An Unlikely Amish Match Read online

  The morning devotion time with his grandparents was a bit trying. His daddi had an obvious focus in mind. They began in the book of Psalms, reading how Gotte would establish the work of their hands—whatever that meant. Then moved to Proverbs, where they spent a good twenty minutes on a verse about sluggards and how such persons were doomed to an unsuccessful life. Finally, they ended up in Colossians, where Paul wrote that whatever they did they should do with all their heart.

  Micah tried to stay focused.

  He didn’t fidget or peek at the clock in the kitchen even once.

  But he did feel resentment building in his soul. Did he not work hard every single day? What did his grandfather want from him? And why had his parents banished him to Indiana when it was obvious that he belonged in Maine?

  By the time they’d finished the final prayer, Micah was feeling agitated and needing to burn off some steam. He felt like he could hit a baseball a hundred times and still have energy to spare.

  “We’ll be driving the buggy over to the Beilers’ place.” His mammi had followed him into the mudroom, where he’d grabbed his hat and jammed it on his head.

  “Danki, Mammi, but I’ll walk.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer.

  He didn’t bother to explain.

  He needed out of there and away from their disapproving stares.

  Being outside in the sunshine helped. He wasn’t normally a morose person. Sometimes, though, he felt backed into a corner. For the life of him, he could not understand what people wanted from him, what they expected. He chewed on those thoughts for the first half of his walk, but as soon as Susannah’s little sewing shop came into view, his mood improved.

  Last night had been fun.

  He’d almost kissed her just to see what it would be like.

  But the way her eyes had widened... Well, it had caused him to pat her awkwardly on the arm and walk away.

  Had Susannah never been kissed?

  Why wasn’t she dating?

  She was a smart girl with a pleasant personality. She apparently was a very good quilter, as there were often people stopping at her little shop to purchase quilts. She was patient with her sisters, and she was pretty to boot.

  Why wasn’t she married?

  He forgot that question and his aggravation with his grandparents as soon as he started helping Susannah carry out food to the picnic tables. Her little sisters—Sharon and Shiloh, who looked so much alike that he still couldn’t tell them apart—had taken a liking to him. They followed him like baby ducks waddling after their mama.

  In truth, they reminded him of his own schweschdern back in Maine—they were older, but he rather missed having them around. He could always make them laugh, and they thought he was ever so clever.

  Shiloh and Sharon helped him and Susannah set up a volleyball net.

  They insisted on showing him the new kittens in the barn and the baby goats in the pasture.

  They sat beside him as everyone ate lunch.

  “You need to finish eating, Sharon.” Susannah nodded toward her sister’s plate with a stern look.

  Which, of course, made Micah laugh because Susannah looked so serious and Sharon looked so frustrated. And then he remembered that Sharon was the one always running ahead. She also had freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

  “Why are you laughing at me, Micah? I don’t want to eat. I want to play.”

  “Ya, but the playing is not going anywhere, and you need to eat to have lots of energy.”

  “Mamm always says I have plenty of energy.”

  “That’s because you knock things over a lot,” Shiloh commented as she was carefully attempting to cut a piece of ham with a knife and fork.

  “Want some help with that?” he asked.

  She nodded enthusiastically, but Susannah shook her head in disapproval. “How will she ever learn?”

  “How will she learn what?”

  “If you do it for her, how will she learn?”

  “I’m watching him do it, Susannah.”

  “Ya, you’re watching, but your hands are smaller. When your hands are bigger you’ll be able to do it yourself.”

  Shiloh studied her palms, then held them up for all to see. “Still small.”

  He couldn’t have said why he felt so comfortable around Susannah and her sisters, but the afternoon flew by. Micah’s grandparents left early, Mammi claiming she had a terrible headache.

  “Is she okay?” Susannah asked.

  “She gets migraines sometimes. Says the only thing to do for them is lie down in a dark room.”

  “Should you have gone home with them?”

  “They’d probably rather I didn’t.” He laughed at the look of dismay on Susannah’s face. “What I mean is that it’s quieter when I’m not there.”

  “How much noise do you make?”

  “Not that much, but they’re used to living alone.”

  “How did they end up here without any family?”

  “Their oldest daughter—my aenti Grace—married and moved to Maine when the Unity community was first established in 2008.”

  “How did she happen to meet a fellow from Maine?”

  “Her husband, Otis, had been looking for cheaper land, moving every few years, trying to find a less crowded area. Lots of eligible men in Maine and not a lot of women, since the communities are smaller. My other aentis had soon married and moved there, as well. Then my dat would visit, and the way he tells it, he loved being out in the wild. In fact, that’s our family motto. It’s sort of a joke. Less people and more wild animals.”

  Susannah rolled her eyes and shook her head at the same time. Ha! He was getting to her.

  “My dat says he wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, that he’s glad I grew up there.”

  “But you weren’t born there?”

  “Nein. I was actually born in Wisconsin.”

  “Wisconsin?”

  “Before he settled on Maine, my parents moved every few years. According to my mamm, they’d move to a place, get settled and then the community would double in size and my dat would start looking in the Budget for another place to move.”

  “So why haven’t your daddi and mammi moved to be with the rest of the family?”

  “That’s a really good question, one that I’ve been asking myself, but I haven’t figured out the answer. Maybe they were waiting to see if we’d all actually stay there.”

  “Sounds like your dat plans on staying.”

  “Ya, he does. The problem is that the other communities in Maine are quite strict. Fort Fairfield, which is the northernmost district, was originally a Swartzentruber district.”

  “I’ve heard of them. More conservative?”

  “Much. They’re not allowed to hire drivers unless it’s for an emergency, no close relationships with non-Amish people and their clothes are even more Plain.” He bumped his shoulder against hers as they walked toward the adjacent field. “That pretty peach color you’re wearing wouldn’t be allowed.”

  “I can’t imagine you living in a community that strict.”

  “Well, where we live in Unity isn’t that strict, but there’s still the influence of the other groups.”

  “Maybe that’s why you’re such a renegade.”

  “I’m a renegade?” He stopped in his tracks, hands on his hips. “You have offended me deeply, Susannah Beiler.”

  “Sure I did.”

  They walked to an old swing suspended from a tall maple tree. “Have a seat.”

  “What?”

  “Sit down. I’ll push you.”

  “You want me to get in the swing?”

  “Sure and certain. It’ll make you feel free. Make you feel as if you could touch the sky.” He stepped closer. Already he was learning that she spooked
easily. Susannah was accustomed to her personal space. Anytime he stepped within that space, she looked like a colt about to bolt. Rather than let him in her space, she plopped down into the swing and raised her feet.

  “So push me already.”

  Soon they were both laughing, and Micah was wondering if he could talk her into fishing again. But they were interrupted by Sharon, who ran up and said, “Dat wants to see you both. In the house.”

  “Are we in trouble?” He was kidding, but the look on Sharon’s face said that he might have nailed it with his question.

  “Both of us?” Susannah asked.

  “Ya, that’s what he said. I have to go. We found a bird nest over by the barn, and I’m watching the babies try to fly.” She fairly screamed the last part as she ran in the opposite direction.

  “Does she ever slow down?”

  “Only when she’s sleeping.”

  Apparently their afternoon free time was over. Micah pulled Susannah to her feet, and they trudged toward the house, in step with one another.

  “Any idea what this is about?” He tried not to sound worried. Why should he be worried? It wasn’t as if he’d never been called in to see the bishop before. He should have expected this, though somehow he’d begun to hope that things could be different in Goshen.

  “Nein.”

  “Your dat didn’t say anything at breakfast?”

  She shook her head, glancing at the adults gathered around the picnic table.

  When they walked into the house and saw that Thomas was there with one of the other preachers—some guy by the name of Atlee—Micah sensed they were in trouble. He could understand why he might be. Not that he could think of anything in particular, but there was always something. It was actually rather a surprise that he’d made it nearly two weeks without being reprimanded by someone.

  But Susannah? He couldn’t imagine why she’d been called in.

  “Have a seat.” Thomas indicated the couch, so they sat side by side. Thomas sat in a rocker, and Atlee was in a rather large upholstered chair. He was a small older man, and the chair pretty much dwarfed him.

  “I’ll get right to the point,” Thomas said. “I’ve had two different families come to me this morning with concerns about your behavior.”

  “Mine?” Susannah’s voice screeched like a hoot owl.

  It made Micah smile, which caused Atlee to frown.

  Micah quickly schooled his expression in an attempt to appear more serious.

  “Can’t think of any reason there would have been concerns,” Micah said. “I pretty much just worked all week.”

  “And I was working on that new quilt order I had.”

  “I’m sure you both did work very hard.” Thomas’s expression softened. “This was about the weekend, beginning with Friday night at the park.”

  Susannah crossed her arms and frowned. “I can’t think of anything we did wrong at the park.”

  “Perhaps we shouldn’t think of this as right or wrong, but rather something that someone saw and was concerned about. You two are old enough to realize that it matters how we’re perceived by the community at large. We’re to be examples of Christ, and we’re to set ourselves apart from the world.”

  “Of course.” Micah stared at the floor, because if he looked up, Thomas would see that he was about to lose his temper. He just had no patience for this sort of thing.

  “You went to the park in town?” Thomas asked.

  “Ya. I told you that, Dat. You said it would be fine.”

  “And you stayed to hear the concert?”

  “In fact you moved and sat up front, if accounts are correct.” Atlee studied them through large round glasses.

  Micah blew out a noisy breath, then he sat up straighter. “We did, and I asked Susannah if it was all right before we did so.”

  “And I told him it was. Dat, there’s nothing wrong with listening to music. We didn’t get up and dance. We didn’t waste money on a CD that we could bring home and play on a hidden music player we keep in the barn.”

  Thomas sighed heavily, then scooted to the edge of the rocker, his elbows braced on his knees.

  “Why do we sing?”

  Micah glanced up, wondering if this was a trick question. He was surprised to see a twinkle in Thomas’s eyes when he’d expected to see condemnation.

  “To express our moods,” Micah said.

  “Because it lifts our spirits,” Susannah added.

  “All right. Those are both gut reasons. But you’ve forgotten the Biblical reason—to give glory to Gotte. Singing, it’s an act of worship, just like when we pray or observe communion or when we wash one another’s feet.”

  Micah shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn’t sure where Thomas was going with this. This wasn’t the standard lecture he’d received back home from his bishop or his dat or even from his daddi.

  “We’re even admonished to keep singing in the Bible. Paul told us to encourage one another with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs.” Thomas paused, then added, “I suspect that isn’t what you were listening to at the park.”

  “Nein,” Susannah said softly.

  “More like songs about pickup trucks and mud and boots.”

  “Ah.” Thomas slapped his leg, as if they were finally getting to the crux of the matter. “We could relate to that if it was a buggy instead of a pickup truck.”

  When Micah dared to look at him again, he was grinning. “We want to be separate from the world, though I’ve been known to listen to a country tune myself once in a while. You both know Jethro. He gives rides to Amish folk, always has his radio turned to country music. I heard a lady named Alison Krauss sing ‘Amazing Grace’ once. It was beautiful indeed.”

  “So why are we in trouble?” Micah asked.

  “I didn’t say you were. I only said people were concerned.”

  “Then there’s the matter of last night.” Atlee cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses. “Perhaps we should move on to that.”

  “All we did last night was fish, Dat. You knew we were going to do that. You even reminded me not to get my line caught up in the brush.”

  “This has more to do with you coming home in the dark at a very late hour, apparently in clothes that were soaking wet.”

  And there it was. The line they had crossed. Micah knew that he always managed to find it, but this time he’d dragged Susannah with him.

  Thomas spent the next twenty minutes leading them through scripture that directed them to be separate, to be set apart, to be holy. By the time he finished, Micah was feeling appropriately chastised. He thought it might end there, but then Thomas stood and delivered his final decree. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation after you’ve had some time to think on it. I believe a weekly meeting might be appropriate—between the three of us. Do you agree, Susannah?”

  “Sure.”

  “Micah?”

  What could he do? Micah agreed. He couldn’t leave Susannah to endure the punishment alone, though spending an hour each week being lectured didn’t sound like his idea of fun. At least it would be with Thomas and not Atlee. If he’d been told he had to spend an hour with the frowning old guy, he might have been tempted to throw in the towel and walk back to Maine.

  Chapter Five

  The Goshen Amish community held a barn raising on Friday and Saturday of the following week. Of course, Micah had been to plenty of barn raisings and home raisings, too, for that matter. In Maine, their community was small, which meant that everyone pitched in when there was a need. But the fact that they were small also meant that raisings took a week to complete. Everyone showed up on the first day and then people worked on it as they were able throughout the week until it was completed. Apparently in Goshen they did things differently.

  He dropped his grandparents off near the main house, then pa
rked the buggy.

  “Where did all these people come from?” he asked Elias Yoder, who was directing buggies.

  “There are twenty thousand Amish in Elkhart and Lagrange counties.”

  “And they’re all here today?”

  Elias laughed as he chalked a number on Micah’s grandfather’s buggy—#321. Wow. There were 321 families here? He’d actually thought he’d get to spend some time with Susannah today. He’d be lucky if he even saw her.

  That thought fell away as he fastened his work belt around his waist and hurried toward the construction area. Though the sun had barely peeked over the horizon, the sound of hammers striking nails rang out and the south wall of the structure was already taking shape. He glanced over to the long string of picnic tables near the house.

  The women made quite an image, reminding him of worker bees. They were wearing gray, blue, pink, peach, even green frocks—though everyone’s head was covered with the same white kapp. There looked to be a hundred or more of them there, many holding babies on their hips and ranging in age from the infants to an old woman he passed, who had to be a hundred if she was a day.

  The concerns of the previous week fell away.

  He forgot about the meetings he was required to attend with Susannah’s father.

  He stopped worrying about the many ways that he managed to disappoint his daddi.

  And maybe for the first time, he let go of his wish to be in Maine.

  Micah checked in with the master engineer, who assigned him to the west wall that was just being laid out. The foundation had been poured two weeks earlier. Lumber and hardware had been delivered beforehand as well, and sat waiting to be used in large organized stacks. He passed a group of men sawing floor joists to length. A group of youngies would carry the measured and cut boards to men standing on the foundation. Micah suspected that given the amount of workers they had, the frame, including the roof beams, would be in place well before lunch.

  Soon he was intent on his section—finishing out the frame and finding a rhythm with the large group of men in his section. Someone started singing, and soon his voice was joined by another and another. Micah became totally focused on the hammer, the nail, the song and the rising sun warming his back. He didn’t realize that sweat had drenched his shirt until one of the young boys walked up with a tray of cups and water. He took two, pouring one over his neck and downing the other.