A Husband For Mari. Emma Miller

but Ellie and Sara spoke as if English was their first language. Hiram didn’t say anything, but he smiled, nodded and ate steadily.

      “You have the buggy hitched?” Sara asked Hiram. “Rain’s let up, but it’s too cold for Ellie to be walking.”

      “Ya,” Hiram answered. No beard meant that he wasn’t married, but Mari couldn’t have guessed his age, somewhere between forty and fifty. Hiram’s sandy hair was cut in a longish bowl-cut; his nose was prominent and his chin receding. His ears were large and, at the moment, as rooster-comb red as Sara’s sugar bowl. “Waiting outside when she’s ready,” he said between bites of egg.

      Hiram had slipped into Deitsch, and Mari was pleasantly surprised to realize that she’d understood what he’d just said. Maybe she hadn’t forgotten her childhood language.

      One bite of the blueberry pancakes and Mari found that she was starving. She polished off a pancake and a slice of bacon, and she was reaching for a hot biscuit when she became aware of the sound of an outer door opening and the rumble of male voices.

      “My carpenter crew.” Sara slid a second pancake onto Mari’s plate. “Better put on a second pot of coffee, Ellie.”

      Mari suddenly felt self-conscious. She hadn’t expected to meet so many people before eight in the morning her first day in Seven Poplars. Now she was glad that she’d chosen a modest navy blue denim jumper, a black turtleneck sweater and black tights from her suitcase. And instead of her normal ponytail, she’d pinned up her hair and tied a blue-and-white kerchief over it. She wasn’t attempting to look Amish, but she wanted to make a good impression on Sara’s friends and neighbors. Not that she’d ever been one for the immodest dress many English women her age went for; she’d always been a long skirt and T-shirt kind of girl.

      Five red-cheeked workmen crowded into the utility room, stomping the mud off their feet; shedding wet coats, hats and gloves; and bringing a blast of the raw weather into the cozy kitchen.

      “Hope that coffee’s stronger this morning, Sara,” one teased in Deitsch. “Yesterday’s was a little on the weak side. It was hard to get much work out of Thomas.” The speaker was another clean-shaven man in his late twenties or early thirties.

      “That’s James,” Sara explained in English. “He’s the one charging me an outrageous amount for my addition.”

      “You want craftsmanship, you have to pay for it,” James answered confidently. He strode into the kitchen in his stocking feet, opened a cupboard door, removed a coffee mug and poured himself a cup from the pot on the stove. “We’re the best, and you wouldn’t be satisfied with anyone else.”

      “Nothing wrong with Sara’s coffee,” chimed in a second man, also beardless and speaking English. “James is just used to his sister’s. And we all know that Mattie King’s coffee will dissolve horseshoe nails.” He glanced at Mari with obvious interest as he entered the kitchen. “This must be your new houseguest. Mari, is it?”

      “Ya, this is my friend Mari.” Sara introduced her to the men as they made their way into the kitchen and began to pour themselves cups of coffee. “She and her son, Zachary, will be here with me for a while, so I expect you all to make her feel welcome.”

      “Pleased to meet you, Mari,” James said. The foreman’s voice was pleasant, his penetrating eyes strikingly memorable. Mari felt a strange ripple of exhilaration as James’s strong face softened into a genuine smile, and he held her gaze for just a fraction of a second longer than was appropriate.

      Warmth suffused her throat as Mari offered a stiff nod and a hasty “Good morning,” before turning her attention to her unfinished breakfast. She took a piece of the biscuit and brought it to her mouth, then returned it untasted to her plate. She kept her eyes on her pancake, watching the dab of butter slowly melt as she felt the workmen staring at her, no doubt curious about her presence at Sara’s. Mari didn’t want anyone to get the idea that she’d come to Seven Poplars so Sara could find her a husband. That was the last thing on her mind.

      “Thomas would rather drink coffee than pound nails any day,” Ellie teased as he took a seat at the table.

      “And who wouldn’t, if they were honest?” Thomas chuckled. “Pay no attention to her, Mari. Any of these fellows can tell you what a hard worker I am.”

      “I hope you’re not disappointed we’ve got rain instead of snow this week.” James pulled out a chair across from Mari. He unfolded his lean frame into the seat with the grace of a dancer. He wasn’t as tall as Thomas. His hair was a lighter shade, and his build was slim rather than broad, but he gave an impression of quiet strength as he moved. “I know you had plenty of snow in Wisconsin.”

      “I don’t mind the rain,” Mari heard herself say. “And I definitely appreciate the warmer temperature.”

      Her comment led to a conversation at the table about the weather, and Mari just sat there listening, wondering why she felt so conspicuous. Everyone was nice; there was no need for her to feel self-conscious.

      “Well, I hate to leave good company,” Ellie said, getting to her feet. “But if I’m not at school when Samuel’s boys get there to start the fire, they won’t be able to get in.” She tapped the large iron key that hung on a cord around her neck. “They’ll be wet enough to swim home.” After putting her plate in the sink, she picked up a black lunch box and a thermos off the counter. “Are you ready, Hiram?”

      Hiram wiped the last bit of egg from his plate with a portion of biscuit and stuck it into his mouth. “Ready.”

      Ellie smiled at Mari. “See you after school?”

      “Of course. Unless...” Mari glanced back at Sara. “Unless I’m supposed to go to work today.”

      “Ne,” Sara assured her. “Not today. Gideon and Addy have just thrown open their doors, so the pace is still slow. Gideon said tomorrow would be fine. Give you a chance to settle in.”

      “Going to be working for Gideon and Addy, are you?” James remarked as he added milk to his coffee from a small pitcher on the table.

      Mari slowly lifted her gaze. James had nice hands, very clean, his fingers well formed. She raised her gaze higher to find that he was still watching her intently, but it wasn’t a predatory gaze. James seemed genuinely friendly rather than coming on to her, as if he was interested in what she had to say. “I hope so.” She suddenly felt shy, and she had no idea why. “I don’t know a thing about butcher shops.”

      “You’ll pick it up quick.” James took a sip of his coffee. “And Gideon is a great guy. He’ll make it fun. Don’t you think so, Sara?”

      Sara looked from James to Mari and then back at James. “I agree.” She smiled and took a sip of her coffee. “I think Mari’s a fine candidate for all sorts of things.”

Chapter Two

      The following morning dawned cold and clear. Mari had risen early to help with breakfast and make certain that Zachary was dressed and fed before she left him in the care of Sara for the day. “Wake up, sweetie,” she said, shaking him. “Time to rise and shine.”

      “I want to sleep some more.” Zachary tried to roll over, away from her.

      “Nope.” She put her arm around him. “No can do. I start work this morning.”

      Zachary rubbed his eyes. “I don’t like it here. I want to go home.”

      Mari ruffled his hair. “We can’t, and you know that. We can’t go back to Wisconsin because there’s no money and nothing to go back to.”

      “Can’t I go with you to work?” He stared up at her with large, sleepy eyes. “I don’t know these people.”

      “You’ll be fine.” Mari got up and laid out a pair of jeans and a faded flannel shirt for him. “Sara has been good to us, and