Arden went back to his place and picked up his spoon with his free hand. He was hungry, but he was also rather pleased. Sarai slid into her place, and they both tucked into their chili.
Dawdie Moe was right: Ellen’s cooking was delicious, and the corn bread was edible. Arden realized as he ate that he’d choke down that entire pan of corn bread today for one reason: he wouldn’t be the one who hurt Sarai’s feelings. Not today. Let her have a few decent memories of him before her opinion fell.
“What happened back there?” Dawdie asked as they walked back toward the farmhouse. “You and Sarai were whispering something fierce. We couldn’t hear it all, but you seemed to have some sort of issue.”
“Are you sure you didn’t hear it?” he asked.
“Well, I definitely heard about the corn bread,” Dawdie said.
The rest would have been harder to explain.
“Sarai is giving me a few tips on how to get a good Amish girl to see more in me,” he said. And she was...even if indirectly. She was showing him what she expected, and her bar was high.
“Ah.” Dawdie smiled faintly.
“What do you mean, ah?” Arden asked.
“Are you sure she isn’t showing you the way to prove yourself to her?” Dawdie asked.
Arden shook his head. The scruff grass brushed against his pant legs as they made their way between the two houses.
“She wants to find a husband in Shipshewana,” he said.
“You might want to head out to Shipshewana, then,” Dawdie said, and then he laughed good-naturedly.
“Dawdie, this is serious.”
“Whatever happens between a young man and a young woman always is,” his grandfather replied. “But mark my words, dear boy. A woman can only give you one map—and that is the map to her own heart.”
Arden was silent, and the grasshoppers sprang out of the grass as they walked, launching themselves out of the way.
“One day you’ll get married,” Dawdie said, “and you’ll hurt your wife’s feelings somehow. It happens. Even between me and your grandmother. But you’ll ask another woman how to make it up to your wife. Maybe you’ll ask your mother or a cousin or an aunt...and they’ll give you some good ideas. They’ll say to bring her flowers or some new fabric to sew with or some doughnuts from the bakery. But the ideas they suggest will only be what would work to smooth their hearts over. You’ll learn very quickly that you can’t get advice from someone else about your own marriage.”
“I’m not married yet,” Arden said.
“Not yet,” Dawdie said. “And I’m not saying you shouldn’t listen to every word Sarai says on the subject. But keep in mind, the advice she gives is the key to her heart, and hers alone.”
“She’s the kind of woman I want to build a life with,” Arden said. “And in the past I pursued the wrong type. I need a woman like her, with character, moral standards, intelligence and a soft heart. And that kind of woman won’t respond to me flirting or playing games.”
“True...”
“I’ve turned a new leaf,” Arden said. “And I’m going to have to approach romance differently, too. What worked before isn’t going to work for what I’m doing now.”
“I fully agree,” his grandfather said.
They came up to the familiar little house with its white paint curling and peeling around the windows, and the bushy clumps of rhubarb that had grown next to the side door. Arden waited as Dawdie made his way up the stairs slowly. He followed his grandfather into the house. When Arden shut the door behind them, Dawdie looked over at Arden thoughtfully.
“And what did you learn from Sarai today?”
“That she requires an honest compliment,” he replied.
Dawdie tapped the side of his nose and headed into the kitchen, humming a little tune to himself.
“What does that mean?” he called after his grandfather.
“Just keep it in mind,” Dawdie called back cheerfully. “I have a feeling it will be rather important if you want to convince Sarai to marry you!”
Arden gritted his teeth. Was his grandfather being willfully blind here? He wasn’t trying to marry Sarai! He couldn’t marry Sarai... He’d wronged Job five years ago by completely destroying his brand-new buggy. Job didn’t know he was the culprit—no one did—and marrying the man’s daughter wasn’t going to make anything right, not with Gott, and not with the Peachys. First he had to pay the man back, and then he could ask Gott to bless his next steps. But not until he’d made things right.
Chapter Seven
That night, Sarai stood at the counter sorting eggs into their cartons. The hens hadn’t stopped laying, after all. Sarai had found eggs in the roofless henhouse, and she’d collected them all as the sun sank down below the horizon. She’d piled them in the mesh baskets and brought them inside to be washed and sorted.
The henhouse was covered with a tarp for the moment—the best that could be done safely until it would be fixed the next day. She paused at the window. The earlier plan of setting the roof back onto the structure hadn’t worked, and the blue tarp almost disappeared into the darkness. She couldn’t see far, and the light of the kerosene lantern reflected off the window, showing her an image of herself with her white kapp and her pale face.
Upstairs, Sarai heard the sound of water running as Mammi got ready for bed, and she breathed out a soft sigh.
She’d been thinking about her conversation with Arden at supper, and her conscience had started to prick her. Was she no better than Arden, whose family was bringing Moe home so that they could be more comfortable while caring for him? Because if Mammi Ellen and Moe got married, it would benefit Sarai. But she wasn’t using them. She truly wanted to see them happy.
And yet she couldn’t help but wonder if her own motives were as pure as they should be. A good deed—like matchmaking a couple—should be done for the good of the couple alone.
Gott, I don’t want to be selfish in this. If You want Mammi Ellen and Moe to be together, then show them what they mean to each other. I think they’d be happy together, but if I’m wrong, then I will stay here with Mammi. I’ll continue to take care of her and trust You to bring me my husband.
She rinsed off two dark copper eggs and laid them on a towel to dry, then reached for some green eggs and a solitary pink one.
Mammi would be just fine with Moe at her side. Mammi could still scour a kitchen, whip up a meal and mend a hem. And she could still listen to an old man’s stories with a sparkle in her eye, even though she’d heard all those stories a hundred times.
And it was Sarai’s turn to begin that kind of life for herself, too...with a man her own age and children of her own to love. Sarai deserved that kind of domestic happiness just as much as Mammi did, and she didn’t think it was selfish to admit it. Although, it would be selfish to use others to achieve it.
