A Merry Heart Page 5

  “Now I’ve embarrassed you,” he said. “I apologize for that, too.”

  Glancing out the corner of her eye, she admired the perfect line of his profile. He was the most handsome man she had met since William. Instantly, she halted her thoughts. How bold of her to scrutinize the Englisher like that. As much as she would have liked to get to know Nick better, she was eager for him to leave.

  “What’s wrong? Aren’t you willing to forgive me?” he asked, his lips twitching with a flirty smile.

  “Of course I am. It’s just that. . .well, no one has ever called me beautiful before.”

  “Then they must have been wearing blinders.” Nick rose to his feet. “I’d better get going. I’m on a quest to find covered bridges, and so far I’ve only found two.” He grunted. “I thought I could get some information from people living in the area, but you’re the first person I’ve run into, and you probably wouldn’t be willing to help.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You didn’t want to show me around the farmers’ market last week, and I’ve offended you twice already today, so I just assumed—”

  “You assumed wrong, Mr. McCormick.”

  “It’s Nick, remember?” He looked at Miriam in such a strange way, it made her mouth feel dry and her palms turn sweaty. Maybe she just needed something to drink. “So do you know where some covered bridges might be?” he asked.

  She nodded. “There are a few not far from here, and several more throughout the county.”

  “Can you give me some specifics?”

  “Let’s see. . . . There’s one near Soudersburg, just off Ronks Road. Another is close to Strasburg, off Lime Valley Road.” She paused and thought a minute. “There are two south of Manheim, one north of Churchtown Road, one east of Rothsville, and another one northeast of there. Then somewhere between Reamstown and Martindale you’ll find one, and I believe there’s one north of Ephrata, too.”

  He whistled. “That’s pretty impressive. You must get around quite a bit.”

  “Not anymore. I spend most of my time teaching school. I used to travel the area a lot when I was a teenager.”

  “You’re a schoolteacher?”

  She nodded. “I teach at the one-room schoolhouse about a mile from here.”

  “So the liberated Amish woman is not only beautiful, but she’s smart, too.”

  Miriam’s defenses rose once again, and she clenched the hairbrush tighter. “I am not liberated, and I wish you would quit saying that.”

  “Sorry.”

  There was an awkward pause as they stood there staring at one another. Finally Nick smiled and said, “I’ve heard that the Amish only go through the eighth grade. Is that correct?”

  Her only reply was a quick nod.

  “Then how much training does a teacher for one of your schools need?”

  “Same as the other scholars—we graduate eighth grade.”

  “That’s it? No college or other formal training?”

  She shook her head. “Amish teachers are selected on the basis of their natural interest in teaching, academic ability, and Amish values.”

  “What kind of values?”

  “Faith, sincerity, and willingness to learn from the pupils.”

  “Ah, I see. Very interesting facts you’ve given me.” Nick smiled. “One of the things I enjoy most about being a newspaper reporter is learning new things when I interview people.”

  “My mother’s a reporter, too.” Miriam hadn’t planned on blurting that out, but she thought maybe Nick might be interested since he also wrote for a newspaper.

  “What newspaper does she write for?”

  “The Budget. Mostly Amish and Mennonite people read it, although I understand that some Englishers subscribe to the paper, too. Have you heard of it?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. I believe it’s published in Sugarcreek, Ohio. Am I right?”

  She nodded. “There are Amish and Mennonite people all over the country who write columns that go into the newspaper, and my mother is one of the scribes.”

  “That’s interesting. What kind of news does she report?”

  “Oh, just the happenings in our local community—things like weddings, funerals, those who have had recent out-of-town visitors, accidents that have occurred in the area—that type of thing.”

  “What’s your mother’s name? I might decide to pick up a copy of The Budget and check out her column.”

  “Anna Stoltzfus.”

  “I’d like to meet your mother sometime. Maybe we could swap stories.”

  Miriam wasn’t sure if Nick was only kidding or if he really wanted to meet her mother, but she was pretty sure Mom wouldn’t take to the idea of some fancy English reporter who toted a camera asking her a bunch of questions. So rather than comment on his last statement, she merely shrugged and said, “It’s been nice talking to you, Nick, but I need to get back home now.”

  “Do you live near here?”

  She pointed to the field behind her. “Our house is on the other side of that pasture.”

  “Just a stone’s throw then, huh?”

  “Jah, if you’ve got a long arm.”

  He chuckled and held out his hand. “It’s been nice talking to you again, Miriam. I appreciate your help on the covered bridges, and I hope this won’t be the last time we meet.”

  Miriam didn’t respond to that comment, either, nor did she shake Nick’s hand. The man had a way of getting under her skin, but something about him fascinated her, too, and that bothered her more than she cared to admit. “Good-bye, Nick,” she murmured.

  “Bye, fair lady.”

  As Nick walked away, Miriam pressed a hand to a heart that was beating much too fast and wondered why the thought of seeing Nick again held so much appeal.

  I

  “Oh, Sarah,” Anna said, as she and her daughter-in-law sat at the kitchen table drinking a cup of tea, “I’m worried about Miriam.”

  “What’s the problem? Is she feeling sick or something?” Sarah asked.

  Anna shook her head. “My daughter’s body isn’t sick, but her heart seems to have been shattered, and I fear it might never be mended.”

  “She’s not still pining over William Graber, is she?”

  “I’m afraid so. She’s rejected all suitors ever since William jilted her, and now Amos Hilty has shown an interest, and she’s giving him the cold shoulder, too.”

  “Many young people have breakups with their boyfriends, but most recover after a reasonable time.” Sarah clicked her tongue. “If there was only something we could do to make Miriam realize that life goes on when bad things happen. God is always there to help us through our trials; we just need to trust Him and look for the good.”

  “I wish she could see that.” Anna released a sigh. “I really think Amos would be good for her, and from what I can tell, his daughter seems to like Miriam a lot.”

  “She’s a good teacher; Rebekah has told me that often.”

  “If she can teach the scholars and make them like her, then she has what it takes to be a good mother.”

  Sarah’s forehead wrinkled as she stared at the table. “Sorry to say this, Anna, but not all of Miriam’s students like her. Some say she’s an old-maid schoolteacher with a heart of stone. Rebekah told me that, too.”

  Anna nodded. “Miriam overheard some of the kinner saying that not long ago, and it nearly broke my heart to see how sad she looked when she told me about it.”

  “Maybe we need to look for some fun things we can do that will involve Miriam.”

  “Jah, maybe so. Although she doesn’t seem open to the idea of doing many fun things anymore. I’m going to keep praying for my daughter—that the Lord will give her a merry heart and that, if it’s His will, Miriam will fall in love and get married.”

  By the time school had let out for the summer, the weather had become hot, and Miriam found it difficult not to complain about the stuffy, humid air. Some days, not even a tender breeze graced Lancaste
r County.

  One evening, a summer storm finally brought wind and rain, but it only caused more humidity. That evening, Miriam sat on the front porch steps watching streaks of lightning brighten the shadowy sky.

  “God’s handiwork is a pretty picture, isn’t it?” said a deep voice from behind her.

  She turned and discovered her father standing on the porch, stroking his long, full beard. “You startled me, Papa. I didn’t hear you come out.”

  “Sorry about that.” He pointed to the sky. “God’s quite the artist, wouldn’t ya say?”

  Miriam nodded. Papa had such a way with words and a love and understanding of God that had always astonished her. He saw the Lord’s hand in everything—things others would have simply taken for granted.

  “We need a good rain,” Papa said as he took a seat on the step beside Miriam.

  “I suppose so, but it’s making the air awfully muggy.”

  “Jah, well, we can put up with a little mugginess when the good Lord answers our prayers and brings the rain. The fields are in need of a good soaking.”

  Miriam couldn’t argue with that. She knew how important the crops of alfalfa, corn, and wheat were to the Amish farmers in the area. She reached for Papa’s hand. “How is it that you always see the good in things?”

  “‘For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he,’ the Bible tells us in Proverbs 23:7.”

  Miriam wasn’t able to dispute that, either. Perhaps the reason she was so unhappy was because she thought unhappy thoughts. But how could she make herself think pleasant thoughts?

  She shuddered as a clap of thunder sounded close to the house.

  “Is somethin’ besides the storm troubling you?” Papa asked.

  Of course something was troubling her. Something always seemed to be troubling her. She shook her head. “Just the storm. I hope the wedderleech doesn’t hit anyone’s house or barn.”

  “Lightning strikes are always uninvited. But if it should happen, then we’ll simply rebuild.” He smiled. “A good barn raising is always a joy.”

  “A joy? You mean, it’s a lot of work, don’t you?”

  “That, too, but working together with your friends and family can be a happy time.”

  Miriam couldn’t help but admire her father for his optimistic attitude, but try as she might, she couldn’t seem to emulate it.

  I

  That Sunday, church services were held at Andrew and Sarah’s home. Their farm was only three miles away, so the ride by horse and buggy was rather short compared to some.

  After Papa helped Mom down from the buggy, he and Lewis joined his two married sons, Jonas and Andrew, behind the barn where the horses had been put in the corral. Miriam and her mother made their way to the front porch to visit with Sarah, Crystal, and some of the other women who had already arrived. The twins were playing on the front lawn with their cousins, Rebekah and Simon, and several other small children.

  “I’m going to step inside the kitchen for a drink of water before the service starts,” Miriam whispered to Sarah.

  Sarah, who was rocking baby Nadine, answered, “Help yourself. There’s a pitcher of lemonade in the refrigerator if you’d rather have that.”

  Miriam shook her head. “Water will be fine, danki.”

  “Jah. Suit yourself.”

  When Miriam first entered the kitchen, she thought it was empty, but then she caught sight of someone across the room near the sink. Amos Hilty was bent over Mary Ellen, scrubbing her face with a wet washcloth. The child wiggled and squirmed, and she heard Amos say, “Mary Ellen, please stop rutschich.”

  “Sorry, Papa. I don’t mean to do so much squirming.” When the child spotted Miriam, she squealed and ran to her side. “Teacher Mim! You look schee today. Doesn’t she, Pappy?”

  Miriam looked down at her dark blue cotton dress with a white apron worn over the front. She wondered what there was about her that the child thought was pretty, and then she remembered Nick McCormick’s comment about her being beautiful. Her gaze met Amos’s, and he smiled.

  “Your teacher’s a fine-looking woman,” he said, nodding at Mary Ellen.

  Miriam made no reply.

  Amos shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Mary Ellen sampled some raspberries from Sarah’s garden when we first arrived. She had sticky red juice all over her face.”

  Miriam nodded. “I came in for a drink of water. I’ll get it and be out of your way.”

  Amos stepped away from the sink. “Help yourself. I’ve done about as well as I can with this little scamp’s dirty face anyway.”

  Miriam hurried over to the cupboard and got out a glass; then she went to the sink and filled the glass with enough water to quench her thirst. She wished Amos would leave the room instead of standing there, watching her.

  “Mary Ellen, why don’t you run outside and play with some of your friends?” he said. “I want to speak with your teacher a few minutes.”

  The child gave him a questioning look, but obediently, she went out the back door, looking over her shoulder to flash Miriam a dimpled smile.

  The last thing Miriam wanted was to be alone with Amos Hilty. She looked around the room, hoping someone would come into the kitchen and rescue her.

  Amos pulled out a chair and motioned her to sit down. Reluctantly, she obliged, and Amos took a seat directly across from her.

  “Church will be starting soon,” Miriam reminded.

  Amos glanced at the battery-operated clock hanging on the far wall. “We still have some time yet. I wanted to discuss something with you.”

  “About Mary Ellen?”

  “No, about us.”

  “Us?” Miriam’s voice sounded high-pitched, even to her own ears.

  “Jah. It–it’s about our relationship.”

  Miriam looked into Amos’s coffee-colored eyes to see if he was serious, while she cleared her throat to stall for time. She wanted to be sure her words were well chosen. “The only relationship we have is the fact that your daughter is one of my students. So, if this isn’t about Mary Ellen, then what?”

  Amos stood and began pacing the kitchen floor. “Miriam, surely you’ve been able to tell that I have an interest in you.”

  Her mouth dropped open. Amos had always seemed rather shy, and she hadn’t expected such a bold declaration from him.

  “I—I want to spend more time with you—to come calling at your home and court you. Yet every time I ask you to go someplace with Mary Ellen and me, you have an excuse why you can’t. Whenever I try to engage you in conversation, you act as though you’re trying to avoid me.”

  “I’m sure you mean well, Amos,” Miriam replied, “but I get the feeling that you’re only looking for a mother for your little girl.”

  He looked stunned. “Oh, Miriam, I—”

  “You needn’t deny it. Everyone knows you’re a widower without any family around to help you raise your daughter. It’s understandable that you would want to find a wife to help care for her.”

  The room took on a distinctive chill, as Amos stared at the toes of his boots. “I. . .that is. . .I know Mary Ellen is quite taken with you. In fact, you’re all she talked about when she returned from school every day last term. However, I do have some concerns about the type of influence you could have on her young mind.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You seem quite melancholy, and I had hoped if we started courting, you might find more joy in life and maybe even—”

  “Do you think being courted by you would make me happy enough to have around your daughter? Is that what you’re saying?” Miriam felt a trickle of sweat roll down her forehead, and she reached up to swipe it away.

  “That. . .that’s not what I meant to say at all.” A crease formed between Amos’s brows, and a pained expression crossed his face. “I—I think we could get along rather well if you’d only give it a chance.”

  Miriam stood and hurried across the room. When she reached the door, she halted and turne
d back to face him. “There are several available Amish women in the area, Amos. Some are a bit younger than me, but I’m sure if you use your charms on one of them, you might persuade her to be your wife.”

  “But I—”

  Miriam rushed out the door without waiting to hear the rest of his sentence.

  I

  Amos stood staring at the back door and shaking his head. “She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t realize how much I care for her or that I would do my best to be a good husband. If only she would give me the opportunity to show her how things could be.”

  “You talkin’ to yourself these days?”

  Amos whirled around and was shocked to see one of Miriam’s brothers standing in the doorway. “Andrew, I didn’t realize you had come into the room.”

  “I was in the hallway and heard someone gabbin’ away in here,” Andrew replied with a crooked grin. “Don’t tell me you’re so desperate for conversation that you’ve taken up talkin’ to yourself as a pastime.”

  “A few minutes ago, I was talking to your sister—at least, I was trying to—but she didn’t stick around long enough to hear all of what I had wanted to say.”

  “She wouldn’t listen, huh?”

  “No. To tell you the truth, she doesn’t seem to be interested in much of anything I have to say.”

  Andrew pulled out a chair and sat down. “Is there anything in particular you wanted her to hear? Maybe I could relay the message.”

  Amos took the seat opposite Miriam’s brother. “I asked if I could court her, but she’s obviously not interested.”

  “Did she come right out and say so?”

  “Not exactly, but she said I should use my charms on some other Amish woman and try to get her to be my wife.” Amos groaned. “If I have any charms, I sure don’t know about ’em. Besides, I’m not interested in courting anyone but Miriam.”

  “How come?” Andrew scratched the side of his head. “I mean, if she’s not interested—”

  “She’s my daughter’s teacher, and Mary Ellen’s quite taken with her.” No way was Amos going to admit to Miriam’s brother that he was in love with her and had been for a good many years.