Marrying Matthew
Page 20
“Great walleyed catfish and pork bellies! Who do we have here?”
Caleb turned to see a spry, elderly Amischer with a thick, gray beard standing behind him.
“I’m Caleb King.... I came to see Abigail because—”
“Because, uh, he’s Matthew King’s bruder. He wondered if I knew the way to Tabitha and Matthew’s,” Abigail put in quickly.
Caleb turned back to watch as a flush stained the fine features of the woman before him. Clearly, lying didn’t come easily to her, and the thought made him strangely glad. He wasn’t about to betray her to the auld man.
“Jah, my bruder, Matthew . . .”
Caleb paused and Abigail hurried on. “Uh, sei se gut, excuse me, Caleb. This is Bishop Kore.”
Caleb shook hands as he thought rapidly of the circumstances . Lying to the bishop. It was enough to get a body shunned, but still, she risked it. Was it possible that she had not sought permission to write the ad? “Bishop, sir, perhaps you would show me to my bruder’s. I’ve got my horse and dog out back here.”
The bishop nodded. “MoonPies and Popsicles! Let’s geh!”
Caleb resisted the urge to study Bishop Kore’s bald pate, wondering what ailed the auld man, but then, Abigail Mast acted as if such talk was normal. Caleb followed the bishop out of the cabin and briefly turned back to look at her. There’s something about her that makes me think of swimming in deep water. . . . But then he shook his head and walked out into the sunshine of the autumn day.
* * *
“I cannot believe that this has happened! Two of them! What are you going to do?” Mercy knew her voice had risen an octave as she stared at her younger sister. Abigail looked as serious and thoughtful as usual, and this only irritated Mercy more. She could never fully understand Abigail’s calm yet closed personality.
“They say still water runs deep,” Mercy muttered to herself. Then she straightened and glared at her sister once more. “Abigail—I’m serious. What are you going to do?”
“Perhaps marry Phillip Miller. He got here first. . . .”
Mercy put her hands on her hips, pinching her ample curves to calm her temper. “I don’t know why you have to marry either one of them. What kind of thing is it to send in the mail for a husband? Your life is full enough at the pottery, isn’t it? Why do you—”
Mercy stopped speaking abruptly as her fourteen-year-old sohn, Joshua, entered the cabin with a blast of cold air. Mercy sighed to herself as she considered her buwe’s tall frame and shock of wheat-colored hair. He was every inch his father, and Mercy had to admit to herself and to Gott that she wished Joshua resembled her instead of the shiftless Englischer she had thought loved her.
“I fed the chickens, Mamm. Can I head out to do some ice fishing now?”
Mercy frowned. “With Tad?”
Tad was a troublemaker if she’d ever seen one. The buwe had been in and out of mischief since the day he turned ten and rode Grossmuder Mildred’s pet hog, Henrietta, through the cemetery and burial service of auld man Tucker.
“Jah,” Joshua broke into her thoughts. “With Tad. Okay?”
She nodded reluctantly. “But be back by supper and make sure you’ve got a few trout to put on the table.”
“Sure will, Mamm. Danki. Goodbye, Aenti Abigail.”
Mercy watched her younger sister embrace Joshua and wondered for the fourth time how she was going to help Abigail out of her marriage mess.
“You don’t need to worry about this, Mercy. I’ll figure things out,” Abigail said briskly once Joshua had closed the door behind him.
“How?”
“Well,” Abigail mused, “Gott says that He is working things out for good in our lives if we love Him, so maybe there were always meant to be two mail-order grooms.”
“You cannot marry two men!”
Abigail gave her a sudden smile. “Nee, but perhaps I can court two. I hadn’t wanted the bishop to know about the ad, but now I think it will be all right. I’m going to talk with him this very minute.”
“Court? Two? Wait! Let me geh with you.”
Mercy snatched up her black cloak and followed Abigail outside, even as she muttered to herself about the burdens of being an aulder sister....