demanding such things—and she had every reason to suspect they were, despite Ephram’s tight-lipped refusal to comment—then surely the bishop would set them all straight. And anyway, why wouldn’t a son want to farm with his father? She didn’t understand and was quite sure Caleb would never do otherwise as the youngest son in the family. In the Old Order community, the youngest typically inherited the farm.
She thought of Caleb receiving the nearly one hundred acres his father and grandfather had farmed—property that went clear back to his great-grandfather Yoder. Was Caleb itching to claim the land of his ancestors?
Surely he is, she thought. Just like any son who finds himself on the eve of his father’s impending retirement . But before Caleb could take on the family farm, he must find himself a bride.
Caleb knew he would remember weeks, maybe months from now, exactly how Nellie Mae Fisher looked as she came walking across the yard toward Deacon Lapp’s house. Her face was rosy, like she’d gotten a mite too close to an old cookstove, and a stray slip of hair on her neck made her appear younger than her seventeen years.
Nellie had not been a girl who stuck out in a crowd, at least not until this past summer. As if blossoming overnight, she was suddenly altogether feminine and pretty in a way he couldn’t describe. She possessed something more than the curvaceous beauty of some of the girls he’d dated and quickly tired of. The sparkle to her eyes and mystery in her smile made him wonder why he hadn’t noticed her before.
He’d gone out to get some fresh air, secretly hoping to encounter Nellie. Instead, he happened upon two men locked in debate. Thankfully the pair were moving now from the interior of the back porch to outside, near the well pump, as their arguing rose to a higher pitch. Unexpectedly three more men marched up, joining the first two as one raised his fist in the air.
“No tellin’ where all this will lead.” One man’s words floated to the sky.
Caleb wanted to spare Nellie the commotion, but she was making a beeline straight for the house. She would have to enter the back doorway and head through the porch to return to the kitchen.
He called to her. “Nellie Mae!”
When her big eyes caught his gaze, her engaging smile spread clear across her face. “Hullo, Caleb,” she said right out, not like some girls who seemed nearly afraid of their voices. Of course, he’d expected such composure in a girl capable of running a bakery shop. Surely he could also expect to hear back from her soon regarding his written invitation.
His heart beat more quickly at the thought that, for the first time in more than a year of asking girls to go riding after Singings and such, he couldn’t be sure what the answer would be.
“You mind walkin’ round the house with me, right quick?” He steered her away from the growing cluster of men.
“Why, sure.” She smiled at his request and turned, not waiting for him to smile back. “Did you hear what they were talking ’bout?” she asked.
“Some, jah.”
“Well, I didn’t like it, not one bit. Did you?” She was straight to the point and it pleased him.
He stopped then, where the Dawdi Haus jutted out from the main house, hiding them well enough. He was glad when she did the same, her eyes squarely on his as she awaited his answer. “There are men who are lookin’ for loopholes in the Ordnung,” he told her. “Some are willin’ to walk away from the beliefs of our forefathers . . . what they laid down as the right way to live and work.”
A way of life paid for with the blood of our martyrs . . .
He wouldn’t go on; he would spare her too much of his opinion now, alone as they momentarily were in broad daylight.
“Well, I’m altogether sure of one thing,” she replied.
“What’s that, Nellie Mae?”
“My father will have nothin’ of that sort of talk.” She did not blink and her pretty, heart-shaped face was mighty
She thought of Caleb receiving the nearly one hundred acres his father and grandfather had farmed—property that went clear back to his great-grandfather Yoder. Was Caleb itching to claim the land of his ancestors?
Surely he is, she thought. Just like any son who finds himself on the eve of his father’s impending retirement . But before Caleb could take on the family farm, he must find himself a bride.
Caleb knew he would remember weeks, maybe months from now, exactly how Nellie Mae Fisher looked as she came walking across the yard toward Deacon Lapp’s house. Her face was rosy, like she’d gotten a mite too close to an old cookstove, and a stray slip of hair on her neck made her appear younger than her seventeen years.
Nellie had not been a girl who stuck out in a crowd, at least not until this past summer. As if blossoming overnight, she was suddenly altogether feminine and pretty in a way he couldn’t describe. She possessed something more than the curvaceous beauty of some of the girls he’d dated and quickly tired of. The sparkle to her eyes and mystery in her smile made him wonder why he hadn’t noticed her before.
He’d gone out to get some fresh air, secretly hoping to encounter Nellie. Instead, he happened upon two men locked in debate. Thankfully the pair were moving now from the interior of the back porch to outside, near the well pump, as their arguing rose to a higher pitch. Unexpectedly three more men marched up, joining the first two as one raised his fist in the air.
“No tellin’ where all this will lead.” One man’s words floated to the sky.
Caleb wanted to spare Nellie the commotion, but she was making a beeline straight for the house. She would have to enter the back doorway and head through the porch to return to the kitchen.
He called to her. “Nellie Mae!”
When her big eyes caught his gaze, her engaging smile spread clear across her face. “Hullo, Caleb,” she said right out, not like some girls who seemed nearly afraid of their voices. Of course, he’d expected such composure in a girl capable of running a bakery shop. Surely he could also expect to hear back from her soon regarding his written invitation.
His heart beat more quickly at the thought that, for the first time in more than a year of asking girls to go riding after Singings and such, he couldn’t be sure what the answer would be.
“You mind walkin’ round the house with me, right quick?” He steered her away from the growing cluster of men.
“Why, sure.” She smiled at his request and turned, not waiting for him to smile back. “Did you hear what they were talking ’bout?” she asked.
“Some, jah.”
“Well, I didn’t like it, not one bit. Did you?” She was straight to the point and it pleased him.
He stopped then, where the Dawdi Haus jutted out from the main house, hiding them well enough. He was glad when she did the same, her eyes squarely on his as she awaited his answer. “There are men who are lookin’ for loopholes in the Ordnung,” he told her. “Some are willin’ to walk away from the beliefs of our forefathers . . . what they laid down as the right way to live and work.”
A way of life paid for with the blood of our martyrs . . .
He wouldn’t go on; he would spare her too much of his opinion now, alone as they momentarily were in broad daylight.
“Well, I’m altogether sure of one thing,” she replied.
“What’s that, Nellie Mae?”
“My father will have nothin’ of that sort of talk.” She did not blink and her pretty, heart-shaped face was mighty
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