Emma Miller - The Amish Bride

“I’m not sure I like being part of a competition . And I haven’t said I’d ride in with you, have I?” she asked.

It was flattering to have Micah show up bright and early this morning, and she’d enjoyed herself on their fishing expedition the previous evening, but her quiet life was suddenly moving way too fast. Simeon had only mentioned this scheme to her the previous morning, and this would be the second time she and Micah had been alone together in less than twenty-four hours. And riding to town in his buggy would set tongues to wagging. This was a close community, and by nightfall people would be wondering if she and Micah were walking out together.

“Come on, won’t you ride into Honeysuckle with me?” Micah asked. “I’m already here. You might as well.” And for the first time this morning, behind the teasing, Ellen could see that it was important to him. He’d be hurt if she refused.

“I suppose you’re right,” she replied. “It’s going to be a warm day for September. Better I arrive looking fresh for my customers.”

“You look fine to me,” he said as he loaded the scooter into the back of the vehicle. “Is that a new dress you’re wearing? I like green on you. It makes your eyes green.”

“My eyes are just hazel,” she said as she climbed onto the front seat. “I wasn’t looking for you to give me compliments, but danki for saying so.”

“Didn’t suppose you were.” He slid onto the seat beside her and picked up the reins. “It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you, Ellen. Your eyes aren’t always the same color. They change.”

“Change how?” She averted her gaze and brushed at the wrinkles in her apron. Was this what it would be like to court Micah, all compliments and blushing? Was this what she wanted, a woman of her age?

“Just, whatever color dress you wear, your eyes look different. It’s one of the things I remember about you from school. Thanks to your eyes, I ate Henry Chupp’s whoopie pies four days in a row.”

Puzzled, she stared at him. “How and why did you eat Henry’s dessert?”

“I bet him that he couldn’t guess the color of your eyes each day before you arrived and I could.” He grinned at her. “Your eyes were always the color of your dress, and you always wore the same color dress on the same day—green on Monday, blue on Tuesday, then the green again and then the blue. On Friday it was supposed to be a lavender dress, but that week you wore brown instead and ruined the whole thing.” He shrugged. “I told Henry your eyes were going to turn purple and I lost.”

Her eyes widened. Gambling was forbidden by the Ordnung , the rules most Amish communities lived by. “That was very wrong of you. We don’t bet on things, not horse races or what color a girl’s eyes will be.”

Micah grimaced. “I know. Neziah found out and threatened to tell Dat if I didn’t make it up to Henry. I had to give him my Little Debbie cakes for a whole week. My favorites. The ones with the sticky cream inside.”

“Served you right.”

“I guess. Neziah was tough. I didn’t think he would tell Vadder because Neziah wasn’t a tattletale, but he had ways of making me toe the line. It was enough to make me give up gambling for life.” He sighed dramatically. “My mother didn’t buy us store cakes often. Usually we had the ones she made. Those Little Debbie cakes were a big deal.”

“I suppose children do make mistakes. How old were you?”

“Let me see. Neziah was out of school and working in the sawmill. I must have been eleven. Teacher used to have you give us spelling tests, and you always gave us more than one chance to spell the word correctly.”

“You didn’t need an extra chance. You were the best speller in your grade.” It was strange to think that the rosy-cheeked boy in suspenders and bare feet she’d once known might now become her beau. Micah had always been a handful, never a bad kid, but always full of mischief. She’d always suspected that Micah had been the one who’d put a frog in her lunchbox when she was in the eighth grade.

“But I always liked you, Ellen. Even though the teacher called on you to be her helper, you never took advantage of it. You weren’t silly like most of the other girls. You don’t play games with people.”

She chuckled. “Don’t I? And who used to strike you out when we played softball at school?”

“Not those kinds of games,” he said as he maneuvered the horse to turn the buggy around. “You know what I mean. You always went out of your way to include the shy girls in your group. You were popular with the teacher and the other kids, but it didn’t make you stuck up.”

“I hope not.”

“ Nay , you weren’t. If you had been, I’d have noticed.” He glanced at her. “You didn’t have any brothers or sisters. That’s unusual. A lot of people expected you to be spoiled, but you weren’t. It was something my vadder used to talk about, how much he admired your parents for being sensible raising you.”

“I was blessed with good parents,” she said softly. “And I think you were, too.”

“ Jah , but I wish...” He trailed off and Ellen suspected that he was thinking of his mother, who’d died so tragically in that van accident, the same accident that had claimed the life of Neziah’s wife, Betty.

“That you hadn’t lost your mother.”

“True enough,” he said. “ Dat never says much, but I know he still grieves for her.”

“We have to believe that she’s safe in the Lord’s hands.”

“We do,” Micah agreed. “I pity those who have no faith to hold them up in hard times. It must be bitter...not to know that.” His brow furrowed. “Easier by far for me, a man grown, to lose a mother than Neziah’s two boys. They need a mother’s hand, and if you pick one of us, I hope you’ll give them what they’re lacking.”

“I’d do my best,” she promised.

“And that’s all anyone can do, I suppose. Do your best.” He eased his horse to a halt at the end of the driveway. A car approached, and Micah held the lines firmly. “Easy. Good boy.” When the car passed, he said, “Walk on.” He flicked the leathers over the gelding’s back, and the horse started forward, first at a walk and then at a pace.

“You’ve done well with him,” she said as the buggy rolled swiftly along the blacktop. She had to admit to herself that she liked fast horses almost as much as Micah did. And it was plain to her that he’d taken a roughly broken saddle horse and worked with him until the animal showed amazing promise as a driving horse. When Micah had come home from the auction with the three-year-old last fall, his father and her own had expressed doubt that the gelding would ever make a reliable driver.

“He was bred to be a racehorse,” Ellen’s father had explained more than once. “Lots of standardbreds turn out to make good driving horses, but that animal was left a stallion too long. I wouldn’t trust him.”

As usual, her mother had echoed her father’s warning, but Ellen had kept her opinion to herself. Micah was known for having patience and a soft hand with horses. She’d secretly hoped that the dire predictions would turn out to be groundless. Flashy the black might be, but the horse Micah called Samson had intelligent eyes, and she’d seen no evidence of meanness around other animals. This was the first time she’d ridden in a buggy behind Samson, and it was too soon to pass judgment, but she thought the gelding seemed well suited to his owner.

“He has a sweet mouth,” Micah said. “Still a little nervous around motorcycles, but he’s young yet. I think he’ll be fine.”

“Worth a lot more than you paid for him,” she agreed. “If you wanted to sell him.”