A Groom for Greta. Anna Schmidt

Gertrude Hadwell, wife of the hardware store owner, said with a sly glance at Lydia. “It’s hardly any secret, Lydia, that he has his eye on you.”

      “Then offering you a ride was the first step,” Hilda announced.

      “Toward what?” Lydia asked, her cheeks turning a deeper shake of pink than usual.

      “Toward courtship, of course. I expect that he’ll ask to see you home after tonight’s singing? It’s no one’s business, of course. Such matters are private, but still...”

      Lydia lifted her chin, hoisted the platter stacked high with sliced bread and said, “He will have to work up his nerve first, but if he asks I will accept.”

      Greta was every bit as shocked by this announcement as any of the women in the kitchen. Lydia had always said that she could not be bothered with courtship unless she were truly in love. She barely knew Luke Starns so what could she be thinking?

      * * *

      Luke filled his plate but kept his eyes on Lydia Goodloe. The truth was that the schoolteacher intimidated him the same way his former teacher had back in Ontario. How on earth was he going to court this woman? Where would he find the words? And why did the mere intent to do so feel more like a difficult task—one he would rather not attend—than something that would lead to a pleasant conclusion?

      Perhaps the best plan was to approach her with the idea that a match between them was a practical decision. He wanted a family. Her job as teacher of the community’s children might be in jeopardy if families kept leaving Celery Fields to return north. How would she and her sister make their way if she lost her position? Would it not be a relief for her to surrender the burden of trying to make ends meet?

      The more Luke thought about it, the more it seemed to him that this could work out to the mutual benefit of both parties. And grasping that, his confidence grew. At least until he spotted Greta. She presented a problem. The idea of living in a house with two women was not especially appealing. The idea of living there with the capricious Greta Goodloe was unnerving altogether. Of course Greta might yet marry. But who?

      Unless Josef Bontrager changed his mind, who was there?

      “Would you like some pie, Luke?”

      Lydia was standing next to him. She was smiling although somehow her smile did not seem to quite reach her eyes. In her expression he read something else—something more like resignation.

      “Denki.” He took the plate and fork. “Did you make this?”

      “I did.”

      Luke speared a bite of the pie and ate it. Without a doubt it was the worst-tasting peach pie he’d ever had. The fruit was hard and undercooked and had none of the enhancement of cinnamon or sugar to help flavor it and the crust was doughy and heavy. He swallowed the lumpy mess and smiled. “Denki,” he said again, unwilling to tell a lie especially on the Sabbath.

      To his surprise Lydia burst out laughing. “It’s horrid, I know.” She relieved him of the plate and replaced it with another that she picked up from the spread of desserts on the table. “Try this one. Greta and my half sister, Pleasant, are the bakers in our family. I thought you might want to know that if indeed you are intent on...spending time with me.”

      And there before him was the opportunity he’d been seeking. In fact it appeared he did not even need to ask—although it would be rude and conceited not to. And the truth was that when she smiled, Lydia Goodloe was not quite so intimidating.

      “I will be at tonight’s singing,” he began. “I understand that you—and your sister—will also be there?”

      “We will indeed.” Greta Goodloe stepped up next to them, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

      Luke swallowed around the lump that seemed to be blocking his ability to speak. “Das ist gut,” he murmured and speared another bite of the pie.

      “My sister will need a ride home,” Greta prompted.

      “We both will,” Lydia corrected.

      Luke had not counted on seeing the two of them home. That was hardly the way things were done. “I would be pleased to drive you—both.”

      “Then in that case,” Lydia said, “we will see you this evening.”

      Luke watched the two of them move through the gathering, clearing plates and glasses as they went. Within minutes they had both gone back inside the farmhouse where the women would finish packing up the leftover food while the men moved the benches into the barn for the singing. He turned to help with the benches and found himself working next to Josef.

      Luke had not liked Bontrager from the day he’d first come into the blacksmith’s shop to hire Luke to check the team of giant Belgian horses he used to plow his fields. The man had instantly reminded Luke of the milk toast his father used to make for him and his brothers—soggy. It was an odd word to use in describing another man, but it fit Josef Bontrager as far as Luke was concerned.

      For all his booming voice, Josef was timid and indecisive when it came to business. And to Luke’s way of thinking, he was penny-wise but pound-foolish as the old saying went. On the one hand he had bought up the land of surrounding farms when those farmers had hit hard times and decided to return to their homes up north. On the other he was dickering over paying the price for a proper shoe for his horse. When Luke had told him that three of the team of four horses would need at least one shoe replaced, Josef had hedged.

      “You’re certain we couldn’t get by one more season?”

      Luke had shrugged. “In my opinion you’d be taking a risk but it’s your team.”

      Josef multiplied what Luke had given him as the price for one shoe times the total number that he recommended replacing. He tapped the stubby pencil against the final tally for a long moment and then released a low whistle through his teeth. “That’s pretty steep,” he said.

      “That’s my price,” Luke replied as he packed up his equipment and climbed onto his horse. “Let me know if you decide to go ahead.”

      A full two weeks later—after Josef, according to Roger, had gotten at least two other bids—the farmer came to the shop and hired Luke to do the work. By that time all four horses were in need of his wares. And when Josef had hinted that Luke was simply trying to get more money for his work, Luke had told him the price he’d originally quoted would stand. He did this not for the owner, but out of pity for the horse. No, Luke did not much care for Josef Bontrager. And the more he saw of Greta Goodloe, the more he had to wonder what she had ever seen in the man.

      * * *

      Greta felt immeasurably better as she and Lydia worked together later that afternoon laying out the “thin book” version of the centuries-old Amish hymnal, the Ausband. The full version of the hymnal was used for regular services. It was thick—well over five hundred pages and contained the words of hymns passed down through the generations as far back as anyone could remember. The book contained no musical notations—just words. Because most of the hymns had been written during the time of persecution in Europe when Joseph Amman had broken from the Mennonites but not from the Anabaptist beliefs, the hymns they sang during services tended to be somber and even mournful in tone. By contrast the “thin book” version of the Ausband contained hymns that were lighter and more joyful and far more suitable for the kind of social occasion that the Sunday night singing was.

      Greta was actually beginning to look forward to the evening. Her plan appeared to have worked. Instead of everyone buzzing about Josef’s breakup with her, they were speculating about what Lydia had been thinking offering Luke Starns that piece of pie and what might the two of them have had to discuss for such an extended time. Just wait until Lydia left with Luke after the singing.

      “The blacksmith seems nice,” she ventured.

      “Hmm.” Lydia was noncommittal as always.

      “He’s very strong. Did you see the way he lifted two benches at once as if