An Amish Holiday Wedding

“Jah, and you were so excited that after working all day for Ruth, you’d come and help us every evening in the fields and on Saturday, as well,” Mason reminisced, shaking his head. “My daed frequently commented about what a strong, dedicated worker you were. I often had to ask Gott to forgive my envy.”

“He’s still strong—look at those shoulders,” Lawrence observed, lightly punching Hunter’s arm.

Faith wasn’t certain if she imagined it, but Hunter’s face seemed to go gray. Was it modesty or the cold wind that caused him to set his jaw like that? Although as a boy, he was as congenial as could be, there was something stilted about his posture now that gave him an air of aloofness. Ordinarily, Faith would have been put off by an unsociable demeanor, but she sensed Hunter was uncomfortable with the attention, and she wanted to spare him further uneasiness.

“The bridge is still standing,” she informed Hunter. “This past summer I brought my nephew down to the water so he could cross it.”

Hunter visibly relaxed his shoulders. “I’m not surprised,” he said, looking directly at Faith as he smiled. “Your daed made sure it was durable.”

“I’d like to see it,” Penelope suggested. “Why don’t the men lead the way?”

Faith had never taken Lawrence to the bridge before, and she didn’t want him visiting it now. The bridge belonged to another part of her life; it belonged to her dad and brothers and nephews—and even to Hunter. But not to Lawrence. “I really ought to return to the house—” she started to say.

“There’s no need to hurry back,” insisted Penelope. “If you’re hungry, there will still be leftovers in another hour. And it’s not as if you need to dash to the evening singing to meet a suitor, is it?”

Faith huffed. She never mentioned wanting to eat, and she didn’t appreciate Penelope’s digging for information about whether she was being courted. “Actually, my concern is that I ought to be helping clean up.”

“But who knows when I’ll be back here again?” Penelope sounded like a wheedling child. “Please, Faith?”

“Alright,” Faith agreed, “kumme along.” She had no idea why it was so important to Penelope to see the footbridge, but she gave in since the young woman was a guest in their district. As a member of the host family, it was up to Faith to be especially hospitable to her. But that didn’t mean she was going to let the men take the lead.

* * *

Although Faith courteously accommodated Penelope’s request, as she pivoted toward the woods Hunter noticed the spark in her eyes. What put it there? Why did she suddenly say she needed to get back to the house? Was it really that she wanted to help clean up, or did Faith have a suitor waiting after church for her? Hunter didn’t know why the possibility caused him to experience a twinge of disappointment now, when only yesterday he assumed she was being courted. But perhaps that wasn’t the reason she wanted to leave at all. Maybe Faith was simply tiring of Penelope’s intrusive inquiries.

Hunter sure was. He gladly would have returned to the house, too, but the only thing he wanted to do less than hike along the creek was to explain why he didn’t want to hike along the creek. He intended to avoid discussing his injuries as long as he could. After all, what would Lawrence say once he knew Hunter developed such broad shoulders from months of turning the wheels of a wheelchair and hoisting himself along the parallel bars at the clinic? Would Mason think Hunter was less of a hard worker when he found out he’d lost his job because he wasn’t mobile enough to meet the assembly quota at the RV factory? Would it suddenly dawn on all of them why he was no longer “sought after” as a bachelor? What might Faith—not just as his employer, but as a woman near his age—think of him then?

It wasn’t that Hunter believed any of them would be unsympathetic if they found out about his injuries; it was that he didn’t want their sympathy in the first place. He worked too hard at recovering to have to answer personal questions about his condition from the likes of Penelope Lapp. So he bit his lip and tried to match his stride to Mason’s and Katie’s, while Faith marched up ahead and Penelope and Lawrence lagged behind.

“How long will you be visiting Willow Creek?” Katie questioned conversationally.

“Until my ant’s leg heals, probably sometime after the first of the year. I’m managing her store until she’s better.” Hunter pushed a branch out of his way, holding it to the side so it wouldn’t spring back and hit Penelope.

“What do you do for employment at home?” Penelope questioned.

“He works in an RV factory, isn’t that right?” Lawrence replied before Hunter had a chance to answer. “You must have accrued a lot of time off to take such a long leave. That’s one gut thing about working for the Englisch. It’s not like a farmer’s work, which is never done.”

While Hunter contemplated how best to respond, Penelope swatted at Lawrence with the end of her shawl. “I’ve heard it said that it’s a farmer’s wife’s work that is never done,” she taunted.

“That, too,” Lawrence allowed.

“Business owners don’t exactly sit around twiddling their thumbs, and Katie has her hands full as a schoolteacher, too,” Faith countered over her shoulder. Hunter chortled inwardly in appreciation of her feisty tone. She was never one to let her brothers claim their work was more important or difficult than anyone else’s, including hers, when they were kids.

“Jah, that’s probably true,” Penelope concurred. “Oh! Speaking of business owners, I almost forgot. Lawrence and I want you to make the cakes for our wedding, don’t we, Lawrence?”

“Jah, if she’s willing.”

“Of course I’m willing, but please give me your exact order ten days in advance. I know Lawrence prefers everything to be just so, and I wouldn’t want to disappoint him,” Faith said without slowing or turning to face them. Did Hunter detect a note of sarcasm in her reply?

“I will,” Penelope agreed happily. “Hunter, you must attend our wedding, too. All of the leit from Lawrence’s church are invited. We’ll match you up with a—”

“There’s the bridge,” Faith interrupted, and Hunter was thankful she’d saved him from embarrassment once again. She scampered down the rocky embankment, and the others followed.

Each step seemed to jar Hunter’s hip bones against their sockets as he descended the slope. The small bridge was weathered and a few boards were missing, but it rose in a functional arc above the shallow current, just as he’d remembered.

“It’s as good as new,” Mason jested, confidently crossing it to the other side. He held out his hand for Katie to join him.

Katie stalled reluctantly. “I don’t know... I might be too heavy for a kinner’s bridge.”

“Don’t you trust my workmanship?” Mason teased, so she darted across the planks.

Penelope took her turn, and then Lawrence stepped onto the structure. “You call this durable?” he gibed, stomping on the bridge with the heel of his boot. “This board here feels a little loose.”

After Lawrence crossed, Hunter waited for Faith, who seemed to be dillydallying. “Ladies first,” he uttered patiently.

Faith hesitated before placing one foot onto the bridge. As she lifted her back foot from the shore, the waterlogged board beneath her front foot gave way.

From the parallel embankment, Katie shrieked, “Help her!”

It happened so suddenly and his joints were so stiff, Hunter wasn’t able to spring forward quickly enough to prevent Faith from falling. Her front leg wedged through the crack into the creek while her upper torso lurched forward onto the bridge.

Mason and Lawrence raced down the opposite bank while Hunter bolted into the icy current from his side of the water. With one foot dangling in the creek, Faith was using her dry, bent leg and her arms to try to crawl onto the bridge.

“Are you hurt?” Mason asked.

“I’m stuck!” she yelped, red-faced. “Stop pulling me! You’re making it worse.”

“I’ve got her,” Hunter said authoritatively. “I’ll lift her up so you can free her leg. Be careful. Here, Faith, lean back against me.”

From behind, he gently wrapped his arms around her waist and clasped her to his chest until Lawrence and Mason eased her leg from between the planks. Then he carried her to the embankment. Her stocking was torn and her leg was scraped from her ankle to her knee, but it didn’t appear to be seriously injured.

Kneeling before her, Hunter hesitated. He feared his legs would lock up on him, but he offered, “If it hurts your ankle to walk on it, I can carry you back to the house.”

“Neh,” she snapped and what seemed like a look of disgust clouded her face. He didn’t blame her; he might as well have pushed her into the creek for as slowly as he’d moved to prevent her from falling in.

Then she quietly added, “Denki, but my foot is fine. It’s just very cold, so I’m going to hurry up ahead.”

Katie, who had waded over to be sure Faith was alright, said, “My feet are wet and cold, too, so I’ll go with you.” She linked her arm through Faith’s for support and they scuttled away.

Stranded on the opposite bank without a bridge to cross, Penelope called, “What about me? Lawrence, help!” until Lawrence waded across the water, hefted her to his shoulder as easily as a sack of grain and waded back, setting her down next to Mason and Hunter.

The four of them walked in silence the rest of the way, too chilled to speak. In fact, until Katie mentioned her feet were wet, Hunter hadn’t realized his legs were, too. The icy water had made them so numb that for once he wasn’t aware they’d ever been hurt at all. Wishing the same could be said of his self-esteem, Hunter kept his chin tucked to his chest as he tramped against the wind.

Chapter Three (#uf757c358-3d44-59ec-91ca-0e82019d15db)

On Sunday night, Faith rose so many times to don her prayer kapp and kneel beside her bed that she feared she’d wake her two nephews, ages three and five, who slept on the other side of the divider in the tiny room she shared with them. Each time she finished praying, she was certain she’d thought her final uncharitable thought, but another one would come to mind as soon as she slid back under the quilt and she’d have to ask the Lord to forgive her all over again.

Much of her resentment was directed at Lawrence, whom she blamed for her clumsy plunge into the creek. If he hadn’t deliberately trampled over the bridge like a big ox, the board wouldn’t have broken when it was her turn to cross. She was equally piqued by Penelope’s constant chatter and references to her upcoming wedding. Faith understood the young woman was barely eighteen, but it seemed she could have exercised a bit more discretion.