A Match For Addy (The Amish Matchmaker Book 1) (3 page)

“What harm would it do?” her father interrupted. “It is her name.”

“Exactly,” she said. “I’ll be thirty soon, and
Dorcas
sounds too...too
fancy
.” She didn’t know where that had come from and looked down quickly at her plate. It wasn’t like her to fib like that.

Her mother thrust out her chin.
“Adelaide?”
she repeated. “That sounds more worldly to me than
Dorcas
. It was your
grossmama
who gave you your middle name, after her favorite grandmother.”

“I...I was thinking of
Addy
,” Dorcas dared. Again, she looked up quickly at her parents then back at her plate. “I think it has a nice, mature ring to it.”

“Mature?” Her mother sniffed.

Her father took another sip of coffee and nodded to his wife. “Come now, Martha, what harm will it do?”

Her
mam
shrugged and sighed. “If you have your heart set on it, and your father doesn’t object, do as you please. But it’s a
fernhoodie
to me why you want to do such a thing. Dorcas is a
goot
,
Plain
name, for a
goot
,
plain
girl.”

“I just think I’d like to go by Addy,” she said lightly, not wanting her mother to know how much it suddenly mattered. Such a small thing, but the suggestion, coming from a man like Gideon, seemed right. “Addy’s
plain
enough, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s a fine name,” her father said. “So, Addy it is.” He glanced at her mother. “Perfect, don’t you think, Martha? For a new beginning.” He patted his wife’s hand.

Addy was surprised. It wasn’t like her parents to show affection for each other in front of her.

“I think you should tell her,” her
dat
said.

“Tell me what?”

Her
mam
pulled her hand free. Her pale cheeks flushed just a little. Addy could tell that her mother was pleased by the gesture, but she wasn’t willing to show it. Some people thought that her mother and father were a poor match. Her
mam
had a sharp side and was quick, always busy, always in motion, and her
dat
was generally easygoing and slow. He could spend the better part of an hour leaning on the garden gate deciding which chore he’d start on first. And sometimes he was so busy thinking that the day got away from him. But her father was a pious man and a good preacher. Life had not been easy for him, but he’d never lost faith that the Lord would see him through.

Her mother frowned. “I didn’t want to have this talk this morning, Reuben. No need to make her self-conscious. She’s liable to let it go to her head and make a fool of herself in front of the matchmaker. But since you’ve taken the lid off the pot, you may as well serve the stew.” She gestured for him to speak.

Addy looked at her father. She had no idea what they were talking about.
“Dat?”

He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Your mother and I... We thought... We’ve been talking about...about the fact that you’re not getting any younger, and you don’t seem to be able to—”

“Reuben!” Her mother rolled her eyes as she interrupted. “That’s no way to put it.” She turned to Addy. “We’ve spoken to the matchmaker about finding you a husband.”

“Me?” Addy sank back into her chair. For a moment, she was stunned. “You asked Sara to... For me?” she protested. “But we don’t have the money to pay a matchmaker’s fee.”

“Ach,”
her mother soothed, pushing a bite of soft egg into her mouth. “You’re not to worry about the money. We’ll find it somewhere. Your father can always sell off some of his beef cattle.”

“Or maybe those acres of woods that Charley’s been wanting to buy,” her
dat
suggested.

“Ne.”
Addy shook her head. “I don’t want you to sacrifice what you worked all your life for. Tell Sara that we’ve changed our minds. Maybe if I went to visit our Ohio cousins, I could meet someone there.”

“Not every girl’s family pays,” her mother explained. “Sometimes, it is the man or his parents who bear the expense. I’ve already brought that possibility up with Sara.”

Addy’s heart sank. Who else knew about this? Who had Sara told? Did Gideon think she was one of the girls who had to pay to find someone? How could she face him again? “Is that why Sara hired me?” she asked.

“Of course not, you silly goose.” Her
mam
stood and came around the table to hug her, an act Addy found almost as startling as the fact that her parents had engaged a matchmaker without consulting her. But Addy couldn’t pull away, and her mother’s embrace, so rare, was all the more precious. “The new teacher helps out, but she doesn’t have the strength to keep up that house. Sara needs some painting done, and help to do her canning. She’ll have more girls coming to stay, and she needs someone she can count on.”

“Unless you’ve changed your mind and you don’t want to work for her. I thought you could give your mother half of your pay and keep half for yourself,” her father said. “As any other unmarried daughter would do.”

“Ne, Dat,”
she assured him. “I
want
to work for Sara.”

“Goot,”
her mother said. “It’s settled. You’ll work and while you’re at Sara’s, she’ll give you some instruction. You’ll follow her advice and meet the men she wants you to meet. And let us worry about Sara’s fee. If she makes a good match for you, you’ll be in a position to help us in our old age.”

Addy nodded. She had other siblings, but they were older and lived far away. It would be her duty to care for her parents when they were too old to work. It was what was expected of Amish daughters, and she would do what she could for them with a whole heart.

“Don’t look so glum,” her father said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “It’s time you were married, with a good husband and children of your own. My other grandchildren I never get to see. We only want what’s best for you.”

“Ya,”
her mother agreed. “I’m weary of going to my sister-in-law’s family’s weddings. It’s time we had one of our own.”

Maybe the idea of having Sara find her a match wasn’t so bad. Addy did want a husband, and she was tired of serving as an attendant at her cousins’ weddings. But—she sighed inwardly—who would want her, at her age? Most girls were married and had several children by thirty. No young man would want her. Sara would most likely find her an older widower, someone who already had children. She tried to imagine what such a man would look like. She wouldn’t mind being a stepmother, but she hoped this bridegroom wouldn’t be too old or too ill-tempered.

She wouldn’t set her hopes too high. She would do as her father always did and place her faith in God. It should have been easy. If only Gideon Esch hadn’t pulled her out of a briar patch and carried her across the field like some English girl out of a paperback romance.

Chapter Three

W
ith trepidation, Dorcas—
Addy
, she reminded herself, she was
Addy
now—approached the fence line that bordered Sara’s property. The dreaded stile.

The sun was bright, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The day promised to be warm and humid, and she could already feel a sheen of moisture on her face and throat. She hoped she wouldn’t arrive at Sara’s all hot and sweaty; she wanted to appear mature and competent. Especially after last time.

But first things first—her good leather shoes that she’d left behind the tree two days ago. What if they weren’t there? It hadn’t rained, but the dew had been heavy the previous morning. What if they’d gotten mildew on them? Replacing the pair would be an expense that she couldn’t expect her parents to pay. And she’d be mortified to show up at church in her old sneakers. She’d have to use two weeks’ wages to replace the shoes, if they were ruined. And all because she hadn’t wanted to put up with a blister or two.

Of course, the condition of her shoes and getting over the fence were small concerns compared to the nervousness she felt about seeing Gideon again. What must he think of her? Did he know that Sara was seeking a husband for her? Had he known before she did?

Her mother said she hadn’t told her about the matchmaking agreement right away because she didn’t want Addy to feel self-conscious or to make a fool of herself on her first day of work. She had done that anyway.

Addy couldn’t decide whether to be pleased or annoyed that her parents had contacted the new matchmaker about her. She
did
want a husband, and she’d had no success in finding one on her own so far, but...she wished that her
mam
and
dat
had talked to her first. She might have been more careful to make a good first impression on Sara and Gideon. Not that Gideon would be interested in her—a good-looking, smart, sweet boy like him—but maybe he had a friend or a cousin who was seeking a bride. Maybe he even had an uncle whose wife had passed away, a settled man with a trade, who might be willing to make a match with a woman nearing thirty. She didn’t want Gideon to think that she was immodest because she’d allowed him to carry her across the field. It hadn’t been prudent, but at the time...

Addy sighed. Whatever had possessed her? She’d thought she had better sense, but he’d just taken over the situation. And she couldn’t deny that she’d been thrilled by the experience. Nothing like it had ever happened to her before. Not that that was an excuse for her inappropriate behavior. She’d have to be cautious so as to not find herself in a compromising position with a boy again. Any boy. She was a respectable member of the church, and she was expected to follow the
ordnung
, which forbade certain behavior between men and women. While there might not be a concrete statement concerning girls letting boys carry them across fields, she knew full well that it wasn’t acceptable.

Nearly to the stile, Addy peered behind the tree where she’d deposited her shoes. To her relief, the black leather oxfords were exactly as she’d left them. She picked them up and brushed away the spider webs. Then she lifted the dress that Sara had loaned her from her split oak basket, put the shoes on the bottom and carefully replaced the folded garment on top.

When she turned to the fence, to her surprise, she saw that the old fencing and stile were gone and the briars had been cleared away. In their place were solid new posts, shiny, five-feet-high stock wire and a sturdy set of steps with a handrail. Someone, Gideon, she supposed, had been busy. At least twenty feet of fencing had been replaced, and there was a pile of new wooden posts waiting to be put into the ground.

Addy climbed up and over the new stile with ease and then strode purposefully across the pasture toward Sara’s outbuildings. Two sorrel mules that she hadn’t seen before grazed on the lush grass. The first animal paid her little attention and kept eating, but the second lifted a big head, twitched its long ears and stared curiously at her as she passed. She felt like it was staring at her—the girl who needed a matchmaker to get a husband.

Which was silly, of course. Lots of Amish girls needed the help of a matchmaker to find a good husband. There was no reason for her to feel embarrassed. Sometimes it was just a matter of fitting the right girl with the right boy. Was it her fault that she had been born
plain
, or that she’d grown so tall, taller than her
dat
and many of the men in Seven Poplars? And wouldn’t it be worth it if Sara found her a good husband? She smiled to herself at the thought...a husband she could love. A husband who would love her. Love between a man and woman wasn’t a subject discussed in her parents’ house, but she had only to see her Yoder cousins and the fine matches they had made to know it
could
happen.

The rhythmic thud of an ax striking wood cut through her reverie. As she entered the barnyard, she looked up to see Gideon.

“Good morning, Addy,” he called. He was standing at the edge of a pile of freshly split sections of logs.

Addy stood for a moment, mesmerized.

He lifted the ax to rest on his shoulder. “You’re feeling better today, I hope.”

“Ya,”
she answered. She felt her cheeks grow warm, and she fought the urge to look at the ground. “I am.”

His grin lit up his handsome face, and warmth swirled in Addy’s stomach. Gideon was so clean and wholesome, standing there in his worn clothes and battered hat, that she had to remind herself that he wasn’t for her. It was likely his parents had sent him to Seven Poplars so that he could marry up. Hired man or not, with a strong back, an easy manner and a fair face like his, he’d be guaranteed a match with a pretty girl from a wealthy family or a plump widow with land of her own.

“Sara tells me that this is a church Sunday coming up.” Gideon took off his hat and pushed his hair off his face. Moisture dotted his forehead and soaked through his shirt, revealing more of his muscular chest and shoulders than was proper.

Realizing she was staring, Addy swallowed and glanced at the ground. “At my Aunt Hannah’s. Close by. You can walk.”

“I’m looking forward to worshipping with your congregation.”

She knew she shouldn’t be standing there chatting when Sara was waiting for her, but she ventured another glance at him. “My father is one of the preachers.”

“Ellie told me. She liked his last sermon, on Noah’s faith.”

Addy nodded. That had always been one of her favorite stories from the Old Testament. “
Dat
says that people must have thought he was crazy, Noah. To build a boat when they were so far from the sea.”

“I wish I’d heard the sermon.” He had the nicest eyes, she thought, so large and full of life.

“I think Bishop Atlee will preach on Sunday, or maybe Caleb. He’s married to my cousin Rebecca.”

Gideon sank the ax into a stump and rubbed his hands together, easing the strain of gripping the ax. “I’m looking forward to it, and to meeting your neighbors. Sara says the congregation has welcomed her.”

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Ellie said, appearing from behind one of the outbuildings. “Addy’s here, Sara!” she called toward the house. For a small girl, she had a big voice.

Sara came out of the utility room onto the porch with a basket of wet laundry. “You’re early.
Goot
. Help me hang these sheets, and then we’ll start painting the big bedroom. I may have girls coming in soon to stay with us while I find matches for them. It’s the way I like to do things.” She glanced at the woodpile. “My, you’ve done a lot since breakfast.”

Gideon wrenched his ax from the stump. “Best to get the heavy work done early. The day promises to be another scorcher.”

“Hotter here than in Wisconsin, I imagine,” Addy said, unwilling to walk away without saying
something
sensible.

“Ne.”
He shook his head. “You’d be surprised how hot it gets there in the summer. Unless you’re near one of the lakes.”

“The big difference will be in the winter. Delaware winters are mild, so they tell me.” Sara held up the basket of laundry toward Addy, then set it on the porch. “If you’ll take this, I’ll go back for the second basket.”

“I brought back your dress.” Addy showed it to her in the basket on her arm. “I appreciate you loaning it to me.”

“No need for you to return it.” Sara’s round face creased in a smile. “I meant it as a gift. It will hardly fit me or Ellie.”

“Because...I’m so tall,” Addy supplied.

Sara’s smile widened. “Or we’re so short. Right, Ellie?”

“
Ya
, Sara, right about that,” Ellie agreed.

“But it could be hemmed,” Addy suggested. The dress was so nice, but she didn’t want to appear needy.

“Nonsense,” Sara shot back. “The green color suits you.”

“It does, Addy,” Gideon added. “I thought that when you left here wearing it the other day.”

Sara’s dark eyes narrowed. “Gideon and Ellie seem to think you’d prefer to be called by your middle name. So which will it be?
Dorcas
or
Addy
? I need to know these things.”

“Addy...I think... That is...” Addy hunched her shoulders and tried to make herself smaller. “Unless you think...
Dorcas
is better.”

“I think that you can call yourself whatever pleases you, so long as it doesn’t offend your parents or your neighbors.
Addy
sounds fine to me.”

“
Ya
. And me.” Self-consciously, Addy set her basket on the porch and picked up the laundry basket. “I’ll start hanging these,” she said. “And thank you...for the dress. It’s kind of you.”

“And kind of you to come and help us get settled. It’s a good house, but it needs work.”

As do I,
Addy thought,
if I’m to ever have a chance at finding a husband. I just hope Sara is good at her job. Because finding someone for me might be her most difficult match yet.

* * *

Sunday, Gideon, Sara and Ellie headed for the Yoder farm for church services. And as Addy had promised, her aunt’s home was near enough to walk, which he appreciated. He’d always believed that, as much as possible, the Sabbath should be a day of rest for the horses as well as their owners.

As they walked up the long Yoder lane, buggies full of families passed them. Those inside waved and called out greetings. As in his community in Wisconsin, each man was garbed in the black
mutze
, suspenders, trousers and vest, and white long-sleeved dress shirts. The men’s wide-brimmed hats were black wool, similar to those worn back home. The women were in blues, greens, purple or even lavender, with white organdy
kapps
, and capes known as
halsduchs
. Children were dressed like the adults, although most boys had black straw hats.

In the Yoder barnyard, Gideon shook hands with several men. He was introduced to more people than he could keep straight, and turned to Charley Byler for help. Gideon soon learned that Charley had married one of the many Yoder girls.

“Hannah lives in the big house. She married Albert Hartman,” Charley explained. “That’s him over there talking to Preacher Caleb. Albert used to be a Mennonite, but he joined our church. He and Hannah live here, and my Miriam, our boy, and Miriam’s sister Ruth and her husband and boys live in that house.” He pointed to a small house in the distance. “Eli works at the chair shop. I farm this place. Albert is a veterinarian.”

Gideon arched his brows. He’d never heard of an Amish vet.

Charley shrugged and laughed. “Long story. If Sara has any problems with her mules, she should send you for Albert straight off. He’s got a real touch with livestock.”

“So Albert and Hannah live in the big house, but you work the farm?” Gideon asked.

“Right. I was doing masonry full-time, but I’ve been lucky enough to cut my hours back so I can spend more time here, now that my family is growing. It’s rich soil, a good farm, and Hannah and Albert let me make all the decisions on what to plant and what animals we raise. Other than Albert’s alpacas. You’ll have to take a look at them after church. He and Hannah are pretty attached to those silly creatures.” He slapped Gideon on the back in an amiable gesture. “Who knows? Maybe by the time my son’s ready to take over the farm, people will be calling it the Byler place.”

Gideon nodded in agreement. He liked Charley. They were close in age, and Charley seemed such a pleasant and interesting person that it was impossible not to like him. “Sara said you are chaperoning the singing coming up. I hope I’ll be welcome, although I can’t promise how well I can sing.”

“You’re more than welcome,” Charley assured him. “We can always use more men. There are a lot of single young women here, if you get my meaning.”

Gideon grimaced. “That should make Sara happy. Not much call for a matchmaker if you don’t have girls wanting husbands.”

“Or the other way around.” Charley motioned toward the house. “I see Samuel and Bishop Atlee are on their way in. I think we’d best find our seats.”

* * *

Several hours later, the long church service came to an end. Bishop Atlee had given a good sermon. The little man didn’t raise his voice as he quoted from
Exodus
, but he didn’t need to. As one, the congregation leaned forward to hear the commands that the Lord gave to Moses. So fervent was the bishop’s telling of the Bible story that Gideon could almost feel the heat of the desert sun and taste the hardships of God’s chosen people as they journeyed toward the Promised Land. And when the listeners rose to sing the traditional German hymns that brought the worship service to a close, Gideon joined them without reservation. He’d always loved singing, and he liked to think that he had a strong voice, even if he wasn’t always quite on key.

Sitting to his left was Charley, to his right, Charley’s brother-in-law, Eli. Around them were fathers, brothers, husbands and sons. The Yoder farmhouse was a spacious, two-story farmhouse with large rooms that opened through wide doors and removable partitions to join parlor, hall and sitting room. As was customary, men sat on backless benches on one side of the house, women and younger children on the other. The deacon, the two preachers and the bishop, as well as older members of the congregation, had chairs, and along the wall were several rockers for the elderly. The walls were a soft cream, the floors hardwood, the furniture sparse, and every inch was clean enough to eat off.