The Amish Christmas Matchmaker, page 9
“Oooh. Are you thinking of bucking tradition? Notice I use the word buck. I’m trying to make you feel comfortable with some Texas slang.”
This was the Annie he liked. The one who teased him with a smile that said, Come on, walk into this trap.
“I rode a bucking bronco once.”
“You don’t say?”
“Cracked two ribs when he threw me.”
“So you learned your lesson?”
“What lesson would that be?”
“To stay off bucking broncos.”
“Nein. See, bronco riding is a sport in Texas. They really enjoy it—like we do baseball.”
“People don’t crack their ribs in baseball.”
“Well, normally they don’t, but they could. That’s not the point.” He started to explain rodeo competitions to her, but she held up a hand and stopped him.
“You can bore me with this on our date. Where are we going?”
Suddenly he knew where he wanted to take her. “Let’s go snag some of those leftover oatmeal raisin bars.”
“We just ate.”
“Hours ago. I’m starving.”
“Spoken like a man.”
“Women don’t get hungry? Come on. You barely ate anything at lunch.”
Annie had stood and was brushing hay off her dress. She stopped, her hand halfway down her apron, her eyes squinting and a line forming between her brows. “You were watching me eat?”
“I was trying to find time to talk to you.”
“And so you followed me out here?”
“I’m not a stalker. We needed to plan our not-date. So what about it?”
“What about what?”
“Those oatmeal bars.”
“They’re bound to be gone already...the kids had a fifteen-minute start on us.” A mischievous smile teased at her lips—very pretty pink lips, he suddenly noticed. “I might know where some are put back in the kitchen.”
“You don’t say.”
“I could be persuaded to show you.”
Levi stepped closer, reached out and plucked a piece of hay from her kapp. She stood frozen, like a deer caught midstride.
“I’d like that.” His voice suddenly sounded husky and low, sounded like a person he didn’t recognize. He moved closer, wondering if he had the courage to kiss her. But either he was reading the mood wrong or Annie was not having any of it. She thrust the red dishcloth in his hands and said, “Stay close. If the kinner see what we’re up to, we’ll starve. We’re outnumbered and don’t stand a chance.”
But Levi’s thoughts were no longer focused on snacks or games of tag or even bull riding. He was thinking of one thing, and at the moment she was wearing a pretty dark blue dress and leading him across a rain-soaked yard.
Chapter Eight
Tuesday afternoon Annie waited on her front porch for Levi to arrive.
“Where is he taking you?” Her mamm was working on yet another baby blanket. They seemed to sprout from her knitting needles. This one was in pink, white and lavender.
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”
“It’s so nice to see you getting out and having some fun. You work entirely too much, in my opinion.”
Annie didn’t answer that. She was already regretting this plan of theirs. She should be spending the afternoon sketching out ideas for the Hoschstetler wedding, though in truth she had two more weeks to get ready for that, and it was a small gathering—only a hundred and fifty guests.
“That sweater looks very nice on you.”
“You made it for me.”
“I remember, but you hardly ever wear it.”
Annie fingered the light wool. It was a pretty burgundy and always reminded her of fall. It was true she rarely wore it, as she seldom did anything social and it was too nice for everyday clothes. Why had she even picked it for today? It wasn’t like she needed to dress up for Levi Lapp.
As if thinking his name had the power to make him appear, Levi pulled into their lane.
How he’d managed to get off work early on a Tuesday, she had no idea. But he’d insisted that two in the afternoon was the best time so she’d agreed. What else could she do?
Annie tried not to blush as her mamm reminded them there was no need to hurry home. Before she could back out of the date, they were in the buggy traveling down the lane.
“How was your day?” Levi asked.
No doubt he was merely being polite, but she found herself telling him about the upcoming wedding and how Rachel Hoschstetler was having a small group.
“One hundred and fifty? Doesn’t sound small to me.”
“You’ve been to plenty of Amish weddings. You know what I mean.”
“I guess.”
“If you have ten siblings and they have ten children.”
“I can do the math...”
“So you see what I mean, plus there’s all the aentis and onkels. But Rachel, her family is small on her mamm’s side. She was an only child.”
“I’m surprised they hired you if the gathering is so small.”
She glared at him. Now, this was the Levi she expected, not the play-it-nice guy who wanted to know how her day had been, but the snarky one who questioned her ability to run a business.
“Why are you looking at me that way? My hat crooked?”
She didn’t want to talk about his cowboy hat again. That was a ploy he often used to change the topic. She wasn’t falling for it. “How could you say such a thing?”
“What did I say?”
“That you were surprised they would hire me.”
“I am surprised.” As if hearing what he was saying for the first time, he began to stammer, “Um...that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, it isn’t?”
“Nein. What I meant was...well, I was just wondering out loud why Amish who seldom eat out and never hire someone to help with the housework would hire someone to cook for a wedding. But now that I think about it, I guess you explained it to me that first night.”
“You were actually listening?”
“Amish families hire you because a wedding is a tremendous amount of work. In fact, it’s almost impossible for one family to do the work to prepare for a large wedding. But if this Rachel only has a small family, then I’m surprised they’d hire you.”
He smiled in her direction, as if he’d cleared it all up.
Which he had, sort of. She was definitely too quick to jump to the wrong conclusion with Levi.
“Okay. Now I see what you mean.”
“Gut.”
“Her mamm is sick. She has MS and some days are harder than others. So her dat offered to hire me.”
“Now that makes sense.”
Annie had been so caught up in their conversation that she hadn’t paid any attention to where he was driving. They’d traveled through Goshen and popped out the other side. They passed the Dairy Queen and the Best Western, and then Levi pulled off the main road.
“Fidler Pond?”
“Ya. Have you been here before?”
“Nein. I’ve wanted to but haven’t found the time.”
“I thought a few hours away from the farm might be nice.”
“Huh.”
“And I haven’t tried my hand at a paddleboat in quite some time.”
“They have paddleboats?” She felt an uncharacteristic surge of excitement. She loved paddling around in the water. Had she told him that? How could he have known?
Levi was parking the buggy, careful to pick a shady spot in an area that wasn’t paved over. “Don’t want Petunia standing on concrete for hours.”
They were going to spend hours together?
Before she could dwell on that terrifying thought, he’d tugged on her hand and pulled her toward the small rental shack. As he started to pay, she remembered his lecture about men being expected to pay for everything on a date, about how unfair it was. She hadn’t thought about that much. Then again, she hadn’t been on very many dates.
“I can pay half.” She opened her purse to fetch some money.
“I’ve got this.” When she started to protest, he added, “We’ll do dinner Dutch and you can pay for dessert.”
“You expect this date to last that long?”
“Hope springs eternal...”
His tone had turned suddenly serious, and she found she couldn’t quite meet his gaze. Why was Levi always surprising her? Teasing one minute and looking at her with those blue eyes she could drown in the next.
Instead of dwelling on it, she tossed her head and said, “Fine, but I get to pick the color of the boat.”
She chose the bright yellow one, and before she could stop to think about how close they were going to be forced to sit, they were out in the middle of the small pond, laughing at the fish and splashing one another with the water.
After an hour of paddling, which was more strenuous exercise than she remembered, Levi dropped her off near some shade trees and returned to the paddleboat shack for the deposit he’d paid. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was when he came walking down the trail carrying two cold sodas, two fishing poles and a small box of worms.
“Really? You bought worms?” It sounded critical even to her ears, so she bumped her shoulder against his and said, “Big Tom would have been happy to dig some up for us.”
“Gut point.” He popped the soda and handed it to her, then opened his own and drank down half of it. “But Big Tom isn’t here, and I want to know if you can fish.”
“Of course I can fish.”
“Bet you don’t know how to put a worm on a hook.”
“Seriously?”
“Show me.”
When she’d done so, he wiggled his eyebrows and said, “Little Annie is full of surprises. Now do mine. I can’t stand to touch the things.”
She couldn’t help laughing at his expression of disgust as she threaded another worm on his hook. A guy who didn’t like baiting a hook? Maybe in Texas they did it differently. Maybe there the fish jumped out of the water and into the boat with a little coaxing.
They caught a dozen perch in the next hour, then returned their poles and gave the remainder of their worms to a pair of Englisch boys. They looked to be under ten years old and had cane poles but only a couple of worms in a tin can.
“Thanks,” the boys exclaimed, dashing off toward the water.
As they were walking back toward the buggy, Levi bumped her shoulder and asked, “Ready for some dinner?”
“You don’t have to do that, Levi.”
“I don’t have to take you to dinner? So you think I’d take you home hungry?”
“I think I know your opinion on the terrible cost of dating.”
“Ya, for sure and certain it’s expensive. I paid two bucks for those worms.” Waiting to be sure that she knew he was kidding, he added, “Your parents would never believe this was a real date if I took you home without feeding you.”
They ate at the Dairy Queen, which had the added benefit of buggy parking. Sitting in the booth, watching Petunia munch on fall grass, Annie marveled at the odd twists and turns her life seemed to take. A month ago, she hadn’t even known Levi Lapp. Now she was on a pretend date with him. Would wonders never cease?
“That’s one thing they don’t have in Texas.” Levi wadded his wrapper into a ball and tossed it on top of the tray.
“Say that again.”
“That’s one thing they don’t have in Texas—designated buggy parking.”
Annie pulled on first one ear and then the other. “You must have splashed water in my ears when we were on that paddleboat. I thought you just said there’s something Texas doesn’t have.”
“Go ahead. Make fun of me, but it’s true. They don’t have everything.”
“They don’t have Dairy Queens?”
“Of course they do. Actually, Texas has more DQs than any other state.”
“You’re making that up.”
“Nein, I’m not.”
His mind was like a buggy wheel stuck in a rut. Everything he saw, thought or heard he twisted into something about Texas. He was incorrigible.
“Tell me three things you don’t like about Texas.”
“Let’s get dessert first.”
They’d both had a burger and shared fries at a table inside. Levi bussed the table while Annie stood staring at the ice cream options. When he pulled out his wallet to pay, she stopped him.
“No way. You paid for dinner. I’m buying dessert. I intend to pay my way in this relationship.”
Levi shrugged and ordered a large sundae. She settled for a dipped cone.
They took the ice cream outside and sat at one of the picnic tables, watching the Englischers and Amish come and go.
“That’s one thing I enjoy about Goshen that I’d sort of forgotten.” He pointed at a buggy, waiting in the drive-in behind a pickup truck.
“I’m not following.”
“The two parts of the community have become used to one another here. Sure we have the occasional tourist trying to snap pictures...”
“Happens every time I come to town.”
“And some Englischers still complain that Amish are willing to work for too low a wage.”
“There was an article in the paper on that this week.”
“But overall, it seems the Amish here have figured out how to remain separate while they also work seamlessly with the Englisch.”
“I don’t know if it’s seamless.” Annie paused to lick at a bit of ice cream that was running down her cone. “It’s true though that we do work well together. Employers understand that we don’t work on Sundays. And Amish understand that Englischers are simply trying to run a profitable business, which is important if we want the jobs.”
“It’s a gut situation for both groups. It’s what I hope and pray we can have in our new community.”
“Uh-uh. You don’t get to jump into daydreaming. Now tell me three things that you don’t like about this great state of yours.”
Annie thought he’d brush her off, that he’d claim he needed to get back to Old Simon. She honestly wasn’t sure he could do it. Look at his dream realistically? Was that even possible? Or did it stop being a dream at that point? But instead of changing the subject or claiming he needed to leave, Levi seemed to be thoughtfully considering her question.
* * *
Levi was surprised to find he was enjoying the pretend date with Annie. He’d grown used to her skepticism about Texas, so it no longer irritated him as it once had. Unlike when he’d first met her, he no longer took it personally. It helped that he understood her reasons for wanting to stay in Indiana.
“What you’re asking, it’s hard to do,” he admitted.
“Hard? Why is it hard? Every person, every place has negative qualities.”
“It’s kind of like your grandparents.”
“My grandparents?”
“Do you remember them?”
“Of course.”
“So tell me about them.”
“Dat’s parents were quite a bit older, so they passed when I was young. Mamm’s parents, they lived down the road. It hasn’t been that long since Mammi and Daddi passed. I grew up as much at their house as I did at my own. I used to go there after school sometimes instead of going home. I’d help Mammi with her garden or work on a quilt with her.”
“Tell me three things you didn’t like about your mammi.”
“I loved my mammi.”
“Of course you did, but every person, every place has negative qualities.”
She ducked her head and gave him a look when he quoted her words back to her. But he knew Annie well enough to know she wouldn’t back away from a challenge.
“Okay. I see what you’re doing. It is hard to remember the negative, or maybe we just choose not to remember.” She stood up, walked to a trash barrel and tossed her napkin into it. When she came back to the picnic table, she was smiling. “Mammi was a sweetheart. I loved her dearly, but she wasn’t perfect. She always wore this smelly lotion that she was certain helped with her arthritis. I remember being embarrassed at church thinking everyone else must be able to smell it, that surely she could go one day without putting it on.”
“Probably other people wore it too.”
“Oh, they did. In fact, they still do. When I catch a whiff of the stuff now, it always brings back gut memories of sitting by her side.”
“But don’t you see? Time changes the way we think of something. We tend to remember all the positive aspects or all the negative aspects. We don’t have a very balanced view of things in our past.”
“We see the past with rose-colored glasses.”
Was that what he’d done for the last twelve years? If so, he needed to stop right now. He was convincing other families to risk a lot in order to move with him. How could he do that if he wasn’t willing to look at what they were doing objectively?
“I was only fourteen when we left Texas. By that time, my dat was sick. He had prostate cancer, though he wasn’t diagnosed until we’d been back in Goshen for six months.”
“I’m so sorry, Levi. I didn’t know.”
“I was a rambunctious teenager who was happy where he was. I had friends in Texas, and I had Tate Calloway—”
“Who was that?”
Levi sighed. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about Tate in a long time. When he did, the pain still felt fresh. The man had been like family to him, and he hadn’t even been able to attend his funeral. “He was our neighbor. He was a gut man.”
“Sounds as if he was more than a neighbor.”
“Ya. My dat...he had a hard time farming in Texas. It was nearly impossible to do so successfully, especially then. The bishop allowed us to try...not modern technology exactly but some irrigation techniques that helped. But Dat was stubborn and insisted on doing things the old way, and the old ways didn’t work in the Texas dirt, especially during a drought.”
