She wasn’t the kind of girl a boy like him would be interested in. She couldn’t fathom why he’d asked to take her home from the softball game. Was it a way to get in good with Ginger? But that made no sense, because Ginger already said she was interested in him. Marshall Byler probably knew he could get any girl in the country into his buggy.
“Marshall is good-looking. But also faithful.” Ginger carefully studied the halter she’d finished, found no flaws and set it aside. She looked up at her sister. “And you really aren’t interested in him?”
“Ne, I am not.” Lovage said it with more conviction than she felt. “I just arrived in Hickory Grove. I’m certainly not going to get involved with some fast-talking farmer my first week here. Especially not now when Mam needs my help more than ever.”
Ginger rolled the remaining thread onto the spool and tucked it into the drawer under the tabletop. “Probably just as well.” She wrinkled her nose. “Marshall’s not your type.”
“And who is my type?” Lovage rested on hand on her hip. “Ishmael Slabaugh?” she asked, referring to the young man she’d come close to becoming betrothed to.
Her sister shook her head so hard that her scarf slipped off the back of her head. “Ne, I didn’t care for him. Too serious. I’m glad you didn’t marry him. You can do better.” She removed the navy scarf and tied it over her hair again. Unruly tendrils of curly yellow hair framed her heart-shaped face, a face with a complexion like fresh cream, an unusually pretty face with practically no freckles and soft, dark brows that arched over thick lashes and large, intelligent eyes.
Envy was a sin, and only a wicked girl would be envious of a much-loved sister. But not resenting Ginger’s golden hair, rosebud lips and pert nose wasn’t easy when you were a brown-haired string bean with a too-full mouth and a firm German chin. Lovage had to remind herself to put it all into proper perspective. She, Ginger, Bay, Tara and Nettie had always been close, and having sisters that everyone called the catch of the county was her burden to bear. Aunt Jane, her dat’s older sister, hadn’t made it any easier, always pointing out that Lovage took after her plain, sensible father and not her mother with her pretty face and quirky ways.
“It’s probably just as well you don’t ride home with Marshall. You’re not suited for someone like him,” Ginger continued. “He’s looking for a fun girlfriend.”
“What? And I’m not fun?” Lovage frowned, opening her arms wide. “How can you say that? I’m fun. I like to do fun things.”
Ginger giggled. “You are a lot of things, but fun isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when I think of you. You’re strong and brave and caring. And you’re dependable. You’ve always been there for your family and anyone in need. But fun?” She wrinkled her nose. “Not so much.”
Lovage rolled her eyes.
“If anything,” Ginger went on, “you can be the opposite of fun. You never do anything that’s not comfortable for you. You never... What’s the Englisher phrase? Step out of your box? Bay and I are sure you’d have a better chance of finding a beau if you didn’t take yourself and life so seriously.”
“You’re wrong,” Lovage insisted. “I don’t have a beau because I don’t want one. And I certainly don’t want a husband. Not right now, at least.”
“Me, neither,” Ginger confided. She rose from her seat and carried the newly finished halter to a peg on the wall. “I want to go to frolics and enjoy myself for a few years. When I marry, it will be for life. Plenty of time to be serious then.”
“Mam thinks I should be looking for a husband,” Lovage mused. “Just last night when we were getting ready for bed, she reminded me that I have a birthday coming up.”
“You’ve got time. Twenty-five isn’t old age.” Ginger stood and perched on the edge of the worktable, crossing her legs at the knee and swinging a slim, bare foot. “And the sooner you marry, the sooner Mam will start thinking it’s time for Bay and me to make a match. And, like I told you, neither of us is in a hurry.”
“Goot. We agree on something.”
“But...” Ginger chuckled and shook her head. “Since you brought up the subject, I may as well have my say as chew on it like an old cow’s cud.”
“Say it then,” Lovage replied. “You know you will, anyway.”
“Okay, so maybe...” Ginger leaned forward and looked her straight in the eye. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so stubborn, and listen to someone once in a while. You know I love you more than gingerbread, and I only want what’s best for you.”
Lovage grimaced. “All right, all right. Say it and get it over with.”
“I’ve been talking to Bay and we agree. Our advice to you as the new girl is to make friends and go to the singings and the ball games and the frolics. Enjoy yourself before you settle down with a husband and babies. I’m going to the softball game. I think we all are. You should come with us. You’re a mean catcher, and we need one. Most of the girls are afraid of the ball.”
Lovage suddenly felt nervous. “What if this Marshall pesters me to ride home with him?”
Ginger shrugged. “I doubt he will.” She broke into a sassy grin. “Not when I give him my best smile.”
Lovage sighed and glanced away. A part of her wanted to go to the softball game, but this thing with Marshall suddenly seemed like so much pressure. “But what if he does?”
“Then you should go ride home with him. Like I said, you’re not his type, but it might be a good way to meet other boys. To be friendly with Marshall. He knows everyone in the county.”
Lovage crossed her arms over her chest. A part of her wanted to tell Marshall she’d ride home with him, just to prove to Ginger that she could be fun.
“Come on. I dare you to do it.” Still grinning, Ginger poked Lovage in the arm with her finger. “Tell you what, sister. If you ride home from the softball game with Marshall Byler Saturday night, I’ll take your turn at washing dishes for a whole week.”
Lovage knelt on a carpet of thick moss and pulled up a few dandelions that were sprouting up beside the fish pond. “Your herb beds are coming along beautifully, Mam. I didn’t think you’d be this far along with them.” She dropped the dandelions into a bucket with the few weeds she’d already pulled. “And the waterfall is perfect for this spot. I love the sound of the water. It’s so relaxing.”
Her mother placed freshly cut sprigs of lavender in a basket and rested her large, dirt-streaked hands on her hips. “I’m so glad you’re finally here, Lovey. I’ve missed you so much. No one appreciates my garden like you do.” She studied the twenty-foot, oblong pond with its bubbling cascade, miniature lily pads, cattails and decorative rock border, and smiled. “I wish I could take credit for this, but I can’t. The pond, the Irish moss and the wrought-iron bench were already here when Benjamin brought me to look at the farm. When I walked through that gate and saw this herb garden and the flowing water, I fell in love with the place. I told him that this was the one before I even set foot in the house.”
Lovage
