An Amish Holiday Wedding

Ordinarily, she relished the time she spent chatting with the other women during Sabbath dinner cleanup, but today Lawrence’s fiancée, Penelope Lapp—an eighteen-year-old deacon’s daughter who lived in a neighboring town—was visiting her relatives in Willow Creek. After church, Faith overheard Penelope fawning over Henrietta’s infant, claiming she hoped God would bless her with a baby by this time next year.

Although Faith no longer felt any romantic attachment to Lawrence, it distressed her to be reminded of why they’d broken up. She escaped to the creek to gather her composure, only to be discovered by Hunter, who pointed out what a “little wisp of a thing” she used to be and made her sentimental by calling to mind a long-forgotten memory of her departed father.

If all that weren’t unsettling enough, now she was going to have to exchange pleasantries with Lawrence!

“Hunter, how gut it is to see you,” Mason said, clapping him on the back.

Lawrence did the same and Hunter responded in kind.

“Please meet Katie Fisher,” Faith’s brother said. “She’s the schoolteacher here.”

“And this is Penelope Lapp,” Lawrence stated. “My intended.”

“Your intended?” Hunter repeated.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Lawrence ribbed him. “I’m twenty-two, almost twenty-three. It’s past time for me to marry and start a family.”

Faith winced, supposing if it weren’t for the time he lost courting her, Lawrence wouldn’t feel his marriage and family plans were behind schedule.

“How about you, Hunter?” Penelope asked. “Are you betrothed or walking out with someone?”

“Neh,” was all he said.

“Neh? That’s a surprise,” Lawrence replied. To Penelope, he explained, “Hunter lived here for a while when he was sixteen and he was so sought after, he had his choice of meed. He could have courted anyone he wanted.”

Faith’s irritation was becoming more difficult to suppress—it sounded as if Lawrence were describing horses at an auction, not young women.

“Did you want him to court you, Faith?” Penelope asked.

“I was only thirteen!” Faith exclaimed. “Despite what some people may think, not every maedel’s sole dream is to get married as soon as she possibly can.”

She was appalled by Penelope’s nerve. Even if Faith had developed a crush on someone as a schoolgirl, it wasn’t something she’d discuss, especially not in front of male acquaintances. Courtships and romance among the Amish tended to be private matters.

“He didn’t court or even favor anyone, if I recall,” Lawrence said. “He claimed he didn’t believe in courting unless he intended to marry, and since he was only sixteen and lived in Indiana, there was no point in walking out with anyone here. He was probably the only person who actually attended our singings just for the singing.”

Penelope sniggled but Katie asserted, “I attended singings in my district primarily for the singing when I was a youth. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Faith smiled at the stout, dark-haired woman. She always appreciated Katie’s forthright manner, and she was glad Mason was walking out with her. When Faith glanced at Hunter, she noticed he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, as if embarrassed by the conversation. She couldn’t blame him and she quickly switched topics.

“Speaking of youth, Hunter and I were just talking about how you boys used to spend time down here at the creek,” she said to Mason. “Do you remember the footbridge?”

“Jah, of course.” Mason regaled the others with the anecdote about their footbridge disaster and subsequent submersion in the creek.

“After your daed pulled us out, he promised if you finished the fieldwork early the following week, he’d help us build a sturdier bridge,” Hunter recalled.

“Jah, and you were so excited that after working all day for Ruth, you’d come and help us every evening in the fields and on Saturday, as well,” Mason reminisced, shaking his head. “My daed frequently commented about what a strong, dedicated worker you were. I often had to ask Gott to forgive my envy.”

“He’s still strong—look at those shoulders,” Lawrence observed, lightly punching Hunter’s arm.

Faith wasn’t certain if she imagined it, but Hunter’s face seemed to go gray. Was it modesty or the cold wind that caused him to set his jaw like that? Although as a boy, he was as congenial as could be, there was something stilted about his posture now that gave him an air of aloofness. Ordinarily, Faith would have been put off by an unsociable demeanor, but she sensed Hunter was uncomfortable with the attention, and she wanted to spare him further uneasiness.

“The bridge is still standing,” she informed Hunter. “This past summer I brought my nephew down to the water so he could cross it.”

Hunter visibly relaxed his shoulders. “I’m not surprised,” he said, looking directly at Faith as he smiled. “Your daed made sure it was durable.”

“I’d like to see it,” Penelope suggested. “Why don’t the men lead the way?”

Faith had never taken Lawrence to the bridge before, and she didn’t want him visiting it now. The bridge belonged to another part of her life; it belonged to her dad and brothers and nephews—and even to Hunter. But not to Lawrence. “I really ought to return to the house—” she started to say.

“There’s no need to hurry back,” insisted Penelope. “If you’re hungry, there will still be leftovers in another hour. And it’s not as if you need to dash to the evening singing to meet a suitor, is it?”

Faith huffed. She never mentioned wanting to eat, and she didn’t appreciate Penelope’s digging for information about whether she was being courted. “Actually, my concern is that I ought to be helping clean up.”

“But who knows when I’ll be back here again?” Penelope sounded like a wheedling child. “Please, Faith?”

“Alright,” Faith agreed, “kumme along.” She had no idea why it was so important to Penelope to see the footbridge, but she gave in since the young woman was a guest in their district. As a member of the host family, it was up to Faith to be especially hospitable to her. But that didn’t mean she was going to let the men take the lead.

* * *

Although Faith courteously accommodated Penelope’s request, as she pivoted toward the woods Hunter noticed the spark in her eyes. What put it there? Why did she suddenly say she needed to get back to the house? Was it really that she wanted to help clean up, or did Faith have a suitor waiting after church for her? Hunter didn’t know why the possibility caused him to experience a twinge of disappointment now, when only yesterday he assumed she was being courted. But perhaps that wasn’t the reason she wanted to leave at all. Maybe Faith was simply tiring of Penelope’s intrusive inquiries.

Hunter sure was. He gladly would have returned to the house, too, but the only thing he wanted to do less than hike along the creek was to explain why he didn’t want to hike along the creek. He intended to avoid discussing his injuries as long as he could. After all, what would Lawrence say once he knew Hunter developed such broad shoulders from months of turning the wheels of a wheelchair and hoisting himself along the parallel bars at the clinic? Would Mason think Hunter was less of a hard worker when he found out he’d lost his job because he wasn’t mobile enough to meet the assembly quota at the RV factory? Would it suddenly dawn on all of them why he was no longer “sought after” as a bachelor? What might Faith—not just as his employer, but as a woman near his age—think of him then?

It wasn’t that Hunter believed any of them would be unsympathetic if they found out about his injuries; it was that he didn’t want their sympathy in the first place. He worked too hard at recovering to have to answer personal questions about his condition from the likes of Penelope Lapp. So he bit his lip and tried to match his stride to Mason’s and Katie’s, while Faith marched up ahead and Penelope and Lawrence lagged behind.

“How long will you be visiting Willow Creek?” Katie questioned conversationally.

“Until my ant’s leg heals, probably sometime after the first of the year. I’m managing her store until she’s better.” Hunter pushed a branch out of his way, holding it to the side so it wouldn’t spring back and hit Penelope.

“What do you do for employment at home?” Penelope questioned.

“He works in an RV factory, isn’t that right?” Lawrence replied before Hunter had a chance to answer. “You must have accrued a lot of time off to take such a long leave. That’s one gut thing about working for the Englisch. It’s not like a farmer’s work, which is never done.”

While Hunter contemplated how best to respond, Penelope swatted at Lawrence with the end of her shawl. “I’ve heard it said that it’s a farmer’s wife’s work that is never done,” she taunted.

“That, too,” Lawrence allowed.

“Business owners don’t exactly sit around twiddling their thumbs, and Katie has her hands full as a schoolteacher, too,” Faith countered over her shoulder. Hunter chortled inwardly in appreciation of her feisty tone. She was never one to let her brothers claim their work was more important or difficult than anyone else’s, including hers, when they were kids.

“Jah, that’s probably true,” Penelope concurred. “Oh! Speaking of business owners, I almost forgot. Lawrence and I want you to make the cakes for our wedding, don’t we, Lawrence?”

“Jah, if she’s willing.”

“Of course I’m willing, but please give me your exact order ten days in advance. I know Lawrence prefers everything to be just so, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him,” Faith said without slowing or turning to face them. Did Hunter detect a note of sarcasm in her reply?

“I will,” Penelope agreed happily. “Hunter, you must attend our wedding, too. All of the leit from Lawrence’s church are invited. We’ll match you up with a—”

“There’s the bridge,” Faith interrupted, and Hunter was thankful she’d saved him from embarrassment once again. She scampered down the rocky embankment, and the others followed.

Each step seemed to jar Hunter’s hip bones against their sockets as he descended the slope. The small bridge was weathered and a few boards were missing, but it rose in a functional arc above the shallow current, just as he’d remembered.

“It’s as good as new,” Mason jested, confidently crossing it to the other side. He held out his hand for Katie to join him.

Katie stalled reluctantly. “I don’t know... I might be too heavy for a kinner’s bridge.”

“Don’t you trust my workmanship?” Mason teased, so she darted across the planks.

Penelope took her turn, and then Lawrence stepped onto the structure. “You call this durable?” he gibed, stomping on the bridge with the heel of his boot. “This board here feels a little loose.”

After Lawrence crossed, Hunter waited for Faith, who seemed to be dillydallying. “Ladies first,” he uttered patiently.

Faith hesitated before placing one foot onto the bridge. As she lifted her back foot from the shore, the waterlogged board beneath her front foot gave way.

From the parallel embankment, Katie shrieked, “Help her!”

It happened so suddenly and his joints were so stiff, Hunter wasn’t able to spring forward quickly enough to prevent Faith from falling. Her front leg wedged through the crack into the creek while her upper torso lurched forward onto the bridge.

Mason and Lawrence raced down the opposite bank while Hunter bolted into the icy current from his side of the water. With one foot dangling in the creek, Faith was using her dry, bent leg and her arms to try to crawl onto the bridge.

“Are you hurt?” Mason asked.

“I’m stuck!” she yelped, red-faced. “Stop pulling me! You’re making it worse.”

“I’ve got her,” Hunter said authoritatively. “I’ll lift her up so you can free her leg. Be careful. Here, Faith, lean back against me.”

From behind, he gently wrapped his arms around her waist and clasped her to his chest until Lawrence and Mason eased her leg from between the planks. Then he carried her to the embankment. Her stocking was torn and her leg was scraped from her ankle to her knee, but it didn’t appear to be seriously injured.

Kneeling before her, Hunter hesitated. He feared his legs would lock up on him, but he offered, “If it hurts your ankle to walk on it, I can carry you back to the house.”

“Neh,” she snapped and what seemed like a look of disgust clouded her face. He didn’t blame her; he might as well have pushed her into the creek for as slowly as he’d moved to prevent her from falling in.

Then she quietly added, “Denki, but my foot is fine. It’s just very cold, so I’m going to hurry up ahead.”

Katie, who had waded over to be sure Faith was alright, said, “My feet are wet and cold, too, so I’ll go with you.” She linked her arm through Faith’s for support and they scuttled away.

Stranded on the opposite bank without a bridge to cross, Penelope called, “What about me? Lawrence, help!” until Lawrence waded across the water, hefted her to his shoulder as easily as a sack of grain and waded back, setting her down next to Mason and Hunter.

The four of them walked in silence the rest of the way, too chilled to speak. In fact, until Katie mentioned her feet were wet, Hunter hadn’t realized his legs were, too. The icy water had made them so numb that for once he wasn’t aware they’d ever been hurt at all. Wishing the same could be said of his self-esteem, Hunter kept his chin tucked to his chest as he tramped against the wind.

Chapter Three

On Sunday night, Faith rose so many times to don her prayer kapp and kneel beside her bed that she feared she’d wake her two nephews, ages three and five, who slept on the other side of the divider in the tiny room she shared with them. Each time she finished praying, she was certain she’d thought her final uncharitable thought, but another one would come to mind as soon as she slid back under the quilt and she’d have to ask the Lord to forgive her all over again.

Much of her resentment was directed at Lawrence, whom she blamed for her clumsy plunge into the creek. If he hadn’t deliberately trampled over the bridge like a big ox, the board wouldn’t have broken when it was her turn to cross. She was equally piqued by Penelope’s constant chatter and references to her upcoming wedding. Faith understood the young woman was barely eighteen, but it seemed she could have exercised a bit more discretion.

Yet oddly, it was Hunter’s conduct that ruffled her most. Rationally, she knew he was being helpful, but she was utterly mortified when he wrapped his arms around her midsection and held her above the water. Not to mention how embarrassed she was by the pained expression on his face right before he offered to carry her home. He couldn’t have appeared more daunted if he’d volunteered to shoulder a dairy cow!

She admitted she was overweight, but she wasn’t that overweight. Wasn’t Hunter supposed to possess extraordinary strength, anyway? Wasn’t that what Mason and Lawrence claimed? She remembered his youthful vitality, too, just like she remembered how popular he was. But what good did either of those qualities do him now, if he couldn’t be gracious enough to overlook the fact she was no longer “a little wisp of a thing”? Not that she wanted his assistance, but he didn’t have to pull such a face when he offered it—especially in front of Lawrence and his skinny fiancée, Penelope.

Faith socked her pillow. With the exception of the afternoon she confided her secret to Lawrence, she’d never felt so unfeminine and humiliated as she’d felt that afternoon. By the time she drifted to sleep, she wasn’t certain whether her leg ached from falling through the bridge or from kneeling so long, praying for God to forgive her pride and anger.

When she awoke on Monday, her indignation had faded, but as she bicycled through the dark, her leg burned with each painful rotation of the pedals. Feeling cranky, she hoped she’d have a few minutes alone before Pearl arrived. Usually, the older woman didn’t come in until seven thirty or eight, but this week she planned to work longer hours to help fill the Thanksgiving pie orders.

Faith sighed. Thanksgiving was ten days away and they were behind schedule as it was. They’d received so many orders that Faith resorted to limiting the number of fresh-baked pies she’d sell during the half week before the holiday. Instead, she offered customers the option of buying unbaked, frozen pies, which they could pick up anytime. Many Englischers said they’d be glad to experience the fragrant aroma of “homemade” pies baking in their ovens. Some brought in their own pie plates, and Faith inferred they might intend to take credit for making the pies themselves, but she didn’t mind one bit; each order brought her closer to making her down payment.

But exactly how much closer was she? The surge in orders was generating more income, but since she was also spending more on ingredients and paying Pearl for extended hours, Faith wasn’t sure how the figures would balance out. Bookkeeping wasn’t her strength, but she planned to review her financial records as soon as things slowed down in the bakery.

“Guder mariye,” Pearl cheerfully greeted Faith. “You’re limping! What happened to your leg? Were you romping through the woods with those darling nephews of yours again? You dote on them. You’ll make a fine mother someday—”

“It’s nothing,” Faith cut in. She was edgy enough without being reminded she probably wouldn’t make a fine mother someday. “You’re here even earlier than I am. Did you start a pot of kaffi?”

“I just put it on.”

They took turns making and rolling pie dough and peeling and slicing apples until it was time to flip the sign on the door to Open.

“Guess who’s up bright and early this morning?” Pearl chirped, returning from the task. “Hunter Schwartz. I spotted him in the shop.”

Her cheeks burning at the mention of Hunter’s name, Faith only mumbled, “Hmm.”

“The cannery doesn’t open until nine. He must be an especially hard worker.”

First Pearl called him a fine, strapping young man and now she was praising his industriousness. Faith knew the older woman well enough to suspect her comments were a prelude to matchmaking.

“Jah,” Faith carefully concurred. “Diligence was always one of Hunter’s admirable attributes, even when we were kinner.” Then, so Pearl wouldn’t read any personal interest into Faith’s admission, she added, “That’s one of the reasons I didn’t hesitate to hire him.”

“We should extend a personal invitation for him to join us for his afternoon meal, the way Ivy and Ruth always do. You could go over there before the customers start arriving and—”

Now Faith felt positive Pearl was laying the groundwork for a match between her and Hunter. “Neh!” she refused more adamantly than she intended.

Pearl put her hand to her throat as if wounded. “Oh,” she apologized meekly. “I just thought it would be a neighborly thing to do.”

Faith realized she may have misinterpreted Pearl’s intentions and regretted her decision hurt Pearl’s feelings, but she didn’t back down. “It’s a lovely thought, Pearl. But we’re so busy filling orders I don’t foresee myself taking proper dinner breaks. It wouldn’t be polite for me to personally invite him and then not join all of you once he got here.”

“Neh, of course not, I understand,” Pearl said. “Work comes first.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Faith clarified. “I only meant...”

The bell jangled on the door and one of the Englisch regulars stopped in for his morning coffee and honey bar. Faith was relieved she didn’t have to confess the real reasons she couldn’t possibly sit down and eat dinner with Hunter Schwartz. For one thing, even though he was already well aware of the size of her waist, she didn’t want him to know how much she ate and judge her for it. For another, there was something about seeing him again as an adult that made her doubt she could swallow two bites in front of him. The feeling wasn’t merely the awkwardness over broken eggs or broken bridges, nor was it necessarily an unpleasant sensation, but it was unsettling all the same. Once Faith became accustomed to working with him, perhaps she’d feel different. For now, she hoped she wouldn’t see much of Hunter until after Thanksgiving, when he began making deliveries. Perhaps by then, she’d even lose a couple of pounds.

* * *

Hunter wiped his palms against his trousers. On Saturday he’d mopped the floor, and he’d come into the cannery early this morning to restock the shelves so that everything was exactly where it should be. Rather, everything except one very important person: Ivy. It was ten minutes before nine o’clock. The shop opened at nine on weekdays, and Ivy was nowhere to be seen.

Hunter was afraid this might happen. Ivy lived alone with her grandfather, Mervin Sutter, who introduced Ivy to Hunter and Iris after church on Sunday. The blonde, petite, sixteen-year-old girl wouldn’t look Hunter in the eye as she mumbled a barely audible greeting. He attributed her shyness to his own appearance, assuming she was intimidated because he was twice her size. Also, his pants were dripping from walking into the creek and he was shaking with cold. To her, he probably looked like a crazed bear, which was a bit how he felt at that particular moment.

Glancing through the window toward the bakery, he wondered how Faith’s leg was this morning. He knew from experience pain had a way of getting worse as the day wore on. As he uttered a quick prayer this wouldn’t be the case for Faith, he caught sight of her approaching a table toward the front of her shop. She disposed of a napkin and paper cup and scrubbed the table in swift circles with a cloth. To his surprise, when she was done she lifted her hand in acknowledgment. Pleased she seemed to have put his shortcomings during yesterday’s incident behind her, he waved back.

Then he realized she wasn’t waving to him, but to Ivy, who was passing on the sidewalk in front of the cannery. She pulled the door open just as the clock began to chime on the hour.

“Ruth Graber turns the sign to Open at nine o’clock,” Ivy stated in a monotone.

Hunter was startled speechless by her greeting. Then he recalled Ruth advising him that habits were very important to Ivy and he mustn’t disrupt her routine.

“Of course, denki for the reminder, Ivy,” he said as he flipped the sign on the door.

For the rest of the morning, Ivy didn’t say a word unless asked. But she led the customers to any item they requested and she could quote the jars’ contents and prices by heart. However, Hunter quickly discovered that while her recitation skills were excellent, Ivy had no ability to add or multiply figures. So, he used the cash register to create receipts while she bagged the customers’ purchases.

Virtually all of the customers were Englischers, but at midmorning, a slightly built, bespectacled Amish man, Joseph Schrock, paid a visit to introduce himself. Joseph’s father, Daniel Schrock, owned Schrock’s Shop, which featured Amish-made crafts and goods that were especially appealing to tourists, and the store turned a healthy profit.

“It’s gut to meet another businessman,” Joseph said. “Sometimes I catch grief because I’m not a carpenter or a farmer, but I knew from the time I was a kind I had a head for figures, not a body for a farm. Gott gives us all different talents, right?”

“Jah,” Hunter agreed, although he wasn’t sure if Joseph’s comment made him feel better or worse about not being able to do the physical labor he’d been accustomed to doing. What if his physical strength was his only God-given gift? What if he didn’t have a “head for figures”?

He didn’t have time to dwell on the thought, though, because customers were lining up. Soon, Ivy declared, “It’s quarter to one. Ruth Graber and I take our dinner break with Faith Yoder and Pearl Hostetler at one o’clock. Ruth Graber turns the sign to Closed.”