Emma Miller - A Match for Addy

Gideon’s gaze shifted to Sara. He guessed she was between forty and fifty years of age. She wasn’t that tall, about his mother’s height, but that was where the physical resemblance ended. His mother’s hair was as yellow-blond as his own, but Sara’s was walnut-brown and so curly as to be almost crinkly, what he could see of it under her prayer kapp . Her skin was the color of his morning coffee, a chocolate with extra dollops of heavy cream. Sara was a puzzle: not black, not white, but an exotic mixture. She was unusual because most Amish were as pale as winter cream.

Ellie, in contrast, was in her early twenties, and although she was the shortest girl he’d ever known, barely four feet tall, she was quite attractive, with her neat little figure, blond hair and blue eyes. Ellie’s freckled face was as fair as any of his sisters’, and she was always smiling and laughing. He liked her. Not in the romantic way that a fella might like an unmarried girl, but in a brotherly way. Within the first few moments of meeting Sara and Ellie at the bus station in Dover, he had known that he and Ellie would be good friends.

Sara seemed more serious, though she certainly didn’t seem unwilling to laugh. She had a take-charge attitude and a determined gleam in her dark eyes. Just the kind of woman one would expect to be a matchmaker. Though Sara was the only matchmaker he’d ever met.

Sara was the reason he was here in Seven Poplars, a thousand miles from home. Although he wasn’t ready to settle down yet, his parents were eager for him to take a wife and start raising a household of little Esches. They’d been trying to match him up, unsuccessfully, with one local girl after another for years. Coming to Seven Poplars had been a way to escape his family’s good intentions, yet he had quickly realized that it was a little bit like jumping out of the kettle into the fire.

Gideon had promised his mother and father that he would help Sara settle in to her new farm and, while he was there, let her look into finding him a suitable wife. What he hadn’t told them was that just because the matchmaker might find him a girl, that didn’t mean he would be willing to walk out with her.

Gideon simply wasn’t certain that he was ready to marry; he still enjoyed being single too much. He loved women, young and old, tall and short, plump, thin and in between. He liked to watch them as they walked and as they sat in service, heads nodding as gracefully as swans as the preacher delivered the sermon. And he never tired of hearing female laughter. He loved escorting girls to frolics and singings, and he even enjoyed the workdays when unmarried men and women would join forces to help someone in the Amish community.

He didn’t believe, as many Amish men did, that females should keep to the house and minding of children. Not at all. Having such a gaggle of sisters who helped with the family business had taught him that women could be just as clever and hardworking as men. Respect for the opposite sex Gideon possessed aplenty. What he didn’t have was a desire to give up his bachelor’s fun and settle down with just one fräulein . And he highly doubted that any eager girl that Sara could dangle in front of him would cause him to change his mind.

He was thirty years old, and his parents had been making decisions for him since he was born. He had honored them as the Bible instructed. He loved them as they loved him, as they loved his sisters. He’d always been a dutiful son. He’d studied the craft his father expected him to follow, and he’d joined the church at twenty-one, as his family had urged. Every day, he tried to live the life his family and faith inspired. But he would not marry a bride someone else thought was right for him, and he wouldn’t be rushed into matrimony until he was good and ready—which, if he had his druthers, would be five, maybe even ten years in the future.

Chapter Two

“Gideon,” Sara said.

He glanced up as she wiped a plate dry and put it onto the cupboard shelf. “ Ya , Sara?” He waited, needle and thread in midair. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he wasn’t sure what he’d missed.

Sara raised one brow quizzically, and stared at him. “What are you doing with that nodel ?”

“I was wondering the same,” Ellie commented.

Gideon secured the final knot with the sewing needle and snipped off the end of the thread with small embroidery scissors. “Just fixing the tear in Addy’s dress that you had her leave here.”

“I would have gotten to it,” Sara said.

“I know, but it wasn’t any trouble. I was able to get the blood out with peroxide, and now it’s as good as new. Or nearly. I didn’t even have to patch it.” With satisfaction, he smoothed the lavender fabric. He wasn’t ashamed of his sewing skills. They were handy for a bachelor, and he had his sisters to thank for teaching him. He could take measurements of his old shirts and trousers and make his own patterns from brown paper, too. He’d never tried making a vest or coat, but he was pretty certain he could if he needed to.

“You sew?” Sara narrowed her eyes with skepticism and came to stand beside him. “Let me see what you’ve done.” She inspected his repair. “Amazing.” She turned to Ellie. “Look at this. Such neat, little stitches. I couldn’t have done better myself. I never thought to see a man with such skill. I suppose we’ll have to list that on your résumé, won’t we, Gideon?” She picked up a damp dish towel she’d been using and hung it over one of the chairs to dry. “So that the girls who might consider you for a husband will know your full worth. I don’t suppose you wash dishes?”

Gideon grimaced. “Not unless cornered.” He looked to the sink to see what was yet to be done. “Am I cornered?”

“Ne, ne.” Sara chuckled. “Don’t worry. Ellie and I can manage well enough without your help. I’m too particular about my kitchen to let a man help. You stick to the duties I’ve given you, and we’ll handle the inside chores. You’ve enough to keep you busy outside, I’ll guarantee you that. My woodpile is practically nonexistent and even in Delaware, winter will come again.” Her tone became firm. “You can chop wood, can’t you?”

Gideon grinned. “I know how to use an ax as well as a needle and thread. My father used to send me lumbering. And you know the size of the woodpile we need in Wisconsin.”

Sara nodded with approval. “There’s hope for you, then. But you’re going to have to get girls’ names right if you expect me to find you a wife. You can’t go around making up nicknames for every woman you meet the way you tried with Dorcas.”

“I don’t make a habit of it,” Gideon assured her as he smoothed the wrinkles from the lavender dress and hung it on a hanger. “But she looks a lot more like an Addy than a Dorcas to me. She’s too young to be a Dorcas.”

“I agree,” Ellie put in. “The last Dorcas I knew was ninety, and snored through every church sermon.”

“And I didn’t really change her name,” Gideon defended. “She told me that her middle name was Adelaide. I thought Addy fit her better.” Remembering how Addy had smiled at him when he called her by that name made him smile.

Sara took a fresh tablecloth from the chest under the window and spread it over the table. “I would think that Dorcas would have a thing or two to say about what she’s called,” she mused.

“I think she liked it.” He went into the large utility room off the kitchen and hung Addy’s dress on a hook where she’d see it when she came again. Then he returned to the doorway. “If you don’t need me to do anything, I think I’ll go sit awhile on the porch.”