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By the time they reached the front yard, it was clear that Samuel Kauffman was in attendance. His tall, slim frame was draped easily over one of the porch rails.
Samuel would have been at home at any beach in the world. He had a shock of bushy blond hair, he was brown as a nut, and his eyes were a sparkling blue. He greeted Jemima with a beautiful white smile and a wink that made her lower her eyes and go pink.
He acknowledged Mark with a cheery: “Well, look who’s here! Sit down, Mark, you look exhausted. Can I get you a glass of water?”
Mark gave him a grim look, but replied: “I know you’re used to doing that, but no thanks. We aren’t at your folks’ restaurant. Speaking of that – isn’t it about time for you to put on your apron? It’s getting close to dinner.”
Jemima broke in hastily. “Samuel, it was very kind of you to come all the way out here. I’m sure Mamm appreciates it.”
Samuel beamed at her. “It’s nothing, Jemima. Anytime! I’m always happy to do what I can.”
“That’s for sure,” Mark mumbled under his breath.
Jemima’s eyes moved uncertainly between the two of them. “Would the two of you like to – to stay to supper?” she ventured.
“Can’t,” Samuel lamented, and reached out to take her hand. “But give me a rain check, okay? I’d love to see you some other time.”
Jemima noticed, with trepidation, that Mark’s brow was gathering thunder, and he looked as if he was about to burst out with the accompanying lightning. So she hurried to reply, “Oh, I’m sorry you can’t stay with us, Samuel. But yes, do drop by when you can,” she smiled.
Samuel squeezed her hand and ran his thumb over her palm in a way that made it tingle. Then he smiled, bounded down the porch steps, and was driving away before she found the nerve to look up.
Mark watched him go with a scowl. “Why do you encourage that skinny little weasel?” he blurted.
Jemima went red. “Samuel is a very good person—and you know it, Mark Christner!” she retorted indignantly. “I don’t know why you take such a dislike to him, but he doesn’t deserve it.”
Mark turned to look at her, and his blue eyes were sad and reproachful. “Don’t you, Jemima?” he asked softly.
Jemima couldn’t meet his eyes, and felt her cheeks going hot. But she was spared the necessity of a reply by the sound of her father’s heavy shoes approaching on the gravel drive. His booming voice cut off any possibility of a reply.
“Jemima, shouldn’t you be helping your mamm with dinner?” he said pointedly, and directed a speaking look at Mark.
Mark’s cheeks went a dull red. Jemima nodded, gave her visitor an apologetic look, and fled.
After she had gone, the six-foot-three Jacob King leaned against one of the porch posts and regarded his 17-year-old guest with a knowing look in his eye.
“How is your family, Mark?” he inquired gently.
“They’re fine, sir,” Mark mumbled.
Jacob nodded. “Good. I haven’t seen much of them lately. Or of you, for that matter.”
Mark looked out across the fields and bit his lip.
“And that’s not good,” Jacob sighed, running a massive hand through his rumpled red hair. “Because if a young man comes to this house to see my daughter, I expect him to come to see me first.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just so long as we understand one another,” Jacob smiled, and clapped his hand down on Mark’s shoulder – hard.
Mark winced, but nodded.
Jacob smiled. “Staying to supper, boy?” he inquired gently.
“Ah – no. I have chores to do.”
“Say hello to your folks for me,” Jacob told him, and stood on the porch, watching, until Mark Christner’s retreating form disappeared down the long dirt road.
Jacob King put both hands on his hips and laughed long and loud, and then turned and entered his house.
His wife Rachel was waiting for him at the door, with her arms crossed. “Jacob King, you should be ashamed of yourself,” she chided gently. “Jemima is finished with her schooling now. It’s time for her to be getting visits from young men. And Mark is her... special friend. He’s plainly working up the nerve to ask if he can court with her. Why do you discourage him? Don’t you want your daughter to find a good husband?”
Jacob leaned over and kissed his wife’s pretty pink cheek. “You can set your mind at rest, Rachel,” he assured her, “we’ll never have to worry that Jemima will lose a man. Her danger is going to be picking the right one, out of the teeming horde!”
“Jacob, what a way to put it!” his wife exclaimed, but her lips curled up a little. “It’s true that Jemima is very blessed, but how will she ever know which of her suitors is right for her, if she never gets a chance to spend time with them?”
Jacob sighed, and stretched his rippling arms. “Don’t tire me with those silly pups, Rachel,” he yawned. “I’m hungry. I’ve spent all day hammering over a forge, and I could eat a horse.”
“Come to dinner then, Jacob,” she smiled softly. “The table is laid.”
Jacob’s eyes lighted on a large cardboard box sitting on one of the dining room chairs. He lifted a canning jar.
“What’s this?”
His wife assumed an innocent look, and shrugged. “Samuel Kauffman came by this afternoon to bring me some jars. It was a gift from his mother.”
“Oh, did he now?”
Jacob met his wife’s eyes, and raised his brows comically. She looked away, and pinched in a smile.
“Your dinner is getting cold.”
Jacob sat down at the groaning dinner table, and rubbed his hands. But before his family bowed their heads to pray, he gave his pretty daughter a meaningful look.
“Jemima, the next time you see Samuel Kauffman, tell him I’d like a word with him.”
“Oh, Daed!” Jemima gave him a pleading look from her lovely eyes, but her father was the one male on earth who had found the strength to resist it.
“I mean it.”
