Quilt making, troublemaking, and matchmaking create a sweetly entertaining mix in this inspirational romance series featuring resourceful Colorado quiltmaker Esther Kiem—from USA Today bestselling author Jennifer Beckstrand, beloved, award-winning inspirational romance author of the Matchmakers of Huckleberry Hill, The Honeybee Sisters, and The Petersheim Brothers series.
Mattie Zook always stands up for what's right—which is why she's been exiled from her Pennsylvania Dutch home to her Aunt Esther's farm. Outraged at local discrimination against the Amish, she's using her rumschpringe to run for town council. Esther can only hope that sensible local farmer Freeman Sensenig will help Mattie—and keep her from going too far. But Mattie is soon finding her new campaign manager all too appealing . . .
Freeman never thought that the standoffish, opinionated Mattie would care so much about others. Even more amazing, their differences are somehow making her campaign successful—and have him hoping for more of a future with her. But unexpected obstacles and a sudden romantic rival will put their growing closeness to the test—and give them only one chance to truly reconcile their hearts . . .
Release date:
October 25, 2022
Publisher:
Zebra Books
Print pages:
352
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Mattie Zook was a little ashamed, sort of resentful, and very irritated.
But hopefully, none of these emotions showed on her face as she serenely stared up at the minister, pretending to listen to him and getting madder and madder by the minute.
It was unfortunate that the sermon was on Matthew 5:22—the verse about it being a sin to be angry. By feeling so mad, Mattie was sinning even while she sat right there in church. That probably counted as a double sin.
How could she be anything but angry when her dat had sent her to this dry, barren place in the middle of nowhere—so remote that even the trees looked like they didn’t want to be there? As soon as she’d stepped off the bus in Monte Vista, Colorado, her skin had dried up like an overtoasted piece of overbaked bread, and her lips had cracked in three places, even while plastered with a coat of Vaseline. Her head hadn’t stopped throbbing since yesterday, a condition that Aunt Esther called “altitude sickness.” Who in the world wanted to live in a place where you could get altitude sickness? It sounded like a dread disease with no cure.
Mattie sighed inwardly and tried not to be mad at Aunt Esther. It wasn’t Aunt Esther’s fault that Mattie’s dat had sent her to Colorado. It wasn’t Aunt Esther’s fault that Mattie would probably shrivel up like a prune and drop dead from dehydration—if the altitude sickness didn’t get her first.
There was a possibility that it was Mattie’s own fault, but she couldn’t see it in her heart to regret what she’d done, so she opted to blame the person who had insisted she come to Colorado—her dat.
Sometimes it was wonderful hard to honor her fater and mater. Then again, the commandment didn’t say you couldn’t be irritated with them.
Church services were being held in the Eichers’ barn this morning, a barn three times smaller than any barn in Pennsylvania Amish country. The doors were open to let in the cool air, but Mattie was still sweating—probably another symptom of altitude sickness. There was a smattering of laughter when a Plymouth Rock hen wandered into the barn and pecked at the ground near the minister’s foot. The minister obviously wasn’t about to interrupt his sermon and didn’t even acknowledge the chicken clucking softly at his feet. A young man who looked to be about Mattie’s age rose from his seat, scooped up the chicken in one fluid movement, and took it outside. More laughter. The minister didn’t even pause.
Mattie turned her head slightly to get another look at the men and boys sitting across the way. If the dry air and the altitude weren’t bad enough, the selection of eligible boys in the gmayna was even worse. Byler, Colorado, had a very small Amish population, and Mattie could count on one hand the number of unmarried boys who looked like they were even close to her age. Among them, there was only one who was even slightly good-looking—the boy who had dispatched with the chicken and returned with a feather stuck to his shirt. He had dirty blond hair and bright blue eyes, but Mattie had no desire to get to know him because he sang too loudly and acted as if he was truly concentrating on what the minister had to say. Mattie hated pretenders.
Not that it mattered. Mattie wouldn’t be getting acquainted with any boys, because she wasn’t planning on being here for more than a month. It wouldn’t take Mamm but a few days to miss Mattie’s help with the cooking and the cleaning and die kinner. For sure and certain Mamm would insist that Dat send for Mattie after a week of hanging laundry by herself.
In the meantime, Mattie just had to hold on and figure out how to keep herself from drying up and blowing away with the wind.
Aunt Esther stood, shuffled past the women in her row, and led Winnie out behind the barn to the outhouse. Winnie was potty training, and at that age, the bathroom waited for no minister. Most Colorado Amish had indoor bathrooms, thank Derr Herr, but the outhouse was a convenient addition for church services. Gmay was always held at the house of one of the members, and the bathrooms got a lot of use.
Mattie really liked Aunt Esther, even if she was the reason Mattie was no longer in Leola, Pennsylvania, with her friends. Aunt Esther had moved to Colorado two years ago, adopted Aunt Ivy’s baby, and gotten married. No doubt Dat had sent Mattie to Colorado because he thought Aunt Esther would be a gute influence on Mattie. And because there wasn’t anybody in Colorado for Mattie to sue.
Yet.
Aunt Esther was going to have a baby, and though Mattie wasn’t planning to be here long, she hoped she could be some help to her aendi. Aunt Esther made beautiful quilts that sold for hundreds of dollars at a shop in one of the ski towns. Mattie didn’t quilt, but she could do dishes and laundry so that Aunt Esther had more time to quilt. Aunt Esther was sweet and quirky, and Mattie wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. Esther always had a needle or quilting clips attached to her dress and a piece of chalk tucked behind her ear. Ach, vell, a piece of chalk or a straw or something else that might come in handy. This morning, Aunt Esther had a pencil behind her ear. Did she even realize it? Should Mattie tell her?
After the sermon and the hymn and a very long, very dull, and ineloquent prayer, the reverent group of members became a beehive of activity. Two men whisked the bench out from under Mattie almost before she stood up. Men and boys took the benches to the lawn and configured them into tables for the fellowship supper. The women set bowls of church spread and bread on the table, along with big pitchers of ice-cold lemonade.
Mattie backed up to the barn wall and leaned against it. She didn’t know anybody and didn’t have an assignment, so she didn’t really know how to be of help. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the lonely ache in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t know anybody here except Aunt Esther, Winnie, and Uncle Levi. She had no friends, hardly any family, and her dry lips were going to fall off her face. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so forsaken.
She closed her eyes and mustered all her anger so she wouldn’t burst into tears. She’d never forgive her dat, even though as a Christian she was supposed to forgive everybody. Surely even Gotte would make an exception for a dat who had banished her for the sin of trying to help him out.
Someone tapped on her elbow. She opened her eyes. Two nearly identical girls, maybe a few years younger than herself, stood in front of her, smiling widely. “Hallo,” said one of them. “You’re Esther’s niece, aren’t you?”
Mattie pursed her lips and nodded. What had they heard? She tried to relax. Maybe they hadn’t heard a single thing.
One of the girls pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m Sarah Sensenig. This is my schwester Sadie. You probably won’t be able to tell us apart for several weeks.”
Mattie’s lips curled involuntarily. “You do look very much alike.”
Sarah pulled at the sleeve of Sadie’s burgundy dress, the perfect match to Sarah’s own. “Mamm thinks it’s so cute. She told us we have to dress alike until we turn eighteen.”
Sadie’s grin widened. “That’s next week. I’m making a pink dress for myself for our birthday.”
“And I’m going to wear yellow,” Sarah said. “We’re sick of dressing alike, but we did it for Mamm because we love her and because she gets a divot between her eyebrows when she’s angry.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “The things our parents make us do sometimes!”
Mattie couldn’t disagree with that. Dat had made her come all the way across the country out of spite. She pushed her annoyance from her mind. “Sadie has more freckles than you do.”
Sarah nodded vigorously. “Most people don’t notice that the first time.”
Sadie giggled. “I still don’t think Freeman has noticed. Sometimes I get the feeling our bruder can’t tell us apart.”
Sarah huffed in protest. “Of course he can, Sadie. What a terrible thing to say about your very own flesh and blood.” Sarah grinned at Mattie. “Freeman is our bruder. He is also a twin.”
Mattie widened her eyes. “You have two sets of twins in your family?”
“Jah. But Freeman’s twin is a girl, so no one has trouble telling them apart. Suvie got married last October and moved to Montana. That made Freeman wonderful sad. And us too.” Sadie’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Freeman needs a fraa. Do you have a boyfriend, Mattie?”
Mattie nearly choked on the question. “Um, nae. No boyfriend, but I’m not really interested in having one.”
“Wait until you meet Freeman,” Sadie said. “Believe me. You’ll be interested.”
Sarah gave her sister the stink eye. “Sadie, quit trying to find a fraa for Freeman. He doesn’t like it. He’s already told you he can find a fraa for himself.”
Sadie didn’t seem discouraged or less enthusiastic. “Freeman is a boy. He couldn’t find a fraa for himself even if the girl had a sign around her neck.”
Sarah pursed her lips in disgust. “Jah, he can. And he doesn’t appreciate you meddling in his love life.”
“Well, someone has to meddle, or he’ll end up a bachelor, and then you and I will have to take care of him when he’s old. Think long and hard about that before you scold me for trying to get rid of him.”
Chicken Boy passed right behind Sarah. She turned, caught a handful of his sleeve in her fist, and yanked him toward her. “This is our bruder, Freeman.” The relationship was obvious. They all had the same intelligent blue eyes.
Freeman’s apparent annoyance at being interrupted by his sister gave way to a brilliant smile when he looked at Mattie. Okay. Maybe it didn’t matter that he sang too loud. He was wonderful handsome. “You’re Esther’s niece. She said you were coming from Ohio.”
Sarah cuffed him on the shoulder. “Pennsylvania, Freeman. She’s got a Pennsylvania Amish kapp.”
Mattie fingered her kapp strings. That was another thing she liked about Pennsylvania. Their prayer coverings were much prettier. They were still white and covered their heads, but they were made of sheerer fabric and had a pretty heart-shaped design at the crown. She almost felt sorry for any girl who didn’t wear the Pennsylvania kapp.
Freeman held up his hands. “Okay. Okay. Pennsylvania. I didn’t notice her kapp.”
Sadie leaned forward and whispered loudly, “He doesn’t notice anything. That’s why I don’t think he can tell us apart.”
Freeman wrapped his arm around Sadie’s shoulders and pulled her close to his side. “Of course I can tell you apart, Sarah. You’re my favorite schwester.” Sadie elbowed her bruder in the ribs. He grunted and grimaced in mock pain. “Ach, that really hurts, Sarah. I’m changing favorite schwesteren.”
Mattie couldn’t help but grin at the playful teasing between bruder and schwester. There was nothing playful about the stern way her fater ran their family.
“Oh, stop,” Sadie said. “Our new friend is going to think you’re a dummkoff, and we want her to like you.”
New friend. Mattie liked the sound of that.
Freeman glanced behind him. “I’d better go help, or I’ll be accused of being an idler.” He nodded to Mattie. “Nice to meet you . . . I didn’t catch your name.”
Sadie rolled her eyes. “See, he doesn’t notice stuff. He’s never going to get a fraa.”
“It’s not Freeman’s fault,” Sarah scolded. “She didn’t tell us her name yet.”
Mattie laughed. “I guess I didn’t. I’m Mattie Zook.”
Freeman held up his thumb and showed Mattie the inch-long scar on the pad. “Esther gave me five stitches when I split my thumb open. She’s wonderful nice like that.”
Sarah not-so-gently nudged Freeman out of the way. “Ach, bruder, Mattie doesn’t want to see that. It’s rude.”
Sadie eyed Mattie curiously. “Our mamm says you got in some sort of trouble in Pennsylvania, and your dat sent you out here as punishment.”
Mattie coughed on Sadie’s bluntness. “She said that?”
Sarah yanked on Sadie’s sleeve. “Sadie, that’s not polite.”
Mattie did her best to smile. It didn’t go very well. “For sure and certain Colorado is punishment enough.”
Sadie frowned. “What do you mean?”
Where to begin? The reasons seemed so obvious. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. The wind blows, and it’s so dry, the dust gets in your teeth, and there are like three trees in the whole town. Your district is tiny, and there’s hardly anybody my age. Our district in Leola is three times bigger, and there are hundreds of young people and fun youth groups and dozens and dozens of boys to choose from. And the ministers preach interesting sermons instead of boring ones. How can you bear to live here?”
She realized she’d maybe gone too far when the only response she got was wide-eyed silence. Had she offended them? She was always eager to tell the truth, but maybe she didn’t have to spread the truth around in such a wide swath. She should have mentioned how beautiful the mountains were and stopped at that.
“We have a gathering almost every week,” Sadie said weakly. “Lots and lots of die youngie come. One time we had twenty.”
Mattie clamped her mouth shut before she said something to make it worse, like My youth group has more than fifty.
Freeman lost any hint of good humor on his face. “We’re not rich like the Amish in Lancaster County. My dat had to find a place where the land didn’t cost an arm and a leg.”
“We’re not rich,” Mattie snapped, as if Freeman had accused her of some horrible sin. And to be sure, to the Amish, being rich was a sin. Since the love of money was the root of all evil, the more someone had, the easier it was to be tempted. The truth was, the Lancaster County Amish were rich—rich in land, even if their bank accounts were just as modest as any Amish man in Colorado. It was a generalization that made Mattie furious.
Freeman drew his brows together and folded his arms across his broad chest. “I apologize for making assumptions about you. Maybe you’re not rich, but for sure and certain you’re a snob.”
Mattie clenched her teeth and glared in Freeman’s direction. “No need to beat around the bush. Why don’t you tell me exactly how you feel? You have a very high opinion of your own opinion.”
Freeman gave her a withering stare. “Scorn is a very unattractive look on you, Mattie Zook.” He turned on his heels and strode out of the barn, not once looking back to see Mattie seething in her own juices.
Freeman was the last to climb into the buggy after church. Mamm and the twins were arguing about pink and yellow dresses while Dat sat quietly at the reins, no doubt eager to get home and away from the bickering. It was good-natured bickering, the kind people engage in when they disagree but still love each other, but Dat had heard the same argument for years. He was understandably tired of it. Freeman folded himself into the back with his two schwesters who were talking at once, as if attacking Mamm from both sides would be more effective. “Mamm,” Sadie whined, “you said we could wear different colors on our birthday.”
Mamm straightened her bonnet. “I know what I said, and you can wear different colors. It’s just that I don’t approve of your choice of colors. That pink dress you’re making is a peacock dress, and I don’t like the look of it.”
“It is not a peacock dress. All the girls are wearing bright colors. Mattie Zook was in baby blue at gmay.”
Sarah nodded. “If the Pennsylvania Amish are wearing it, it must be okay.”
“If all the Pennsylvania Amish jumped off a cliff, would you?” Mamm said.
Freeman turned his face to hide a grin from his schwester. If all Pennsylvania Amish were like Mattie Zook, even he might be tempted to jump off a cliff.
He sighed and shifted in his seat. Freeman didn’t like it when he lost his temper, and he liked it even less when he lost his temper over some snobby girl who wasn’t worth the effort or the frustration. Unfortunately, he’d been too distracted by Mattie’s good looks to consider that she might be hiding a sharp tongue. Ach, vell, now that he knew what she was like, he could avoid her and look elsewhere for the girl Gotte had in mind for him.
Freeman liked living in Byler—he really did—but part of losing his temper was because Mattie’s words had some truth to them. There were maybe three girls in the gmayna whom Freeman could date without robbing the cradle or settling for someone fifteen years older than himself. An older girl might work. Esther Kiem was six or seven years older than her husband, Levi, and they seemed a perfect match. But older, single women in Byler were scarce, as scarce as younger single women. Freeman had tried, sincerely tried, with every girl of marriageable age in the district, but he just hadn’t been able to force himself to love any of them. He’d come close with Linda Eicher, but when it became obvious she loved Ben Kiem, there had been nothing to do but get out of the way.
Maybe he should spend a year in Ohio or Indiana looking for a wife. After today, he definitely didn’t want to go to Pennsylvania. Mamm’s schwester lived in Wisconsin. He could go stay with her for a few months and bring a fraa back with him. The thought gave him no pleasure. Even if he found someone he wanted to marry, she certainly wouldn’t want to live in Byler. He probably shouldn’t have been so quick to chastise Mattie Zook. How could he blame her for not immediately seeing how wunderbarr Byler really was?
Sadie pinched her lips together. “At least the Pennsylvania Amish have exciting lives. I just sit around all day waiting for a boy to notice me, and there are only two my age.”
“Be patient, Sadie lady,” Dat said. “In his time, Gotte will bring the right boy to you.”
Sarah nudged Sadie with her arm. “It was very rude what you said to Mattie.”
Dat turned around and looked at Sadie. “What did you say?”
Sadie narrowed her eyes at Sarah. “I just told her we once had twenty young people show up to a gathering. What’s rude about that?”
“Not that,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. “You pried into her personal business when you asked her why her dat sent her to Colorado.”
Mattie had said something about her dat punishing her. She must have done something very bad to be sent to Colorado. All the more reason to steer clear of her.
Sadie squeaked in protest. “That wasn’t prying. I was just making friendly conversation.”
Sarah rolled her eyes again. “Friendly conversation is ‘Hallo, Mattie. How was the train ride from Pennsylvania?’ not ‘We heard you got in trouble in Leola.’”
Freeman chuckled. “It depends on your tone of voice.”
Sarah reached across Sadie and punched Freeman in the arm. “It does not.”
Freeman flinched when a siren blasted. He peered out the back window. Close behind, a police car followed them with the lights flashing and the siren wailing. Dat pulled to the side of the road, and the police car followed him. What in the world? They certainly couldn’t have been breaking any speed limits.
Sadie hooked her elbow around Freeman’s arm and squeezed tight. “Are we in trouble?”
Freeman shrugged. “I don’t know.” He wasn’t particularly concerned. Sometimes the police stopped them if a buggy light was broken or if they thought their horse was breaking some town ordinance.
The policeman was a woman, with her black hair pulled back into a severe bun. Freeman watched her through the window as she talked to Dat. “I’m sorry, sir, but there is a new town ordinance, effective today, June first. Your vehicle is not in compliance with the ordinance, and I’m going to issue you a warning.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Dat said. “All those big words strung together make my head hurt.”
The policewoman suddenly looked embarrassed, as if she didn’t even know what she was talking about. “I’m sorry. The town council just passed a new rule. Buggies and horses are no longer allowed on the main streets.” She handed Dat what looked like a map. “Buggies and horses are prohibited on streets colored red.”
Dat studied the map. Freeman leaned forward and looked over Dat’s shoulder. “But,” Dat said, “if we can’t drive on these roads, it will take much longer to get anywhere. A ten-minute drive to church will take an hour.”
Freeman stared at the red lines crisscrossing the paper. “This doesn’t seem fair to the Amish.”
The policewoman’s face turned a darker shade of red. “I’m sorry. I just enforce the law. I don’t make it.” She handed Dat another piece of paper. “Here is your official warning. I’m afraid that next time I’ll have to write you a ticket.”
The silent shock in the buggy lasted until the police officer got into her car and drove away. “Well, how do you like that?” Mamm said.
Dat sat frozen with the map in front of his face. “Why would they pass a law like that?”
Freeman felt his temper simmering for the second time today. This had to be some sort of a record. “This is Bill Isom’s doing. He’s on the town council.”
Mamm grunted. “I must be a wicked woman indeed that Derr Herr has seen fit to afflict our family with Bill Isom.”
Dat shook his head. “Maybe it’s not because we’re wicked, but because Gotte wants to see if we will act like Christians in the face of adversity.”
By “acting like Christians,” Dat meant they would pretend nothing had happened and adjust to the new rule. Freeman would go along with what Dat said. There was nothing else he could do about it if he wanted to be a gute Christian. Freeman tamped down his anger and thought of today’s sermon. Whosoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment. Sometimes it was wonderful hard to be a pacifist, especially when men like Bill Isom took advantage of all that good will.
At least Freeman would get his chores done. . .
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