An Amish Flower Farm

by Mindy Steele

  Chapter Seven

  A rap at the front door jolted Belinda nearly out of her skin. Dishwater splattered all over the floor and a gasp squeaked out.

  Mica chuckled. “I’ll get the door, jumpy sister.” Belinda ignored him, annoyed that she was so easily rattled. She grabbed two nearby hand towels and began mopping the mess on her freshly scrubbed floors.

  “Wonder who that could be?” Tabitha asked as she began clearing the table.

  “Adam’s asking to see you,” Mica announced, entering the kitchen. Belinda glanced up and Adam was there, standing next to Mica in the doorway. They both wore similar smirks. Here she was, a sight for sure and certain, down on all fours, mopping up a mess. He just had to choose now of all times to come see her.

  Adam was just a few inches shorter than Mica, who had reached six-foot-four long ago. The rolled-up sleeves of his powder-blue shirt exposed strong forearms that she imagined had no trouble working three jobs with ease. He wasn’t skinny like Noel Christner, nor plump like Tobias Miller. And he was staring again.

  “How’s your folks?” Mammi asked, limping toward the sink with another handful of empty dishes. “We sure miss them at gmay.”

  “They’re good,” Adam replied. “Daed hates being stuck in one spot too long, but he likes Mamm fussing over him.” Adam grinned, his eyes not leaving Belinda. Under his gaze she felt a trickle of perspiration descend down her back. She scrambled to her feet and dropped the dishtowels in the sink.

  “I was hoping to show you the hives,” Adam said. “But no need to rush—I’m in no hurry.” He sounded more sincere than she could deal with right now. He had a girlfriend and shouldn’t be making her feel so off-kilter this way. In the full light streaming through curtainless windows, she could see him more clearly. Adam was looking at her like she’d put the first smile on his face all day. The air suddenly grew still and suffocating. Was he waiting on a reply? Did he ask a question? She seized her bottom lip between her teeth, vacillating between words and retreat.

  “Nee, we can handle the rest of this. Belinda is awfully excited to see all the hives.” Tabitha said in a surprisingly delighted tone. “So she can help you better.” She gave Belinda a slight hip bump, urging her forward.

  Adam nodded, a grin still on his lips. Belinda ducked her head and quickly slipped on her flip flops at the door, hoping her flushed cheeks weren’t noticeable. Adam held the door and she quickly slipped out ahead of him.

  “Danki again for helping,” Adam said, as they crossed the yard toward the road. A strong scent of sawdust caught Belinda’s nose, making her realize they were walking too close. She inched away slowly, establishing what felt like a proper proximity between two unwed people.

  “I heard Tabitha sold out today,” he said. Her sidelong glance revealed him smiling. He had a wonderful smile. When they were kinner, his smiles had made her want to cry, run home and tell her Mamm that boys were making fun of her. She’d outgrown that phase...kind of.

  Maybe he’d think her prideful, but she said what she was thinking, anyway. “Tabitha said the customers really liked my tulips.”

  “Your two lips?” Adam asked. Belinda’s face flushed with heat. Then he gave a low chuckle, deep and warm, the sound mingling with the evening air. It had been a silly joke, and nothing more. “I wouldn’t know a tulip from a lily,” he added quickly. She didn’t dare tell him that tulips were actually from the lily family—though he should probably learn that if he was going to sell her flowers. “I stopped by the florist, but they had a sign on the door that they were closed until Friday. Do you ever go help your sister at the market?”

  “Nee.” She had no desire to go to the market, where crowds were.

  “You should sometime. There are so many booths and so much to see, especially on Saturdays. There’s even a man who brings puppies sometimes.” Belinda gave him another sidelong glance. Did he think her a child?

  “I’m surprised you have time to go yourself, as busy as you are.” That earned her a different kind of smile. Who would have thought Adam was capable of looking embarrassed?

  “Tobias and I eat lunch there sometimes.” He didn’t mention Susanne, and Belinda wondered if her sister’s words might be true. “They have a nice place between two food vendors where you can just sit in the shade of the oaks near the old clock tower.” Why was he telling her this? She didn’t need to hear about the things she missed out on. All they needed to discuss was what he expected from her in forms of harvesting honey.

  “Tabitha has mentioned such,” she replied, not knowing what else to say.

  Adam continued describing the booths, the food trucks, and the Amish owners who sold their goods there. She was a much better listener than talker, and his voice had a way of drawing her in, as did his stories. How had she lived all these years and not known so many of her community members sold goods at the market? Tabitha always talked about how busy it was with people milling about, but Adam made it sound exciting, as if crowds and strange faces were simply a different landscape, worthy of viewing. To him, maybe they were. In the six years since her family had opened their own produce stand at the market, Belinda hadn’t been tempted once to go see for herself.

  “There’s an older woman who sells books. Like hundreds of them. If you like that sort of thing.” He shrugged. She did. Since childhood Belinda had found bravery between the covers of her favorite books. There was safety within those pages, even when the stories got scary. They fed her imagination, allowed for a sense of normalcy.

  They crossed the Hostetler yard. A flagstone path led to a dainty front porch. The house was a small two-story with a blend of wood and stone. Belinda always found it quaint and not too big for the person cleaning it. Maybe she could have a house like that someday—cottage style, with acres and acres of flowers surrounding it. It was a beautiful vision, that dream in her head.

  Around the side of the house were the first beehives. “I have ten here,” Adam explained. “We won’t get close, since you’re not wearing protective clothing or real shoes.”

  “They won’t bother me. They buzz around me every day while I work.” Adam tilted his head. He had to know bees foraged her flowers daily. It was her family’s gardens, her very flowers, which fed his bees so well.

  “I get stung even wearing the suit.” He sounded a bit wounded.

  “Mammi used to say it’s because I smell like my flowers.” Why did she say such a silly thing out loud?

  “I read that you are supposed to make certain you don’t smell like anything, especially flowers.” Was he questioning her methods? If she wasn’t so uncomfortable, she would tell him he didn’t know everything. Bees swarmed her head on a daily basis and the only time she’d been stung was by accident, after forcing a poor bee to its sudden death underfoot.

  “And you do smell like flowers,” he added casually, as they moved toward the pasture. Belinda wasn’t sure how to respond. He most certainly wasn’t being fresh, but a man shouldn’t openly comment on the way a maedel smelled—especially when he was courting someone else. It could give someone the wrong impression.

  Adam opened a gate leading to pasture. “So you know all about drones and queens and workers?” Belinda stepped through and he closed the gate.

  “Jah. Dawdi was a good teacher, plus I read a lot.”

  “I thought so,” he muttered. What was that supposed to mean? He probably thought her fanciful.

  She struggled to keep up with his long strides in the rutted pasture, but she didn’t ask Adam to slow down. The faster he showed her the locations of all his hives, the faster she could get back to her side of the road.

  The next fourteen hives nestled near a grove of birch and maple. “Mind your footing. Don’t want you twisting an ankle,” he said over one shoulder. Falling now would be even more embarrassing than Adam walking into her house and finding her sitting in a pool of dishwater. She focused mo
re diligently on the terrain.

  The wind played coolly with the grasses. It was a beautiful evening with a brilliant sunset and a perfect breeze as she walked four steps behind her neighbor toward his grandmother’s land.

  Belinda knew May Fisher well. The stout, spunky older woman had taught her and Tabitha how to crochet years ago, though Belinda had long since forgotten how. May had once told Belinda that if she didn’t attend her quilting frolic, she’d drag her out of her house by the root of her tail. Belinda had attended two for good measure that year. No one wanted to be dragged out of their house, and even though she didn’t have one, tails certainly didn’t have roots.

  “You’re so quiet,” Adam said, slowing down so she could catch up.

  “Sorry.” Belinda kept her head down, searching for ankle-twisting dips in the terrain. She hoped it wasn’t warm enough for snakes yet.

  “It wasn’t a complaint.” Adam was an only child. Did he prefer the quiet, too? He glanced over to her again and let out a sigh. “I worry you might change your mind. I have asked a lot more than I will be giving. But you won’t have to do it all alone—we’ll work together some days. Are you still sure about this arrangement?” It was sweet that he thought he was taking advantage, when it was she who would gain the most from this partnership.

  His clenched jaw was slightly shadowed. Belinda tried not to imagine what he would look like in a beard, but she had a good imagination. If he and Susanne decided to marry, he’d look just as handsome with a beard as he did without one.

  “I won’t change my mind unless you do,” she assured him. There was no way she was going to talk to Englisch bakers and florists herself. The Englisch stared enough at the Amish, pointing out their strange clothes as if wearing jeans with holes and makeup that changed your whole face wasn’t strange. The last time Belinda went to town with her family, she had observed at least six souls in torn jeans. At first she’d felt sorry for them, that they didn’t have the money to buy better ones or someone capable of giving them a good mending. That was until Tabitha explained it was considered a fashion. Well, that was ridiculous.

  “How many hives do you have altogether?” she asked, as the hum of the evening rose around them. She kept a good two arms’ lengths between them. He didn’t try to close the distance.

  “I have forty-six.” Belinda swallowed her surprise. That was a lot of hives to tend to.

  “Really?” Her voice pitched into something horribly similar to a chicken in distress.

  “You can back out. I won’t hold it against you,” he said, coming to a stop. “It was stupid of me to ask so much of you. With your parents away, I’m sure you barely have the time for your own chores.” Adam yanked his straw hat from his head and smacked it on his britches leg.

  Belinda faced him straight on, and for the first time since he’d asked her for help, she looked directly at him without pulling away. Adam was normally a confident man, but right now he looked exposed. She knew a little something about how that felt. Right now, she couldn’t think of herself and what she was gaining with this partnership. Belinda could only think about how she could possibly make a small part of his life easier.

  “Nee, I think it’s amazing. Forty-six hives,” she said. “I cannot believe you’ve never needed help before now.”

  Adam narrowed his gaze. “Some don’t find it a worthy trade.”

  “Like selling flowers, but here we are,” she replied, without giving it much thought. It was hard to ignore what felt like bees swarming in her belly when one corner of his mouth hitched ever so slightly.

  “Jah, like selling flowers.” He resumed walking. “Actually there are only forty-four. I had two colonies swarm off last week. They don’t like being ignored.”

  “I’m sorry. You’ve been busy, jah. I am sure you simply missed changes in the colonies, unhappy queens, or unsatisfied workers.” She shrugged.

  “Jah,” he said, shooting her another surprised look. “You understand what would cause a brood to swarm?”

  “You act surprised.”

  “I am,” he said flatly. So was she—but not by her knowledge. Belinda had never said so many words to another person outside of family and friends in her whole life. “It’s good to know Mica was right about you.” What else had her brother told him about her?

  “I’ll do everything I can to make this season a success. I know how important the income is to your family.” They’d gone to school together, joined the church together, so why was he looking at her like she was a newcomer, someone he’d never seen before? Like she was someone he wanted to keep looking at?

  “And I’ll do my part as well,” he pledged. Another stretch of silence followed them as they closed the distance to his grandmother’s.

  “I want more,” he declared. “Hives, I mean. I want more hives.” She smiled as he shared the personal thought with her.

  “In Kentucky,” she told him, “there’s a man who rents his bees to others. To pumpkin farms and the like. You could put hives on other farms, nearby of course, and people would pay you to do it. It is growing trend, using bees to help pollinate crops.” He stopped again to study her. Why did he keep doing that?

  “I know. I have been thinking on it.” Their eyes remained locked, steady on each other. “I’ve never told anyone that.” Not even Susanne? Belinda didn’t know what to say, or if saying anything was proper. Instead, she smiled up at him, appreciating his trust in her, and he smiled back.

  They prattled on about some of the local areas that could be possibilities, including her family’s farm, which seemed to surprise him. It felt good to spend time with someone who didn’t focus on the things that made her different. In fact, Belinda suspected Adam was a bit different too. Getting to know him like this was nice.

  “To anyone else, this talk would sound absurd,” he said. She agreed with a slight laugh. They both had chosen more unusual trades. Was that why talking to him came so easy?

  “So, how many?” She started walking again, more cautious of her footing than looking down as a way of retreat. “How many hives would you like to have one day?”

  Chapter Eight

  He shouldn’t have mentioned she smelled like flowers. A man only spoke of such things when he was trying to flirt—and Adam most certainly wasn’t flirting. Fine, so she liked to read, smelled like a garden, and knew plenty about hive keeping. He should be happy about the latter, but it was the former that was messing with his head. Worse, she was surprisingly easy to talk to, pulling more out of him than he cared to share.

  “A hundred,” Adam answered. He watched Belinda’s reaction. Susanne would be frowning right now, sharing her doubts about his trade, but Belinda’s expression didn’t waver. Wasn’t it a good thing that the person helping him knew what she was doing? Or was he just being sweetened, because she needed him, too? He studied her intently for clues. Susanne had played his heart, derailed his future plans, and betrayed his trust. Thanks to her, Adam now knew to walk cautiously. Behind seemingly innocent blue eyes lay the power to disarm any man, and he had no intention of letting that happen to him again. He would maintain his equal stake in their partnership, not allowing for failure on his part. That was how he would ensure his own success.

  “I always wanted a full acre garden,” she told him. “I want to have my own flower farm.” Did flower farms even exist? But of course they must. “You can sell plants and bulbs and even dried flowers and herbs. There are so many routes you can take to make it profitable. Did you know there is only one tree nursery nearby, and that’s in the next county?”

  Her eyes actually sparkled as she shared her dreams with him. “Well, maybe we will both have what we want, eventually,” Adam said, tamping down the rush of warm blood running through his veins.

  “Maybe we can,” she said softly, but he heard it all the same.

  After weeks of long days blending into one another, Ad
am was dog-tired. He knew himself well enough to know he wasn’t the ideal person to be around as of late. The fact that Belinda was still going along with this arrangement, that she was willing to help him, surprised him. If she didn’t fret about the next showing of hives, then he would have his help and maybe sleep more peacefully tonight.

  The flowery scent of the woman walking nearby was eroding his good sense. A tired mind had a way of messing with a man’s priorities. He picked up his pace again. He would simply show Belinda the location of the remaining hives, walk her home, and then get to bed. He should take advantage of every wink of sleep he could get. Beside him, Belinda looked out across the fields, a glow of sunset on her face. Adam did his best to keep looking forward.

  “I don’t want you lifting anything too heavy by yourself, so we can pull the frames into an extra super that I keep on hand in the evenings when I get home. Do you know how to use the extractor?”

  “Jah, but I can lift them. I’m stronger than I look.” He doubted that, but kept the thought to himself. “Some of Dawdi’s weighed as much as eighty pounds, and I handled them on my own.” Adam tightened his jaw. How could her family ask such a thing of her? How could he?

  “You could get hurt.”

  “I assure you, Adam Hostetler, I can handle it. I know how to do things the right way.” She let out a breath, clearly annoyed. “I have the greenhouse wagon I can use to tote them. All it takes is some planning. Not everything requires bigger muscles. We made a deal.” She strode ahead of him toward his grandmother’s house.

  Why she was being so insistent about this? Was her fear of dealing with strangers and selling her own flowers messing with her common sense? Well, he’d have to add a few rules in this partnership. One, no heavy lifting. She could agree or deal with Englisch bakers and florist herself. Two...well, once Adam wrapped his head around Belinda Graber freely talking to him, he would figure out number two.

  He caught up with her and they walked together, Adam posing probing questions, continuously testing her bee cunning—which continued to impress him. She was as smart as a whip. He had no idea she could talk so much, either. As long as the conversation centered around bees or flowers, that was. He made a mental note to remember that.