A Love For Leah. Emma Miller
“Hope he likes Seven Poplars.”
“Be a change from Indiana,” his grandfather answered. “You know those folks don’t even have tops on their buggies? Winter and summer, no tops. Their bishops won’t allow it.”
“I’d heard that,” Thomas said.
“How was your social last night? Too bad Jakob couldn’t have been here in time to go along,” Obadiah said.
“It was fine. Good food.”
“Any new girls catch your eye? Your mother said she spoke to Sara yesterday about possibly making you a match.”
“Ne. No one in particular; I spent most of the evening talking to Leah Yoder.” Thomas shook his head. “Honestly, I’m having second thoughts about this matchmaker thing. Don’t see why we need to lay out the money. I’ve never had trouble finding dates.”
Obadiah turned a half-bushel basket upside down, sat on it and took out a penknife. Absently, he began to whittle at a small piece of wood he carried in his pocket. They sat in silence for a few minutes and then his grandfather said, “People say Sara knows her trade. They say give her a chance, she’ll find you a proper wife.”
“Seems foolish, though, doesn’t it? Having her find me a wife? When I could do it myself?”
“But you haven’t.” His grandfather sighed. “Thomas, what can I say? Time you grew up. Started working in the family business. Trouble is, you think you can stay free and single year after year. You like the pretty girls. I can see it. But when talk turns serious, you’re off after the next one.”
Thomas felt heat flush his face. “It’s not like that. I thought that Ellie and me would...” He trailed off, not wanting to talk about Ellie. That was still a sore subject. “I’m not certain Sara can find me a match I’d be happy with. She wanted me to meet this woman last night—Hazel something or other. One of the ones who came up from Virginia in the van. Sour as an October persimmon. Little beady eyes and a mouth screwed up so tight I thought she didn’t have front teeth until I saw her eating. I couldn’t imagine looking at that face across a breakfast table every morning.”
Obadiah chuckled. “So, not pretty enough for you?”
Thomas shook his head. “That wasn’t it. Hazel would have been attractive if she hadn’t been so ill-tempered. Not a good word to say about anyone or anything. One complaint after another. She even complained about the potato salad. Said she preferred German potato salad to Sara’s and left it on her plate.”
“One wasteful woman doesn’t ruin the batch. You’re being stubborn. Time you started walking out with a respectable girl.”
“I thought I was when I was with Ellie. And you all liked her.”
His grandfather ignored that and went on. “Bishop Atlee asked me last week if you were planning on going to baptism classes. Way past time, Thomas. I’m going to retire in a few years. Don’t know how much longer I have on this earth. I know I’ve always told you that I wanted to leave this farm to you, but you worry me. I’m starting to have second thoughts. Maybe you mean to drift away from the faith. Maybe you’re too flighty to entrust our family farm to.”
Thomas winced as if his grandfather had struck him. This was the first he’d heard of his grandfather’s hesitation about leaving him the farm. Since he was a boy, he’d expected it would be his someday. His throat clenched. “That’s up to you, Grossdaddi.”
“You should be married. You should have married five years ago. I could have great-grandsons and granddaughters to spoil. I’ve stood up for you to your mother and father, took your side when maybe I should not have.” He exhaled. “You don’t give Sara a chance to find you a wife, I have to take it into consideration that maybe you’ve lost track of what’s important in life.”
Thomas opened his mouth to respond, but his grandfather’s shepherd raised his head and let out a single yip, then leaped up and ran toward the house. Thomas heard the beep of a car horn and the dog began to bark in earnest. “That must be Jakob coming now,” he said, rising to his feet.
“Must be,” his grandfather agreed. “But you think on what I said. I’m worried about you, boy.” He met Thomas’s gaze. “Prove to us all that you are ready to take over this farm. Find a wife, get to churching and be quick about it.”
* * *
Sara smiled at Thomas as they shook hands across her desk. “So we’re in agreement. I’ll make you a match. Keep an open mind, and I’m sure I can find someone who will suit you and your family.”
It had been more than a week since Sara’s barn social. Thomas had spent days wrestling with the idea of asking for help in finding a wife. He’d prayed on it, and he’d considered asking the bishop to add his name to the upcoming classes in preparation for baptism in the fall. But he hadn’t been ready to take that step yet. One obstacle at a time. Maybe finding the right girl would erase the last doubts he had about a Plain life. As much as his parents wanted him to join the faith, they wanted it for the right reasons. It had to wholeheartedly be his choice, not someone else’s. The Old Order Amish lifestyle was a lifetime commitment, one you were supposed to enter with joy.
Tonight, he’d come after supper, as Sara had asked. He hoped that he wouldn’t run into Ellie or Leah. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed about using a matchmaker. It was more that a man’s personal business ought to be private. And what could be more personal than choosing a wife?
Thomas hadn’t mentioned to Sara that his grandfather was threatening to leave the farm to someone else. The possibility of losing the farm hurt, but if Thomas hadn’t thought that maybe his grandfather was right, he would never have agreed to make an official agreement with the matchmaker.
He started to rise from his chair, but Sara waved him back into his seat. They were in her office in her home, a spacious room with comfortable furniture, deep window seats and a colorful braid rug.
“Don’t go yet,” she said. “I have a fresh pot of coffee and a blueberry pie that’s just begging to be sliced.” She made a few more notations on the yellow legal-sized notepad and tucked the sheet into a manila folder.
“How long do you think it will take?” Thomas asked. He rested his straw hat on one knee and looked at her.
“Slicing the pie or finding you a wife?”
He grimaced, still not entirely convinced this whole matchmaker thing was a good idea. “Finding somebody for me.”
“Actually, I already have someone in mind.”
“Not that Hazel girl you introduced me to the other night,” he protested. “I didn’t care for her at all.”
She chuckled. “Not Hazel. Funny you should mention her, though. She and Fred Petersheim hit it off. It seems he didn’t care for my potato salad either.”
Thomas laughed. “I thought it was great.”
“I’m pleased. Now,” she said, rising, “you make yourself at ease. I won’t be a moment. How is it you like your coffee?”
“Sugar and milk. Two sugars.”
“You like it sweet.”
“Ya, I do. I could come out in the kitchen with you,” he suggested. “No need for you to—”
“No. Stay where you are, Thomas.” She walked from the room, closing the door behind her.
Thomas tapped the heel of one boot nervously. He glanced around the room. The pale blue walls were hung with cross-stitch family trees and several large calendars. One showed a farmer plowing with a six-horse team against a rural background. Another showed a mare and newborn foal, the little filly tentatively trying out her new legs in tall clover.
In one corner of the room stood a battered green filing cabinet. He wondered if there was a manila folder in one of the drawers that would hold his future. It