A Groom for Greta

Greta squeezed her eyes shut tightly as the service came to an end, praying that God might forgive her for not listening to the lesson for the day. Oh, she had gotten the part about two sisters—one fairer than the other—but then her mind had started to wander. Surely the Lord would understand that she had so many things to consider—so many things to work out. The worst of it would be how best to handle the barely perceptible murmur that would surely spread through the congregation after Bishop Troyer announced the couples planning to marry that fall. That list, of course, no longer included Josef and her. So, soon everyone would know at least a part of the story. She brightened a little as it occurred to her that, like the bishop, most would simply assume that Greta had quit Josef rather than the other way round. Their pity would be directed toward him.

But then her relief collapsed as she realized that this was only a momentary reprieve. Soon enough everyone would know the real story. She glanced over toward the men’s section, meaning to see how Josef was handling things but her eyes had settled instead on Luke Starns. The man was watching her and the only way she could describe his expression was one of disapproval. At that very moment, Lydia nudged Greta with her elbow—her signal for Greta to stop fidgeting. Those two were going to make a perfect match, she thought, as she laced her fingers together in silent prayer. It would appear that Luke Starns followed the rules as strictly as her sister.

The announcement of coming nuptials was made and the congregation reacted exactly as Greta had imagined. When the service finally ended, the women moved as one toward the kitchen to lay out the meal while the men and boys began rearranging the benches into tables and seating. She heard Josef’s laugh and whipped around to see him stepping aside to allow Esther Yoder to pass by on her way to the kitchen.

Esther was the eldest daughter of the Yoders who owned the dry goods store. She was two years younger than Greta and it was well-known throughout Celery Fields that her mother thought it high time she found herself a husband. From the looks of things she had set her sights on Josef.

Well, she can have him, Greta thought swallowing her bitterness even as Lydia took hold of her elbow and turned her away from the scene.

“Come along, sister.”

On their way to the kitchen they crossed paths with Luke, one long black bench under each powerful arm. He looked from Lydia to Greta and then back again. To Greta he seemed rooted to the spot like the giant live oak tree that stood outside his shop and she couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculous comparison.

He cleared his throat. “May I speak with you later, Lydia Goodloe?”

Greta thought she had never seen her sister quite so shaken. Her lips were pressed together so tightly that no sound could possibly be expected to come out, so Greta took matters into her own hands.

“We are needed in the kitchen. But if you plan to attend the singing, then there will be time enough to have your say. Excuse us, bitte.”

Luke stepped aside and this time it was Greta who guided her sister the rest of the way to the kitchen.

“How could you say such a thing?” Lydia whispered when she had recovered her voice. “I had thought you of all people would wish to skip this evening’s singing.”

“Of course we must attend the singing, Lydia. Luke Starns wishes to see you home afterward. Will you accept or not?”

Lydia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “How do you know such a thing?”

“He told me so.”

Further conversation was not possible as they joined the other women in the kitchen. As Greta had feared, the room went silent the minute that she and Lydia entered.

Greta saw her choice plainly—she could pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary or she could address the matter and get it over with. She took stock of the glances flying among the women—lifted eyebrows of speculation and worried frowns of curiosity.

“Well,” she said brightly as she picked up the baskets that she and Lydia had brought and began setting out the goods. “It sounds like we’re going to have a busy season of weddings here in Celery Fields.” She grinned broadly at the three other women whose betrothals had been announced that morning. “Perhaps it’s a good thing Josef Bontrager changed his mind about marrying me.”

She couldn’t help it. Her voice broke on those last words, but she kept her tears in check and continued to place the food from the basket on the table.

Almost as one unit, the women gathered around her. She felt consoling hands placed gently on her shoulder and gratefully accepted the healing power of their murmurs of concern, which comforted her like a soothing balm for her jumbled spirit.

“Perhaps the Lord has another plan for you, Greta,” Pleasant said softly. “We sometimes think we know what He has in store for us but then things change.”

Of all people, Pleasant knew what she was talking about. Certainly she had thought she would never marry and then she had agreed to marry the widower, Merle Obermeier. He had died soon after, leaving her penniless with his four children from his first marriage to raise. And then Jeremiah Troyer, the bishop’s great-nephew, had moved to town, just as the depression was starting, to open—of all things—an ice cream shop.

But the likelihood of some stranger moving into town and making everything all right again for Greta seemed remote at best. With the combination of droughts and deluges that had plagued the fields of celery and other produce crops over the last few seasons, people were beginning to move away from Celery Fields—not settle there. The last person to actually come to town had been Luke Starns.

Luke Starns...and Lydia.

Suddenly Greta saw her opportunity to turn the attention of the women away from her and on to something that would give them far greater pleasure. “You are right, Pleasant. After all, who knows what the Lord has in store for any of us when it comes to matters of the heart.” She cast a sideways glance at Lydia, leading the other women to do the same.

As usual Hilda Yoder took charge. “I noticed that the two of you arrived for services with the blacksmith, Luke Starns. Has your horse pulled up lame, Lydia?”

“The blacksmith was kind enough to offer us a ride,” Lydia replied as she sliced a loaf of bread.

“Roger tells me that he will definitely be settling here permanently. His business is doing surprisingly well given the fact that there’s less call for services like his these days,” Gertrude Hadwell, wife of the hardware store owner, said with a sly glance at Lydia. “It’s hardly any secret, Lydia, that he has his eye on you.”

“Then offering you a ride was the first step,” Hilda announced.

“Toward what?” Lydia asked, her cheeks turning a deeper shake of pink than usual.

“Toward courtship, of course. I expect that he’ll ask to see you home after tonight’s singing? It’s no one’s business, of course. Such matters are private, but still...”

Lydia lifted her chin, hoisted the platter stacked high with sliced bread and said, “He will have to work up his nerve first, but if he asks I will accept.”

Greta was every bit as shocked by this announcement as any of the women in the kitchen. Lydia had always said that she could not be bothered with courtship unless she were truly in love. She barely knew Luke Starns so what could she be thinking?

* * *

Luke filled his plate but kept his eyes on Lydia Goodloe. The truth was that the schoolteacher intimidated him the same way his former teacher had back in Ontario. How on earth was he going to court this woman? Where would he find the words? And why did the mere intent to do so feel more like a difficult task—one he would rather not attend—than something that would lead to a pleasant conclusion?

Perhaps the best plan was to approach her with the idea that a match between them was a practical decision. He wanted a family. Her job as teacher of the community’s children might be in jeopardy if families kept leaving Celery Fields to return north. How would she and her sister make their way if she lost her position? Would it not be a relief for her to surrender the burden of trying to make ends meet?

The more Luke thought about it, the more it seemed to him that this could work out to the mutual benefit of both parties. And grasping that, his confidence grew. At least until he spotted Greta. She presented a problem. The idea of living in a house with two women was not especially appealing. The idea of living there with the capricious Greta Goodloe was unnerving altogether. Of course Greta might yet marry. But who?

Unless Josef Bontrager changed his mind, who was there?

“Would you like some pie, Luke?”

Lydia was standing next to him. She was smiling although somehow her smile did not seem to quite reach her eyes. In her expression he read something else—something more like resignation.

“Denki.” He took the plate and fork. “Did you make this?”

“I did.”

Luke speared a bite of the pie and ate it. Without a doubt it was the worst-tasting peach pie he’d ever had. The fruit was hard and undercooked and had none of the enhancement of cinnamon or sugar to help flavor it and the crust was doughy and heavy. He swallowed the lumpy mess and smiled. “Denki,” he said again, unwilling to tell a lie especially on the Sabbath.

To his surprise Lydia burst out laughing. “It’s horrid, I know.” She relieved him of the plate and replaced it with another that she picked up from the spread of desserts on the table. “Try this one. Greta and my half sister, Pleasant, are the bakers in our family. I thought you might want to know that if indeed you are intent on...spending time with me.”

And there before him was the opportunity he’d been seeking. In fact it appeared he did not even need to ask—although it would be rude and conceited not to. And the truth was that when she smiled, Lydia Goodloe was not quite so intimidating.

“I will be at tonight’s singing,” he began. “I understand that you—and your sister—will also be there?”

“We will indeed.” Greta Goodloe stepped up next to them, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

Luke swallowed around the lump that seemed to be blocking his ability to speak. “Das ist gut,” he murmured and speared another bite of the pie.

“My sister will need a ride home,” Greta prompted.

“We both will,” Lydia corrected.