see Abner stamp inside on the mat with his great boots and was about to put down her cake when his smile stopped her.

  “Why aren’t ya ice fishin’, Abner?”

  His blue eyes were warm. “Because I’m just in time for another treat, it appears.”

  “Ach, would you like—”

  “Jah,” he answered. “I’d like a bite of your cake, please.”

  “All right.” She stepped near his big, snow-covered frame and lifted a forkful up to his lips. He ate it with every appearance of delight, then pulled her close to his cold chest.

  “Chocolate cake with peanut butter icing.” He laughed. “There’s only one thing sweeter.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, joining in his playfulness.

  “You.”

  And he’d convinced her in moments.

  * * *

  “You’re out of breath, sweetheart,” Matthew teased as they finally reached their destination.

  “Well, I was prepared for a quilting, not a hike, though I’ve learned to always be prepared for anything with you.”

  “Danki,” he said, then bussed her soundly on the cheek.

  “But why are we at the falls?”

  “Because we have a long overdue date with some faerie singing.”

  He was pleased by her smile.

  “You know that’s just a legend, Matthew.”r />
  He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  He led her carefully across the slippery rocks and behind the icy spray of the falls.

  “Now,” he said, turning her to him and loosening her scarf. “Let’s hear those faeries sing.”

  And they did.

  * * *

  The following Monday Abner stood with his arms crossed in front of the men at the mill. They’d gathered early as John had requested and were now asking about the security of their jobs if John was not well enough to run the mill.

  “Jest hold on a minute,” Abner said firmly, knowing that the mood of the men was rough.

  He was relieved when John finally came out of his office with Tabitha holding his arm. Matthew moved among the men, handing things out.

  Then John began to speak. He told the men the truth of how he’d lost Tabitha’s mother because of his own stubbornness and unfairness. Then he patted Tabitha’s arm. “Geh on, my dear.”

  Abner worried for her but had to admire her strong spirit as she stood in her long black cloak with her chin lifted. Then he listened with appreciation as she began to speak.

  “Blackberry Falls and the forest run in our blood. All of our blood. My fater is not trying to make something right today, but to make something better, I pray. So, it is with pleasure and humility that I take over the running of Stolfus Lumber and Woodworking. It will be my privilege to serve as your leader.”

  Abner listened to the faint murmurings of the men gathered and waited. Then he spoke himself.

  “Take a look at what ya hold in yer hands before ya open yer mouths in disapproval. Tabitha carved each one of those creatures you hold. She’s given them to Abigail at the pottery these past years. And ya can recognize their workmanship.”

  Asa Zook spoke up. “These carvings are better than anything that’s ever come from my hand. I got no problem with havin’ Tabitha as my boss.”

  Abner was relieved, and soon the other men took up Asa’s call and Abner was pleased to see the girl he’d protected for so long become the rightful leader of her family’s business.

  Epilogue

  The delightful sounds of the celebration of Anke and Abner’s wedding were muted below as Matthew led his wife to her old bedroom with a soft tread.

  “Matthew, what are you thinking?”

  He heard the warm love in her voice and kissed her for a moment before he eased the door closed behind them. “I’m thinking, mei sweet, of something very different from the hard wood of this floor against my back that I knew during nachts past.”

  He watched her smile thoughtfully, as if considering his words. “You want to test the softness of my girlhood bed?”

  “Jah. As wicked as you’ve made that sound . . . jah.”

  She giggled. “Jah, it is.”

  But when she would have led him across the room, he stopped and caught her close, easing a flat stone from his pocket. “Do you remember this?” he asked.

  “Our first wedding gift! The seashell fossils in the rock . . . I thought it had been somehow misplaced in the move.”

  “Nee. I’ve had it all along.” He let his fingers rest on hers as she traced the outlines of the shells.

  She lifted luminous blue eyes to meet his gaze. “Why?”

  “Do you remember what the bishop said? About shells not belonging at the top of Blackberry Falls, but still being there just the same?”

  She nodded and he smiled down at her. “I was like these shells, Tabitha. I belonged, but not really . . . not until I knew the truth of your love. You’ve given me so much, mei frau, and I want our lives together in Blackberry Falls to leave an imprint in time, one that our kinner and those beyond will see and remember as surely as we can see these shells.”

  She gently took the stone from him and leaned against his chest. “I love you, Matthew.”

  He heard her soft exclamation of surprise when he neatly scooped her up in his arms and began to walk toward the bed. “I love you too, sweet.” He grinned when she deftly slid the first pin from his shirt, feeling his heart begin to thrum.

  “Gut that we’re married,” she murmured.

  “True.” He gently lowered her to the soft bed and slid the fossil to a resting place on the extra pillow.

  “Are you planning to create a lasting imprint of love in my memory, mei mail-order groom?”

  Matthew swiped a kiss across her lips, then laughed. “Jah. I think I will. . . .”

  And he did.

  Please read on

  for an excerpt from Kelly Long’s

  next Amish Mail-Order Grooms novel,

  Courting Caleb.

  Prologue

  WANTED: An Amish Mail-Order Groom. Age 20–30. Must understand that courting will follow the marriage ceremony in gut order. Seeking one who is reserved, quiet, and bookish. Must cherish a woman as the vessel of Gott’s Making. Bride would prefer groom to write poetry and have a cultured reading voice. Reply to: Abigail Mast, Blackberry Falls....

  Twenty-five-year-old Caleb King read the ad from the Renova Record for the fifth time, then shook his head. He eased back his black hat from his forehead and leaned against the warm side of his horse, Tommy. He felt safe with the horse . . . no questions . . . no demands. . . .

  He glanced up as someone slid open the barn door and squinted in the sudden ray of sunshine from the crisp winter day. When Caleb turned and saw that it was his fater, he had the childish desire to hide the newspaper behind his back and probably would have if the situation hadn’t been so deadly serious.

  Still, he was unprepared for the brutal backhand his fater calmly delivered.

  “Why did you do it?” His fater’s straight, yellowed teeth looked like an animal’s, and Caleb struggled to focus for a moment as he licked blood from the side of his mouth.

  “Every other suitor within a fifty-mile radius was at her fater’s funeral, but not you. Yet it’s you Charity Miller wants, and I swear it’s you she’ll have.”

  Caleb resisted the urge to close his eyes against the memory of the last encounter he’d had with Charity Miller. He’d caught her kicking a stray dog with a well-shod foot, and when he’d picked up the animal and out of harm’s way, the girl had merely shrugged at him with menacing eyes. “What difference does a stray hund make?” she’d sneered. “Besides, sometimes it feels gut to let others know who’s in charge. Don’t you think?”

  Caleb had felt vaguely like throwing up or giving her a taste of her own medicine. He’d shuddered to think that his daed wanted a marriage between Charity and himself. A marriage to join their adjacent farmlands to create King’s Acres—the largest farm in the whole of Clinton County.

  Now Caleb snapped back to the moment and looked into his fater’s forbidding face. He squared his shoulders. “Nee, Fater. I will not marry Charity Miller. I have another . . . engagement.”

  “What? Where?” the older man bit out in red-faced fury.

  Caleb smiled and clutched the newspaper tighter. “In a place called Blackberry Falls. . . .”

  Chapter One

  It was a cold November afternoon as Abigail Mast, the local potter of Blackberry Falls, gently lifted a paintbrush and touched it to the dab of pink paint she’d made from juiced mulberries. She swirled the color onto the mug she held in her opposite hand and steadily shaped the first petal of a rose. The action was calming, and she needed peace—especially today. She shivered as a new gust of winter air blew in through the open door and swirled past her ankles. She liked to leave the door open to catch the sun even on the most intemperate of days.

  “Abigail Mast?”

  The mug fell from her hand and smashed on the hardwood floor of her cabin. She glanced up to the open doorway and frowned at the stranger who stood there. Dressed in Amisch clothing, he was big and broad shouldered. The afternoon sun glinted on his overly long blond hair. At least he has his hat in his hands, she mused. He isn’t all that threatening. . . . She was used to living alone on the fringe of the community and she preferred it th
at way.

  “Who are you?” she asked, putting down her paintbrush. She bent to scoop up the pieces of fired clay and he quickly joined her, getting down on one knee.

  “Here . . . let me help you.” He tossed his hat onto the nearby table, narrowly missing the wet paints, and then set to picking up the remnants of the mug. She couldn’t help but be aware of the fresh pine scent that clung to him and frowned at herself for even noticing.

  “Danki,” she said when he’d made a small pile of the pieces on the table. “Now, who are—”

  He looked up at her with startling blue eyes framed by thick lashes. “I’m . . . the answer to your ad.”

  “My ad . . .”

  He blinked, and she was once more struck by the unusually intense color of his eyes.

  “Jah, the ad—for the Amisch mail-order groom. I’m it.”

  She rose to her feet, and he hastily got up off his knee. “But . . . I don’t understand,” she said.

  “You did write the ad? I—thought I’d respond in person.”

  She gazed up into his handsome face and shook her head slightly. “But . . . he’s already here.”

  “Who?”

  “The Amisch mail-order groom. He arrived this morning.. . .”

  * * *

  Caleb felt a sinking in his stomach as he came to grips with the words she spoke. Idiot . . . Of course another man is here already. I should have written....

  “Where have you come from?” Abigail asked with a frown, as if searching for a way out of the dilemma.

  “Renova,” he said absently. “My bruder, Matthew, married someone from here a few months back.”

  “Ach, you mean my gut friend, Tabitha Stolfus.”

  He looked at her, taking in the sheen of her brown hair where it disappeared beneath her kapp. She was tall and held herself erect with perfect posture, yet the top of her head barely came to his chin.

  “Does Matthew know that you’re here?”

  Caleb sighed to himself and shook his head. “Nee—I came rather suddenly.”

  “Well—” He watched her wet her lips. “I suppose—”