The Mysterious Amish Bachelor
Auteur·e
Vannetta Chapman
Lectures
18,2K
Chapitres
17
Chapter One
Sarah Yoder moved the chicken casserole to the side on the oven rack, slipped the pan of biscuits in beside it, shut the oven door and turned to stare out the kitchen window.
“He’s here,” Eunice groaned.
“It won’t be so bad.”
“Oh, you think so? Last week Dat insisted that I take some important papers over to Jesse Hochstetler.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. He’s tried to match each of us with that poor man.”
Sarah gave Eunice a quick hug. “When you’re as old as I am, he stops trying.”
“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”
“Exactly.”
They both turned to peer out the window at Noah Beiler. He was average height, average build, average Amish. Sarah realized that was an uncharitable thought. He was, no doubt, a perfectly nice guy.
Eunice sighed as if the evening were a heavy shawl lying across her shoulders. “Didn’t you go to school with him?”
“I did, but that was a long time ago.”
“Looks like they’re going to sit on the porch for a spell.”
“Mind taking out two glasses of tea?”
Eunice rolled her eyes, but she reached for the glasses Sarah had prepared. The ice was from the trays they kept in the freezer. It wasn’t as if they had an ice maker. They were Amish. They believed in living Plain. No electricity. No automobiles. No wireless internet.
The tea had been brewed in the sun.
“Might as well get this over with. Do I have any grease on my face?”
“Nope. You look remarkably grease-free at the moment.”
Which caused them both to laugh. Eunice did usually have dirt or oil or grease on her face. She was a tinkerer. She was happiest when working in the barn or the pastures or even the garden, and Sarah loved her dearly for it.
They were an especially close family, maybe because their mamm had died when her youngest sister, Ada, was only a babe. As the oldest, Sarah had helped to guide her four schweschdern through childhood, teen years and into young adulthood.
One of them was usually dating, but never anything serious. It seemed—even to Sarah—as if they were content to live at home, to be with their family.
Just when it looked as if their dat would grow old at home with all of his doschdern unmarried, three of their schweschdern had married in the last few years. They’d also added two bopplin to the family, both born before Christmas the year before. It was hard to believe her nieces were now seventeen months old and walking!
There were days when Sarah thought she couldn’t imagine being happier than she was now.
Then there were days when loneliness threatened to overwhelm her.
She couldn’t explain why her emotions careened from one extreme to the other, but she’d learned to wait it out, to trust in Gotte’s plan for her life, to stay focused on the present moment. It wasn’t always easy, especially when her dat had a matchmaking plan in his back pocket. Sarah could only hope that Noah Beiler was there to meet Eunice because she was personally not feeling up to any dating games.
She heard Eunice speak to their visitor, then tell them dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes.
Eunice walked back into the room, smiling and shaking her head. “I think this one’s for you.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because Dat didn’t spend any time explaining about my inventions. And he was talking up your cooking.”
Now it was Sarah’s turn to groan.
“You are a pretty gut cook.”
“I’ve had lots of experience.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Toss the salad?”
“Sure thing.”
Twenty minutes later, the four of them were seated at the table. They bowed their heads for a silent prayer, Amos gave a hearty, “Amen,” and they began passing dishes. Sarah tried to be inconspicuous about studying Noah. He was better looking than she remembered, with a strong jawline and kind eyes. He caught her staring, smiled in an embarrassed way, then passed the salad to Eunice.
“You went to school with Sarah, ya?” Amos dug into the chicken casserole with gusto. He’d had some health challenges in recent years, and Sarah was relieved to see his vigorous appetite.
“Ya. It’s been quite a few years though, right, Sarah?”
“It has. I seem to remember you playing marbles a lot.”
Noah laughed and nodded his head. “Something our teacher did not abide very well.”
“Could have been worse. Could have been frogs or snakes.”
“I must have had a different teacher than you two.” Eunice buttered her biscuit, studying it as if she could see the past there. Popping a bite in her mouth, she chewed and then said, “You would never have dared to play marbles or have frogs or snakes with Beth Bender. That woman was serious about education.”
“Are your other doschdern still in the area, Amos?”
“Oh, ya. Indeed, they are. Becca and Gideon live in the new house across from the barn. You passed it as you drove in. They would have joined us but Gideon was working late on some incoming auction items.”
“Becca thinks that Mary is teething again,” Sarah added. “Their boppli is seventeen months old, and she is quite the handful. We adore both her and Lydia, Bethany’s child. They were born only hours apart.”
“Those were busy times—frightening times if I’m honest. There were problems with both pregnancies.” Amos stared across the room as if he could see the entire family gathered in the waiting room of the hospital—worried, scared, praying. Finally, he shook his head and returned to the present moment. “Bethany married Aaron King, who you’ll meet sometime this week at the market. As Sarah mentioned, they also have a boppli, named Lydia. Then Ada surprised us all by marrying Aaron’s bruder, Ethan.”
“Your family is going through a busy time.” Noah’s voice was soft, gentle even, as if he appreciated all that those three marriages and two pregnancies entailed.
“What about your family, Noah?” Sarah told herself she wasn’t being nosy. She was genuinely interested. It seemed that Noah had dropped off the radar quite a few years ago. Had it been five years? More? He had moved out of the area and left his parents to run the farm alone. It was all coming back to her now. No one ever said where he’d gone or why.
“My parents are gut. Dat’s still running things on the farm and only needs help for planting and harvesting. Which is why I have the time to work at the market.”
“Definitely a blessing for me,” Amos added. “There are a lot of things I hope to get done over the next few months.”
It amazed Sarah how much was involved with running the Shipshewana Outdoor Market—the largest market in the Midwest. The largest Amish owned and operated market in Indiana. Her dat had first worked as an auctioneer, then risen to assistant manager, general manager and finally owner. He definitely needed a lot of help to keep the market running according to his standards.
He was careful about whom he hired—always looking for the most qualified and dependable person. On the other hand, he would occasionally hire someone who was down on their luck.
So which was Noah?
An answer to one of her dat’s prayers?
Or someone that he was trying to offer a helping hand?
And if it was the second of those, why did Noah Beiler, a seemingly able-bodied man, need her dat’s help?
Sarah was surprised that Noah was still there when she and Eunice had finished cleaning the kitchen.
“I’m going to the barn,” Eunice whispered.
“Don’t leave me here alone with them. It’s...awkward.”
“Sorry, sis. But my being in the room won’t help that one bit.”
She ducked out the back door, shutting it silently behind her. At that moment, Sarah would have been happy to go to the barn and work on a solar pump or a cranky old generator. She wasn’t mechanically minded like Eunice, but she could hand her a tool or brush a horse.
Still, as the woman of the house, her responsibilities lay in the sitting room. She squared her shoulders, poured coffee into three mugs, placed applesauce cookies on a plate, added three napkins, a crock of sugar and a small pitcher of milk, and picked up the tray. Perhaps Noah would eat so many cookies he’d become sleepy and decide to go home.
He didn’t.
He ate one cookie, and he seemed content to stay and visit with her dat.
“You mentioned renovation projects, but you weren’t specific. What did you have in mind?”
“The bathrooms need updating. New paint. New tile. New fixtures.”
“Easy enough.”
“I’d also like you to look at the canteen. It’s a favorite among tourists and employees alike, but even I can see that it needs a fresh look.”
“I’m happy to do that.”
“There are other projects that I’ve been putting off...certainly enough to keep you busy through the summer. We’ll also assign a few part-timers to your work crew.”
“Sounds great, Amos. Danki.”
“Don’t thank me. You’ll be the one doing the work.”
Sarah figured she might as well ply Noah for information if she was going to spend her evening hearing about projects at the market. “So you have experience in construction?”
“Not construction as much as remodeling.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Ya. For sure and certain there is.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she tried again. “What kind of jobs have you done before?”
He met her gaze, didn’t blink or look uncomfortable in any way. “This and that.”
“I checked his references, Sarah. No need to worry.” Amos laughed heartily.
Sarah simply smiled. It had been obvious to her that Noah was quite vague with his answers. What was that about? Perhaps she should be less circumspect. Get off the subject of work and ask more general questions. “Where did you live the years you were gone?”
“Here and there.”
“Do those places have a name?”
“Illinois—mainly.”
“Ah.”
So not so far away. Then why hadn’t he been home? At least she couldn’t remember him coming to visit his parents. Theirs was a large church community, so it was possible that he had and she hadn’t noticed.
Amos told a few stories about the market. He described Ada becoming an Amish animal activist, then falling in love with Ethan. He explained about Bethany and Aaron working together in the RV park that was adjacent to the market. “They fell in lieb as well.”
At this point, Noah was staring at his feet, and Sarah wanted to melt into the rocking chair.
“Then there was Becca and Gideon. He’ll tell you their story, but suffice to say it was firecrackers before it was love.”
Noah nodded as if that made sense.
“You never know what might happen when you come to work at the market. You, too, could find yourself marrying before the year’s out.”
“Oh, I don’t expect that’s in my immediate future.” Noah popped up off the couch, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. “Thank you for having me over, Amos. I look forward to working with you.”
Sarah and Amos stood as well.
“And thank you, Sarah, for the fine meal.”
“We’re happy you could join us.”
“You’re welcome any time,” Amos added. “We usually have a busy, bustling house. It isn’t often that you’ll have an evening here this quiet. Perhaps you could eat with us the next off-Sunday. And bring your parents, of course.”
“Danki. I’ll pass the invitation along to them.”
“I have some reading to do before bed. Sarah, would you mind seeing Noah out?”
See him out? The door was eight feet from the couch.
“I’d be happy to.”
They walked out onto the porch together, the screen door slapping shut behind them. Sarah heard her dat whistling as he made his way to his room. The sun had set but a soft light lingered, and she could make out their horses in the pasture. The crops in the field. Becca’s house with lantern light shining from her boppli’s room.
Eunice remained in the barn, tinkering, no doubt having forgotten all about them.
Their farm, though it wasn’t large, was home.
It was all Sarah had ever known.
She couldn’t imagine living somewhere else. She couldn’t begin to fathom anything that would require her to leave for years and not at least return for a visit. She certainly couldn’t think of a single valid reason for Noah’s prolonged absence.
What kind of person did that to their parents?
What kind of son ignored the needs of his family?
Not that it was any of her business. She was a naturally inquisitive person, but she tried to curb that tendency.
The evening had been embarrassing, and the man standing beside her had done nothing to deserve being put on the spot. Never one to let a thing go unsaid, she turned to Noah to offer an apology for her dat’s obvious attempt to set them up.
Noah started speaking at the same time as Sarah.
“You go ahead,” she said.
“Nein. You. I didn’t mean to...interrupt.”
They had walked to his buggy, or rather, his parents’ buggy. The horse seemed content, cropping at the new grass that was close enough to reach. It was a chestnut mare, and Sarah put her hand on its neck. It seemed to Noah that she was avoiding looking at him, but then he could have been imagining that. When you spent five years locked in a concrete block with thousands of other men, you learned to watch every visual tick, every small change in another person’s expression.
“I wanted to apologize for my dat’s behavior.”
“Amos?” Noah removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, which was too long. Why hadn’t he taken the time to have it cut? He’d be examined closely enough without trying to bring attention to himself. “Amos is a gut guy. I appreciate him hiring me.”
“Why did he hire you?” She turned and looked at him squarely now.
“Because I needed a job, and I suppose...” He wasn’t offended by her question, but he also had the feeling that it was best to quell her curiosity now. Of course, he couldn’t tell her everything. “I suppose because my references were gut.”
“You’ve been gone...how long?”
“Since I was twenty-one.”
“And you’re my age.”
“I’ll turn thirty-one this summer.”
“Same.” She stepped away from the mare after a final affectionate pat.
He’d forgotten so much about home. Maybe because it had been too painful to remember. The way the light played across the fields. The quietness of the farms. The love these people had for their animals. The habit of lingering over dinner and then sitting on the porch or in the living room and enjoying coffee.
“Ten years. That’s a long time, Noah.”
“It is.”
She waited, and he let her wait. There was a time to supply answers, and there was a time to let silence have its way. Wisdom was in knowing the difference. Noah didn’t consider himself a wise man, but he had learned a lot in prison. He’d had to. It was learn or become like the men he shared a cell with, and he’d refused to let that happen. That would have been a bigger tragedy than losing eight years of his life.
Sarah Yoder shook her head, then returned to the previous topic, the thing she felt a need to apologize for. “What happened tonight...in my house...was a setup, and I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because it’s embarrassing.”
His laugh was full, deep, surprising even to him.
So, he hadn’t forgotten how to laugh, to let his worries go, to enjoy a moment as dusk settled across the land, standing next to a beautiful woman. And Sarah Yoder was a beautiful woman. He wondered why she hadn’t married, though he seemed to remember that she almost did once. It was too long ago to dredge up the details, and did they really matter? Nein. Past was past and best left alone.
“It’s our parents’ way, Sarah. It’s what they know. Probably what was done for them. We’re way beyond marrying age, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed.”
“I’m sure we each have our own reasons.”
She didn’t answer, merely nodded.
“But your dat cares about you very much. Not that I’m such a gut catch.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “There are those missing years to account for.”
He thought she might laugh.
He hoped she would.
Instead, she wagged a finger at him. “You talk a good game, Noah Beiler, but you also avoid answering questions.”
He shrugged.
Best not to deny what she’d already figured out.
“Again, danki for dinner. It was delicious, and the company was charming.” He climbed up into the buggy, released the brake and called out to Ginger.
He started laughing once he was out on the county road, and wasn’t that a thing of wonder that he could find amusement in an awkward situation. He hadn’t been sure what Amos’s intentions were in inviting him to dinner, but the old guy had definitely been trying to set him up with his daughter, Sarah. He’d been quite obvious about it too, which was part of what Noah found so amusing.
One thing he knew for certain was that Sarah Yoder was way out of his league. If she knew his history, she wouldn’t give him a second glance. Not because she was unkind, but because she was the very image of conventional. The puzzling thing was that Amos did know where he’d spent the last eight years, and the two before that as well.
Amos knew everything about him.
Noah had insisted on that when his parents had first suggested he work at the market. It was a condition of his parole, that his employer knew his history. He wouldn’t be violating those rules because if there was one thing Noah was absolutely sure of, it was that he would not be going back to the Illinois State Prison. Nein. He’d learned whatever lessons were there for him. He’d changed. He had no fear of backsliding.
But coming home?
That had been a chancy thing.
He could expect more probing questions, curious glances, perhaps even a few direct interrogations. It was unusual for an Amish man or woman to leave home, to stay away for a decade, and then to come back. His neighbors and acquaintances and coworkers would be naturally curious. He’d have to sidestep those questions carefully because he could not tell them he’d been a drug user, then arrested and finally incarcerated. The state of Illinois had declared he’d paid his debt, but the Amish community in Shipshewana, Indiana, might not be so quick to forgive.
They would justifiably be concerned.
They’d need time to accept that he was a changed man.
Some would never believe that.
Many people talked a good game about giving second chances, but when it came down to it, that sort of compassion was rare indeed. Best to keep his past in the past.
Even if it meant frustrating pretty Sarah Yoder.
Soon enough, her attention would turn away from him. That’s what he truly hoped for. What he prayed for. That people would see him and forget about his missing years. That people would allow him to come home.
