The Amish Bachelor's Choice. Jocelyn McClay
frost in her green eyes.
“Ah. The new owner. The bishop isn’t here right now. If he told you to meet him, I’m sure he’ll be in as soon as he can.” Even her voice had changed from June to December.
Malachi raised his eyebrows. The families that’d greeted him and his brothers at the farmstead had been quite cordial. Some of the young women, enthusiastically so. Obviously, this woman worked here. Just as obviously, he wasn’t welcome. He slowly shifted the brim of his hat between his hands. Hopefully this attitude wasn’t the consensus of his new workforce.
Upon reaching him, the woman clasped her hands together at her waist, regarding him coolly. The top of her head, even with the thick soles on her shoes, barely reached his chin.
“If you have any questions about the business, I’d be... I will answer them for you.”
Happy had been the omitted word that hung in the silence of the room. She was not happy to have him here, not happy to answer his questions. Malachi sighed. He didn’t know what he might have done already to offend her. He’d only been in the district a few days and the store a few minutes.
Malachi had never been a business owner before, but he’d run a large furniture operation for his previous employer in Ohio. To his knowledge, all those he’d supervised had been quite content with his leadership. He intended that to be the case here. Apparently, he had some ground to make up.
Glancing back toward the front door, he noted the hat rack at its customary location just inside. Malachi took a moment to put his hat on one of the pegs before turning back to the young woman. He suppressed a smile. She reminded him of a fierce bantam hen.
“What would you like to tell me about the business?”
His mild, open-ended question seemed to surprise her, but she recovered quickly. “It’s a well-run operation.”
Malachi nodded solemnly. “I noted that from the bookwork.”
The ice in her green eyes melted slightly. A shrewd spark began to replace the frost. “The employees are extremely capable and loyal. They’ve all worked here for some time and are very valuable to the business.”
His lips twitched slightly at her artfulness. “That is gut to know.”
“New accounts have been established with some of the larger Englisch furniture stores. We are starting to get a backlog of orders. It’s probably time to hire more workers.” She eyed him closely, gauging his response.
So this woman knew that his brothers were joining him in the business. Even without telephones, news spread fast in Amish communities. While his brothers would work with him, he had no plans to change the workforce at this time. Not until he understood their abilities and how they benefited the operation. Malachi respected that she was trying to protect the current employees. He also recognized that she was trying to lead him. Plodder he might be, but he didn’t like being pulled by the halter. “Are you falling behind?”
Her mouth opened in a perfect circle before snapping closed. “Not at all! I just wanted to assure you that there was ample work to be done.”
“Gut. I look forward to reviewing the orders.” He regarded her quietly. “You mentioned we. How long have you worked here?”
For a moment, her eyes clouded. “My father was Amos Fisher, the previous owner. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t come to work with him.”
Malachi frowned in sympathy for her loss at the same time a chill ran up his spine. A managing female in the business. Just what he’d left Ohio to avoid. He continued his study of the woman in front of him. She returned his scrutiny. Malachi drummed his fingers slowly against his pant leg. Perhaps there would be one immediate change to the workforce after all.
They turned in relieved unison when the door jingled to announce a new arrival.
The tall man who entered nodded to the woman before hanging his hat and extending his hand to Malachi.
“I am Ezekiel Weaver. You are Malachi Schrock?” He continued at Malachi’s nod, “Welcome to Miller’s Creek. I see you’ve met Ruth Fisher. I’m sure she was sharing how glad we are that you’re coming to live in the community.”
“Something like that.” Malachi’s eyes returned to the young woman’s. Her smooth cheeks flushed under his regard.
The bishop dipped his head in approval. “Gut. She can tell you a lot about the business.”
“So I’m discovering.” So the bishop wasn’t aware of the young woman’s animosity. Malachi wasn’t going to be the one to share the news. Except for the situation in Ohio, where evasion had seemed the more prudent choice, Malachi addressed his own battles.
Bishop Weaver turned to the young woman. “Ruth, do you have a place where we can talk in private?”
“Certainly.” She gestured to the door of a small office. The bishop entered and shut the door after Malachi joined him, leaving the young woman on the other side. Malachi winced at the expression on her face. Her exclusion from a discussion regarding the business certainly hadn’t smoothed any waters for him. The bishop might be glad that Malachi was now in the community, but on the other side of the door was someone who clearly wasn’t.
Ruth’s cheeks were so hot they had to be flaming red. Granted, she deserved the ample dose of embarrassment from her behavior toward the new owner. If her grossmammi had been alive, she’d have admonished Ruth. Keep your words soft and sweet. You might have to eat them. Ruth could almost hear Grossmammi’s tranquil voice repeating the Amish proverb.
It hadn’t been the words so much, Ruth recalled. The words were true. Her coworkers’ jobs were on her mind. When things were on her mind, Ruth expressed them. It’d been the attitude used in delivering the words that would be hard to choke down if served back to her. And the new owner was well within his rights to serve up a banquet.
Ruth banged her head gently against the side of a nearby hutch. Her prayer kapp slipped farther down her hair at the contact. She couldn’t have made a worse first impression if she’d tried. Reaching behind her head to address the familiar task of repinning the kapp, she glanced up and froze. Yes, apparently she could. For meeting her eyes through the window between the office and the showroom were the keen blue ones of the new owner. Ruth jabbed a final pin in her hair, whirled around and swept through the door into the workroom.
It wasn’t the heavy bang of the door as she came through that focused all the attention in the workroom on her. They’d obviously been watching for someone to enter. Four sets of curious eyes observed Ruth as she slid her hands down the front of her apron. The noise in the room abated as machines shut down.
Benjamin had returned from collecting a load of lumber. Ruth figured he was the one who’d shared the news of the occupant in the office. He’d have passed the buggies out front, recognized the bishop’s and noted the unknown rig when he’d driven the team around the back of the shop. Her suspicion was confirmed when his voice carried across the now-quiet room. “Is he here?”
Ruth cleared her throat. “Ja. He’s in the office talking with Bishop Weaver.”
“What do you think?” The questions began as the men crossed to her.
I think that my life is about to change. But Ruth knew that wasn’t what these men wanted to hear. “He seems a fair man.” At least she hoped so. Impressions could be deceiving. Look at the one she’d certainly left him with.
“Does he know furniture?”
“I’m not sure about that. He looked like he was admiring the workmanship on that oak table and chairs you built, Isaac.”
Some