Adoring Addie (2 page)

That was another reason I longed to start my own family. I wanted to share my hopes and dreams with someone who
cared. I wanted to partner with a man who would listen to me. With someone who valued me for who I was.

The buggy rounded the first curve, and the Haus fell from view.

“Addie?”

I faced my cousin. “Jah?”

Hannah's dark eyebrows waggled at me. “Whatcha thinking about?”

I shook my head.

She giggled, her pure white Kapp bobbing up and down, a stark contrast to her dark, dark hair and olive skin. She took after my Mutter's side of the family, while I, with my blond hair and fairer skin, took after my Daed's. Hannah also took after my Mutter in that she tended to be either very happy or very sad—rarely in between—and also solid in her shape, although she was an accomplished horse rider, and that kept her in good condition.

Today Hannah was happy. She grinned. “Who ya thinking about?”

“No one,” I said, a little too forcefully, confused by my doubts.

“That's not what you were saying last week.” Hannah held the reins lightly.

“Ach,” I sighed. “How do I know . . . for sure? Day after day. Week after week.”

“Well, if you're worried about him, don't be. Molly says Phillip is as serious as can be about you.”

Molly Zook was Hannah's best friend and rivaled Aenti Nell when it came to knowing the juiciest gossip in Lancaster County.

Hannah leaned toward me. “And why would you have any doubts? He's the perfect catch.”

That was just it. Phillip was the perfect catch. It actually made it harder for me to be sure how I felt about him.

“I know your parents like him a whole lot better than they did Mervin Mosier.” Hannah giggled as soon as she said his name.

The thing was, Mervin was a wonderful-
gut
young man, although my parents certainly didn't seem to think so. Last year they had, out of character, allowed me to go kayaking with a group of
Youngie
, including him, his twin brother, and my cousins, Cate and Betsy, on my father's side, whose family farm bordered ours. But when Mervin showed an interest in me, Daed cited a decades-long rift between the Cramers and the Mosiers and forbade me to see him again.

As we passed my Onkel's farm, I waved at Cate as she hung wash on the line, her dresses flapping in the breeze alongside her husband's shirts. Her Dat, my Onkel Bob, had been married to my Daed's younger sister. But she had died when Betsy was a newborn. Onkel Bob stayed on good terms with my Daed, and we remained close.

As much as I appreciated my cousins, our families didn't have a lot in common. Their family was small. Ours was large. They had a business that catered to the
Englisch
, which meant they were much more comfortable with ideas outside our community. That was reflected in Cate's speech and what she read, plus she used modern office equipment every day and managed the crew of workers when Onkel Bob had meetings.

But that wasn't why I admired my cousin more than any other woman I knew. I admired her because she was a loving daughter, Schwester, and wife, but still she was very much her own person, and somehow she'd managed to find a husband who appreciated that.

I wanted what Cate had found.

Hannah interrupted my thoughts again. “Phillip plans to buy the farm near his parents' place, jah?”

“Oh really?” I hadn't heard.

“And he's hoping to get a loan from his district to finance the purchase.” Hannah leaned toward me again. “There are advantages to being a bishop's son.”

Phillip's Daed was the bishop of the next district over from us, the one Onkel Bob and his family belonged to, but Bishop Eicher had a good reputation all around the area, and many, many people highly respected him, including my parents.

“Who told you about the farm?” I wedged my hands under my legs, flat against the bench.

Hannah's voice rose in volume over the
clickity-clack
of the horse's hooves. “Molly. She says he plans to marry soon.” Her dark eyes danced. “He says it's official, you're his
Aldi
.”

We had been courting, so it was no surprise he considered me his girlfriend. Still, today, the term made me shiver.

“Ach, Addie. He's so tall and handsome.”

He was.

“And capable,” Hannah added.

“Jah.” He longed to farm a place of his own—that I knew.

“So what's the problem, then?” She glanced my way, her dark eyes concerned.

I sighed. I'd already told her, but she hadn't been listening. I asked it again, slowly, “How do I know, for sure, that he's the right one?”

She chuckled. “If you figure it out, let the rest of us know. Okay?”

I shook my head. She met more men—from Pennsylvania, Ohio, and even Indiana—over one weekend of Youngie parties than I'd met in my entire life. “But I haven't gone
out with anyone else,” I said, “except just that once with Mervin. What if there's someone else out there who's the right one?”

She sighed. “Ach, Addie. Don't think about it so much. It's not as if you have a say in the long run anyway.”

I sank back against the seat. “What do you mean?”

“You have to marry someone who is Amish, whom your parents approve of, who lives somewhere close. The man can't be a Mosier. And your Dat would prefer a farmer, jah?”

I nodded. What she said was true.

“In that case, consider Phillip the catch of a lifetime.” She scooted up on the bench, urged her horse to go faster, and changed the subject. As she prattled on about the party she'd attended last Saturday night, I thought about what she'd said. Did I really have so little control over my own life?

To the right an Englisch farmer was baling his hay, and as Hannah turned the buggy onto the highway, the warm breeze, boosted by the force of his tractor, sent a cloud of dust our way. We both turned our heads. To the left a young Amish boy herded a group of cows across a pasture, and ahead, alongside the road, an older girl propelled a scooter with her foot.

“There's a party tonight. Want to come?” Hannah pulled farther to the right to let a car pass.

“I have too much to do,” I answered. “I barely got to come along today.”

Before we reached Paradise, the market came into view.

Hannah turned the buggy onto the side road. “How long until the wedding, then?”

“Hannah!” It wasn't our way to speak so openly.

“Oh, come on, Addie.” She slowed the horse. “Everyone knows it's what your Mamm and Dat want—and we all know
you'll do as they say. Besides, you want to marry and leave home, jah? And soon?”

I didn't answer.

“You'll come to love Phillip. By the time you marry, you'll know for sure.” She didn't wait for my response. “Just wait and see.”

I craned my neck to see who was at the market—not wanting to think about, let alone discuss, my future.

The booths sat on the corner of the Zooks' farm, all manned by Youngie—and more girls than guys, who were more likely to be working in the fields or holding down regular jobs on a Saturday morning.

With its inventory of vegetables, fresh-cut flowers, plants, breads and baked goods, jams and preserves, handwork, wooden planters, and homemade food, it attracted mostly weekend tourist traffic.

As the buggy bumped over the rutted road, Molly waved from the center of the market, a bouquet of herbs in her hand. Tall and fair, with hair lighter than mine, her face lit up like a lantern in the night. Molly Zook was hard to miss.

She had begun overseeing the market on her parents' property in the middle of May, two months earlier. The Zooks ran a nursery stock business. They had transformed their family farm through the years, field by field, into rows of trees and shrubs. It was no secret the bust in the building boom had affected their profits. In hopes of supplementing their income, Molly's father had planted flowers in a couple of fields the last few years, but her parents were older than most and obviously struggling to keep up with all the work on the farm. The boys in the family had moved away from Lancaster County and the older daughters were all married and had families of their own. Only Molly and her little sister, Bea, still lived at home.

It seemed Molly aimed to bring in more income to the family through the market. She was the sort of girl who always had a new idea. Her enthusiasm alone could carry a project.

Hannah and I would be sharing Molly's booth, and I, no doubt, would be picking up all sorts of bits of gossip Aenti Nell would love to hear.

Molly pointed at something beside her, blocked by a pole and canopy. I craned my neck as Hannah pulled the buggy into the pasture behind the booths, bringing the subject of Molly's smile into clear view.

Phillip Eicher, at six foot four, towered above everyone else in the market. He lifted his straw hat from his head, showing his dark bowl-cut hair, and waved at me with vigor.

The mouth-watering smoke from sausage grilling, mixed with the smell of freshly baked pretzels and pungent herbs, greeted us along with the first sunflowers of the season, buckets of snapdragons, and containers of dusty pink lilies as we reached Molly's table.

Her blue eyes sparkled. “Look who's here.” She swept her arm wide, gesturing toward Phillip, as if I might be surprised.

He'd placed his hat back on his head and now had his thumbs hooked around his suspenders. His white shirt was neatly tucked into black pants.

“Hello,” I said to him as I placed my basket on the tabletop. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm on my break.” He tipped his head toward where the smoke was billowing out of a barbecue, a row beyond us. “I already got something to eat.” Then he smiled, slightly. “And I was hoping to see you.”

My face grew warm as I arranged the potholders on the
table. He stepped toward me, and for a moment I thought he might comment on my work—or Aenti Nell's, to be exact—but he didn't.

“I have something to tell you.” He leaned toward me, placing his palms down on the table. I was always surprised at how clean he kept his hands considering his work.

I raised my head, my heart rate increasing. “Oh?”

“There's a farm close to my folks' place,” he said. “I've been talking to the owners.” He stopped, as if waiting for my reaction.

I wasn't about to tell him Hannah had told me. I smiled and then said, “Go on.”

“The soil has to be the best in the county. Even better than your Dat's. And the barn is in good shape, although it does need a new roof.”

Hannah and Molly leaned against each other, their Kapps touching, watching us. They were quite the contrast in height, coloring, and personality too—and yet they complemented each other perfectly. Every time I saw them together, I couldn't help but wish I had a best friend. That's why I wanted a husband who would listen to me, who would be that friend.

Phillip's voice grew louder. “And the chicken coop is larger than your Mamm's, almost as big as my parents'. The Haus is old but adequate.” I'd never seen him so animated.

I stepped to the back of the table.

He took a deep breath and then said, “What do you think?” His biceps bulged against the sleeves of his shirt as he crossed his arms.

I met his gaze. “It sounds fine, just fine.”

“Well sure,” he said. “You'll want to take a look-see.” He grinned. “No need to worry about that.”

The nagging sensation began to spread.

Before I could speak, he continued, “The garden plot there used to be huge, as big as at your place, but now it's just for two people. But I was thinking we could enlarge it and raise enough extra to sell.” He looked around. “Maybe here. You could be in charge of that.”

I choked out, “Sure.”

He chuckled. “You aren't afraid of extra work, are you?”

No words came—I simply shook my head.

“Well,” Phillip said, a happy look on his face, “I should get back to work.” The place he hired out to was a half mile up the road. “I just wanted to tell you about the farm.” He grinned a second time. “Because the owner said I could give you a tour—next week.”

Hannah and Molly shifted again, this time toward a commotion down the row of booths.

“I'll have to see if that will work with Mutter's schedule,” I said to Phillip. But who was I fooling? We both knew it would.

My attention drifted to the loud voices, certain they were familiar. I shaded my eyes against the morning sun. Sure enough it was Mervin Mosier and his twin brother, Martin, at the end of the row, eight or nine booths away from us. They were wearing matching mauve shirts, suspenders, black pants, and straw hats over their sandy hair. Plus aviator sunglasses.

“Genuine Amish hope chests,” Martin called out to an Englisch couple passing by.

“Custom-made and personalized,” Mervin interjected. “And we're not joking.”