Chapter Three

      Lydia came running down the hall from the kitchen. “What is it? Are you all right?” Greta looked up at her sister with tear-filled eyes and an expression of pure panic. Lydia rushed to her side. “Come, sit. Take a deep breath.”

      Greta did as her sister instructed. Since their mother’s death when Greta was only a toddler, she had relied on Lydia to show her the way through the travails of daily life. “What if...” She drew in a long breath and gasped, “What if Josef has not spoken with Bishop Troyer? What if...”

      Lydia frowned, a sure sign that she had not considered this possibility and was even now working through the logistics of how best to handle this latest crisis in Greta’s life. “Well, we shall simply have to make certain that the bishop knows what has happened. Therefore, it would be best if we arrived at services as soon as possible.”

      Greta nodded. “You’ll speak with him?”

      “Bishop Troyer? Of course, but Greta, he is likely to want to speak with you—and Josef.”

      Greta groaned.

      “Now, sister, it’s not necessarily as dire as you may think. As I told you last night,” Lydia continued, “I suspect that Josef has simply had a bout of nerves. Marriage is a big step. There is every possibility that after a night’s lost sleep he regrets his impulsive action and has not yet figured out how to set things right again.”

      When Greta had told Lydia the news over supper the evening before, she had taken great comfort and hope from her sister’s reassurances. But Lydia might know many things—might even be the smartest person in all of Celery Fields—still when it came to matters of the heart, Lydia had almost no experience and besides, didn’t Greta know Josef better than anyone did? Although he had a reputation for being wishy-washy, once he did settle on a plan of action, he could be as stubborn as any other man when it came to changing his mind.

      And yet when she heard the snort of a horse and the soft plodding of hooves on the sandy road that ran past their house and on out to the countryside, Greta flew to the window. She could not help but hope that it would be Josef bringing his buggy to collect the two sisters for services as he had done ever since their father had died a year earlier. In that instant she played out the entire scene of how he would come to the door, hat in hand, eyes on the ground. And she would greet him as if nothing had passed between them the day before. The three of them would climb into his buggy and arrive at services as they had every other Sunday.

      But when she looked outside there was no buggy. Instead there was a wagon with a matched team of black Percheron horses and climbing down from the driver’s seat was none other than the blacksmith, Luke Starns.

      “What on earth?” Lydia had followed Greta to the window and was also watching Luke approach the house.

      “He’s come to drive us to services,” Greta said. “He offered,” she added with a shrug as Lydia’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

      “And you accepted this offer of a ride with a man we barely know?” Lydia asked, her voice the one she used when questioning a student.

      “Not right away,” Greta stammered. “I mean I thought about it and well, Josef is certainly not going to call for us.”

      There was a knock at the door. It was five minutes before eight o’clock. “I told him to come at eight,” Greta added.

      “Come drink your tea and eat something,” Lydia said with a resigned sigh. “I’ll get the door.”

      Theirs was a small house and Greta did not really have to eavesdrop to overhear the exchange between Lydia and the blacksmith. She nibbled at a slice of rye bread as her sister greeted Luke.

      “You are early, Luke Starns. My sister is just having her breakfast.”

      Greta frowned. “Oh, Liddy,” she whispered to herself. “Show the man a little kindness.”

      She heard Luke mumble an apology.

      “Well, come in out of the heat,” Lydia instructed.

      While Lydia marched down the hallway to the kitchen, Greta saw that Luke had remained uncertainly by the front door.

      “Liddy,” Greta hissed, “offer the man some juice.”

      “We do not have time for juice, Greta.” She took a cloth napkin and wiped a crumb from the corner of Greta’s mouth. “Now, come along or we’ll be late.”

      Outside, Lydia stood aside, making it clear that she expected Greta to climb up to the wagon’s only seat first. “It’s going to be another hot day,” Greta said, trying to ease the tension that hung over the trio as heavily as the humidity. “Even for August,” she added when they were all three seated.

      But it was apparent that she could not expect comments from either Lydia or Luke. Both of them were sitting as if someone had placed a board against their backs and they were each staring straight ahead, their mouths tightly set into thin lines. Clearly any attempt Greta might make to start a conversation was useless so she bowed her head and folded her hands in her lap. She might as well put the time to good use—praying that somehow she might get through this day.

      At Pleasant’s house, where services were to be held, Pleasant’s husband, Jeremiah, came forward to welcome them. If he thought it odd that they should arrive with Luke Starns, he gave no sign.

      “Is your great uncle inside, Jeremiah?” Lydia asked as he helped her down from the wagon. Jeremiah’s uncle was the head of their congregation.

      “Yes. Is there a problem? Has something happened?” He was clearly mystified that Lydia’s first comment would be to ask the whereabouts of the congregation’s bishop without so much as a greeting for him. Greta felt a touch of relief as she realized that at least Jeremiah seemed to have no idea at all that Josef had quit her.

      “Greta just needs to ask him a question,” Lydia replied with a smile. She waited for Jeremiah to help Greta down then turned to Luke. “Thank you, Luke Starns, for the ride. My sister and I will be staying to help Pleasant prepare the barn for tonight’s singing and can find our way home after that.”

      In spite of her own worries,