Their Pretend Amish Courtship. Patricia Davids

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       Chapter Three

      Noah stared at the debris clinging to his navy blue ball-uniform pants and white socks. “Remind me to make sure you have empty hands before I speak to you in the future.”

      He looked up to see Fannie’s shocked expression change to a guarded one. “Why are you here? Was there some insult you forgot to offer?”

      “My first instinct is to say I’m saving one for another day, but I’m actually here to apologize and to hear you out.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you’ll help me?”

      He brushed down the front of his pants. Was he really going to go through with this? “Are you going to keep throwing things at me?”

      “That was an accident.”

      “Accidents seem to happen around you often.” At least, it seemed that way to him, as he’d been on the receiving end of them more than once.

      She folded her arms over her chest. “I thought you were going to apologize.”

      Time to get on with it. “Fannie, please accept my apology for calling you crazy.”

      “All right. I forgive you.”

      “Danki. Now it’s your turn.”

      She thrust out her chin. “For what?”

      “For calling me a dummkopf.”

      “Lots of Amish folks have nicknames. That’s mine for you.”

      He threw his hands in the air. “What am I even doing here?”

      She reached out and caught hold of his arm. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me for calling you names. Will you help me?”

      “I think a courtship—a pretend courtship—could be in my best interest as well as yours.”

      She squealed. “Noah, I could hug you right now.”

      He held out both hands. “Drop the pitchfork first.”

      She laughed softly, a bright, happy sound he discovered he liked. Leaning the implement against the wall, she turned back to him. “What made you change your mind?”

      “You were right about Mamm’s plans for my summer. How did you know?”

      “Rebecca, Mary and Lillian were talking about it at the quilting bee last week.”

      That the three of his sisters-in-law were in on it didn’t surprise him. Wedded bliss was catching in his family. He started picking the loose straw from his socks. “What were you doing at the quilting bee?”

      “Quilting. We were making a wedding gift for my cousin. Caring for horses isn’t all I know how to do.” She offered him a handkerchief from her pocket.

      He used it to wipe his hands. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

      “I can cook, clean, sew and manage a house. I just prefer taking care of horses.”

      “I don’t blame you. Mamm made all her sons learn to cook, in case we had to take care of ourselves again. I learned, but I never liked it. Actually, Timothy is a good cook. Samuel, Joshua and I can get by, but Luke can’t boil water.”

      He was stalling, trying to decide if he was making the right decision. Going out with Fannie wouldn’t be that bad, would it? He liked horses almost as much as she did. That would give them something to talk about. How would she feel about his playing ball all summer? She said she wasn’t ready to settle down, and he believed her, but what if she changed her mind after going out with him? He didn’t mind teasing her, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings if she fell for him.

      She tipped her head to the side. “When did you and your brothers have to take care of yourselves?”

      He realized she didn’t know the story. He launched into it with relief. Anything to delay the moment.

      “When I was two, my mother became very ill. So ill that my father feared for her life. The way she tells it, there was a terrible blizzard. Rather than risk taking all of us out in the storm, Daed left Samuel in charge, bundled my mother in all the quilts we could spare and set out for the doctor’s office in town. The doctor was able to get mother to the hospital, but the storm was so bad that Daed couldn’t get back. Samuel took care of us and all the farm animals for three days until the blizzard let up. All we had to eat for those three days was bread soaked in milk with honey, because Samuel didn’t know how to cook anything.”

      “How old was he?”

      “If I was two, he would have been ten.”

      “By the time I was ten I could cook almost anything—fried chicken, baked ham.”

      “How is your bread?”

      She folded her arms over her chest. “I make goot bread.”

      “And your cakes?”

      “Light as a feather angel food, or do you prefer dense, gooey shoofly pie?”

      “Shoofly, hands down. What about your egg noodles?”

      “They СКАЧАТЬ