The Amish Bachelor's Choice. Jocelyn McClay
happen again. Ruth wrinkled her nose in an effort to push the glasses back up. Well, it shouldn’t happen again. One of the tenets of their faith was demut. There was certainly no humility in daring to give Gott instructions. Thankfully, Gott was forgiving as well as good. He had a plan for her. But apparently it didn’t include having someone she knew buy Fisher Furniture and letting her manage it. This Malachi Schrock had certainly wasted no time in taking over her daed’s business.
Her shoulders slumped as she ran the block over the oak. No single young woman in their district owned a business that employed four men, married and single. The bishop wasn’t going to allow Ruth to be the first, even though she’d worked beside her father from the time she was tall enough to reach a workbench.
Or not tall enough, Ruth remembered with a tremulous smile. Daed had built her a little wooden box to stand on. First, so she could watch him work, her eyes wide with wonder at his deft movements. Then so she could mimic his actions and learn to love the wood, from its first rough surfaces to the feel of it beneath her fingers, soft as a baby’s cheek after multiple cycles of sanding and varnish.
The sale of the business had been the topic of several conversations after church service two weeks ago. While gossiping was frowned upon in the Amish community, sharing of news was another thing entirely. At least three groups of folks Ruth had passed as she poured coffee for the noon meal had been discussing Miriam Lapp’s nephew from Ohio, who’d purchased the business and would soon be moving into the area, along with two of his younger brothers.
Ruth was chagrined to discover, when she overheard people talking after church yesterday, that her life continued to be a subject of interest. This time, the discussion among the women, and probably some of the single men, was when she’d marry, now that her father was gone and the business sold. A few speculative glances had been cast her way when certain names were mentioned, gauging her reaction.
Ruth had made sure her normally expressive face revealed nothing.
Jacob’s name was one mentioned with a side-glance yesterday. Ruth’s lips twitched. According to her newly married friends, finding it hard to breathe around a man was a sign he might be Gott’s Chosen One for her. She had no difficulty breathing around Jacob, whom she’d known since back when she could wear buttons. He was nothing more than a casual friend, and the only time he made her heart beat harder was when she observed and appreciated his skill on the lathe. The women of the district could speculate all they want, but she wouldn’t be walking out with Jacob Troyer.
Her smile faded. She wouldn’t be walking out with any Amish man now that she was leaving the community as she’d promised her daed.
Ruth grabbed a tack cloth and swiped it across the oak’s surface, surprised she hadn’t worn a hole in the wood. She stroked a thumb along the grain. Today, not even working with the wood brought her the peace and joy it normally did.
But peace required gelassenheit. Submission didn’t come naturally to Ruth. Sometimes it didn’t come at all. Putting down the cloth, she picked up the sanding block and deftly applied it. Inhaling deeply, she relished the aroma of fresh lumber inherent to the room. Gelassenheit. Bits of sawdust danced in the air as she exhaled slowly through pursed lips, trying to clear her mind to Gott’s will.
So the new owner had arrived in Miller’s Creek with his two brothers. Ruth’s hand paused, her eyes resting on the other occupants of the room. Her heart beat heavily as she wondered what the addition of three more men would mean for her father’s loyal employees. The strokes across the wood resumed with jerky motions.
Ruth didn’t know what she needed to do, but she was determined that the men would keep their jobs. Dropping the block on the counter, Ruth folded her hands in her lap and bowed her head. She would pray and accept Gott’s will for her fellow workers and herself. Ruth squeezed her eyes shut. Hopefully His will would journey the same road as her plans.
* * *
The horse flicked his ear back toward the buggy, probably wondering if he was going to get down now that they’d arrived at their destination. Malachi figured the gelding was glad to be hanging its head over the hitching post. He frowned at the foam-flecked brown neck. Experienced with horses, he knew the animals could feel the tension of the driver through the reins. The poor bay had completed a trip full of nervousness running down the lines. No wonder his coat reflected his agitation. Malachi resolved to keep this visit short or find a place where he could stable the standardbred. It was warm for November, but he wouldn’t leave a hot horse for long out in it.
Sighing, he set the brake and stepped down from the buggy. As he passed the gelding, he paused to stroke the horse’s sleek, sweaty neck. It wasn’t the bay’s fault. He was fine for a rented animal. Malachi ran a hand down the iron-hard leg to where the brown coat turned to black, smiling when the gelding responded by lifting his hoof.
In fact, he might buy the bay. He and his brothers would need several buggy horses. Samuel would be replacing his courting buggy as soon as they settled in, probably before. Gideon, as well. Malachi shook his head at the thought. His brothers had grown faster than the passing years justified.
His smile faded as he straightened to regard the building in front of him. At least the horse was something he could try out before purchasing. Unlike the small farmstead he’d bought sight unseen. Or the business before him, which he was now owner of. Another deep sigh lifted the suspenders that crossed his shoulders.
He wasn’t impulsive. Far from it. Malachi knew himself to be like Barley, one of his father’s draft horses back in Ohio. A plodder. Barley hadn’t moved fast, but his steady and deliberate pace had plowed, planted and harvested many fields. The seed that’d culminated in Malachi’s move to Wisconsin had germinated long ago. Things had been getting difficult back in Ohio. Malachi was surprised he’d survived there this long. Some type of change had been needed. He’d prayed that Gott would provide him with direction. When he’d heard of this opportunity, he’d snatched it up like a horse snapping at an insect during blackfly season.
Hopefully this’d been Gott’s answer. Once he’d settled on his course, Malachi hadn’t paused in his plodding forward long enough to check.
The furniture shop was a good investment. He’d reviewed numbers available on the operation before he’d made the offer. It was a well-run business and Malachi was excited to be part of it. But it was a big change. He wasn’t fond of changes. This purchase had prompted several of them in his life. Walking through that door would hopefully wrap up the last and biggest one.
After giving the bay a final rub on the forehead, he headed up the stairs. A cheery jingle greeted him when he swung the door open. Malachi’s tense shoulders eased slightly as he inhaled the familiar scents of wood and stain. His lips curved. This was what he knew and loved. It would be all right.
An encompassing glance revealed a well-ordered showroom. His experienced eye recognized the diverse furniture’s primary wood as oak, with a few pieces of cherry, maple and walnut. Stepping farther into the airy room, he ran a hand over the back of a chair that tucked into a large dining table. Malachi nodded in approval at the smooth surface. He straightened abruptly and turned to the back of the store when he heard the sound of a door opening.
An Amish woman stepped through, a ready smile on her face. Her auburn hair was tucked under her kapp, a few strands threatening to escape the confines. She headed in his direction before halting abruptly. Reaching up, she touched the safety glasses on her face, hastily pulled them off and set them on the sales counter. With flushed cheeks and a sheepish smile, she turned back to him.
“Good morning. May I help you?” she inquired as she approached, her black shoes making no sound on the glossy wooden floor.
He couldn’t help returning the smile. Her grin became full and moved to her eyes. Eyes that lifted briefly to his hat before returning to his face. Malachi yanked the black felt from his head and held it in front of him. “Guder mariye,” he returned the greeting. “My name is Malachi Schrock. I was told to meet Bishop Weaver here this morning.”
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