And that’s why she had to come home.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Libby said, flashing her a shy smile. Shy was not a word Tillie normally associated with Libby, which meant something was up.
“I’m glad I’m back too.”
Tillie waited for Libby to say more.
“Hannah and Leah will be so happy to see you.”
“Jah,” Tillie said. Still she waited.
“And Gracie. You know she has five kids now? Can you imagine? And one of her own coming soon.”
The last thing she wanted to hear about were her sisters’ and her cousin’s perfect lives.
“What’s up, Libby?”
It was as if a dam broke. Libby turned toward her and grabbed Tillie’s hand. “Does it hurt?” she asked with a pointed nod at Tillie’s burgeoning belly. “Being pregnant?”
Tillie laid a protective hand over the mound. “Why do you ask?”
Libby sighed, a frustrated sound. “No one will tell me. You know how the women are. They don’t like to talk about things. I just want to know. That’s all.”
“Because of a boy?”
“Maybe.” Another sigh, this one more wistful. “I’m growing up and everyone still treats me like a child. I just want to know things.”
Tillie waited.
“Silas King.” The name was almost like a prayer on her lips.
Tillie remembered Silas. “He’s a little older, right?”
Libby sniffed. “Not that much older. Just five years. Anyway, he’s been acting like he’s going to ask me to court him, and, well . . .” She fiddled with one of her kapp strings, then shook her head. “You just got home. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.” She started to stand, but Tillie reached out and held her in place.
“Don’t run away,” she said. “If you have a question, ask it.” She would much rather people ask than stare at her and make her wonder what was going on inside their heads. No one paid her much mind in the English world, but now that she was back in Pontotoc, she knew that was going to change. Stares and questions—they were both coming.
“It’s just marriage and relationships . . . I’d ask Mamm, but it’s been so long since she and Dat got married I doubt she even remembers.”
Tillie bit back a laugh. “You’d be surprised,” she said. “But I wouldn’t want to ask my mother about such things either.”
“How do you know when you’re ready? To . . . you know . . .”
“I do hope you’re talking about getting married.”
Libby sniffed delicately. “Of course.” She really was still so young. A tender soul trapped in the body of a young woman.
“You’ll know,” Tillie said.
“Like you and Melvin.”
Well, she had thought she knew. Now everything had changed. She had rushed in, been impulsive, gotten herself in a bit of trouble, and had come running back home. Part of her knew she should be with Melvin, talking to him about marriage and the early family they had started. But she had to be here, in Pontotoc, where she truly belonged. They might not give her a second glance when she was among the English, and she was certain to endure more than her fair share of gossip and disapproving looks, but she needed to be here, with her family. For as long as they would have her.
“I don’t know,” she finally said. She wanted it to be true, but Melvin hadn’t come after her. Not yet, anyway. Was that what she wanted? For him to swoop in and take her away?
No, she wanted him to come back too, and live with their families. Well, her family, since all of his had moved away. Leah had told her in one of her letters. But they could live here, she and Melvin and the baby. Maybe in the cabin up the drive. Or even in a house they had yet to build. But they had already started their family without talking all these things through. What was a girl to do with that?
“Just promise me one thing, Libby,” Tillie said. “Don’t be in a rush.”
Rushing in had gotten her in the exact spot she was in now. And the place wasn’t always comfortable. Not by far.
Chapter Two
Levi Yoder pulled his gloves from his hands and made his way into the feed store. He hated coming into town. He hated stopping at the feed store. Too many men standing around talking about too many things that hardly seemed to matter. The weather, Thomas Byler’s new carriage mare, and these days . . . Christmas.
Most of all, he hated Christmas.
And he hated himself for hating it.
“What can I get you, Levi?” the man behind the counter asked. Tyrone Getty had run the co-op for as long as Levi could remember. Like with a lot of folks of color, it was impossible to tell exactly how old Tyrone was. His wiry steel-gray hair bore testament to his years, but his dark face was devoid of wrinkles, smooth and unlined like that of a much younger man. He had been here when Levi was a child and it seemed that he would remain long after Levi had passed.
“Tyrone,” Levi grunted, and slid a small piece of paper across the counter toward the man. With any luck the order would get him through, clear to the new year. But it seemed these days luck wasn’t on his side.
“Gimme a minute,” Tyrone said, never taking his brown eyes from the paper. The man didn’t wear glasses—another thing that made his age such a mystery. “Help yourself to a cup of coffee.” He nodded toward the old-fashioned sideboard that had been converted into a coffee station for the customers.
Levi started toward the station, then faltered. On a day like today, when the wind had turned off a bit chilly, the coffee was a welcome offering. It was the company that made him leery. Four men stood between the sideboard and the potbellied stove. He knew them all. George Williams owned the land next to the bishop’s.
