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about it. Pete Treger was unlike anyone I’d ever met.

CHAPTER 5
    The next morning, over oatmeal with Dat, I pondered Pete’s words again, wondering for the umpteenth time what he meant when he spoke of fire and fury.
    “Cate?”
    My head jerked up. “Jah?”
    Dat had a pleased expression on his face. “Thinking about the singing last night?”
    “Some,” I answered, hoping to evade a more specific question.
    “What time did you and Betsy get home?”
    “I was here by nine,” I said. “But Levi gave Betsy a ride home.” I yawned. “I’m not sure exactly what time she came in.”
    “Oh.” Dat put his spoon in his bowl. “So how was the singing?”
    I took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “Dat,” I said, meeting his gaze. I’d never lied to him. I wasn’t going to start now. “I didn’t actually go. I tried. Really I did.”
    His face fell as I spoke.
    “It’s just . . . once I got there and saw all the young people going into the barn, I couldn’t.”
    He pushed his bowl away. “Cate.” His voice had that tone of despair that made me feel an inch tall.
    “I know, I know. You have every right to be disappointed in me.”
    “How am I ever going to be a grandfather if you won’t even go to a singing?”
    “Just let Betsy court. She’ll be married within the year, and then you’ll be a grandfather by the next.”
    Dat sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
    “What?” I nearly choked on the word.
    “Betsy’s too young to decide who she’ll spend the rest of her life with. And she’s far too young to be a mother.”
    I shook my head. “She’s so good at homemaking, though. And”—hard to believe, but I wasn’t so sure of the word I was looking for—“relationships.”
    “Starting relationships, jah, but it’s not as easy as that. Just a little more time can make a big difference when it comes to being a wife.”
    I stood and headed to the sink.
    “You, on the other hand, are mature enough . . .”
    I turned on the faucet, drowning out my father’s words. He still didn’t get it. No one wanted to court me. Why did he have to keep throwing it back in my face?
    Fifteen minutes later, I was in my office, adding Pete’s information to our payroll database. I used a computer and copy machine, powered by solar panels atop the building, for business purposes only. We also had Internet to e-mail our Englisch customers and distributors and to check to make sure our Web site, maintained by a designer with photos of the cabinets we sold, stayed in good order. Plus, I did some research for the business, mostly checking out competitors and ordering supplies.
    The operation of the office and the management of our house remained in stark contrast to each other. With the population of our people in Lancaster County growing exponentially, there was less and less farmland for the younger generations. So, although farming was our community’s preferred way of life, we had to adapt to support ourselves. Thankfully our family had the small property and could remain in the country—and make a living, thanks to Dat’s business skills.
    At seven o’clock, the shop crew arrived. Soon I was engrossed in the flyer Dat had asked me to make for his business-consulting clients. He was offering a free hour for every referral sent his way. As I wrote the ad copy, I toyed with an article idea about what a person needed to do to start a small business, an Amish person in particular, wondering if it was perhaps an article I could write for one of the Plain newspapers or magazines.
    At seven forty-five, as I was proofing the flyer, someone knocked on my office door.
    “Come in,” I said absentmindedly, sure it was Dat with some new idea for me to implement.
    It wasn’t my father; it was Pete. My heart fluttered at the sight of him. He smelled fresh, like the cold spring air mixed with the scent of goat’s milk soap, and wore a clean shirt and nicer pants than the ones he’d had on the