A Perfect Amish Match. Vannetta Chapman
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that.”
“Yes, that.”
“You’ve decided it’s an important service?”
“It could be. I see that now.”
“Englischers have dating sites and apps on their phones,” she pointed out.
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t.”
“I’ve never even owned a phone.”
“Neither have I.” She was grinning at him now.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think that she enjoyed baiting him. He forced his eyes away from her adorable face and tried to remember what he’d wanted to tell her.
“Your bruder seems happy enough.”
“He does. He is, and that’s what I mean. You obviously do what you do very well.”
“Danki.”
“I just wanted to remind you that I’m not on the market.”
“Oh, you made that quite clear.”
Was she being serious? Or playing with him again? Looking back toward the barn, he saw that more people were leaving. He couldn’t keep her here forever. He needed to try a more direct approach.
“I saw you talking to the two girls—the tall one and the heavy one.”
“Do you mean Jane and Francine?”
“I guess.”
“They’re freinden of mine. We often talk to each other.”
“I’m sure, but as soon as you sat down, and you three put your heads together, the heavier one looked over her shoulder at me.”
“Did she, now?”
“You’re going to deny it?”
“Deny what?”
“That you were talking to them about setting up a date with me.”
“I could set you up with one of them.” She tapped her chin and scrunched up her eyes as if she’d never considered such a thing. “But I thought you weren’t interested.”
Noah laughed out loud. “You are twisting what I’m saying every which way. I’m not interested. I told you I wasn’t on Wednesday, and I’m still not. I wanted to make sure we’re clear about that.”
“Crystal.”
“Gut.”
“Gut.”
Another awkward silence followed. She’d caved easier than he’d thought she would. He’d expected her to list the reasons that either girl would be a good match for him. Didn’t she think he was dating material? Did she think he was too old or too set in his ways?
He didn’t want to talk about that, but he wasn’t ready to walk away, either.
“What do you call a sheep that knows karate?”
Olivia Mae rolled her eyes, but a grin was spreading across her face.
“I don’t know, Noah. What do you call a sheep that knows karate?”
“A lamb chop.”
He walked away then, the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears.
* * *
Unfortunately his good mood didn’t last. His father insisted Noah ride up front in the buggy with him on the way home. His mother sat in the back, surrounded by grandchildren. For the first ten minutes, Noah actually enjoyed the ride. Then his dat cleared his throat and glanced his direction.
“You know we’re glad you’re home, son.”
“But...”
“No but. Your mother and I want you to know that we are grateful to the Lord for bringing you back.”
Perhaps he’d misjudged his dat’s intent. Maybe he’d anticipated a lecture when there wasn’t one headed his way. Noah rested his head against the door and looked out over the Indiana farmland. “I’m glad to be back. Goshen seems...better in some ways. Instead of it feeling like a shoe that’s too small, it feels like one that fits just right.”
“That’s gut, but...”
Noah tried to suppress a sigh, without success.
“Just hear me out.”
“Of course, Dat.” It wasn’t as if he had a choice. They were still ten minutes from home. It would be childish to ask to be let out and walk, though the thought did cross his mind. Instead he sat up straighter and clasped his hands in front of him.
“I know you enjoy your auction work...”
“It’s why I’m here.”
“However, I’d like you to leave some time free to learn more about the farm.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you never learned it as a youngie.”
“I grew up doing farm chores.”
“That’s true, but a young man’s real training begins about the time that you left—was it when you went to New York or Pennsylvania?” He waved away the question before Noah could answer it. “I want to teach you about farming because every young man needs to know how to plant, grow and harvest a crop.”
“Dat, I’m not a farmer. I never have been a farmer, and I have no intention of becoming one in the future. I’m an auctioneer.”
That statement sat between them as the mare clip-clopped down the road.
Noah could just make out his mamm saying something to his nieces, but he couldn’t discern her exact words. At least she was preoccupied so that it wasn’t two against one, not at this point.
“I appreciate your offer. I do. But times have changed—”
“Every man has to eat and farming is what we do. It’s the Amish way.”
“Not every Amish man farms. Some are farriers. Others are cabinetmakers.”
“And you’re an auctioneer.”
“A gut one, too, if I say so myself.”
“It’s only that—to me—auctioneering seems like a hobby, not a way to support yourself.”
Noah slouched down in his seat. He honestly didn’t know how to make his dat understand. He didn’t know how to explain that there were more opportunities available to Amish folk now. Working in the auction house could provide a good, steady income. It was only that it was different from work that his father’s generation had done.
“There’s one other thing.”
“Of course there is.”
“We understand it may seem awkward to date because you’re late getting started.”
“I dated...”
“And sometimes these things need a little help.”
“I thought you were happy to have me at home. Now you’re trying to scoot me out of the nest?”
“You’re twenty-nine, son.”
“I’m aware.”
Noah glanced at his dat, noticed a furrow of lines between his eyes. He was obviously bound and determined to have his say.
“It’s easy at your age to believe that you have an endless number of days in front of you—to plan, to decide, to marry.