Her Pretend Courtship
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Jocelyn McClay
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15,4K
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Chapter One
This time, he wasn’t going to do it. No matter the pressure they applied. Jethro Weaver sighed and wearily shook his head. And his father, the bishop, and strong-willed mother could certainly apply considerable amounts. Turning out of his folks’ lane, he gave a gentle click of his tongue to urge his gelding to road speed.
Ever since his wife and unborn child had unexpectedly died the previous year, his parents had been encouraging—Jethro’s mouth slanted at the delicate term given the flat-out directives the bishop and his wife used—him to remarry. He loved his parents and wanted to obey them. He even understood their motive was pure. They wanted him to have a family. Large families were a gift from Gott. Jethro agreed.
But maybe it was a gift he wasn’t meant to receive.
Maybe it didn’t go with the other gifts he’d been given. The cleft lip and palate that had startled his parents when he’d been born. The stutter that frustrated him almost every time he opened his mouth, making him self-conscious around folks. Particularly around women.
Nee, going courting was the last thing he wanted to do.
His hands lax on the lines, Jethro let the gelding take his time as they started up a long hill, part of the rolling countryside in this slice of Wisconsin. It’d been different when he’d married Louisa. There’d been no courtship. He’d married the shy, frail widow of his younger brother to take care of her. Ja, it’d been at his parents’ urging, but he’d have eventually done it on his own as she’d needed help.
Jethro slumped on the buggy seat. Although he usually succumbed to his parents’ wishes, due in part to his respect for them and to his father’s position as bishop of their district, he didn’t relish the coming battle of wills. Because this time he wasn’t going to do it. Why couldn’t they let him live his life as he saw fit?
At the sudden pricked-forward ears of his gelding, Jethro glanced up the road. A battle was indeed erupting before him. Farther up the hill, a buggy was swerving perilously close to the ditch as the horse pulling it shied and reared. Jethro straightened abruptly when the animal lost its footing and tumbled over, flipping the buggy down the incline as well. At his urgent command, his startled gelding lurched ahead.
The horse swerved and reared. The lines jerked through Susannah Mast’s fingers as the buggy jolted toward the ditch. She struggled to recapture the lost leather as Amos slid across the tilted seat toward her.
“Mamm!” Her eleven-year-old son’s voice was high with alarm. “What’s wrong with Nutmeg?”
Shoulder braced against his pressuring weight, Susannah didn’t have an answer as to why their normally placid mare was suddenly shying and lunging out of control. Usually steadfast in harness, the Standardbred had been fidgety and reluctant to pull today. But it wasn’t until she’d started climbing the hill toward home that Nutmeg had gone completely berserk.
“Easy, girl! Easy!” It was useless. Susannah had no control. Even as she regained the slack in the lines and struggled to settle the mare to a stop, Nutmeg fought her. Flecks of foam flew from the mare’s flinging head as she hurled herself farther into the long, dried grass of the steep ditch.
A crack of fracturing wood, along with the horse’s shrill whinny, split the previous quiet of the autumn afternoon. Susannah’s shriek as the rearing mare toppled over the now broken buggy shaft joined it. The buggy lifted beneath her. Dropping the lines, Susannah twisted to wrap her arms around her son. Amos’s straw hat went flying as she jerked him to her chest. Hunching her shoulders, she dipped her head over his, striving to protect him as the world tumbled around them.
Wincing, Susannah tightened her grasp when the edge of the buggy—door-less on the sunny October day—slammed into her back. Please, Gott, don’t let the buggy roll over on us. Something pelted the top of her head, jerking at the pins that secured her kapp. A grunt escaped her, along with her breath, as her shoulder drove into the ground. Squeezing her eyes shut, she hugged her son.
One by one, Susannah’s senses finally stopped whirling. Her nose was pressed against her son’s head; she could smell in his hair the leather and straw of his new hat along with the haylike aroma of recently broken vegetation. A wheel squeaked as it continued to spin. At the sound of her mare thrashing in the ditch, Susannah’s eyes popped open. Loosening her arms from around Amos, she capped his shoulders with her hands and carefully eased him back a few inches. His youthful face was pale, his freckles showing in sharp contrast. When he opened his eyes, they went instantly wide, the dark blue irises riveted on her.
“Are you all right?” she demanded, barely refraining from hugging him to her again.
“Ja.” The word was hesitant and drawn out, almost a question in itself. “I think so?”
Praise Gott! Susannah slumped against the crumpled grass in relief as she ran a hand through his hatless dark hair. Scanning his small frame, she checked for signs of blood or possible injuries as he slowly shifted upright and away from where she sprawled. Her frantic heart rate began to ebb. Wincing at the pain in her shoulder, Susannah pushed herself into a sitting position. She was framed in the doorway of the upended buggy. Scattered around her were loose contents of the rig’s interior.
The mare whinnied in distress. The horse’s flailing had ceased, but the mare’s labored breathing was evident. “I have to get to Nutmeg. Can you stand?”
Amos’s nod was more emphatic this time. “Ja.” They both froze when the buggy groaned, followed by a rocking sway, threatening it could tip further. They had to get out. Susannah’s gaze darted across the toppled interior. Over the dash and out the open front was their best option. But should the mare begin to thrash again, they’d be within reach of flailing hooves. Though uninjured now, a kick to the head or limb would quickly change that.
At a distinct holler from the road, her heart stuttered. Twisting, Susannah looked through the buggy’s open front to see Jethro Weaver scrambling down the ditch. She almost sank back to the ground in relief at the sight. Having tended to her neighbor’s young son while in her preteen years, she’d known the calm and steady man all his life.
“We’re all right!” She waved him away as he approached the buggy. “Check on Nutmeg!”
With an acknowledging wave, he reversed direction and more cautiously advanced to where the horse was trying to lift her head. When he settled on his haunches beside the Standardbred, Susannah heard his indistinct murmuring as he stroked the horse’s neck. The old mare quieted.
Susannah struggled upright and eased into the overturned buggy. Keeping a wary eye on Nutmeg’s hind feet, she hovered against the dash with Amos at her side. Jethro nodded to her as he continued to soothe and distract the mare.
“Follow me,” Susannah murmured to her son. With a shaky inhale, she climbed over the dash. Using the frame of the buggy for support, she edged away from the overturned rig and clear of the metal-shod hooves before turning to watch anxiously as Amos did the same.
When they were both out of the range of danger, she gave her son another quick hug before kneeling beside Jethro at the mare’s head. Nutmeg’s eyes were ringed with white. In spite of the temperate October day, sweat darkened her brown neck. Susannah cooed to the mare as she ran her hand down the slick surface.
“Is she hurt?” Her gaze locked on Jethro’s blue eyes, trying to decipher the concern visible there.
“D-don’t know yet. Let’s see.” Jethro rose to his feet. Continuing to soothe the mare, Susannah watched as he worked his way down the buggy’s shaft that jutted above the prone horse. His tall frame bent over the mare, the lean muscles of his forearms visible below the rolled-up sleeves of his white shirt as he efficiently unfastened the buckles and straps of the harness.
Squatting to gently rest a hand on Nutmeg’s side so she knew he was there, Jethro considered the shaft and the harness leather that tracked under the mare. Tipping his flat-brimmed straw hat farther back over his sandy-blond hair, he glanced toward Susannah. Above his short beard, his lips were pressed into a pensive line, making the white scar that ran from under his nose to the top one stand out in his tanned face.
Susannah interpreted his dilemma. “I don’t care about the harness or the buggy. I just want to help Nutmeg.”
Nodding, Jethro set about doing what was necessary to free the mare. By the time he returned to where Susannah knelt, both she and the mare were breathing more easily.
“Let’s t-try it now.” With a hand at her elbow, Jethro helped Susannah to her feet. “Stand b-back,” he directed her and the hovering Amos before grabbing the mare’s bridle.
Susannah couldn’t hear what he was saying but she knew the mare was listening as her brown ears flicked back and forth. Susannah pulled Amos in front of her, her hands tightening on his slender shoulders as she anxiously watched Jethro guide the mare into a position to rise. With Jethro’s encouragement, the horse struggled to lunge to her feet. At each attempt, Susannah pushed herself onto her toes as if she could help man and horse by doing so. By the time Nutmeg staggered to a stand on the third try, Susannah was shaking as much as the horse. Scanning her side of the mare for any obvious injuries, she hurried to the trembling Standardbred.
“Careful, in case she goes d-down again,” Jethro cautioned. Biting her lip, Susannah nodded as she grasped the bridle, freeing Jethro to examine the animal.
“Her legs look good,” she observed in relief. There was no response from Jethro, who was making his way along the far side of the horse. Fretting for reassuring feedback, Susannah prompted, “Don’t they?”
“Ja.”
She could almost hear a reluctant smile in his voice. Susannah took it as encouragement.
After a moment’s pause, Jethro continued in a more serious tone. “She seems all right. Won’t know for sure until she walks. B-but she’s b-bleeding a b-bit on this side. Looks like it’s coming from under the collar.”
“Bleeding!” Susannah scooted around the front of the mare to see a red stain running down the mare’s shoulder. As Jethro had noted, the inception point was under the leather collar that circled her lower neck. “Let’s get this off.”
Her fingers fumbled in their efforts to unhook the few remaining attachments. Jethro’s tanned fingers gently brushed hers aside. Quickly finishing the task, he carefully lifted the collar from the mare to reveal a small gash sullenly seeping blood.
“Poor dear,” Susannah murmured as she gently explored the wound. “Why there, of all places?”
Jethro was quietly examining the collar when she felt an abrupt tension charge his lean figure. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “B-because of this.” Shifting the collar so she could see, he pointed to the head of a nail protruding from its interior. “Although it would’ve fretted her while d-driving earlier, climbing the hill t-to your p-place d-did the d-damage.”
Jaw sagging, Susannah blinked in astonishment at the bloodstained nail. “How...” she said faintly before her teeth clamped together. She knew how.
“Let’s see how she m-moves.” Leaning the collar against the dash of the upturned buggy, Jethro gathered up the abandoned lines in one hand as he returned to Nutmeg’s head. He took a firm grip of the bridle with his other to support the horse. Sharing a tense glance with Susannah, he gently coaxed the mare forward. Nutmeg reluctantly took one step, then two before slowly walking by Jethro’s side along the waving autumn-golden grass in the ditch’s belly.
There was no hitch in the horse’s gait nor was she bobbing her head as she walked, either of which might indicate an injury. Susannah sighed in relief. Catching up to where Jethro had drawn Nutmeg to a halt, she threw her arms around the mare’s neck and pressed her face against the black mane. “No limp. Praise Gott you’re not hurt!”
Leaning back, she looked over her shoulder at the overturned buggy. Susannah’s joy evaporated as her stomach clenched. Delayed reaction and overwhelming relief that Amos and the mare were safe almost made her sick. Her nose prickled with the threat of tears. Withdrawing her arms from the mare, Susannah curled her hands into fists. She blinked any renegade tears from her eyes as the sting of fingernails pressing into her palms helped her retain her equilibrium. She would not cry. Very few people had ever seen her cry. Susannah knew some wondered if she even could.
Her shock from the accident fading, the twinges and pains incurred in the tumble now made themselves known. Her shoulder throbbed. Her knee must’ve slammed against the dashboard. Her scalp was tender from whatever had pelted it.
Worst of all was her heart. Her heart ached. For she knew who was responsible for the dreadful incident. All evidence pointed to her hired man. What she didn’t know was why. But she would find out.
She needed to fire him. And she dreaded that for many reasons, one of which was that releasing the young man would compound her issues. Lack of a hired hand would just give the bishop another reason to prompt her to remarry. He didn’t think she could run the farm by herself. It wasn’t like she hadn’t run it alone before. But a widow with a prosperous farm was tempting for the ambitious—as well as the not so ambitious—older single men in the community, some of whom she knew had been bending the bishop’s ear. Their unwanted courtships were the last thing she wanted or had time for.
“Oh, John, why did you do this? For your circumstances as well as my own.” Because as much as she needed a worker, her hired man needed a job. Susannah could’ve dealt with his recent slothfulness. But when he harmed her animals, he had to go, no matter what that did to her own situation.
Jethro watched Susannah’s brown eyes migrate from a wide-eyed dismay to a narrowed-lidded intensity. The focused ferocity of her gaze contrasted with the disarray of the rest of her appearance. A crushed prayer kapp hung off the side of her head, clinging precariously by a few dislodged pins. Dark brown hair, threaded with very little gray to share a clue to her age, dangled from a tangle at the back of her head. One lock had escaped completely to trail behind her shoulder to her waist.
His own eyes widened. Although he’d witnessed Susannah working hard in the fields or even hopping mad, he’d never seen her so...disheveled. Or with her hair even partially down. The only Amish woman he’d seen with her hair down had been his deceased wife, and those occasions had been rare and far between. Jethro’s gaze lingered on the dangling strand where the autumn sun glowed on a few strands of red in the thick tress. The corner of his lip twitched. Somehow, the discovery didn’t surprise him. Much to his delight as a shy only child for several years, he’d found Susannah a babysitter willing to be adventuresome. She’d scrambled up many trees and waded in muddy creeks in his wake, or he in hers.
But it also didn’t concern him. Jethro tactfully redirected his gaze to the mare. Susannah was a neighbor and friend, nothing more. A friend who currently needed his help. Not his ogling of her partially unbound hair. That sight should be reserved for a woman’s husband. And from what he’d overheard today between his parents, Susannah would soon have one of those if it were up to the bishop and his wife.
He sighed. From what he knew of Susannah, she didn’t want to remarry any more than he did. They were both in a similar situation. Jethro reached out to comb his fingers through the mare’s mane, freeing tangles in the coarse black strands before patting Nutmeg’s dark brown neck. Too bad his and Susannah’s tangles couldn’t be addressed as easily. If only they could help one another with the snarls that others strove to create for them.
Jethro stilled, his eyes stared unseeing at the mane before him as a possibility struck. Heart pounding, he darted a glance at Susannah. Would she think the scheme blooming in his head narrish, or would the crazy thing be not to take action on the idea when it could be the solution, at least temporarily, for both their problems? He forced a swallow down a suddenly dry throat. There was one way to find out.
Jethro turned to the hovering boy. “Amos, could you d-drive m-my rig t-to your house?” The Mast farm was less than a quarter mile distant. Nodding eagerly, Amos scrambled up the ditch and into Jethro’s buggy. A moment later, the clip-clop of hooves on the blacktop echoed behind the departing buggy, its cadence slow in comparison to Jethro’s pulse.
He loved his parents, but it was time they let him run his own life. If they wanted him to go courting, so be it. But if the woman he walked out with was someone they’d think unsuitable, a widow at least ten years his senior and one toward the end of her childbearing years who couldn’t give him the large family they—not he—wanted... Maybe they’d finally leave him alone. Jethro’s mouth curved into a broad smile as an enthusiasm he hadn’t felt in a long time unfurled inside him.
He considered again the woman beside him, the only female he’d ever felt comfortable with. If only Susannah would agree to his plan...
His shoulders sagged as he took in Susannah’s pale face and disheveled appearance. He couldn’t ask her now. She was still shaken from the buggy accident. Having already had one woman in his life who’d regretted her acceptance of his proposal, he didn’t want Susannah to be the second, even for a fictional relationship.
Jethro rubbed the back of his neck. Besides, how was he to broach the plan convincingly, even at an appropriate time, when he occasionally struggled to get through a sentence? Although tempted to send a prayer on the matter, he didn’t, knowing the scheme was his will, not Gott’s. Pivoting to contemplate his folks’ farmstead a large field’s distance away, Jethro grimaced at the pressure he knew would soon come to bear from them.
The mare bobbed her head. Jethro turned back, his gaze pausing on the upturned buggy. First things first. Right now, Susannah had more pressing needs than a proposed fake relationship to an unsuitable partner.
“When we get your mare t-to the b-barn, I’ll b-bring my horse b-back and pull your b-buggy out. One in the d-ditch is b-bad enough. One t-tipped would p-put folks in a t-t-tizzy.” Jethro closed his eyes in frustration as he finally got the word out. At the touch of a hand on his arm, he opened them to meet Susannah’s warm gaze.
“Denki, Jethro. I don’t know how to thank you.”
He smiled slightly. He hoped she’d remember that when he had the courage to propose his plan.
“You’d have d-done the same for me.”
“Ja. But not as well.” When Susannah removed her hand from his arm, the fallen lock of her hair slipped from behind her shoulder to slide into view. She glanced at it in confusion before hastily reaching up to touch the disarray of her hair and kapp.
A flush crept up her cheeks. Rescuing the kapp from its precarious perch, she tucked the pins between her lips as she corralled her escaped hair. With deft fingers, she swiftly secured the dark tresses. Quickly reshaping the dented kapp, she repinned the prayer covering over her now neatly coiled hair.
Giving her some privacy to put herself to rights, Jethro turned toward the road. Far down its dark surface, he could see a rig coming their way. “When I get your b-buggy t-to your p-place, I’ll check over the d-damage. If it’s something I can fix, I’ll t-take care of it t-tomorrow.” His offer had nothing to do with what he was hoping she’d agree to. It was an automatic response to a neighbor in need.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You d-didn’t. I offered.”
“Well, the least I could do then is fix you some dinner.”
“That’s all right. I’ll b-be fine.” They were surely some of the fastest words he’d ever gotten out. Susannah was known in the district for her cooking, and not in a good way.
He glanced at her to ensure his hasty words hadn’t offended. Susannah’s brown eyes had lost their worry. She grinned. “Coward,” she teased.
“P-probably. Or m-maybe just careful.” He tugged the mare forward. By tacit agreement, Susannah fell in step beside the horse as he gingerly led Nutmeg out of the steep ditch to the blacktop.
As they started up the road toward the Mast farm, Jethro was aware that every step he took shortened the opportunity for a private conversation. To put his plan into motion and head off the queue of women his parents would soon push in his direction, he needed to secure Susannah’s participation. The leather in his hands grew damp as his palms began to sweat. Jethro scowled. Maybe he was a coward. Surely facing Susannah on the question of a fabricated courtship was much better than confronting a continuous sequence of the district’s single women who’d be looking for a real one. Hoping for some type of inspiration, he opened his mouth, only to close it again at the sound of an approaching horse and buggy.
Susannah winced as she looked behind them.
“What is it?” Immediately concerned, Jethro stopped the mare. Injuries didn’t always make themselves initially known. Susannah may have been more harmed in the accident than she’d let on. “Are you hurt?”
“Ach, nee. But my ears will when he comes calling.” She nodded toward the approaching rig. “Which will unfortunately be in the next day or so.” Susannah slanted Jethro an unhappy look. “At least, according to the bishop.”
Jethro’s heart began thrumming in his ears, loud enough to drown out the clip-clop of the oncoming hooves on the blacktop as he watched Leroy Albrecht, a widower in the district, bear down on them. Maybe Gott didn’t mind getting on board with Jethro’s plan after all. He’d just provided a window of opportunity, one perhaps open wide enough for Jethro to clumsily wiggle through.
“Sounds like we are in a similar situation.” He turned to where Leroy was drawing his horse to a halt beside them.
“Everything all right?” the portly man called through the open buggy door.
“Just fine!” chirped Susannah. “Just a little mishap that tipped us into the ditch. But we’re all fine.”
The man shifted to look back at the listed buggy. “Yours, Susannah? I would think you’d be a better driver at your age. Surely you know how to handle a fractious horse? I suppose I could teach you, should you have any aptitude for horsemanship.”
Although Jethro heard Susannah’s teeth snap together, he didn’t think the sound had carried to the man in the buggy. He snuck a glance at Susannah. Her face—pale after the accident—was now as red as the late-season tomatoes in his garden.
“Denki for the offer, Leroy. She got away from me today when a...bee stung her, but we always get along otherwise just fine.” Jethro wondered how Susannah got the words out through her gritted teeth.
“Well, should you need a lesson, you remind me when I come over. Day after tomorrow, ja?”
“Ja. So the bishop had mentioned. That’s just...fine.” The final word was said as if its meaning was something entirely different from the word that was spoken.
Leroy merely nodded as he lifted the lines. “See you then.”
Jethro returned the man’s parting wave before raising an eyebrow at his companion. “That was quite a ‘fine’ visit.”
Susannah closed her eyes in a give-me-patience look. “Ach, it would be fine if no one would bother me. The last thing I want or need right now is to have unwanted visitors come courting. I’m busy enough, especially now with having to—” She bit off what she was going to say, instead reaching to carefully stroke the mare above the bloodstain on her dark brown neck. “Any reasonable candidates would be too busy finishing fall work to go courting now.”
“Leaving the unreasonable ones t-to show up?” Too nervous to stand still in case he botched this unexpected opportunity, Jethro gently urged the mare forward. “What if...something came up t-to keep them away? At least until after harvest?” he hastily added.
“That would be wunderbar.” There was a heartfelt sigh from the other side of the mare where Susannah now walked. “Do you think you could persuade your daed that any courtship should wait until the winter? Or never?”
Jethro bit his upper lip, worrying the section below the surgery scar where he had no feeling. This wasn’t going in the direction he’d hoped. “Ah, nee. It’s d-difficult t-to p-persuade m-my d-daed about m-much of anything.” He winced as he struggled over the words. “I was thinking of p-proposing—” Jethro cringed. That definitely wasn’t the word he’d wanted to use. “I was thinking of an alternative. One that could help b-both of us.”
“That sounds extremely tempting. Anything does to avoid having a parade of unwanted suitors make a path to my door when I’ve got things to do.”
“How about just...one?” Jethro swallowed past the lump the size of a hay bale lodged in his throat.
There was another heavy sigh from the opposite side of Nutmeg. “One is better than several, but even one could be too many, depending on who it is. Who are you thinking?”
Jethro worried his lip some more. It was far easier leading the mare down the road than to try to lead Susannah in this pivotal conversation. Inhaling so deeply he was afraid his suspenders would snap, Jethro breathed out his response, almost hoping she didn’t hear it. “M-me.”
Thankfully, Nutmeg’s black-maned neck between them prevented Susannah from seeing the strain on his face. Jethro held his breath, expecting any moment to hear her laugh, followed by “Are you kidding?” His response—“Ja, ja, I was. Wouldn’t that have been funny?”—was on the tip of his tongue.
Instead, it was silent on the other side of the mare. The only sounds were the creaking of the parts of leather harness Nutmeg still wore and the swish of long grass as the odd trio strode through it. When those, along with an occasional buzz of an insect, continued to be the only things his straining ears picked up, Jethro wondered if Susannah had heard him.
He pressed his lips together. He couldn’t say it again. He’d barely been able to voice it the first time. It was a foolish idea, made incredibly so by speaking it out loud. His shoulders sagged with dejection. But since he had made a fool of himself, he was glad it was to Susannah. She was the only woman he trusted enough to do so in front of. And even with that, a sweat born of embarrassment dampened his back.
“Why?” Susannah ducked under Nutmeg’s neck to appear in front of him. The startled mare wasn’t near as stunned as Jethro.
He froze midstride. A quick scan of Susannah’s face revealed none of the smirk he’d feared. Nor any incredulity indicating she thought he was demented. If her expression showed anything, it was a bit of concern.
Following a shaky exhale, Jethro struggled to respond. “It would b-be a reprieve for b-both of us? M-my p-parents want m-me t-to start looking for a wife again. I’m...not in a hurry t-to d-do so. B-but it’s hard t-to say no t-to them. They d-don’t listen t-to no when they d-don’t want t-to hear it. At least when they hear it from m-me.”
Susannah’s mouth opened, like she was going to say something. When she didn’t, encouraged, Jethro continued. “So I thought, as you d-don’t want a suitor, and I d-don’t want t-to b-be one, if I acted like your suitor—for appearances only,” he hastened to add “—it would t-take care of b-both our p-problems. At least for a while.”
Eyes narrowing, Susannah slowly closed her mouth. After considering him for a moment, it tipped into a slanted smile. “Your parents won’t like it. You, walking out with me. I’m totally unsuitable for you.”
Jethro smiled himself, relaxing for the first time since the ludicrous idea had come to him. “I know. That’s p-part of the p-plan’s appeal.”
She eyed him a moment longer, her hooded gaze transitioning to reveal a hint of mischief in her brown eyes. “What do you propose, on this fake proposal?”
With the hand not holding the reins, Jethro stroked the short beard that proclaimed he’d been married. “I...hadn’t gotten that far.” He looked back down the road to his parents’ small farmstead. “I suppose a start is m-making sure they see us t-together. Or hear about us from others. Which won’t t-take m-much d-due t-to the healthy grapevine in the d-district.” Casting a guarded glance at Susannah, he tentatively lifted a brow, aware her question didn’t mean she was agreeing to his suggestion.
With a sigh, she watched Leroy’s buggy top the far hill before shifting her attention to her farmyard just a stone’s throw ahead. Reaching out, she ran a gentle hand down the now serene mare’s nose.
“Does being a suitor include fixing the buggy?”
“Nee. It was a friend that offered t-to fix it and a friend that will.” He grinned. “B-but I suppose it’s something a suitor would d-do.”
Susannah smiled ruefully. “Will the suitor still be a friend when the courtship has run its course? There are a number of men in the district who might come calling as suitors, but only a few who’re always welcome to visit as friends. I wouldn’t want to lose a long-term friendship for a short-term courtship.”
“Nee.” Jethro shook his head adamantly. “This one will always b-be a friend first.”
She was going to say yes. Jethro didn’t stop to consider why the knowledge elated him beyond outmaneuvering his parents. “Even enough to choke d-down your cooking a t-time or t-two.” He almost winked at her. Jethro was momentarily stunned at the temptation. He never winked. But the urge to do so felt very good. “M-maybe that’s what’ll convince folks we’re actually walking out. For sure and certain, no one would eat it m-more than once otherwise.”
Susannah frowned as she swatted at him. “My cooking isn’t that bad. And it’s not like I can’t cook. It’s that there’s always something else that needs to be done, so the cooking either gets hurried or forgotten.” Giving Nutmeg a last pat, she ducked back under the mare’s neck.
“We’ll talk about it more tomorrow when you come to fix the buggy. It’s been a while since I’ve had a welcomed suitor. I’m not sure I remember how.”
With a soft click of his tongue, Jethro prompted the mare into motion. Some of his exuberance receded. He wasn’t sure if he remembered how, either, as it’d been a while since he’d been a suitor as well. And even then, he wasn’t sure he’d been a welcomed one. He’d failed at being a suitor for the right reasons. How could he hope to succeed when doing it for the wrong ones?
