A Courtship for the Amish Spinster
Auteur·e
Vannetta Chapman
Lectures
17,2K
Chapitres
17
Chapter One
Eunice Yoder stepped out of the barn and into a fine September evening. Northern Indiana in the fall was a wunderbaar place to be, and Shipshewana was the perfect little town. It was a good day, made better by the fact that Eunice had figured out what was wrong with the solar pump she’d been working on for her bruder-in-law Gideon. She had a little bounce in her steps and was looking forward to a nice dinner. Perhaps she’d even have a free hour to finish the novel she’d borrowed from the library the week before.
She was so pleased with herself and so busy planning her evening that she almost walked by Sarah’s buggy without paying any attention to it. Honey nickered though, pulling Eunice’s attention into the present. The chestnut mare had a rich brownish red coat. She was even-tempered and didn’t mind waiting. Eunice thought Honey was a fine horse.
“Hey, girl. Didn’t expect to see you tonight.” Luckily she had a peppermint in her pocket for just such emergencies. Eunice unwrapped the candy, held it in her palm and waited for Honey to accept the gift. She didn’t have to wait long.
Scratching the mare’s neck, she whispered, “Guess I’ll go see what my big sis is up to.”
No one was on the porch, where they should have been on such a beautiful afternoon. No one was in the sitting room, which would have made some sense as they often visited there. She turned toward the kitchen, the first bells of alarm going off, and stopped in the doorway.
Her dat and schweschder sat at the table, patiently waiting for her by the looks on their faces. Sarah was taller than Eunice by a good four inches and rail thin. She was the oldest of the siblings and looked good. She looked content. Their dat had recently turned sixty years old, was somewhat round but not fat, and his hair and beard were quickly turning more gray than brown.
“Might as well come on in,” Sarah said, patting the seat beside her.
“Not sure I want to.”
“And yet, we need to speak to you.” Her dat met her gaze and smiled softly. It didn’t reach his eyes though, which was rare. Her father was usually in a jovial mood. Not this afternoon, not as he sat there studying her with something between concern and exasperation.
This looked serious.
Yikes.
She couldn’t think of a single thing she’d done to embarrass her family or step outside the Ordnung. She breathed a sigh of relief that at least Bishop Ezekiel wasn’t in attendance. So, it couldn’t be terrible news. Ezekiel was like their long-lost uncle as well as their spiritual advisor. If something big was going down, Ezekiel would have been there.
“I brought dinner,” Sarah said. “It’s heating in the oven.”
“Danki.” Everyone knew that Eunice wasn’t the best cook of the family, but they were getting by—her and her dat. Since Sarah had married and moved away, Eunice had been forced to learn the most basic of cooking skills. She thought she’d been doing okay. Was this about that?
Her father didn’t waste any time. “We need to talk to you, Eunice. About your future.”
“My future?”
Sarah chimed in with, “Dat’s worried, and so am I. We all are.”
“You’ve been talking about my future to...everyone?”
“Not everyone,” her dat corrected. “Your schweschdern, of course. Gideon, Aaron, Ethan and Noah all felt very strongly that it wasn’t their place to voice an opinion.”
Worse and worse.
If her four bruders-in-law were taking a hands-off approach, it must be very serious indeed.
She sat in the chair Sarah had gestured toward and crossed her arms. Then she uncrossed her arms because it felt very defensive to sit that way. She didn’t want to appear defensive. This little meeting had all the signs of being bad enough.
“Okay. What am I in trouble for this time?”
“This time?” Sarah shook her head in mock surprise. “You act as if you stay in trouble.”
“Well, last spring I was taking unnecessary risks.” She emphasized the last three words and focused on not rolling her eyes. “Or so you all decided.”
Sarah tsked. When had her oldest schweschder started tsking? “You were lying on the roof of a two-story house, hanging over the edge, trying to attach a solar panel.”
“Actually the panel was already mounted on the roof of the house. I was dropping the wiring from the panel to the charging battery so that...” Eunice clamped her mouth shut. It was no use defending her activities that particular afternoon. Her dat had claimed it had taken a year off his life. What should have been a small, relatively easy job had earned her a scolding from all four schweschdern. “You know what. Never mind. Let’s just get on with this. Whatever this is.”
Instead of being offended by her abrupt manner, her dat nodded as if he was hoping she would see it that way. He opened his mouth to speak, shut it, patted the table and tried again. “Excellent. After speaking with your schweschdern, we are all concerned that you’re not planning for your future.”
Eunice let her head fall back and stared at the kitchen ceiling. She tried counting to ten, but then she noticed a spot on the ceiling that needed to be cleaned or painted. The five grandchildren in the Yoder family could make for a rambunctious bunch. There was no telling which one had decided to fling oatmeal up on the ceiling. Probably it was from a food fight gone awry. Not that they often had food fights, but five children were a lot to watch every second.
Yes, it had happened when she’d been left to watch over all the children. Her schweschdern had gone to clean house for one of the older men in their congregation who’d recently broken his hip. Eunice had told herself that she’d fetch the ladder and clean the ceiling before anyone noticed—yet there it remained, still on the ceiling, mocking her.
“Do you disagree?” Sarah asked.
“About what?”
Sarah and her dat shared a look, which caused Eunice to sit up straight and assume a serious demeanor. What had they been talking about? Her future. That was it. “I just don’t know what you want from me. I’m working. I’m helping around the house.”
“You’re not dating.” Her dat said this so softly that it made Eunice almost feel sorry for the man. He’d managed to successfully match all four of her schweschdern. He’d had no such luck with her, and she knew from previous conversations that he counted that as a personal failure.
“True. I’m not.” Now she did cross her arms.
“Look, Eunice.” Sarah cocked her head and waited.
She had the older-sister-but-kinda-your-mom thing down perfectly, probably because she had been Eunice’s mom since Eunice was four years old. Since their mamm had died.
“You just turned twenty-five,” Sarah continued.
“And you were thirty when you married.”
“I’m not the best example.”
“What is wrong with my being single?”
“I thought you might say that.” Her dat actually looked relieved, as if finally the conversation was on the right track. “And we both know that my matchmaking attempts have been something of a flop. My fault, I fear. Not yours.”
“Well, the last guy lived in Middlebury and had seven children. Seven, Dat. Do you really think I’m old enough and mature enough to instantly become the mother of seven?”
“I think you’re old enough and mature enough to be anything you want to be, but...” And now he did look a bit lost. A bit older. A bit sad. “I’m afraid that you are too comfortable here. That it’s easier to stay tinkering in the barn than it is to consider life beyond this farm.”
“Becca didn’t go beyond this farm. You can see her front porch from the kitchen window.”
“And yet, she’s married with a husband and two children. She is living her life. Her best life. And it’s time for you to do the same.”
Sarah jumped in before Eunice had the chance to respond to that, which was probably for the better. “There are parameters.”
“Parameters? To what?”
“To the deal we’re suggesting.”
“You’re suggesting a deal?”
“Either you find full-time employment, or you begin a serious courtship.”
Huh. She could probably find a full-time job. It was September and shops would soon be hiring seasonal help as they extended their hours for Christmas shoppers. She didn’t want to work in a shop, but she thought she could handle it long enough to calm everyone down. Someone would have a baby, the whole family would be distracted by the arrival and the attention would be off her.
“Okay. I don’t think it’s fair. I feel like I’m being pushed around, but I know you all mean well.” She was actually starting to feel a bit nauseated and light-headed. If she’d known she was going to have to deal with this confrontation, she would have stayed in the barn. Which would only reinforce their point, so she didn’t bring it up.
“You have thirty days,” her father said.
“Thirty days?” The words came out louder, sharper than she intended.
“You keep kicking this particular can down the road, Eunice. I won’t have it.” Amos rarely took a stern voice with them. When he did, it was effective. “I will not have you hiding away in that barn, living like a spinster when you are only twenty-five years old.”
“But...” Her brain picked that moment to betray her. She needed to say something, come up with some cogent argument, but her mind was suddenly and completely blank. Finally, she managed, “And if I don’t?”
Her dat had already attempted to set her up with every eligible man in their church district and beyond; hence, the widowed guy in Middlebury with four girls and three boys. Whew. She wasn’t that fond of children. Her nieces and nephews were great, of course. But seven kids of her own? No thanks.
“If you don’t find full-time employment or begin dating seriously, then you’ll be moving to Kentucky. I’ve already spoken with your cousins there.”
“What?” She stood so abruptly, she nearly knocked the chair over. “Kentucky? You’re sending me to Kentucky?”
“In thirty days, if you haven’t—”
“Found full-time employment or begun a serious courtship. Heard you the first and the second time. But thirty days...”
“Should be plenty of time. Well. That’s all settled.” Sarah stood and began bustling around the kitchen. “Who wants cookies before dinner? I have oatmeal raisin, fresh from the oven.”
But Eunice didn’t want cookies. She didn’t want dinner, and she didn’t want to be in this room any longer. She excused herself and walked back out to the barn. The smell of linseed oil and hay and horse helped to ease her anxiety. This place, this barn, was where she was most comfortable, and she was good at what she did here. People from all over the area brought her their small engine machines. Yes, Amish had them. Their community was probably a bit on the liberal side of things in that regard, and it seemed that she’d always had this innate, mechanical ability.
Find full-time employment or begin a serious courtship.
She didn’t want to spend her days looking for a job she wouldn’t enjoy or be good at. And she knew absolutely no one that she’d be interested in dating.
Thirty days.
Or Kentucky.
Things were definitely worse than she’d thought.
She’d always loved working on broken things—taking them apart, figuring out what was wrong, devising a plan to fix them. But today she sat at the workbench and stared out the open door of the barn, wondering how she could fix what was wrong with her life. Wondering where she’d even start.
