Courting Cate (3 page)

“I’m fine.”

“Do you have a jack?”

I nodded. “But I don’t need your assistance.”

He squinted down at the wheel, tilted his head, and pointed. “The boot’s cracked.”

I took a closer look. He was right. “I only have a half mile to go,” I said. “I’m going to walk.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t hurt.”

I shrugged.

“Or the horse.”

I turned toward Thunder. His head was up, and he was staring at me, his brown eyes as trusting as ever.

Pete stepped over and patted the horse’s neck. “I’ll walk with you.”

“You just want to meet my father.” I crossed my arms.

He smiled. “Well, sure . . .” His eyes danced under the brim of his hat. I imagined, after what M&M most likely told him after I left, that he also wanted to meet Betsy. “But I really would like to help you,” he added.

What choice did I have? Obviously he was determined to meet the rest of my family, one way or the other.

He took my bag of books, slinging it across his free shoulder, while I led Thunder, keeping a few paces ahead. A lone blue jay, perched on a post, scolded us and then flew off over the field. In the distance Dat’s handful of cows grazed, safe, secure, and solitary behind the white rail fence.

“Want my coat?” Pete offered. The late afternoon had grown cool.

“I’m fine,” I answered.

We walked in silence for a few more minutes.

“Not much of a talker, are you?” he finally said.

I ignored him and quickened my steps, urging Thunder to speed up his pace.

“Okay, then I’ll talk. I’ve been traveling for about six months.”

I kept my eyes straight ahead. I wasn’t interested in his bragging.

“I’ve spent time in different settlements, just passing through. Indiana. Colorado. Montana.”

I slowed a little. I’d always wanted to travel.

“Then I hitchhiked back east and worked the last few weeks in Ohio. I hope to stay in Paradise for a good long stretch to save some money, then go on home, for a bit.”

When I didn’t respond, he peered into the bag of books. “Mind if I take a look?”

Before I could say,
Jah! I do mind!
he’d pulled out the first one—the biography on Abraham Lincoln. I’d started with George Washington and was making my way through all the presidents and first ladies, although I hadn’t found biographies on a few of the lesser-known wives.

“I stopped at Lincoln’s birthplace when I went through Illinois,” Pete said.

I raised my eyebrows.

“I toured the site with a group of schoolchildren. They made a big deal about the cabin not having an indoor toilet.”

That made me smile.

He shook his head. “Who had indoor toilets in 1809?”

I rolled my eyes. He was only trying to impress me that he’d been to Illinois and knew the year Lincoln was born.

Changing the subject, I asked, “If you’re rich enough to travel, why the interest in working for my Dat?”

“Oh, I’m not rich,” he answered. “Far from it. In fact, I’m downright poor. Grew up that way and remain that way. I’m a genuine pauper, if you want to know the truth.”

I raised my eyebrows again.

“’Tis a good thing it’s the mind that makes a body rich.
I’m the fourteenth son—and the last. Believe me, there’s not even a flowerpot of dirt left for me.”

“Any sisters?”

He shook his head.

“Your poor Mamm.”

“Indeed,” he said.

“So why go back? If there’s nothing there for you?”

“I have some unfinished business. I can’t put it off forever—unless I find a really good reason to stay in Paradise.” He grinned.

I quickened my pace.

The sun passed halfway behind a cloud, and the hill in front of us cast a long shadow. A breeze wafted through the row of birch trees lining the edge of the emerald-green field. In the distance a bird called out. On the slope of the hill, which was part of my uncle Cap’s farm, a herd of Holsteins grazed, appearing as fancy black-and-white polka dots on green fabric. Beyond them a wooded area led down to the creek.

I hadn’t traveled far, but I’d certainly read wide. Even though I hoped to see more of the world, I was sure the countryside around Paradise had to be the most beautiful place on earth—even when a braggart was pestering me.

“How long have you lived in these parts?” he asked.

“I have a feeling you probably already know that answer.”

He chuckled again. “You’re right. I was told your entire life.”

My maternal grandfather, Dawdi Cramer, had left his son, Uncle Cap, his farm, except for a ten-acre strip with a second house and barn, which he’d left my Mamm. My Dat, whose Ohio family was probably poorer than Pete’s, had used the property for his shop and to raise a few head of cattle and then to launch his businesses.

Uncle Cap did quite well with farming, with the aid of his
sons, six altogether, although the youngest two didn’t do much yet at five and seven. He had one daughter, Addie, who was just older than Betsy, smack in the middle of the brood, and she practically ran the household, even though her Mamm and her aunt Nell were around to help. Addie was one of those practical girls who had always seemed much, much older than she was.

Still skittish, Thunder nudged up against me, knocking me off-balance. I stumbled and fell against Pete, bumping his shoulder.

He grabbed my elbow, but as soon as his hand touched me I jerked away, as if I’d been stung. I pulled Thunder closer, giving him less wiggle room.

Unable to contain my curiosity I asked, “Who in Ohio told you about us?”

“The Yoders.”

“That takes care of about half of Holmes County.” That was where my Dat hailed from. They tended to be more conservative than the Lancaster County Amish.

“Nathan Yoder. His wife is Miriam. I worked on their dairy farm.”

He was Dat’s cousin.

Pete asked how long I’d been out of school, and as I answered I knew he was guessing at my age.

I couldn’t help but enjoy his attention, even though once he saw Betsy he’d have no interest in me.

Like all the rest, he’d be smitten.

The lane curved. To the right were the showroom, office, and shop, and then the big red barn. Straight ahead stood our three-story home with the covered porch, the sloping lawn, the white rail fence, the apple trees, and gardens. Pete whistled under his breath. I winced, thinking he was impressed by our property.

Pete stopped walking. I knew then he’d spotted Betsy.

Twenty yards away, she stood with her profile toward us. Wisps of blond hair had escaped from her heart-shaped Kapp and fell around her face. She had a basket in one hand, filled with April flowers—daffodils, tulips, and forsythia.

Pete froze. Betsy turned toward us, slowly. Her burgundy dress complemented her brown eyes.

“Who’s with you, Cate?” she called out, her voice kind and sweet, the anger from the night before long gone. Her hand shielded her face from the afternoon sun.

Inwardly, I predicted it would be one of those moments she and Pete would talk about for the rest of their lives and pass down to their children and grandchildren. Because even I knew this stranger surpassed the men we knew, regardless of his arrogance. If Levi came around tonight, I doubted Betsy would go to the window.

“Who is it?” she asked again.

“It’s just a vagabond I found along the lane,” I responded, figuring I might as well make a joke of the whole sorry situation.

“Where’s the buggy?” She moved toward us.

I stepped forward. Pete didn’t. I elbowed him in the side. He lurched, awkwardly.

In a raspy whisper he managed to say, “That’s Bitsy? Who Mervin and Martin were talking about?”

I poked him again, surprised at the sense of satisfaction I felt as my elbow connected with his ribs. “Her name is Betsy.”

“And it’s true your Dat won’t let anyone court her until you’re spoken for?” His voice was raw.

A twig snapped.

Pete spun around. Thunder snorted. Dat stood right behind us.

As we’d walked up the lane, I’d harbored a small measure of hope that Pete might be different.

But he wasn’t. So as he stared at my Dat, I elbowed him a third time. This one hard enough to make him yelp just as Dat boomed out, “Hello!”

After Pete’s typical response to Betsy, I wished Dat would throw him off our property. I wished Dat would tell him never to come back. But Dat wasn’t that kind of a man. He always welcomed a stranger.

As Pete introduced himself, Betsy floated toward us, holding a bouquet of tulips in one hand.

When she reached me, she smiled—brilliantly, of course—and then said, “Joe Koller is coming to dinner!” She beamed. “Isn’t that great?”

“What?”

Dat and Pete conversed behind us.

“I saw him at the grocery store,” Betsy said, “and asked him on a whim. I told him you’d be late tonight because it’s bookmobile day, so he’s coming at six.”

“No.” I choked on the word, feeling a surge of anger. It was useless to react, the invitation had already been both
given and accepted, but I couldn’t stop the emotion welling up inside me.

“All by himself. Without any of his kids. That was his idea.”

“Betsy, how could you?”

She wrinkled her forehead. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

My hand flew to the top of my Kapp as I bowed my head.

“But after our talk last night, I thought . . .”

And I thought I’d made it clear I didn’t want to court at all, let alone an old man. It was so like her to confuse what she wanted with what I wanted.

I didn’t realize I was shaking my head until Dat put his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve met my older daughter, Cate,” he said to Pete. “And this is my younger, Betsy.” Dat nodded toward her.

I turned away. Still, I caught Betsy’s radiant smile as Pete shook her hand.

“Looks like we’ll have another guest for dinner,” Dat said.

“Oh, that’s wonderful-
gut.
” Betsy’s voice was all sweetness and light.

As I grabbed my bag from Pete and started for the house, Betsy reached out for my arm. “Could you take the flowers in? For the table.” She thrust them in my face. I batted them away with my free hand, sending a red bloom bobbing back and forth, but then took them from her.

“And I’ll need help getting dinner on the table,” she added.

As I started toward the house a second time, Pete asked Dat about a job.

I slowed, straining to hear his answer.

“I might have a position in our showroom, now that you mention it.”

I picked up my pace again. Dat must have thought Pete was something special. He wouldn’t consider him for the
showroom job unless he thought Pete could do it. He was big on first impressions.

“Cate, after you take care of those flowers, come back down to the office,” Dat called out. “I might have some paperwork that needs to be done.”

My back still to them, I held the flowers up in a wave to acknowledge I’d heard him. There was no way I was going to turn around and show all of them the look of disappointment on my face.

Stepping into the kitchen, my mouth began to water from the mingling smells of freshly baked bread, a beef dish, and an apple pie with a noticeable dose of cinnamon.

I fetched a vase from the top shelf of the pantry, filled it with water, and plopped the flowers into it. Just as I placed the vase on the table, Betsy came in the back door, humming a tune.

She stopped when she saw the flowers. “You didn’t arrange them.” She hurried over. “You have to trim the stems. And then put the tallest in the middle.”

I gave her a blank stare. Although I’d read about arranging flowers, I’d never actually done it.

She threw up her hands in mock despair. “I’ll do it.”

“
Denki,
” I muttered. Betsy appreciated beauty. Our simple home reflected our Amish values, but Betsy liked to add little touches, such as flowers and candles.

“Pete seems really nice,” Betsy said. “And he’s awfully handsome—don’t you think?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Even cuter than Levi . . .” She stepped toward the cupboard, pulling down another plate and glass. There was a time, up until about three years ago, when Betsy listened to me. Back then I’d told her, over and over, not to judge people by the way they looked. Or where they lived. Or by their
horse or their buggy or their barn. But those days when I held such influence were long gone. I had to trust I’d taught her most of what she needed back then—had to hope she would remember it when the time came.

What I hadn’t taught her, because I had no idea what to say, was about the birds and the bees. No one had taught me either—but I figured it out through library books. I tried to share what I’d learned with Betsy, by placing the books I’d read years before on her bedside table, then on her bed, then on her pillow. I know she saw them—but I never saw her actually read any of them, even though I kept renewing them, over and over.

After she’d added the fifth place to the table, she said, “Dat seems to like Pete a lot. He’s sure to hire him. They were headed to the showroom. You’d better get down there.”

Dat decided Pete would start on Monday, to give him time to settle in at the Zooks’ place. I had him fill out a W-4 form, and after he was done, he and Dat headed down the lane to fix the buggy, taking Thunder along to pull it back home. I hoped when Joseph Koller reached them, on his way to our house, he would stop and help too, but the man came straight to the back door. Betsy poured him a glass of iced tea and insisted I sit with him in the living room while she finished the dinner preparations.

I led the way and directed Joseph to the couch. As he sat down, his hat in one hand and drink in the other, I asked how his business was going. He made wooden toys to sell—to tourists, mostly.

“
Gut,
” he answered.

Gray hair fringed his bald spot. His beard nearly reached
his waist. I wondered if perhaps he was older than I thought, maybe past fifty.

I settled into Mamm’s rocking chair. “How are your children?”

“
Gut,
” he answered.

“How’s business?” I asked.

“
Gut,
” he said again.

“Any new designs?”

He shook his head. He’d been making wooden trains and trucks for as long as I could remember.

We suffered through a long, awkward pause. “My Dat will be in soon,” I finally said, wishing he were there right now.

“Jah. I saw him down the lane with a young man fixing your buggy.” He grimaced. “I figured the stranger was here to see your sister.”

I started to shake my head but stopped myself. My face grew warm as I answered, “Jah, and to work for Dat too.”

He didn’t respond to that, so after a few more minutes of me silently stewing and him staring blankly toward the wall, I asked him if he’d read any good books lately.

“We’re in Leviticus,” he said.

“Oh.”

“How about you?”

“I just started a biography of Abraham Lincoln.”

He cleared his throat.

I stopped rocking. “Genesis. Chapter four this morning.”

He smiled a little, as if he approved of my answer and nodded, his fringe of thin hair flying up a little. “What’d you do to your buggy?” He crossed his arms as he spoke.

“The boot cracked.”

“Racing will do that.”

Wondering what he’d heard about me, I gave him a cold stare as I stood. “I’m going to help Betsy.”

I hurried into the kitchen. Betsy was humming “Amazing Grace,” a favorite at the youth singings, and stirring the gravy. “It’s your turn to talk with him,” I whispered. “I’ll stay in here.”

“Everything’s done.” She put the whisk on a plate. Besides being a great cook, she was tidy too.

“All the more reason for me to be in the kitchen, then.” I picked up the whisk.

“Oh, no,” she said. “If I visit with him, he might get the wrong idea.”

“Betsy.” I plunged the whisk into the pan and began stirring, frenetically. “Go.”

“He came to see you.”

I hissed, “You’re the one who invited him.”

Betsy put her hands on her hips. No longer whispering, she said, just as the back door swung open, “You’re the one we need to marry off.”

I pretended to be intent on the gravy as I tried my best not to explode.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Betsy gushed. “That was fast.”

“Many hands make light work,” Dat said, hanging his hat on a peg by the door and then washing at the utility sink.

“I’ll dish up,” Betsy said. “Joseph Koller’s in the living room.”

“Alone?” There was a hint of disappointment to Dat’s voice.

I kept my focus on the stove.

“Cate?” Dat grabbed the towel as Pete stepped up to the sink.

“Seems that way,” I answered. I concentrated on the gravy, and a minute later Dat and Pete’s footsteps across the linoleum indicated they were going in to sit with the man.

“Let’s get this over with,” I growled at Betsy as I grabbed the gravy boat.

Without answering me, she opened the oven door and took
out a roast, surrounded by root vegetables. Her homemade rolls were already nestled in a basket atop a sky-blue cloth napkin. Next she heaped the mashed potatoes high in a pure white dish.

In a few minutes we had everything on the table, and Betsy stepped into the living room and politely called the men to the table.

I sat down at my usual place, and Betsy directed Joseph to sit beside me. Pete sat across the table, kitty-corner from me, next to Betsy.

After Dat led us in the blessing, he asked Joseph how his business was going. Unlike me, he was able to get the man to talk. A chain of toy stores in Germany was carrying his products, and he planned to branch into Sweden too.

The bouquet of flowers partly blocked my view of Pete, but not enough for me to miss him bending his head toward Betsy and making a comment. I couldn’t hear what he said, but she laughed at it, quickly covering her mouth with her napkin.

I asked Joseph how the trade tariffs affected his profits. His face reddened. “I don’t talk business with women.”

I continued, saying, “I read somewhere—”

Dat cut me off. “Cate,” he said.

I ignored him, keeping my attention on Joseph as I jumped to a new topic. “Who’s your distributor?”

Dat tried a second time. “Cate . . .”

“We should look into the international market!” I exclaimed to Dat. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? “It’s the perfect next step.”

“That might be so,” Dat answered, “but Joseph doesn’t want to discuss this.”

I slumped down in my chair.

Pete winked at me. “Clearly Cate has a head for business.”

I did my best not to smile, but I was pleased with the acknowledgment. Dat simply nodded and sighed.

“How long have you had your cabinet shop?” Pete’s full attention was now on Dat.

“Eleven years,” Dat said. “I started out in construction, framing houses for a local company. Then I moved on to finishing work. After a while I tried my hand at contracting.”

It was a story I knew by heart. He wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t fact—the truth was, Dat had a gift for business. It was all about his relationships with people and the quality of his products and work. He was firm, but he bent over backward to take care of both his customers and his employees. He’d flourished as a contractor, adding more and more clients and employees. But contracting took him away from home and Betsy and me too often, and that’s why he decided to sell that business and start the cabinet shop.

Cabinetmaking allowed him to be closer to us but applied the same principles as contracting. Great quality and excellent customer service. Plus, it turned out he had a knack for designing kitchens and bathrooms. He had orders from all over the country, from Maine to Hawaii. There was no reason we couldn’t ship them all the way around the world.

“Once the cabinet business was on its feet, other entrepreneurs started asking for my advice. That’s when I opened my consulting business.” Dat took another helping of mashed potatoes and passed them on to Joseph. “That’s it in a nutshell.”

“And both your daughters work for you?” Pete asked.

“Just Cate. Betsy’s in charge of the house”—Dat looked directly at Joseph —“although Cate helps with that too.”

“So Cate has a lot of business experience?” Pete smiled at me through the tulips and daffodils.

“She’s great with numbers,” Dat said.

“And ideas,” Pete added. “But I’m sure you’re just as skilled when it comes to cooking, because the gravy’s delicious.”

I hesitated, confused, until I remembered I was stirring it when he came into the kitchen. In a daze, I said, “Oh, thanks.” I pushed my plate away a little. “Except I didn’t make it. Betsy did.”

“What
did
you make?” Joseph asked.

“Nothing at all.” I stood, intending to get the water pitcher off the sideboard, making a sweeping gesture as I did to indicate Betsy’s vast accomplishments. But I accidently bumped the flowers, sending the bouquet off-balance. As it shifted, I lunged for the vase, but in doing so, I toppled it over, sending a mini tsunami of water toward Pete. He lurched back, but not soon enough. In a split second his lap was soaked.