Johanna's Bridegroom. Emma Miller

meet his brother’s. “I don’t want a partner,” he said. “I couldn’t go into a marriage with a woman who didn’t love me—not a second time. Pauline was a good woman. We never exchanged a harsh word in all the years we were married, but I was hoping for more.”

      Charley removed the sprig of new clover he’d been nibbling on. “You love Johanna, and you want her to love you back.”

      Roland nodded. “I do.” He swallowed, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t dissolve. He turned away, went to the old well, slid aside the heavy wooden cover and cranked up a bucket of cold water. Taking a deep breath, he dumped the bucket over his head and sweat-soaked undershirt. The icy water sluiced over him, but it didn’t wash away the hurt or the pain of the threat of losing Johanna a second time. “Was I wrong to turn her down, Charley? Am I cutting off my nose to spite my face? Maybe I would be happier having her as a wife who respects me, but doesn’t love me, instead of not having her at all.”

      Charley tugged at his close-cropped beard, a beard that Preacher Reuben disapproved of and even Samuel had rolled his eyes at, a beard that some might think was too short for a married man. “You want my honest opinion? Or do you just want to whine and have someone listen?”

      “You think I’ve made a terrible mistake, don’t you? Say it, if that’s what you think. I can take it.”

      Charley came to the well, cranked up a second bucket of water and used an enamel dipper to take a drink. Then he poured the rest of the bucket into a pail for the mare. She dipped her velvety nose in the water and slurped noisily.

      Roland wanted to shake his brother. In typical fashion, Charley was taking his good old time in applying the heat, letting Roland suffer as he waited to hear the words. Finally, when he’d nearly lost the last of his patience, Charley nodded and glanced back from the mare.

      “You’re working yourself into a lather for nothing, brother. Don’t you remember what a chase Miriam gave me? ‘We’re friends, Charley,’” he mimicked. “‘You’re just like a brother.’ Do you think I wanted to be Miriam’s friend? I loved her since she was in leading strings, since we slept in the same cradle as nurslings. Miriam was the sun and moon for me. It’s not right for a Christian man to say such things, but sinner that I am, it’s how I feel about her. But you know what men say about the Yoder girls.”

      Roland nodded. “They’re a handful.”

      “It’s true,” Charley agreed. “From Hannah right down to Rebecca. Even Susanna, one of God’s sweetest children, has her stubborn streak.”

      “But they’re true as rain.” Roland ran his fingers through his wet hair. “Strong and good as any woman I’ve ever met, and that includes our sister Mary.”

      “Exactly. Worth the trouble, and worth the wait.” He smiled. “You know I’ve never been a betting man. The preachers say the Good Book warns against wagering, and I take that as gospel. But if I was an Englishman without a care for his soul, I’d risk my new Lancaster buggy against a pair of cart wheels that you and Johanna will be married by Christmas next. Mark my words, brother. Everyone in the family knows it. The two of you will come to your senses and work this out. And if you don’t, I’ll grow my beard out as long and full as Bishop Atlee’s himself.”