Courting Cate Read online

  “We were busy,” I answered. “Besides, aren’t you a little old to be playing games with sixteen-year-olds?”

  He laughed. “There was a wide range of ages present.”

  Betsy yawned, despite whose company she was in.

  “Going to the singing tonight?” he asked.

  I answered “no” as Betsy answered “yes.”

  Pete laughed. “Which is it?”

  “We’re going,” Betsy said.

  “We’re not.” Two years ago I’d vowed to never attend another singing in my life.

  “So Betsy’s going?” Pete had a confused look on his face.

  “Not,” I said again, turning toward the kitchen.

  After lunch, I went to find Dat, hoping we could go home. I wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon reading. Pete, Mervin, Martin, and Seth were gathered in front of the barn, talking. Seth had the same hazel eyes as his brothers but had darker hair and broader shoulders. On the edge of the field, Dat stood with a group of men, one who was holding two of his grandsons in his arms.

  As I walked toward Dat, Martin waved at me. “Come here!”

  I shook my head. I’d learned my lesson years ago.

  “No, really,” he said.

  I turned my back to him and told Dat that Betsy and I were ready to leave.

  He sighed. “Give me a while longer.”

  “We’ll be in the buggy,” I said, and started back toward my sister. I heard footsteps behind me but didn’t turn. In a second I was overtaken by M&M, forcing me to a stop as they stepped in front of me.

  “Please come to the singing tonight,” they said in unison.

  I shook my head and tried to dart around them.

  Mervin shaded his eyes from the midday sun. “Cate, don’t be so vindictive.”

  “Just because we’ve teased you a little . . .” Martin’s sunglasses reflected my stern face.

  I jerked away from him. “A little?” I barked. “Relentlessly is more like it.” I stepped wide.

  They hustled after me.

  I stopped and turned. “Don’t you know Betsy’s seeing Levi?” There was no point mentioning she also seemed to be interested in Pete.

  They looked at each other, and then at the same time said, “She’s changed her mind before.”

  “Go away,” I sneered, hurrying away from them again.

  Betsy stood beside the fence. I made eye contact with her and pointed toward the buggy. As I followed, I glanced over my shoulder. Mervin and Martin were back with Seth and Pete, talking. I could only guess what about. Dat was walking toward them, his hand outstretched. He greeted M&M, Pete, and finally Seth.

  As Dat stepped away, Seth looked toward me, a sad expression on his face. I couldn’t help but remember a Sunday afternoon twelve years ago. I’d thought Seth was one of my few friends in all the world, until he turned into a bully that day and humiliated me in front of our entire district. Then, like a fool, I more than forgave him. I gave my heart to him, only to have him humiliate me again two years ago.

  My face burned as I marched away. By the time I reached the buggy, Dat was behind me.

  I escaped down to the creek after we reached the house, taking along the Abraham Lincoln biography and an old quilt. With my shoes off, I plopped on my stomach and, serenaded by the melody of the water lapping against the rocks, read for quite a while—until my cousin Addie interrupted me.

  She and Betsy looked more alike than Betsy and I. Addie was taller and her blond hair was darker, but she had the same shapely figure and doelike brown eyes.

  Although they lived next door, her family belonged to the district over from us. We didn’t see a lot of them, so usually when Addie came around, I was thrilled to see her, but at that moment all I could manage was to do my best to be pleasant. I sat up, shaded my eyes as I said hello, and then noticed she had a book in her hand.

  Now I was genuinely interested. “What are you reading?”

  She held it up. “Pride and Prejudice.”

  “Ah, Jane Austen.”

  She nodded.

  Nan had recommended Austen, and I’d read all her books by the time I was Addie’s age. Nan said there were centuries of stories waiting for me, but I hadn’t gone further back than the late 1700s, when Jane Austen started writing, except for the Bible and church history, of course.

  As the only girl in the Cramer family, Addie was always busy with household chores. So, no matter how much she enjoyed it, and though she visited the bookmobile now and then, I couldn’t imagine she had much time to read.

  She sat down on the quilt beside me. “Ach, Cate,” she said, her voice sympathetic, “I heard about your Dat’s edict.”

  “Who from?” I held on to my book tightly.

  “Betsy,” she answered.

  I gazed past her at the willows along the creek. The leaves turned in the breeze, one after the other, reflecting shades of light onto the water.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Jah, well . . .” I closed my book. “The male gender doesn’t seem to like me.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “I read too much.” I held up my book.

  She held up hers. “I read too.”

  I rolled my eyes. I knew there were boys who wanted to court Addie Cramer—Uncle Cap just wouldn’t allow it yet. “Well, you look like Betsy.”

  She shook her head. “You’re as pretty as anyone.” She paused, and then said, as if it were an effort, “Maybe it’s because you’re prickly.”

  I wiggled to my knees, straightening my dress as I did. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re being prickly with me right now.”

  I swallowed hard. Addie was too nice, usually, to get defensive with. I did my best to keep my voice even. “Well, I’m a little stressed. About this whole edict of Dat’s. About courting in general.”

  Addie tilted her head. “Didn’t you used to court Seth Mosier?”

  I groaned. “Please don’t mention his name.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was courting Dat’s money—not me. Once I figured it out, I kicked him to the curb.” I’d heard that line on the radio in an Englisch store one time and thought it fit the subject.

  “Too bad.”

  I wrinkled my nose, surprised. There was some sort of rift between Addie’s family and Seth’s, although I could never quite figure it out.

  She continued. “I always thought those Mosier boys seemed like fun, regardless of what my parents think.”

  “Well, they’re not.” I stood and motioned her off the quilt. “Believe me.”

  She stepped away, and I swung the quilt up into my arms, shook it, and had just started folding it when a little boy yelled, “Addie!”

  It was her turn to groan. “Oh, no. They’re going to find me.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I told Billy and Joe-Joe”—they were her two youngest brothers—“I’d play hide and seek with them.” She pointed downstream. “I’m going to keep walking.” She tiptoed away, and as I headed toward the trail, the boys came crashing down the bank.

  “Ah-hah!” Joe-Joe yelled.

  I turned toward him.

  “You’re not Addie!”

  “Where is she?” Billy demanded.

  I shrugged and smiled.

  They turned upstream, yelling their sister’s name, their bare feet splashing through the water. She’d only have a few more minutes of peace unless she found a really good place to hide.

  My resolve stronger than ever, I headed to the house, batting at the cattails along the path as I walked. A few minutes later I found Dat sitting at the table, staring at Mamm’s rocking chair.

  I decided to be up front with him and told him directly I wouldn’t be going to the singing.

  “What do you mean?” Dat flinched as if I’d insulted him. “It’s one thing not to go to the volleyball game, but you are not too old for singings.”

&
nbsp; “I went to four years of those, Dat.” Seth was the only boy who ever gave me a ride home in his buggy, and once I understood why, I vowed to never go to another singing in my life.

  “What about Betsy?”

  I shrugged. “She’s still napping.”

  “Doesn’t she want to go?”

  “I’m sure she does.” I hoped after another week of this, at the very most, Dat would realize what a horrible decision he’d made and change his mind.

  “Cate,” he said. “How can you?”

  “How can you? You’re the one who came up with this crazy plan.”

  He met my gaze but didn’t respond. After a long minute, he took a drink of his coffee, and I went upstairs to wake Betsy to help with the choring.

  As I entered, Betsy stirred.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Five.”

  She sat up. “Let’s get going.”

  “I’m serious about not going.”

  She plopped back down on her pillow. “Then I’m not helping with the choring.”

  “Fine.”

  “Or cooking supper.”

  I didn’t answer. We usually had leftovers on Sunday evenings.

  “And not just tonight. All week, if you don’t go to the singing.”

  I sat down on my bed, not sure which I detested more—cooking or singings. I could sit in the back and sneak out before it was over. I could stay away from the Youngie. It wouldn’t hurt to go, for Betsy’s sake. I wouldn’t even have to wait until it was over to leave. Levi would drive Betsy home.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  She flew across the room and knocked me flat on my bed.

  “Get off me,” I groaned.

  “Denki, denki, denki,” she squealed.

  “Please don’t,” I answered.

  “Let’s hurry with the chores!”

  Dat must have known something was up by the thundering of Betsy’s feet on the stairs. By the time I reached the kitchen, they were standing side by side, beaming at me.

  I shook my head. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “But doesn’t it feel good to put your sister first?” Dat asked.

  I shrugged. I’d been putting Betsy first my entire life.

  By the time I turned Thunder off the highway and into the Bergs’ driveway I felt sick to my stomach. I’d read one time that women don’t remember the pain of childbirth until they start labor the next time. That’s how it was for me and singings. Oh, I remembered that they made me miserable. I just didn’t remember how badly—until I saw the gathering outside the barn. The boys were congregated in one group, having a pushing contest. The girls were congregated in another, having a gossip fest.

  Betsy was already practically glowing, but she lit up like a firefly when she saw Levi. “Let me out!”

  I pulled Thunder to a stop.

  Levi walked toward us, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re here!”

  They locked arms and twirled around, the skirt of Betsy’s dress poofing out a little.

  My stomach tied itself into a knot.

  Old Daniel Berg started to call the Youngie into the barn for the singing. The youth. I was anything but. I turned Thunder toward the line of buggies in the field, but then, instead of going straight, I swung wide and turned back toward the highway. Levi and Betsy were still outside. I called to her, but she ignored me. I called to Levi and he turned. “Can you give Betsy a ride home?”

  He grinned again and nodded. Of course he could.

  I turned right onto the highway, going in the direction opposite of home. It wouldn’t do any good to show up early. Dat would be suspicious. I wasn’t going to lie to him. But I wasn’t going to be exactly forthcoming either—not if I could help it. I hoped I wasn’t sliding down a slippery slope of deceit. It wasn’t like me. In the meantime I had a good two hours to run Thunder on the back roads of the county. At least I would have if I hadn’t run into Pete first.

  He was ambling along the shoulder of the road, a book once again in his hand when I sped by him. Although he was reading, he still saw it was me. In my side mirror, I watched him leap the fence and run across the field. Ahead was a hairpin turn and then another, and by the time I reached the second, Pete was aiming to jump that fence too, waving as he did. I didn’t slow—until he went sailing over the top rail. I couldn’t tell for sure, but he must have tripped, because he landed in the gravel on the side of the road and rolled onto his shoulder. I thought maybe he hit his chin, too, but couldn’t tell as I watched, again, in my mirror.

  I’ll admit there have been times in life when I’ve been coldhearted, but never when someone is hurt. Besides, the Good Samaritan was my favorite story as a child, read to me over and over by my Mamm. I pulled Thunder to a stop, made sure there were no vehicles coming in either direction, and swung the buggy around. By the time I reached Pete, he was bent over the ditch that ran on the roadside of the fence. When he straightened, I saw he’d plucked his book out of the water.

  I pulled Thunder to a stop, yanked on the brake, and grabbed the first-aid kit from under the seat. I’d put it together when I was sixteen after reading a book called Everyday Safety. Of course the author assumed the first-aid kit would be kept in a car, but I figured it was even more important in a buggy.

  Blood oozed from the palm of Pete’s left hand; plus it ran down the front of his chin. “Thanks for stopping,” he said. I noted the book in his right hand was fairly thin and very worn. It didn’t have a cover, and I couldn’t make out the title at the top of the page.

  “You really scraped yourself.” I opened the box, taking out several antiseptic-wipe packets.

  “It’s not bad.” He held his hand away. “I’ve had worse.”

  I handed him a wipe.

  “I’m not usually so accident prone,” he said, wiping his hand.

  “You just said you’ve had worse.”

  He laughed. “Touché.”

  I opened another wipe and dabbed at his face, flicking away pieces of gravel. “I’ll give you a ride back to the Zooks’.”

  “That’s okay. I’m going to the singing.”

  “Then why the detour?”

  “I was curious.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You thought Betsy was in the buggy, right?”

  He smiled, but before he answered, I proclaimed, “You are stubborn.”

  “Persistent is the word I prefer—remember?”

  Funny how the difference between the two seemed to be solely in our perception. “You’ll be happy to know my sister is at the singing. You can see her there.” I wasn’t going to bother telling him Levi would be giving her a ride home. He could find that out on his own.

  “And why isn’t Sweet Cate in the Bergs’ barn?”

  “Technically I am.” I knew my smile was sarcastic.

  His, in return, was even more so.

  After I’d picked the gravel out of his hand and then his face, with him bending toward me, I reached for the bottle of antiseptic in my kit and squirted it liberally on his chin.

  “Ouch!” He jerked away.

  “Hold out your hand.” I was enjoying myself with a man, for once.

  For some reason he obeyed, and I squirted out another stream of liquid.

  He flinched again.

  “Would you rather have an infection?”

  He didn’t answer as he dabbed his palm against his pant leg.

  “I read somewhere that staph usually starts in seemingly innocuous wounds.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I have no reason not to,” he answered, an impish look on his face.

  I ignored the expression and took a look at him. The red streaks on his chin were raw. He opened his mouth and scooted his lower jaw one way and then the other, then gingerly touched the scrape.

  “Leave it alone,” I commanded, pulling bandages from the kit. “How’s your shoulder?”

  He worked it back
and forth. “It’s okay.”

  After I affixed the bandages to his chin and hand, I wadded the wrappers in my fist, shoved them into my apron pocket, and started for my buggy.

  “How about going back to the singing?”

  “I’ll give you a ride.” I climbed in first, scooting the first-aid kit back under the seat.

  As soon as Pete landed on the bench seat, Thunder took off, at my urging. Pete grabbed the side of the buggy as we sped around the corner. Ahead the sun was lowering in the sky, sending streaks of pink and orange along the horizon. I’d need to light the buggy lantern soon and turn on the flashing red lights on the back.

  On the straight stretch, I drove the horse faster. Pete held his worn hat with his injured hand, the book still in his other.

  I couldn’t stand it any longer. “So what are you reading?”

  He held the book up. “The Pilgrim’s Progress. I found it in a thrift store outside of Cleveland. Ever read it?”

  I nodded. “A few years ago.” His copy looked much thinner than what I’d read, though. “Is that the condensed version?”

  He laughed. “No, the consumed version. I buy old books and then use up what I’ve read as I travel.”

  I gasped. “For what?”

  “Sometimes to start a fire,” he said.

  I must have had a horrified expression on my face, because he said, “Sorry. I’m a pragmatist at heart.” He held up the thin, now wet, book. “Sometimes I just throw it away, section by section. It keeps my pack lighter.”

  I was shocked at the very idea of tearing pages out of a book. And even more so to burn them. Sure, if he was freezing to death, I’d understand, but to preplan it? “How could you?” I gasped.

  “Books are heavy,” he said. “On the road, an object that serves two purposes doubles in value for a pauper like me.” He smiled as I pulled into the Bergs’ driveway and stopped Thunder.

  “That’s horrid.” I couldn’t imagine he was that poor—although his hat and clothes, the same he’d been wearing on Friday, all had a shabby look to them. “Here you go.” I stopped the buggy twenty feet from the barn, still aghast.

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “No.”