Courting Cate Page 8

  I groaned at his odd speech. “Please change the topic or stop talking.” I had no interest in listening to such nonsense.

  He complied, not uttering another inane word, and we walked in stone silence for a time.

  Once we reached the creek, he asked what I was currently reading. Relieved at his choice of a new subject, I told him a biography on Mary Todd Lincoln.

  “So you finished Abe already?”

  I nodded.

  “Being from New York and an outdoorsman, I’m rather partial to the Roosevelts.”

  “I haven’t gotten that far yet,” I said.

  “I like their wives too,” he added, as if he hadn’t heard me. “Edith Roosevelt wasn’t as vocal as Eleanor Roosevelt, but she had a lot of admirable qualities too. She loved books. She loved her husband. They had eight kids. Their youngest was named—”

  “Quentin,” I said.

  He nodded. “He had a pony named—”

  “Algonquin.” I interrupted again. “Quentin took the pony up the elevator to his ill brother’s room to cheer him up.”

  He laughed. “Sounds like we read the same book.”

  “A kids’ book?”

  He nodded again. “They seemed at home in the White House—what a great place for that family.” He sighed. “Isn’t that what everyone wants, whether Plain or Englisch? A home. A family. A way to make a living.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “I know that’s what I want. I think home is the most beautiful word in the world—no matter what language one speaks.”

  Inwardly I groaned. Who knew where his thoughts were headed?

  “What do you want, Cate?”

  The question surprised me. No one had ever asked me about what I wanted. “I like the idea of a business.”

  He laughed. “What about a home and family—and a husband first, of course?”

  I shrugged.

  After a moment he broke the silence. “What kind of business?”

  I hesitated to answer, sure he’d ridicule me, but then I decided I really didn’t have anything to lose. “A publishing business.”

  “Magazines?” he asked.

  “Perhaps. Or maybe books.”

  “My uncle Wes works in publishing.”

  My heart quickened. “He’s Plain?”

  “Mennonite.”

  “And he makes a living at it?”

  “Jah, so it seems. I haven’t talked with him in several years, though.”

  Ahead, Betsy and the boys had stopped for a break. All four were sitting on a fallen log on the side of the trail. It was big enough that Betsy’s feet didn’t reach the ground. She kicked her legs back and forth as if she were a child, her dress lifting up and down a little with the motion. They were laughing and all talking at once, except for Levi. Pete and I quieted as we passed them.

  When we were farther down the trail, Pete looked back and then cleared his throat. “May I ask you something?”

  “As long as it isn’t personal.”

  “Martin and Mervin said you aren’t courting anyone.”

  The pitch of my voice grew shrill. “That’s personal.”

  He ignored me. “I was wondering”—he took a deep breath and then continued—“if you would, you know . . .”

  He was nervous, it seemed. Was there a chance he was sincere?

  “Let me court you,” he stated, his voice back to its usual confident level. “Starting with the singing tomorrow night.”

  My heart raced as if it wanted to gallop down the trail all by itself. I didn’t know what to say, and even if I had known, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to speak.

  When I failed to answer, he added, his voice low and soothing, “You can think about it.”

  “Okay,” I chirped.

  “Okay?” His voice held a hint of eagerness.

  I regained my composure. “I’ll think about it.”

  I gave him a sassy look. He returned it with a sarcastic smile, which added to my growing sense of camaraderie as we hiked along in silence, increasing our speed with the downhill slope. I couldn’t ignore the odd feeling welling up inside as I wondered if I could actually court Pete—for Betsy’s sake, of course. If I did, maybe Dat would change his mind, allowing her to marry even if I didn’t.

  As much as he annoyed me, Pete was far more interesting than the other young men I knew, far more my style. But, besides M&M’s possible influence on him, something else was bothering me.

  “You said you came to Lancaster County looking for a wife.”

  He blushed. “And to find a job.”

  “But also to find a wife, jah?” It certainly seemed to be the priority.

  “Ach, Cate,” he said. “I’m twenty-seven. I want a family. What’s wrong with being intentional about it?”

  I evaded his question and asked another of my own. “So why not court back home?”

  “I tried that. Let’s just say I got burned.”

  “Where two fires meet?” They do consume the thing that feeds their fury.

  He chuckled. “Ah yes, my attempt at profundity when you abandoned me at the singing.”

  I nodded but wasn’t going to admit I had no idea what his words had meant.

  “No, it wasn’t fire. More like acid. Splashed unexpectedly.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Jah,” he said. “It hurt me, for sure.”

  “But you’re over it?”

  He didn’t answer at first, causing my heart to skip a beat. Maybe he wasn’t as available as he thought.

  Finally he said, “I wouldn’t be asking you to court if I wasn’t.”

  Not sure I believed him, I continued my questions. “But why me? There are lots of”—I almost said wealthy—“eligible women in Lancaster County.” I turned to meet his gaze, intending to say Like Betsy, but he responded before I could.

  “Why not you?” His eyes danced.

  I had no idea where to start. Just then, there was a thundering of feet behind us. We turned together. Betsy was leading the boys, running out ahead, the ties of her Kapp flying behind her. She grabbed my waist as she reached me, spinning me around.

  “Isn’t this fun?” She whispered, but the giggles that followed were heard by all. “Thank you so much.”

  She kept on going, M&M following, and then Levi, who still had a worried look on his sweet face. I couldn’t help but smile. It looked as if Levi wasn’t as aware as I was of how much Betsy favored him.

  Pete began whistling, and I realized I was still smiling. What would it hurt to court Pete? Dat would be happy. Betsy would be that much closer to marrying. I would feel halfway normal for once, as if I sort of belonged.

  For some reason I trusted Pete, at least a little. Maybe it was his bookish ways. Maybe it was because he was poor. I could always break the courtship if it turned out he wasn’t the sort of man I wanted to marry.

  I glanced at Pete again. Still whistling, he lifted his face, his hand on the top of his hat, intent on the rustling trees. I looked up too, trying to see what he saw, and as I did a smattering of rain hit my forehead.

  “Oh dear.”

  Ahead, Betsy shrieked, and the four began to run again.

  Pete slipped his pack from his back and unzipped it quickly, pulling out a blue object. In a second he shook it out. “It’s a poncho,” he said.

  “You should wear it.”

  “No, I insist.” He handed it to me.

  I slipped it over my head and pulled the top over my sweatshirt hood and Kapp as the rain pummeled us.

  In a couple of minutes the rain had soaked him.

  I suggested we stand under a tree and wait for Dat and Nan, thinking I would give her the poncho, but when we caught sight of them, they were engrossed in conversation, even in the downpour, Nan tightly wrapped in Dat’s coat.

  “Come on,” Pete whispered, nudging me along.

  I matched Pete’s stride as the rain continued, and when it slowed, he asked me how old Betsy had been when our Mamm pas
sed.

  “Less than a day.” My voice wavered.

  Tenderness filled his tone. “So you raised her, then?”

  I nodded. “She’s been a good girl. Everyone’s always adored her.”

  He smiled through the water dripping down his face.

  “Other kids, all the parents, our relatives—everyone has always liked Betsy.” I wasn’t going to emphasize how little everyone cared for me. “She has a kind heart—toward me too.”

  “Really?”

  I shrugged. “Well, we’ve had a few bumps lately. But mostly she has.” I mulled over Betsy’s behavior toward me ever since Dat’s edict, wondering how much Pete had noticed.

  He changed the subject, interrupting my thoughts. “So why don’t you like Martin and Mervin?”

  “A long time ago, I did. They were cute boys. I was friends with their brother, Seth.” In fact, for a while he’d been my only friend. “But then Seth turned into a bully and M&M followed his example.”

  “What happened?”

  “It started when Seth tackled me at first base.” Actually it started the day before, after church, but I wasn’t going to share that story with someone I barely knew.

  “Tackle baseball?” Pete laughed. “We used to play it all the time.”

  I shook my head. “He literally took me out. Plowed me over. It was definitely on purpose. And it was ongoing after that. A jab here. An insult there. And then Martin and Mervin followed his example.” I took a deep breath. “Then, once we were grown, Seth asked for a second chance and I gave it to him, because I’d been so fond of him when we were young, before the bullying. But he made a fool of me . . . again. And M&M have been keeping it up ever since.”

  I glanced at Pete as I finished.

  He had a sympathetic look on his face. “That’s really sad,” he said, slowing his pace a little, probably to match my mood.

  My heart somersaulted at his kindness. I stepped faster on the downhill, and Pete followed my lead. The rain stopped. In the distance the sun shone through the clouds. Rays of light streaked through the trees.

  We didn’t speak another word until we reached the end of the trail. I reached out my hand then and pulled him to a stop. “Jah,” I said.

  “Jah?” He swiped at the water trickling over his brow.

  “I’ll go to the singing.”

  He broke out into a smile. “I’ll pick you up at—”

  “How about if we meet there.”

  “That will do just fine.” He grinned. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  I was surprised to admit, although only to myself, that I was too.

  CHAPTER

  7

  Once I was at the singing—trying not to look at Pete, who sat on the other side of the room with the other men—I came to my senses once again. I truly hadn’t been looking forward to the singing. What I had looked forward to was being with Pete, after the singing.

  I endured the next two hours, singing along but not thinking about the words to the songs, sitting as straight as I could with Betsy at my side, doing my best to keep my eyes on my side of the room.

  As soon as the event ended, Betsy snuck away with Levi. As Pete and I stood side by side I could feel the stares of others on us, until the warmth rising up my neck forced me outside. Pete followed, and I asked if he wanted to come by our house. That was customary. The man came to the woman’s home for a snack, one that Betsy and I had already prepared.

  “Sure,” he said. “And then I’ll walk back to the Zooks’.”

  “Or I can take you.”

  He shook his head, a grimace on his face. “Believe me, not having my own transportation is hard enough as it is.”

  When we reached the buggy, after we lit the lantern against the darkness of the night and hitched up Thunder, I walked to the right side, bundled under my cape.

  He grinned and helped me up, and then hurried around to the driver’s side. We spread the wool blanket over our laps and then he took up the reins. Once we reached the road, he barely drove Thunder at a walk. He was either a much more cautious driver than I was or he wanted our time together to last longer. I hoped for the latter. Still, I couldn’t help but have some fun. I clucked my tongue and Thunder took off.

  “Hey!” Pete held on to his straw hat with one hand and the reins with the other. I began to laugh and then he joined me. Thunder turned when Pete wasn’t expecting it, taking the shortcut. The buggy lurched to the side. Pete yelled. I laughed harder, bouncing on the bench as the swinging lantern cast circles of light around us.

  Finally, nearly worn out, Thunder slowed, and Pete wagged a finger at me. “The rumors are right,” he said.

  I flashed a mock expression of surprise.

  “About you racing the back roads.”

  “A girl’s gotta have a little fun,” I said, coming as close as I ever had, in my entire life, to flirting.

  “So it’s Wild Cate, then?”

  I didn’t answer, afraid perhaps I’d given him the wrong impression.

  “Just kidding,” he said, giving me a sideways look. “But I’m impressed. You read. You talk. You think. You race.” He looked straight ahead and muttered something under his breath.

  “What did you say?” I leaned a little closer to him.

  “What more could a guy want?” His dimples flashed.

  I could think of quite a lot. “Cooking. Gardening. Housekeeping.”

  He laughed. “So those rumors are true too?”

  I blushed, thinking of Martin on the hike. “They’re not my favorite things,” I said.

  “Well, all you have to do to learn to cook is read. The same for gardening.” He waved his hand, dismissing the thought. “I’m sure you could figure out all the rest and become Conforming Cate once the need arises.”

  I bristled. Conforming Cate—even though I was Plain, I didn’t like the sound of it. I much preferred Sweet Cate. Even Wild Cate was better.

  Pete clucked his tongue and off Thunder went again. It was my turn to yell—and Pete’s to laugh.

  Amish parents usually stayed in the shadows when a courting couple came home from a singing, but not Dat. He was smiling like a two-year-old with a lollipop, fussing over the snacks, rearranging the Ritz crackers and slices of cheese on the tray, and then pouring us glasses of lemonade, even though we each already had one.

  “Ach,” he said, standing in front of us in the living room, the full glasses in his hands. “I’ll save these for Betsy and Levi.” He started for the kitchen and then over his shoulder said, “They should be along shortly, jah?”

  “I think so,” I said, settling into Mamm’s rocking chair.

  I didn’t bother to tell him they’d left quite a while before we did. I didn’t want to think of what they might be doing, my mind picturing the unread books still sitting on Betsy’s nightstand.

  When Dat reached the doorway to the kitchen he turned back toward us, a smile on his face.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing.” He sighed. “I’m just so happy.”

  I put my hand to my face.

  “I’ll leave you two alone.” He seemed to be remembering his place. “I’ll be in the sunroom if you need me.” He left quickly.

  I picked up a cracker. “He’s . . .” I paused, at a loss for words.

  “Great,” Pete said, sitting in the chair next to me. “He’s a good man. And so young. My oldest brother is probably older than your Dat.”

  “He’s forty-two.”

  Pete laughed. “Burt’s fifty-one. My Mamm had all of us within twenty-five years,” Pete said.

  I remembered there were fourteen boys—who could forget that? “She must be worn out.”

  Pete nodded.

  “How old is she now?” I asked.

  “Seventy-two. But my father turns eighty-one this year.” Pete looked off toward the dark window. “They seem older than that, and my Dat’s health isn’t good.”

  We chatted awhile longer, landing on the topic o
f books.

  “Have you returned the Lincoln biography yet?”

  I answered that I hadn’t. I’d held on to it in case I wanted to compare parts of his story to his wife’s.

  He asked if he could borrow it.

  “Only if you promise not to burn it.” I intended my tone to be light. “Because if you’re going to amount to anything in life, you should start acting in a civilized manner.”

  The expression on his face, which had been happy, wilted.

  Still I pressed on. “Because that would be hard to explain to Nan. It’s probably a federal offense or something. Burning library property.”

  He froze for a moment and then stood.

  I couldn’t seem to help myself, suddenly aware of how much his lack of respect for books bothered me. “Personally, I think burning any—”

  “I’m going to ask your father if I can spend some time in the showroom, getting ready for tomorrow.”

  He’d flat out interrupted me. My face reddened. “Now?”

  He nodded.

  Had I offended him with my joke? “Dat’s in the sunroom.” I pointed toward the hall, and Pete headed that way while I gathered up our half-empty glasses.

  A few moments later, he met me in the kitchen. He opened his mouth as if to say something, maybe to apologize for being so sensitive.

  But then he closed it.

  I crossed my arms. “Do you want the book?”

  He shook his head. “I changed my mind.”

  He started for the door and then turned back around as if he’d changed his mind again.

  Dumbfounded by his behavior, I blurted out, “What’s going on?”

  “I had a question I wanted to ask you.”

  “Wanted?” Had he changed his mind again?

  “I meant want.”

  “Well?”

  He took a deep breath. “I found a place that rents kayaks,” he said. “Would you like to go on Saturday? On the Susquehanna River.”

  I was a little taken aback. Was he upset with me or not?

  “It’s perfectly safe. I’ve gone before, back in New York.”