Courting Cate (12 page)

Under the circumstances, the best thing for Betsy was to marry Levi as soon as possible. The sooner they married the better.

And Betsy marrying Levi without letting Dat know why was entirely contingent on me marrying someone, and sadly, Pete was my best—and only viable—option.

That evening I sat on my bed and made a list of pros and cons. Besides allowing Betsy to marry, the only real pro for my marrying Pete was that I would avoid shaming Dat. I wanted to protect him. Betsy was right, if our neighbors found out what was going on, we’d be the talk of the district.

I had a whole list of cons. Deceiving Dat. Entering a loveless marriage. Spending the rest of my life with Pete.

I wrinkled up the piece of paper and tossed it into the wastebasket. I knew of a couple of marriages that seemed as if they were for practical purposes mostly. I’d even been to a couple of weddings where I was sure the couple didn’t love each other. But it also seemed that none of them despised the other.

I chewed on the end of the pencil. I wasn’t sure exactly what happened to those marriages, though, because all of those couples now had a mess of kids.

I’d been determined not to marry just to make Dat happy, but this was different. This was to shield him from Shahm. This was to protect him from gossip and ridicule. This was to keep him from regretting raising us alone.

I headed down the stairs to find Betsy. To my surprise, she and Levi were sitting in the living room talking to Dat. She held an early daylily in her hands, most likely from Levi, but looked pale. I motioned her into the kitchen.

I whispered. “What’s Levi doing here?”

“He stopped by to see me, and Dat asked him in.” Betsy put the flower on the counter and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Have him ask Dat if he can marry you.”

“That’s not going to work.” Her voice squeaked as she whispered.

“It’s worth a try.”

I stayed in the kitchen. We hadn’t had dessert, so I started to cut the apple pie Betsy had made that afternoon, once she was feeling better.

“Dat,” Betsy said, “Levi has something to ask you.”

“Oh.”

There was a long pause, and I imagined Betsy trying to communicate silently what she wanted Levi to do.

Finally, the young man stammered, “Betsy and I, we’re looking to get married.”

Betsy’s words overlapped the end of Levi’s sentence. “Want to get married!”

“Want!” Levi echoed.

“We love each other.” Betsy’s voice was back to a normal tone. “And since Cate broke things off with Pete, I think you should allow us to marry.”

“Cate broke things off with Pete?” Dat’s voice was low.

“Jah,” Betsy said. “That’s what Pete said.”

“I thought Pete broke things off with her.” Now his voice was raw.

“Who knows?” Betsy said.

“Cate?” Dat’s voice was coming toward me, and in an instant he was in the kitchen doorway. “What’s going on?”

“It was mutual, Dat. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“He was perfect for you.”

My face reddened, but not as much as Dat’s.

“I want you to be happy,” he stammered.

“I am.” But then I started to cry. Tears cascaded down my face, one after the other. I couldn’t stop them. I’d cried more in the last few days than I had in years. “I couldn’t be happier.”

“Bull,” Dat answered. It was the closest I’d ever heard him come to cussing. He wrapped his arm around me, squeezed, and then tromped back into the living room, dragging me along with him.

We stopped, facing Betsy and Levi. “The answer, to the two of you, is ‘yes,’ even though I think you’re too young,” Dat said.

Betsy whooped.

I knew there was more and stood straight as a pole, bracing myself.

Dat held up his hand. “Wait a minute. I’m saying ‘yes,’ but not until Cate is married. That was the original plan. And it still stands.”

That night, there were no pings of gravel against the glass panes of our window. Around midnight, Betsy pushed against me, and I rolled toward the wall again.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Thanks,” I answered.

“But I just want you to know, I’m sure Pete would take you back.”

I didn’t respond.

“He’s poor. There’s not much for him in New York. He’d like to start a business. You know Dat would set him up right away. You might even be able to convince him to start a publishing house—like you’ve always wanted.” It was obvious Betsy had been listening more closely than I’d imagined. “Levi said his parents don’t really like each other, but they’ve had nine kids.”

“Betsy . . .”

“What? Maybe you’ve read too many novels. Maybe average people aren’t really all that happy.”

I knew she didn’t consider herself average.

“What would be so bad about being married to Pete? He’s handsome. Smart. A hard worker. Dat’s right. Pete’s perfect for you.”

I frowned.

She kept talking. “Honestly, Cate, you’d have a whole lot more opportunity with him than without him.”

Again, I didn’t respond.

Finally, she whispered, “Thank you.”

I could feel her breath against my ear. I turned toward her, finding her eyes in the dim light of the stars shining on the curtains. “For what?”

“Reconsidering . . .”

“Who said I was?”

She smiled. A moment later her eyes fell heavy and closed. Soon her head was on my shoulder. Then she pressed against me, sending me flat up against the wall.

Love and jealousy wrestled inside me. Levi adored her—and if he didn’t there would be any number of young men to step up to the front of the line. I thought of the Bobli
growing inside of her, and even though being jealous of an unwed mother was probably a worse sin than being just plain jealous, I couldn’t help myself.

I was.

Betsy began to snore—gently, of course. I pushed her a little, sending her on her side, reclaiming a small portion of my bed. I must have slept a little that night, but mostly I thought, rehashing everything over and over and over, from Betsy as a Bobli to the butterflies-in-my chest way I’d felt about Pete before I knew the truth, to the ache I felt now.

For a while my mind landed on Joseph Koller. Was that what I wanted five or ten or fifteen years in my future? It wouldn’t be Joseph—but another widower or perhaps a bachelor who would be even more set in his ways. I shivered, and Betsy flung her arm over the top of me, as if to keep me warm.

I speculated about how soon Bishop Eicher would let Pete and me marry. The sheer shock of learning someone wanted me might speed things along considerably—theoretically speaking, of course.

Just before I finally drifted off to sleep, I found a measure of peace with what I needed to do.

“Get out of bed, sleepyheads,” Dat called out. Our door was ajar, and a minute later he was standing in the doorway. “Ach,” he said. “Are you two ill?”

“No,” I groaned, gently pushing Betsy.

“Well, I’m glad to see my daughters still love each other, regardless of all the strife.” He grinned. He’d always been a morning person, and an afternoon person, and an evening person. Always happy, except for when Mamm died. The grief had been heavy on him then for several years.

“Up, up, up!” He turned to go. “I fed the horses and cows, but the chickens are hungry.” He closed the door behind him.

I pushed Betsy a little harder, and she stumbled from the bed, with me right behind her.

“Go start breakfast.” I took off my nightgown. “I’ll go feed the chickens.” I wanted to be done before the crew arrived.

Betsy yawned and stepped over to the wall, where her clothes hung. “So what are you going to do about Pete?”

I inhaled. For a minute, probably the only one in the last month, I hadn’t thought about the man. “You’ll see,” I said, stepping into my dress.

Even though I knew what I needed to do, I was miserable all day long. Nothing felt right. Not the straight pins in my Kapp. Not the red pen in my hand. Not the thoughts in my head.

I tried to talk about it with God, tried my very best as I stared at the spreadsheet in front of me, to converse with him, to make sure I was doing the right thing. I’d get started all right, but soon my mind would wander, playing over the last month, then the last ten years, then back to Betsy as a Bobli and my Mamm’s death. To Dat, stricken with grief. To my failures. To my—our—Shahm. I knew I didn’t want all of us to have to go through that again.

I’d decided to broach the subject with Pete. I was certain he’d say no, but I could ask. He was leaving in two weeks anyway, and besides, he already saw me as a fool. At least I’d know I’d done what I could to try to protect my Dat and my Schwester, and they would know that too.

Once Pete said no, we’d weather our storm as a family and get Betsy married. Then I could go back to being a spinster, Nan and I could be on good terms again, and I could eventually bask in my new role as
Aenti
Cate.

The only drawback would be the continued fuss over my single state and the bachelors and widowers who would be paraded through the house.

I sighed. I’d just have to figure that out later.

On my way back to the office from lunch I swung into the showroom. Pete’s eyes sparked—obviously he hadn’t expected me.

“I was wondering if we could talk after work,” I said.

He shook his head, concentrating on the binder in front of him. “Too late,” he answered. The day had turned warm, and his sleeves were rolled up to his biceps.

I tried to concentrate on what I wanted to say. “I have a proposition for you.”

He actually rolled his eyes.

“I was thinking we could talk in the buggy.” It was the only place I could be sure no one would eavesdrop.

“We already talked. Remember?” He flipped the page.

I stepped out the back door of the showroom without saying good-bye. The grief that fell across my shoulders like a soaked wool cape surprised me. Not grief for how things turned out, but grief—again—for what I thought I had with Pete for that short time.

But I’d tried—that’s what mattered.

As it turned out, it counted for far more than I could have ever imagined.

As I left the office at the end of the day, fully resigned to being a Maidel, I heard the showroom door open and close.

My desire to turn around and see if it was Pete caught me by surprise. I resisted and kept my eyes focused straight ahead.

“Your offer still good?” he called out.

I stumbled a little on the path.

“To go for a ride.” He cleared his throat. “And talk.”

I pivoted around, slowly. “Sure,” I answered as my stomach churned.

“I have another half hour of work.”

“I’ll hitch up Thunder.”

First I went into the house for a strong cup of tea.

Betsy was working on dinner. Meatballs, mashed potatoes, gravy, a green salad, and applesauce that she and I had canned last fall. Once I sat down at the table, I told her Pete and I were going to go for a ride, to talk.

Her face lit up.

“If he says no, though, I’m calling the doctor tomorrow,” I said. “And then depending on what the outcome of that is, we’ll talk to Dat and then Preacher Stoltz.”

Her face fell.

After I’d rinsed my teacup, she stepped over and gave me a quick hug. “Thanks,” she said. “I don’t deserve a sister like you.”