A Groom for Greta. Anna SchmidtЧитать онлайн книгу.
children who were her students clearly admired her. Yes, Lydia Goodloe would be a wise choice to manage his home and raise his children in the faith of their ancestors. He could do a lot worse than Lydia Goodloe.
But then his gaze was drawn to the sister—Greta. Unlike Lydia, Greta’s eyes did not remain fixed on the minister. Instead, she glanced around, out the window, up at the ceiling, at some lint she picked off her dark green cotton dress. Although she sat relatively still, her eyes darted around the room like a butterfly pausing at one flower and then quickly moving on to the next.
It occurred to Luke that if he were successful in his courtship of the elder sister, he would no doubt be expected to take in the younger one, as well. In the absence of her late parents, he and Lydia would be Greta’s guardians, at least until she married. He could only pray that Josef Bontrager would reconsider his decision and take Greta for his wife.
Just then Greta’s eyes lighted on him for an instant and he saw her scowl before quickly ducking her head and folding her hands in her lap. Likewise, Luke turned his attention back to the minister. As the words of the lesson continued, Luke silently prayed for God’s guidance for this treacherous trip he was about to take down the path of courtship. At least this time he had chosen the elder sister with his eyes wide open. In this case there was no father to trick him as Laban had tricked Jacob or the man in Ontario had tried to deceive Luke.
No. The challenge facing him was to persuade Lydia Goodloe that they could make a nice life together. Convinced that he was up to that challenge, he risked one more look across the aisle at the Goodloe sisters and was unnerved when he realized that his gaze had settled first on Greta before moving on to Lydia.
Chapter Four
Greta squeezed her eyes shut tightly as the service came to an end, praying that God might forgive her for not listening to the lesson for the day. Oh, she had gotten the part about two sisters—one fairer than the other—but then her mind had started to wander. Surely the Lord would understand that she had so many things to consider—so many things to work out. The worst of it would be how best to handle the barely perceptible murmur that would surely spread through the congregation after Bishop Troyer announced the couples planning to marry that fall. That list, of course, no longer included Josef and her. So, soon everyone would know at least a part of the story. She brightened a little as it occurred to her that, like the bishop, most would simply assume that Greta had quit Josef rather than the other way round. Their pity would be directed toward him.
But then her relief collapsed as she realized that this was only a momentary reprieve. Soon enough everyone would know the real story. She glanced over toward the men’s section, meaning to see how Josef was handling things but her eyes had settled instead on Luke Starns. The man was watching her and the only way she could describe his expression was one of disapproval. At that very moment, Lydia nudged Greta with her elbow—her signal for Greta to stop fidgeting. Those two were going to make a perfect match, she thought, as she laced her fingers together in silent prayer. It would appear that Luke Starns followed the rules as strictly as her sister.
The announcement of coming nuptials was made and the congregation reacted exactly as Greta had imagined. When the service finally ended, the women moved as one toward the kitchen to lay out the meal while the men and boys began rearranging the benches into tables and seating. She heard Josef’s laugh and whipped around to see him stepping aside to allow Esther Yoder to pass by on her way to the kitchen.
Esther was the eldest daughter of the Yoders who owned the dry goods store. She was two years younger than Greta and it was well-known throughout Celery Fields that her mother thought it high time she found herself a husband. From the looks of things she had set her sights on Josef.
Well, she can have him, Greta thought swallowing her bitterness even as Lydia took hold of her elbow and turned her away from the scene.
“Come along, sister.”
On their way to the kitchen they crossed paths with Luke, one long black bench under each powerful arm. He looked from Lydia to Greta and then back again. To Greta he seemed rooted to the spot like the giant live oak tree that stood outside his shop and she couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculous comparison.
He cleared his throat. “May I speak with you later, Lydia Goodloe?”
Greta thought she had never seen her sister quite so shaken. Her lips were pressed together so tightly that no sound could possibly be expected to come out, so Greta took matters into her own hands.
“We are needed in the kitchen. But if you plan to attend the singing, then there will be time enough to have your say. Excuse us, bitte.”
Luke stepped aside and this time it was Greta who guided her sister the rest of the way to the kitchen.
“How could you say such a thing?” Lydia whispered when she had recovered her voice. “I had thought you of all people would wish to skip this evening’s singing.”
“Of course we must attend the singing, Lydia. Luke Starns wishes to see you home afterward. Will you accept or not?”
Lydia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “How do you know such a thing?”
“He told me so.”
Further conversation was not possible as they joined the other women in the kitchen. As Greta had feared, the room went silent the minute that she and Lydia entered.
Greta saw her choice plainly—she could pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary or she could address the matter and get it over with. She took stock of the glances flying among the women—lifted eyebrows of speculation and worried frowns of curiosity.
“Well,” she said brightly as she picked up the baskets that she and Lydia had brought and began setting out the goods. “It sounds like we’re going to have a busy season of weddings here in Celery Fields.” She grinned broadly at the three other women whose betrothals had been announced that morning. “Perhaps it’s a good thing Josef Bontrager changed his mind about marrying me.”
She couldn’t help it. Her voice broke on those last words, but she kept her tears in check and continued to place the food from the basket on the table.
Almost as one unit, the women gathered around her. She felt consoling hands placed gently on her shoulder and gratefully accepted the healing power of their murmurs of concern, which comforted her like a soothing balm for her jumbled spirit.
“Perhaps the Lord has another plan for you, Greta,” Pleasant said softly. “We sometimes think we know what He has in store for us but then things change.”
Of all people, Pleasant knew what she was talking about. Certainly she had thought she would never marry and then she had agreed to marry the widower, Merle Obermeier. He had died soon after, leaving her penniless with his four children from his first marriage to raise. And then Jeremiah Troyer, the bishop’s great-nephew, had moved to town, just as the depression was starting, to open—of all things—an ice cream shop.
But the likelihood of some stranger moving into town and making everything all right again for Greta seemed remote at best. With the combination of droughts and deluges that had plagued the fields of celery and other produce crops over the last few seasons, people were beginning to move away from Celery Fields—not settle there. The last person to actually come to town had been Luke Starns.
Luke Starns...and Lydia.
Suddenly Greta saw her opportunity to turn the attention of the women away from her and on to something that would give them far greater pleasure. “You are right, Pleasant. After all, who knows what the Lord has in store for any of us when it comes to matters of the heart.” She cast a sideways glance at Lydia, leading the other women to do the same.
As usual Hilda Yoder took charge. “I noticed that the two of you arrived for services with the blacksmith, Luke Starns. Has your horse pulled up lame, Lydia?”
“The blacksmith was kind enough to offer us a ride,” Lydia replied as she sliced a loaf of bread.
“Roger