Chapter Thirteen
Kent County, Delaware
“I’m sorry we couldn’t have had a nicer day to greet you,” the matchmaker said as she guided her driving horse onto a curving country lane. “We usually have beautiful weather in September.”
Seated beside Sara Yoder on the buggy seat, Ruby nodded and clutched her black purse on her lap. She was too nervous to think of a sensible reply that wouldn’t make her hostess believe she was a complete gooseberry. She’d been eager to come to Seven Poplars and had counted the weeks and days until her mommi and daddi had put her on the bus. But now that she was finally here, she was suddenly struck dumb.
Thunder rumbled overhead and heavy rain beat against the thin roof and sides of the buggy. It was raining too hard for her to see much through the window over the dashboard. Sara’s buggy was black, rather than gray like the ones she was used to, but otherwise it seemed completely familiar to be rolling along to the sound of the horse’s hooves and the creak of the iron wheels. Her father had warned her that Seven Poplars was a more conservative Old Order Amish than their own community, but so far nothing in Sara’s dress or manner of speaking had proved severe.
Still, Ruby had plenty of reason for concern. What if Sara didn’t like her? Worse, what if Ruby didn’t like any of the potential husbands that Sara offered? What if none of the men were interested in Ruby? She was twenty-five, a quarter of a century old. In a community where all of her friends and cousins her age had already married and were mothers or expecting babies, she was practically an old maid. If she failed to find someone, she’d be letting her parents down as well as herself.
All Ruby had ever dreamed of was a good husband, her own home and the opportunity to practice her faith under the loving eyes of her parents. But there would be no plump and laughing babies, no grandchildren for her mother and father, and no future for her if she couldn’t find a husband. And not just any husband would do. She wanted one who would love her with all his heart because, seeing the special relationship her parents had and the way each one had always put the other first, she wasn’t willing to settle for less.
“We’ll give you a few days to feel at home here, meet the other girls who are staying with me and then we’ll talk about some possibilities,” Sara explained.
Ruby nodded. She, who was rarely at a loss for words, felt as though she had a whole shoofly pie stuck in her throat. She swallowed, thinking she might be coming down with something. It had been raining since she’d left home; she’d gotten wet when she’d changed buses in Philadelphia and again when she’d gotten off in Dover. It wasn’t cold out, but she felt damp and chilled, and her stomach had an ache that was either the greasy foot-long chili dog she’d bought from a cart in Philadelphia or she’d caught an ague. She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead, hoping that she wasn’t feverish. Instead of being hot to the touch, her skin felt clammy, so it had to be nerves.
“I’ve already got someone in mind for you,” Sara went on. “A widower only a few years older than you. He has a son, but your mother assured me that you would welcome a stepchild.”
“Ya,” Ruby managed. “Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from Him.” She winced. Was that all she could say? Now she was imitating her bishop’s wife, who was never content to speak for herself, but always had to be quoting proverbs so as to appear wiser than she was.
Not that Ruby didn’t love children; she adored them. Since she had been young, she was always mothering orphaned animals, birds, even hapless insects that crossed her path. Once, she caused a ruckus during church service when the mouse she’d rescued from a cat wiggled out of her apron pocket and ran up Katie Brunstetter’s leg.
“Here we are,” Sara announced as she drove the horse into a yard. “And I promise, it all looks cheerier in the sunshine.”
Through the rain, Ruby could make out a sprawling Cape Cod–style house and a white picket fence. Behind the house stood a tidy stable, painted white, and several well-kept outbuildings.
“This rain isn’t going to let up. We’ll have to make a run for it,” Sara told her. “Leave your suitcase in the buggy. I’ll have my hired man bring it in when he unharnesses the horse. Hiram won’t mind and there’s no sense in your struggling with it now.”
A figure in a dark coat and hat dashed from the house toward them. “That must be Hiram now,” Sara said as she climbed down from the driver’s seat and hurried toward the house. She paused only momentarily to exchange words with the man, then turned and waved. Ruby opened the door, peered down and saw a huge puddle.
Sara’s hired man ran up to the buggy. He shouted something and held out his arms, but Ruby couldn’t make out what he’d said above the din of the thunder and the rain pounding on the buggy’s rooftop. “I don’t need help, thanks,” she called. The buggy was high. She wasn’t very tall, so she knew that she’d have to give a little leap or she’d land smack in the middle of the mud puddle.
She forced a smile and hopped down.
At least, that was her intention. But the heel of her shoe caught on the edge of the buggy frame, and when she tried to catch her balance, her other foot caught in the hem of her dress. Having already reached the point of no return, her graceful hop to the ground became a lunge.
Which became a fall and Ruby felt herself sail through the air.
Sara’s hired man darted forward and threw out his arms in an attempt to catch her. They collided. Hard. One second, Ruby felt herself hurling through the air and the next, she slammed into something solid. Her head smacked into the man’s chin. His arms went around her, and the two of them crashed to the muddy ground with her on top of him. As they landed, there was a loud thump and a groan, and her would-be rescuer sagged backward with her full weight on top of him.
Arms and legs akimbo, Ruby rolled off the hired man into the puddle. Instantly, cold water soaked her stockings and skirt. She tried to get her balance by supporting herself with her left hand, but it slipped and she went facedown into the muck. Gasping, she scrambled up, intent on putting distance between her and Sara’s hired man. She was mortified. She’d never live this down. How would she ever look the man in the eye? How could she face the matchmaker? Had any potential bride ever made such an embarrassing entrance to Sara’s home?
Ruby glanced down at the man on the ground, steeling herself to meet an angry expression. But there was none. He hadn’t moved. He lay there stretched on the ground with his eyes closed, his features slack, and the rain beating against his face. Ruby’s heart leaped in her chest. Had she killed him? Crushed him beneath her weight? Ruby had what her mother called a sturdy frame. All the women on her mother’s side were short and stocky.
“Are you hurt?” she yelled. And immediately felt a deep flush wash up her throat and face. Of course, he was hurt. Otherwise he wouldn’t still be lying there in the pouring rain.
He lay there as motionless, as lifeless as the granite mounting block standing beside Sara’s hitching post.
“Ach,” Ruby wailed.
She dropped to her knees and lifted his head. His crumpled wool hat fell away. His face was as pale as buttermilk. His thick brown hair felt sticky to her touch. She jerked her hand back and stared at it, watching the rivulets of red rain. Not red rain. Blood. He was bleeding. A lot.