An Unlikely Amish Match Page 2

  “Say, what is this—the third degree? It feels like it, and as far as I know, I’ve done nothing to land me in trouble.”

  “Yet.” Susannah snatched up Sharon’s hand and turned back toward the bishop’s house.

  “It was gut to meet you,” he called out, knowing it would fluster her. Just his luck that the girl next door would be a killjoy. He’d met enough Amish girls like her to fill the back of a pickup truck twice over.

  They were so disapproving.

  It rankled him.

  It also made him want to do something reckless, like throw a party or take off for points unknown or walk back to town and see a movie. But he didn’t do any of those things. He didn’t know anyone to invite to a party—yet. All of Goshen was unknown, and he wasn’t even sure they had a movie house. Plus, he had no money to pay for a movie.

  He sighed heavily, considering what lay before him. He’d promised his parents that he would come to Goshen and stay for at least six months. He realized he might as well walk up to the farmhouse. There was no point in avoiding it, but first he pulled out his phone, tapped the Snapchat button and held the phone up in front of him.

  “I’ve arrived at the far reaches of northern Indiana. Let’s hope I can survive life on the farm.” He made what he hoped was a hilarious face, added a filter and frame, and then clicked the post button. Sticking the phone into his back pocket, he trudged down the lane toward his grandparents’ house and what was probably going to be the longest six months of his life.

  * * *

  Susannah wasn’t going to bring up the subject of their new neighbor to her parents. She actually was trying to forget him. She liked her life exactly as it was. The last thing she needed was trouble living next door, and Micah Fisher definitely looked like trouble.

  They’d paused to bless the food and had just begun passing around the dishes of ham casserole, fresh bread, carrots and salad when Sharon starting chatting away about their encounter with Micah.

  “He’s tall and he talks funny.”

  “He wears a crazy hat,” Shiloh added.

  “And he wanted to shake Susannah’s hand, but she didn’t want to.”

  “And he said we were pretty—he said we were all pretty.” Shiloh pulled in her bottom lip as she concentrated on cutting up her ham into small bites.

  Her dat helped Sharon to scoop a spoonful of carrots onto her plate. “John mentioned to me that the boy was coming to stay with them for a while.”

  “He hardly seems like a boy.” Susannah felt a slow blush creep up her neck when both her parents turned to stare at her. “What I mean is that he seemed to act like a youngie, though plainly he was older—I’d guess around twenty.”

  She could tell that her explanation hadn’t cleared up anything, so she backed up and told them of seeing him in town, of the truck and the trash and the Englisch clothes. She didn’t bring up the cell phone. That felt like tattling. No doubt his grandparents, and her dat, would know about it soon enough.

  “Not everyone is as settled as you are, dear. I believe Gotte used your illness to mature you.” Her mamm buttered a piece of bread—hot, fresh and savory. Perhaps homemade was better.

  “And hopefully to make you even more compassionate toward others.” Her dat’s smile softened his words. “No doubt Micah is trying to find his way as many of our youth are—though, as you say, he’s hardly a youngie anymore. Just turned twenty-five, if I remember correctly from what John said.”

  “The same as you.” Her mother looked pleased, as if sharing the same age would make them best pals.

  Susannah didn’t think that was likely.

  Her life had finally settled down. She had no desire to complicate it with the likes of Micah.

  The rest of the meal passed in a flurry of conversation. Sharon chattered on about the kittens in the barn and how she was planning to name each one. Shiloh had read another of the picture books from the library, and she insisted on describing it in great detail. Her mamm reminded Susannah that church would be at the Kings’ on Sunday, and that they had agreed to go over and help Mose prepare on Saturday. And her dat described a young mare that had been brought in for shoeing. “Four white socks and a patch on her forehead—pretty thing.”

  Susannah heard the conversations going on around her, but her mind kept volleying between the log-cabin quilt she’d started the day before and the new neighbor next door.

  She didn’t want a new neighbor.

  Why couldn’t things stay as they were?

  She couldn’t have explained what made her think so, but somehow she was certain that the comfortable rhythm of their days was about to change.

  And then, as if to confirm her thoughts, her dat said, “Oh, I forgot to mention that Micah is going to be working in my shop a couple hours each afternoon. Perhaps we can have him over for dinner sometime.”

  The smile on her mamm’s face told Susannah there was no use arguing with that.

  Well, she’d just have to endure Micah’s presence though she did not and would not approve of his Englisch ways.

  Her dat had said he was staying awhile.

  Micah had mentioned a few months.

  Surely it couldn’t be for a terribly long time. He wasn’t moving in, and he hadn’t been carrying any luggage, just the denim backpack. With any luck, he’d be gone by the first day of summer.

  As was his habit, her dat took the twins out with him to do a final check of the animals. Susannah and her mother were cleaning the dishes when the conversation returned to Micah.

  “Do you think you might like him?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure we’re polar opposites.”

  “Not always a bad thing.”

  “It’s not going to happen, Mamm.” The words came out more harshly than she’d intended. “We’ve spoken of this. I don’t believe... That is, I’m sure what you’re thinking of isn’t Gotte’s plan for me.”

  “You mean marrying.”

  “Ya. I mean marrying.”

  “Because of your cancer—which is gone.”

  “Gone, yes, but it could come back, and more than that, the whole experience has left me changed.”

  “In more ways than one.” Her mamm turned to study her though her hands remained in the sudsy water. “You’ve turned into a fine young woman, Susannah—a godly woman.”

  “You’re changing the subject. Any man—any Amish man—would want a houseful of children.” Susannah refused to meet her mother’s gaze. Instead, she focused on the plate she was drying.

  “Just because Samuel felt that way doesn’t mean every man feels the same.”

  “We both know that Samuel and I were...mismatched. His breaking up with me, it was hard, but I felt immediately better once it was done.”

  “But...”

  “But I learned, Mamm. I learned that men have certain expectations from marriage.”

  Why was it that speaking of this always brought tears to her eyes? She’d grown accustomed to the facts—to the limitations—of her life, but it seemed as if a certain part of her heart remained bruised. “How does the proverb go? ‘No woman can be happy with less than seven to cook for’? I suspect no Amish man can be happy with less than seven to provide for.”

  “Children come to us in different ways.”

  “You’re speaking of adoption—which is rare in an Amish community.”

  “Rare but not unheard-of.” Her mamm wiped her hands on a dish towel, reached out and put a hand on each of Susannah’s shoulders, turning her toward her.

  Susannah couldn’t resist the need to look up, to look into her mamm’s eyes and face her dreams and fears head-on.

  “I’m only saying that you shouldn’t assume you know Gotte’s plan for your life. Our ways are not Gotte’s ways, and that’s something to be grateful for.”

  Once Susannah nodded that she u
nderstood, her mamm picked up another dish and slipped it into the dishwater. Susannah swiped at the tears that had slipped down her cheeks, feeling foolish and wishing she could keep a better rein on her emotions.

  Her melancholy wasn’t about Micah. It was about her parents’ expectations for her life. Micah, she felt nothing except pity for—and perhaps a tad of irritation.

  “Just wait until you meet Micah, then you’ll understand.”

  “Will I, now?”

  “I’m more likely to marry Widower King.”

  “Who is a fine man and a gut addition to our community.”

  “And he’s thirty-five years old.”

  “Is he, now?”

  They shared a smile. Her mamm knew very well how old Mose King was and that Susannah didn’t have an ounce of romantic feelings for the man.

  “You wouldn’t have to worry about not being able to have children,” her mamm joked.

  “Indeed—six would be plenty, especially when those six are three pairs of twins.”

  “And all boys.”

  “All of them full of energy.” Susannah purposely used her mother’s words from earlier that afternoon.

  They finished cleaning up the kitchen and walked onto the front porch to watch for her dat and the twins.

  “I understand your not being interested in Micah, though you’d do well to remember that our first impression of someone isn’t always the best.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “There’s something else you should know, though.”

  Susannah sank into the rocker beside her mamm. She thought that twilight might be her favorite time of day. Something in her soul felt soothed by watching the sun set across their fields and her dat walking hand in hand with the twins toward the house.

  “Micah’s parents have been corresponding with Abigail and John. When it was decided he would move here, they shared the letter with both me and your dat. He’s had a bit of a hard time, which is why he’s here.”

  “Okay.” She said the word slowly, tempted to add an I thought so.

  “What I’m saying is that Micah will be here for at least six months—”

  “Six months?” Susannah realized her mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut.

  “And he’ll be here helping your dat every day, so it could be that Gotte has put him in our path for a special reason.”

  Susannah stifled a groan.

  “There’s a real possibility that what Micah needs most is not a girlfriend but simply a friend, and that’s something that we can each be.”

  Chapter Two

  Micah’s first night with his grandparents went fairly well. It was the next morning that things took an unpleasant turn, when they laid down the law, so to speak.

  His dat’s parents were in their midsixties—not too old to farm, but old enough that they should be slowing down. That wasn’t happening. His daddi, John Fisher, was built like an ox. Micah’s mother had always said that Micah inherited his size from the man, but Micah didn’t see it. He was as muscular as the next guy, but his grandfather’s forearm look like corded rope. Forearm—singular. He’d lost his right arm in a harvesting accident when he was just twenty years old. It had made him tough and intolerant of weakness of any type.

  He was also a very serious man. Micah couldn’t imagine that they’d come from the same gene pool.

  Abigail Fisher was stern as well, but with a soft spot for her grandchildren. Growing up in Maine, Micah had seen his mammi’s letters arrive weekly. They always contained a paragraph addressed to each of the eight children. Her Christmas presents were always mailed well before Christmas Day—practical items, lovingly made. And his mammi and daddi visited occasionally, though certainly not every year.

  In truth, Micah felt as if he hardly knew his grandparents, and though he loved them as he thought grandchildren should, he didn’t think they had much in common. In fact, from the expression on his daddi’s face he wasn’t sure the man really wanted him there. So why had he agreed to this ridiculous plan? How was Micah supposed to become a different person—a more mature person in the words of his dat—by living in a different state for six months?

  Daddi didn’t look up until they’d finished eating. Then he cradled his coffee mug in his left hand and waited until he was sure he had Micah’s attention. “We expect you to work every day.”

  “Okay. That’s fair.” Micah brushed his hair away from his eyes and sat up straighter. “I can start looking for something today.”

  “No need to do that. I have it all arranged.”

  “All arranged?”

  “To begin with, you’ll be expected to carry your share of the work around here—the same as any grown man. I realize that will be different from what you’re used to back home. I’m aware that your parents have coddled you.”

  Micah frowned at the last biscuit on his plate and focused on not saying the response that immediately came to mind. His thoughts scrambled in a dozen different directions, trying to think of a way to forgo the lecture that was surely headed his way.

  “It’s true, Micah.” His mammi peered over her reading glasses at him. “There’s no need to look hurt when your daddi is only stating the obvious. I spoke to your dat and mamm about this on several occasions.”

  “This?”

  “She’s referring to the way your schweschdern spoiled you—all of them did, really. It’s not a surprise, you being the last child and only son.”

  Micah had seven older schweschdern, and it was true that they doted on him. He’d never washed a dish or helped prepare a meal. If he suddenly had to cook for himself, he’d probably perish from starvation. When he was young, he’d thought that was the life of every Amish boy, but as he grew older he’d learned his situation was a bit unique. The entire family had treated him as if he was a special gift left on the doorstep on Christmas morning.

  Spoiled? Ya. He had been, but who in their right mind would turn that down? What was he supposed to do? Ask his siblings to be mean to him?

  “You’ll work with me in the fields every morning,” his daddi continued. “There will be no more sleeping in.”

  Micah nearly choked on the sip of coffee he’d been in the process of swallowing. His mammi had called up the stairs at 5 a.m. sharp to wake him. That was sleeping in?

  “After lunch you’ll go to the bishop’s and help in his farrier shop.”

  “The Beilers are wunderbaar people.” His mammi might have winked at him, or she might have a twitch in her right eye. Micah couldn’t tell. “This way you’ll be learning two trades. Your daddi can teach you everything about farming—”

  “Something your dat should have done already.”

  “And the bishop can teach you about horses.”

  As if he didn’t know about horses. He was Amish, in spite of the way they were speaking to him. Micah felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, like a cat that had been brushed the wrong way. Why had he ever agreed to come to Indiana? What they were describing sounded worse than boot camp, which he only knew about from his friend Jackson, who had given him a ride from Maine.

  Up before the birds.

  Early-morning drills.

  Work all day.

  Collapse into bed at night.

  Rinse and repeat.

  His daddi gulped down the rest of his coffee, pushed his chair back and stood. The sleeve of his right arm had been sewn into a pocket, so that his stump rested inside it. He held his left hand in front of him—palm down—and made an invisible circle that included the three of them as well as the empty chairs, which he supposed his cousins had occupied before moving to Maine. In fact, it seemed the entire family was there, so what were his grandparents still doing in Goshen?

  “We are your family—your mammi and me and all of your kinfolk here in Goshen. Your family in Maine loves you, as do we, but it’
s time for you to grow up, Micah. It’s time to become a man.”

  And with that pronouncement, he turned and strode from the room.

  Micah pulled in a deep breath, pushed himself away from the table and started across the room after him, but Mammi called him back.

  “Best go upstairs and change first. I put proper clothing in your dresser and on the hooks. Your daddi—well, he won’t abide the blue jeans and T-shirts.”

  The day seemed intent on continuing its slide from bad to worse.

  “Anything else I should know? Any other changes I need to make?” He tried to sound lighthearted, but the words came out sarcastic and gruff. Too late to bite them back, and his mammi didn’t seem to even notice.

  “When you’re done with the day’s work, I’ll cut your hair.”

  “What’s wrong with my hair?”

  “And he knows about the phone. As long as it isn’t in the house—as long as he doesn’t see it—he’ll tolerate it. Just don’t push him.”

  “I shouldn’t push him?”

  “He’s old-fashioned, I know.”

  “You think?”

  “But he’s also a fair man.” She stood and walked over to where he waited. His mammi barely reached his shoulders, but she was a formidable woman, and for some reason he couldn’t identify, Micah wanted to make her proud. Reaching out, Mammi put a hand on his shoulder and waited until he met her gaze. “He’s a gut man, and he cares about you. I suspect the changes will be difficult at first, but in the end, you’ll thank him.”

  Micah seriously doubted that.

  A quick glance at the clock told him it wasn’t 6:30 a.m. yet.

  The day was shaping up to be a long one.

  He cheered himself with the thought that he only had 179 to go.

  * * *

  By the time they stopped for lunch, Micah was yawning and eyeing the hammock strung up in the backyard.

  “Thomas expects you at one o’clock sharp, so you best hurry.” His daddi nodded toward the sandwich on Micah’s plate. “You can eat that on your walk over.”