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  The quilt looked lovely in the bedroom, though Margaret would take some time deciding if it should have the place of her bedspread or instead be arranged casually on the back of the reading chair she kept beside the bed. What to do about the Amish conundrum was much more pressing.

  Conundrum. Not a very friendly word.

  Ice cream. Ice cream would soothe a ragged day, and making it would give her body something to do. Margaret lit the stove and pulled eggs and milk from the icebox and sugar and vanilla from the pantry. She stirred and mixed, her taste buds already anticipating a sensation still hours off.

  The knock on the door, just as she took the mixture off the stove, startled her. That Margaret heard neither the approaching engine on the street nor the footsteps on her porch stairs testified to her preoccupation. At the front door, she glanced through the slender pane of glass and saw Gray Truesdale—and regretted she had not looked in the mirror before she left the bedroom and exerted herself in the kitchen. Smoothing her hair with one hand, she opened the door with the other.

  Of course she was glad to see him, though befuddled how she had lost track of the likelihood that he would call tonight.

  “I was in the middle of making ice cream,” she said.

  “I’ll help,” he said.

  Margaret pointed to the wooden ice cream maker situated decoratively in the corner of the porch, and Gray bent to pick it up and carry it into the kitchen. He held the inner canister while she poured the mixture in and then added the dasher before securing the lid and handle.

  “I hope you have plenty of ice,” he said. “And salt.”

  “Both,” Margaret said, “though I should have chipped off the ice before I began.”

  Gray smiled and rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll do it.”

  She watched as he opened the bottom of the icebox and chipped enough ice to fill the wooden bucket far more efficiently than she could have. Effortlessly, he carried the assemblage out to the front porch, positioned himself on one knee, and began to crank. The muscles in his arms rippled in a captivating rhythm, and Margaret felt heat rise in the back of her neck at her inability to turn her eyes away from the movements of his lanky frame.

  “I went out to the auction today.” She forced herself to do something other than gawk at this man who had come into her life ten years later than she would have liked.

  “I was there, too.” He looked up. “Working with my brother.”

  “I didn’t realize you had a brother.”

  “All my life.” Gray grinned.

  “Perhaps I’ll meet him someday.”

  “I hope so.” Gray’s expression sobered. “He’s my only family.”

  “Your parents?”

  “Gone long ago. I’ll tell you about it someday. Not tonight.”

  Margaret sucked in one cheek. Gray was thinking of their future.

  “What kind of work were you doing today?” she asked.

  “Helping to set up some tents. I left my brother on his own to get them down, but he’ll be fairly paid for the extra work.”

  Gray cranked.

  Margaret watched in admiration.

  “I wanted to ask a question,” he said.

  “Of course.”

  He cranked.

  She admired, hoping he did not see the unabating blush.

  “Tomorrow is Sunday.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Church is at eleven.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I’d be pleased if you’d allow me to call for you at quarter till.”

  “I’d be pleased if you would,” she said.

  He cranked.

  She made herself look away.

  “Then I look forward to the Lord’s Day all the more.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure.”

  He cranked. They made small talk—what they had seen at the auction, the fine weather, the headlines in the newspaper out of Cleveland about the war in Europe and spreading influenza. Gradually, the cranking slowed.

  “It will have to sit for a while,” Gray said.

  Margaret crossed to the corner of the porch and unfolded a rug to lay over the ice cream maker.

  “I have blackberries,” she said.

  “Is that so?”

  “I mean, if you might like to come back after supper. We could put blackberries over the ice cream.”

  “Well, I believe that would be quite delicious and convenient.”

  She watched him saunter back out to his truck, already savoring what his kiss would taste like later that evening.

  Ella stroked the nose of Gideon’s new horse, hoping he had not paid too dearly for her. It was a buggy horse, though, not the workhorse she had expected him to purchase.

  “I’ll make sure she’s well broken in before you need to use her,” Gideon said.

  Ella raised her face, confused.

  “I have an extra cart I’ll sand down,” he said. “You’ll always have a horse and cart available for visiting or shopping or whatever you need it for.”

  His eyes met hers, and she fell into them. “Gideon …”

  “It’s time, isn’t it?” he said. “If you’ll have me, I would like to be your loving husband.”

  “Of course I’ll have you!” Ella’s heart raced. The crowd around them lost its color, the vibrancy of the day fading in the illumined moment.

  “I’ll care for you, provide for you, and do my best to bring happiness into each of your days.”

  “Gideon …” She wanted him to kiss her.

  He cupped her elbow and nudged her around the back side of the makeshift stable behind the auction ring, and she waited while he glanced in both directions before removing his hat and dipping his head to oblige her wish—which he evidently shared. Ella hoped Gideon’s kiss would always draw her to him as it did now.

  “Your father will have no objection, will he?” Gideon whispered when he broke the kiss.

  “None whatsoever.”

  “I could speak to him today, if you like.”

  “As soon as possible, please.”

  “Wedding season is only two months off.”

  “We can be one of the first couples to publish our banns.” What a relief it would be to talk openly about their relationship. They could speak to the bishop and set the date for the first Thursday in November, as soon as the harvest season was finished. Rachel would gladly take on the role of mother of the bride, and Ella’s siblings would come from their scattered farms for a joyful day.

  Gideon kissed her again, this time lingering in a delectable recognition of the decision Ella had waited so long for. He was hers.

  CHAPTER 9

  What sort of small gift of friendship might she take to Amish families as she visited? Sampling at the auction had convinced Margaret she could not compete with their jams or jellies, and their baked goods tempted her to beg for recipes that had never been written down. She wandered through the mercantile on Monday morning considering whether packets of stationery might be appropriate for the mothers, or perhaps flower seeds to put away for next spring.

  I should have asked Lindy. She used to be one of them.

  Margaret picked up two packets of stationery with matching envelopes bundled together in wide ribbons. She would start with two families today. If the gift seemed to cause offense, tomorrow she would try something else.

  At the counter, as she counted out the necessary coins, she was startled to see Mr. Brownley enter the store.

  Their eyes met.

  “Good morning,” Margaret said.

  “Good morning.” Brownley’s eyes shifted to look down the long center aisle. “Have you seen the deputy sheriff? I was told he came in here.”

  The clerk pushed a button and the cash register opened. “He’s in the back. Saw him looking at the hammers. Said he’d be right up.”

  “I told him I would just be a minute and he disappeared,” Brownley muttered.

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Brownley?” Margaret asked.
r />   “Everything is in hand, Miss Simpson. The sheriff and I decided to pay a few calls on the farms, that’s all.”

  “I’m about to do the same thing,” Margaret said. “I thought perhaps a gentle, personal approach—”

  “School starts two weeks from today,” Brownley said. “I’ve decided we need a firm approach, one that makes the law clear.”

  Margaret’s jaw dropped. She clenched it closed immediately. “Did I misunderstand your instructions to me?”

  “I was clear, was I not?”

  “I thought so. But now you seem inclined to handle the matter yourself.”

  Deputy Fremont plunked money on the counter, and the two men exited the mercantile.

  Margaret scrambled after them. “May I inquire about the nature of the calls you plan to pay?”

  Deputy Fremont laughed. “My badge is all the explanation most folks need.”

  Margaret hustled to keep pace with their strides.

  “I thought we’d take my automobile,” the sheriff said. “It will look more official.”

  “Good, good. Makes a strong statement.”

  “Mr. Brownley,” Margaret said, trailing them, “might I have a word?”

  “You can come along, Miss Simpson.” Brownley nodded at the deputy. “She won’t be any trouble.”

  “Mr. Brownley, please.” Margaret’s pitch rose. “Ought we not act in concert on the matter? Is this really necessary?” Had he expected that in less than a week she would be able to report that the Amish families had promised compliance? Indignation rose at the insult of his assigning a task to her and nevertheless acting on the matter without so much as a consultation. He would never have treated the efforts of a man so trivially.

  “As I said,” Brownley replied without pausing his step, “you may come with us if you wish. But the matter is settled. Deputy Fremont suggested that a visual reminder of the strength of law might prove effective, and I think he has a point. He’s certain the sheriff over in Chardon would agree. We can be done with this matter once and for all.”

  So this was Deputy Fremont’s idea. Despite the abundant Amish population in his district, apparently he understood their peaceable ways even less than she did. Margaret ignored the deputy’s cockeyed grin.

  “We can’t possibly know who will turn up on the first day of school,” Margaret said. “Maybe all of them will.”

  “Unlikely,” snapped the deputy.

  When they reached the deputy’s vehicle, Margaret thrust herself between the officer and the superintendent. “I must forcefully remonstrate against this decision. Give me time. I will bring you a report as we agreed.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Brownley said.

  “Then the task you described is no longer incumbent upon me?”

  Brownley shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I’m sure the softer side of a woman will have its place, but you cannot have expected I would abdicate my responsibility and leave the matter entirely in your hands.”

  Fremont leaned against the hood of the car to crank the engine. Brownley nudged Margaret aside and opened the passenger door.

  “What’s our first stop?” Fremont asked when the engine caught.

  “Now here’s where you can help, Miss Simpson,” Brownley said. “Who is the most influential Amish father?”

  Margaret hesitated but finally said, “Gideon Wittmer.” He was influential, but Margaret’s brief encounters with him also led her to believe he would hold his own. The deputy’s vehicle would have no bearing on his response.

  “Where’s his farm?”

  “I’m coming with you.” Margaret avoided Brownley’s eyes, instead pushing past him to climb into the backseat.

  The boys were out back, throwing pebbles toward the side of the barn to see who could land one closest to the structure without striking it. From his kitchen window, Gideon watched Tobias competing with Jed Hilty’s boys.

  “We’ll all be kin before too long.” Jed toyed with his mug and sipped his coffee. “I couldn’t be more pleased that you and Ella will wed. You’ll give her a fine home. And with only sons of her own, Rachel never expected to be mother of the bride.”

  “Ella will appreciate her advice.” Gideon returned the coffeepot to the stove. “I’m no help. When I married Betsy, her mother and sisters arranged everything, right down to how many roast chickens we needed for the meal.”

  Jed chuckled. “I have three other daughters. I’ve learned that weddings are a good time to let the womenfolk take the lead.”

  “The boys get along well,” Gideon said, looking out the window again.

  “Seth gets along with everyone,” Jed said. “David is peculiar at times, but they are both good boys. Their father would have been proud.”

  “Will you send them to school?” Gideon had not intended to be so blunt, but with only two weeks left of the summer break, the imminent need to find his own answer to the question had begun to round the corner of polite conversation.

  “Seth is only twelve,” Jed said. “He just finished the sixth grade, so he should take two more years.”

  “But at the English school?” Gideon turned his gaze to the eyes of his future father-in-law. “You’ve decided that this is right and pleasing to God?”

  “I’ve decided Seth will handle himself well and learn what he needs to learn. He’s not a troublemaker, and he won’t want to disgrace his mother.”

  “And David?”

  Jed sighed. “Fifteen years old. I see nothing he will gain from returning to school after he’s been out for a year. Rachel agrees.”

  “He’s not even close to his sixteenth birthday.”

  “No, but I can’t see how the English will find reason to bother themselves about Amish children who have already left school. It makes no sense for them to return to the rolls.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” Gideon said. “Tobias is only thirteen, but he’ll soon be fourteen. I’ll need him for the harvest, but then he can go to school over the winter. I’ll take him out again when I need him for the early spring planting. He won’t want to go back next year.”

  Gertie burst into the room, coming from the front of the house.

  “Daed, two English men are here.” Gertie’s eyes widened. “Savilla said to find you right away.”

  Gideon swooped up Gertie and strode through the house. Jed’s boots thudded right behind him.

  “Savilla!” Gideon called as soon as he was on the front porch. The girl ran toward him, leaving two men standing alongside the fenced pasture.

  “I heard them talking,” Savilla said. “It’s about school.”

  “And the lady who was here before came again,” Gertie said.

  Gideon eyed the parked car, recognizing it as a vehicle that belonged to the Geauga County sheriff’s department. He set Gertie on the porch.

  “Savilla, take your sister in the house,” Gideon said, “or go out to the dawdihaus and visit Miriam.”

  “Is everything all right?” Savilla took Gertie’s hand but looked over her shoulder at the visitors, who now fixed their stares on her father.

  “I’m sure it is,” Gideon said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Jed kept pace with Gideon as they walked across the rolling front yard toward the fence.

  “I’m Gideon Wittmer,” Gideon said. He nodded at Margaret Simpson, the only one of the three visitors he recognized. “What can I do for you?”

  “We just want to make sure you understand the law,” said the uniformed man.

  Margaret stepped forward. “This is Deputy Fremont and Superintendent Brownley. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not worried,” Gideon said.

  So this was the superintendent behind the forceful correspondence made to sound friendlier than it was.

  “I’m Mr. Hilty,” Jed said. “Is there something you need from us today?”

  The superintendent flipped a few papers. “Jed Hilty. I don’t see the Hilty name on our list of stude
nts.”

  “I’ve received your letters. I have stepsons who might be on your forms,” Jed said. “Kaufman.”

  “So you both understand the new laws?” the deputy asked.

  “We’ve read your letters,” Gideon said.

  “Do you have questions?” Margaret asked. “This would be a good opportunity to have them answered.”

  “No questions,” Gideon said. The more he looked at Miss Simpson, the more nervous she seemed.

  “Good,” said Mr. Brownley. “Then can we expect your full cooperation?”

  “Rachel told me the happy news.” Lindy embraced Ella in the middle of a Seabury furniture store that frequently carried Amish craftsmanship.

  “Danki!” Ella made no effort to contain her smile.

  The last two days had been a whirlwind. Though her engagement to Gideon would not be published to the church officially for weeks, already the news buzzed.

  “When Betsy married Gideon,” Lindy said, “he became my brother. I suppose your marriage will make you my sister.”

  Ella swallowed a lump that formed in an instant. “You’re so gracious to me. No one can take Betsy’s place, but I’m going to do my best to love her family as she would have.”

  “I know you will. And you can count on me for help. Just let me know what you need.”

  Ella glanced at a crate Lindy had set on the floor.

  “Toys.” Lindy leaned toward Ella and spoke behind her hand. “The owners discovered that they sell more furniture if children find a toy to play with while the parents shop. And even if they don’t buy furniture, they almost always buy the toy.”

  Ella giggled. “I only came in to look. I’m not sure Gideon realizes how much space my books take.”

  “Let me make you a bookcase,” Lindy said. “It will be a wedding present.”

  Lindy glanced over her shoulder, first in one direction and then the other.

  “Are you still having that strange sensation?” Ella asked.

  Lindy nodded. “I was sure someone was following me just now on the street. I was anxious to get inside. But if I don’t know who is following me, how do I know the person is not in the shop now?”