A Match For Addy (The Amish Matchmaker Book 1) by Emma Miller

the foolish self-pity had passed, and Addy had regained her composure and a measure of reason. The evening had been exciting. It had been far better than she’d expected. She should be grateful for what she’d been given. What would be wasn’t up to her. It was God’s plan. If he wanted her to have a husband and a family, he would provide one, but if it were her task to remain at home to care for her parents in their old age, then she would accept that with a good heart. She had her church, her family and a home. She would be content, and she would cease coveting what other girls might have.
    When Addy opened her kitchen door, her mother rose from the kitchen table. She’d been waiting up for her. “You’re late tonight,” she said. “The singing didn’t end at ten, like usual?”
    Addy glanced at the clock on the shelf. Eleven-fifteen. “
Ya
... I mean
ne
, it didn’t. There were a lot of people. It was nice.”
    “Did you enjoy yourself?” Her mother embraced her, a rare show of emotion that gave Addy pleasure.
    “I did.” She hugged her back, and for a few seconds the two stood there, long arms wrapped stiffly around each other. “I was song leader one time.”
    “You picked a good hymn, I hope.”
    Her mother pulled away, but the warmth of her touch lingered. Her mother had never been a touchy-feely person, forever hugging and kissing cheeks and patting shoulders like her Aunt Hannah and her Yoder cousins. But Addy had never doubted her mother’s love. Still, this unexpected gesture of affection was welcome, and Addy wanted to prolong the closeness between them.
    “Is there buttermilk left in the refrigerator?” This was her mother’s day for making butter. Some families had given up the time-consuming practice, but not her
mam
. Thursday was always butter-making day.
    As a child, watching her
mam
dip the thick cream into the big glass churn and then turn the handle for what seemed forever had fascinated her. And the moment when the white cream solidified into lumps of golden butter remained a treasured memory. Of course, the butter-making didn’t end there. The newly churned butter had to be turned out onto a clean cloth and the last of the liquid squeezed out of it before it was lightly salted and pressed into wooden molds. Not everyone could make butter, but her mother had a hand for it, and she had passed on the gift to her.
    “There is. Have as much as you like, and pour me a half glass,” her
mam
said. “I was wondering when you’d get in. It’s not like you to stay up so late, what with work tomorrow. Did you get a ride home?”
    Her mother’s tone was light, conversational, but Addy knew what she really wanted to ask.
Did a boy drive you home? Have you been riding around in the dark with someone?
    Addy almost admitted that Menno had invited her, but that would mean explaining that she’d turned him down. And then her mother would want to know why and what was wrong with Menno. She could hear her penetrating voice reminding her that she was getting no younger and that Menno Swartzentruber was a decent young man from a good family, and she was in no position to be as picky as her Yoder cousins. So Addy held her own countenance and chose the easier path. “I could have gotten a ride with someone, but it was such a pleasant night, I decided to walk. Not many clouds. It’s nearly as bright as day out there.”
    “I suppose that when I was thirty, I’d rather walk than ride,”
Mam
conceded.
    “Not thirty yet.” Addy didn’t let the hurt show in her voice.
    “Not yet, but soon enough. Pray that Sara is as good as she claims, and that she can find you a husband. I just hope it wasn’t a mistake to turn down Preacher Caleb. There’s more to a man than a handsome face.”
    “I didn’t turn Caleb down because of the scars on his face,” Addy said softly. And that was
mostly
true. “He just wasn’t right for me.”
    “Time will tell, Dorcas. Time will tell, and you’re the one to