An Unlikely Amish Match. Vannetta Chapman

he was teasing, though honestly the other girl had been so pale as to be translucent and had worn the traditional white kapp and a gray dress. She could have been a cloud or a puff of fog or a figment of his imagination.

      But the girl in front of him?

      She wasn’t someone you’d quickly forget—daring brown eyes, a kapp pulled so tightly that not a hair escaped, which only served to accentuate the exquisite shape of her eyes, bright color in her cheeks and a sweet curve to her lips. Her dress was a pretty dark green with a matching apron.

      And she was his neighbor?

      Perhaps Gotte had provided him an ally through this trying time of his life.

      Micah stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Micah—Micah Fisher. Pleased to meet you.”

      “You’re not Englisch?” Instead of shaking his hand, she reached for her other sister. They had to be siblings from the way they looked up at her and waited to see what she’d do next.

      “Of course I’m not.”

      “So you’re Amish?” She stared pointedly at his clothing—tennis shoes, blue jeans, T-shirt and ball cap. Pretty much what he wore every day.

      “I’m as Plain and simple as they come.”

      “I somehow doubt that.”

      “Since we’re going to be neighbors, I suppose I should know your name.”

      “Neighbors?”

      “Ya. I’ve come to live with my daddi and mammi—at least for a few months. My parents think it will straighten me out.” He tugged his ball cap lower and peered down the lane. “I thought the bishop lived next door.”

      “He does.”

      “Oh. You’re the bishop’s dochder?”

      “We all are,” the little girl with freckles cried. “I’m Sharon and that’s Shiloh and that is Susannah.”

      “Nice to meet you, Sharon and Shiloh and Susannah.”

      Sharon lost interest and squatted to pick up some of the rocks lining the caliche lane. Shiloh hid behind her schweschder’s skirt, and Susannah scowled at him.

      So, not an ally.

      “I knew the bishop lived next door, but no one told me he had such pretty doschdern.”

      Susannah’s eyes widened even more, but it was Shiloh who peeked out from behind her skirt and said, “He just called you pretty.”

      “Actually, I called you all pretty.”

      Shiloh ducked back behind Susannah.

      Susannah narrowed her eyes as if she was squinting into the sun, only she wasn’t. “Do you talk to every girl you meet that way?”

      “Not all of them—no.”

      “And do you always dress like that?”

      “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

      “And why did you arrive in a pickup truck?”

      “Because a friend offered to bring me.”

      “An Englisch friend?”

      “Say, what is this—the third degree? It feels like it, and as far as I know, I’ve done nothing to land me in trouble.”

      “Yet.” Susannah snatched up Sharon’s hand and turned back toward the bishop’s house.

      “It was gut to meet you,” he called out, knowing it would fluster her. Just his luck that the girl next door would be a killjoy. He’d met enough Amish girls like her to fill the back of a pickup truck twice over.

      They were so disapproving.

      It rankled him.

      It also made him want to do something reckless, like throw a party or take off for points unknown or walk back to town and see a movie. But he didn’t do any of those things. He didn’t know anyone to invite to a party—yet. All of Goshen was unknown, and he wasn’t even sure they had a movie house. Plus, he had no money to pay for a movie.

      He sighed heavily, considering what lay before him. He’d promised his parents that he would come to Goshen and stay for at least six months. He realized he might as well walk up to the farmhouse. There was no point in avoiding it, but first he pulled out his phone, tapped the Snapchat button and held the phone up in front of him.

      “I’ve arrived at the far reaches of northern Indiana. Let’s hope I can survive life on the farm.” He made what he hoped was a hilarious face, added a filter and frame, and then clicked the post button. Sticking the phone into his back pocket, he trudged down the lane toward his grandparents’ house and what was probably going to be the longest six months of his life.

      Susannah wasn’t going to bring up the subject of their new neighbor to her parents. She actually was trying to forget him. She liked her life exactly as it was. The last thing she needed was trouble living next door, and Micah Fisher definitely looked like trouble.

      They’d paused to bless the food and had just begun passing around the dishes of ham casserole, fresh bread, carrots and salad when Sharon starting chatting away about their encounter with Micah.

      “He’s tall and he talks funny.”

      “He wears a crazy hat,” Shiloh added.

      “And he wanted to shake Susannah’s hand, but she didn’t want to.”

      “And he said we were pretty—he said we were all pretty.” Shiloh pulled in her bottom lip as she concentrated on cutting up her ham into small bites.

      Her dat helped Sharon to scoop a spoonful of carrots onto her plate. “John mentioned to me that the boy was coming to stay with them for a while.”

      “He hardly seems like a boy.” Susannah felt a slow blush creep up her neck when both her parents turned to stare at her. “What I mean is that he seemed to act like a youngie, though plainly he was older—I’d guess around twenty.”

      She could tell that her explanation hadn’t cleared up anything, so she backed up and told them of seeing him in town, of the truck and the trash and the Englisch clothes. She didn’t bring up the cell phone. That felt like tattling. No doubt his grandparents, and her dat, would know about it soon enough.

      “Not everyone is as settled as you are, dear. I believe Gotte used your illness to mature you.” Her mamm buttered a piece of bread—hot, fresh and savory. Perhaps homemade was better.

      “And hopefully to make you even more compassionate toward others.” Her dat’s smile softened his words. “No doubt Micah is trying to find his way as many of our youth are—though, as you say, he’s hardly a youngie anymore. Just turned twenty-five, if I remember correctly from what John said.”

      “The same as you.” Her mother looked pleased, as if sharing the same age would make them best pals.

      Susannah didn’t think that was likely.

      Her life had finally settled down. She had no desire to complicate it with the likes of Micah.

      The rest of the meal passed in a flurry of conversation. Sharon chattered on about the kittens in the barn and how she was planning to name each one. Shiloh had read another of the picture books from the library, and she insisted on describing it in great detail. Her mamm reminded Susannah that church would be at the Kings’ on Sunday, and that they had agreed to go over and help Mose prepare on Saturday. And her dat described a young mare that had been brought in for shoeing. “Four white socks and a patch on her forehead—pretty thing.”

      Susannah