Lancaster Amish Juggler 4-Book Boxed Set Bundle: The Lancaster Amish Juggler Series, #5

By Rebecca Price

GET ALL 4 BOOKS AT ONE LOW PRICE!

When a young woman’s love brings to light a terrible secret, will the truth destroy her family or save it?

˃˃˃ Lancaster Amish Secrets - When a young woman’s love brings to light a terrible secret, will the truth destroy her family or save it?

Hannah and Abram Schroeder are forever relegated to play second fiddle to their older, cherished sister Rebecca. Abram escapes through learning to juggle, while Hannah’s peace comes only through baking her special Whoopie Pies, which she and her brother sell at the local market. But when Hannah finds love and starts courting against her parents’ wishes, a terrible secret is brought to light, setting her on a collision course that will change all of their lives forever. Can Hannah, through faith, mend her broken family without sacrificing her own fragile chance at love?

>>> Lancaster Amish Lies - Can Hannah, through faith, mend her broken family without sacrificing her own fragile chance at love?

Hannah and Abram Schroeder are forever relegated to play second fiddle to their older, cherished sister Rebecca. Abram escapes through learning to juggle, while Hannah’s peace comes only through baking her special pies, which she and her brother sell at the local market. But when Hannah finds love and starts courting against her parents’ wishes, a terrible secret is brought to light, setting her on a collision course that will change all of their lives forever. Can Hannah, through faith, mend her broken family without sacrificing her own fragile chance at love?

˃˃˃ Lancaster Amish Betrayal - Can new bride Hannah Troyer navigate a treacherous path of competition and betrayal without losing everything she loves?

When new bride Hannah Troyer is compelled by community elders to enter her a local baking contest for the benefit of an Englischer documentary, bonds of faith and family are strained to the breaking point. As the contest unfolds, Hannah faces competition and betrayal, exposing a terrible secret that threatens to destroy everything she loves. Will Hannah’s faith and baking skill be enough to save her community from themselves? Find out in this second installment of the Lancaster Amish Juggler series, an Amish of Lancaster County saga.

˃˃˃ Lancaster Amish Promise: When a simple act of charity threatens the foundation of Rebecca and Simon Troyer’s marriage, will they have the faith to keep their wedding promises?

When newly wedded Lilly's husband Jessup vanishes without a trace, she turns to her neighbors, Rebecca, sister of pie baker Hannah, and her husband Simon Troyer for help. But a simple act of charity is fraught with peril as the truth behind Jessup’s disappearance is revealed and long buried feelings between Lilly and Simon come to the surface. In the face of tragedy, will the promises of marriage that Rebecca and Simon’s made weather Lilly’s grief? And how will their Lancaster community find the strength to withstand a new and terrifying threat to life and safety?

GET ALL 4 BOOKS AT ONE LOW PRICE!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Global Grafx Press
• Release date: Dec 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501430329

Book preview

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BOOK 1

CHAPTER ONE

The trip from Indiana is brutal and long, and the prickly summer heat only makes things worse.  By the time our two carriages roll into Lancaster County, I feel like I’ve been sitting in that little wooden box for six weeks.  My bum is sore, my legs are stiff, and my spine feels pinched.  But something about that cluster of farms, silos, shops, and streets over the ridge, fills me with a sense of welcome, of possibility.

Of relief.

Abram looks too, from his spot next to me.  His body sags in his seat, the awkward, early growth not showing as he slumps tiredly.  The trip’s been hard for me, but, at fourteen, seven years my junior, I know it must have seemed a lot worse to him.

Ahead of us, Daed, Mamm, and our older sister Rebecca, ride in our other carriage. 

I’m surprised they didn’t send her along by flying carpet, I think to myself, not wanting to say it.  Abram and I already lack a certain closeness with our older sister and parents, and I don’t want to foster that in Abram’s mind or heart.  But as we lag behind them in the older carriage, it’s hard not to feel like we’re in a perfect picture of our entire lives, trailing behind the rest of the family like second-class citizens, left to take up the rear.

But if it’s been difficult for me and Abram, it’s also served to bring us closer together.  We have a closeness with each other that we don’t have with them.  If they can’t be there for us, at least we can always be there for each other.

We roll up to what is to be our new home.  Daed’s uncle, Ezekiel, who went by Zeek, had lived here for years, until his recent death. Pulling up past the weeds and overgrown grass, it’s easy to believe the stories of his final years, as a recluse in failing health.

We get out of the carriages, Daed helping Rebecca out of the carriage, but leaving Mamm to climb out on her own.  Abram and I are to see to the bags, as Daed opens up the house. 

It’s dark and very musty, the smell of loneliness and isolation filling the big rooms.  Amish houses always have big rooms, so the community will have a place to gather, but it’s hard to imagine anyone, much less an entire community, visiting this sad, lonesome place.

Without a word, Mamm begins opening the shutters, while Daed steps across the room, back toward the entrance.  I’ll see to the barn, he says, and barely that.

Daed is not a man of many words.

Rebecca follows Mamm into one of the bedrooms, the one no doubt meant to be hers.  We hadn’t shared a bedroom since she turned eighteen, when our parents began looking for a suitable husband for her.

My eyes are pulled to the far corners of the house, still echoing with the lingering misery of our family’s sadness.  I’d heard things about granduncle Zeek, about a violent sadness after his wife Nora died.  He’d cut himself off from the rest of the family, wouldn’t return any letters, or go to any family gathering.

And I know he was not alone in that sadness.  Sometimes, I feel the wisps of it myself: touching me gently on the back of the neck, worming its sorrowful way into my heart, aging it beyond its years.  I see it in Abram’s face, young as he is, and in Mamm’s, and Rebecca’s, and Daed’s.

Especially Daed’s.  It’s a vague, echoing emptiness that no words can cling to, that no apology or solace can ease or relieve.  It hangs over the house, even within it, like a cloud, following each of our family members wherever we go, whatever we strive toward.

No, I tell myself.  I won’t live under that family curse, that hereditary misery.  I won’t, and neither will Abram, if I have anything to say about it.

But right now, I don’t have much to say about anything.  I can sense the emptiness of my granduncle’s last years: the solitary shuffling of his aging feet, never resting, yet going absolutely nowhere.

Can we bring life and joy to this lifeless and joyless place? I have to wonder. I mean, some family may be able to, but can we?  Those crucial qualities seem in shorter supply between us than ever, and are getting worse every day.

Don’t despair, I tell myself.  Abram will be free, and on his way soon enough.  And there’s still Jesus to think about; he didn’t give up, and neither will I.

Once again, it’s just me and Abram, alone.  He looks around and sighs.  We’ll be doin’ chores around this place for the rest of our lives!

I put my arm around his shoulder, tapping him reassuringly.  Don’t worry, Abram.  Maybe we won’t live that long.

He chuckles, and I do too.  It feels good.  We’re the only ones in the family who ever laugh, it often occurs to me, even though we’re the ones who get stuck with all the hard work.  Princess Rebecca never has to lift a finger, gets the first choice of everything, first consideration every time, yet she never seems to laugh, or even smile. 

Mamm told her once that smiling would give her lines on her face, and I’ve presumed that’s why she never releases her pouty expression.  But I’d rather laugh and have lines, than never laugh at all.  I only wish I had more reason to laugh, more often.

Abram seems to notice this about me.  Before I can stop him, he’s grabbed three tea cups from the kitchen, and is juggling them.  The fragile, white china cups spin in the air, as he tosses them in a wide circle, looking at me with a hopeful smile.

Hopeful that I’ll return it.

Abram, stop it!  They’ll break!

Abram shakes his head, eyes on the cups in front of him.  Not if you believe...concentrate with me, Hannah, concentrate...

I can’t help but chuckle.  I don’t like to encourage him when I think he’s making a poor choice, but I also can’t bring myself to stifle his creativity, his sense of whimsy.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  I feel that it’s not only my responsibility to nurture it, to allow the best within him to grow and flourish, but that it is my honor to do so.

He’s also a very good juggler.

When he catches the first cup, then the next two, without leaving a scratch, I applaud, and he takes a grand bow.

But our mirth comes to an end when Daed walks into the house, tall and broad, his face always solemn and stern.  He looks at the cups in Abram’s hands.

I told you, none of that tomfoolery in the house, boy.  Abram just bows his head, eyes dipping closed.  And with our new cups?  Is that the way you treat my uncle’s memory, by throwing his personal objects around for your amusement?

It was for my amusement, Daed, I say quietly.  We had a long trip; Abram was just trying to make me feel at home.

The trip was no longer for you than for the rest of us, Daed says, walking up to Abram and taking the cups, before pushing past him and into the kitchen.  Mamm and Rebecca stand near the stairs, watching.  Mamm stands quietly, while Rebecca glares at us, shaking her head.

Rebecca says, Did you get the rest of the bags?  Abram and I can only exchange glances that tell the other what each of us already knows.  We turn and head back toward the front door, to finish unloading the carriages.

Then, you can tend the horses, Daed says, There’s hay in the barn.

We nod, and make it to the front door.

When we open it, we’re surprised to see several new faces standing on our porch.  The man in front, plump and smiling, in his fifties, holds his fist up as if about to knock, before I interrupted him by opening the door.

Good afternoon, sir, I say, but I don’t have a chance to say more.

Step out of the way, child, my daed says behind me, and of course, I do as I’m told.

My daed steps to the front door.  Hyamm Schroeder, he says, his voice as rigid as his posture.

The man on the other side, one of several, extends his hand to Daed.  Olaf Thompson, he says, my daed finally shaking his hand.  Olaf turns to the other men, muttering their names as they all nod and murmur their greetings.  I can’t hear it all because I’ve been forced to step back, but I do make it out when Olaf says: Elders of the community.  We thought we’d welcome you personally.

My daed stands, nodding, until Mamm says, Won’t you come in, please?

Daed steps back, as Olaf and the town elders enter, looking around the house, still draped in the pallor of my granduncle’s final years.

My daed says to Olaf and the others, My wife, Ruth, and our daughter, Rebecca.  Rebecca smiles, prettily, even seeming to curtsy a bit.  Glancing at us, Daed adds, Hannah and Abram, my youngest.

I open my mouth to offer the men a greeting, but reading the glare on my daed’s expression, I think better of it, and turn to Abram.  We best see to those bags, Abram.

We have guests, Daed says to me, his voice low and corrective.

Mamm says to Olaf and the others, We only just arrived, I’m sorry I haven’t had any time to make the place presentable, or to prepare anything.

That’s when I notice that the town elders behind Olaf are holding packages, pie-shaped objects, wrapped in cotton.  One man holds several jugs.  Olaf smiles.  We thought as much, and so we’ve brought you a little welcome of our own.

Daed turns to Mamm and nods.  We all know what that means, and we bolt into action.  Mamm and Rebecca take the foods, with grateful thanks, while Abram and I move to set the table. 

We present the baked oatmeal and the spaghetti squash, so rich with butter and garlic, that I can taste it before I ever take the first bite.  The cider is laced with cinnamon, and very refreshing and delicious.

Olaf says to Daed, We’re sorry for your loss.  You uncle was...quite an interesting man.  Daed just nods.  We didn’t see much of him toward the end, Olaf adds.  The rigors of age must have taken their toll.

I know what he is getting at, and Daed surely does.  But this man, Olaf, doesn’t know my daed, what kind of man he is.

But I have the terrible feeling he’s about to find out.

Anyway, Olaf goes on with a smile, it’s nice to have some fresh faces in the community, and we know that you’ll all fit right in, and all will be as God intends.

This grabs Daed’s attention.  "What do you know of God’s intentions? ‘Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook or his tongue with a cord which thou lettest down?  Canst thou put a hook into his nose or bore his jaw through with a thorn?’"

Olaf raises his glass, as if in a tiny toast.  Job 41:1-2.

Olaf and the others lean back, considering and nodding, and not showing any offense.  "Well, Hyamm, we believe a man should know his gospel, and you prove yourself an excellent student of the Word.  But before too much flattery could be inferred, Olaf adds, And we believe that God intends for man to live in a community, and not be isolated.  ‘Thou wilt surely wear away, both thou, and this people that is with thee: for this thing is too heavy for thee; thou art not able to perform it thyself alone.’"

Daed says, Exodus 18:18.  Anyway, my uncle lived as he pleased.

It is not your uncle who concerns us, Olaf says, his smile melting away.  But again, these are things we know will be taken care of.  I know what he means: the overgrown fields, the crumbling house, the isolated presence.  Olaf adds, And how do you make your way, sir?

Blacksmith, Daed says, his voice grainy and proud.  "With Indiana’s Amish all turning New Order, there was less and less call for horseshoes."

Olaf nods, enjoying a sip of cider, wincing slightly at its pleasant tang.  Then you’ll be happy here.  We avoid distractions as much as possible.

It is not simply possible, Daed says, rather, it is necessary.

Mamm leans forward a bit.  And with our uncle’s passing, this move just seemed to be...

God’s will? Olaf suggests.  Mamm smiles; Daed doesn’t.  Glancing at me and Rebecca, Olaf adds, You have come to us without husbands, I take it.

Daed says, My Rebecca shall be the first to marry, when we find somebody of suitable character and ability.

Of course; and you’ll find men of those aspects here, I assure you.  Why, any number of young Lancaster men would be fine candidates.

That will be for us to decide, Daed says, taking a forkful of mozzarella stuffed meatballs, the warm heart of our welcome meal.

Of course, they’d decided against every eligible boy in Indiana, and just about every one of them came calling, too.  I’d long since begun wondering if any young man would be good enough, and looking into Rebecca’s eternal pout informed me that she’d stumbled upon the same, sad quandary, maybe years ago.

But, there wasn’t much she could do about it then, and there isn’t much we can do about it now.  Daed is the head of our family, and the course of Rebecca’s life would be his to steer.  My own seems outside of his concern, which is a growing relief to me.  I used to feel quite ignored and unloved, but now I just feel a sense of identity that may lack for parental affection, but is still strong with personal dignity.

At least my life is my own.

More or less.

Okay, less.

And until Rebecca gets married, Daed and Mamm do everything they can to keep me from finding a suitable husband.  I sometimes think that’s why they work me so hard, so I won’t have the time, or the opportunity, to find a love of my own, at least not before Rebecca does.

But I know it’s not that simple.  Rebecca is astonishingly pretty, prettier than we’re supposed to be concerned with.  It’s only physical, surface attractiveness, after all; nothing compared to the beauty that should shine from within.  And she’s their eldest child, their first, so I’ve often thought they’re closer to her because they knew her first; they’d had a longer time to form a bond.

But I can scarcely convince myself that it’s true.  And, in the end, I know it doesn’t matter.  It’s what Daed wants that matters in this family; even God’s will has to take a backseat.

And what of you, young man? Olaf asks Abram.  You’re out of school now?

Since last year, sir, Abram says, very courteously.

He wants to be... Daed grimaces, as if barely able to push the words out of his mouth, ... an entertainer.  His disgust with the idea is written all over his pinched expression.  A clown, no less...

Juggler, I say sweetly, to soften the affront of my interruption.  He’s quite brilliant at it, actually.

He hopes to be a street performer, my daed adds, glaring at Abram.  God forbid.

But Abram just sits quietly.

Smart, I think to myself.

And necessary.

***

The next day, Mamm sends me and Abram into town for supplies.  She needs some items from the grocer's, and Daed needs a new bridle for one of our two mares, Rosalind and Adeline.  At the grocer's, Abram starts juggling apples, instantly drawing the impressed attention of those around us.

Abram, we’re not buying those.  Put them down.

Who said anything about buying?  I’m juggling, not buying.

Well, that’s just the point.  Now leave them be, and let’s get back to the carriages.

But it’s too late.  I can feel the disapproving stares of our new Lancaster County neighbors; I can sense their disapproval of my lax guardianship, and Abram’s lack of discipline.

But their own self-discipline doesn’t seem much better, and one of them decides to teach us a lesson.  Try four, hot shot, a man says, as he tosses a pineapple at Abram.

Now, a fourth orange, or apple, or even a grapefruit would have been manageable.

But a pineapple?

The guy could only have wanted to hurt my brother; at the very least to make him drop the fruit, which is just what happens.  Abram does try to catch the pineapple, but the other fruit he’s juggling gets away from him, and one orange lands right on an old woman’s head.  It bounces off harmlessly, but she shrieks and drops her handcart full of groceries, which, of course, go spilling all over the floor.

The clerk, coming over to kick us all out of the store, is lacking in Abram’s coordination and trips on the rolling fruit.  He reaches out to support himself but, unfortunately, the thing he grabs hold of is the old lady, and he pulls her right down with him.

Now the clamor begins, with everybody yelling at us, and pointing and hollering.  After a few moments of head-spinning chaos, insult, and indignation, Abram and I find ourselves outside the grocery store, never to be allowed inside again.

I glare at Abram, who only shrugs.  S’not my fault; he threw a pineapple at me.

I know, Abram, you’re right, he did throw the pineapple.  But did you have to start all that in the first place?  Anyway, I don’t know how we’re going to explain to Daed and Mamm why we don’t have the groceries.  After a frustrated silence, I go on, If you don’t want to be a juggler anymore, why do you keep doing it?

S’fun, y’know?  It’s something I can do...makes me special.

Abram, that’s silly.  You’re special for so many reasons... 

Abram shrugs, modestly and awkwardly.  Anyway, it keeps Daed and Mamm off the track.

I know what he means, of course.  Abram and I are each other’s confidants.  When he’d decided a year ago that he didn’t want to be a professional juggler, but rather a detective, or maybe a government agent, of course I swore to keep his secret.  Our daed would go nuts if he thought one of us was going to work for an outsider police department, or worse, the United States government.  Even the idea of being a private detective, one of the things Abram was considering, might throw Daed over the edge.  Neither of us wanted to see what that looked like.

And, unlike our parents, I didn’t disapprove of Abram’s choice at all.  I didn’t much like his idea of being a street performer, but I knew that wouldn’t last.  And when he said he wanted to dedicate his life to helping people, solving crimes, making the world a safer and better place, I couldn’t discourage him, and I never would.  I didn’t like the idea that he was practicing his detective techniques by spying on people, but I never let go of how important it is for me to be supportive of him.

Who else will be?

So we made certain rules, and as long as he stuck to them, I would keep his secret. 

Rule number one is: Don’t spy on me.

Rule number two should have been: No juggling in the grocery store.

Excuse me, a voice says behind us.  I turn, a chill creeping up my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.  A very handsome young man stands between us and the grocery store; he’s tall, his blond hair falling over his forehead, his eyes piercing blue.  That was the worst display I’ve ever seen.

My body is flushed again, this time with disappointment.  I’m sorry; I’ll pay whatever damages are...

Oh, no, no, he says, shaking his head and waving his hands subtly, not you, them!  I saw the way that guy deliberately caused that fracas.  And all of those jerks screaming.  I tried to get a word in, but I guess nobody heard me over the din.

I sure didn’t, so I suppose it’s reasonable that nobody else did, either.  I smile to show my gratitude.  Well, thank you for coming to our defense, then.

Not much of a knight in shining armor, he says, returning my smile and extending his hand.  Simon Troyer.

Hannah Schroeder; and this is my brother, Abram.

Good juggling, Abram, Simon says, shaking my brother’s hand.  Guess you gotta learn how to pick your audience though, eh?

Abram smiles and nods.  I see three round things, and I just can’t help myself.

Simon nods with a chuckle, then looks back at me.  Don’t worry about those fools in there.  And there’s a better grocer about three blocks down.  Like an escort?

I feel a smile stretch across my face.  I can’t help it.  And I don’t want to.

CHAPTER TWO

Because Simon has set out to do his own errands on foot, he joins Abram and me in the carriage, and even takes Adeline’s reins.  He shakes them and barks his commands, and the horse turns and trots to his every tug.  Adeline seems to detect his authority, his mastery, even at such a relatively young age, which, I guess, is close to my own.

Twenty-one.

At the second store, we stroll through the aisles, collecting the few items I am sent to retrieve: some flour, fresh milk, eggs.  We won’t have our own dairy until we can get a proper cow and some chickens, but we haven’t even pulled the weeds out yet, nor cut back the grass.

Simon is only interested in me, it seems: where we’re from, how long we’ve been in Lancaster, whether or not I have a boyfriend.  His attention to me is flattering, and it’s a pleasure to be around somebody who, unlike my sister or parents, actually seems interested in me, in who I am, where I’ve been, and especially where I’m going.

I’m a little surprised to learn that I don’t actually have the last one figured out.

After some prodding, Simon opens up about himself.  Not much to tell, really.  Daed left me the beet farm.  Between that, and taking care of my gramm, there isn’t much time for anything else.

Your gramm...your mother is...?

In childbirth, I’m sorry to say.  Never knew her.  It was Gramm who raised me.  You’ll love her.  Gramm’s parents came straight from Germany, and that was the language she spoke growing up; never let it go.  It’s nice, being around her, a taste of our history, really.

She sounds wonderful.

Simon gazes into a distant memory, smiling to recall some private moments, which I admire him for having, and which I hope one day to share, or even create for another, happier generation of my family.  Family seems important to Simon.

And that’s important to me.

I say, And your father?

Yeah, he was...I was lucky to have him.  Good guy; went too soon.

I’m so sorry, Simon, I say, quickly at a loss for words.  This isn’t where I want the conversation to go.  I know how it is to lose a family member like that.  It’s a little much, I admit, but I’m flying by the seat of my pants, and it’s getting gustier and gustier.

But at least I haven’t crashed yet, and that’s something.

Right now, that’s everything.

Well, God never gives us more than we can handle, I offer, hoping it lends him some comfort.  Actually, it winds up bringing me a little ripple of warmth to be reminded of this, even if I did remind myself.

And unwittingly, too.

It does sound like you’ve got your plate full.  Do you, um, not have time for a girlfriend? I ask, failing to hide a flirty little grin, and ignoring Abram as he rolls his eyes behind us, shaking his head with embarrassment.

Not as such, Simon begins to explain.

He doesn’t have time, before another voice cracks behind us.  And what is that supposed to mean?

We turn to another new face.  She’s small, a bit broad, with a plain face that looks rather pinched in its current grimacing expression.  Her chin is jutted, her mouth a tiny slit, lips pressed angrily together.

Simon’s smile is a nervous wriggle as he says to me, Hannah Schroeder, this is Lilly Zook, a very old and dear friend.

"A friend?" she repeats.

Aren’t we friends? Simon asks.

Lilly begins to stammer a bit.  Well, yes, of course, but...

And, as I was doing some errands, Simon calmly explains, I came upon a new neighbor of ours, and I thought I’d help her get the lay of the land.  ‘Have we not power to lead about a sister?’

Lilly sneers.  ...A wife?

As if expecting this, Simon counters with, As well as other apostles, gesturing to Abram, standing just a few feet away.

Lilly looks at him, then at me and Abram.  She looks back at Simon, struggling with her words.  It’s a struggle she cannot win.

Finally, she turns to Simon.  Will I be seeing you at services this Sunday?  They’re at my house.

You know I never miss service, Simon says.  I’m sure our new neighbors are more than welcome to join us?

Lilly’s face goes a shade darker.

And redder.

Then she turns to me, trying to force a smile.  Of course.  It’s the Zook home, at the end of Horrace Avenue.  We appreciate punctuality.

I am about to thank her for her offer, and reassure her that we will be there promptly, but she turns and walks off, without even giving me a chance, much less saying goodbye.  I turn to Simon. 

Doesn’t seem very welcoming, I say.  How long?

After a curious silence, Simon asks me, How long what?

How long has she been in love with you?

Simon seems to consider it for, what feels to me, like far too long a time.  Finally he gazes at her across the store and shakes his head.  We grew up together: Lilly, me, my best friend, Jessup; like the Three Musketeers.  We’re just good friends.

Even Abram doesn’t seem to believe this, half his mouth curling down in a disbelieving frown.  I say to Simon, I don’t know you very well, Simon, but some things about you I can already tell.  You are a decent, noble man: caring of others, considerate.  You are attractive and charming; I don’t think anybody could doubt that.  You are also either coy, humble, or simply dim to the ways of love.

Simon stands in a shocked silence, then breaks out laughing.  Maybe all of the above.

I smile again.  Maybe.

And again, Abram rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

***

We have a hearty dinner of maple chicken, corn on the cob, and string bean casserole.  The cucumber slaw is cool and creamy, between the sweet sauciness of the chicken, and the crunchy and delicious corn, fresh from a new neighbor’s field: another little welcoming gift.

The conversation isn’t nearly so palatable. 

How was your first day with the schoolchildren? Mamm asks Rebecca.

Fine, I guess.  We all sit in silence.  It’s just like Indiana; I’m afraid I’ll wind up an old schoolmarm.

Daed says, You will marry, child, and another will take your place.  This too shall pass, Rebecca.

But...when?

When you marry, dear,