A Groom for Greta

“Then offering you a ride was the first step,” Hilda announced.

“Toward what?” Lydia asked, her cheeks turning a deeper shake of pink than usual.

“Toward courtship, of course. I expect that he’ll ask to see you home after tonight’s singing? It’s no one’s business, of course. Such matters are private, but still...”

Lydia lifted her chin, hoisted the platter stacked high with sliced bread and said, “He will have to work up his nerve first, but if he asks I will accept.”

Greta was every bit as shocked by this announcement as any of the women in the kitchen. Lydia had always said that she could not be bothered with courtship unless she were truly in love. She barely knew Luke Starns so what could she be thinking?

* * *

Luke filled his plate but kept his eyes on Lydia Goodloe. The truth was that the schoolteacher intimidated him the same way his former teacher had back in Ontario. How on earth was he going to court this woman? Where would he find the words? And why did the mere intent to do so feel more like a difficult task—one he would rather not attend—than something that would lead to a pleasant conclusion?

Perhaps the best plan was to approach her with the idea that a match between them was a practical decision. He wanted a family. Her job as teacher of the community’s children might be in jeopardy if families kept leaving Celery Fields to return north. How would she and her sister make their way if she lost her position? Would it not be a relief for her to surrender the burden of trying to make ends meet?

The more Luke thought about it, the more it seemed to him that this could work out to the mutual benefit of both parties. And grasping that, his confidence grew. At least until he spotted Greta. She presented a problem. The idea of living in a house with two women was not especially appealing. The idea of living there with the capricious Greta Goodloe was unnerving altogether. Of course Greta might yet marry. But who?

Unless Josef Bontrager changed his mind, who was there?

“Would you like some pie, Luke?”

Lydia was standing next to him. She was smiling although somehow her smile did not seem to quite reach her eyes. In her expression he read something else—something more like resignation.

“Denki.” He took the plate and fork. “Did you make this?”

“I did.”

Luke speared a bite of the pie and ate it. Without a doubt it was the worst-tasting peach pie he’d ever had. The fruit was hard and undercooked and had none of the enhancement of cinnamon or sugar to help flavor it and the crust was doughy and heavy. He swallowed the lumpy mess and smiled. “Denki,” he said again, unwilling to tell a lie especially on the Sabbath.

To his surprise Lydia burst out laughing. “It’s horrid, I know.” She relieved him of the plate and replaced it with another that she picked up from the spread of desserts on the table. “Try this one. Greta and my half sister, Pleasant, are the bakers in our family. I thought you might want to know that if indeed you are intent on...spending time with me.”

And there before him was the opportunity he’d been seeking. In fact it appeared he did not even need to ask—although it would be rude and conceited not to. And the truth was that when she smiled, Lydia Goodloe was not quite so intimidating.

“I will be at tonight’s singing,” he began. “I understand that you—and your sister—will also be there?”

“We will indeed.” Greta Goodloe stepped up next to them, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

Luke swallowed around the lump that seemed to be blocking his ability to speak. “Das ist gut,” he murmured and speared another bite of the pie.

“My sister will need a ride home,” Greta prompted.

“We both will,” Lydia corrected.

Luke had not counted on seeing the two of them home. That was hardly the way things were done. “I would be pleased to drive you—both.”

“Then in that case,” Lydia said, “we will see you this evening.”

Luke watched the two of them move through the gathering, clearing plates and glasses as they went. Within minutes they had both gone back inside the farmhouse where the women would finish packing up the leftover food while the men moved the benches into the barn for the singing. He turned to help with the benches and found himself working next to Josef.

Luke had not liked Bontrager from the day he’d first come into the blacksmith’s shop to hire Luke to check the team of giant Belgian horses he used to plow his fields. The man had instantly reminded Luke of the milk toast his father used to make for him and his brothers—soggy. It was an odd word to use in describing another man, but it fit Josef Bontrager as far as Luke was concerned.

For all his booming voice, Josef was timid and indecisive when it came to business. And to Luke’s way of thinking, he was penny-wise but pound-foolish as the old saying went. On the one hand he had bought up the land of surrounding farms when those farmers had hit hard times and decided to return to their homes up north. On the other he was dickering over paying the price for a proper shoe for his horse. When Luke had told him that three of the team of four horses would need at least one shoe replaced, Josef had hedged.

“You’re certain we couldn’t get by one more season?”

Luke had shrugged. “In my opinion you’d be taking a risk but it’s your team.”

Josef multiplied what Luke had given him as the price for one shoe times the total number that he recommended replacing. He tapped the stubby pencil against the final tally for a long moment and then released a low whistle through his teeth. “That’s pretty steep,” he said.

“That’s my price,” Luke replied as he packed up his equipment and climbed onto his horse. “Let me know if you decide to go ahead.”

A full two weeks later—after Josef, according to Roger, had gotten at least two other bids—the farmer came to the shop and hired Luke to do the work. By that time all four horses were in need of his wares. And when Josef had hinted that Luke was simply trying to get more money for his work, Luke had told him the price he’d originally quoted would stand. He did this not for the owner, but out of pity for the horse. No, Luke did not much care for Josef Bontrager. And the more he saw of Greta Goodloe, the more he had to wonder what she had ever seen in the man.

* * *

Greta felt immeasurably better as she and Lydia worked together later that afternoon laying out the “thin book” version of the centuries-old Amish hymnal, the Ausband. The full version of the hymnal was used for regular services. It was thick—well over five hundred pages and contained the words of hymns passed down through the generations as far back as anyone could remember. The book contained no musical notations—just words. Because most of the hymns had been written during the time of persecution in Europe when Joseph Amman had broken from the Mennonites but not from the Anabaptist beliefs, the hymns they sang during services tended to be somber and even mournful in tone. By contrast the “thin book” version of the Ausband contained hymns that were lighter and more joyful and far more suitable for the kind of social occasion that the Sunday night singing was.

Greta was actually beginning to look forward to the evening. Her plan appeared to have worked. Instead of everyone buzzing about Josef’s breakup with her, they were speculating about what Lydia had been thinking offering Luke Starns that piece of pie and what might the two of them have had to discuss for such an extended time. Just wait until Lydia left with Luke after the singing.

“The blacksmith seems nice,” she ventured.

“Hmm.” Lydia was noncommittal as always.

“He’s very strong. Did you see the way he lifted two benches at once as if they were no more than small branches?”

“He’s a blacksmith,” Lydia pointed out. “In his line of work one develops strength.”

Greta gauged her sister’s mood. She seemed indifferent to the conversation, focusing instead on the precise alignment of each songbook. Every now and then she would reach across the long table and straighten a book that Greta had set in place before moving on.

“Still, he’s quite handsome. I mean in a dark, brooding sort of way. Do you think perhaps that’s the way men are in Ontario?”

“Ontario?” Lydia blinked at her as if she’d heard that single word and nothing else.

“Where he’s from,” Greta reminded her. “Canada?”

“I know where Ontario is,” Lydia replied. “And I know what you are trying to do, Greta.”

Greta bit her lip. “I’m just...”

“...trying to take the attention of others away from your current troubles. And that is understandable. Furthermore I am quite willing to help you in that, but do not for one minute think that I am the least bit interested in Luke Starns—at least romantically speaking.”

“You don’t even know the man,” Greta protested. “For all you know he might be...”

“I am sure that he is a good and kind man. From what I have heard from others, he is honest and fair in his business dealings and he seems quite determined to make a life for himself here in Celery Fields. The question I have is why?”

“Why does anyone come here? The weather for one thing. I mean, Ontario?” Greta shivered in spite of the oppression of the heat.

“But alone—no family ties here? At least when Jeremiah Troyer arrived he had connections—his great-uncle and aunt were here and he had visited them in the past.”

Greta sighed happily. “Yes, and then Jeremiah set his sights on Pleasant and it was so romantic.”

“You’re missing the point, Greta. Luke Starns simply...” She seemed lost for the right word. “He simply appeared one day. No one knew him or anything about him for that matter.” They had finished their task and as Lydia surveyed their work she added, “And once again you are losing sight of the point of our conversation.”

“Which is?”

“Which is, dear sister, that I am going to attend the singing tonight and allow Luke to see us home because it will indeed give people something to talk about other than you and Josef. However, get one thing straight.” She pointed her forefinger at Greta the way she often pointed it at students in her classroom. “After tonight you will need to face the fact that there will be gossip and speculation regarding you and Josef and your best path is to ignore it and move forward.”

Greta blinked back tears. “With what?”

“Pardon?”

“Move forward with what, Lydia?” Greta snapped peevishly. “You have your teaching. Even before she met Jeremiah, Pleasant had the bakery and the children. What exactly do I have to move forward with?”

And just like that, the misery returned, the misery she had felt once she realized that Josef was not going to come running back to her, not going to beg for her forgiveness, not going to—marry her. “I gave that man all my time—every waking hour was spent thinking about him, what would most please him and now...”

“Do not exaggerate, sister. You have our house to oversee—the cleaning and cooking, the laundry, the upkeep,” Lydia scolded. “You and Josef spent a great deal of time together. That’s true. Often, I might add, to the neglect of your responsibilities. Our house has not had a good cleaning in months. I think you will find that, if you keep yourself busy and away from the shops, in time you will find your way.”

So she was to be a castaway, banished to the house until the talk died away? Greta whirled around to face her sister. “I keep up with the housework just fine. Papa used to say that it was the best-kept house in all of Celery Fields and that Josef was fortunate to have won the heart of one who...”

Lydia was fighting to hide a smile—and failing. “Feeling a little better?” she asked.

It was an old pattern the sisters had established early in their motherless lives—whenever Greta felt sorry for herself, Lydia would turn the tables on her. She would find some fault with Greta, knowing that the criticism would not go unchallenged.

“Yah,” Greta admitted. “Aber...”

Lydia shushed her. “It’s the Sabbath, Greta. Time for us to gather our thoughts and ruminate on the week past and the week to come.” As was her habit on Sunday afternoons, Lydia retrieved the Bible she carried with her and walked outside where she sat on a bench under the shade of a tree and began to read.

Greta knew that her sister would spend hours reading scripture and praying before the cold supper they would share with Pleasant and her family. Ever since their father’s death a year earlier, Lydia had isolated herself this way on Sunday afternoons. At first Greta had been hurt by what she saw as her sister’s abandonment and had roamed the rooms of the house until it was time for Josef to come by so they could go out walking or for a ride in his buggy. But then Lydia had explained that it was Greta’s restlessness that had driven her to seek the refuge of her reading.

“You are in constant motion and I need the quiet,” she had said. “We each have our way.”

It was true. Greta did her best thinking—and praying—on her feet. Sometimes—like today—she would go for a walk. Fallow fields that had once provided enough to support the farmers stretched out as far as she could see. Here and there, those neglected fields were interrupted by a span of freshly plowed and planted fields—land that would yield crops to support the families remaining in the community. She turned her gaze to the distant silo that stood next to the large barn on Josef’s farm, marking the otherwise undisturbed horizon. On other Sundays she had waited for him to join her. But not this Sunday...or next...or the ones beyond that.... She turned away from anything that might remind her of Josef. How could he have been so cruel?

A motion outside the barn caught her eye. Luke Starns was taking something from the back of his wagon. Greta frowned. The man ought to have a proper buggy for courting her sister. She glanced to where Lydia sat reading and trying to catch whatever breeze there might be. She doubted that Lydia would care one way or the other about a buggy, but Greta cared for her. Maybe they did things differently in Canada. Greta folded her arms in her apron and continued watching the blacksmith—who seemed totally oblivious to her presence.

He took off the jacket he’d worn during services and placed it on the wagon seat. Then he pushed back the sleeves of his shirt and led one of his team of horses into Jeremiah’s barn before returning for the other. As he went about these tasks she could see his suspenders stretch over the muscles of his broad back. She couldn’t help thinking that in spite of the years farming and building furniture for the Yoders to sell in their store, Josef was given to the pudginess that had plagued him as a boy.

“Too fond of Pleasant’s pies,” he had often teased, patting his oversize stomach. And certainly he was a regular customer at the bakery. Since most of his family had moved north again, he lived alone and at least twice a week he was at the bakery buying a couple dozen of the large glazed doughnuts that were Pleasant’s specialty and always a pie—sometimes two.

Greta felt her cheeks flush at the realization that she was actually comparing Josef’s physical appearance to Luke’s. What was the matter with her? She forced herself to turn away. She needed to concentrate on how best to get Lydia to allow the blacksmith to court her. Her sister could be so stubborn sometimes.

* * *

After he’d finished helping Jeremiah and the other men set up the benches for the evening singing, Luke had intended to head to town. But the truth was that once there he’d have little more than an hour before he’d just have to turn around and come back again. And in this heat even if he washed himself and groomed the horses in town, he and his team were bound to be sweat-soaked and dust-covered by the time he returned. No, best to stay here.

Jeremiah wouldn’t mind and it would give Luke the time he needed to sort things out properly in his mind. Things that yesterday had seemed fairly straightforward now made little sense. His decision to persuade the schoolteacher that they would make a good match had seemed so simple in theory. In other parts of the country, there were several Amish communities within several miles of each other allowing for a much broader opportunity to get to know others. But in Celery Fields there were no outlying or neighboring Amish communities and so there were few options for single men and women.

The idea that Lydia might rebuff him had never even entered his thinking. Yet he’d had the distinct feeling earlier that she had agreed to be seen leaving the singing with him tonight for one reason only—to turn the attention of the gossips away from Greta and onto her. On the one hand he admired her loyalty to her sister. On the other the realization that Lydia found such a drastic move necessary only served to remind him that Greta was no longer a detail that he could overlook as he considered the future.

In the time he had spent considering how best to pursue Lydia as his wife, he had never given much thought to Greta. Like everyone else in town, he had assumed she would marry Josef and that would be the end of it. But now...

Now he found himself thinking about how the house he had thought to share with Lydia would also be home to Greta—at least unless Bontrager came to his senses or some other man in the community stepped up to court her. He and both Goodloe sisters would share meals and holidays and outings. She would be there when he came home in the evenings and when he left for his shop in the mornings. It was enough to try and imagine himself settling in with one woman. Two—especially when one of them was the mercurial Greta—was more than he had bargained for. But it was too late to rethink his plan. In a matter of hours the singing would be over and he and the Goodloe sisters would be riding back to town—together—in the dark.

Greta represented a fly in the ointment of his plan. Yet he could not deny that earlier on their way to services, he had been uncomfortably aware of Greta’s closeness, positioned as she was between him and Lydia on the high wagon seat. Her shoulder had been only a fraction of an inch from his upper arm. When he had tried to steal a glance at Lydia to see how she might be reacting to the clearly unexpected circumstances of riding to services with him, he had instead found himself looking at Greta—her fair ivory cheek and full pink lips just visible beneath the brim of her bonnet.

Yes, he had a problem. It was obvious to him that Lydia’s first and primary concern was going to be caring for her sister. Any interest she might have in him was going to be a distant second. It was also obvious to him that he was spending far too much of his time thinking about Greta Goodloe.

* * *

Sometimes Greta loved the fact that Celery Fields was such a small, close-knit community. But as young people began to arrive for the evening singing, she would have happily traded her surroundings for a bustling, impersonal city. The singing was a far livelier occasion than Sunday services. Everyone mixed together, talking and laughing and sharing refreshments. Along with barn raisings, festivals and other community events, this was an approved venue for courtship and for flirtation.

She had been naive to imagine that everyone would be focusing on Luke and Lydia. After all, the idea of a courtship between her sister and the blacksmith was something townspeople had speculated on almost from the moment Luke Starns had arrived in Celery Fields. It was old news whereas Greta’s breakup with Josef was fresh fodder for the gossip mill. Everyone would be far more interested in where she—and Josef— might choose to sit.

“Staying for the singing is a terrible idea,” she announced as she plopped down next to Lydia on the bench where her sister had spent the afternoon reading.

“But I thought...” Lydia studied her for a long moment. “I see. You are afraid of what people will say about you—and Josef.”

“I am not afraid,” Greta protested. “It’s just that it’s so soon and...”

“If we leave then I cannot accept Luke Starns’s offer of a ride home,” Lydia reminded her.

“Of course you can. In fact it makes more sense than my tagging along. I’ll just pretend...”

“No. Either you and I both go home now or we both stay.”

Greta could be every bit as stubborn as her sister. She folded her arms across her chest and said, “Then I guess we both go home. We can walk.”

“Fine. You will go and tell Luke Starns of the change in plans,” Lydia instructed. “Now.”

“You should be the one. It’s you he wants to see later,” Greta argued.

“It was your decision to accept his offer to drive us here for services and it is now your decision to leave before the singing. You owe the blacksmith an explanation—in person.”

“Fine,” Greta huffed. As the sister of the woman that Luke intended to court, there was no reason for Greta not to be seen talking to Luke. Anyone observing them would assume that she was simply furthering the courtship on her sister’s behalf. So Greta made no attempt to hide her destination as she stomped across the yard toward the barn. From inside the barn she could hear the snort of a horse and the deep, soft voice of Luke talking to the animal. She took a moment to close her eyes and pray for the right words and then she walked toward the stall at the far end of the barn.

“Luke Starns,” she called out, inching her way forward as her eyes became accustomed to the shadows cast by a late afternoon sun.

He stepped out from the stall, holding a grooming brush in one hand. “Yah?”

Greta pasted a smile on her face although she doubted he could really see it. “I’m afraid that... That is my sister...”

Luke turned and continued brushing the horse. “Your sister is having second thoughts,” he said flatly. It was not a question.

What it was though was a way out of this entire mess. If she agreed then there would be no further need for explanation. Greta chewed on her lip. But lying was a sin and that would definitely count as a lie.

“I am having second thoughts,” she admitted.

The brush rested on the horse’s hindquarters for a fraction of a second before Luke once again resumed the rhythmic stroking. “About me and your sister?”

“Oh no,” she hurried to assure him. “Not at all.”

“Then what?”

“Josef will be here for the singing.” It was all the explanation she felt he needed. After all, he knew the whole story.

“Yah. And at least a dozen other people.”

“All talking about us—Josef and me.”

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