An Amish Holiday Wedding

Maybe she was overly tired, but Henrietta’s comments nettled Faith and she had to work to temper her response. “That’s nice. I’m sure we’ll make room for her somewhere.”

Then she washed, dried and put away her dish and utensils before rolling up her sleeves to prepare the dough. It would be midnight before she finished baking after all.

* * *

Although Hunter felt his lower back seize up as he lifted Ruth into the buggy on Sunday, he met the challenge without a word of complaint. The Amish only missed church in cases of severe illness or extreme circumstances, and according to Ruth, her injuries weren’t going to keep her from worshipping on the Sabbath.

“Do you remember the way to the Yoders’ farm?” she asked. “It’s their turn to host.”

Hunter hadn’t forgotten. He’d spent many Sunday afternoons fishing in the creek behind their property with Noah and Mason Yoder when he was a youth. As the horse pulled their buggy over the familiar hills and alongside the pastures and farmlands on the rural end of Willow Creek, he was flooded with remembrances of more carefree times.

After church service, men whose names he’d forgotten but whose faces were etched in his memory affably welcomed Hunter to the men’s dinner table. By then, his legs were throbbing from sitting on the cold, hard benches in the drafty barn the Yoders used for a gathering room. He ate even quicker than the other men, who were all aware someone else was waiting for a turn at the table and hurried to vacate their places. Hunter wanted to return to Ruth’s home and warm himself in front of the woodstove, but he didn’t see his aunt and mother anywhere. Undoubtedly, Ruth was chatting with friends while his mother helped the other women clear tables and clean dishes.

Figuring if he couldn’t warm his aching legs, he could at least stretch them, he slipped away from the men conversing in small clusters and awkwardly navigated the uneven terrain leading to the creek a few acres behind the Yoders’ house.

He didn’t notice until too late that a woman was already there, leaning against a willow, pitching stones sidearm into the current. He couldn’t turn around without being rude and he couldn’t keep moving without drawing attention to his unsteady gait, so he came to an abrupt standstill.

“Guder nammidaag, Hunter,” she called when she noticed him, dropping the stones.

It was Faith. Hunter had no option but to continue in her direction and hope she didn’t notice his unusual stride. He didn’t want her to doubt his abilities and regret hiring him.

“Guder nammidaag,” he replied and motioned toward the water. “The creek is shallower than I remember. I suppose everything probably seemed bigger when I was a kind.”

“We had a dry summer, so it’s been running low,” she acknowledged. “Do you really still remember the creek?”

“How could I forget?” Hunter asked as he positioned himself next to her. “The year I was twelve, Noah, Mason and I tried to build a footbridge over it and it collapsed. Don’t you remember? You were there, too.”

A smile capered from Faith’s lips up to her eyes, and for an instant her expression reminded Hunter of the spunky young girl who used to tag along on her brothers’ adventures. “You boys sent me across the bridge first to test whether it would hold,” she recalled.

Hunter reminisced, “Jah, but you were only a little wisp of a thing, so of course it withstood your weight. I don’t know what we were thinking, for the three of us boys to join you on it, with none of us knowing how to swim. It was a gut thing your daed heard our cries and ran to give us his hand.”

Now a shadow troubled Faith’s countenance. “Sometimes I wish my daed would still kumme running to give me his hand, even though I’m no longer a kind and it’s been five years since he died,” she lamented.

Hunter hadn’t meant to stir up sad memories. “I’m sorry about your daed. I have fond memories of him,” he said. He was quiet before adding, “My own daed died a little over a year ago, so I understand why you miss yours.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, too, Hunter,” Faith murmured, her hazel eyes welling with empathy. “I should have said as much yesterday. My brothers were especially grieved to hear about the accident. Ruth mentioned you were hurt in it as well, but I’m grateful to see Gott answered all our prayers by healing you.”

Not wishing to admit he wasn’t fully recovered, Hunter blew on his fingers and then changed the subject. “A lot has changed since we were kinner. Who would have expected little Faith Yoder would grow up to own a bakery?”

A furrow momentarily creased Faith’s brow before she straightened her posture and asked, “And what about you? Do you still work at the RV factory?”

Pushing his hat up, Hunter massaged his forehead. The crick in his spine seemed to be traveling upward, giving him a headache. He didn’t want to be dishonest with Faith, but he was concerned if people knew about his job loss, he might become the object of gossip. Or worse, the object of pity.

“I—I—” he stuttered.

His sentence was cut short by Mason calling out, “Faith! Hunter! We’ve been looking for you!”

Faith’s brother traipsed down the hill in their direction, and Lawrence Miller ambled a few paces behind. They were followed by two young women. Hunter sensed the questions he’d been dreading had only just begun.

* * *

As she watched her peers approach, Faith felt uncharacteristically peevish.

Ordinarily, she relished the time she spent chatting with the other women during Sabbath dinner cleanup, but today Lawrence’s fiancée, Penelope Lapp—an eighteen-year-old deacon’s daughter who lived in a neighboring town—was visiting her relatives in Willow Creek. After church, Faith overheard Penelope fawning over Henrietta’s infant, claiming she hoped God would bless her with a baby by this time next year.

Although Faith no longer felt any romantic attachment to Lawrence, it distressed her to be reminded of why they’d broken up. She escaped to the creek to gather her composure, only to be discovered by Hunter, who pointed out what a “little wisp of a thing” she used to be and made her sentimental by calling to mind a long-forgotten memory of her departed father.

If all that weren’t unsettling enough, now she was going to have to exchange pleasantries with Lawrence!

“Hunter, how gut it is to see you,” Mason said, clapping him on the back.

Lawrence did the same and Hunter responded in kind.

“Please meet Katie Fisher,” Faith’s brother said. “She’s the schoolteacher here.”

“And this is Penelope Lapp,” Lawrence stated. “My intended.”

“Your intended?” Hunter repeated.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Lawrence ribbed him. “I’m twenty-two, almost twenty-three. It’s past time for me to marry and start a family.”

Faith winced, supposing if it weren’t for the time he lost courting her, Lawrence wouldn’t feel his marriage and family plans were behind schedule.

“How about you, Hunter?” Penelope asked. “Are you betrothed or walking out with someone?”

“Neh,” was all he said.

“Neh? That’s a surprise,” Lawrence replied. To Penelope, he explained, “Hunter lived here for a while when he was sixteen and he was so sought after, he had his choice of meed. He could have courted anyone he wanted.”

Faith’s irritation was becoming more difficult to suppress—it sounded as if Lawrence were describing horses at an auction, not young women.

“Did you want him to court you, Faith?” Penelope asked.

“I was only thirteen!” Faith exclaimed. “Despite what some people may think, not every maedel’s sole dream is to get married as soon as she possibly can.”

She was appalled by Penelope’s nerve. Even if Faith had developed a crush on someone as a schoolgirl, it wasn’t something she’d discuss, especially not in front of male acquaintances. Courtships and romance among the Amish tended to be private matters.

“He didn’t court or even favor anyone, if I recall,” Lawrence said. “He claimed he didn’t believe in courting unless he intended to marry, and since he was only sixteen and lived in Indiana, there was no point in walking out with anyone here. He was probably the only person who actually attended our singings just for the singing.”

Penelope sniggled but Katie asserted, “I attended singings in my district primarily for the singing when I was a youth. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Faith smiled at the stout, dark-haired woman. She always appreciated Katie’s forthright manner, and she was glad Mason was walking out with her. When Faith glanced at Hunter, she noticed he was shifting his weight from foot to foot, as if embarrassed by the conversation. She couldn’t blame him and she quickly switched topics.

“Speaking of youth, Hunter and I were just talking about how you boys used to spend time down here at the creek,” she said to Mason. “Do you remember the footbridge?”

“Jah, of course.” Mason regaled the others with the anecdote about their footbridge disaster and subsequent submersion in the creek.

“After your daed pulled us out, he promised if you finished the fieldwork early the following week, he’d help us build a sturdier bridge,” Hunter recalled.