Happily Ever After on Huckleberry Hill
Book 11:
Matchmakers of Huckleberry Hill
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Synopsis
Huckleberry, Wisconsin's very own Amish matchmaking grandparents, eighty-somethings Anna and Felty Helmuth, continue to meddle into love lives—and bring faithful hearts together, in the USA Today bestselling author's inspirational romance series. Will appeal to fans of Charlotte Hubbard, Amy Lillard, and Emma Miller.
Sensible and cautious, Naomi Coblenz lives to help everyone else be happy—particularly when it comes to her twin sister, Ruth. So Omi certainly can't admit she's always loved handsome Bo Helmuth, since he and Ruth have begun courting. To look out for her sometimes-thoughtless sister, Omi even poses as Ruth on a ride home alone with Bo. But it doesn't take Bo long to see the truth—and really notice Omi for the first surprising, hopelessly-wonderful time . . .
Bo thought he was in love with the vivacious Ruth. But he can't stop thinking about Omi's kindness and understanding, especially since she refuses to hurt her sister. And he can't figure out a way to tell Ruth they aren't really suited for each other. His only hope is that his ever-resourceful Dawdi and Mammi can help faith guide the way—and at last claim a happy ending for all.
Release date: October 24, 2023
Publisher: Zebra Books
Print pages: 304
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Happily Ever After on Huckleberry Hill
Jennifer Beckstrand
Anna Helmuth sat in her rocking chair knitting a chunky winter scarf for her husband, Felty. It was only March, and Felty wouldn’t need a new scarf until September, but she was all caught up on her other knitting so she might as well get a gute start on her next winter projects. She’d found a new, delightfully soft and fuzzy kind of yarn at the store last week, and she’d bought every cherry-red skein they had. Felty wasn’t the only one who’d be getting a new red scarf for Christmas. With the amount of yarn she had, she could probably scarve the entire district, even the little babies. She should definitely knit faster, especially since knitting wasn’t the only project she had planned this year.
“Felty, dear,” Anna said, purling like her knitting needles were just an extension of her fingers. “I’ve been thinking about which of our grandchildren needs our help the most this month.”
Felty, Anna’s husband of more than sixty years, peered over his newspaper. “They’re giving Andy Lapp a card shower to pay for his gall bladder. I’m going to send him some money.”
Anna glanced up from her knitting. “The gmayna is buying Andy’s gall bladder? I thought it wasn’t working anymore.”
“Jah, that’s why they had to take it out.”
“Of course you should send some money. What are we here for but to help our fellow man?” She came to the end of a row and smoothed her hand along the half-inch width of scarf she’d already finished. It was going to be beautiful. And soft. And chunky. “Speaking of serving our fellow man, our grandson Bo desperately needs our help.”
No sound on the other side of the room but the soft turning of a newspaper page. Sometimes Felty got so engrossed in reading the obituaries that he didn’t even hear Anna when she talked to him. This was not one of those times. It was obvious by the way Felty sort of ducked his head behind the newspaper that he didn’t want to talk about the grandchildren’s problems. Anna simply couldn’t let him skirt his responsibilities to the rising generation. “Troubles only get bigger when you avoid them, Felty,” she finally said, with just a hint of scold in her voice.
Felty sighed, folded his paper, and set it on the side table. Then he gave Anna that crinkly, merry smile that always made her heart beat a little faster. “Ach, Annie-banannie, you know how much I adore you.”
“I do, but what does that have to do with our grandson Bo?”
“You already have plenty to do, what with your knitting and your cooking and your chickens yet. You’ve already helped thirteen of our grandchildren find spouses. No one can say you haven’t done your duty.”
“I’ve actually helped fifteen grandchildren find mates, but we have one hundred and three grandchildren. That’s less than twenty percent. There’s still a lot of work to do.”
Felty raised his eyebrows. “You were always gute at math.”
“Then you can see why I’m concerned.”
“Ach, vell, more than half of our grandchildren are too young to get married, and many grandchildren were married before you started your matchmaking schemes.”
Anna laughed. “Schemes? Ach, Felty, that makes me sound so devious.”
“For sure and certain they have all been the gute kind of schemes, and you’ve only been sneaky in a sweet, grandmotherly sort of way.”
Anna didn’t mind being devious when Felty explained it that way. “I suppose I have been devious, but only with everyone’s happiness in mind.”
“Of course, but I worry that you’ll run yourself ragged doing for our grandchildren what they are perfectly capable of doing for themselves. Every one of my grandchildren is good-looking, smart, and kindhearted.”
Anna couldn’t disagree with that. “Not a scrub in the bunch.”
“They should be able to find spouses for themselves.”
“But, Felty, it never hurts to help out.”
Felty pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “It often hurts to help out. I would never disagree with you for disagreement’s sake, but just last year, you broke your wrist trying to get Martha Sue married.”
“I broke my wrist because I tripped.”
She loved Felty, but sometimes he was too persistent. He counted on his fingers. “You’ve been stuck in a runaway RV, our tent burned down, and Titus’s Christmas goat ate one of your pot holders. Rachel Shetler permanently stained our floor with a huckleberry pie, Reuben yelled at you, and seven of your chickens died.”
Anna frowned when she thought about her poor chickens. “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have taken them camping.” But there was no use crying over spilled milk or chickens. “Making matches for our grandchildren isn’t easy, and chickens can sometimes die, but you can’t tell me the effort isn’t worth the trouble. Think of all the love and joy we’ve spread around with our scheming, not to mention how many extra great-grandchildren we have because we’ve been sneaky.”
Felty fingered his salt-and-pepper gray beard. “You can never have too many great-grandchildren.”
“So you see, I have to keep making matches for my grandchildren. Love is worth every risk.”
Felty didn’t look convinced, but he gave up arguing. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, Annie.”
“Probably married to Rosie Herschberger.”
“Ach, Rosie couldn’t hold a candle to your cinnamon rolls. It never would have worked out.”
Anna giggled. “Especially since she married my bruder.”
“Especially because of that.”
“Let’s talk about Nebo,” Anna said, setting her knitting in her lap. Some discussions required her full attention. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and he should be our next project.”
Felty leaned forward, as if he’d just thought of a wonderful gute idea. “Ach, this is the perfect solution for both of us. Bo already has a girlfriend, so we can pretend we helped him and take a break from matchmaking. You and I should start a new hobby.”
“A hobby? Felty, who has time for a new hobby? Our time should be spent helping our grandchildren.”
“But Bo . . .”
Anna huffed out a breath. “I admit he already has a girl he’s interested in, but my big toe is acting up. That’s a sure sign he’s going to need our help. We should have a backup plan if she breaks his heart.”
Felty furrowed his brow. “What’s your backup plan?”
“I won’t know until I talk to Bo and determine what his needs are.”
“Maybe he’ll just need you to come to the wedding.”
Anna swatted away that suggestion with her knitting needles. “Wishful thinking. He’s going to need more than that. I’m going to find out what it is.”
“In the meantime, let’s start a new hobby.”
Anna wasn’t fooled. Felty wanted her to start a new hobby so she’d forget all about Bo, but Anna was a very devoted mammi and she would not let Bo down.
Felty would have to start a new hobby without her.
Bo Helmuth walked into the Mischlers’ house, and Naomi Coblenz tried not to stare. She also tried not to swoon or drool or make a fool of herself in one of the many ways it was possible to make a fool of herself in front of him. It was completely fitting that Nebo Helmuth was named after a mountain. He was tall and solid, with firm muscles and a square, determined jaw. Naomi drew her brows together. She couldn’t be altogether sure his muscles were firm, but they certainly made every shirt he wore look too small, as if he would tear right through the fabric if he flexed hard enough. What would it feel like to be wrapped in those strong arms?
Naomi’s face got warm. She shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts, especially about her schwester’s boyfriend. She averted her eyes and pretended to be very interested in the huge rag rug that covered at least half the Mischlers’ great room. It would have taken hours and hours and scraps and scraps of fabric to make such a thing. It was beautiful. Whoever made it had used blues and greens with the occasional white and yellow accent, and it looked like a meadow full of wildflowers. It was a shame more people didn’t notice the rugs at their feet. This one was quite interesting, and it took Naomi’s mind off handsome you-know-who.
Ach, vell, at least temporarily.
Naomi, or Omi, as everyone called her, despaired of ever being able to put Bo Helmuth from her mind. He was intolerably handsome—so handsome that every girl in the gmayna had a crush on him—and he was built like a freight train, his edges only softened by his curly wheat-colored hair and his deep brown, puppy-dog eyes that brimmed with sympathy and kindness. Omi was also drawn to him because he was quiet and of a sober disposition. She wasn’t especially fond of die buwe who couldn’t stop talking or thought everything was a joke or fancied themselves more important than anyone else in the room.
Bo’s worst quality was that he only had eyes for Omi’s twin schwester, Ruth, and their relationship would progress to engagement as sure as rain fell in April. Unless Omi moved to a different state, Bo Helmuth would be a part of her life for a very long time. It made her feel excited, sad, and guilty all at the same time. The Bible said not to covet your neighbor’s fraa. Was it wrong to covet your schwester’s boyfriend? To wish it was you he smiled at and came to the house to visit? To be fair, Omi had admired Bo Helmuth from a distance ever since fifth grade. It wasn’t as if she could turn off her infatuation like flipping a switch, even for Ruth’s sake. Surely she’d become accustomed to Bo’s presence if he married Ruth. Surely she wouldn’t care a speck that Bo was her bruder-in-law. Omi watched as Bo greeted two of his friends and bloomed into a dazzling smile. She pursed her lips. She’d leave the moving-to-another-state option open just in case.
Ruth and Bo hadn’t been dating forever. The first time he’d asked to drive her home from a gathering was in November, so it had only been four months. But a boy never asked to drive a girl home unless he had serious designs on her. A girl never said yes unless she felt the same. A courtship could take many months, but an invitation to drive someone home said, “I’m thinking very seriously about marrying you.”
“Can I help?”
Omi had been trying so hard not to look at Bo Helmuth she hadn’t seen Marilyn come up beside her. Marilyn was her best friend, next to Ruth, and she always seemed to appear when Omi needed her most. Omi pried her attention from Bo and remembered the tablecloth in her hand. She should probably stop staring at rugs and boys and start helping out. “Ach, jah, denki. Verna asked me to spread the tablecloth before we sing so the table will be ready for eats afterward.”
Marilyn grabbed one side of the cream tablecloth. She and Omi spread it over the table and smoothed out the wrinkles. Marilyn smiled. “Plenty of handsome buwe here tonight. Danny Mischler can’t stop looking at you, Omi. Maybe he’ll ask to drive you home.”
Omi laughed quietly. “He’s only looking over here because he thinks I’m Ruth.”
Marilyn cocked an eyebrow. “Ach, Omi, you are just as pretty as Ruth. You two look exactly alike. Exactly. Why do you put yourself down like that?”
Omi squared her shoulders. “I’m not putting myself down. I’m trying to be realistic and humble. Everybody considers Ruth the prettier of the two of us, even though we look exactly alike.”
Marilyn’s eyebrow rose farther up her forehead. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. You don’t have a proud bone in your body. Ruth gets more attention because she’s high-spirited and bouncy, but she’s not prettier.”
The corners of Omi’s mouth slowly curled upward. “Bouncy?”
“Ach, you know what I mean. The loudest bird in the forest attracts all the birdwatchers, but that doesn’t mean her song is any prettier than the other birds. You’re more reserved and less willing to draw attention to yourself. Some buwe like your type better.”
Not Bo Helmuth.
Omi clenched her teeth. She’d be much happier if she quit using Bo Helmuth as her measuring stick. He wasn’t the only bu in the district, and he and Ruth were as gute as engaged. Try as she might to pretend Bo didn’t exist, she was fully aware of every move he made, every person he talked to, and every place in the room he stood.
Laughter coming from across the room drew their attention. There she was. Ruth and two friends had found Bo, and the three of them surrounded him and were laughing hysterically. Bo wasn’t “bouncy” or high-spirited like Ruth, but his grin was so wide, it looked as if it would fly off his face.
Marilyn gave Omi a knowing smile. “I adore your schwester, and I like you even more.”
Omi put her arm around Marilyn’s shoulder. “You are the best kind of friend, always trying to make me feel better about myself.”
“Is it working?”
Omi giggled. “It’s the thought that counts.”
Marilyn elbowed Omi in the ribs. “You are impossible!” They both laughed, and Marilyn stopped trying to convince Omi of anything. Marilyn glanced toward the kitchen. “Does Verna need more help?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll go see.”
Retreat seemed like a gute idea. Omi followed Marilyn into the kitchen where Verna Mischler and her dochter Lea were shaping dough into pretzels. Verna was a sweet woman who always had a permanent worry line etched right between her eyebrows and a paper napkin balled in her fist like a security blanket. Her dochter Lea was a cheerful, gute-hearted girl, pleasingly plump and well into her thirties. Lea was too old to attend gatherings anymore, so she helped her mamm in the kitchen. Omi adored Lea because she smiled with her whole face and made everyone feel gute just to be around her.
Lea looked up from the butcher block and gave a little squeal. “Marilyn and Omi. Two of the sweetest girls in the gmayna.”
Omi smiled. “Not sweeter than you. How is your toe?”
Lea lifted her foot and wiggled it for Omi’s benefit. “Better. It’s still black and blue and swollen, and it still hurts to put weight on it.” She giggled. “I guess it’s not better, but I don’t want to complain. It’s my own fault for missing that stair.”
Marilyn curled her hands around a bowl of dough. “Have you been making pretzels all day?”
“Nae,” Lea said. “You can’t make the dough too early, or it will overrise. Mamm figured it out down to the last minute.” She motioned to seven timers lined up on the counter ticking merrily, each one with a number—one through seven—taped to the top. “Mamm bought five extra timers just to make sure we wouldn’t ruin a single batch.”
Verna grimaced. “Maybe I shouldn’t have spent all that money, but I want everything to turn out well. It’s my first time hosting a gathering.”
“How can I help?” Marilyn said.
Verna wiped her hand on the towel slung over her shoulder and eyed timer number one. “We’ve put the first batch in the oven. All the pretzels will be done by the time the singing is over, but they won’t all be warm. If only I had two ovens . . .”
Always so unsure of herself, Verna wrung the napkin in her fist with both hands. Omi tilted her head to one side. Maybe she was a little like Verna. “No need to worry. Your pretzels are appeditlich hot out of the oven and cold.”
Verna accepted the compliment with a slight smile. “I made enough dough for six dozen. Do you think that will be enough?”
“Six dozen?” Marilyn said. “I should think so, but Omi is the expert.”
Omi shook her head. “I’m no expert.”
Marilyn gave Omi that look again. It’s not proud to acknowledge the truth. “Omi, you work at a bakery. You know how many doughnuts to make every morning down to the last one.”
Omi giggled and made a show of counting on her fingers. She quickly estimated how many of die youngie were gathered in the great room and divided it into six dozen. Verna was always concerned about having things just so, and Omi wanted to put her mind at ease. “Everyone loves your pretzels. They’ll get eaten no matter how many you make, but six dozen should be enough if die buwe don’t make hogs of themselves.”
Verna wrung her hands. “I hate to run out. Let’s hope die buwe will mind their manners.”
In an effort to not be in the same room as Bo Helmuth, Omi started to fill the sink with water. She could spend a gute fifteen minutes washing dishes and not worry about Bo at all.
“Nae, nae, Omi,” Lea said, taking the dish soap from Omi’s hand and shooing her through the doorway to the great room. “Mamm and I will clean the kitchen. You and Marilyn go have a gute time.”
“Are you sure?”
Lea smiled wryly. “Omi, we have seven kitchen timers. We’ll be fine. You can help set out pretzels and mustard after the singing.”
Before Omi was out of earshot, Verna said to Lea, “I’m going to make two more batches just in case.”
Oh, dear. Verna wouldn’t have enough timers.
Marilyn was sure to have a gute time. She had a boyfriend in Pennsylvania, and she was expecting a proposal this summer. Marilyn didn’t have to impress die buwe or ignore her schwester’s boyfriend. She just got to sing and eat pretzels. Omi wouldn’t have a gute time, no matter how much she liked to sing or eat pretzels.
Ruth caught Omi coming out of the kitchen and grabbed her hand, her eyes alight with the excitement of being in love. “Cum, Omi. You and Marilyn need to sit by me so we can do the harmony. I can’t hear it without you singing in my ear.”
Ruth heard the harmony better than Omi did, but it warmed Omi’s heart to think that she was still as important to Ruth as Ruth was to her. Omi grinned and squeezed her schwester’s arm and pulled Marilyn toward her with her other hand. “Let’s sit by Lillian. She’s gute at picking out the harmony too.”
Ruth put her arms around Marilyn and Omi and pulled them so close they bumped heads. They giggled hysterically, and Ruth let go and rubbed her eyebrow. “Sorry! I’m just so happy to be here where there are so many handsome buwe.”
Marilyn glanced at Omi, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Danny Mischler was staring at Omi.”
Omi’s face got hot, mostly because it wasn’t Danny she cared about. “He was not. He was looking for Ruth.”
Ruth’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Was he?” She slid her arms around the other two and pulled them close again, but not close enough to knock heads this time. “Raymond Fisher brought his cousin from Cashton,” she said in a breathless whisper. “He’s so handsome, I think I’m going to faint.”
Omi tried very hard not to be annoyed. Wasn’t it enough for Ruth to claim one handsome boy’s heart? Did Ruth have to make every boy in Wisconsin fall in love with her? Of course she did. For Ruth, the more admirers the better. “Well, don’t faint now or we’ll have to take you home and miss the singing.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Ruth squeezed Omi’s arm affectionately. “I think we should try three parts on ‘Oh, Happy Day’ and ‘Life’s Railway to Heaven.’”
Omi frowned. “Even though we might end up singing some sour notes?”
Ruth nudged Omi toward the benches. “You can’t get to the sweet notes if you don’t try a few sour ones first.”
The three of them passed by Bo Helmuth on the way to the benches, and Bo smiled at Ruth as if it was the first time he’d ever seen her. Bo’s sleeve brushed Omi’s arm as he went by, and Omi nearly floated off the ground. Ach, she hated being so weak, so enthralled by a bu, but there was no denying her feelings, even if she didn’t like them.
Die youngie quieted, and they began to sing. Ruth tried to sing three-part harmony on every song, and Omi followed as best she could. Sometimes the harmony sounded gute, other times it didn’t go so well, but Ruth wasn’t discouraged. She kept right on singing, trying different notes, some higher, some lower than the melody. It was one of the things Omi admired most about her schwester. She wasn’t afraid to try new things, even if she failed or made a fool of herself. Ruth had ten times more courage than Omi ever would. That’s why die buwe liked her.
Omi enjoyed singing and harmonizing, but it was no fun watching Bo give Ruth adoring looks from across the room. It was even harder seeing Ruth blush and bat her eyes as if Bo’s attention was completely unexpected. Omi couldn’t find much pleasure in singing while Ruth enjoyed the looks and smiles that Omi so desperately wanted for herself.
Guilt crawled under Omi’s skin. She loved Ruth better than her own soul, but she was so jealous she could barely see straight. She was a terrible, horrible person as well as the worst schwester in the history of schwesteren. She should seriously consider never coming to a gathering again. And moving to a different state.
After the singing, Omi practically ran to the kitchen to help serve pretzels, just to get away from Ruth and Bo. What she didn’t see couldn’t upset her, at least that was what she told herself. Verna was studying a timer, and Lea was sprinkling salt on a fresh batch. “Lea, do you want me to start taking pretzels to the table?”
“Jah. Take these two plates, and I’ll bring the mustard and honey.”
With a plate in each hand, Omi marched into the great room. Bo was talking to someone as he walked backward and nearly crashed into her. She caught her breath as he turned just in time, saw he was about to collide with her, and with that smooth, catlike grace, grabbed one of her plates before she dropped it. He smiled apologetically. “Ach, Omi, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
Of course not. He never saw her. “It’s okay. I’m often overlooked.”
He lost all trace of a smile. “Ach, I’m sorry. I didn’t know . . .” He trailed off, obviously unsure how to reply to such a pathetic remark.
Omi took a deep breath. What a petulant, childish thing to say! It wasn’t Bo’s responsibility to pay attention to her. Why was she so bitter all of a sudden? Ach, vell, it wasn’t all of a sudden. Only since Bo had taken an interest in her twin schwester. She knew why jealousy was called “the green-eyed monster.” She almost didn’t recognize herself. It was time to stop acting like a baby.
She cleared her throat and attempted a self-effacing smile. “I’m kidding. Of course I’m kidding. I meant that I’m short, and you’re so tall, you overlook just about everybody.”
A smile dawned on Ben’s face like a sunrise. “You’re tall enough, Omi, and you know I’d never overlook you.”
It wasn’t true, but his smile was so attractive, she forgave him for the little fib.
He still held the plate of pretzels. “Do you want these on the table?”
She gathered her wits and pretended Bo was just another bu in th. . .
“Felty, dear,” Anna said, purling like her knitting needles were just an extension of her fingers. “I’ve been thinking about which of our grandchildren needs our help the most this month.”
Felty, Anna’s husband of more than sixty years, peered over his newspaper. “They’re giving Andy Lapp a card shower to pay for his gall bladder. I’m going to send him some money.”
Anna glanced up from her knitting. “The gmayna is buying Andy’s gall bladder? I thought it wasn’t working anymore.”
“Jah, that’s why they had to take it out.”
“Of course you should send some money. What are we here for but to help our fellow man?” She came to the end of a row and smoothed her hand along the half-inch width of scarf she’d already finished. It was going to be beautiful. And soft. And chunky. “Speaking of serving our fellow man, our grandson Bo desperately needs our help.”
No sound on the other side of the room but the soft turning of a newspaper page. Sometimes Felty got so engrossed in reading the obituaries that he didn’t even hear Anna when she talked to him. This was not one of those times. It was obvious by the way Felty sort of ducked his head behind the newspaper that he didn’t want to talk about the grandchildren’s problems. Anna simply couldn’t let him skirt his responsibilities to the rising generation. “Troubles only get bigger when you avoid them, Felty,” she finally said, with just a hint of scold in her voice.
Felty sighed, folded his paper, and set it on the side table. Then he gave Anna that crinkly, merry smile that always made her heart beat a little faster. “Ach, Annie-banannie, you know how much I adore you.”
“I do, but what does that have to do with our grandson Bo?”
“You already have plenty to do, what with your knitting and your cooking and your chickens yet. You’ve already helped thirteen of our grandchildren find spouses. No one can say you haven’t done your duty.”
“I’ve actually helped fifteen grandchildren find mates, but we have one hundred and three grandchildren. That’s less than twenty percent. There’s still a lot of work to do.”
Felty raised his eyebrows. “You were always gute at math.”
“Then you can see why I’m concerned.”
“Ach, vell, more than half of our grandchildren are too young to get married, and many grandchildren were married before you started your matchmaking schemes.”
Anna laughed. “Schemes? Ach, Felty, that makes me sound so devious.”
“For sure and certain they have all been the gute kind of schemes, and you’ve only been sneaky in a sweet, grandmotherly sort of way.”
Anna didn’t mind being devious when Felty explained it that way. “I suppose I have been devious, but only with everyone’s happiness in mind.”
“Of course, but I worry that you’ll run yourself ragged doing for our grandchildren what they are perfectly capable of doing for themselves. Every one of my grandchildren is good-looking, smart, and kindhearted.”
Anna couldn’t disagree with that. “Not a scrub in the bunch.”
“They should be able to find spouses for themselves.”
“But, Felty, it never hurts to help out.”
Felty pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “It often hurts to help out. I would never disagree with you for disagreement’s sake, but just last year, you broke your wrist trying to get Martha Sue married.”
“I broke my wrist because I tripped.”
She loved Felty, but sometimes he was too persistent. He counted on his fingers. “You’ve been stuck in a runaway RV, our tent burned down, and Titus’s Christmas goat ate one of your pot holders. Rachel Shetler permanently stained our floor with a huckleberry pie, Reuben yelled at you, and seven of your chickens died.”
Anna frowned when she thought about her poor chickens. “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have taken them camping.” But there was no use crying over spilled milk or chickens. “Making matches for our grandchildren isn’t easy, and chickens can sometimes die, but you can’t tell me the effort isn’t worth the trouble. Think of all the love and joy we’ve spread around with our scheming, not to mention how many extra great-grandchildren we have because we’ve been sneaky.”
Felty fingered his salt-and-pepper gray beard. “You can never have too many great-grandchildren.”
“So you see, I have to keep making matches for my grandchildren. Love is worth every risk.”
Felty didn’t look convinced, but he gave up arguing. “I don’t know where I’d be without you, Annie.”
“Probably married to Rosie Herschberger.”
“Ach, Rosie couldn’t hold a candle to your cinnamon rolls. It never would have worked out.”
Anna giggled. “Especially since she married my bruder.”
“Especially because of that.”
“Let’s talk about Nebo,” Anna said, setting her knitting in her lap. Some discussions required her full attention. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and he should be our next project.”
Felty leaned forward, as if he’d just thought of a wonderful gute idea. “Ach, this is the perfect solution for both of us. Bo already has a girlfriend, so we can pretend we helped him and take a break from matchmaking. You and I should start a new hobby.”
“A hobby? Felty, who has time for a new hobby? Our time should be spent helping our grandchildren.”
“But Bo . . .”
Anna huffed out a breath. “I admit he already has a girl he’s interested in, but my big toe is acting up. That’s a sure sign he’s going to need our help. We should have a backup plan if she breaks his heart.”
Felty furrowed his brow. “What’s your backup plan?”
“I won’t know until I talk to Bo and determine what his needs are.”
“Maybe he’ll just need you to come to the wedding.”
Anna swatted away that suggestion with her knitting needles. “Wishful thinking. He’s going to need more than that. I’m going to find out what it is.”
“In the meantime, let’s start a new hobby.”
Anna wasn’t fooled. Felty wanted her to start a new hobby so she’d forget all about Bo, but Anna was a very devoted mammi and she would not let Bo down.
Felty would have to start a new hobby without her.
Bo Helmuth walked into the Mischlers’ house, and Naomi Coblenz tried not to stare. She also tried not to swoon or drool or make a fool of herself in one of the many ways it was possible to make a fool of herself in front of him. It was completely fitting that Nebo Helmuth was named after a mountain. He was tall and solid, with firm muscles and a square, determined jaw. Naomi drew her brows together. She couldn’t be altogether sure his muscles were firm, but they certainly made every shirt he wore look too small, as if he would tear right through the fabric if he flexed hard enough. What would it feel like to be wrapped in those strong arms?
Naomi’s face got warm. She shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts, especially about her schwester’s boyfriend. She averted her eyes and pretended to be very interested in the huge rag rug that covered at least half the Mischlers’ great room. It would have taken hours and hours and scraps and scraps of fabric to make such a thing. It was beautiful. Whoever made it had used blues and greens with the occasional white and yellow accent, and it looked like a meadow full of wildflowers. It was a shame more people didn’t notice the rugs at their feet. This one was quite interesting, and it took Naomi’s mind off handsome you-know-who.
Ach, vell, at least temporarily.
Naomi, or Omi, as everyone called her, despaired of ever being able to put Bo Helmuth from her mind. He was intolerably handsome—so handsome that every girl in the gmayna had a crush on him—and he was built like a freight train, his edges only softened by his curly wheat-colored hair and his deep brown, puppy-dog eyes that brimmed with sympathy and kindness. Omi was also drawn to him because he was quiet and of a sober disposition. She wasn’t especially fond of die buwe who couldn’t stop talking or thought everything was a joke or fancied themselves more important than anyone else in the room.
Bo’s worst quality was that he only had eyes for Omi’s twin schwester, Ruth, and their relationship would progress to engagement as sure as rain fell in April. Unless Omi moved to a different state, Bo Helmuth would be a part of her life for a very long time. It made her feel excited, sad, and guilty all at the same time. The Bible said not to covet your neighbor’s fraa. Was it wrong to covet your schwester’s boyfriend? To wish it was you he smiled at and came to the house to visit? To be fair, Omi had admired Bo Helmuth from a distance ever since fifth grade. It wasn’t as if she could turn off her infatuation like flipping a switch, even for Ruth’s sake. Surely she’d become accustomed to Bo’s presence if he married Ruth. Surely she wouldn’t care a speck that Bo was her bruder-in-law. Omi watched as Bo greeted two of his friends and bloomed into a dazzling smile. She pursed her lips. She’d leave the moving-to-another-state option open just in case.
Ruth and Bo hadn’t been dating forever. The first time he’d asked to drive her home from a gathering was in November, so it had only been four months. But a boy never asked to drive a girl home unless he had serious designs on her. A girl never said yes unless she felt the same. A courtship could take many months, but an invitation to drive someone home said, “I’m thinking very seriously about marrying you.”
“Can I help?”
Omi had been trying so hard not to look at Bo Helmuth she hadn’t seen Marilyn come up beside her. Marilyn was her best friend, next to Ruth, and she always seemed to appear when Omi needed her most. Omi pried her attention from Bo and remembered the tablecloth in her hand. She should probably stop staring at rugs and boys and start helping out. “Ach, jah, denki. Verna asked me to spread the tablecloth before we sing so the table will be ready for eats afterward.”
Marilyn grabbed one side of the cream tablecloth. She and Omi spread it over the table and smoothed out the wrinkles. Marilyn smiled. “Plenty of handsome buwe here tonight. Danny Mischler can’t stop looking at you, Omi. Maybe he’ll ask to drive you home.”
Omi laughed quietly. “He’s only looking over here because he thinks I’m Ruth.”
Marilyn cocked an eyebrow. “Ach, Omi, you are just as pretty as Ruth. You two look exactly alike. Exactly. Why do you put yourself down like that?”
Omi squared her shoulders. “I’m not putting myself down. I’m trying to be realistic and humble. Everybody considers Ruth the prettier of the two of us, even though we look exactly alike.”
Marilyn’s eyebrow rose farther up her forehead. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. You don’t have a proud bone in your body. Ruth gets more attention because she’s high-spirited and bouncy, but she’s not prettier.”
The corners of Omi’s mouth slowly curled upward. “Bouncy?”
“Ach, you know what I mean. The loudest bird in the forest attracts all the birdwatchers, but that doesn’t mean her song is any prettier than the other birds. You’re more reserved and less willing to draw attention to yourself. Some buwe like your type better.”
Not Bo Helmuth.
Omi clenched her teeth. She’d be much happier if she quit using Bo Helmuth as her measuring stick. He wasn’t the only bu in the district, and he and Ruth were as gute as engaged. Try as she might to pretend Bo didn’t exist, she was fully aware of every move he made, every person he talked to, and every place in the room he stood.
Laughter coming from across the room drew their attention. There she was. Ruth and two friends had found Bo, and the three of them surrounded him and were laughing hysterically. Bo wasn’t “bouncy” or high-spirited like Ruth, but his grin was so wide, it looked as if it would fly off his face.
Marilyn gave Omi a knowing smile. “I adore your schwester, and I like you even more.”
Omi put her arm around Marilyn’s shoulder. “You are the best kind of friend, always trying to make me feel better about myself.”
“Is it working?”
Omi giggled. “It’s the thought that counts.”
Marilyn elbowed Omi in the ribs. “You are impossible!” They both laughed, and Marilyn stopped trying to convince Omi of anything. Marilyn glanced toward the kitchen. “Does Verna need more help?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll go see.”
Retreat seemed like a gute idea. Omi followed Marilyn into the kitchen where Verna Mischler and her dochter Lea were shaping dough into pretzels. Verna was a sweet woman who always had a permanent worry line etched right between her eyebrows and a paper napkin balled in her fist like a security blanket. Her dochter Lea was a cheerful, gute-hearted girl, pleasingly plump and well into her thirties. Lea was too old to attend gatherings anymore, so she helped her mamm in the kitchen. Omi adored Lea because she smiled with her whole face and made everyone feel gute just to be around her.
Lea looked up from the butcher block and gave a little squeal. “Marilyn and Omi. Two of the sweetest girls in the gmayna.”
Omi smiled. “Not sweeter than you. How is your toe?”
Lea lifted her foot and wiggled it for Omi’s benefit. “Better. It’s still black and blue and swollen, and it still hurts to put weight on it.” She giggled. “I guess it’s not better, but I don’t want to complain. It’s my own fault for missing that stair.”
Marilyn curled her hands around a bowl of dough. “Have you been making pretzels all day?”
“Nae,” Lea said. “You can’t make the dough too early, or it will overrise. Mamm figured it out down to the last minute.” She motioned to seven timers lined up on the counter ticking merrily, each one with a number—one through seven—taped to the top. “Mamm bought five extra timers just to make sure we wouldn’t ruin a single batch.”
Verna grimaced. “Maybe I shouldn’t have spent all that money, but I want everything to turn out well. It’s my first time hosting a gathering.”
“How can I help?” Marilyn said.
Verna wiped her hand on the towel slung over her shoulder and eyed timer number one. “We’ve put the first batch in the oven. All the pretzels will be done by the time the singing is over, but they won’t all be warm. If only I had two ovens . . .”
Always so unsure of herself, Verna wrung the napkin in her fist with both hands. Omi tilted her head to one side. Maybe she was a little like Verna. “No need to worry. Your pretzels are appeditlich hot out of the oven and cold.”
Verna accepted the compliment with a slight smile. “I made enough dough for six dozen. Do you think that will be enough?”
“Six dozen?” Marilyn said. “I should think so, but Omi is the expert.”
Omi shook her head. “I’m no expert.”
Marilyn gave Omi that look again. It’s not proud to acknowledge the truth. “Omi, you work at a bakery. You know how many doughnuts to make every morning down to the last one.”
Omi giggled and made a show of counting on her fingers. She quickly estimated how many of die youngie were gathered in the great room and divided it into six dozen. Verna was always concerned about having things just so, and Omi wanted to put her mind at ease. “Everyone loves your pretzels. They’ll get eaten no matter how many you make, but six dozen should be enough if die buwe don’t make hogs of themselves.”
Verna wrung her hands. “I hate to run out. Let’s hope die buwe will mind their manners.”
In an effort to not be in the same room as Bo Helmuth, Omi started to fill the sink with water. She could spend a gute fifteen minutes washing dishes and not worry about Bo at all.
“Nae, nae, Omi,” Lea said, taking the dish soap from Omi’s hand and shooing her through the doorway to the great room. “Mamm and I will clean the kitchen. You and Marilyn go have a gute time.”
“Are you sure?”
Lea smiled wryly. “Omi, we have seven kitchen timers. We’ll be fine. You can help set out pretzels and mustard after the singing.”
Before Omi was out of earshot, Verna said to Lea, “I’m going to make two more batches just in case.”
Oh, dear. Verna wouldn’t have enough timers.
Marilyn was sure to have a gute time. She had a boyfriend in Pennsylvania, and she was expecting a proposal this summer. Marilyn didn’t have to impress die buwe or ignore her schwester’s boyfriend. She just got to sing and eat pretzels. Omi wouldn’t have a gute time, no matter how much she liked to sing or eat pretzels.
Ruth caught Omi coming out of the kitchen and grabbed her hand, her eyes alight with the excitement of being in love. “Cum, Omi. You and Marilyn need to sit by me so we can do the harmony. I can’t hear it without you singing in my ear.”
Ruth heard the harmony better than Omi did, but it warmed Omi’s heart to think that she was still as important to Ruth as Ruth was to her. Omi grinned and squeezed her schwester’s arm and pulled Marilyn toward her with her other hand. “Let’s sit by Lillian. She’s gute at picking out the harmony too.”
Ruth put her arms around Marilyn and Omi and pulled them so close they bumped heads. They giggled hysterically, and Ruth let go and rubbed her eyebrow. “Sorry! I’m just so happy to be here where there are so many handsome buwe.”
Marilyn glanced at Omi, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Danny Mischler was staring at Omi.”
Omi’s face got hot, mostly because it wasn’t Danny she cared about. “He was not. He was looking for Ruth.”
Ruth’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Was he?” She slid her arms around the other two and pulled them close again, but not close enough to knock heads this time. “Raymond Fisher brought his cousin from Cashton,” she said in a breathless whisper. “He’s so handsome, I think I’m going to faint.”
Omi tried very hard not to be annoyed. Wasn’t it enough for Ruth to claim one handsome boy’s heart? Did Ruth have to make every boy in Wisconsin fall in love with her? Of course she did. For Ruth, the more admirers the better. “Well, don’t faint now or we’ll have to take you home and miss the singing.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Ruth squeezed Omi’s arm affectionately. “I think we should try three parts on ‘Oh, Happy Day’ and ‘Life’s Railway to Heaven.’”
Omi frowned. “Even though we might end up singing some sour notes?”
Ruth nudged Omi toward the benches. “You can’t get to the sweet notes if you don’t try a few sour ones first.”
The three of them passed by Bo Helmuth on the way to the benches, and Bo smiled at Ruth as if it was the first time he’d ever seen her. Bo’s sleeve brushed Omi’s arm as he went by, and Omi nearly floated off the ground. Ach, she hated being so weak, so enthralled by a bu, but there was no denying her feelings, even if she didn’t like them.
Die youngie quieted, and they began to sing. Ruth tried to sing three-part harmony on every song, and Omi followed as best she could. Sometimes the harmony sounded gute, other times it didn’t go so well, but Ruth wasn’t discouraged. She kept right on singing, trying different notes, some higher, some lower than the melody. It was one of the things Omi admired most about her schwester. She wasn’t afraid to try new things, even if she failed or made a fool of herself. Ruth had ten times more courage than Omi ever would. That’s why die buwe liked her.
Omi enjoyed singing and harmonizing, but it was no fun watching Bo give Ruth adoring looks from across the room. It was even harder seeing Ruth blush and bat her eyes as if Bo’s attention was completely unexpected. Omi couldn’t find much pleasure in singing while Ruth enjoyed the looks and smiles that Omi so desperately wanted for herself.
Guilt crawled under Omi’s skin. She loved Ruth better than her own soul, but she was so jealous she could barely see straight. She was a terrible, horrible person as well as the worst schwester in the history of schwesteren. She should seriously consider never coming to a gathering again. And moving to a different state.
After the singing, Omi practically ran to the kitchen to help serve pretzels, just to get away from Ruth and Bo. What she didn’t see couldn’t upset her, at least that was what she told herself. Verna was studying a timer, and Lea was sprinkling salt on a fresh batch. “Lea, do you want me to start taking pretzels to the table?”
“Jah. Take these two plates, and I’ll bring the mustard and honey.”
With a plate in each hand, Omi marched into the great room. Bo was talking to someone as he walked backward and nearly crashed into her. She caught her breath as he turned just in time, saw he was about to collide with her, and with that smooth, catlike grace, grabbed one of her plates before she dropped it. He smiled apologetically. “Ach, Omi, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
Of course not. He never saw her. “It’s okay. I’m often overlooked.”
He lost all trace of a smile. “Ach, I’m sorry. I didn’t know . . .” He trailed off, obviously unsure how to reply to such a pathetic remark.
Omi took a deep breath. What a petulant, childish thing to say! It wasn’t Bo’s responsibility to pay attention to her. Why was she so bitter all of a sudden? Ach, vell, it wasn’t all of a sudden. Only since Bo had taken an interest in her twin schwester. She knew why jealousy was called “the green-eyed monster.” She almost didn’t recognize herself. It was time to stop acting like a baby.
She cleared her throat and attempted a self-effacing smile. “I’m kidding. Of course I’m kidding. I meant that I’m short, and you’re so tall, you overlook just about everybody.”
A smile dawned on Ben’s face like a sunrise. “You’re tall enough, Omi, and you know I’d never overlook you.”
It wasn’t true, but his smile was so attractive, she forgave him for the little fib.
He still held the plate of pretzels. “Do you want these on the table?”
She gathered her wits and pretended Bo was just another bu in th. . .
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Happily Ever After on Huckleberry Hill
Jennifer Beckstrand
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