An Amish Proposal for Christmas, page 3
“Well, I don’t know how much rain we get—”
“Thirty-eight inches. I looked it up. Plus, another thirty-four inches of snow. That’s why your farms are so green, why the yield is so high.”
“Indiana sounds like a gut place to settle down. Ya?”
Gideon shook his head, and a light blush crept up his neck. “You’d think that easier would be better, but I’m not so sure. Texas is what I know.”
“Maybe you’ll like Shipshe better in the winter.”
“If I’m still here—”
“We have a town Christmas parade, and the Blue Gate Restaurant goes all out with their extravaganza.”
“Extravaganza?”
“There’s even a gingerbread house contest. Most everyone decorates their yards, even some of the Amish—though not electrical lights, of course.”
“You really do love Christmas.”
“What’s not to love? There’s the baby Jesus, the family meal—plus, finding special presents for those you care about. It’s the happiest day of the year.”
She followed him over to the buggy and Nathan’s old gelding. She walked up to the horse, scratched it between the ears and then leaned her forehead against it. Horses were much simpler than people.
“I can’t figure you out.”
Her head jerked up. “I didn’t realize you were trying.”
He shrugged rather sheepishly. “We work together. You’re training me to take your place. It’s unusual enough to have an Amish woman who is an assistant manager—”
“Many Amish women work.”
“If you say so. Obviously, you’re gut at the job.”
“Danki.”
“So why are you quitting?” He folded his arms and rested his back against the buggy.
Plainly, he wasn’t leaving until he had an answer, and Becca didn’t want to stand around outside, staring up at the stars with Gideon Fisher. She had a new edition of the MDS newsletter to read. Plus, he was going to find out eventually. Ada had nearly spilled the beans twice, and it was only by kicking her under the table that Becca had been able to stop her. Why should she even care if Gideon knew her plans? It felt private, though, like something she didn’t want to share with this man she barely knew. Perhaps he would settle for a portion of the truth.
“I’m not quitting so much as I’m leaving.”
“Leaving...” He considered that a moment. “Where are you going?”
“I’m not sure.”
He blew out a heavy sigh. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does. It’s what I want to do.” She’d been struggling with how to tell him, but now the words came out in a rush. “I’ve accepted another position that is...well, it’s out of state. I’m not sure where I’ll be assigned, and it doesn’t really matter, because it will be somewhere different. It won’t be here.”
Gideon laughed. It was the first time she’d heard the sound from him, and it did a lot to erase the perpetual look of worry on his face.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’ve spent the last four days trying to convince me what a great place Shipshe is—”
“It is a great place.”
“What a wunderbaar job assistant director at the Shipshewana Outdoor Market is.”
“It is a wunderbaar job. You should be grateful that my dat offered it to you.”
“And yet you can’t wait to be rid of it.” He straightened and stepped closer to her. “I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“No, there’s not.”
“Something that is sending you scurrying away.”
“I’m not scurrying.”
“Because if it were as gut as you claim, who would want to leave?”
Becca didn’t have an answer for that. She’d never had an answer for that, so she stood there silently as he climbed into the buggy, called out to the horse and drove away. But she walked back into the house with his question circling through her mind: If it were as gut as you claim, who would want to leave?
* * *
Gideon spent Saturday working in Nathan’s garden. He’d agreed to do chores around the old man’s farm in exchange for a place to stay, and he didn’t mind the work. It helped take his mind off the job and the woman. He always thought of both as if they were bolded and underlined in a novel.
What had he got himself into?
He dreaded the thought of going back to the market on Monday, and only one thing kept him from catching the next bus back to Texas: he simply could not disappoint his parents. Which meant he’d have to make them understand. He stewed over that much of Saturday and even Sunday as he sat on a church bench, hearing very little of the sermon.
The particulars of the service were similar enough to their services back home that it only caused him to feel more homesick. By the time they had sung the last note of the last hymn and he was in line for lunch, he’d worked himself into quite a discontented place. He filled his plate, then looked for Nathan, who was sitting with a group of older couples. Nathan was a widow. Though Gideon had lived with him less than a week, he knew the old guy was still adjusting to life without his wife.
He was walking toward Nathan’s table when Becca popped up in front of him. She was holding a cup of iced tea and a plate of food and looked fresh and energetic—the opposite of how he felt.
“Why don’t you come eat with us?”
“Us?” He squinted at her, trying to figure out what she meant. He had absolutely no intention of sitting with all her schweschdern. He’d never been around that many women at once. He certainly didn’t care to repeat the experience. They seemed to have some silent communication that he didn’t understand, and he’d been fairly certain that Becca had kicked one schweschder under the table. What was that about?
Didn’t know.
Didn’t want to know.
“No thanks. Tell your schweschdern hello for me, though.”
“I didn’t mean with my family. We tend to each go our own way at church luncheons. I meant over there.” She nodded toward a table full of men and women approximately their age.
“Uh, no. I need to sit with Nathan.”
Becca peered in the direction he had indicated. “Nathan’s doing just fine without you. Come on. At least be polite enough to meet everyone.”
It was the last thing he wanted to do, but when she put it that way, he didn’t feel right arguing. Instead, he followed her. Everyone crowded in to make space. They seemed like a jolly enough crowd, but Gideon could not fit one more name in his head. He ate as quickly as possible, responded to their polite questions as briefly as he could and escaped the minute he thought it was polite to do so.
The service was held at Bishop Ezekiel’s. The man had a fair-sized farm, and as soon as Gideon walked toward the pasture holding three paint horses, he felt the tension leave his shoulders. He was standing there, arms over the fence rail, trying to puzzle his way out of this situation, when he heard someone clear their throat. Turning, he almost groaned when he saw Becca.
“That happy to see me, huh?”
“Sorry. I was just...taking a moment.”
She joined him at the fence. She allowed a whole fifteen seconds of silence before she jumped in. “Want to tell me what’s really bothering you?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because you can’t wait to leave your home, and I just want to get back to mine.”
Instead of being offended, she shrugged. “That makes us different, but it doesn’t mean we can’t understand each other.”
“Fine. You want to know what’s wrong with me?” He began to tick items off on his fingers. “I don’t like crowds. I miss home. I’m not allowed to make my own decisions.”
He stared at his fingers, then shook his head and dropped his hands. “I suppose everything else stems from those three.”
“Okay. Well, first of all, the word crowd is sort of relative.”
“What does that mean?”
“Given our crowds at the market—” she put virtual quote marks around the word crowds, which only served to irritate him “—and your discomfort around them, I’d think that you would have enjoyed today more.”
He looked at her in disbelief, then waved back toward the large group of people spread out under the trees. “This is a crowd, too, Becca. My church back home isn’t half this size.”
“Is that why you were so rude to my friends?”
“I was not.”
“You were, Gideon. You barely spoke, and you left as soon as you’d gulped down your food.”
Her remark hurt more than it should have. He’d never been a rude person. He certainly hadn’t intended to come across that way. Just one more example of how he was messing up in this community. He did not belong here.
“Point two—you miss home. That’s quite obvious by how you talk about Texas constantly.”
“I do not.”
“Then why am I suddenly an expert on the great state of Texas? I know that during May, the wildflowers—the bluebonnets—are changing to Indian paintbrushes. I’m aware the crops you grow include cotton, grain and soybean. And I also know that you consider your community to be poor versus our community, which you see as immensely wealthy—something I don’t see at all.”
He shook his head in disbelief. He opened his mouth to argue with her, but she wasn’t done yet.
“Also, you don’t paint your houses often, and you have less rain than Shipshe, hotter temperatures and almost no snow. Therefore, farming is harder.”
“I’m rather surprised you were paying attention.”
Becca tapped the side of her head. “I can listen and walk at the same time.”
“Everything’s better in Texas, in my opinion. You can’t see that because you’ve only lived here.”
“Something I’m trying to change.”
“I would be embarrassed for you to see my parents’ house. Here...your houses look as if they belong in a Plain & Simple Magazine.”
“Good grief. So we’re wealthy because we paint our houses?”
“That’s only one example.”
“Okay. Well, I understand that you’re homesick, but that will pass.”
“How would you know that?”
She actually drew back, glanced around and then met his gaze. “I guess I wouldn’t, it’s just that...well, I can’t imagine being homesick. When I leave in August, I’m sure I’ll miss my family and friends, but...it’s not as if I won’t be able to come back and visit.”
“Visiting isn’t the same.”
“Oh, Gideon. You’re miserable because you want to be miserable.”
“I do not.”
“You’ve been here six days—”
“Seven. I arrived on Monday and met you on Tuesday. That makes today day seven.”
She hung her head in exasperation, but then she looked up and stepped closer. “Fine, seven days. You haven’t given us a chance. You’ve already decided you won’t like it. We are not a huge group. We are not a wealthy group. And your third reason? You can’t make your own decisions? That’s foolishness. Of course you can. You do. We all make our own decisions, even if it’s only to go along with the decisions other people make.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Because you make it more complicated.”
Gideon’s anger was spiraling out of control. He couldn’t have stopped his next words if he’d tried, and he did not try. “You are one of the most irritating people I’ve ever met.”
“Excellent. Then do your job, and you’ll be rid of me by mid-August.”
With that, she turned and marched off.
Leaving Gideon to mull over the fact that he was good and truly stuck in this situation, and he had no idea what to do about it.
Disappoint his parents?
Turn tail and run?
Or stick it out and be miserable?
For some reason, none of those options appealed to him.
But he had to do something because this situation simply was not acceptable. He couldn’t let his life be dictated by the whims of others. It was time he stood up for himself.
Chapter Three
Becca woke Monday morning with renewed resolve. She had tossed much of the night, struggling with the problem of Gideon. Quite simply, she had two options. She could agree with him that he was a bad fit for their community and poorly equipped to handle the position of assistant manager. That would mean advertising the job, then going through the interview process and choosing a new applicant, after which the ninety-day training period would begin.
Her dat had been quite adamant about the terms of her release—which was how she’d come to think of it. She could join MDS with his blessing, but first she must help him find her replacement. She was fine with that. She was a responsible person, after all. It was simply that she wanted to be responsible somewhere else.
If she went the route of looking for someone to replace Gideon, it would almost certainly mean that she’d miss the fall job assignments with MDS. Advertising would take several weeks; interviewing, several more. Even if they found someone quickly, training couldn’t start before mid-June, and ninety days from that would be mid-September. The MDS teams were in place by mid-September. She’d be stuck here through the long Indiana winter. Best case? She’d be able to join a service group in the spring. Becca supposed she could live with that, but it wasn’t what she wanted. She already felt as if she should have left a year ago. It had taken her a while to work through her emotions, then more months to find the courage to share those emotions with her family.
Option one would work, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Option two was that she needed to address Gideon’s concerns. If he felt they were too large a group, she needed to introduce him to small groups. She didn’t know what to do about him missing home so much. She’d never been homesick because she’d never been away from home. Perhaps she could simply be more sympathetic rather than telling him he was a fool.
But how could she address his feeling that he wasn’t making any of his own decisions? She did understand that well enough. For a long time, she had felt that her dat and her older schweschder had made all her decisions. It was only when she’d learned to voice her preference that she’d gained some independence. Perhaps she could give Gideon more of a voice in his training. That might alleviate some of his frustration.
She checked her reflection in the mirror, straightened her kapp a bit to the left and then headed to the kitchen.
Sarah teased her for humming Christmas songs while she helped make breakfast. “That particular day is still seven months away.”
“Uh-huh, well, I happen to think we could use a little Christmas cheer this morning, and Christmas songs are just the thing to brighten your perspective.”
“Someone woke up on the sunny side of the buggy. It’s gut to see you happy.”
“What’s not to be happy about?” Becca tossed her kapp strings over her shoulder. “With the right attitude and a plan...we should be able to accomplish anything. Isn’t that right?”
“Maybe. My goal for the day is to weed the garden and finish laundry—neither of which require a large amount of planning.”
Eunice came in from the barn. How early had she gone out there? And how had she managed to get grease on her face before breakfast?
Bethany was sitting at the table, working on a handstitched pillowcase. Becca stood behind her, studying the pattern of wildflowers, which of course reminded her of Gideon. Ugh. She needed to get him out of her head!
“You don’t like it?”
“Actually, I do. It’s beautiful.”
“Then why the groan?”
“I groaned?”
“You did.”
“Worried about something at work.”
“Or someone...” Sarah offered.
Bethany smiled, but kept stitching. If her hands were busy, she was happy. She’d always been the most contented of the entire family.
Ada popped in, hair uncombed and apron askew. She covered her mouth with her hand, but everyone heard the yawn.
“Late night, schweschder?”
“Ya. And I never was one to believe that the early duck got the worms.”
“I think it’s the early bird gets the worm.” Becca smiled at her youngest schweschder. Ada managed to mangle every proverb or colloquial saying. They’d taken to calling them Ada-isms.
“Whatever. I’m not keen to be a bird or a duck. I’d rather sleep in! The singing went until midnight.” She reached for the mug Sarah handed her. “Danki.”
“Say, I don’t suppose you’d be interested in taking Gideon to one of those singings?”
“Gideon? Gideon Fisher that visited here Friday night?” She peered over her coffee mug. “I don’t think he said more than a dozen words—plus, isn’t he too old for my group?”
Sarah laughed and Becca couldn’t help joining her. “Ya. We’re old, for sure and certain. I forgot.”
“I thought I was the old person in this house.” Her dat had already been out seeing to the animals. He stood in the mudroom, stomping his boots against the mat and placing his hat on the peg near the door. He might be the manager of the Midwest’s largest outdoor market, but he was also a farmer; most Amish men were.
They ate quietly, the sound of birdsong filling the air. Becca loved sitting with her family in the morning, before any crisis had arisen, before she remembered that she didn’t want to be here. Which she supposed meant that part of her did want to be here. Home had its advantages. Good grief. She was starting to think like Gideon.
