I’ll catch him, all right.” Ellen reached for the lunch box tied securely in her scooter basket on the steering column. She unfastened it, removed a red apple and walked down the road toward the pony. “Look what I have!” she called. “Come here, boy.”
Butterscotch raised his head and peered at her from under a thick forelock. His ears went up and then twitched.
Ellen whistled softly. “Nice pony.”
He pawed the dirt with one small hoof, took a few steps and the cart rolled forward, away from her.
“Easy,” Ellen coaxed. “Look what I have.” She held up the apple. “Whoa, easy, now.”
The pony wrinkled his nose and snorted, side-stepping in the harness, making the cart shift one way and then the other. Ellen walked around in front of him and took a bite out of the apple before she offered it again. Butterscotch sniffed the air and stared at the apple. “Goot boy,” she crooned, knowing he was anything but a good boy.
The palomino was a legend in the neighborhood. For all his beauty, he was not the obedient pony a man like Simeon needed. This was not the first time Butterscotch had left his owner stranded. And Butterscotch didn’t stay put in his pasture, either. He was a master of escape: opening locked gates, squeezing through gaps in fences and jumping ditches to wander off into someone’s orchard or garden to feast on forbidden fruit. He’d been known to nip and kick at other horses, and more than once he’d run away while hitched, overturning the cart. Ellen couldn’t imagine why the Shetlers kept him. He certainly wasn’t safe for Simeon’s grandsons to ride or drive. A clever pony like him was a handful for anyone to manage, let alone a one-legged man in his sixties.
Cautiously, Ellen took a few steps closer to the pony. Butterscotch tossed his head and moved six feet farther down the road. “So that’s the way it will be,” she said. The sound of a vehicle alerted her to an approaching car. The driver, coming from the direction of Honeysuckle, slowed. The pony stood and watched as the sedan passed. He wasn’t traffic shy, which was the one good thing that Ellen could say about him.
When the car had disappeared behind her, Ellen took another bite of the apple, turned her back on Butterscotch and retraced her steps toward Simeon. She heard the creak of the harness and the rattle of wheels behind her, but she kept walking. She kept going until she was almost even with Simeon, then stopped and waited. It wasn’t long before she felt the nudge of a soft nose on her arm. Without making eye contact, she held out the remainder of the apple. Butterscotch sunk his teeth into the piece of fruit, sending rivulets of juice dripping down Ellen’s arm. Swiftly, she reached back and took hold of the pony’s bridle.
“Gotcha,” she murmured in triumph.
Once Simeon was safely on the seat of the cart, reins in hand, with the cart turned toward Honeysuckle again, he waved to her scooter. “Why don’t you put that in the back? Ride with me. We can talk on the way.”
Curious and a little apprehensive, Ellen lifted her scooter into the back. He offered his hand. She put a foot into the iron bracket and stepped up into the cart. “Have I done something wrong?” she asked.
She couldn’t imagine what. She hadn’t been roller skating at the local rink in months, and she took care to always dress modestly in public, even if she did wear a safety helmet when she used her scooter in high-traffic areas.
“Of course not.” Simeon shook the reins. “Walk on.” Butterscotch moved forward and the cart rolled along. “You’re an excellent example for our younger girls, Ellen,” he said, turning to favor her with a smile. “You’re devout and hardworking.”
Now he really had her attention. The familiar sound of horse’s hooves alerted her to a horse and buggy coming up behind them. Ellen glanced over her shoulder; the driver was Joseph Lapp. She and Simeon waved as Joseph swung around, passing the pony cart. He waved back and quickly moved on ahead of them.
“Wonder if we’ll start tongues clucking, riding together,” Simeon remarked.
Ellen looked at him, hoping he was joking. Simeon wasn’t going to ask if he could come courting, was he? It seemed like once a month he was asking someone permission to court—a matter that kept the women of the community, from age eighteen to eighty, chuckling. But the twinkle in his faded blue eyes told her that he was teasing, and she relaxed a little.
“I want to discuss with you a problem that’s been worrying me in my household.” He tugged at his full gray beard thoughtfully. “As you know, ours is a bachelor house—one grandfather, two grown sons and two small boys. And we’re sorely in need of a woman’s hand. Oh, we cook and clean and try to keep things in order, but everyone knows a good woman is the heart of any home.”
Unconsciously, she clasped her hands together and tried to think of what she would say if he asked to walk out with her. A few months ago, he’d asked her twenty-nine-year-old widowed friend, Ruthie.
“You’re what, Ellen? Two and thirty?”
“Thirty-three,” she said softly.
“Jah, thirty-three. Almost three years younger than my Neziah.” He fixed her with a level gaze. “You should have married long ago, girl. You should be a mother with a home of your own.”
“My parents...” she mumbled. “They’ve needed help, and—”
“Your devotion to your mother and father is admirable,” he interrupted. “But in time, they’ll both be gathered to the Lord, and you’ll be left alone. And if you wait too long, you’ll have no children to care for you in your old age.”
Her mouth went dry. What Simeon was saying was true. A truth she tried not to think about. It wasn’t that she hadn’t once dreamed of having a husband and children, simply that the time had never been right and the right man had never asked her. She’d had her courting days once, but her father had gotten ill and then there was the fire...and the years had simply gotten away from her. She believed that God had a plan for her, but her life seemed whole and happy as it was. If she never married, would it be such a tragedy?
“I’ve long prayed over my own sons’ dilemma,” Simeon confided as he loosened the reins and flicked them over Butterscotch’s back to urge him on faster. “Neither one is married now, and both would be the happier if they were. So I’ve prayed and waited for an answer, and it seems to me that the Lord has made clear to me what must be done.”
Ellen turned to him. “He has?”
Simeon turned the full force of his winning smile on her. “You should marry one of them.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “It makes perfect sense. My land and your father’s are side by side. Most of his is wooded with fine old hardwood, and we make our living by the lumber mill. I’ve known you since you were a babe in arms, and there’s no young woman I’d more willingly welcome into our family.”
She, who never was at a loss for words, was almost speechless. “I...” She stopped and started again. She couldn’t help but stare at Simeon. “You think I should marry Neziah or Micah?”
“Not only think it, but am certain of it. I already told them both at breakfast this morning.” He narrowed his gaze. “Now I expect you to be honest with me, Ellen. Do you have any objection to either of them for reason of character or religious faith?”
She shook her head as the images of handsome, young, blond Micah and serious, dark-haired
