Courting Cate (13 page)

“Don’t say that.” I squeezed her. No matter what, our life together was changing. It would never be the same.

By the time I brushed Thunder, led him out of the barn, and hitched him to the buggy, Pete was approaching.

“Ready?” I asked.

He nodded.

I climbed up onto the driver’s side, and Pete jumped up to the passenger side. As I drove Thunder down the lane, Dat stepped out of the shop, followed by Levi. Behind him were M&M. I thought the boys had all gone home, but Dat must have kept them late.

Dat smiled and waved. I looked away before I could discern the expressions on their faces, but I was sure Dat’s was hopeful.

Once we reached the lane, Thunder began to trot. The pastures on either side looked as if they’d been painted a vivid emerald. Dat’s few head of cattle looked up as we drove by. Next was Uncle Cap’s freshly seeded field. As we crested the hill of the lane, with a view of the broad valley ahead, to the right I took in the whitewashed farmhouses and barns, appearing as sails on a sea of green.

Once we reached the highway, I turned away from Paradise and headed toward the covered bridge.

“So what’s your proposition?”

“Give me a minute. . . .” I couldn’t seem to find the words.

“Does this have anything to do with Betsy?”

“Sort of.”

“So she can marry Levi?”

I glanced at him, trying to guess what he knew.

“I’m just speculating by the way Betsy’s been acting,” he said. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Especially your Dat.”

I still couldn’t seem to speak.

He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “Shall I start guessing?”

“No,” I answered, getting Thunder to go a little faster on the highway. I summoned my courage and said, “Have you ever thought about a marriage of convenience?”

He repositioned his hat. “Is this something you got from one of your books?”

I shook my head. “You would benefit from Dat’s resources. It would be a win-win situation.”

“You’re proposing a business deal?”

“Jah, as long as I’m included in the business.”

“Say again?”

“A family business.”

“Doesn’t love make a family?” he asked.

“I’m told marriages—for other reasons—can be long lasting.”

“But can two people create a true home, under those conditions?”

I shrugged.

He was silent for a minute but then said, “I see what Betsy gets out of it. Not quite so sure what’s in it for the two of us.”

“You’d have a secure future.”

Pete seemed deep in thought. Finally he said, “And what’s in it for you?”

I shrugged. I couldn’t explain to him the part about wanting to protect Dat from Shahm without making my father sound prideful. Nor could I explain my fear of the future widowers and bachelors I would be forced to consider. “Well,” I said, borrowing Betsy’s logic, which was probably a foolish thing to do, “I’d have more opportunities married than not.”

That made him laugh. “That’s assuming I’d be a
gut
husband, jah?”

The lowering sun blinded me for a moment. “Women are made to bear—”

“Bear or bare?” he asked.

“Their husbands,” I sneered.

“And babies?” His eyes were dancing again, as they so often did.

I squinted. “Hah. Not in this case.”

The teasing in his voice was gone. “Two days ago you hated me.”

I held my breath for a moment and then managed to say, “Hate’s such a strong word.”

His voice took on a pleading tone again. “We still need to talk about what Mervin and—”

“No!” I could only endure so much humiliation. “I can’t revisit that.”

He took a deep ragged breath and then leaned forward, as if examining the covered bridge ahead of us.

I drove Thunder over the planks, his hooves drumming a hollow beat over the wood. The light dimmed, and a dove flew out of the rafters, startling me. I slowed the buggy at the turnaround on the other side. We’d gone far enough.

I headed toward home. I couldn’t think of anything else that needed to be said, so I asked if I should drop him off at the Zooks’.

“At the grocery is
gut.
I have a few things to pick up.”

After I pulled into the parking lot and stopped, Pete jumped down.

I cleared my throat.

“Do you need something?” He nodded toward the store.

“An answer.”

“Ah.” He walked around to my side of the buggy and looked at me, his eyes searching my face.

I looked away.

“Can you give me until tomorrow?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, snapping the reins.

Pete jumped away.

I fought back tears as I pulled back onto the road, trying not to think about the fun Pete and I’d had before I knew the truth. My mind kept playing it over though, again and again.

When I reached our driveway, Betsy came running down from the garden. I stopped the buggy and she jumped in, riding along to the barn.

“So?” she asked.

“He’s going to tell me tomorrow.”

Her face fell. “What do you think his answer will be?”

“I don’t know,” I said, parking the buggy. A week ago, I thought I could read Pete, but now I had no idea what he might decide.

Betsy walked back toward the house, stooping over to pick a couple of sweet pea blossoms growing along the fence, and then twirling them in her hand as she continued. I watched her for a couple of minutes, and then unhitched Thunder and led him to the barn.

When we reached his stall I buried my head against his neck, breathing in the musty smell of horse mixed with the scents of hay and oats and dust and leather. I longed for the way my life used to be. Before Dat’s edict.

Before Pete Treger came to Lancaster County.

As much as I wanted Pete’s answer, I didn’t have the courage to seek him out the next morning. Instead I wallowed in my misery as I went about my work. Not only did I feel sick to my stomach about Pete’s possible answer, but just the thought of Betsy’s predicament made me feel queasy too. At eleven thirty, I hurried up to the house, ate my dinner quickly, and then snuck into the sunroom and finished the biography on Mary Todd Lincoln.

I felt even more despondent after turning the last page. She wore black from the time President Lincoln was assassinated until the day she died, living in perpetual grief. All of her children except her oldest son, Robert, passed away before she did, and her relationship with him was strained until the very end. Her life turned out to be one of despondency and despair. I couldn’t help but wonder how much better off she would have been if she would have married someone else, say Stephen Douglas. Or not married at all. Even if two people loved each other, there was no guarantee of happiness.

The back door slammed, and footsteps fell across the kitchen floor. I could tell by the soft landings it was Betsy, even though I couldn’t see her.

“Pete wants to talk with you!” She called out, her voice full of cheer.

I clutched the book to my chest, paralyzed by fear at the thought of both a “yes” from him and the resulting loveless marriage and a “no” and our family’s shaming. If only I knew how my life would end up—if only I could read my biography now—I’d know which one to hope for.

“Cate?!”

“Back here,” I managed to answer.

In a second, she stood in the doorway, beaming. “He’s waiting. Come on!”

The book slipped from my hands to the couch. I left it there and let Betsy drag me through the house, chatting as she did. “Remember to smile. And be pleasant.”

“Did he tell you what he’s decided?” We were halfway through the kitchen.

“No. But I have a good feeling about this.” She practically shoved me out the back door, closing it behind me. I was certain her positive impression was wishful thinking.

Pete stood beside the vegetable garden, gazing down at the pumpkin seedlings.

I approached. He didn’t raise his head. I cleared my throat.

His straw hat was pulled down on his forehead, but even under its shadow he looked pale.

“Betsy said you were looking for me.”

He crossed his arms. “Yes.”

My voice quavered as I spoke. “Yes, you are looking for me?”

“That too. But, yes . . .” His face was as stoic as could be, giving off absolutely no emotion. “I’ll marry you.”

I swallowed hard and then managed to sputter, “Are you sure?”

He dipped his head, enough that the brim of his hat nearly hid his eyes. “Sure enough.”

My throat thickened. I hadn’t considered how I would respond if he agreed, but with no joy involved it felt hollow. “Okay. So, then . . .” My voice trailed off.

Pete rubbed the side of his face with his hand. “I already wrote to my bishop back home. Mailed it this morning. I asked him to send the letter.”

It was called the
Zeugnis,
and it affirmed that the groom-to-be was a church member in good standing.

“When I deliver it to your bishop, I’ll say we want to marry as soon as possible.”

“Because?”

“I need to get back to New York. I want to take you with me.”

I couldn’t leave. I needed to help with Dat’s business. And get Betsy married. Besides, Lancaster County was home.

“You want to live in New York?” I sputtered.

“Probably not.” His gaze shifted beyond me. “I’ll figure that part out later.”

I couldn’t help but note his use of the singular pronoun
I
instead of the plural
we
.

“I told my bishop I was eager to get back home. I imagine he’ll send the letter within a couple of days.” He met my eyes.

I dropped my gaze, saying, “I’ll make sure the guest list is small. I won’t let Dat go hog-wild.”

He shrugged. “Do what you want. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll talk with your Dat soon, though. To ask him if I can stay on until we leave for New York. And to ask his permission.”

My eyes narrowed. “What will you tell him?”

“The truth. That we’d like to marry.”

“The partial truth?”

He shrugged again.

The whole truth was stranger than fiction and would break Dat’s heart. For a moment I didn’t know whether I wanted to laugh or cry. I opted for neither and instead asked again, “Are you sure?”

“Jah,” he said. “I might be stubborn, but I’m a pragmatist at heart.”

I cocked my head, remembering he’d said that before, about tossing—or burning—the pages he’d read. I supposed a man who could burn books might be audacious enough to agree to a marriage of convenience. I couldn’t help but ask, even though I had a hard time getting the words out, “Enough to . . . you know . . . Because it’ll strictly be a marriage of convenience.”

“Enough to live a life of celibacy?”

I gave him a half nod, thankful he caught on quickly.

He looked off into the distance. “I have thus far. And I know other men who manage to do it.” He shrugged, his eyes still focused in the distance. “So I guess so.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. From what I’d read, I didn’t think most men would agree to such an arrangement. Obviously he didn’t want an intimate relationship with me, but I was surprised he was willing to give up hope of having a conventional marriage with someone else. I blushed.

“I need to get back to work,” I finally said.

“Me too,” Pete replied, rubbing his mostly healed chin. Soon it would be covered with a beard. He still didn’t look me in the eye. “I’ll talk to your Dat this afternoon.”

We walked side by side down the brick pathway as a cloud drifted away from the sun, brightening the day even more. The scent of blooming lilacs filled the air from the bush beyond the garden. A robin flew toward the silver maple, a worm
dangling from her beak. I was certain I could make out the chirping of baby birds.

I stopped abruptly, wanting to shake my fist at all that was good and true and right. At the hope of spring. At the natural order of the world—that I wasn’t part of.

Pete didn’t seem to notice my angst at all and veered off toward the showroom without saying good-bye.

By the time I reached my desk, my legs shook. By the time I collapsed in my chair, my heart raced. Had I really just committed to marrying a man I didn’t love? I’d be sharing a home—but at least not a bed—with a husband who didn’t love me. I’d been so sure I was making a rational choice, but now I wasn’t sure if altruism or stupidity drove my buggy. Only time would tell.

Of course Betsy was in my office a few minutes later, grilling me for information. I told her I would talk with her later. I didn’t want to discuss it before Pete had spoken with Dat.

Betsy left with a pout on her face, while I did the best I could to concentrate on my work.

Just as I was filing my last report of the day, Dat eased open my office door. “Got a minute?” he asked.

“Sure.” My heart began to race again.

His brows were drawn together and his forehead wrinkled. He pulled the folding metal chair from against the wall up to my desk, sat, and placed both of his palms down on the wood, between the two of us. “Pete just spoke with me.” His voice was solemn.

I nodded.

“Cate, what’s going on?”

I did my best to sound cheery. “We want to get married.”

“That’s what Pete said. He asked my permission.”

“And?”

Dat stared at me for a long moment. “You’ve been acting funny.”

I responded quickly. “I’m fine.”

He stroked his beard, searching my face.

“It’s just nerves,” I said.

“Just a few days ago you told me the two of you were never a couple. That you hadn’t even been courting and—”

“That was nerves too.”

He closed one eye, as if he were sizing a piece of wood.

“You said once you and Mamm knew after you’d only known each other a week.”

He nodded. “That’s true.”

I tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace.

The mention of Mamm must have convinced him, because he stood and stepped around the side of my desk, wrapping me in a hug and pulling me from my chair. “As long as you’re sure . . .”

“Jah,” I managed to squeak.

“Well, then, I’ll stop my worrying and give Pete my blessing.” He released me as he spoke. “Have you told Betsy?”

“Not yet.”

“Let me. At dinner. Tonight.” As the door swung shut behind him, I sank back in my chair.

Unable to concentrate on work any longer, I closed the files on my desk and placed them atop my inbox. I took out a legal pad and wrote
Wedding
at the top. Amish weddings were anything but simple. Sure, there was no fancy dress to purchase or five-tiered cake to order. But the average bride and groom invited three to six hundred guests. Ours, however, wouldn’t be that big—not anywhere close. I started to jot down names. Uncle Cap and Aunt Laurel and their brood, the families in our district . . . I wrote down
Pete’s parents
and
13
brothers.
That meant he probably had thirteen sisters-in-law and lots and lots of nieces and nephews. I wondered if they would all come. I guessed not. Probably just his folks and one or two brothers.

I put my pencil down and rubbed my eyes. If Mamm were alive she would help me with all of the preparation. She would ask relatives and friends to cook the chickens and make the potatoes. She would round up teenage boys to be the
Hoestlers
for the guests’ horses and men to set up the benches and tables. If Mamm were alive . . . I probably wouldn’t be in this predicament at all. I swiped at a tear.

An hour later Dat, Betsy, and I sat around our big table as Dat led us in a silent prayer. Betsy had fixed meatloaf and baked potatoes, carrot and raisin salad, and green beans and pickled beets from what we’d canned last summer. The delicious smells and my anxious thoughts distracted me from the prayer, and before I knew it, Dat said, “Amen.”

Immediately, Betsy said, “So?” Her eyes were as bright as her smile.

I plunged the serving spoon into the salad.

Dat leaned back in his chair and beamed. “Your sister is getting married.”

Betsy jumped from her chair and wrapped her arms around me. “Denki,” she whispered, her mouth against my ear. Then she squealed, “I’m so happy for you!”

I patted her arm.

Dat frowned. “Why is it, Cate, that we’re all more excited than you are?”

“It’s just my way, I guess,” I said, patting Betsy’s arm again, this time with a little more enthusiasm.

“You’re absolutely sure?”

“Of course she is.” Betsy scooted back on to her chair.
“What girl wouldn’t be thrilled to marry Pete Treger?” After a quick breath, Betsy said, “We need to start planning. I’ll help,” she said. “You know, do everything a mother would do. Ask people. All of that.” Betsy dished up a spoonful of beets. My cheerful Schwester was back.

“I want it small, so—”

“Why?” Betsy passed the bowl on to Dat.

“Well, you know. We want it to be soon.”

“Oh.” Betsy blushed.

“Pete wants to go to New York. . . .”

“To live?” Betsy gasped.

Dat put the bowl of beets down hard, and a little splashed over the side. Betsy was on her feet in a split second, retrieving the dishcloth to wipe it up before it stained the table.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“Just to visit, probably,” Dat said, “is what Pete said.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Betsy gave me a wary look.

It didn’t make sense for Pete to want to stay in New York. Not if he wanted Dat to set us up in a business here. I hadn’t taken a bite of food. I mashed the end of my baked potato with my fork and then pushed it around my plate a bit. I didn’t think I could manage to swallow.

Thankfully Betsy chattered away about the wedding. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

If only it were that simple.

The days slowly crept by, one by one. Betsy seemed to be doing better, buoyed by the upcoming wedding and the hope that her problems would soon be over. A couple of times I asked her how she felt, and she simply answered, “Fine.”

Pete was cordial with me but didn’t make an effort to talk. I figured he wouldn’t until the letter arrived from his bishop. Then we could speak with Bishop Eicher and have the wedding published—announced at church—as soon as possible.

By Friday I was as restless as I’d ever been in my entire life, but for once I was leery of going to the bookmobile. I wasn’t sure I could face Nan and not tell her what was going on. But by midafternoon, I talked myself into it. Surely she wouldn’t have heard anything unless Pete had told her, and I couldn’t quite imagine that.

It was the Friday for her to be north of Paradise, not the location closest to us. As I left my office, Dat called for me from his.

“Off for some books?” he asked.

“Jah.”

“Tell Nan hello,” he said.

I told him I would.

“Is Pete going with you?”