An Amish Courtship. Jan Drexler

found a place on a bench next to Aunt Sadie and Ida Mae and took a deep breath, trying to forget that wink. No wonder he wasn’t married. His beard only confirmed that he had given up looking for a wife. Only married men and old bachelors wore beards.

      The worship began with a low, soft note sung by a man sitting on the front row. As the tune continued, she recognized the hymn from the Ausbund and joined in the singing with the rest of the community, settling into the familiar worship.

      After the service ended, Mary followed Judith and Esther Lapp to the kitchen to help serve the meal.

      “I can introduce you to the others,” Esther said as she led the way through the lines of benches that the young men were already converting to tables for dinner.

      “I’ll never remember everyone’s names.”

      Esther took her arm. “Don’t worry. They don’t expect you to. You’ll learn them all eventually.”

      Mary joined in the work easily enough. The meal of sandwiches, pickles and applesauce was similar to what the folks would be having in her home church in Holmes County. Mary opened jars and poured applesauce into serving dishes while the other young women whirled around her, taking the food to the tables as the young men set them up.

      “Hello,” said a girl as she took one of the dishes Mary had prepared. “You’re one of Sadie’s nieces, aren’t you? I wish I could have gone to the quilting on Wednesday. I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since I heard you were coming.”

      Mary shook the jar she was holding to urge the last of the applesauce from the bottom. “I’m Mary. My sister is Ida Mae, over there helping with the rolls.” She tilted her head toward the counter at the far end of the kitchen.

      “I’m Sarah Hopplestadt. My mother said she met you at the quilting.”

      Hopplestadt? Mary sorted through the faces in her mind. “Ja, for sure. Isn’t her name Effie?”

      Sarah’s face beamed. “It is!” She grabbed the filled serving dish and whirled away. “I’ll be back with some empty dishes for you soon.”

      Mary watched her go as she reached for another jar. Sarah placed the applesauce on the table closest to the kitchen, in front of an older man. Across from him sat Samuel, red-faced with the tight collar fastened at his throat. He looked as uncomfortable as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

      She shook her head at her own thoughts and glanced at him again. His brow was lowered and he kept his eyes on his plate, ignoring the other men around him. The confident man who had given her that exasperating wink was gone. He looked as out of place as she felt. She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she remembered how rude she had been before church. He might be a man, but he was also Aunt Sadie’s neighbor. She quelled her shaking stomach. As much as she hated the thought of initiating a conversation with him, she needed to apologize.

      As the men talked, their voices carried into the kitchen.

      “Vernon Hershberger needs help with his plowing, I hear.” The man sitting next to Samuel spoke, stopping the other conversations.

      The man at the end of the table stroked his beard. “Ja, for sure. His leg is healing after his fall last month, but he still isn’t able to get around very well.”

      A man on the other side of Samuel, one of the ministers who had preached that morning, gestured with his fork. “We can all help him get his fields plowed and planted. Is Saturday a good day for everyone?”

      Beards waggled as the men around the table nodded, but Samuel still looked at his plate.

      “What about you, Samuel?” the minister asked.

      The man sitting at the end of the table shook his head. “He’s a Lapp. He won’t help.”

      Samuel’s face grew even redder. He leaned on his elbows, his hands clenched together, not looking at the men around him.

      “I’ll help.” His voice was as low as a growl.

      One of the men laughed. “Just like his daed. Today he’ll help, but we won’t see him come Saturday.”

      Laughter rippled around the table, and Samuel stood, backing away from the bench. He glared at the laughing faces, then turned to the minister. “I said I’d be there, and I will.”

      The minister held his gaze for a long minute as the laughter died away. “I believe you. We’ll look forward to it.”

      Samuel nodded, swept his glance around the table again and then went out of the house.

      Mary startled as Sarah appeared at her elbow again.

      “That Samuel Lapp. I don’t see why the men even invite him to help with the work.”

      “Why not?”

      Sarah shrugged. “He rarely shows up, and then when he does, he doesn’t do anything but stand around. His father was the same way.”

      “Perhaps he has changed. He seemed sincere to me.”

      “Maybe.” Sarah picked up two more dishes of applesauce. “But this is a Lapp we’re talking about. Some people never change.”

      As the girl walked away, Mary looked up to see Esther watching her. Samuel’s sister had heard every word of their conversation.

      “Esther...” Mary stepped across the kitchen and took her arm. “I hope you weren’t offended by what Sarah said.”

      Esther plucked at her apron. “Ne. It’s true.” She looked at Mary, her narrow chin set firm. “But what you said is true, too. Samuel isn’t Daed, and he can change.” She glanced at the kitchen door, where Samuel had disappeared. “I just hope more folks come to see that.”

      * * *

      Samuel Lapp charged out of the Stutzmans’ house, ignoring everyone he passed. He’d hitch up the mare, find his sisters and head for home. He was a fool to think this morning would be different than any other Sabbath morning that he had attended the meeting.

      His steps slowed. When was the last time he had come to the Sabbath meeting? A month ago? Two months? When he reached the pasture gate, he leaned on the post. Several of the horses started walking toward him, but his mare stood next to the water trough, ignoring him and the other horses.

      A bay gelding stopped a pace away from him and extended his nose slightly.

      “I have no carrots for you.” Samuel spoke softly. Whose horse was this one? He eyed the sleek neck and the muscled haunches. Someone who knew horses and took good care of them.

      The words of the men around the dinner table washed over him again. Even two years after his father’s death, the Lapp legacy followed him no matter what he did. No matter how much he wanted to change.

      He bent his head down to meet his fist, quelling the sick feeling in his stomach. Why should he even try? Men like Martin Troyer would never let him forget whose son he was. Samuel squeezed his eyes closed, seeing Martin’s pompous figure at the end of the table once more.

      Then the minister’s words echoed over Martin’s mocking tone. Jonas Weaver had said he believed him. He expected him to show up to help with Vernon Hershberger’s farm work. The minister’s confidence made Samuel want to follow through with his promise.

      But Daed had burned too many bridges with his habit of promising help that he never delivered, and he was guilty of the same thing.

      His father had lived on the edge of being shunned and put under the bann. How many times had the deacons stopped by the farm to talk to Daed? To reprimand him? And then he would promise to do better. He’d take the family to meeting for a month, maybe two. He’d promise to join in the community activities. He’d promise to stop the drinking...but then forget his promises.

      Samuel rubbed his hands over his face. Could he face Martin again? Not when this slow burn continued in his stomach. The world was full of Martin Troyers