Marrying Matthew

Book 1: Amish Mail Order Grooms

by Kelly Long

Genres: Christian Fiction; Romance

Synopsis

Captivating Amish romance set in a tiny Appalachian community—where some young women are determined to wed on their own terms . . .
 
Wanted: An Amish mail-order groom willing to live in remote Appalachia. Appearance must be tolerable, though bride would favor a gut mind over looks . . .
 
Everyone in Blackberry Falls knows that Tabitha Stolfus is heir to her daed’s wood carving company. To find a man who values more than her purse, Tabitha creates an ad and sends it far from home. But from her first meeting with handsome would-be groom Matthew King, Tabitha realizes this may not be the uncomplicated arrangement she expected.
 
Matthew’s true desire is an apprenticeship, not a frau. A talented woodworker, he longs to study with the great Herr Stolfus. Yet it’s more than the kindness and warmth of this mountain community that makes Matthew regret his deception. Tabitha—beautiful, intelligent, resourceful—is all he could ever want in a wife. Can a real marriage ever take root when there are so many secrets between them?

Release date: December 1, 2020

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 272

Sample

“Nee, bring me the yellow.” Tabitha Stolfus frowned slightly as she gazed into the large, cherrywood-framed mirror in her bedroom. She knew that having such a big mirror might be considered vanity, but she had a good reason for possessing it.

She stood in a light shift, having discarded the blue dress that her faithful housemaid, Anke, had first brought her.

“Yellow?” the aulder woman said in a severe but hushed tone. “Ye’re not to wear anything but blue to be married. And ya know that . . . Why, if yer fater finds out, he’ll have a fit.”

“As you know, my fater is deep in the high timber, looking for red oak. He’s not due back until tomorrow, and by then, it’ll all be over with.” Tabitha took a graceful step away from the mirror and lightly skimmed her trim waistline with her slender hands. Her honey-blond hair hung below her hips in graceful waves and she knew, without conceit, that her face was as comely as her form.

Anke handed her the other dress, yellow as freshly churned butter. “Jah, all over with—and you’ll be hitched to an Amischer ya know nothing about. And just suppose this man doesn’t take to marryin’ straightaway? Suppose he wants time ta get to know ya? Huh?”

Tabitha slipped on the pretty dress, then eased it over her hips. She stared into the mirror, her sapphire-blue eyes set with determination. “The man is a mail-order groom, Anke. He surely must know that if the roles were reversed, a mail-order bride would be expected to marry upon her arrival.”

“Humph, well, I still say it ain’t a healthy idea ta marry without knowin’ each other. And what will ya do if you suddenly fall in love—true love—with some other fella, but yer forever bound to—what’s his name again?”

“Matthew,” Tabitha said firmly. “I’m marrying Matthew King, on my own terms, by my own judgment. All will be well. You’ll see, Anke. Now, sei se gut, help me with my hair and kapp; I’m going to geh out for a quick walk to clear my mind before I’m due to meet Abner . . . and Matthew . . . in the big clearing.”

Anke approached with a light comb, still muttering, and Tabitha caught the auld woman’s hand and pulled her close for a quick squeeze. “Danki for loving me, Anke, and please stop worrying. Things have a way of working out.”

“Jah, some might say that, kind, but you should know better. It’s Gott Who works things out, and He sometimes sees things a mite different from us.”

Tabitha merely smiled in response, certain in her heart that she was acting in accordance with Gott’s plans....

Matthew realized that their trek was nearing its end when Abner lowered his bulging knapsack to the ground near a bubbling stream and pool of water.

“Yer filthy and ya smell,” Abner said in gloomy tones.

“Danki,” Matthew returned. “I could remark that you look like a muddy toad, but that wouldn’t be quite right, now would it? Not when the thought of soggy vermin might be more the thing.”

“Watch yer mouth, buwe. . . . She wouldn’t want ta see ya lookin’ such a mess, so ye’d best git ta bathing.”

Matthew needed no further invitation. Turning his back to Abner, he quickly lowered his suspenders, then worked the hook-and-eye closures on his muddy, once-white shirt.

“You need pins,” Abner said.

Matthew half turned, his shirt in his hand. “Pins?”

“We use pins here to fasten our clothing.”

“That must be painful at times.” He undid the waistband of his black pants, then raised an eyebrow at Abner. “I forgot my straight razor. I don’t suppose you would . . .”

Abner rooted out a brutal-looking knife from his satchel and tossed it to him.

“Thanks,” Matthew said drily as he finished undressing, then plunged into the icy-cold water of the creek’s swimming hole. From the creek bank, Abner threw him a rough bar of soap.

“I’d best geh and find the maedel. You hurry on.”

“Jah. Got it.” Matthew lathered his arms and watched Abner slip away into the forest. It was gut to simply draw a deep breath and relax into the cold waters. He stared up at the canopy of green tree branches and began to lather his face. Then he plied the knife against his jaw; the edge could have proven hazardous had he not known well how to manage a blade. He was washing his hair when an abrupt sound caused him to look up at the bank.

“This is private land. What are you doing here?”

Matthew lowered his hands and blinked at the vision of loveliness his inquisitor presented. Honey-gold hair escaped her prayer kapp and curled in enticing tendrils against her fair cheeks. Her feminine shape was emphasized by the pristine apron she wore over a butter-yellow dress, and her stance, although she was petite, was one of strength. He knew instinctively, as surely as if she’d shouted her name to him, that this was Tabitha Stolfus—his frau-to-be.

He cleared his throat. “I’m bathing, but I don’t want to offend your maidenly . . . sensibilities with such an admission.” He ran his hands through his soapy hair and pulled until he knew he must surely look like a pointy-headed narrisch man.

He watched her pink lips turn down into a slight frown. “My sensibilities are hardly offended, sir, and I doubt you’d cause me much trouble anyway.”

“Well—” He splashed at the water in front of him and feigned rising to his feet. “In that case . . .”

He expected her to at least turn away, but she stood her ground until he ducked under the water and hastily rinsed his hair.

Sensibilities . . . Tabitha resisted the urge to take out the letter hidden in her bodice and study it once more, but then she was distracted by the sudden thrumming of her pulse. The stranger was like some big cat, lazily playing in the icy water while she tried to understand why something about him seemed oddly familiar.

She watched as he reemerged from beneath the soap bubbles on the surface of the water and shook his dark head. His shoulders were broad and his chest finely muscled. And she couldn’t resist a hasty glance downward to where dark hair arrowed from his belly into the swirl of the water.

She straightened her shoulders, then snapped her attention back to the situation at hand. “I suggest you make yourself scarce when you’ve finished your . . . bathing.”

“Danki for the advice. I’ll think on it.”

She nodded, then turned away to continue her walk. But her peace of mind had been shaken by the ruffian in the creek....

Abner sighed to himself as he lengthened his strides along the wooded path. His back ached a bit from the recent journey and he felt every one of his forty-seven years. Not auld . . . not yet . . . He let the truth of his words quicken his steps as his heart gained momentum. He had every intention of seeking out Tabitha, but first he wanted the chance to lay eyes on Anke. He let his mind drift to thoughts of her pleasantly rounded shape, and the way her face flushed with heat when she was working at the laundry outside or canning corn at the cookstove. He longed to be able to help her with her work but knew she was proud and wouldn’t appreciate a man interfering—especially the right hand of Herr Stolfus. In truth, he was John Stolfus’s half bruder, but few knew this auld, well-kept secret. He’d been born on the wrong side of the quilt, of an unwanted pregnancy, with no fater to help him grow. Still, in the deep backwoods of the Alleghenies, he’d survived to manhood, used to running wild until John had kumme for him and offered him a place, a job, a home.

Now he hurried his steps, knowing he was late meeting Tabitha in the big clearing. But because he understood the kind, he wasn’t too concerned; he knew she was still probably fussing with her dress. He rounded a corner of the trail, then looked up, amazed as always at the workmanship displayed in the Stolfus haus. Truly more than a mere cabin, it rose to three stories, with windows framed by hauled stone from the creek. Abner knew that John Stolfus believed the Amisch adage that there is no beauty without purpose, and the purpose of his home was to be a place dedicated to Gott, to offer a location for the Amisch of Blackberry Falls to gather together in comfort and in times of trouble And besides, that narrisch Bishop Kore had approved the haus even though it was much bigger than the small cabins of the other Amisch.

Abner mounted the wide, wooden steps and then gave a thundering knock on the heavy wood of the front door. He heard oncoming steps from the other side and whipped off his black hat, hastily running his hand through his thick, graying-blond hair.

Anke opened the door and he smiled down at her. She was obviously busy and gave him a slightly vexed glare as she jerked her apron into tidiness.

“Ye’re back, then, with the buwe?” she half whispered.

“Jah. Is she ready?” He had to resist the urge to reach out and touch one of the brown curls that had slipped the rigorous confines of Anke’s work kerchief.

“She’s already off to meet ya. She said she wanted ta walk a bit before she went to the clearing.”

Abner swallowed hard and nodded. It would be so easy to bend down and press his mouth to the red of her lips. But . . . his duty waited. “Danki.” He slipped his hat back on and returned to the steps, walking away without looking back.

Anke watched Abner’s broad back as he descended the steps. The man was a giant—plain and simple. She always felt small and delicate around him, even though she knew that her belly and bosom were far too big. But she also knew that she should not be thinking of Abner, not when she could remember all too clearly the horrid touch of her oncle when she was ten years auld. . . . She sighed to herself as she gently closed the heavy door and laid aside all personal thoughts to go to prepare a bridal supper for Tabitha and her mail-order groom.

Tabitha had devised a menu that Anke felt was less than befitting of an Amisch wedding supper. And there would not even be an eck or place of honor for the couple to sit. Moreover, there were no guests invited. Tabitha had reassured Anke that there could be a small celebration sometime after her fater returned from the deep woods and had accepted the groom of her choosing.

Anke moved about the spacious kitchen, praying that things might geh well between Tabitha and her chosen groom. It seemed to Anke that Tabitha was hardly auld enough to marry. She clearly recalled Tabitha as a young child, eager to make apple sauce or learn to scrape potatoes. Anke had done her best to be a substitute mamm to the little maedel, but she knew in her heart that Tabitha could be as headstrong as her fater.

Matthew glanced at Abner, who regarded him with the same tense expression he’d worn for the duration of the past three days. “Do you always look like that?” Matthew asked, returning the knife he’d used to shave to the aulder man.

“Like what?”

“Ach, I don’t know.... Mad, sad, ambivalent . . .”

Abner shook his hulking frame and grimaced. “Keep a civil tongue in your head, buwe. I’ve told ya who and what I am. Now move. We need to get to the big clearing and then on to Bishop Kore’s before—”

The aulder man broke off in midsentence, and Matthew glanced at him with open curiosity. “Before what?”

“Never mind. Ya came here to marry, and, if she’ll have you, marry ya shall.”

Matthew shook his wet head. “Yes, I shall.” He extended an arm. “Lead on, grim specter.”

Abner glared at him but turned, and Matthew followed, wondering what he’d truly gotten himself into....

The rushing creek muffled the sounds of the forest and soothed Tabitha’s unusually tense mood. It was not that she was anxious about meeting Matthew King; nee, her fater had paraded at least a dozen men before her eyes, hoping that she would marry someone of his choosing. Nee, it was the stranger in the creek who’d unsettled her; there was something about him that tugged at her.

But she thrust away such thoughts and began to pace the pine-needled floor of the clearing in her black shoes, giving a quick tug to the pristine apron at the front of her pale yellow dress. She’d wanted to look her best, planned on it; now she wondered if Matthew King would stand in awe of her beauty—the way many men did. For Tabitha, it wasn’t vanity; it was practicality. She wanted to know if the stiffness of his written response would melt beneath her gaze. Would he be smitten? She felt it would give her a measure of control in the relationship, and control was always gut.

She flicked absently at a kapp string as she moved. She knew that for the Mountain Amisch, marriage was a lasting thing and, in truth, she had no desire to be bound to some lout. She swallowed hard when she reflected on her own boldness in creating the ad and then drafting a carefully worded acceptance. But if he seems ugly in his heart, or a beast of a fellow, I shall simply have Abner drive him off. I’ve committed to nothing. . . . She ignored the niggle of doubt she felt, then stopped her pacing as Abner stepped from the laurel bushes with a tall man behind him.

Whatever she’d expected, it was not the handsome man she’d met that morning at the creek. She frowned as she took in his drying hair, now a rich, russet color rather than the dark, soapy strands she remembered. His eyes were an intense green and she felt consumed by his gaze. She was disconcerted and not at all used to the feeling. Then she remembered her resolve to marry on her own terms, and when he held out a large hand, she took it with a direct look. His fingers were warm and enclosed hers for a brisk, businesslike moment, and then he drew away.

She swallowed and spoke clearly. “Herr King. I’m Tabitha Stolfus.” Your wife-to-be . . . Wife. Wife. Wife . . . She didn’t say it, but she felt as if the word hung in the air between them.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you . . . properly, I should say.” He smiled down at her. “Sei se gut, call me Matthew.”

His voice was deep and resonant. Strangely, she couldn’t help but compare him to other men—nee, buwes—in Blackberry Falls. He stood with a commanding presence and was a gut head taller than herself.

“At least you are bathed and dressed properly for the ceremony.” It was a firm declaration, with only the faintest hint of sarcasm, as her gaze took in his white shirt, dark suspenders, and black pants. His damp shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, and she felt herself frown.

But to her surprise, despite her attitude, she sensed a relaxation in him, almost as if his damp shoulders shook with laughter, and she couldn’t resist speaking.

“You find something funny, Herr . . . Matthew?”

“Nee . . . I’m glad my attire suits you.”

Tabitha immediately felt herself flush at his soft teasing but then straightened her spine. “Jah, it does. And now we must hurry. Bishop Kore will be waiting.”

But once more she felt confused by him when he considered her with a quizzical smile. She had to resist the strange urge to reach up a hand to see if her kapp was on straight.

“Your prayer covering is on perfectly, Tabitha. But, I wonder—are we to marry with such haste? Surely you want to see if I fit your needs.”

Tabitha stared at him, rallying the driving force inside her—to marry on her own terms. “You seem adequate,” she said in deliberate, honeyed tones.

“Danki.” He smiled. “But perhaps we could have a few minutes alone to discuss . . . adequacy?” She watched his gaze flick to the silent Abner, and she gave a reluctant nod of assent.

The aulder man came forward and stabbed a finger at Matthew’s chest. “If ya so much as lay one finger—”

“I understand.”

Tabitha watched her soon-to-be husband step away from the accusatory finger and nod his head respectfully. Then Abner grunted and walked away into the forest, and Tabitha readied herself to meet alone with her mail-order groom for the second time that morning.

If Tabitha Stolfus had meant to aw. . .