Free Little Amish Matchmaker by Linda Byler

get busy, Isaac.”
    Dat reached out, lifted Isaac’s torn straw hat and plopped it back down, a gesture of affection.
    While Isaac cleaned and scraped, shooing chickens away, he kept repeating, “Wow! Wow!”

Chapter Nine
    I SAAC FAIRLY FLEW TO school, the thought of the new spring wagon goading him on, his energy buzzing and humming.
    The sky looked dark and heavy enough to fall right down on his head. Big piles of iron-gray clouds were flattening themselves into the fish-bone shape Mam always spoke of. She said if gray clouds looked like a fish skeleton, gray and flat and straight, there was a wet air from the east, and a rain or snowstorm was approaching.
    Dat clucked over the morning paper. “There’s another big one coming.”
    “ Ach, du lieva !” (Oh, my goodness.) Mam set down her cup of coffee, broke another glazed doughnut in half and took a generous bite, hungrily. And she just had breakfast. “You mean we’ll have two storms before Christmas?”
    “I would say so. Whatever you do, Isaac, if it gets to rissling (ice coming down), wait at school until someone comes to get you. Your scooter isn’t safe on the road in those conditions.”
    Dat was very serious, so Isaac sat up and listened.
    At school, he told Calvin about the approaching storm, Calvin nodding and saying already there was a winter storm watch for Lancaster, Berks and Dauphin Counties.
    It was dark in the schoolhouse. Teacher Catherine got a lighter out of her desk and lit the propane gas lamp, its warm glow and soft hissing sound wrapping the pupils in homey, familiar light.
    It was the only light they were used to at home. A propane tank was set in a pretty oak cabinet, sometimes painted black or off-white or red, depending on the housewife’s preference, with a long pipe attached to the head where two mantles were tied. When a tiny flame was held to the mantles, a bright light burst forth, illuminating a whole room easily. It was the best alternative to electricity.
    Mam said years ago they didn’t have propane lamps. They used naptha gas in a lamp hung from the ceiling. They were right dangerous, in her opinion, but back then you never thought about it. You could burn kerosene in the same lamp, except you had to heat the head with a torch, or use the little cup that was provided for a shot of lighter fluid, ignite it, and then a small, steadily burning blue flame heated the mantles until you could turn the lamp on, which was even more dangerous and time-consuming. So they had come a long way.
    Dat shook his head about the fast moving solar and battery operations that were creeping into homes nowadays. Some of the more liberal households no longer used propane lamps, but a 12-volt battery in the oak cabinet attached to a bulb on a real electric lamp that was converted to battery use.
    You had to wonder where it would all end, Dat said, stroking his beard and looking very wise. It was important to keep the old traditions, he said. They meant a lot.
    Sim said change would come, though, it always had. Look at the milking machines and bulk tanks. Propane gas stoves and refrigerators. Some change was good. Dat agreed, but admonished Sim to be trick-havich (hold back) and it would never spite him, reaping the benefits in later years.
    As Isaac settled into his desk, he shivered. Normally, the classroom was warm, but the farthest corners were cold this morning. He gazed out the window as Teacher Catherine read the Bible, waiting for those first icy snowflakes to ping against the east side of the schoolhouse. He glanced at Ruthie, appalled to find her blinking, her eyes bright with unshed tears. As he watched, her brown eyes overflowed, the tears leaving wet streaks through her freckles.
    He looked away.
    When he returned from singing class, he got out his arithmetic book as usual. Now he inserted a piece of paper, and wrote,
Ruthie, it’s O.K. Teacher Catherine says it is. I know about your mam. I feel sorry for her. Hang in there. You’re