An Amish Country Treasure by Ruth Price

Author:Ruth Price
Language: eng
Format: epub
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Publisher: Global Grafx Press
Published: 2015-07-31T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jemima spent the next morning doing chores in the garden. Her mother had a vegetable patch that was an acre across, filled with the tomatoes and green peppers and onions and squash that their father loved, plus cucumbers for pickling, and pole beans.

She had a big basket, and was moving from row to row, harvesting vegetables for their meal.

A cool dawn had ripened into a perfect morning, not too hot, and slightly breezy. The air felt refreshingly cool for July, and the sky was filled with the billowy clouds of summer. Jemima shaded her eyes, thinking that they looked ripe, too – they were full and tall and blue-tinged, towering all the way to the edge of sight.

A voice from the house interrupted her reverie.

“Jemima!”

She put her basket down and smoothed her hair and skirt. It was Mark’s voice.

“Here.”

She could just see the top of his dark head on the other side of the garden. He waved, and came weaving through the rows of plants to reach her.

“How are you this morning?” he asked, smiling. “I haven’t seen you in the last few days.”

She looked down, and smiled. It felt nice to be missed.

“I was in town for the festival.”

“You are coming to the sing this Sunday evening?”

She nodded, not looking up.

“Good. I was hoping we could talk.”

She felt her cheeks going warm, but nodded again, and looked up. The shifting sunlight was moving over Mark’s inky black hair, making it glisten blue.

His bright eyes were on her face. He stared at her for a long instant and then, to her surprise, he leaned over and kissed her. His lips were smooth and pleasantly warm, like the sun beaming through the dappled leaves. They moved over hers strongly, and with a steady pulse – like the thrumming of her own heart.

He took her chin in his hand. “I want to ask your Daed to court with you,” he whispered. “Would you let me, Jemima?”

She looked up into his eyes. “I – I would, Mark. But –”

The sound of another voice calling made Mark straighten up suddenly.

“Mark Christner!”

It was her father’s voice, calling urgently – and, it seemed to his daughter, a little suspiciously.

“Yes sir!”

Mark turned to her, and took her hand in his. “Remember, Jemima. This Sunday.”

“I won’t forget, Mark.”

“Mark!”

“I have to go.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek then turned quickly and walked back to the house.

Jemima watched him go with a little smile playing on her lips. Mark was so sweet.

She put her fingers to her lips. She liked the way he kissed, too.

She shook her head, and smiled. She had meant to tell Mark that Samuel had asked to court with her, as well – but she hadn’t had much of a chance.

She expected that Samuel would soon be coming by to ask her for himself.

She smiled again, and returned to her task.

She plucked handfuls of shiny, sugar-sweet tomatoes off of the vine and dropped them into her basket. She picked basil and rosemary from the little herb patch, and lifted a sprig to her nose.

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