* *
Thomas stepped into the kitchen of Sara’s hospitality barn. Bright lights illuminated the immaculate food-preparation area. The kitchen wasn’t large, as Amish kitchens went, but it had a propane-powered refrigerator, double sinks, a freezer, a commercial stove and new butcher-block counters. Leah was the only one there, and she was busy making sandwiches.
“Hey,” Thomas said. He leaned jauntily against the double-door refrigerator. “Could you use some help?”
“Thanks, but I’m almost done.” Leah deftly spread some of her sister Ruth’s famous horseradish mustard on a slice of homemade rye bread and stacked on ham, cheese and pickles. “I thought Sara had too much food, but apparently not.” She chuckled. “A hungry bunch, those Virginians.”
“Probably the long ride. They’re staying over until Monday. Fred Petersheim told me that there’s talk they’ll come quarterly. He’s the short, gray-bearded farmer you were talking to.”
“Ya.” Leah nodded. “He talks a lot.”
Thomas grinned. “About his Holsteins.” Thomas had noticed that the older man had cornered Leah earlier in the evening. “He told me he lost his wife last winter. Does he have children?”
“Six, but two are grown and out of the house,” Leah responded. “The rest are girls.”
“He seems like a respectable man. I doubt Sara would invite him if he wasn’t.” Seeing that there were dirty dishes and silverware in the sink, he rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands and began to run warm water over the dishes. “I may as well wash these up,” he said. A dishwasher was the one appliance Sara didn’t have. With so much available help, she’d never seen the need.
“Are they still playing Dutch Blitz?” Leah placed the sandwich halves on a tray one by one. “I saw you won the first round.”
“Lost the second,” he said. “Ya, they’re playing. Couples now.” He reached under the sink for the dishwashing soap. “So, you’ve decided to let Sara make a match for you?”
Leah glanced over at him. “God willing. Sara seems pretty optimistic.” She gave him a quizzical look. “Is she trying to find a wife for you?”
“I’m thinking about it. Ellie suggested it.” He made a face. “I haven’t had any success on my own.”
Leah tried to open a quart jar of spiced peaches, but the lid was stuck. “Do you think you could open this?” Her vivid blue eyes regarded him hopefully. “Sometimes these lids are on so tight that it’s impossible to get them off.”
“Sure.” Thomas dried his hands on a towel and took the peaches. The ring gave easily under his strength. Without asking, he opened the other jar that she’d put on the counter beside the sandwiches. “Here you go.”
“Danki.”
Leah smiled her thanks and he was struck again by just how attractive she was. She didn’t look like a woman who’d been married and had a child. She hardly looked more than nineteen. Before she’d wed Daniel Brown and gone to Brazil with him, most people said she was the prettiest girl in Kent County, Amish or Englisher. He and Leah had never dated because she was a lot younger than he was and didn’t run with the same crowd. It was a shame she’d suffered such loss. But it did his heart good to see her here, still able to smile after all she’d been through.
Leah dumped the peaches into a blue-flowered bowl. “I’m surprised that you and Ellie are still speaking, let alone her giving you advice on finding a wife.”
He grimaced. “I’ll admit that I’m still smarting from the blow of her refusing me, but we’re too good of friends to let that come between us.”
“Sensible.”
“She’s special, Ellie. She’ll make some man a good wife. I’m just sorry it won’t be me.”
“It says something about you, Thomas,” Leah said, “that her being a little person didn’t matter to you. If you had married, your children may have been short statured, like her.”
“Ya, I did think about that. But it would have been in God’s hands. And who’s to say that being six feet tall is any better than being four feet tall?”
“Your parents didn’t mind?”
Thomas returned to washing the utensils in the sink. “My father huffed and puffed, but my grandfather reminded him that he had an uncle who had only one arm. He said that Uncle Otto could outwork any man he knew. And once Mam and Dat got to know Ellie, it wasn’t a problem anymore.”
“Your grandfather sounds like a wise man.”
“And a good one. He’s been good to me. My brother will inherit my father’s farm, but my grandfather has promised his to me. I was supposed to take up his trade, his and my dat’s, of smithing, but I’m not sure it’s what I want to do.” He lifted a dripping colander from the soapy water and rinsed it under the tap.
“Were you trained as a blacksmith?”
He nodded. “Ya. I was, but I think everyone is beginning to realize I may not be cut out for it. Grossdaddi has arranged for a new apprentice, Jakob Schwartz from Indiana. He’s arriving tomorrow.” Taking a clean towel, Thomas carefully dried the colander and put it in the cabinet under the sink. “Jakob’s little, like Ellie, but Grossdaddi says he has the makings of a fine smith.” He glanced at her. “You need the strength in the arms. Height doesn’t matter.”
Leah removed her oversize work apron. She was wearing a dark plum dress with a starched white Mennonite prayer kapp. “I suppose I should get these sandwiches out there.”
“The platter is heavy. Let me,” he offered.
“I can do it. I’m used to lifting heavy objects. Once, one of our parishioners brought home a quarter of a cow.” Leah rolled her eyes. “I didn’t ask where he’d gotten the beef. There was always a running feud between the farmers and the indigenous people.” She picked up the tray.
“What was it like, living among them?”
“Wonderful. Awful. I never knew what kind of day we were going to have, one where nothing happened or one where the world turned upside down.” She chuckled. “A fine missionary I turned out to be. I could never even pronounce or spell the name our people called themselves. They are listed in our rolls as the St. Joseph tribe or the St. Joes.”
“I’d like to hear more about them,” Thomas admitted. “I’m curious as to what they’re like.”
She gave him a surprised look and set the tray down. “Really? You’re one of the few to ask. Since I’ve come home, I mean.”
He nodded. “Ya, I’m sure. But I’ve always been interested in the English world.” He grimaced. “That didn’t sound right, did it?”
She chuckled. “Ne, Thomas, it didn’t. I wouldn’t expect you to know, but I can’t imagine a life more un-English than our village. But to them, it is all the world. Like us, most of the St. Joes want to remain apart, with their customs and their jungle.”
He felt a
