An Unlikely Amish Match Read online

  “Are you crazy? Do you know how much that cost?”

  “Perhaps you should learn to use your money more wisely, then.” He didn’t bother to pick up the pieces. Instead he snatched his hat off the hook on the wall. “I’m warning you again, Micah. You step outside the lines one more time—”

  “And are those lines that you’ve drawn? Or the bishop? Because last time I spoke with Thomas, he was quite happy with my work.”

  “Your work—yes. But your actions outside work? You should stop and consider the repercussions of those, Micah. As far as I’m concerned, you’re on your last chance.” Daddi didn’t even turn to look at him. Something about the stoop of the man’s shoulders pulled guilt strings in Micah’s heart, and if he’d even turned and given him a hint of compassion he might have let his sympathy for his grandfather win over his anger.

  But he didn’t turn.

  He didn’t look at him.

  And Micah quickly brushed away any such thoughts of sympathy. His daddi was obstinate and unfair. He did not deserve anyone’s sympathy.

  “Go against our Ordnung one more time, and you’ll have to find another place to live.”

  “You’re kicking me out?”

  Now Daddi did turn. The stump of his right arm rested in the pocket that Mammi had sewn from the sleeve. His left hand was tanned and strong. At the moment he was using it to rub a circle on his chest.

  “Maybe you should calm down, John.” It was the first words his mammi had spoken.

  “I’m fine.” He never took his eyes off Micah. “The crops are in. I won’t need your help around here except for feeding the horses and cleaning out the stalls.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning I want you to find another job.” And with that final jab, he turned and left the house.

  Micah sat staring at the door his daddi had walked through.

  Why did life have to be like this?

  Why did his grandfather make a problem where there was none?

  Mammi stood, fetched the broom and dustpan and swept up the pieces of phone. She held the dustpan out to him. “Want what’s left of it?”

  He waved her away.

  “Your daddi...”

  “I know. He wants what’s best for me.”

  “It’s true, Micah. Whether you can see it or not, it’s true.”

  “Is it also true that he doesn’t need me around here to help him? Or does he just not want me around to help him? Because it’s pretty plain to me that he can’t stand the sight of me.”

  “You’re being unfair.”

  “He’s being unfair.”

  His mammi had never been particularly demonstrative with her emotions, but now she sat down beside him and pulled his hands into her lap. “He’s a gut man, your daddi, and I won’t have you disrespecting him.”

  Her words were softened by her touch as she reached out and untwisted one of his suspenders. “John’s not a proud man, but he sees things as black-and-white. He wants you to put away your childhood things...”

  “By stomping on them?”

  “Become a man and put away childish things.”

  “And get another job.”

  “Only for the mornings. You’ll continue to help Thomas in the afternoons.” She patted him on the shoulder, stood and walked to the stove. “Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes.”

  Micah wanted to say he wasn’t hungry, but in truth his stomach was gurgling. Refusing to eat would be childish, plus he would go to bed hungry. There was no use trying to avoid his daddi, and he wasn’t ready to move out. The thought hadn’t really ever occurred to him.

  He’d thought of moving home, but not of moving out.

  Where would he go?

  And how would he afford it?

  Nein. He needed to find a way to make this work until he could return to Maine, which meant he needed a job. He remembered the older Englisch woman, the car that had dropped her off, the sign in the window of the car.

  The idea he’d had would put extra money in his pocket and satisfy his daddi’s demands. As to whether they would approve of what he hoped to do, time would tell.

  Chapter Eight

  Susannah did not plan on telling her mamm about the kiss.

  But as they were sitting at the kitchen table later that evening—her mamm knitting and Susannah stitching together the top of a nine-patch quilt—the details of the day came tumbling out of her mouth.

  If her mamm was surprised, she hid it well.

  “You’ve been kissed before.”

  “Ya, but it’s been a while.”

  “Since before your cancer.”

  “Just about two years ago, which doesn’t say much for my dating life.”

  “You know, Susannah, you’re not damaged goods.”

  “Why would you say that?” Susannah pricked her finger with the needle, jerked her hand away and inspected it to make sure she wouldn’t bleed on the fabric.

  “I sometimes think that you have the opinion that no one would want you, that you’re not whole.”

  “I’m not whole. The doctors removed part of me, leaving me not whole.”

  “Not true.” Her mamm shook her head so vigorously that her kapp strings bounced. It reminded Susannah so much of Sharon that she couldn’t help smiling. “You are fearfully and wonderfully made.”

  “Is now really the time to quote Scripture?”

  “If it fits, then yes, it is.”

  Susannah ducked her head to better see the seam she was attempting to stitch. In truth, her mother’s words brought tears to her eyes. Some days she hated that she cried so easily, that she was so emotional. Other days it seemed as if she was viewing life from a distance and couldn’t feel a thing. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

  “After my diagnosis, Samuel treated me differently, almost as if I was contagious.”

  “It’s obvious now to both of us that you and Samuel were not meant to be anything more than freinden.”

  “I wish it had been obvious then. At the time, the way he treated me and then our breakup... It just—well it hurt.”

  “And if I could have spared you that hurt I would have.”

  “It doesn’t bother me much anymore, not really. I’ve moved on.” As she uttered those words, words she’d probably said before, Susannah was surprised to find that they were true in a new way. Thinking of Samuel didn’t bring the old ache that it had at one time.

  “My point is that your cancer wasn’t something that Gotte didn’t see coming. It wasn’t a mistake on His part.”

  “How could it have been intentional?”

  “I don’t know. Most of the whys in life I don’t understand.”

  “What you’re saying doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Do you think that Caroline Byers’s bruder is a mistake?”

  “Because he has Down syndrome? Of course not.”

  “He’s not damaged goods?”

  “You know that no one thinks that.” She glanced up to see her mamm studying her very closely. “A person who is born different isn’t damaged in the way that a buggy might be after a wreck.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  “We all do. We all love Stephen. Have you seen how he is with their sheep? He’s named every one, and they come to him when he calls them. Stephen isn’t damaged. He’s special.”

  “So Gotte didn’t make a mistake with him?”

  “I don’t know why he’s different, but the fact that he is doesn’t cause anyone to love him any less. So no, I don’t think Gotte made a mistake.”

  “You’d never throw him away.”

  Now her mamm was teasing her. Sure enough, when Susannah glanced up, she noticed a smile tugging at her mamm’s lips.

  “I would not, and no one who knows him would.”


  “Then how are you any different?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Only because you’re being stubborn.”

  Instead of asking her mamm to explain, Susannah allowed a silence to permeate the room. She became aware of the sound of her mother’s knitting needles, the crickets outside, the creak of her father’s rocking chair from where he sat on the porch.

  Finally, Susannah gave up on the seam that was growing increasingly crooked. She stood, heated water on the stove and brought two cups of tea and a plate of oatmeal bars to the table.

  “Danki.”

  “Gem gschehne.”

  And those words, that tradition of gratefulness and kindness, seemed to loosen the cat’s grip on Susannah’s tongue.

  “I don’t think I’m damaged, but I do think I’m different.”

  “Every one of Gotte’s creatures is unique.”

  “And maybe it wasn’t a mistake that I had cancer. Maybe Gotte has some grand plan, some greater good that will come from it.”

  “He used Balaam’s donkey. I’m sure He can use your cancer.”

  “But I am different, Mamm. There’s no more use in denying that than there would be in denying that Stephen is different.”

  Her mamm nodded and reached for an oatmeal bar.

  “So what are you really worried about?”

  Susannah sipped her tea, then sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, her mamm was studying her.

  “That the kiss meant nothing to Micah and everything to me. That the kiss meant everything to both of us. That he doesn’t understand the baggage that I carry around with me—that there is a chance the cancer will return.”

  “And there’s an even better chance that it won’t.”

  “Regardless, I will not be able to have children.”

  Her mamm didn’t answer right away. In fact, Susannah thought she wouldn’t. They finished their snack, her mamm stood, rinsed their cups, covered the oatmeal bars with a dish towel and finally sat down across from her again.

  “If Micah loves you—and I’m not suggesting that’s true or that enduring love always follows one kiss—but if he does, then it won’t matter to him whether or not you can have children.”

  “How can it not matter to him?” As hard as she tried to blink away the tears, they insisted on coursing down her cheeks. Her mamm reached forward and thumbed them away, then kissed her on the forehead.

  “Because love doesn’t work that way.”

  * * *

  Micah spoke with Thomas early the next morning. As he laid out the details of his plan, he noticed Thomas’s hesitancy and expression of skepticism.

  “I’d like your approval to just try this—give it a few weeks, a month at the most. If it doesn’t work, then I’ll try to find employment at one of the businesses in town.”

  “And you’ve spoken to your daddi about this?”

  “Nein. I wanted your approval first, and I also still need to speak with Widow Miller and finalize the details. Once everything is in place, I’ll go to Daddi and explain the entire thing. You have my word on that.”

  Thomas clasped him on the back. “And you’ve prayed about this?”

  “I have, and I feel that Gotte put this idea in my mind. I certainly would have never thought of it on my own.”

  “All from seeing a driver drop a woman off at the Dairy Queen.” They were sitting in the farrier shop. Thomas had been working on his accounting books. He picked up a pen, clicked it twice and sat it back down. “Coincidence or possibly Gotte’s guiding hand.”

  “I honestly think it’s something I’d be gut at. I have a lot of energy, it drives me crazy to sit still and I have an outgoing personality.”

  “That you do.” Thomas glanced around his farrier shop. “I can take care of today’s work. See if you can get the details of your plan worked out.”

  “Danki.”

  Micah was almost to the door when Thomas called him back. “Perhaps it would help if we switched your hours with me to the morning. That way you could work on your new business into the early evening when necessary.”

  “You’d be willing to do that?”

  “Sure. Seems to me you’d have a more flexible schedule then, to accommodate your customers.”

  “What about our meetings, you know, where I’m learning to be properly Amish?”

  “I suppose we can talk while we’re working, like we are now.”

  Micah wanted to jump and shout at the same time. Instead, he smiled his thanks and headed down the lane. Widow Miller lived two miles away. He’d be walking that distance twice a day, but Micah didn’t mind. He could cover a mile in twenty minutes, and the exercise would do him good.

  He’d met the older woman when he and Thomas had gone to her house to shoe her buggy horse. The gelding was not getting enough exercise and generally wasn’t being looked after as well as he should have been. Nothing neglectful, really, but the horse could use a good brushing and the buggy definitely needed to be cleaned.

  It took him ten minutes to explain his plan and another twenty to work out the details. Thirty minutes later, he was ready to go to the Goshen Library to make some flyers and copy them, but first he needed his daddi’s approval.

  * * *

  “Just once, why can’t you do something normal?”

  Micah had dared to hope that his daddi would be as open-minded as Thomas. Apparently that was hoping for too much. He tried to tap down his anger—count to five, take deep breaths, be patient. It wasn’t working. He could feel his pulse accelerating and sweat running down his back.

  How he would love to storm out of the barn, but that was what a child would do. He was a man now, and he was ready to act like one. He was ready to stand and fight for what he wanted to do.

  “You want me to go and work at the RV factory? Or maybe you see me riding over to Amish Acres every day, showing Englischers what it’s like to live simply.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with either one of those jobs.”

  Micah took a deep breath. “I didn’t say there was, but I think my idea is something I could be successful at.”

  “And Thomas approved of it?”

  “He did. He even offered to shift my hours to mornings.”

  His daddi turned back to the plow blade that he was sharpening. He’d positioned the blade in a bench vise to hold it steady. It was amazing what the man had learned to do with one arm.

  “And you’ll be splitting what you earn with Widow Miller?”

  “Fifty-fifty. Seems only fair since I’ll be using her buggy and horse. Plus, it’ll be better for the horse.”

  “So you explained.”

  Micah waited, and it seemed that his daddi had forgotten he was there. Finally, he raised his good arm and made a motion as if he was shooing away a fly. “I expect you to make good on what you told Thomas. If you’re not seeing enough business in two weeks...”

  “We agreed to a month.”

  “And if the widow is unhappy with the deal for any reason, then you abandon this plan and get a real job.”

  “Done.”

  If he’d been expecting his daddi’s blessing, he might have stood there a long time. Instead, he took his grandfather’s grunt as permission, hitched their mare to the buggy and headed to town to make it to the library before it closed.

  * * *

  Susannah and her mamm had planned to go to a sew-in the following Monday. She hadn’t seen Micah on Sunday, but then perhaps his grandparents had lunch with someone else. It was their off Sunday. She was a little surprised that he hadn’t stopped by, but then it wasn’t like he’d promised he would.

  The sew-in would be a nice distraction. Sharon and Shiloh were excited to see their friends, but if Susannah was honest with herself, she was rather dreading the entire thing. There was no doubt t
hat she’d be grilled about Micah’s comings and goings. He seemed to be the talk of the town these days, which just proved that very little was happening in May in Goshen, Indiana.

  But her mother was looking forward to her day off the farm, and Susannah knew that begging off would make things harder since she wouldn’t be there to help keep an eye on the twins. It would actually be selfish for her to do so when there was no good reason not to go, and besides she’d just have to face everyone at the next Sunday meeting. Might as well get it over with on a beautiful summer day.

  The sew-in had been scheduled so they could complete half a dozen quilts that they planned to donate to the school auction held every summer. That event attracted Englischers with money to spend on authentic Amish items. The funds raised helped to pay for school supplies as well as any needed repairs to the building.

  She found herself growing more excited as her mamm drove the buggy toward Widow Miller’s, where the sew-in was to take place.

  After they’d parked the buggy, Susannah asked Sharon and Shiloh to help her. “Can each of you carry in one of our lunch dishes?”

  “I can carry the big one.” Shiloh stood up straight and tall as if to prove her strength.

  “Better give me the little one,” Sharon said. “I drop sometimes.”

  “Both of you hold the dish with both hands and walk—don’t run.”

  Taking their task very seriously, they walked toward Widow Miller’s front porch and up the steps.

  “They’re gut girls.” Her mamm hooked her arm through Susannah’s. “You’ve been rather quiet today.”

  “Have I?”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  “I’m dreading everyone asking me questions about Micah.”

  “And why would you dread that?”

  “First of all, because I’m not his keeper.”

  “But you are his friend, and it’s normal for people to be curious.”

  “I suppose. And second, folks seem to assume the worst where Micah is concerned. I guess his first impression wasn’t a particularly gut one.”