The Amish Spinster's Courtship. Emma Miller
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to stitch a strap on a new halter. Ginger, twenty-three, was two years younger than Lovage and twin to Bay Laurel.
Ginger paused, glanced up at her and offered a teasing smile. “I see you met Marshall Byler.”
Lovage dropped the britchen strap on the long plank table. “It can be fixed, but you might be better off just making him a new one. Look at it and see what you think.”
Preferring harness-making to housework and minding children, Ginger had worked in Benjamin’s shop for the past three years, first in New York where they used to live and now in Hickory Grove. Her small hands were deft at fashioning leather into everything from bridles to belts to dog leashes. Ginger may have been a woman, but she’d quickly become Benjamin’s most skilled leather worker, surpassing even his sons.
“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Ginger’s green eyes twinkled mischievously. “If I’d known that was him ringing the bell, I’d have waited on him myself.”
“You know him?”
“Every Amish girl of marrying age in the county knows Marshall Byler. Wishes he’d ask her out.”
“You, too?” Lovage asked, looking down at Ginger, who was seated on a wooden stool.
Ginger lowered her gaze to her work at hand. She lifted the foot of the sewing machine, adjusted the leather and dropped the foot again. “Are you going to let him take you home after the softball game?”
Lovage gazed at her sister.
Ginger was the prettiest of the Stutzman girls, blonde and green-eyed. And she was a flirt if there ever was such a thing among Old Order Amish. Back in New York, several mothers and a matchmaker had contacted their mother inquiring as to Ginger’s availability as a possible match for their sons. Apparently, half the young men in Cattaraugus County, New York, were smitten with her. Rosemary had declared her second daughter too young to marry yet and had then whisked her off to Delaware.
“You were eavesdropping on my conversation with Marshall Byler?” Lovage asked, not even a little bit surprised.
“Maybe.” Ginger nibbled on her lower lip. “From this stool, I hear all sorts of things in the front shop. Last week I heard that Mary Aaron Troyer is trying to match her twin boys with twin sisters from Kentucky.” She shrugged. “Not sure they’re keen on the idea. Are you going to the softball game?”
“You’re certainly interested in my comings and goings.” Lovage crossed her arms over her chest, pretending to be put out with the whole discussion. The truth was she was flattered by Marshall’s attention. Though she didn’t quite understand it. Not many boys expressed interest in her. She wasn’t pretty enough or flirty enough. If a boy wanted to walk out with a Stutzman girl, Ginger was his choice every time. “And no one invited me.”
Ginger ran the length of stitch and when the sewing machine was quiet again, she said, “It sounded to me as if Marshall Byler just invited you. Everyone’s invited, anyway. It’s a neighborhood game. We’ve gone before. Sometimes boys from Rose Valley even come.” She snipped off a bit of loose thread from the halter with a pair of homemade scissors. “We play at Bishop Simon’s house. He has a good field, even a backstop. He’s nice. Jolly. And not too long-winded on Sundays. You’ll love his wife, Annie. She’ll make chocolate whoopie pies with peanut butter filling for the snack table. Wait until you taste them.” Ginger took a breath and went on without waiting for Lovage to respond. “You should accept Marshall’s offer.”
“I certainly should not.” Now Lovage was slightly peeved with her favorite sister for listening to what should have been a private conversation. Or maybe embarrassed. “I don’t even know him—don’t care to.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind if I ride home with him.” Ginger tilted her head and giggled. “Will you?”
“You’re impossible.” Lovage tried to sound vexed, but it was all she could do not to laugh at her sister’s boldness. She knew she should admonish Ginger for eavesdropping, but with four sisters, and now a houseful of brothers, who could expect privacy? It was impossible. And she could never be cross with one of her sisters for long. Certainly not over a boy. “You like all the single young men,” she reminded her.
“Most, but not all,” Ginger agreed. “Nothing wrong with liking the boys, so long as I remember everything Mam taught me about protecting my reputation.” Her sister’s amusement brought out her dimples. “I think Marshall is fun. Bay does, too. I know she’d ride home with him if he asked.”
“He thinks he’s so good-looking. Charming.” Lovage frowned, secretly wondering if she dared be so bold as to accept Marshall’s invitation. Then she asked herself, what would be the point? She wasn’t the kind of girl a boy like him would be interested in. She couldn’t fathom why he’d asked to take her home from the softball game. Was it a way to get in good with Ginger? But that made no sense, because Ginger already said she was interested in him. Marshall Byler probably knew he could get any girl in the country into his buggy.
“Marshall is good-looking. But also faithful.” Ginger carefully studied the halter she’d finished, found no flaws and set it aside. She looked up at her sister. “And you really aren’t interested in him?”
“Ne, I am not.” Lovage said it with more conviction than she felt. “I just arrived in Hickory Grove. I’m certainly not going to get involved with some fast-talking farmer my first week here. Especially not now when Mam needs my help more than ever.”
Ginger rolled the remaining thread onto the spool and tucked it into the drawer under the tabletop. “Probably just as well.” She wrinkled her nose. “Marshall’s not your type.”
“And who is my type?” Lovage rested on hand on her hip. “Ishmael Slabaugh?” she asked, referring to the young man she’d come close to becoming betrothed to.
Her sister shook her head so hard that her scarf slipped off the back of her head. “Ne, I didn’t care for him. Too serious. I’m glad you didn’t marry him. You can do better.” She removed the navy scarf and tied it over her hair again. Unruly tendrils of curly yellow hair framed her heart-shaped face, a face with a complexion like fresh cream, an unusually pretty face with practically no freckles and soft, dark brows that arched over thick lashes and large, intelligent eyes.
Envy was a sin, and only a wicked girl would be envious of a much-loved sister. But not resenting Ginger’s golden hair, rosebud lips and pert nose wasn’t easy when you were a brown-haired string bean with a too-full mouth and a firm German chin. Lovage had to remind herself to put it all into proper perspective. She, Ginger, Bay, Tara and Nettie had always been close, and having sisters that everyone called the catch of the county was her burden to bear. Aunt Jane, her dat’s older sister, hadn’t made it any easier, always pointing out that Lovage took after her plain, sensible father and not her mother with her pretty face and quirky ways.
“It’s probably just as well you don’t ride home with Marshall. You’re not suited for someone like him,” Ginger continued. “He’s looking for a fun girlfriend.”
“What? And I’m not fun?” Lovage frowned, opening her arms wide. “How can you say that? I’m fun. I like to do fun things.”
Ginger giggled. “You are a lot of things, but fun isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when I think of you. You’re strong and brave and caring. And you’re dependable. You’ve always been there for your family and anyone in need. But fun?” She wrinkled her nose. “Not so much.”
Lovage rolled her eyes.
“If anything,” Ginger went on, “you can be the opposite of fun. You never do anything that’s not comfortable for you. You never... What’s the Englisher phrase? Step out of your box? Bay and I are sure you’d have a better chance of finding a beau if you didn’t take yourself and life so seriously.”
“You’re wrong,” Lovage insisted. “I don’t have a beau because I don’t want one.