When they arrived at Lydia’s, it was soon apparent that her parents had retired for the night, leaving on the kitchen gas lamp that hung low over the gleaming wood table, where plates of goodies were laid out, covered with plastic wrap. There was a note, too, in the prettiest handwriting: Enjoy the treats!
In Centreville, Lena knew of fellows who took their sweethearts back to their homes to play games or talk. Some even spent the night in the spare room, or stayed the whole weekend if it was a Saturday evening. She didn’t know anything at all about Lancaster County courting traditions, but she trusted Eli’s judgment.
“Who’d like some coffee?” Lydia asked, going to the woodbin and picking up some logs for the cookstove. Eli went over and coaxed the smoldering embers into a flame for her while Arden took off his coat and black felt hat, then politely offered to help Lena with her coat.
“Denki,” she said, again feeling a bit awkward. Thankfully, Arden hadn’t asked her any more personal questions.
Why isn’t he already courting someone, pleasant and engaging as he seems to be? she wondered. Eli undoubtedly knew, as they were close friends, but Lena wouldn’t inquire for fear of giving the wrong impression. She certainly did not want that!
Eli lingered with Lydia while she brewed some decaf coffee, which led to Arden taking a seat at the table. Lydia suggested he sample her mother’s baked goods, and Arden seemed happy to do so.
Not knowing what else to do while Lydia happily soaked up Eli’s attention near the stove, Lena pulled out the long bench on the opposite side of the table from Arden and sat. “Which one’s your favorite?” she asked, indicating the variety of goodies.
“Definitely the chocolate squares. They taste like my Mamm’s.”
“I thought it’d be the chocolate chip cookies,” Lena said, filling up the time till Lydia came over and joined her, hopefully. “My brother Wilbur is a big fan of those. I used to bake them all the time with my mother and my sister Emma.”
“Cookies are fine—don’t get me wrong,” Arden replied, looking spiffy in his blue shirt and black suspenders. His blond hair was shiny clean, and his striking blue-green eyes narrowed a little when he smiled, which was often. Arden just seemed to be a very happy sort—considerate and even-keeled. “My sisters like to bake, too. All three of them,” he added. “How many sisters do you have?”
“Three, also—Emma, Liz, and Verena.” She paused, waiting for the next question sure to come: “And how many brothers?”
“And Eli says you have a bunch of brothers.”
She nodded, smiling now. “Six, jah.” It was hard to talk about her siblings in terms of mere numbers when they were each truly unique . . . and ever so much fun. “How many brothers do you have?” she asked.
“Two are married, and one is two years older than me,” he said. “I’m the last of the litter.”
The one who typically takes over the family farm, she thought, studying him. She couldn’t tell by his expression if he was a man who would break his word, but if it was true what Tessa had said, Arden was moving in a different direction than his father was expecting. She didn’t want to judge him since she didn’t know all the details—and it wasn’t her place to know, anyway. From her limited experiences with Arden, it was just real hard to see anything but honesty in him.
“So tell me . . . what’s it like in Michigan?” he asked, his voice low as he folded his hands on the table. “If I’m not oversteppin’.”
“I don’t mind,” she said and began to share some of the differences, even mentioning the fact that some of the Swiss Amish had open buggies all year round. “Can you imagine that?”
“And Michigan’s mighty cold, ain’t?”
“Cold’s not the way I’d describe it. More like freezin’ to the bone.”
“So they must have some way of heating their buggies.”
“Well, I know of some folk over on the thumb of Michigan that have natural gas heaters in their buggies. Real dangerous, my father always thought.”
Arden shook his head. “Is it worth the risk?”
“And of course we use buggy blankets like you do here, with woolen cloth and quilted batting . . . a necessity, especially for older folk and little children.”
Arden smiled, his gaze lingering on her as if something humorous had struck him. But he said nothing at first.
“What?” she finally asked.
Arden shrugged. “Your accent . . . I like it.”
She had to smile.
“It’s interesting.” And the way he said it, she thought he’d rather have said it was cute.
They talked further about Lena’s hometown, and Arden asked about the type of farming there.
“Well, it’s not like here, where farmers tend to pick one kind of crop or livestock. We have many jack-of-all-trades farmers . . . some have ten cows and ten sows, two steers or so, and a few hundred laying hens,” she said.
“Reminds me of an old farmer I know from round here, but he’s retired now. A good sense of humor, but lonely as a cloud now his wife’s gone. He doesn’t live too far from Harley and Mimi, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Jah, not sure if you’ve had a chance to meet James Zook, but he’s as entertainin’ as the winter is long.”
“Hmm,” she murmured. “I’ve heard Harley mention him occasionally.”
Lydia and Eli finally got themselves over to the table and brought the tray of mugs, steaming with hot coffee. Lena had lost track of time while talking with Arden, but she wouldn’t have said she minded or regretted the minutes spent getting to know her new friend.
Even so, the evening made her miss Hans all the more, knowing she would have preferred to spend the time with him. I wonder what he’s doing tonight.
But considering no date had been established yet for her eventual return home, Lena didn’t think
