A Groom for Greta

Determined to get on with the matter of pursuing his courtship of Lydia, Luke was beginning to lose patience with the way Greta’s mood could change from tears to laughter and back to tears with stunning quickness. But then she buried her face in her hands and her slim shoulders shuddered violently. “How is this possible?” she managed between hiccups.

“I believe that your sister and I would make...”

“Not that,” she snapped, the hiccups apparently cured by her sudden fit of temper. She looked off toward the direction that Josef Bontrager had gone as silent tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “Oh, what’s to become of me?” she moaned, wrapping her arms around herself.

“I expect you’ll do fine,” Luke said as he refilled the dipper and handed it to her. “You’re young and from what I’ve observed there isn’t an eligible man in town who...”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with horror, her mouth working as if she wanted to say something but could not make her voice work. “You men think that it’s... How dare you for one minute...” she stuttered and shoved the dipper into his hand. “Do not plan to call for us tomorrow for services, Luke Starns,” she ordered, then turned and stalked off down the lane that led to the house she shared with her sister.

How dare I what? Try to console you? Treat your injured finger? Fetch you water?

“Women,” Luke muttered as he strode back inside his shop, hooked the halter of the heavy leather apron over his head and started pounding out the iron that he’d left on the fire.

Through the next half hour as Luke continued his work, Greta’s accusations stayed with him as did her tears. Clearly she remained convinced that he had passed judgment over whatever had passed between her and her beau. Still, thinking back on it, he realized that he’d been more aware of the disagreement than he’d fully understood. And the more he thought about the conversation he’d only partially paid attention to while he stood at the window, the harder he struck the iron on the anvil with extra force.

Josef Bontrager was a man given to the kind of bombastic announcements that carried above the normal sounds of a town going about its business. Though his announcement to Greta had come at the time of day when most folks had already gone home, his voice insured that anyone who happened to be nearby would hear what he had to say.

“I can’t marry you, Greta.”

No wonder the young woman had been so upset. This was no surely ordinary quarrel. The couple’s plan to wed within a month was to be announced the following morning at services. If Bontrager meant what he’d said...

“Guten tag, Luke.” Roger Hadwell stood at the door of the shop, watching Luke pound the iron into shape. “You’re working later than usual,” he observed.

“Yah. Just finishing up here. Have some water.” He nodded toward the bucket.

Roger helped himself while Luke made the last two strikes on the molten metal then shoved it into another bucket of water at his feet. Hot iron striking cold water produced the familiar sizzle of steam rising that Luke found somehow calming. “Come sit awhile,” he invited. He followed Roger outside to the warped bench he kept ready for just such visits.

Roger owned the hardware business next door and frequently stopped by to exchange bits of news with Luke during the workweek. He was uncustomarily quiet as he sipped water from the dipper. “Did something happen to Greta Goodloe?” he asked finally.

Luke stalled for time. “Why do you ask?”

Roger shrugged. “Me and the wife couldn’t help noticing that she stopped by your shop here after Josef drove off—and stayed a good little bit. My wife seemed to think that Greta was upset about something. She and Josef have another spat?”

Luke sent up a silent prayer for forgiveness for the lie he was about to tell. “It’s the dust.” He nodded toward the street where a hot westerly wind created little flurries of dirt and sand on the street. “Got something in her eye.”

“That was it then,” Roger said and Luke understood that this was a question.

“That and she’d gotten a splinter. I picked out the splinter and gave her some water. She took a few minutes to catch her breath and went on her way.”

They sat watching Jeremiah and Pleasant Troyer pass, their buggy loaded with kids and the week’s shopping. Pleasant nodded in greeting as Jeremiah turned the buggy toward home. The town would be pretty much deserted until everyone gathered at the Troyers’ place the next day for services and the start of a new week.

“When I saw Greta and Josef earlier,” Roger continued, “it looked like they were having words.”

I can’t marry you, Greta.

What kind of man just blurts out something like that in the middle of town where anybody might see or hear? What kind of man walks away without so much as an explanation for the woman he’s professed to love for most of his life?

Luke couldn’t imagine treating a woman—or any human being—with such callousness. He didn’t know Greta Goodloe very well—really not at all other than seeing her in town or at services—but she seemed a kindhearted person and surely did not deserve such treatment from a man who had professed to love her. He thought about her smile and the way it could bring a special radiance to her features. But she had not been smiling much during the time she had spent in his shop.

He realized now that he’d gotten lost in thought while Roger had continued to speculate on what might have gone on between Greta and Josef. “...wouldn’t be human if they didn’t have words now and again. Whole town knows that this is hardly the first time. I mean you take a fiery little thing like Greta and put her with a man as fence-straddling as Josef and there are bound to be some times when they don’t see eye to eye.” He chuckled and stood up. “Wait ’til those two are married and spending all day and night together. Oh, there are gonna be some fireworks then, I’ll guarantee it.”

Roger was still chuckling to himself after he’d tipped his hat and sauntered back to the hardware store—no doubt to report to his wife that Luke had not had any further information to offer. Luke started inside his shop, but a flash of color caught his eye and he paused to look down the lane toward the house where the Goodloe sisters lived.

In the gathering dusk, Greta was taking down laundry from the clothesline that ran from the house to a palm tree and back again. She yanked free the clothespins and dropped them into a basket at her feet, then snapped the sheet, towel or clothing item hard against the hot westerly breeze and folded it into a precise rectangle before adding it to the pile already in another larger basket.

Luke told himself that he remained where he was watching her until the line was empty because he wanted to be sure that she had recovered from her earlier distress. But the truth was that he could not seem to stop watching her. It was as if Josef’s harsh words had pried open a door. Suddenly the beautiful Greta Goodloe might be free to consider other suitors. And there had been a time when a much younger and more foolish Luke would have taken a good deal of pleasure in that news. But he had been different then.

“This is not the sister for you,” he told himself sternly as he forced his gaze away from her and headed inside.

* * *

Greta saw Luke Starns watching her. She’d also seen Roger Hadwell make his way over to the blacksmith’s, observed the two men talking and wondered if Luke had decided that since she had already broken their bargain by refusing his offer of a ride to services, he was free to tell Roger everything. In that case she had made a complete fool of herself confiding in the blacksmith and, no doubt by morning, everyone in town was going to know about it. She would be the subject of whispers and conversations that stopped the moment she entered the room when she and Lydia arrived at services.

Oh, who do you think you’re fooling? Sooner or later everyone has to know the whole story.

Well, let people talk. It certainly hadn’t been her idea to end her relationship with Josef. And the way he had done it—in the middle of town, with no explanation at all? Of course, she really hadn’t waited for him to explain. On the other hand, he could have followed her. But, oh no, he was too...

What?

Shy?

Proud?

Cowardly. Yes, that explained it. For as long as she’d known him, Josef had allowed her to have her way and deep down she had known that even the hint that she might be attracted to some other boy could have Josef falling all over himself to win favor with her. On the other hand, he had made it clear on more than one occasion that once they married, he would determine where she went and who she saw and when. Greta had accepted that, once she married, the man was in charge. But she had always assumed that after marriage she would be able to find her way around Josef’s jealousies and strict ways the same way she had during their courtship.

She paused for a moment—a clothespin clinched between her lips—as she looked at Luke Starns. As usual she had acted in haste—confiding in him without thinking through the possible consequences. She barely knew the man beyond seeing him at services and the occasional nod when she passed his shop.

Honest. Trustworthy. These were words she’d heard applied to the blacksmith. But could she trust him? It had been evident that he failed to understand the seriousness of what had transpired between Josef and her—of just how precarious things were. And yet he had listened and shown concern.

She had to trust someone. Perhaps he and Roger Hadwell had been discussing business or just passing the time of day. She would know tomorrow as soon as she and Lydia arrived at services. If Luke drove Lydia and her to services, as soon as they pulled into the yard of Pleasant’s house, there would be one of two reactions. Either the women would be whispering about her and giving her those pitying looks that she could not abide. Or they would be talking about the surprise of seeing Lydia and Luke arrive together, delighted that at long last the romance they had all anticipated had taken its first baby step.

An idea began to take shape in her mind and she smiled softly to herself. She placed the last folded pillowcase on the pile of laundry. Arriving with Luke was definitely the way to go. If he had gossiped, she would know it at once and would then inform him that he was not worthy of Lydia and could certainly not depend on Greta to help him court her. If, on the other hand, he had held his tongue under the pressure of Roger’s probing, then she could turn the attention of others to the prospect of a romance between Lydia and the blacksmith and all speculation about what had happened to her would be short-lived.

She hoisted the heavy basket onto one hip and headed back to the house. Somehow she had to get Lydia to agree to let Luke Starns drive them to services and see her home after the singing. While it would be nigh on to scandalous for Luke and Lydia to arrive for services without Greta’s company, Sunday evening singings were occasions where single people in the community could openly socialize, even flirt a bit. Of course, in most Amish communities such gatherings were intended as events for young people in the sixteen to twenty age group. And in most Amish communities they attracted additional young people from surrounding Amish towns.

But Celery Fields was the sole Amish community for miles around in Florida and so these social evenings included anyone who was single—regardless of their age. Greta had never seen Luke at a singing in all the time he’d been in Celery Fields but clearly his intention was to be there the following evening. Now if indeed she found that she could trust Luke then all Greta had to do was make sure that he and Lydia were seated across from each other at the long table set up in the barn with the males on one side and the females on the other. And then she could make some excuse as to why she could not ride back to town with them.

* * *

Early on Sunday morning Greta heard Lydia stirring. Usually her sister would already have seen to the horse and cow they kept, gathered the eggs, prepared their breakfast and dressed in the lavender dress she reserved for their biweekly services, all before Greta was even out of bed. But not today.

Still smarting from the events of the day before, Greta had not slept well at all and she felt restless and out of sorts as she dressed. Using the blackened pins lined up on her bureau, she anchored her skirt into place. Then she twisted up her hair into a bun and pulled hairpins from between her lips to stab it into submission. Finally she lifted the prayer kapp from its resting place on her bedside table and prepared to set it atop the tight bun.

Unfortunately Lydia’s answer to Greta’s distress the evening before had been to counsel prayer, Scripture and early to bed. There had been no opportunity at all to bring up the subject of Luke Starns. Furthermore, in the middle of the night Greta had realized that because she had rejected Luke’s offer to drive them after all, she needed to reverse that decision and hope that he would agree. Thus the urgency of her early morning errand—one that her sister must not observe.

Checking to be sure that Lydia was otherwise occupied, Greta picked up the note she’d prepared the night before and ran down the lane to the blacksmith shop. All was quiet through the little village and she thanked God for that. She crept up the staircase on the side of Luke’s shop that led to his living quarters and slipped the envelope under the door. When she heard the distinctive sound of a man clearing his throat from somewhere beyond that door, she ran down the stairs and all the way back to her house.

* * *