like Rosemary, but a bit of an odd duck, isn’t she? And marrying at her age, to a man with all those boys? Brave she is, too.” Lynita studied him through her dark glasses. “I’m glad you’re thinking about finding a good woman, but I think you’d best stay closer to home. A girl born and raised here.” She went up the porch steps.
He followed her. “Not this again, Mammi. Faith is a perfectly nice girl, but—”
“She can cook,” his grandmother interrupted. “She can sew as fine a stitch on a quilt as I’ve ever seen, and you won’t have to worry about her bringing any fancy ideas from New York. She grew up here in Hickory Grove just like you. She knows how things are done.” At the top of the steps, she took the basket from him, an egg basket she’d woven herself. “I like her name better, too.”
Marshall glanced away, grinning. His grandmother was persistent, if nothing else. She’d been touting their neighbor Faith King’s qualities since Easter Sunday, when she and Faith’s mother had talked after services and she had learned that Faith was ready to start looking for a serious suitor. Faith was young and pretty and she cooked as fine a stuffed pig’s maw as he had ever eaten. He’d give her that, but she didn’t light a spark in him. Not the way Lovey had.
He looked at his grandmother, who, standing on the porch with him still on the stairs, was nearly his height.
“Grossmammi, you know I respect your opinion, but—”
“And her father’s land meets ours to the north. Couldn’t be more convenient. Eldest girl and no sons to inherit.” She lifted her snowy-white brows. “The two farms together would make a fine piece of land someday.”
“As I was saying before you interrupted—”
“Ne, I didn’t interrupt. I’m older than you are, and wiser.” She pointed a tiny finger at him. “It’s not an interruption coming from an elder. It’s a fact.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re not marrying me off to Faith King, Mammi.” He turned and went down the steps. First, he was going to check on Sam’s progress unhitching Toby, and then he intended to work on replacing a rotting post in the grape arbor until his grandmother called them for dinner. “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll find my own wife.” At the bottom of the steps, he turned to her, opening his arms wide. “I already have.”
* * *
Lovage walked off the softball field, carrying a catcher’s mask under her arm. The community softball games were so popular in Hickory Grove that Bishop Simon not only had a ballfield on his property, but equipment: bats, balls, extra gloves and an old catcher’s mask he’d found at Spence’s Bazaar. Lovage hadn’t been to the market in nearby Dover, where Amish and Englishers sold wares and foodstuffs and shopped, but she’d heard it mentioned multiple times since her arrival in Delaware. It was a place one could find not just treasures like a used catcher’s mask, but also handmade items like quilts and wooden crafts, deli sandwiches, homemade cakes and doughnuts and pickles and preserves.
“Nice game,” one of the young men, John Mary Byler, who had played third base on her team, said as he walked by. He was with Lovage’s stepbrothers Jacob and Joshua, who were identical twins. With matching haircuts, even knowing them her whole life, Lovage had to listen to their speech patterns to identify which was Jacob and which was Joshua. Their eldest brother, Ethan, said they purposely tried to do things exactly the same way, copying each other’s gestures and such to confuse people purposely for fun.
Lovage nodded and looked down at the ground, feeling self-conscious. John Mary hadn’t wanted her on his team; it had been obvious from the look on his face when Bishop Simon had divvied them up. She supposed this was his way of apologizing, now that he knew she could play softball pretty well, but he still made her feel uncomfortable. Or maybe it was his cousin Marshall Byler who was making her nervous. Marshall had played for the other team, but had kept up a running dialogue with her the whole afternoon, complimenting her on every good throw she made from behind the plate and assuring her she’d get the next one if she missed a strike thrown to her. He was the pitcher for the other team. And now the game was over and families were packing up to go home to tuck little ones into bed. Young men and women of courting age were beginning to break into groups or even pairs to spend an hour together—chaperoned, of course—before they went home.
“Thirsty?” Marshall seemed to come out of nowhere to walk beside her across the grass toward the area where families were packing up the leftovers from the cookout potluck. In the distance, she could see her mother filling one of their three picnic baskets while speaking to Jesse. Benjamin was shamelessly putting covers on food dishes and handing them to her as if every fifty-year-old Amish man cleaned up after supper.
“I’m sorry. What?” Lovage glanced at Marshall. They were the same height, something she hadn’t noticed at the harness shop the other day. She was a tall woman and he wasn’t a tall man. Not that that mattered to her. In fact, she liked being able to walk beside him and look him eye-to-eye. Or she would if he wasn’t making her so nervous, meeting her gaze, holding it every time she looked his way.
“Would you like something to drink? There’s some of my grossmammi’s lemonade left. I’m partial to it. She adds a little fresh squeezed orange juice to it. And plenty of sugar, unlike someone else I know,” he joked.
She kept walking, trying not to laugh, because it would only encourage him. In the last couple hours, she’d gone back and forth half a dozen times trying to decide if she was brave enough to ride home with Marshall or not. A part of her wanted to because, against her will, she found she liked him. Not only was he fun to be around, always laughing and joking, but he was also such a kind man. Not self-centered like so many single men. He gave out compliments freely and seemed endlessly supportive, even to those members of his team who obviously couldn’t play softball.
And he was the most handsome man on the field. Or at least she thought he was. He wore the same clothing all of the other eligible young men wore: homemade dungaree pants, a short-sleeved shirt and a straw hat. But there was something about him that made her a little light-headed when she was able to steal a glance at him when he wasn’t looking. Maybe it was how tightly his sleeves fitted around his biceps, or the way his hair met his neckline, plain to see when he’d thrown aside his hat early in the game to make a play at home plate.
The other reason she was seriously considering riding home with Marshall was because of Ginger’s dare. Not having to do dishes for a week was very tempting. But it was more than that. Ginger didn’t think she’d ride home with Marshall alone in his buggy. She didn’t think Lovage was brave enough. Or fun enough. Ginger said Lovage wasn’t the kind of girl Marshall would ever be interested in.
What if she proved her wrong?
“Would you like to stay a little while?” Marshall asked. “Before we head home? Sometimes there are games for the singles after families head out. Singing and such.”
She glanced at him. “At home that was more for the younger couples.” The minute the word couples came out of her mouth, she blushed profusely and looked away. She couldn’t believe she’d just said that, suggesting they were in any way a couple. “I...I didn’t mean—”
“That I don’t like to have fun because I’ve reached the ancient age of thirty?” he asked. His tone was teasing.
“That we’re a couple,” she blurted, knowing her face must be bright red.
He slid his hands into the front pockets of his pants thoughtfully. “I don’t
