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Authors: Beverly Lewis
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wouldn’t press her about it.
But he wasn’t about to give up. “One of the hymns from the Aus-bund ?” Jacob asked. “I like singin’ in church, too. I like ‘The Hymn of Praise.”’
Katie smiled nervously. Here was a boy who loved music almost as much as she did. She only hoped that he hadn’t noticed how different her song was from the ones in the sixteenth-century hymnbook.
With eyes shining up at her, Jacob pleaded, “Will ya come for supper tonight? We can sing some hymns then, maybe.”
“Well . . .” She hesitated, uncertain how to answer, since his father had not yet declared himself.
“Oh, please, Katie? I’ll even help ya cook.”
John stepped up, tousled the tumbled curls, and drew the boy close just as the older children appeared at the window, waving and smiling, looking like a row of stairsteps.
“Then we’ll invite not only Katie but her whole family, too.” John’s obvious delight was touching. Even in his heavy black work coat and felt hat—his full beard indicating his widowed status—the bishop made a right impressive sight. “And speaking of invitations, all my relatives and friends have been notified about the wedding. I finished up just this morning,” he added with an air of satisfaction.
“Mamma and I are all through, too,” Katie said, relieved that the first awkward moments had passed. “All except her Mennonite cousins, the Millers. We’ll probably send them a postcard.”
“Well, if you need to borrow any of our dishes for the wedding feast, just let me know.” He reached into the buggy and touched her hand. “Will you come for supper, then?”
She fought back her fears and put a cheerful smile on her face. “Jah, we’ll come. I’ll tell Mamma when I get home.”
“Gut, then. We’ll be looking for all of you later.” His blue-gray gaze held Katie’s with an intensity and longing she’d not witnessed before, not in John Beiler’s eyes. And he leaned close and kissed her cheek.
Despite the wintry temperature, her face grew warm and she looked down, staring at the reins in her lap. The desire in his eyes made her uncomfortable . . . aware of her own innocence and her femininity. She’d witnessed this look passing between other couples, long before she was old enough to comprehend its meaning. But there was no mistaking it now. Without further word, she inched Molasses down the slippery slope toward the main road.
“ Da Herr sei mit du— the Lord be with you,” John called after her.
“And with you,” she replied, willing the sting out of her cheeks.
Six
Rebecca was in the kitchen pulling on her boots when Katie arrived. “I’m awful late,” she sputtered in a flurry to put on her shawl and black winter bonnet. “What’s been keepin’ you, anyway?”
“Oh, I rode down to Mary Stoltzfus’s for a bit.”
Rebecca’s lips twitched with the beginning of a smile. “Mary’s?”
Katie grinned. “Everyone’s there waiting for you, Mamma. Ella Mae, some of the cousins . . . and probably lots more by now. Better hurry.”
“Jah, I ’spect they’re waiting, all right.”
She bustled out with a wave and a gentle reminder to Katie to finish sewing her wedding dress.
It seemed odd not to be attending the quilting bee today. Quiltings were popular in winter, Katie knew. When the land was resting, the women of the church district often got together to do their needlework, waiting for the first spring thaw that would wake the good earth again.
Katie could almost hear the chatter and laughter as she thought about the frolic and the quilt they’d be finishing by sometime around dark tonight. Some of the women would probably mention how lonely poor Bishop John had been these past years since his first wife went to Glory, and how wonderful-gut it was that Katie had accepted his proposal. Most likely, they’d be passing on a bit of gossip, too, from time to time. And always there would be Mam’s tales.
Katie wondered which story it might
But he wasn’t about to give up. “One of the hymns from the Aus-bund ?” Jacob asked. “I like singin’ in church, too. I like ‘The Hymn of Praise.”’
Katie smiled nervously. Here was a boy who loved music almost as much as she did. She only hoped that he hadn’t noticed how different her song was from the ones in the sixteenth-century hymnbook.
With eyes shining up at her, Jacob pleaded, “Will ya come for supper tonight? We can sing some hymns then, maybe.”
“Well . . .” She hesitated, uncertain how to answer, since his father had not yet declared himself.
“Oh, please, Katie? I’ll even help ya cook.”
John stepped up, tousled the tumbled curls, and drew the boy close just as the older children appeared at the window, waving and smiling, looking like a row of stairsteps.
“Then we’ll invite not only Katie but her whole family, too.” John’s obvious delight was touching. Even in his heavy black work coat and felt hat—his full beard indicating his widowed status—the bishop made a right impressive sight. “And speaking of invitations, all my relatives and friends have been notified about the wedding. I finished up just this morning,” he added with an air of satisfaction.
“Mamma and I are all through, too,” Katie said, relieved that the first awkward moments had passed. “All except her Mennonite cousins, the Millers. We’ll probably send them a postcard.”
“Well, if you need to borrow any of our dishes for the wedding feast, just let me know.” He reached into the buggy and touched her hand. “Will you come for supper, then?”
She fought back her fears and put a cheerful smile on her face. “Jah, we’ll come. I’ll tell Mamma when I get home.”
“Gut, then. We’ll be looking for all of you later.” His blue-gray gaze held Katie’s with an intensity and longing she’d not witnessed before, not in John Beiler’s eyes. And he leaned close and kissed her cheek.
Despite the wintry temperature, her face grew warm and she looked down, staring at the reins in her lap. The desire in his eyes made her uncomfortable . . . aware of her own innocence and her femininity. She’d witnessed this look passing between other couples, long before she was old enough to comprehend its meaning. But there was no mistaking it now. Without further word, she inched Molasses down the slippery slope toward the main road.
“ Da Herr sei mit du— the Lord be with you,” John called after her.
“And with you,” she replied, willing the sting out of her cheeks.
Six
Rebecca was in the kitchen pulling on her boots when Katie arrived. “I’m awful late,” she sputtered in a flurry to put on her shawl and black winter bonnet. “What’s been keepin’ you, anyway?”
“Oh, I rode down to Mary Stoltzfus’s for a bit.”
Rebecca’s lips twitched with the beginning of a smile. “Mary’s?”
Katie grinned. “Everyone’s there waiting for you, Mamma. Ella Mae, some of the cousins . . . and probably lots more by now. Better hurry.”
“Jah, I ’spect they’re waiting, all right.”
She bustled out with a wave and a gentle reminder to Katie to finish sewing her wedding dress.
It seemed odd not to be attending the quilting bee today. Quiltings were popular in winter, Katie knew. When the land was resting, the women of the church district often got together to do their needlework, waiting for the first spring thaw that would wake the good earth again.
Katie could almost hear the chatter and laughter as she thought about the frolic and the quilt they’d be finishing by sometime around dark tonight. Some of the women would probably mention how lonely poor Bishop John had been these past years since his first wife went to Glory, and how wonderful-gut it was that Katie had accepted his proposal. Most likely, they’d be passing on a bit of gossip, too, from time to time. And always there would be Mam’s tales.
Katie wondered which story it might
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