Outside, in Roman’s long, open carriage shed, the men of the congregation gathered. It was a time to relax after the long and thought-provoking sermon. Neighbors shook hands, exchanged news about the various families’ health, talked about the weather and what they would plant in the spring, and waited for the women to call them to the communal meal.
Samuel and Charley were discussing the merits of the new stock Charley had purchased at the Virginia auction. Samuel was keeping a sharp eye on Rudy and Peter when Shupp Troyer sauntered up and stuck out his hand.
“Awful cold for January, ain’t it?” Shupp grabbed Samuel’s hand and pumped it.
Samuel nodded. “This is when we generally get a warm spell before February hits.” He was still watching his twins, who, for once, seemed to be on their best behavior. The boys were standing with Lori Ann amid a crowd of children at Roman’s back porch, where Anna and Miriam were handing out apples, buttered biscuits and small meat pies that would tide the little ones over until they got a chance to come to the table.
Samuel could remember how hungry he used to get, waiting for the elders and guests, all the men and older boys, and finally the women and babies to eat before it got to the children’s sitting. As usual, Anna Yoder had remembered the children and their growing appetites. He felt a surge of pride that she had such a good heart. He knew that if she accepted him, she’d make a good mother.
“Weatherman calling for more snow tomorrow.” Shupp droned on as he scratched his chin. “Don’t usually get snow when the temperature drops this low. Makes it hard to tend to the animals. And makes my sprung back ache like a toothache.”
Not that you do much tending of anything around the farm, Samuel thought. He’d never seen Noodle Shupp Troyer work a full day since he’d come to Delaware, and that was before his two daughters married and brought strong sons-in-law into his house to pick up the slack. Noodle could always be depended on to have some ailment to complain about at any gathering. Luckily for him, his girls had taken after his wife, Zipporah, and were as industrious as honey bees.
“Heard you was doing some work for Hannah,” Noodle said slyly. “Been traipsing up there a lot this past week, ain’t you?” He raised one side of his bushy eyebrow. Noodle had a single eyebrow that extended in a thick line from the far corner of his left eye, over his nose, to the corner of his right eye. It was so wooly that Samuel once took it for a knit cap under the man’s hat. “Guess there was need, with Hannah still away.”
“I did some painting for the Yoders,” Samuel admitted. “What with Jonas’s mother coming to stay.” He was an easygoing man, and this was the Sabbath. It wouldn’t do for him to let Noodle’s gossiping ways get under his skin or cause him to have uncharitable thoughts.
“Some of Hannah’s girls home to watch the farm, ain’t they? That big one, Anna?” Noodle chuckled and elbowed Samuel. “Now, she’ll make an armful for some man.”
Samuel gritted his teeth and forced his voice to a neutral tone. “Anna’s a good girl,” he said. “And there’s no better cook in the county, for all her being but twenty-one. You’ve no call to poke fun at her.”
Noodle tugged at his eyebrow, pulling loose a few gray hairs and dropping them into the straw underfoot. “No offense, but sayin’ that she’s hefty ain’t no more than the honest truth. ’Course…” He grinned at Charley. “Once Samuel here makes the widow his wife, it’s natural he’ll be scramblin’ to find that one a husband—seein’ as how she’ll be his stepdaughter.”
Charley’s normally genial expression darkened. “Anna may be bigger than most girls, but her heart’s big to match.”
“Never meant no…”
The clang of Fanny’s iron dinner triangle signaled the first seating. As a deacon of the church, Samuel was one of those so honored, and for once, he didn’t mind leaving Charley and the younger men to join Reuben and Bishop Atlee and the others. If he stayed here any longer with Noodle Troyer, he’d say or do something that wouldn’t set a good example for the younger people on a Church Sunday. He was a peaceful man, but he had his limits.
Noodle wasn’t the brightest onion in the basket, and Samuel doubted he meant any harm, but he was slighting Anna with his loose talk. He had to knot his fists to keep from tossing the man into the nearest horse trough.
Lots of people would be sticking their noses in when he and Anna started officially courting, but that was their shortcoming. Anna and he were right for each other. Her size wasn’t a problem for him, and it shouldn’t be anyone else’s concern. He thought she was perfect, in a homey and comfortable way that a wife ought to be, and she had the most beautiful eyes. He was glad that Charley had stuck up for Anna, and he wished he’d said more. But it wouldn’t be right to tell Noodle or anyone else what he figured on doing, not until he and Anna settled things between them.
As he crossed the snow-covered yard toward the house, he looked up and caught Anna watching him from the back step. Her basket, once full of foodstuffs, was empty, and the children had scattered to eat their prizes, but Anna still stood there, tall and fine in her starched kapp and best Sunday dress. It made him go all warm inside at the thought that she was watching him.
He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. Her eyes went wide like a startled doe, and she darted back inside and slammed the door. Instantly, the good feeling in his chest became a cold hollow.
What if Anna didn’t care for him in that way? What if she thought of him only as a neighbor and a fellow church member? What if he’d laid his heart open and she wouldn’t have him? What then?
It was after three, when everyone had eaten and the young men were packing the benches into the church wagon, but Samuel still hadn’t had a minute alone with Anna. She’d stayed in the kitchen, instead of serving at the tables, as she usually did. Now, when he had all five of his children gathered up and waiting in the buggy, he went to find her.
Fannie met him at the back door, and Samuel could see the kitchen was still crowded with chattering women cleaning up the last of the dishes and stowing leftover food. “Could I speak to Anna?” he asked.
“Anna Yoder?” Mischief sparkled in Fannie’s eyes.
What Anna did she think he meant? The only other one he knew that was here today was three years old. “Ya, Anna Yoder.”
All the women in the kitchen were staring at him through the open kitchen door, and he felt his face grow hot. Growing up with older sisters, he’d always felt that women were so different from men that they might have been a different breed altogether. They always seemed to have secrets; and put two women together, and no matter how much he liked them, a man always felt tongue-tied.
Like the other day, when Anna had asked why he wanted to marry her, his brain had frozen and he’d mumbled something about hard work, when that hadn’t been what he wanted to say at all. He did admire Anna for her cooking and her skill at sewing and such, but he would have wanted her if she couldn’t boil water or thread a needle. It was her quiet way he loved most, her gentle nature and her generous heart. Any man ought to be able to see that Anna shone like wheat in a basket of chaff, and should be honored to have her walk out with him. But saying those fancy love words out loud were more than he could manage.
“Samuel?”
He blinked. He’d been daydreaming and not seen Anna until she was standing right in front of him. Susanna was right behind her; her little round face peered around Anna, full of curiosity.
“Like to take the two of you home,” he managed. “Maybe more snow. Sun be going down soon…get your feet wet.” His stomach knotted and he broke out in a cold sweat beneath his heavy coat. What was wrong with him, that he couldn’t speak to Anna easy-like, as he had a thousand times since she was a young girl?
“Going with Charley and Miriam.” Susanna peeked around her sister. “In Charley’s buggy.”
“Our things are already loaded,” Anna said. “They’re coming to Mam’s for coffee and evening prayer.”
“Ah. So you won’t need a ride?” His heart sank. He’d hoped to drive her home, maybe go in for coffee and visiting.
“Ne. It’s thoughtful of you to ask.” She smiled and closed the door while he stood there, leaving him feeling both disappointed and a little hurt.
He tried not to let any of his emotions show as he made his way to his buggy, but when he went to climb up in the front seat, his mouth dropped open in astonishment. Sitting there was not his little Mae or Naomi or even Lori Ann. Martha Coblentz was planted solidly on the bench, her feet against the kick board, her mouth tight and her shoulders stiff beneath her black wool cape.
“Martha?” He did a double take, wondering for a moment if he’d started to get in the wrong carriage. But, no, this was his horse, Smoky, his buggy, his five kids giggling in the back. What was Martha doing here? “Is there a problem?” he stammered. “Is your horse lame?”
“’Course not,” Martha said. “Don’t talk foolishness, Samuel. I’ve been wanting to have a good talk with you for a long time, but you’re a hard man to catch up with.” She waved her hand. “Well, don’t just stand there. Get in.”
“Am I driving you to your house?”
She shook her head. “Reuben will be along to bring me home. Drive on to your farm, Samuel. You’re blocking Lydia and Norman in.”
With a sigh, Samuel did as he was told. No good could come of this. He didn’t need to be a smart man to know that. Martha, sister to Hannah Yoder’s dead husband, and Reuben’s wife, was full of advice, and he was certain he was about to receive a good measure of it, whether he wanted it or not.
“I feel it’s my duty to talk sense into you,” Martha said as they crossed the blacktop road in front of the chair shop. “You know that Frieda and I were close.”
Not that close, Samuel thought, but he held his tongue. Frieda had once confided to him that she thought Martha should keep her nose in her own affairs, but… He stifled a groan. Frieda would have also been the first one to caution him about uncharitable thoughts on the Sabbath.
“She was a good wife, a good mother, a faithful member of the church,” Martha intoned. “Your Frieda was one of the best. You’ll not find her equal.”
Samuel nodded and kept his eyes on the horse’s rump. The road was icy, so he didn’t want to drive fast and take a chance on the animal slipping. “She was and is still dear to me and the children.”
“But she’s gone on to a better place,” Martha continued. “Frieda’s with God. And you’re here. With five children to raise. A house and a farm to run. You have responsibilities, Samuel, big responsibilities.”
He nodded again. Did she think he didn’t know that? That he didn’t pray for guidance every day—that he didn’t worry about his children? That he wasn’t lonely for a woman’s smile and soft word?
“It’s common knowledge that you’ve been calling at Hannah’s regularly for the past two years,” Martha said, turning to look at him over her spectacles.
Samuel passed the lines from one hand to the other. The wind was blowing full into their faces, and he felt sorry for the horse. Luckily, they didn’t have far to go, just past the schoolhouse to his lane, and that had trees on either side, to shield them from the icy blast. “Hannah’s lost her husband,” he said, “and she’s been a good neighbor. It would be less than my duty to neglect her.”
“I’d say nothing bad about Hannah,” Martha went on. “Wasn’t she my own dear brother’s wife? But you’re a young man, still in your prime. You’ve a big farm, and you need more sons to help in the fields. Hannah’s too old for you, Samuel. There. I’ve said it to your face.”
“Hannah’s hardly over the hill.”
“She’s a grandmother. And too old to give you more children. You need a young woman, and I know of one who’s secretly had affection for you for a long time.”
Suddenly understanding why Martha had approached him, Samuel straightened in the seat and began to smile. Relief eased the hard knot in his chest, and he didn’t feel the cold anymore. Martha hadn’t come to lecture him. She’d come as a go-between for Anna, her niece.
“You understand, I never intended to court Hannah,” he admitted. “We’re friends, nothing more.”
“That’s good to hear.” Martha didn’t sound entirely convinced.
Smoky turned into the lane so fast that the buggy skidded sideways. The girls shrieked and Martha clutched the edge of the seat. Samuel reined the animal to a walk. “You’ll be in the barn soon enough,” he soothed. Roman’s place was close, no more than half a mile. Had it been just him and the two boys, they would have walked over to church, but it was too bitter a day for his daughters.
“My, but that gives a body a start,” Martha said, still clutching the seat. “We could have turned over.”
In the back of the buggy, the squeals had turned to giggles and whispering. Samuel decided the best course was to ignore them.
“Ne. We were in no danger. Just the lane’s slippery.” More snowflakes were beginning to float down, large, lacy ones that reminded him of meringue on one of Anna’s lemon pies. The sky was already dark in the east, and the air smelled of snow. They might get a few more inches before it was done. He decided to keep the cows inside tonight. “It eases my mind, you telling me this,” he admitted. “I was wondering whether she was favorable toward me or not.”
“Oh, she favors you well enough, but she’s modest, as an unmarried girl should be. But she thinks of you a lot, enough to make a chicken pot pie for your supper tonight. I tucked it into the back of the buggy, wrapped in toweling to keep it warm. Along with some potato salad and apple cake. You’ll not have to do a thing. I’ll put the food on the table and Naomi and the girls can set out the dishes and flatware while you’re doing your chores.”
The house came in sight, and behind it the barns and sheds that housed his animals, wagons and machinery, all quickly becoming frosted in white snowflakes. As it was the Sabbath, no work was permitted by the Ordnung, but the chickens and ducks, the pigs, the horses and cows still had to be fed and watered, and there was still a night milking to do.
“It’s thoughtful of you and of her.”
“It’s the least I can do, seeing how much I loved your poor Frieda. You’ve been a widower too long, Samuel. People have been wondering why you haven’t remarried. It’s your duty to your children and to your community. There always seem to be more available girls than prospective husbands.”
“I thought maybe I was too old for her—that she’d want a younger man, someone closer to her own age.”
“Then you’re wrong. The best marriages are those where the man is older and more settled in his ways. You can guide her both spiritually and in her daily responsibilities. Young husbands are flighty, by my way of thinking. A proper husband needs to be the authority in the house.”
A small smile came to Samuel as he pondered who was the authority in the Coblentz house. He guided Smoky around to the back of the house. “Help your sisters out,” he ordered the boys.
“Oh, it’s snow—snowing,” Lori Anne cried.
“Snow,” Mae echoed.
“Take the little ones inside,” Samuel said to Naomi. “The door’s unlocked. And keep Mae away from the stove.” As the children hurried toward the house, Samuel turned to face Martha. “I want you to know that Anna and I were properly chaperoned when I was there painting. I’d do nothing to cast suspicion on her name or mine. Susanna and my children were with us all the time.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Rumors are easier to prevent than to erase, once they’ve begun. It behooves a man in your position to always be above criticism.”
He climbed down and helped Martha out of the buggy. Peter came to take hold of Smoky. “Unharness him and turn him into his stall,” Samuel said. “Then change your clothes before starting the chores.” He glanced around, half expecting to see Reuben’s carriage. “You did say that Reuben was coming for you, didn’t you?” he asked Martha.
“I wasn’t sure how long our talk would take. He’ll be along. I’ll just make a pot of coffee and see to it that the girls are doing their evening chores. They need guidance as much as boys, you know. They’ve been too long without a mother’s direction.”
“I suppose,” Samuel agreed. He took Martha’s arm as they went up the steps to the open porch. “You can take off your boots inside,” he said. There was a utility room just inside, with benches to sit on and hooks for winter coats and hats. “Just make yourself to home.”
Inside, the house was warm, and Lori Ann’s tiger cat was pleased to see them. Purring, it curled around Martha’s ankle as she pulled off first one wet boot and then the other. “Reuben doesn’t hold with animals in the house,” she said. “Hair and dirt. Animals belong outside.”
“I’m afraid I spoil my children,” he admitted. “And the cat’s a good mouser.” He pointed to a pair of Frieda’s old slippers on the shelf. “You can put those on. Warmer on your feet than just stockings.” He excused himself to go and change into his barn clothes. Having Martha in the house felt a little awkward. He knew what a snoop she was, but she’d come to bring him the great news today, and he would never treat her unkindly. “Coffee’s over the stove,” he called over his shoulder.
As he padded down the hall in his stocking feet, he could hear Martha giving sharp orders to his girls. There was a basket of laundry on the floor near the table, left there since yesterday. He wished he’d folded and put away those clothes last night. Martha would be sure to notice that and the breakfast dishes still standing in the sink. She was right, he supposed. He did need a helpmate. Soon he’d be ready for unexpected company anytime.
When he returned to the kitchen, he found the coffee pot simmering and his two older girls busy setting the table for a light supper before the children went to bed. Mae was under the table hugging the cat, and her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. “What’s wrong?” he asked, holding his arms out to her.
“She’s wet her drawers,” Martha fussed. “A big girl like her, nearly four. She should know better. I told her to just sit a while in them and see how it felt.”
Samuel frowned. He’d changed his share of diapers and wet underthings since Frieda died. Martha might know best. Such was usually women’s business, but it didn’t seem right to him, to punish a little girl for an accident. “She’s still not settled in here yet,” he defended. “Accidents are bound to happen. Naomi, could you take your sister and see that she’s dressed in dry clothing?”
Naomi nodded. “Come on, Mae,” she said, extending a hand. Sniffing, the little one crawled out, took hold of her sister and shuffled after her, out of the kitchen. Lori Ann stopped, mouth open, a plate in her hand and stared longingly at her sisters.
“What? You want to go with them?” Samuel asked. She nodded, and he took the plate and motioned her away. “Go on, then.”
Martha took down two mugs and set them on the counter with a loud thump. “You make their new mother’s task no easier,” she said. “Spare the rod and spoil the child. My Dorcas will have her hands full.”
It was Samuel’s turn to stare, gape-mouthed. “Dorcas? What has Dorcas to do with anything?”
Martha cleared her throat. “You’re not usually so thick. Who do you think I’ve been talking about all the way from Roman’s? My daughter, Dorcas, the girl you’ll soon be walking out with.”
“Dorcas?” He shook his head. “But I didn’t…” He dropped into a chair, suddenly feeling as if his head might burst. “There’s some misunderstanding, Martha. I never intended to court your Dorcas.”
“Nonsense. Who else would you choose? She’s unwed, nearly twenty-five, and has been brought up to know her duty.” She made a sound of disbelief. “Sometimes I think men are blind. Of course, Dorcas. She’s exactly right for you, and now that I’ve brought it to your attention, Reuben and I will expect you to begin making formal calls on her within the week.”
Rudy banged open the kitchen door. “Reuben’s here, Dat. He says for Martha to hurry. Snow’s getting worse, and he wants to get home before dark.”
“I didn’t intend to court Dorcas,” Samuel repeated. Was it possible that he’d completely misunderstood? That it was Dorcas that Martha had come to speak for and not Anna? “Dorcas made the chicken pot pie for me?”
“I said so, didn’t I?” Martha snapped. “Honestly, Samuel, I don’t know what to think about you. You always seemed so sharp-witted to me, not a man that had to be hit over the head with a thing before he saw the right of it.” She followed Rudy out into the utility room, plopped down on a bench, and began to pull on her left boot as his son vanished through the outer door.
Samuel caught a whiff of something unpleasant, and Rudy’s quick exit set off a warning alarm in his head. “Don’t—” he began.
Martha jammed her foot into the boot and let out a scream. She leaped to her feet and began to hop on her right foot, yanking at the left boot. “What have they done?” she shrieked as she stared at her filthy black stocking and the unmistakable smell of wet cow manure permeated the room. “Monsters!” she accused. “Your sons are monsters!”