A Husband For Mari (The Amish Matchmaker 2) Read Free Page A

couldn’t have guessed his age, somewhere between forty and fifty. Hiram’s sandy hair was cut in a longish bowl-cut; his nose was prominent and his chin receding. His ears were large and, at the moment, as rooster-comb red as Sara’s sugar bowl. “Waiting outside when she’s ready,” he said between bites of egg.
    Hiram had slipped into Deitsch , and Mari was pleasantly surprised to realize that she’d understood what he’d just said. Maybe she hadn’t forgotten her childhood language.
    One bite of the blueberry pancakes and Mari found that she was starving. She polished off a pancake and a slice of bacon, and she was reaching for a hot biscuit when she became aware of the sound of an outer door opening and the rumble of male voices.
    “My carpenter crew.” Sara slid a second pancake onto Mari’s plate. “Better put on a second pot of coffee, Ellie.”
    Mari suddenly felt self-conscious. She hadn’t expected to meet so many people before eight in the morning her first day in Seven Poplars. Now she was glad that she’d chosen a modest navy blue denim jumper, a black turtleneck sweater and black tights from her suitcase. And instead of her normal ponytail, she’d pinned up her hair and tied a blue-and-white kerchief over it. She wasn’t attempting to look Amish, but she wanted to make a good impression on Sara’s friends and neighbors. Not that she’d ever been one for the immodest dress many English women her age went for; she’d always been a long skirt and T-shirt kind of girl.
    Five red-cheeked workmen crowded into the utility room, stomping the mud off their feet; shedding wet coats, hats and gloves; and bringing a blast of the raw weather into the cozy kitchen.
    “Hope that coffee’s stronger this morning, Sara,” one teased in Deitsch . “Yesterday’s was a little on the weak side. It was hard to get much work out of Thomas.” The speaker was another clean-shaven man in his late twenties or early thirties.
    “That’s James,” Sara explained in English. “He’s the one charging me an outrageous amount for my addition.”
    “You want craftsmanship, you have to pay for it,” James answered confidently. He strode into the kitchen in his stocking feet, opened a cupboard door, removed a coffee mug and poured himself a cup from the pot on the stove. “We’re the best, and you wouldn’t be satisfied with anyone else.”
    “Nothing wrong with Sara’s coffee,” chimed in a second man, also beardless and speaking English. “James is just used to his sister’s. And we all know that Mattie King’s coffee will dissolve horseshoe nails.” He glanced at Mari with obvious interest as he entered the kitchen. “This must be your new houseguest. Mari, is it?”
    “ Ya , this is my friend Mari.” Sara introduced her to the men as they made their way into the kitchen and began to pour themselves cups of coffee. “She and her son, Zachary, will be here with me for a while, so I expect you all to make her feel welcome.”
    “Pleased to meet you, Mari,” James said. The foreman’s voice was pleasant, his penetrating eyes strikingly memorable. Mari felt a strange ripple of exhilaration as James’s strong face softened into a genuine smile, and he held her gaze for just a fraction of a second longer than was appropriate.
    Warmth suffused her throat as Mari offered a stiff nod and a hasty “Good morning,” before turning her attention to her unfinished breakfast. She took a piece of the biscuit and brought it to her mouth, then returned it untasted to her plate. She kept her eyes on her pancake, watching the dab of butter slowly melt as she felt the workmen staring at her, no doubt curious about her presence at Sara’s. Mari didn’t want anyone to get the idea that she’d come to Seven Poplars so Sara could find her a husband. That was the last thing on her mind.
    “Thomas would rather drink coffee than pound nails any day,” Ellie teased as he took a seat at the table.
    “And who