A Husband For Mari. Emma Miller

icy conditions and snow-clogged roads. Mari and Zachary had finally arrived, exhausted, sometime after eleven the previous night.

      Mari rubbed her eyes and glanced around the bedroom; there were two tall walnut dressers side by side on one ivory-colored wall and simple wooden pegs on either side of the door for hanging clothing. Simple sheer white curtains hung at the windows. It was a peaceful room, as comfortable as the beds. An Amish home, she thought sleepily, as plain and welcoming as her grandmother’s house had always been but her uncle’s never had. And this one had central heat, she realized as she pushed back the covers and found her way to the chair where she’d laid out her clothes the night before.

      She could hear Zachary’s steady, rhythmic breathing. She considered waking him, but decided that he needed his sleep more than he needed to be on time for breakfast. Sara had told her that they ate early so that Ellie could be at the schoolhouse on time.

      Ten minutes later, face washed and teeth brushed, Mari came down the wide staircase to find Sara in the living room. “Good morning,” Mari said.

      “I thought you’d sleep in.” Sara, short and sturdy and middle-aged, smiled. She was tidy in her blue hand-sewn dress, black stockings and shoes, and white apron. Her crinkly dark hair was pinned up into a sensible bun and covered with a starched, white prayer kapp. “But I know the girls will be happy to have you join us for breakfast.”

      “Should I wake Zachary?” Mari rested her hand on the golden oak post at the foot of the steps.

      “Let the child catch up on his sleep. I’ll put a plate on the back of the stove for him. What he needs most is plenty of rest first, then pancakes and bacon.”

      The sound of a saw cutting wood on the other side of the wall startled Mari, and Sara gave a wave of dismissal. “As you can hear, we’re in the midst of adding a new wing onto the house. I apologize for the noise this time of the morning, but the boys like to start early so they can get in a full day’s work and still get to their chores at home after. Hope they won’t wake Zachary.”

      “It’s fine,” Mari said. “Once he’s asleep, he sleeps hard. Never hears a thing.”

      “Good. When I bought the house, I thought that it would be big enough,” Sara explained, folding her arms across her ample bosom. “But I didn’t realize how many young people would want to stay with their matchmaker. I’ve got a girl living here now, Jerushah, who leaves for her wedding in Virginia in a few days.”

      Sara was speaking English, for which Mari was grateful. Deitsch was the Alemannic dialect brought to America by the Amish and used in most households, but she hadn’t spoken Deitsch in years, and Zachary didn’t understand it at all. That was another adjustment he’d have to make if they remained in the community for any length of time, which she hoped wouldn’t be necessary. In light of Zachary’s reluctance to make the move to Delaware, the language difference was something she hadn’t mentioned. Mari suddenly felt overwhelmed.

      What had she been thinking when she’d agreed to come to Seven Poplars? A new school, new customs and a different language for her son? How could she expect a nine-year-old, raised in the English world, to adjust to living among the Amish? Even temporarily? Zachary had never lived without modern transportation, electricity, cell phones and television. And he’d never known the restrictions of an Old Order Amish community that largely kept itself separate from Englishers.

      But what choice had she had? Apply for state assistance? Take her child into a homeless shelter? She could never blame those mothers who had made that choice, but if it came to that, it would snuff out the last spark of hope inside her. She would know that she was as stupid and worthless as her uncle had accused her of being, the same uncle who had offered to let her come home if she put her baby up for adoption.

      Mari mentally shook off her fears. It never did any good to rethink a decision. She would embrace the future, instead of looking backward at her failures. She would make this work, and she would secure a better life for her and her son. “So the job at the butcher shop that you mentioned in your last letter...it’s still available?”

      “Sure is.” Sara’s lips tightened into a firm pucker while her eyes sparkled with intelligence and good humor. “Not to worry. I told you that if you came to Delaware, we’d soon straighten out your troubles.”

      In spite of her jolly appearance, Mari knew that Sara Yoder was a woman who suffered no nonsense. Fiftyish and several times widowed, shrewd Sara was a force to be reckoned with. Like all Amish, her faith was the cornerstone of her life, but she’d been one of the few who’d not condemned Mari when she’d gotten with child out of wedlock and run from her own Amish community.

      “Thank you.” Mari sighed with relief.

      “Enough of that. You’ll do me credit. I’m sure of it. Now, come along and have a good breakfast.” Sara bustled toward the kitchen, motioning for Mari to follow. “And don’t worry about the job. I told Gideon that he’d best not hire anyone to run the front of the store until he’d given you a fair shot at it.” She glanced back over her shoulder, her expression clearly revealing how pleased she was herself. “I found the perfect wife for Gideon, and he owes me a favor.”

      Sara had written that Gideon was looking for someone to serve customers, take orders and deliveries, and act as an assistant manager of his new butcher shop, where he’d be featuring a variety of homemade sausages and scrapples. Sara had explained that he needed someone fluent in English and able to deal easily with telephones and computers, someone who could interact with both Amish and non-Amish. She hadn’t mentioned what the wages or hours would be, but Sara had assured her that Gideon would be a fair employer. And, most important, someone would always be at Sara’s house to watch over Zachary while she was at work.

      The smell of dark-roasted coffee filled the air. Sara’s home was a modern Cape Cod and laid out in the English rather than the Amish style, but in keeping with Plain custom, she had replaced the electric lights with propane and kerosene lamps. As Mari walked through the house, she felt herself being pulled back into her childhood, although the homes she’d grown up in were never as nice as this. Sara’s house was warm and beautiful, with large windows, shining hardwood floors and comfortable furniture. Sara had apologized that Mari and Zachary had to share a room, but it was larger and nicer than anything either of them had ever slept in. Mari only hoped that someday she could find a way to repay the older woman’s kindness.

      “There you are!” Ellie declared as they entered the kitchen. “I was hoping to see you before I left for school.” Ellie, the vivacious little person Mari had met the previous night, stepped down from a wooden step stool beside the woodstove and carried two thick mugs to the long table that dominated the room. She couldn’t have been four feet tall. “How do you like your coffee, Mari?”

      “With milk, please,” Mari replied, returning Ellie’s smile.

      It was impossible to resist Ellie’s enthusiasm. With her neat little figure, pretty face, sparkling bright blue eyes and golden hair, Ellie was so attractive that Mari suspected that had she been of average height she would have been married with a family rather than teaching school.

      Already at the kitchen table was shy and spare Jerushah, the bride-to-be whom Sara had spoken of. “Sit down, sit down,” Sara urged. “Ellie has to leave at eight.” Sara gestured toward the silent, clean-shaven Amish man at the end of the table. “This is Hiram. He helps out around the place.”

      Hiram, tall, thin and plain as garden dirt, kept his eyes downcast and mumbled something into his plate, appearing to Mari to be painfully shy rather than standoffish.

      Ellie pushed a platter of pancakes in her direction. “Don’t mind Hiram. He’s not much for talking.”

      “Shall we take a moment to give thanks?” Sara asked.

      Mari bowed her head for the silent prayer that preceded all meals in Amish households. That would be another change for Zachary. Oddly, she felt a touch of regret that she hadn’t kept up the custom in her own home.

      “Amen,” Sara said, signaling the end of