“It was a fine sermon, wasn’t it, Charley?” a tall, fair-haired young woman remarked. And then to him, she said, “I’m Mary, and you must be Sara’s—”
“Who else could it be?” Charley cut in and then chuckled. “This is my sister, Gideon. And yes, she’s unmarried and not walking out with anybody I know of.” He grinned at her. “Unless she has a secret admirer that she hasn’t revealed to me yet.”
“Charley!” Mary’s eyes narrowed. “What will Gideon think of me?” And then she smiled at Gideon. “Pay no attention to my brother.” She extended her hand and shook his, as a man might do. “I’m pleased to meet you, and I hope you like it here in Seven Poplars,” she said.
He was surprised at her boldness, but not put off by it. Mary Byler was interesting, and he liked girls who were different. At home, few women would touch a man not related to them, and he wondered if the rules were different here. Mary had a firm grip and a pleasant voice. Strange that such an attractive woman was as yet unmarried by her late twenties, which was how old he guessed her to be.
“Charley has invited me to a young people’s frolic,” Gideon said. “Will you be there?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said with another smile. And then she waved to two other girls. “Lilly, Violet, come meet Gideon.”
Two attractive young women joined them. The first, not as tall as Mary, had curly blond hair, dark eyes and a dimple on each cheek when she smiled. “Welcome to our community,” she said sweetly. “It’s good to have you at our worship service.”
“Gideon, this is Lilly Hershberger, one of my dearest friends.” Mary indicated the second girl, a brunette with blue eyes and a pleasant face. “And this is another friend of mine, Violet Troyer.”
“Violet’s family just moved into our church district from Peach Orchard,” Lilly explained. “That’s about ten miles from here.”
“You’re from Wisconsin?” Violet asked, smiling up at him. “I have family there. My mother’s side. The Harvey Zooks. Do you know them?”
“Ne,” Gideon admitted. “I know there are some Zooks near Brushy Lake, but I don’t remember meeting them.”
Violet shrugged. “You couldn’t forget. They’re a big family. Especially cousin Abram. They’re all big, but Abram is huge. He’s over six feet tall and weighs—” She rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say there’s a lot more of him than there should be. My uncle wrote that Abram has won the county fair pie-eating contest six years straight. Last August, it was four entire blueberry pies.”
“Four pies?” Lilly struggled to control her amusement. “That’s a lot of pie.”
“Charley!” A woman motioned to him. “Time to eat.” She had a baby in a white bonnet and gown balanced on one hip.
“My wife and boy,” Charley explained proudly.
Gideon nodded. He didn’t dislike babies, but they seemed to make a lot of noise, and they all looked alike to him. “A little woodchopper,” he commented, since Charley obviously expected him to say something complimentary about the child. “Healthy?”
“Ya, thanks be to God,” Charley answered. “My wife and me, we waited a while for him. I was starting to worry.”
“For nothing,” Mary told him. “The Lord chooses His own time for His blessings.” She smiled again. “See you at the singing, Gideon.”
“Ya,” Lilly agreed. “And you’d better sing, not just sit there like some of the young men do.” Then the two of them giggled and hurried away, heads together in hushed talk.
As was the custom at home, the men ate at the first seating, and there was a definite hierarchy to the arrangement. The bishop, preachers, deacon and elders sat at one end of the table. Next came the senior men, then the middle-aged and younger married heads of households. As a guest, Gideon was offered a place halfway down the table, next to Charley. He knew without being told that the next time he attended church, his spot would be farther down toward the end of the table with the other single adult males. Teenage boys filled the last empty seats on the bench. Little boys, Gideon assumed, would eat at the second sitting with the women and girls.
There was a moment of silent grace, a few words from the bishop and then everyone at the table began to enjoy the food. There was little talk. Appetites were high, and it was only good manners to eat quickly, so that the second seating could have their turn. Young women moved back and forth behind the men, filling glasses and replenishing trays of bread and cold cuts. Platters and bowls were passed from diner to diner: tomatoes, green beans cooked with bacon, macaroni and potato salads, slaws, pickles, sliced ham, roasted chicken, summer sausage and roast beef.
Everything Gideon tasted was delicious, especially the raisin bread and the apple-rhubarb tarts. He wondered if this was the usual communal fare, or if Hannah Yoder and her daughters put on a special spread when they hosted Church Sunday. It wasn’t uncommon in his community to just have sandwiches for Sunday dinner. Too many dinners like this, and he’d have to worry about his waistline.
“More tea?” A young woman with dark hair and bright blue eyes leaned over to fill his glass. “Did you want more ice? I can get ice.”
“Ne, I’m fine,” he assured her.
A minute later, another unmarried girl stopped to try to fill his glass again.
It was no wonder Sara had moved her business here to Delaware; there seemed to be plenty of available young women looking for husbands. Of course, no Amish woman wore a wedding ring, so he had to guess who was single, but he’d gotten pretty good at it. Even the shy girls had a way of letting you know that they were “in the market,” so to say.
When Gideon couldn’t eat another bite, he finished his tea, then waved away the blue-eyed girl who wanted to refill it, yet again. “Danke,” he said. “I couldn’t drink another drop.” She giggled and stood there just a few seconds too long before moving on to fill someone else’s glass. Gideon wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and glanced around the yard.
Children of various ages sat in the grass with books or played quietly. Several little girls had what looked like a Noah’s Ark with tiny, wooden animals. Another girl, about ten or eleven, held the hand of a toddler who was dressed like Charley’s son, in white bonnet and gown. It was hard to remember that he was in Delaware, a long way from his home community. Although these were unfamiliar faces, and the hat and bonnet shapes were just a bit different, these could have been his neighbors and relatives.
Gideon felt at peace. He always felt good after Sunday services, and he enjoyed meeting and talking to people. Some Englishers thought that Amish life was severe and harsh, but he’d never believed that. So long as a man believed in the Word and followed the ordnung of his church, he was assured of salvation. What could one ask for but faith, family and community? When he considered how much he received every day, the hard work of living apart from the world was a small sacrifice.
The bishop rose from his seat, followed quickly by the older men. Gideon stood up and left the table as teams of teenage girls cleared away the dishes and glasses for the next seating. Charley and Eli stopped to speak to their host, Albert Hartman, and Gideon decided to walk back and take a look at the alpacas that Charley had mentioned.
As he left the farmyard and strolled past the line of buggies and tethered horses, the clamor of friendly voices and laughing children faded. Earlier, Charley had indicated the smaller of two barns. A pasture with a high fence ran behind it, and sure enough, Gideon caught sight of a group of animals grazing at the far end. He started toward them when someone called his name.
“Gideon!