A Marriage for Meghan Read online

  “Even better than that. I checked with mamm this morning. Neither of us needs to hurry home tonight. I’m treating you to supper in town.”

  Meghan set down the watering can. “Is your paycheck burning a hole in your pocket? You have things to buy for your upcoming marriage. I thought you wanted to make curtains for Isaiah’s cabin in both summer and winter fabrics.”

  “Curtains can wait.” Catherine hooked an arm through Meghan’s elbow. “Let’s eat supper at that tourist spot in Shreve. They have the best salad bar in the world.”

  “And how would you know this? You’ve never been out of Ohio.” Meghan was already slipping on her cape and outer bonnet.

  “I read that in an ad in the shoppers’ newspaper, and I tend to believe everything I read.” The women giggled as they walked into the spring sunshine, which felt wonderful on their winter-weary faces.

  “So that’s why you refused to walk to school today,” said Meghan. “Wait here while I get the horse from the paddock.” She quickly hitched him to the harnesses.

  Catherine climbed into the buggy first but handed her sister the reins. “Daed told me he talked to you about teaching Bible stories.”

  Meghan’s smile melted away. “He said I was to stick to one short Scripture reading, preferably from Psalms or Proverbs, and then have the students bow their heads and recite the Lord’s Prayer. We can sing a few songs before we start lessons, but that’s it. I am not to turn the parables into teaching lessons.” She shook the reins over the horse’s back. “He accused me of preaching, Cat, and you know that wasn’t my intention.”

  Catherine patted her sleeve. “I’m sure daed understands that, but one of the ministers is also a member of the school board, and he wants to make sure the agreed-upon curriculum is being taught.” She leaned back against the bench seat. “It must be hard being our father and the bishop some days.”

  “I suppose so,” said Meghan, yet her posture remained rigid. “But it’s not daed I’m worried about. No matter how angry he’s ever been with me, everything’s back to normal by the next morning.”

  “Who then? What’s troubling you?”

  “The other school board members, of course. They didn’t like the idea of hiring me in the first place. After this slipup, they’ll never offer me a permanent position for the fall.” Her sigh conveyed far more weariness than a long school day warranted.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Catherine. “Every time one of the parents has wandered in to observe the classroom, you were doing fine.”

  Meghan looked mortified. “Every time? I noticed a parent last week during the health class on proper hand washing, plus once during a geography lesson on the various mountain ranges. I was so nervous I pronounced ‘Appalachian’ three different ways.”

  “Few people agree on how to say that difficult English word. But parents have come to observe a couple of other times too.”

  Meghan’s jaw dropped open. “When?”

  “I don’t remember the exact dates, but Mr. Shockley crept in real quiet-like. You were in the front with third and fourth graders reading aloud from their books. I think he was checking more on Owen than on us.”

  Meghan rolled her eyes. “What was Owen doing? Hiding behind his propped-up textbook, fast asleep?”

  “You should stop fretting so much. Owen was working out the story problems you gave him in math. That boy loves anything to do with buying and selling at the grain elevator, even if it is make-believe.”

  Meghan stared at the road ahead. “I didn’t notice Mr. Shockley.”

  “It’s a good thing. You might have fainted. Then we would have had to revive you. You’re doing fine, dear one. I’ve looked over your lesson plans, and you’re getting the hang of it. Even your speaking voice can be clearly heard in the last row, and you are much better at watching three activities at once.”

  “I’ll never be Joanna.”

  “Joanna wasn’t the teacher we know during her first year. People improve their skills with time and practice.” Catherine wracked her brain for the right words to bolster her sister’s confidence. “Do you remember when you first took up horseback riding? You could barely stay on the beast, but eventually you ended up being one of the best barrel racers in the county.”

  Meghan’s grin erased every last vestige of fatigue from her pretty face. “I practiced every day after chores. Mamm was irritated with me, fearing I would run away to be an English rodeo rider.” Her laughter filled the buggy.

  “You improved each time you rode that barrel course, didn’t you?”

  “Jah, but this is more important than any silly horse race.” She tightened the reins to slow the horse at a traffic light.

  “Daed knows how hard you’ve worked. He’s proud of you, I’m sure.”

  “Are you certain, Cat? Or are you just saying that because you love me?” She clucked to the horse and the buggy turned into the restaurant parking lot.

  “I would not bear false witness, even for my beloved schwester.”

  Meghan jumped down to tie the reins to the hitching post. She turned to face Catherine before they went inside. “I pray every night that I improve enough to get the job. That I’ll become worthy to be entrusted with this responsibility. Once I even prayed that no one else yearning to be a teacher moves to our district.” She sounded older than her usual giddy self as a blush rose into her cheeks. “I prayed that daed realizes I’m a grown woman and not the family’s little goose anymore.” Meghan locked eyes with Catherine for a moment, and then she grabbed her purse from the seat and hurried toward the door.

  Catherine paused long enough to whisper her own prayer: “Please, Lord, help my sister continue to grow as she learns how to serve You.” I hope that my prayer will be answered and I won’t have to throw a feed sack over other candidates for the job.

  At dinner the sisters talked no more of classrooms or work skills. They loaded their plates at the world’s best salad bar and found a table next to the window. A basket of warm poppy seed rolls arrived almost immediately by a friendly waitress. After whispering a silent prayer, Catherine began to devour fresh spinach, shredded cheese, cubed ham and turkey, and pickled everything-under-the-sun. The restaurant lived up to its reputation with four different kinds of soup, plus exceptional chicken and potato salads.

  Meghan, with fork in hand, stared out the window at the growing gloom. “I’ll be glad when daylight savings time returns in two weeks. It will be pitch-dark during our drive home.”

  “Will you stop fretting? I put fresh batteries in the buggy lights this morning. Cars will be able to see us just fine. Now eat, Meghan,” Catherine ordered. “This meal is my treat. I will be miffed if I don’t get my money’s worth. What’s gotten into you lately? In the past you didn’t worry about anything. Now you worry about everything.” She speared a baby beet.

  Meghan took a dainty forkful of pasta salad. “I’ve grown up. I must take life seriously if I want people to take me seriously.”

  “Relax. I almost never hear anyone mention the time you put raw eggs on the top shelf of the school woodstove. Oh, my. The mess those made. And the smell.”

  Meghan’s two dimples deepened. “I simply wanted hard-cooked eggs for lunch. I can’t imagine why that fussy teacher got so angry.” She winked at Catherine, and then she began eating with gusto.

  “Jah, right. No one with half a memory can deny you’ve come a long way. But now that you’re getting the hang of teaching, don’t you think you should return to singings and district socials? A teacher isn’t required to cloister herself with grading papers every night.” Catherine spooned up thick and creamy clam chowder.

  “I will soon. Maybe in the summer.” Meghan pulled her bowl of split pea soup closer.

  Catherine stared at her. “This summer? For someone your age, that’s akin to waiting forever.”

  “You’re not that much older than me, Cat. Besides, I’m ashamed to face Jacob. I behaved badly toward him and hurt his feelings.”


  “The longer you wait to apologize, the harder it will be. You’re probably making too big a deal of this in your mind. I believe that young man loves you.” Catherine lowered her voice to a whisper, despite the fact only unfamiliar Englischers surrounded them.

  “Hush. Don’t say things like that. It’s not proper and probably not true.” Meghan’s lower lip protruded as it had during one of her childhood pouts.

  “Fine, I’ll say no more, but please consider going to singings.”

  “I’ll think about it. Now will you stop pestering and let a woman eat?” She forked up a pile of romaine lettuce. “Or did you bring me here only to interrogate me?” Meghan’s wink indicated she hadn’t taken offense.

  “I’ll not say another word…except to remind you that they have soft serve ice cream sundaes for dessert, so save room.”

  The band of Catherine’s skirt cut uncomfortably into her waist as they climbed into the buggy and started for home an hour later. But it wasn’t discomfort from overindulgence that ruined the sisters’ good spirits along the drive. Close to the midway point, they both spotted a telltale yellow glow against dark clouds in the distance.

  “Look, Cat!” Meghan cried, her voice lifting with alarm. “Don’t turn here. Go straight so we can see what’s on fire. Oh, this is horrible.”

  Catherine’s better judgment cautioned that going this way probably wasn’t a good idea. Fire trucks, rescue vehicles, and police cars didn’t need a slow-moving Amish buggy in their path. But womanly curiosity got the better of her as she headed toward the bright reflection in the sky. By the time they reached the blaze, additional fire trucks were arriving, blessedly from the other direction.

  “Oh no! Isn’t this the Yoder farm? Glen Yoder is Jacob’s best friend.”

  “You’re right,” said Catherine. “I remember coming here for church services a while back. Thank goodness it’s their produce stand and not their house that’s burning. It looks as though there’s little the firemen can do at this point.”

  Meghan guided the balky gelding to the side of the road. “There’s Mr. Yoder,” she said. “Hold the reins while I speak to him a moment.” She jumped down before Catherine could stop her.

  “Come back, Meg! There’s nothing we can do but get in the way. The building is already fully engulfed—”

  “I’ll only be a minute,” Meghan called, running toward Mr. Yoder. The dark-haired man stood stock-still, staring at the blaze as though hypnotized.

  “Mr. Yoder, I’m so sorry about your market,” Meghan said when she reached his side.

  He turned as though sleepwalking. “Don’t get too close, young lady. Sparks are flying. I don’t want any to land on you.” He shooed her back as the firemen aimed hoses at the inferno. “There’s not much they can do but keep the fire from spreading to other buildings.” Mr. Yoder sounded sadly resigned. “And that could happen if the wind picks up.” He glanced nervously at his large livestock barn.

  The two watched as roof timbers began to fall in, sending sparks shooting toward the sky. “Shall I tell my daed? Do you wish him to come tonight?” she asked.

  “No, Meghan. I’ve already sent Glen to your house to tell the bishop. I thought it best, considering the sheriff arrived right after the first fire truck. One of our English neighbors spotted the flames and phoned it in.” Mr. Yoder coughed into a handkerchief, and then he took Meghan’s arm to walk her toward their buggy. “You go on home, child. Tell the bishop I’ll see him Sunday at preaching and we can talk then.”

  “We’ll see you at the Millers’,” called Catherine. Meghan climbed back into the buggy and took the reins. The two sisters drove home in silence. The high spirits shared at suppertime had vanished. Each woman mulled over the latest disaster to hit the community as fear gripped their hearts and began to grow.

  Gideon patted his belly after his fraa’s satisfying dinner, and then he decided he would hike to the barn and stretch his legs. He wanted to see if his sons needed help with the evening chores before settling into his easy chair with his Bible and notepad. But he didn’t get halfway to the barn before the next calamity arrived on his doorstep. Glen, a lanky young man from the far end of the district, raced up on horseback instead of opting for a more dignified horse and buggy.

  “What is it, young man? Do you have news for James and John that won’t keep?” The bishop stepped back from the hooves of the prancing horse.

  “No, Bishop. I came to speak to you.” Glen slid from the Thoroughbred’s back. “Something has happened…again. This time to our produce stand.”

  Gideon knew that the Yoders’ stand was one of the best in the county—large and airy, with plentiful tables to sell fruit, vegetables, and baked goods, as well as jams and preserves. It was well situated on a main highway with a paved parking lot. Amish folk brought quilts, birdhouses, and other crafts to sell on consignment. Glen’s family kept the stand open eight months out of the year. “What happened?” he asked, dreading the answer.

  “Burned down, Bishop. Somebody burned our market to the ground. My grossdawdi built it forty years ago with my daed.”

  Gideon saw tears in the Glen’s eyes. What is happening to our community? Am I capable of leading my flock through these tribulations? The bishop tried to comfort the young man as best he could, yet his words seemed to ring hollow.

  After Glen departed, Gideon headed to the house instead of the barn. He reviewed his notes for Sunday’s sermon and then read Scripture until his eyes began to close. Yet once in bed, he tossed and turned for an hour, overwrought with self-doubts. “Lord, I give this up to You. Guide me so I might serve and lead our district. May we ever honor You.” And then he drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  The ride to the Millers’, the family hosting the preaching service, seemed interminably long. Gideon’s sons had hitched up their largest buggy and rode to church with the family instead of in their own two-seater. Perhaps it was the cool rain that made them squeeze in with their sisters, but Gideon suspected the young men sought answers—answers he didn’t have.

  “Do you think the same men who jumped us also started the fire?” asked James.

  “What will the Yoder family do now? Plenty of other folks’ quilts and crafts burned up along with the stand.” John had stuck his head in between his sisters to state the obvious. He was sitting cross-legged behind the second bench.

  “Do you think the sheriff will catch the arsonists?” asked James, from his position next to Catherine.

  Following his third “I don’t know,” Gideon lost patience. “And you have no knowledge that this was arson, James, so I suggest you not speculate. The fire could have started accidentally from an overturned kerosene lamp or something combustible left too close to the woodstove.”

  James leaned forward on the bench seat. “Glen’s family uses solar panels on the roof to power lights and a small electric heater. It provides enough heat for spring and fall. They have too many cats running around to trust kerosene lanterns in the market.”

  “Let’s speak on another subject.” Gideon didn’t want his sons drawing premature conclusions. “This is the Lord’s Day. Let’s leave judgment up to Him. The sheriff’s work is not our concern.”

  Apparently no other topic came to mind as the Yost family rode the remaining distance in silence. Gideon greeted the ministerial brethren in the outbuilding where most of the long benches had already been set up. They had learned of the fire only that morning. “We’ll have much to discuss at the congregational meeting,” he said to the somber threesome. “Should we let folks eat a bite of lunch before we begin?”

  “As you wish, Bishop,” said Paul. “Kinner especially will be hungry by the time service ends.”

  While people filed in and took seats on the long benches, the four elders decided who would preach which sermon and who would read Scripture. As a light rain beat against the metal roof, the district lifted their voices in songs. Hearts might be heavy, but their sweet words of praise offered hope to the faithful.


  After the service Ruth helped Mrs. Miller set out cold cuts, sliced cheese, and fresh bread for sandwiches, along with potato and cucumber salads. Dessert would wait until district business had been settled. Because the majority ruled in Amish districts, Gideon and the elders would abide by the consensus of the people. After everyone had eaten, they filed back into the barn to their same spots on the benches.

  Gideon uttered a silent prayer for guidance while waiting for chatter to die down. “By now you’ve heard the news of the fire last night at Glen Yoder’s farm,” he said. “Because they don’t use lanterns or a woodstove in the building, a person might assume that someone intentionally set the blaze.”

  Gasps and groans rose up among the congregation.

  “Who would do such a thing?” was the common question called out.

  Gideon allowed the congregation to discuss the matter for a few minutes, and then he cleared his throat and looked to his ministers.

  “Glen, could there be any other explanation for the fire?” asked Stephen. “What do you remember?”

  Glen Yoder Sr. stood, looking drawn and pale. “My sons and I had been cleaning and painting in preparation for opening the stand within the next two weeks. We left solvents, thinners, and rags behind, but nobody had been smoking or burning candles or anything else like that—there was no source of flame. The sheriff said it appeared to have been deliberately set.”

  “Who summoned the sheriff?” came a voice from the back.

  Glen wasted no time answering. “He investigates anytime the fire department is dispatched. The English neighbors across the street called nine-one-one.”

  One elderly woman stood shakily. “I live next door, and I saw a van arrive with news reporters and cameramen. It will be on the Englischers’ television sets that there’s trouble in our community.”

  “There is trouble in our district,” said Gideon, pushing his wire-rimmed spectacles higher on his nose. “There’s no denying it.”

  “Jah, true, but we don’t want newspaper reporters and TV coverage making it worse. They blow everything out of proportion to sell more papers.” Paul’s usually soft, raspy voice could be heard in the rafters.