An Amish Holiday Courtship Page 3

  Ginger was finishing up her second week caring for Eli’s children, and so far, it had gone well. The children liked her, Lizzy was improving every day and Eli seemed thrilled to have her. The idea that she could ease another’s burden, especially a man so good-hearted as Eli, made Ginger feel good in a way she’d never felt before. And Eli was so appreciative of anything she did. He always made a point of telling her how delicious the meals she left for him were and reminded her every day that he didn’t expect her to cook, and certainly not clean. He kept repeating that he had hired her to care for his children. But it was no burden for Ginger. She liked cooking on her own without Tara or her mother overseeing her every move, and she was discovering she was actually a decent cook in her own right. And she enjoyed the cleaning. It gave her time to pray, and also to daydream.

  These days, she was spending a lot of time daydreaming.

  After years of flirtations, Ginger was feeling more and more as if she was ready to marry, settle down and run her own household. The time she spent with Lizzy, Phillip, Andrew and Simon made her think about the possibility of having her own children. Was that why God had put Joe in her path? Because He was ready to see her as a wife and a mother? Ginger knew it wasn’t wise to guess at God’s intentions, but it just made sense, didn’t it?

  Bay’s voice penetrated Ginger’s thoughts, sounding impatient. Ginger had an idea her sister was repeating her question. “Do you want me to wait or no?”

  Ginger looked to Bay. She was a redhead, not a blonde like Ginger was, tall, like their older sister Lovage, and willowy to Ginger’s curves. They did have the same color green eyes, though.

  “No need to wait,” Ginger said quickly. Using the hem of her apron as a hot mitt, she slid one of the hot loaves of bread away from the edge of the stove. All it would take was one curious boy to send the bread tumbling to the floor.

  “You sure?” Bay caught the hand of one of their little brothers as he ran by. “Give me that,” she said. “No more cookies, Josiah. Mam won’t be happy with us if you two have any more cookies before supper.”

  Josiah solemnly handed over the store-bought sweet, a bite missing from it.

  Bay had brought their twin brothers with her, two-year-olds Josiah and James. Technically, they were only their half brothers. Their mother and stepfather’s sons, though neither of them felt any differently about these two than their brother Jesse, who shared the same father with them.

  “Where do they keep finding these cookies?” Bay asked.

  Ginger laughed. “I don’t know. Eli buys them. The boys squirrel them away around the house. Yesterday I found a box of animal crackers in the linen closet.” She reached down and wiped the chocolate crumbs from the corner of her little brother’s mouth. “Where’s James?” she asked, leaning over him. “Go find James. It’s time to go home.”

  The two sisters watched as their little brother, dressed in denim pants, shirts and suspenders, toddled out of the kitchen, calling his twin’s name in a cherubic voice.

  “I don’t need a ride home,” Ginger repeated, giving the beef stew on the back of the stove a stir. “I have one.”

  Bay frowned. “I suppose he’s bringing you home again?”

  Ginger felt her cheeks grow warm. “He has a name.” She turned down the flame beneath the cast-iron pot of stew. “Joe Verkler.”

  Bay made a sour face, resting one hand on her hip. “I’m sorry, but I don’t care for Joe.”

  Ginger tried not to let her feelings be hurt. “Why not? He’s handsome and fun and...and he likes me.”

  “Everyone likes you,” Bay quipped. “You can do better, Ginger. You deserve better.”

  Ginger wanted to ask Bay what she knew about young men. She’d never even had a beau. But she bit back the comment. “Why don’t you like him?”

  Bay arched her eyebrows as if it was a foolish question. “Because he’s conceited. He thinks he’s good-looking.”

  “You don’t think he is?”

  “I think there are more important things. I’ve seen him around. All he does is talk about himself and his accomplishments. He’s got every single woman in Hickory Grove gazing up at him with starry eyes. They all listen to whatever nonsense he weaves. The other day he told Tara that he owned a farm and a hundred acres in Lancaster County. If that’s true,” she scoffed, “what’s he doing here living here in Delaware with his aunt and uncle?”

  Ginger defended him. “He’s helping his uncle with his business. That’s why he came. His uncle needed him. Joe is managing construction crews all over the county.”

  Bay crossed her arms over her chest. “You see what you want to see, Ginger. You always have. From where I stand, there’s no substance behind that boy’s fancy sunglasses and shoes...” She exhaled, letting her thought go unfinished.

  “You sound like Mam,” Ginger countered, refusing to be upset by her sister’s words. She knew Bay was only trying to look out for her, and that mattered more than her sister being wrong. “Mam doesn’t like him, either.” She walked to the refrigerator to get butter. “Well, the both of you are going to have to get used to him because I like him. Maybe even more than like him,” she added with her own stubbornness. “We’ve really gotten to know each other since he started giving me a ride home.” She pressed her lips together, suddenly brimming with excitement. “I think he’s going to ask me to walk out with him. We’re practically already walking out together.”

  Bay rolled her eyes. “You and half the girls in the county think that.”

  Deciding not to respond, Ginger turned the flame on under a small cast-iron pan. She thought her sister was being ridiculous, but she didn’t want to quarrel with her. What was the point? She knew Joe was sincere in his attention to her. What better way to prove it than to let Bay see it? Their mam, as well.

  Ginger was silent as she dropped a couple of tablespoons of butter into the hot frying pan. It made a satisfying sizzle, and she grabbed a wooden spoon to stir the butter to prevent it from burning. A little flour and a few minutes of browning it, and the roux would make the perfect thickening for the stew that was made from thick chunks of beef, potatoes, onions, carrots and peas.

  “Josiah! James!” Bay called in the direction of the living room, where the boys were all playing. When she got no response, she called louder, “Simon, could you bring the boys? We have to go.” She returned her gaze to Ginger. “Guess we’ll be on our way. If you’re sure you don’t want us to wait.”

  “No need to wait.” Ginger smiled. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

  Eli’s oldest son entered the kitchen, leading a boy in each hand. It was clear James and Josiah weren’t ready to go home.

  “Thank you, Simon,” Ginger said, whisking the flour into the butter in the frying pan. “Could you check on Lizzy? See if she’s awake.”

  When Bay and the boys first arrived, Lizzy had joined them in the living room. Ginger had settled her on the couch with a quilt over her lap and she had played with Josiah and James for almost an hour. Lizzy had set up a barnyard of wooden animals and pieces of fencing on the couch beside her and entertained the toddlers by making animal sounds. When she had started to look tired, Ginger had carried her back to her makeshift bedroom, and the child had been asleep in minutes.

  Bay led their little brothers into the mudroom off the kitchen. She took one little denim coat and handed Ginger the other, and both set to dressing the boys for the chilly, wet ride home.

  “Thank you for coming over to help me with the bread,” Ginger said, trying to button a wiggling James into his coat. Both boys looked like their father, like Benjamin’s older sons with brown hair and doe-brown eyes.

  “You didn’t need any help, but you’re welcome.” Josiah’s coat secure, Bay pulled his knit cap over his head, covering his eyes. “I’m impressed with how well you’re running Eli’s house in just two weeks. You remind me of Mam in the kit
chen. You’ve always got a bunch of things going at the same time—stew simmering, bread baking, mending at the table and children well fed and content. And so many children. Everyone wanting something at the same time. You’re so calm. And capable.” She shook her head. “I could never do it.” She threw up her hands. “I can’t imagine having my own children. My own home. It would be a disaster.”

  “It wouldn’t be a disaster,” Ginger chided, handing her sister her cloak. “You’re going to make a wonderful wife and mother someday. You’re practically running the garden shop, what with Joshua busy making plans to build his and Phoebe’s new house. Running a house and a garden shop are more alike than you think.” She leaned on the doorjamb. “Do you want to take a loaf of bread home?”

  “Ne, they’re for Eli. The man needs a little meat on his bones.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’m beginning to think you might just be the one to put it there.”

  Ginger laughed, knitting her brows. There was something in her sister’s tone of voice that she couldn’t quite interpret. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Bay shrugged. “I don’t know. All afternoon I heard Eli this and Eli that. I think you might like him.”

  “Of course I like him.” She gave her sister a little push. “But not that way.”

  The sisters were grinning at each other when Simon walked back into the mudroom. “Lizzy wants you,” he announced, looking up at Ginger. He didn’t look as much like Eli as Phillip did. He and Lizzy both resembled their mother more, but he was just like his father, such a caregiver. And so easygoing with his younger siblings. At least most of the time.

  “See you at home,” Ginger told her sister. “And you two, as well.” She kissed the top of each of their little brothers’ heads and made her way toward the back of the house to check on her charge. “Coming, Lizzy!”

  * * *

  Eli stood in the downstairs bathroom drying his face with a hand towel that was freshly washed and smelled of fabric softener. Ginger had declared Fridays washday and, despite his protests, had done all of his laundry two weeks in a row. She wouldn’t listen to him when he assured her he could wash his and the children’s clothes on Saturday mornings.

  Before Ginger had started working for him, he’d managed the laundry. The children had always had clean clothes for the Sabbath at least, and the bedsheets and towels got washed at some point each month. Though his towels had never smelled this good or been this soft. He smiled to himself in the mirror, then leaned over the sink, taking a closer look. When had signs of his aging appeared, he wondered, looking at the man he barely recognized. Last time he looked in the mirror, he didn’t recall the gray at his temples.

  He looked older than thirty-three.

  But how long had it been since he’d scrutinized his appearance beyond checking to be sure he was tidy? Not since Elizabeth died, he guessed. Where had those fine lines around his mouth come from? The ones at the corners of his eyes? He would be thirty-four come spring. It seemed too young to be going gray, he thought wistfully.

  He wondered what Ginger thought of his looks. Did she see the gray, too? The wrinkles?

  He dismissed the thought. Vanity wasn’t a positive attribute in a man his age, with his responsibilities. And as he had told his sister, a woman like Ginger, years younger than him, would never so much as look his way.

  He hung the sweet-smelling towel on the hook beside the sink, took up a brush and tidied his hair. And smiled again.

  Things were going so well these days that all he did was smile. Ader Verkler was well pleased with the work Eli was doing on the job site, and more importantly, life was running more smoothly at home. Mary Yoder, who had watched the children for him before she’d left the state to be wed, had certainly done a fine enough job, but Ginger was impressive. Particularly for her age. He would have thought a young girl like her would have struggled, with four little ones to keep, with just getting something together for the noonday meal, but every night, she not only had tasks around the house done, but she made him supper. Every night he came into the house to a warm kitchen smelling of biscuits or bread or homemade cupcakes. And there was always a soup or a stew or a ham ready to go on the table.

  He walked out of the bathroom, still smiling. Tonight, not only had he come home to the heavenly scent of bubbling spaghetti sauce, but his little Lizzy had been sitting at the table buttering slices of bread to go into the broiler. In just two weeks’ time, his daughter’s strength had greatly improved, and he was certain it was in good part due to Ginger’s mothering skills and practicality. She was so good at coddling Lizzy when she needed to be coddled but also pushing her to help her gain her strength back. It had never occurred to Eli to have her do a chore at the table.

  “There you are,” Ginger said as he walked into the kitchen. She dried her hands on her apron. “I have to go. When you’re ready to eat, throw the noodles into boiling water and cook them for ten minutes or so. And don’t overcook them, Eli,” she warned, pointing her finger at him.

  He smiled, walking over to the table where Lizzy was still working on buttering the bread. He kissed the top of her head. “You know,” he teased Ginger, “I have made noodles before.”

  Ginger flashed him a smile that lit up her entire face.

  “Ya,” she agreed. “And overcooked them, I hear.” She whipped her apron off. “Most people do. It should still have a bit of a snap to it in the middle,” she explained, tucking tendrils of blond hair beneath the dark green scarf she wore to cover her hair. Like many young Amish women, she preferred a scarf to her prayer kapp when doing household chores. “Simon is outside gathering eggs, and the other two rascals are in the attic getting their clothes. With the rain, I had to hang some things up there to dry. Towels and sheets are done. I used the propane dryer. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” Eli followed her to the mudroom, hating to see her go so soon. All day he looked forward to the few minutes he would spend with Ginger before she headed home. He told himself that he was simply seeking adult conversation, but he talked to other men on the job site during the day. If he was honest with himself, it was Ginger he wanted to talk to. He’d always liked her, but since he had seen what she was capable of, how well she handled the children, he liked her even more. “You don’t want to stay for supper?” he asked. “I promise I’ll cook the noodles right. Al dente, I think the English call it.”

  She laughed. “Sorry. I have to go. Joe’s waiting for me.”

  As if on cue, a male voice hollered her name from outside. The family dog, Molly, began to bark.

  Eli made an effort not to frown, though just the thought of the young man brought a sourness to his mouth. He’d seen Joe at the house where he was working and had observed that the man didn’t really know what he was doing. He talked a lot, threw orders around, but when it came down to it, he didn’t know anything about laying bricks, putting on a roof or managing men. “Joe’s outside, is he?”

  “Ya,” Ginger said cheerfully, throwing her black cloak over her shoulders.

  Eli’s brow creased. “Why doesn’t he come inside when he picks you up?”

  “Ginger! You coming?” Joe shouted.

  Molly continued to bark. The dog Eli had raised from a pup usually liked most people. But the black-and-white shaggy mixed breed didn’t like Joe Verkler. She barked like crazy every time he came up the driveway with his fancy rig. A rig Eli was certain had some kind of music player inside. He’d passed a buggy the other night on Route 8 and heard Englisher music blasting from inside. He was sure the driver had been Joe. He was also fairly certain he’d seen a young Amish woman with him. He hadn’t been able to identify the woman in the dark, but the one thing he did know was that it hadn’t been Ginger.

  Ginger offered a quick smile as she yanked her bonnet over her head. “Joe wants to get home after a long day at work. You understand.” She tied the bonnet on tightly. “I’ll
see you Monday morning, ya?”

  Eli nodded as he watched her step out of the slippers she now kept at his door and into a pair of black rubber boots. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her again to stay and have supper with them. After they ate, maybe they could play a board game, then he could load up all of the children, and they would take her home.

  But that wasn’t practical, of course. Lizzy didn’t need to be outside at night. And why would Ginger want to sit and have a boring family dinner and talk about the dogwood flowers he was carving into a piece of wood, or what kind of spider his boys had found, when she could spend time with an exciting man like Joe.

  Joe’s voice came through the door as she opened it. “Ginger! I’m leaving with or without you!”

  “Coming!” Ginger shouted.

  Eli held open the door to the back porch. “Ya, I’ll see you Monday,” he agreed. Then he watched Ginger cut across the wet porch and tried to keep from counting the hours until he saw her again.

  Chapter Three

  Ginger sat on the top step of Eli’s porch a week later tossing a stick for the family’s black-and-white dog to fetch. Molly took off across the grass that had gone brown with the cooler weather, and Ginger’s gaze strayed to the county road in the distance. A red pickup truck flew past Eli’s mailbox, but there was no sign of the two-seated buggy she was looking for.