Their Pretend Amish Courtship. Patricia Davids
this?” Zoe shouted.
“That’s better. That’s a pretty good hippodrome stand.”
Zoe grinned and waved one hand in acknowledgment as she stood atop the back of a gently loping golden horse with a wide white blaze down its face.
“Zoe is going to miss you,” Connie said, turning back to Fannie.
“Don’t give up on me yet. I may still find a way to stay.” Fannie had no idea what that would be, but she wouldn’t stop trying.
Connie put down her brush and motioned toward a pitchfork leaning against the wall. “Good. Until then, you still have work to do. I don’t pay you much, but I expect you to earn it.”
Fannie laughed as she picked up the fork. “I would exercise your horses for free, but cleaning stalls will still cost you.”
Connie untied the lead ropes of both horses. “I’ll put these two away. You start on stall five and work your way down. George should be here soon. That man is always late. I wish I hadn’t hired him.”
George was another part-time stable hand at the farm. Connie insisted she couldn’t afford full-time help, but in Fannie’s eyes, George wasn’t worth even part-time wages. He spent most of his time flirting with the girls in Fannie’s riding group—or any woman who came to the farm.
Connie motioned toward her daughter. “I’ll be back after I help Zoe with her technique. She’s getting flat-footed again and that’s dangerous, even on Misty.”
Fannie set to work in the stall Connie had indicated, but her mind wasn’t on the tasks before her. She still had to find a way to convince her parents that Betsy was the one they needed to send to Florida. No amount of pleading by her and her sister had changed their mother’s mind so far. Their father might be persuaded, but their mother was adamant.
If only Noah had agreed to her plan. She wanted to be angry with him, but she couldn’t. He was right. Her idea bordered on being dishonest, even if it was for a good cause. She didn’t want to be courted by anyone, but having Noah reject her outright was humiliating. She wasn’t that ugly, was she? There had been a time when she liked him—a lot. She tossed a forkful of straw into the wheelbarrow at her side.
She had liked being kissed by him, too. A lot. Jabbing the fork into the pile of dirty straw, she tried to forget about that night. She was the dummkopf for dumping her drink on him. He sure wouldn’t try that again.
“Fannie, can I talk to you?”
She shrieked and spun around at the sound of Noah’s voice, sending her forkful of dirty straw flying in his direction.
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?”