Little Amish Matchmaker Read Free Page A

was no ordinary snowstorm; it was more like a blizzard. Likely there would be no school tomorrow.
    He was able to wedge his way into the chicken house through the small opening, quickly opening the water hydrant and scattering laying mash into the long, tin trough. He fluffed up the dry shavings the hens had thrown in the corner. Then Isaac made a headlong dive out of the warmth of the henhouse, wading through knee-high snow to the house.
    He was surprised to see Dat on the front porch, kicking snow off his chore boots.
    “You done already?” he asked his father.
    “No, Sim’s finishing. Levi Beiler came over, riding his horse. They need help at the Speicher home.”
    “Speicher? Teacher Catherine?”
    Dat nodded soberly.
    “What happened?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    That sort of answer was no answer at all, but Isaac knew it meant he did not need to know, that he should go into the house and ask no questions. When Dat laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder and Isaac looked up, Dat’s eyes were warm in the light from the kitchen.
    “You think you’ll ever find your hat?”
    Dat’s hand spread a whole new warmth through him, a comfort, an understanding.
    “I have another one. My school hat.” He fixed himself a large saucepan of Mam’s homemade hot cocoa mix and milk. The whole saucepanful ran over, hissing and bubbling into the burner, turning the blue gas flame orange. Isaac jumped up and flipped the burner off, salvaging his warm drink. He dumped the hot cocoa into a mug that said Snoopy on it. Mam loved yard sales. She had a whole collection of funny mugs which made Dat smile.
    Mam came in, went to the wash house and kicked around to get her boots off, all to the tune of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”
    He was proud of Mam. She was one smart lady. Not very many Amish people knew that song, but she did. She knew lots of things. She knew what Orthodox Jews were, and synagogues, and she knew who the leader of Cuba was. She explained dictatorship to Isaac, and Dat hid his head behind the Botschaft for a long time when Isaac said his teacher was a dictator. That, of course, was before Catherine Speicher.
    He wrapped both hands around the Snoopy mug of hot cocoa, took a sip and burned his tongue.
    Mam came through the door, taking off her apron, sniffing and asking what was burning.
    “The cocoa ran over.”
    Mam frowned. She hurried to the stove, peered at the blackened burner, and then bent for her tall green container of Comet. “Tsk, tsk. Should have wiped it off, Ikey. This is quite a blizzard. There are no cars moving at all. The snowplow is going, though, so I’m sure they’ll keep some of the roads open.”
    Mam was basically doing what she did best, talking. No matter if Isaac didn’t reply, she rattled on anyway. “Sim went with Dat. They’re having trouble with their water pump. At least that’s what I thought he said. Don’t know why Sim had to go. You’d think Dat and Abner could handle it. Well, see, they can’t run out of water. Those calves and heifers they raise need water. Isaac, what are you reading? School stuff? Christmas plays, I bet. You know I’m not allowed to see it. Just tell me the title. Is it a play? Are you hungry? I’m going to eat a chocolate whoopie pie. I made them this afternoon. You want one to dip in your cocoa? Better not dip it. Whoopie pies fall apart, they’re so soft.”
    By the time she reached the pantry, she was singing again, partly under her breath, a sort of humming with words. She was carrying a large rectangular Tupperware container with a gold-colored lid, one Isaac knew contained either whoopie pies or chocolate chip cookies. Sometimes she made pumpkin or oatmeal whoopie pies, but she always had to put some of them in the freezer for sister’s day. Her boys just weren’t so schlim (fond of) pumpkin or oatmeal.
    “Guess none of these will last for sister’s day, huh?” Mam said, as she kept talking while pouring herself a glass of creamy milk.