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Authors: Alice J. Wisler
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for not knowing more about her culinary tastes.
“Well, she has to like strudel,” Ormond said as he lowered the paper onto his desk. “Everyone loves that.”
“What about dinner at that Italian place?”
“Does she like Italian food?”
Ormond was certainly full of questions this afternoon. Gideon felt like he was playing a game of Twenty Questions. “I don’t know much about her.” He realized this was probably one of the truest statements he’d made. What did he really know about Mari? Up until a few moments ago, he’d had her pegged as either an unwed mother or a divorcee with a child.
Ormond took a sip from his coffee cup then resumed his paper reading. “You know,” he said, “she’s new to the area. She could probably use a friend.”
Gideon liked the sound of Ormond’s words. He busied himselfwith an inventory check of the storage room, making notes on his clipboard, and thinking of how he could ask Mari for a date.
When he walked past Ormond’s desk, the old man stood to stretch his legs. “So all that advice I gave you about divorce isn’t necessary anymore?”
“What?”
“You thought she was divorced, didn’t you? Thought an Amish man couldn’t date a divorced woman?”
There was no pretending with Ormond. He must have known when Gideon asked about the Bible and divorce, that he’d had Mari in mind. “Did you know she was single when I asked you all those questions?”
Ormond adjusted his glasses and sat back down. “I guess I just felt I should wait until you figured it all out. I knew Mari and Kiki were sisters all along.” Then he laughed as if he’d just given the punch line of one of his favorite jokes.
10
G ideon woke before the sun sprinted up into the sky. He felt the relief from days ago wash over him anew as he thought of the connection between Mari and Kiki. Sisters. He could deal with that. He knew he was old-fashioned, but the chains of his childhood belief system were not weak. He’d left his home, his church, and culture. He wore English clothes and owned a truck. But there was something about women he’d been taught from his mother’s knee. “A good girl is not quick to give of herself, and a good girl stays married. No matter what.” That standard had stayed with him.
Looking back over his years under his parents’ roof, he wondered if his mother had to remind herself of the last part of her mantra for the sake of her own sanity.
A good girl stays married.
Had she wanted to stray from her husband, the man who was beast-like as he demanded respect and yet could not give it, shouted orders, and listened to no reason?
Gideon dismissed those thoughts as he spread apple butter on multigrain toast. He poured a glass of apple cider from a jug he’d boughtfrom Henry’s wife. Mebane made her own apple cider and asked Henry to sell it when he went on his daily patrols around town.
Gideon tried a smile as he thought of Henry’s wife, a short woman with a round face and porcelain complexion who held a fierce love of the mountains where she was raised and learned the skill of making the best apple cider. She’d taught their daughter, Ashlyn, to cook as well. That young woman’s specialty was bread she steamed in cans in a pot of hot water. She often dropped off samples at the garage for her fiancé Luke and anyone else willing to give it a try. Gideon had been a guest at Mebane and Henry’s many times, and their home was always cozy with love and respect abounding. Henry valued his wife’s opinion on most topics—except for recycling. He couldn’t see the need to take the time to wash out empty jars and bottles before placing them inside the bin. But even with his inability to match her views on the need to cleanse the cans and jars first, he admired her for going the extra mile. Gideon felt that his father could take some lessons from this English family. With Father, it was his way.
“Well, she has to like strudel,” Ormond said as he lowered the paper onto his desk. “Everyone loves that.”
“What about dinner at that Italian place?”
“Does she like Italian food?”
Ormond was certainly full of questions this afternoon. Gideon felt like he was playing a game of Twenty Questions. “I don’t know much about her.” He realized this was probably one of the truest statements he’d made. What did he really know about Mari? Up until a few moments ago, he’d had her pegged as either an unwed mother or a divorcee with a child.
Ormond took a sip from his coffee cup then resumed his paper reading. “You know,” he said, “she’s new to the area. She could probably use a friend.”
Gideon liked the sound of Ormond’s words. He busied himselfwith an inventory check of the storage room, making notes on his clipboard, and thinking of how he could ask Mari for a date.
When he walked past Ormond’s desk, the old man stood to stretch his legs. “So all that advice I gave you about divorce isn’t necessary anymore?”
“What?”
“You thought she was divorced, didn’t you? Thought an Amish man couldn’t date a divorced woman?”
There was no pretending with Ormond. He must have known when Gideon asked about the Bible and divorce, that he’d had Mari in mind. “Did you know she was single when I asked you all those questions?”
Ormond adjusted his glasses and sat back down. “I guess I just felt I should wait until you figured it all out. I knew Mari and Kiki were sisters all along.” Then he laughed as if he’d just given the punch line of one of his favorite jokes.
10
G ideon woke before the sun sprinted up into the sky. He felt the relief from days ago wash over him anew as he thought of the connection between Mari and Kiki. Sisters. He could deal with that. He knew he was old-fashioned, but the chains of his childhood belief system were not weak. He’d left his home, his church, and culture. He wore English clothes and owned a truck. But there was something about women he’d been taught from his mother’s knee. “A good girl is not quick to give of herself, and a good girl stays married. No matter what.” That standard had stayed with him.
Looking back over his years under his parents’ roof, he wondered if his mother had to remind herself of the last part of her mantra for the sake of her own sanity.
A good girl stays married.
Had she wanted to stray from her husband, the man who was beast-like as he demanded respect and yet could not give it, shouted orders, and listened to no reason?
Gideon dismissed those thoughts as he spread apple butter on multigrain toast. He poured a glass of apple cider from a jug he’d boughtfrom Henry’s wife. Mebane made her own apple cider and asked Henry to sell it when he went on his daily patrols around town.
Gideon tried a smile as he thought of Henry’s wife, a short woman with a round face and porcelain complexion who held a fierce love of the mountains where she was raised and learned the skill of making the best apple cider. She’d taught their daughter, Ashlyn, to cook as well. That young woman’s specialty was bread she steamed in cans in a pot of hot water. She often dropped off samples at the garage for her fiancé Luke and anyone else willing to give it a try. Gideon had been a guest at Mebane and Henry’s many times, and their home was always cozy with love and respect abounding. Henry valued his wife’s opinion on most topics—except for recycling. He couldn’t see the need to take the time to wash out empty jars and bottles before placing them inside the bin. But even with his inability to match her views on the need to cleanse the cans and jars first, he admired her for going the extra mile. Gideon felt that his father could take some lessons from this English family. With Father, it was his way.
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