“I’d better follow through as planned, Dat. I don’t want to be labeled a quitter before I even start.” Besides not wanting to live with Marta, I couldn’t imagine myself in the cramped room that housed a treadle sewing machine and piles and piles of fabric. I’d amassed most of it while working at the fabric store in Intercourse. “You know it’s full of material. Though that’s my own fault for not resisting sales, plus my employee discount at Zook’s. I’d assumed someday I’d need all that fabric to sew clothes for my own family.”
He stared at the oval rag rug on the floor at his feet. “Did ya have to quit that job for some reason? Your boss was Englisch, but he’s a fine man.”
“I loved that job, but only women shop in there. I’m hoping to meet someone. Someday.”
Dat winked. “Yah, I suppose not many single men come in for quilting fabric. But you could go to singings.”
“At age twenty-nine, I’d be the oldest woman there.” And not yet baptized.
“If only you hadn’t gotten mixed up with that miscreant Jake Miller.”
My jaw clenched at the sound of his name. “Dat, that’s ancient history. And he didn’t do it.”
“How do you know for sure? Were you there?” He wagged his callused finger. “Few acts are worse than arson. A terrible thing, burning down a farmer’s barn, even if it was ramshackle.”
“But I’m sure Jake is innocent.”
“Because he told you so? If he’s so upstanding, where is he? His parents need him. He’s their only son now.”
“I’m not exactly sure where he is.” That wasn’t entirely true. I knew he went to New York State when he left Lancaster County.
“Maybe that’s for the best.”
“Yah.” I might go looking for him if I knew where he was. A scandalous mistake.
Half an hour later, while Dat hitched up our mare, Mamm left the daadi haus and moved to my side. She took my hand.
“I notice you’re not bringing your hope chest, Evie. Does this mean you’ve given up on finding a husband?”
“Mamm—” I couldn’t bear to have this conversation yet again.
She must have sensed my discomfort. “No matter. We’ll keep it here.”
With Mamm on my heels, I dragged my bulky suitcase off the porch and down the back steps. Dat had already loaded the buggy with several cardboard boxes filled with items I might need: a pot, a pan, mismatched plates and flatware, and a coffee mug I’d picked up at rummage sales. He also put my boots into the buggy. He lifted my suitcase and wedged it in. I felt rushed, sure I was leaving something important behind.
Mamm placed a wicker basket of food items on the front seat. I noticed a tear at the corner of her eye and guessed her sadness stemmed from the fact that she’d missed the opportunity to see me wed. She’d dreamed of hosting a huge wedding in our home, as was customary. Her guest list and menu had been planned for years, as well as her intention to plant copious amounts of celery. I’d let her and the whole family down.
“Wait!” Marta charged down the porch steps, carrying my quilt. “You forgot this.” She shoved it in the back and shut the door. “Goodbye.”
Without further farewells or well wishes, Marta flew to her family’s buggy to gather more of their possessions and trotted an armful inside.
Minutes later, Dat steered the buggy out of the barnyard. The mare transported us past familiar farms, outbuildings, and fields soon to be dotted with the chartreuse of corn bursting through the spring soil. I spotted an Amish woman collecting her dry laundry, the rainbow of garments sorted by size and colors. Her youngsters danced around her playing keep-away with clothespins. The woman looked about my age. I felt like an over-the-hill has-been.
Coveting the scene, I remembered another minister expounding last year about overcoming envy—how it served to embitter a person and angered the Lord. I knew I should focus on my blessings.
An hour later, from way down the road, I spied the Yoder’s Nursery sign. The name was inscribed in tall letters. I’d driven by the nursery many times, but I had never entered because my parents either ordered their seeds by mail or insisted we shop locally at an uncle’s small establishment. And I steered clear of the barn across the road. My Jake had been accused of burning down the barn that stood there before. This new barn had been promptly built, but I couldn’t bear to look at it. I was thankful Dat made no further mention of the appalling incident that still haunted me—the beginning of the end of my world.
As we neared the nursery’s front driveway, I sat forward and gawked out the window. Dat piloted the buggy onto the gravel parking lot large enough to accommodate fifty or more vehicles, although only a half-dozen automobiles were present today. Several horses and buggies were stationed at a railing. I canvassed a retail shop’s exterior—a smallish structure made of gray stone—and four large-scale greenhouses. Behind them spread acres of deciduous and evergreen trees planted in neat rows.
Despite the marvelous surroundings, my stomach clenched. I felt like a child might on her first day of school in a different district where she knew no one.
Dat slowed us to a halt. “Look at all those fine Amish men working here.” He stroked his graying beard. “Most are single.”
“Yah, I see they’re clean-shaven. But they’re too young for me.”
“You look youthful for your age, Evie.”
“Denki, but you know age is not my only problem.”
“I thought that whole misunderstanding got cleared up. If the deacon and a minister thought you were guilty of any indiscretion, they would have stopped by to speak to us years ago.” He patted my knee. “Although your mamm and I prayed for you many a time,
