“I know.”
Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Do you? I can’t walk very well right now. So you must think that I need help.”
Joseph shrugged. “I can see that you can handle yourself just fine.”
“Ach.” Rachel spun one of the wheels on her chair to turn herself away from Joseph. “I had bone cancer, you know. It’s in remission, but it hurt my legs.”
“Ya. I know. I heard.”
Rachel stared out the window at green rolling hills and brown fields covered in stubble from the harvest. “So that’s that.” Rachel liked to come straight to the point. No sense drawing things out.
“Thank God.”
“What?” Rachel’s eyes shot up to Joseph’s.
“That you’re alive.” Joseph motioned toward the rows of plants. “And can still do all this. It’s amazing in here. Like a rain forest or something.”
“Ach. If you thought that then you wouldn’t be here. But you’re wrong. Like I told you, I can manage on my own.”
Joseph nodded. “I believe you. But you have to think of your mamm and daed right now. They’re worried about you, ain’t so? Let me stay for their sake. I won’t touch anything.” Joseph shrugged and gave a charming half grin. “I’ll just pull up a chair and sit. It’ll be the easiest job I ever had.”
Rachel frowned. She hadn’t thought about how much her parents would worry if she refused to let Joseph stay. “Okay. But only for their sake. I don’t need any help.”
“Ya. You’ve mentioned that.” Joseph walked to the corner of the greenhouse and picked up an old wooden chair. He carried it toward Rachel, plopped it down a few feet behind her, dusted it off, and sank onto the seat. “And I agree that you don’t need help. But, whether you need it or not, it’s okay to ask for it sometimes.” Joseph cracked his knuckles, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. “Of course, it doesn’t matter to me either way. But everyone needs help sometimes. I had to ask my bruder to help me keep up with my chores at home while I’m here.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Hmmm. I guess everyone’s entitled to their opinion. But I don’t think you’re any different than me, or anyone else for that matter. You just have to figure some things out, that’s all.”
Rachel flinched. She had never thought of it that way before. But she was not about to let some class clown from grade school barge into her greenhouse and tell her everything was okay. Because it was most definitely not okay. “I don’t believe my parents are paying you to give advice.” Rachel felt contrite as soon as the words left her mouth, but she could not take them back. She was tired of hearing positive speeches that left her feeling even more distant and alone. Even if Joseph’s point did make sense . . . Up to now, everyone had focused on her being different. What if Joseph was right and she wasn’t so different after all?
Chapter 2
Joseph was not happy about how the day went. Not at all. His older bruder, Eli, said something to their schweschder, Hannah, about a new calf in the barn, but Joseph barely noticed. He heard the distant thump of a casserole dish and the clang of a serving spoon as he stared at the rough pine walls of his family’s farmhouse.
“Joseph. What’s got into you, Son?”
“What?” He flinched a little, snapped his attention back to dinner, and took the warm serving bowl from his mother’s hand. “Mmmm. Smells great, Mamm.” He ladled out a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes and reached for the gravy boat.
“Work didn’t go well?” His mother, Erma, looked at him with her warm, concerned blue eyes. He knew that look all too well.
Joseph opened his mouth to protest, but he knew his mamm would see right through him. “No. Not really.”
“First days are always the hardest. It’ll get better.”
Joseph’s father, Abraham, gave him a thoughtful look from across the long wooden table. “And even if it doesn’t, you stick it out and do your best, ya?”
“Ya.” Joseph dropped his gaze and studied his plate. He didn’t want to think about the mistake that landed him in this situation. Actually, make that plural. His mistakes kept piling on lately.
“Admitting that you’re wrong is the hardest part. It’ll get better from here on out.”
Joseph pushed a green bean across his plate. He hoped his daed was right. But he couldn’t shake the guilt he felt over crashing the buggy his daed had bought him. What had he been thinking to race his friend Abner like that? What if someone had been hurt? Joseph had a chance to pay his daed back for the repairs from the money he would make working for the Millers. But how could his new job end in any way but disaster? “I don’t know if I’ll make it until Christmas.”
“Of course you will, Son.” His father looked stern but kind. “You will because you have to.”
“Your daed promised the Millers you would take this job and we expect you to follow through,” his mamm said. “Besides, it’s the only job we could find close to the farm, so you can still help with the milking each day.” She gave him a kind but knowing look. “Perhaps, more important, you may find it’s a better fit than you realize.”
“What I mean is, I don’t know if Rachel will let me stay.”
“Why not?” Erma asked. She set down her fork and waited for him to answer.
Joseph didn’t respond.
“Surely it can’t be that bad. She’s always been a nice girl. Quiet, but nice.”
“Ya. She is. It’s just that she really doesn’t want me there. She wants to be independent.”
“Ach. I see.” Erma nodded and sighed.
“And I’ve already made everything worse.”
Abraham wiped his mouth on a cloth napkin and shook his head. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Son.”
“I tried to make her feel better and I ended up upsetting her instead. I didn’t know what to say and, of course, I said the wrong thing.”
“It isn’t easy to know what to say in a situation like this,” Erma said. “Try telling her what you would want to hear if the situation were reversed.”
Abraham nodded. “Your mamm’s right.”
“That’s what I did. . . . ” Joseph shrugged. “I don’t think it worked.”
“Hmmm.” His father paused and looked thoughtful. “Maybe it did work and you don’t know it yet.”
“I hope you’re right. Because I have to go back tomorrow and I don’t look forward to spending it sitting in a chair.”
“You sat in a chair all afternoon?” His mother looked surprised. Eli and Hannah laughed.
“Ya. And I feel bad taking the Millers’ money for doing nothing.” Joseph raised his hands and dropped them. “But what else can I do? Rachel has a right to run the show. It’s her greenhouse.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Abraham tugged on his full gray beard.
“And I don’t want to insult her by pushing my way into her life,” Joseph added.
“Don’t worry, Son.” Erma patted his hand. Her fingers felt warm and soft. “Der Herr has a way of making these things work out. I am sure that there is a purpose in your being there, even if you can’t see it yet.”
“More than having to pay Daed back for crashing the new buggy?”
Erma shook her head. “No need to dwell on that. You’re working to make it right. It’s over now.”
Joseph wished his mother were right. But he had nearly two months ahead of him working in a place where he wasn’t wanted. It wasn’t nearly over yet.
* * *
Rachel glanced at the battery-powered clock on the old wooden shelf above the heirloom cucumber plants. Joseph should be there by now. She tightened her lips and looked away. Why on earth was she even thinking about Joseph right now? Why should she care whether he came back or not? It would be reasonable of him not to come back, after the way she treated him. She felt embarrassed at the memory. After all, her problems weren’t his fault. It was just so hard to convince everyone that
she was ready to move on and live her life. The cancer was gone, but her parents still treated her as if she might break at any moment. She needed them to realize that she was still the same old Rachel as before she got sick and that she was still capable of doing everything she used to do, even if she had to find new ways of doing those things.
Rachel flinched. Wasn’t that what Joseph told her yesterday? Could it be possible that he understood her? No. That would be preposterous. Absolutely preposterous. Joseph was a shallow, attention-seeking boy who had gotten carried away with his Rumspringa, raced his buggy, and crashed it. The news was all over Lancaster County. Joseph was wild. If he wasn’t careful the bishop would have to get involved.
No, Joseph Webber was not the type to give good advice . . . was he?
The door to the greenhouse creaked open and Rachel looked up expectantly. Joseph loped inside with his hands jammed into his pockets, his expression calm and distant.
“You came back.” Rachel’s voice sounded flatter than she meant. She hadn’t meant to seem accusatory. She was genuinely surprised that he had shown up for more. She had not exactly been good company the day before.
Joseph shrugged and looked sheepish. “Ya.”
“I wasn’t sure you would.”
Joseph shrugged again. His dark hair swung over his brow and his brown eyes flashed. Rachel thought he looked adorable—then pushed the thought away and straightened in her wheelchair. What had gotten into her? Joseph Webber adorable? The very idea!
“My parents made me take the job, you know.”
“Ach. You already mentioned that.” Rachel frowned. “And I could have guessed, anyway. I heard about your buggy . . . incident.”
Joseph looked away. His eyes traced a row of spindly, weedy plants. “What’s that?”
So, he didn’t want to talk about the buggy crash. Well, Rachel didn’t want to talk to him, so that was fine with her.... Although she did find herself wanting to know more about him. She wondered why he would to do something so foolish as race a buggy and if he had stopped all that after his crash. Was he still going too far with his Rumspringa? She pretended not to notice that he was avoiding the subject and answered his question. “That’s yarrow.”
“It isn’t very pretty.”
“It is when it blooms. But that doesn’t matter. I don’t grow plants just because they’re pretty. I grow heirloom plants because I like the connection to people who came before us.” Rachel pushed the wheels on her chair to inch closer to Joseph and the weedy-looking plant. “Yarrow was a medicine in the past.” She swiveled in her chair and pointed across the greenhouse. “Foxglove too, even though it’s poisonous. So take care, ya?”
“Poisonous? What were people thinking back then?”
Rachel laughed. “It’s not so different today, if you think about it. If you didn’t have to take care with modern drugs, you wouldn’t need a prescription to get them.”
Joseph looked down at her and smiled. “I like the way you see things.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. It’s different. You think about things that I never thought to think about.”
Rachel smiled. “I just like plants is all.” She gave a satisfied sigh and looked up and down the long rows of damp green leaves and brilliant flowers. “And I like history. Put them together and you get perfection. For me, anyway.”
“You said something about heirloom plants, ya?”
“Ya.”
“That means what? Plants from history?”
Rachel laughed again. She had almost forgotten to be irritated that he was invading her space. “You could say that.”
“I’ve never thought about it much.”
“What, plants? Or history?”
Joseph grinned. “Both, I guess.” He reached out and traced the edge of a serrated green leaf.
“Don’t touch!” Rachel leaned forward and tightened her grip on the armrests of her wheelchair.
Joseph jerked back his hand as if burned. “Is it poisonous?” He wiped his fingers on his black trousers.
Rachel almost laughed again. But she remembered that he had crossed a line and kept her frown. “No. I just don’t want you to go around touching my plants.”
“Oh.” Joseph looked embarrassed. “Sorry.”
His expression reminded Rachel of a scolded puppy and she wanted to reach out and touch his face. She looked away instead. “No, I’m sorry. Just please don’t go around touching anything, okay?”
“Okay.”
* * *
Things were going as expected. Terribly. And, to make matters worse, Joseph thought he had started to break through to Rachel. Until she snapped at him for invading her space. He cracked his knuckles and shifted in the old wooden chair. Rachel glanced at him and then looked away again. She reached for a yellow watering can and Joseph sighed. He wanted to ask her more about the different plants and why they mattered to her, but every time he tried, her expression warned him away. Joseph watched from his seat as Rachel inched her wheelchair across the concrete floor.
“Okay. Enough.”
Rachel’s head whipped around.
Joseph stood up and stretched. “Sorry, but I can’t sit here while your parents pay me. I’ve got to do something.”
Rachel’s fingers tightened against the watering can. Then she relaxed her grip and offered a sheepish grin. Joseph liked the way her blue eyes lit up when she smiled. He had never noticed how blue they were before today.
“I guess I’ve been a little too . . . ” Rachel frowned and hesitated.
“Overprotective?”
Rachel nodded. “Ya. Overprotective. I just don’t want anyone hurting my plants. They’re the only thing that—” She cut off the sentence and looked down at the watering can in her hands.
“That you can control? That you have to yourself?”
Rachel’s eyes shot up to Joseph’s. “Ya. How did you know?”
“Because it’s obvious.”
“Is it really?” Rachel’s freckled cheeks began to flush pink. Her fingers picked at the chipped yellow paint on the watering can.
“Maybe not to anyone else. But I get it. You just want something that’s yours.”
Rachel tilted her head. “Ya.” She looked as if she were seeing him for the first time. “You know what that’s like too, don’t you?”
“Yep.” Joseph flashed a crooked smile.
Rachel stared at him.
Joseph shrugged. “I’ve been thinking of leaving home.”
“Leaving? What do you mean?” Rachel leaned forward.
Joseph sighed and let his gaze wander across a row of bright blue Forget-Me-Nots. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this life.” He waved his hand in an aimless motion. “Maybe I can find what I’m looking for among the English.”
Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it. She paused and sank back into her wheelchair. She set her elbows on the armrests, steepled her fingers, and studied Joseph’s expression.
He didn’t like the intensity of the gaze. It cut through him as if she could read his mind.
“What are you looking for?” Rachel asked finally.
“Ach, I don’t know.” Joseph shrugged. “Something that belongs to me. Independence. Same as you, I guess.”
“Have you found it running around with the English?”
Joseph laughed. Then his face fell into seriousness. “No.”
“Your daed’s dairy farm is doing well?”
Joseph nodded.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
Joseph’s expression shifted to surprise. “Ya.”
“You want something different for your life.”
“Ya.” His face brightened. “I’ve never told anyone that before. How’d you know?”
Rachel gave a short, sad laugh. “We think alike, I guess.”
Joseph stared at her, unsure what to say. No one had ever guessed that he didn’t want to follow in his daed’s footsteps. He loved his parents and he appreciated
their way of life. But handling cows just didn’t click with him. He had tried to take up carpentry and woodworking, but he hadn’t been very good at it. “I wonder if I would find something I’m good at if I left. Something that makes me feel excited to get up every day.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Joseph shrugged. “Ya. Maybe not.” He let out a long breath of air. “You know, I don’t really want to leave. I just . . . ” He frowned and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “I just want to feel valuable.”
Rachel’s eyes lit up. Her face softened as she stared at him. “Me too.”
Chapter 3
Joseph nodded good morning to his bruder from across the long, drafty barn. The cows shifted in their stalls. Hooves scraped against concrete and straw. Fog rose from wet noses and warmed the air. Joseph checked the propane heater. “Getting cold, ya?” He didn’t like dragging himself out of bed before dawn and stomping through the frost to milk the cows.
Other than that, he didn’t mind the cold. Cold brought cozy fires in the hearth, pumpkin spice cookies, and Christmas. Joseph patted the warm, solid side of a cow as his thoughts drifted to Rachel’s greenhouse. He liked that it held a tiny sliver of summer all year round. It almost felt magic, like a fairy tale. With a greenhouse, you could have the best of both worlds.
Joseph didn’t notice as he attached the diesel-powered milking machine to each cow and emptied the milk into a big tank. He had done it so many times that the action had become automatic. He smelled the familiar, earthy odor of the barn and heard the stomp of his boots as he moved from cow to cow, but his mind was far away. When Joseph reached the end of the row and snapped back to attention, he realized that he had been daydreaming about plants. What a strange thing to escape into. He ought to be daydreaming about the English girl he hung out with in Lancaster on Saturday nights. But instead, he was wondering about yarrow and foxglove and why Rachel cared so much. More than that, he had been thinking about the independent spark in Rachel’s eyes and the way her face softened when she realized they both wanted to be valuable.
An Amish Second Christmas Page 17
