Courting Ruth. Emma Miller

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СКАЧАТЬ he said, grinning at her. “I come in peace.”

      “You…you,” she sputtered. “I don’t like you one bit.”

      He laughed. “Oh, yes, you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come looking for me. Or gotten into the buggy.” He looked down. “And you wouldn’t still be holding my hand.”

      Ruth jerked her hand from his, mortified. It wasn’t that she meant to let him hold her hand; he just had her so confused.

      She fumbled under the seat for Mam’s bag. Eli’s all-too-warm leg rested innocently against hers, making her vividly aware of his strong body and broad shoulders. He smelled clean and all male. She’d always hated the stench of tobacco that clung to some men, but there was none of that about Eli. His hair and body were fresh, his old high-tops were polished to a shine, and the nails on his big hands were clean and cut straight across.

      “I have to go back inside.”

      “Ya, I suppose you do,” he agreed. “But it’s nice sitting here, don’t you think?”

      “Ne. I don’t.” It was actually. Her mouth was dry, her heart raced, and her knees felt oddly weak, but the barn did smell good and the rain patting on the tin roof sounded comforting.

      And then he took hold of her hand again.

      She wanted to pull her hand free. He’d gone too far. She wasn’t the type to be so easy with a boy. Especially one she didn’t know. A boy with a reputation. She had her good name to think of, her family’s. “Let me go, Eli.”

      He released her immediately. “You haven’t asked me about the burns on my hands, the injuries I got by coming to your rescue and saving you from a fiery death.” He held out his hands. They were lean hands, a working man’s hands.

      “See that? And that?” He indicated two tiny blisters and a faint redness. “I may need to see an English doctor—go to the hospital.”

      Ruth could hardly hold back a giggle. “That? That’s the smallest blister I’ve ever seen, Eli. You boys in Belleville must be sissies, to make such a fuss about a little burn like that.”

      “Say it again.” He stared intently at her, making her warm all over again. “What?”

      “Eli. Say my name again. I like the way you say it.”

      Ruth clutched the quilt bag to her chest. “I have to go. I—”

      “Ruth?” Irwin pulled open the heavy Dutch door of the barn. “Teacher wants to know what’s taking so long.”

      “Coming.” Quickly, she scrambled down, ignoring the offer of assistance from Eli’s outstretched hand.

      He chuckled and put a finger to his lips. “I won’t say a word,” he promised. “What happened here in the barn will be our secret.”

      “We have no secrets,” she said and marched stiffly away, trying to salvage some shred of dignity.

      If Irwin knew that she hadn’t been alone in the buggy, he made no mention of it. She went back to the house. As she neared the sitting-room entrance, she heard Aunt Martha’s raised voice.

      “She’s not getting any younger, Hannah. What was wrong with Bennie Mast, I ask you? Eats a little too hearty, maybe, but a good boy, from a good family. I’m telling you, she’s too choosy, your Ruth.”

      “She’s that,” Aunt Alma joined in. “And I heard she turned down Alf King, wouldn’t even ride home from the singing with him. If she’s not careful, she’ll miss out on the best catches. She’ll end up marrying some Ohio widower twice her age.”

      Ruth stopped short. Bad enough she’d made a fool of herself in the barn, but now her aunt was holding her up as an old maid, someone who couldn’t get a husband. She couldn’t believe they were talking about this again. Why wouldn’t they understand that she couldn’t accept Bennie or Alf or the other boys who’d wanted to drive her home from a young people’s singing? Why couldn’t she make them see that her duty was to remain at home to take care of Susanna and her mother? That not every woman could or even should have a husband and children of her own? Mam needed her. Her little sister needed her. Her responsibility was to her family.

      “Here’s your bag, Mam,” she said too loudly as she entered the room. “So many buggies in the yard, it took a while to find ours.” That wasn’t dishonest, was it? Or had her foolishness with Eli Lapp caused her to make up lies as well?

      “Look at these colors,” Mam said as she took the bag from Ruth. “Barely faded in all these years. And such beautiful needlework. I vow, Johanna, you must have inherited your great-great-grandmother’s gift with stitchery.”

      Ruth settled gratefully into her empty seat and picked up her square of cloth. She would make up for her wasted time in the barn, and she would forget Eli and his inappropriate behavior. It would have been a much easier task if the memory of his hand on hers wasn’t so real or if she could forget how nice it had been sitting next to him in the privacy of the big barn. No boy had ever made her feel that way before.

      Hazel Zook’s round cheeks and pink laughing mouth rose to haunt Eli, replacing the image of Ruth Yoder’s angelic face in his mind. He picked up his pace as he strode back across the wet fields toward his uncle’s house. Glimpses of that night flashed in his head. He’d put miles and months between him and Hazel, but it wasn’t enough. He just couldn’t get her and what had happened off his conscience.

      Light rain hit him in the face as he walked, and he wondered if coming to Seven Poplars might have been a mistake. Maybe he should have run farther, gone into the English world and never looked back. He wondered what was keeping him from taking that final step? He was already lost to his own faith. People would never let him forget what had happened back in Belleville.

      What was he thinking coming here? Was he going to ruin another woman’s life now? Ruth Yoder was a nice girl, a girl from a strict family and church. She deserved respect. And the best thing he could do for her was to stay away. He should never have gone to the Beachys’ tonight. Better choices.

      He wished things could have been different, that he’d made a better choice that night at the bonfire. He wished he’d done the right thing, but now it was too late. There was no going back and no changing what had happened.

      The bishops and the preachers said that God was merciful; they preached it every service. They said you could be forgiven any sin if you truly repented, and maybe that was true. But what they didn’t say was how you could forgive yourself.

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