summer. Unless you’re near one of the lakes.”
“The big difference will be in the winter. Delaware winters are mild, so they tell me.” Sara held up the basket of laundry toward Addy, then set it on the porch. “If you’ll take this, I’ll go back for the second basket.”
“I brought back your dress.” Addy showed it to her in the basket on her arm. “I appreciate you loaning it to me.”
“No need for you to return it.” Sara’s round face creased in a smile. “I meant it as a gift. It will hardly fit me or Ellie.”
“Because...I’m so tall,” Addy supplied.
Sara’s smile widened. “Or we’re so short. Right, Ellie?”
“Ya, Sara, right about that,” Ellie agreed.
“But it could be hemmed,” Addy suggested. The dress was so nice, but she didn’t want to appear needy.
“Nonsense,” Sara shot back. “The green color suits you.”
“It does, Addy,” Gideon added. “I thought that when you left here wearing it the other day.”
Sara’s dark eyes narrowed. “Gideon and Ellie seem to think you’d prefer to be called by your middle name. So which will it be? Dorcas or Addy? I need to know these things.”
“Addy...I think... That is...” Addy hunched her shoulders and tried to make herself smaller. “Unless you think...Dorcas is better.”
“I think that you can call yourself whatever pleases you, so long as it doesn’t offend your parents or your neighbors. Addy sounds fine to me.”
“Ya. And me.” Self-consciously, Addy set her basket on the porch and picked up the laundry basket. “I’ll start hanging these,” she said. “And thank you...for the dress. It’s kind of you.”
“And kind of you to come and help us get settled. It’s a good house, but it needs work.”
As do I, Addy thought, if I’m to ever have a chance at finding a husband. I just hope Sara is good at her job. Because finding someone for me might be her most difficult match yet.
* * *
Sunday, Gideon, Sara and Ellie headed for the Yoder farm for church services. And as Addy had promised, her aunt’s home was near enough to walk, which he appreciated. He’d always believed that, as much as possible, the Sabbath should be a day of rest for the horses as well as their owners.
As they walked up the long Yoder lane, buggies full of families passed them. Those inside waved and called out greetings. As in his community in Wisconsin, each man was garbed in the black mutze, suspenders, trousers and vest, and white long-sleeved dress shirts. The men’s wide-brimmed hats were black wool, similar to those worn back home. The women were in blues, greens, purple or even lavender, with white organdy kapps, and capes known as halsduchs. Children were dressed like the adults, although most boys had black straw hats.
In the Yoder barnyard, Gideon shook hands with several men. He was introduced to more people than he could keep straight, and turned to Charley Byler for help. Gideon soon learned that Charley had married one of the many Yoder girls.
“Hannah lives in the big house. She married Albert Hartman,” Charley explained. “That’s him over there talking to Preacher Caleb. Albert used to be a Mennonite, but he joined our church. He and Hannah live here, and my Miriam, our boy, and Miriam’s sister Ruth and her husband and boys live in that house.” He pointed to a small house in the distance. “Eli works at the chair shop. I farm this place. Albert is a veterinarian.”
Gideon arched his brows. He’d never heard of an Amish vet.
Charley shrugged and laughed. “Long story. If Sara has any problems with her mules, she should send you for Albert straight off. He’s got a real touch with livestock.”
“So Albert and Hannah live in the big house, but you work the farm?” Gideon asked.
“Right. I was doing masonry full-time, but I’ve been lucky enough to cut my hours back so I can spend more time here, now that my family is growing. It’s rich soil, a good farm, and Hannah and Albert let me make all the decisions on what to plant and what animals we raise. Other than Albert’s alpacas. You’ll have to take a look at them after church. He and Hannah are pretty attached to those silly creatures.” He slapped Gideon on the back in an amiable gesture. “Who knows? Maybe by the time my son’s ready to take over the farm, people will be calling it the Byler place.”
Gideon nodded in agreement. He liked Charley. They were close in age, and Charley seemed such a pleasant and interesting person that it was impossible not to like him. “Sara said you are chaperoning the singing coming up. I hope I’ll be welcome, although I can’t promise how well I can sing.”
“You’re more than welcome,” Charley assured him. “We can always use more men. There are a lot of single young women here, if you get my meaning.”
Gideon grimaced. “That should make Sara happy. Not much call for a matchmaker if you don’t have girls wanting husbands.”
“Or the other way around.” Charley motioned toward the house. “I see Samuel and Bishop Atlee are on their way in. I think we’d best find our seats.”
* * *
Several hours later, the long church service came to an end. Bishop Atlee had given a good sermon. The little man didn’t raise his voice as he quoted from Exodus, but he didn’t need to. As one, the congregation leaned forward to hear the commands that the Lord gave to Moses. So fervent was the bishop’s telling of the Bible story that Gideon could almost feel the heat of the desert sun and taste the hardships of God’s chosen people as they journeyed toward the Promised Land. And when the listeners rose to sing the traditional German hymns that brought the worship service to a close, Gideon joined them without reservation. He’d always loved singing, and he liked to think that he had a strong voice, even if he wasn’t always quite on key.
Sitting to his left was Charley, to his right, Charley’s brother-in-law, Eli. Around them were fathers, brothers, husbands and sons. The Yoder farmhouse was a spacious, two-story farmhouse with large rooms that opened through wide doors and removable partitions to join parlor, hall and sitting room. As was customary, men sat on backless benches on one side of the house, women and younger children on the other. The deacon, the two preachers and the bishop, as well as older members of the congregation, had chairs, and along the wall were several rockers for the elderly. The walls were a soft cream, the floors hardwood, the furniture sparse, and every inch was clean enough to eat off.
The song ended, and Bishop Atlee gave his closing thoughts before indicating that the congregation should kneel for a united prayer. The words were familiar and comforting to Gideon. He’d never been away from his home for any extended length of time, and he’d feared he’d feel lonely. But here, he felt instantly at ease. Even though these people were strangers, they were united by faith and common customs, and he was pleasantly surprised by how comforting that was.
He liked what he’d seen of Seven Poplars. The community was conservative but not harsh in their interpretation of the ordnung, and they had made his first week there a welcome one. The county was known to be good farming country, and the small Amish community seemed industrious and well-off. Houses and barns were well cared for; the livestock was sleek and healthy and the roads not too busy for horses and buggies. Gideon would be pleased to write his parents that night and tell them that he was settling in and in good health. He would not mention what he found most delightful—the abundance of rosy-cheeked young women, as fair as he’d seen anywhere.
He and Charley joined the others as they rose for the final hymn. Afterward, Charley had promised they’d enjoy a communal meal served on tables set up outside under the trees. Gideon supposed that he and the other men would carry the benches out of the house for seating. His stomach rumbled. They’d eaten nothing before service this morning, and he couldn’t