by Amy Lillard
He grunted.
“They’re worried about you.”
He took her bowl from her and turned on the faucet, plunging his hands into the sink without heating any water to mix with the cold.
“Want to tell me about it?”
“No.”
“Sometimes it helps if you talk about it.”
“You wanna tell me why you were out on the worst night of the year with no coat and no luggage?”
Her eyes darkened and narrowed, and for a second he thought she might start yelling. Then she took a deep breath and expelled it. “I was only trying to help.”
He paused. “I’ll make a deal with you. You quit tryin’ to help, and I’ll let you stay as long as you want.” He didn’t know why he said that. To get her to stop?
Or to get her to stay?
She stuck out her hand to shake his. “Deal.”
He looked down at it, and then took it into his own.
She smiled, perhaps remembering yesterday when he took her hand and led her across the yard toward his family and friends.
Or maybe to her, this was just a victory won?
He turned her loose. “I’ll be in the barn if you need me.”
Avery couldn’t stop smiling. She could stay as long as she wanted. Now if she could just figure out a way to get out of going home for the Dunstan Pro-Am. Maybe if she got someone to take her place . . .
She stopped peeling potatoes and stared off into space. She had several friends—female friends—who would jump at the chance to take her place at the tournament and possibly meet a handsome, single pro golfer. Right after she got carrots sliced and the roast in the oven, she’d dig out her phone and make some calls.
She wasn’t fooling herself—she’d have to go home eventually. But right now the peace and solitude were worth more than trying to figure out when. Most of her life had been planned out for her from start to finish. It felt good to just let it roll and not worry. When the time came for her to go home, she would, but until then . . .
She had a flower bed to weed. And supper to fix.
She washed and dried her hands then slid the large pan containing their dinner into the oven. Katie Rose had said to cook it long and slow, and it would be as “tender as a mother’s love.” After the disaster with the pot pie, she’d settle for edible.
Then again, as long as she was eating with Gideon, it would be a great meal.
She smiled to herself and went in search of her phone.
“What are you doin’?”
Annie jumped.
Gideon didn’t mean to scare her, but could tell he had taken her by surprise.
She dusted off her hands, then stood and brushed off her skirt. “I’m weeding this flower bed. Lizzie showed me what to pull up. I’m doing it right, aren’t I?”
“Jah. But it’s Sunday. We don’t work like that on the Lord’s Day.”
She propped her hands on her hips and eyed him. “When did you get so concerned that it’s Sunday?”
“When you started rootin’ around in the dirt.”
“But”—she crinkled her nose—“I want to get some flowers when we go into town tomorrow.”
“You will. And you’ll clean out their beds tomorrow too. Come.”
He took her by the arm and led her up to the porch. Louie followed behind them panting as he found himself a bit of shade under one of the wooden chairs.
“Sit.” He pointed to the seat closest to the door and took the other for himself. He propped his feet up on the railing and leaned back in his chair. Little by little, Annie relaxed at his side.
This was all he had wanted from his life. A little piece of land. A Sunday afternoon to laze in the shade. Someone special to share it with.
The woman at his side was special, but she was not his. He let out a long, low breath. He’d had his opportunity at happiness, and it had been snatched away.
There had been a time when he thought he’d be able to sit on the porch and watch his children play while the wind blew through the trees and the grass grew. But that wasn’t God’s plan for him. To tell the truth, he didn’t understand what God wanted from him. He hadn’t asked for much. Land, wife, children. They weren’t a lot to ask for, but were out of his reach just the same.
After they pulled into town, Gideon dropped off Avery at the library. Although she’d expected many stares, no one gave her a second glance. Town residents were accustomed to seeing the Amish among them.
She had originally thought she would pop into the bookstore and pick up a copy of whatever she needed, but there were two problems with that—there was no bookstore and her father would know where she was if she used her credit card. The library was the next best thing.
Avery’s stomach fluttered as she walked through the big glass door into a foyer that smelled of old books and new carpet. The only experience she had with public libraries were dedications—not books. She had frequented the ones at her high school and college, so how different could this really be?
The woman behind the front desk nodded to her as Avery passed by. She entered through another set of glass doors and into a gigantic room of books. Well, maybe not gigantic, but it seemed that way. She only needed one book, and there were thousands to shift through to find it.
She turned back to the woman at the counter. Her name tag read, Joyce. “Can you help me?”
Joyce smiled and stamped something on a piece of paper. “Of course.”
“I need a German-to-English dictionary.”
“Right this way.”
Joyce led her through the reference books, Avery trailing behind, thankful she had a guide. “These must remain in the library,” Joyce said, pointing to a large shelf of leather-bound books. Most were big enough that Avery couldn’t imagine anyone actually wanting to carry them across the room, much less all the way out to their car. “And these you can check out.” She pointed to a different shelf, this one filled with books of a more manageable size. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“I do need a couple more things. Gardening books.”
Joyce nodded and gestured in another direction. “Second shelf down that aisle right there.”
“And cookbooks?”
“Across from gardening.”
Everything she needed right at her fingertips.
Joyce smiled and headed back to her desk.
Avery watched her go before turning toward the books. She chose a couple, and then sat at the nearest table. She opened her handbag and pulled out the list of words she wanted to translate along with their Bible verses. She got the gist of most of what she read, but she wanted to know all of the words. She hadn’t had a challenge like this in years.
She snapped the bag shut, the click of the clasp louder than she expected in the quiet of the library. She looked up and found one of the other library patrons openly staring at her. The woman shook her head, then went back to her reading.
Avery supposed she did seem a little odd, wearing a Plain dress and the green rubber flip-flops she had found under the bathroom sink, and carrying a Swarovski crystal-studded evening bag. Maybe she could find something else to bring with her on the next trip. She placed the bag in her lap, out of sight to those around her, then started her translation.
She read awhile, enjoying the quiet and solitude of the library, knowing that soon Gideon would be done with his errands and ready to go back to the house. She stacked up the books she wanted to check out in one pile and the others in a second pile to return to the shelf.
Now all she needed was a couple of gardening books and a cookbook to round out her reading. She wanted to make sure she planted the right things in the flower beds surrounding the house. Lizzie had told her that impatiens would be good. She also needed a row of marigolds in the garden plo
t to help keep the bugs out of the vegetables.
She chose a couple of books on annuals and perennials—whatever that meant—and turned to the cookbooks.
Last night’s dinner with Gideon had been a huge success. Not like the parties that her father hosted, but she had cooked a nice meal, and had good company to share it with. She loved the feeling of accomplishment when preparing the meal from start to finish without anymore help than written instructions. That success gave her the desire to do it all again. It was the least she could do to repay Gideon for his generosity.
Who knows? Maybe she would prepare the food for the next dinner party at her house in Dallas. She smiled, unable to imagine her father’s friends eating slow-cooked roast and potatoes instead of paté and shrimp. Then again, a home-cooked meal might do them some good.
Gideon, too. He had started to eat more. Whether because she was becoming a successful cook or something else, she didn’t know. She would like to think it was all her doing, but she knew that plowing and planting made a person hungry. And since she had been on his farm she had noticed that his clothes didn’t hang as loosely on his frame. Grief could do that to a person, but he seemed to be coming out of it.
She had heard the others talk at the work frolic. The whole community was worried about Gideon and his “wayward” attitudes, and were surprised that he had shown up at the frolic at all. Somehow that, too, gave Avery a sense of achievement.
She was just about to go back to the front desk when another book caught her eye. Alpacas: A Beginner’s Guide.
A beginner’s guide to what?
She picked up the book and looked at the back. The first book you’ll need to get started raising alpacas. Care, nutrition, harvesting the wool, and marketing the products.
She didn’t know why, but she added it to her “keeper” stack, then took her finds to the circulation counter. “I’d like to check these out.”
Joyce smiled. “Do you have a library card?”
“No.”
She took a clipboard out of the top drawer and handed it and a pen to Avery. “Then I’ll need you to fill this out so we can issue you one.”
Avery sat down in the chairs across from the desk and filled in all the information: address, phone number, birth date, and on and on. She stood and handed the paper back to the librarian.
“Now all we need is—” Joyce looked up from the form. “I’m sorry, you have to be a resident of the county in order to get a library card.”
“I’m staying with friends here.”
Joyce shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She smiled in a way that let Avery know that, though she was sorry, rules were rules.
“Even if I have him come in and vouch for me?”
“No. But if he has a library card . . .”
Not likely.
“Annie?”
Avery swung around. Lizzie stood behind her, a blush on her cheeks.
“Hello, Mary Elizabeth.” Joyce greeted her with a warm smile of recognition.
“Hi, Miss Joyce.”
“Just give me one moment, dear, and I’ll check you out.”
“That’s all right. Annie can use my library card.”
“You know her?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s very neighborly of you, Mary Elizabeth.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Joyce gathered up all the books, scanned them, and gave them back to the women.
At the door, Avery turned to Lizzie. “Thanks for helping me.”
Lizzie frowned. “You’re welcome.” She lowered her voice. “Now can I ask a favor of you?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t tell my dat you saw me here.”
Avery hid her smile. “Isn’t that a lie?”
“Not if he doesn’t ask you.”
She doubted he would. “I won’t tell.”
“And Onkel Gideon. Please don’t tell him either.”
“I promise.”
Lizzie let out a visible sigh of relief. “He just doesn’t understand.”
“Your uncle?”
“Dat.”
“Understand what?”
Lizzie shook her head. “I gotta go now.” With that she turned and walked away.
Avery watched her go. Just what secrets did the young girl hide behind her sparkling blue eyes and innocent smile?
Once the supper dishes were washed, dried, and put away, Gideon went out to “not smoke” in the barn, and Avery settled herself on the couch with one of her library books. She needed to skim the cookbook to get a new recipe for tomorrow’s supper, or glance through the gardening book to learn more before she planted the flowers they’d bought. But it was the calm face of the alpaca that drew her in.
She picked up the beginner’s guide and started to read.
Tuesday brought cloudy skies and a good, soaking rain. Avery made bread from scratch using one of the recipes in the cookbook from the library. Gideon spent the day in the barn sharpening tools and repairing the horses’ tack.
It was a good day, but the one thing that Avery really missed was Lizzie. Since Avery had come to the farm, the girl had come over every day after her German lesson at school. (It seemed she didn’t know all there was to know.) A couple more weeks and even that would end. When the subject came up, Lizzie seemed sad, like a piece of her life was gone, and there was nothing to take its place.
But there was. According to Gideon, Lizzie would continue to help with the farm and with her brothers. Wash clothes, bake bread, and tend to the garden. In the late summer, she would can food for the winter: pickles, jellies, and all sorts of relishes to get them through the non-growing season. But for some reason, Avery didn’t think this was where Lizzie’s heart lay.
She was a good girl, and she would help, but Avery had the feeling she’d rather be doing something else.
Despite missing Lizzie, Avery enjoyed the rain. Gideon helped her pop corn on the stove top, and she curled up on the couch, a big bowl of snacks in one hand and a book in the other. Louie, too, seemed to enjoy the break, taking turns sitting on either side of her and snatching up any kernels she happened to drop.
“Did you know that Spanish settlers nearly killed off all the alpacas?” Gideon had come in from the barn and was now using a sharpening stone to “put the blade back on” the kitchen knives.
“The rest—the ones they didn’t kill—hid out in the mountains. It says here that they are tough and strong.”
He grunted his typical response and Avery smiled. That meant he didn’t want to talk about it, but he was too polite to tell her so.
Thank you, Ruth, for raising such a well-mannered son.
“That’s why they make such a good investment. They’re hardy, gentle, and don’t require a lot of land. How many acres in your pasture, Gideon?”
“Twenty-five.”
“On that much land you could have . . . one hundred and fifty alpacas. That would be amazing.”
“I do not want one alpaca, much less one hundred and fifty.”
“I’m just saying.” She looked back at the book, but she wasn’t really reading. The idea had come to her as softly as the rain falling outside. Gideon could raise alpacas. His farm needed more purpose than just feed corn, and alpacas seemed to be the logical solution.
Except Gideon didn’t think he needed a solution.
She cut her gaze back to him, and he was watching her.
“What?” she asked, her eyes wide in what she hoped was an innocent-looking expression.
“Why do you think I need livestock?”
“Isn’t that what all gentlemen farmers need?”
“And what do you know, Annie Hamilton, of farmers?”
“Well . . . I know you are a gentleman.
And—”
“How do you know that?”
“You saved my life.” She shrugged as if to say, We’ve already covered this.
“I did not save your life.”
“I could have frozen to death out there, but you rescued me.”
“Someone would have found you.”
“It could have been days.”
“You had a cellular phone. Once you woke up you could have called for help.”
She shrugged. “And I’ve seen how you treat Molly and Kate and the cow.”
“Honey.”
A ripple went through her. “What?”
“The cow’s name is Honey.”
“Well, that just proves it. Any man who names his cow Honey—”
“I didn’t name her. Miriam did.”
“Oh.” Avery didn’t know how to respond.
“I didn’t rescue you.”
She crossed her arms. “I beg to differ.”
Gideon looked out the window, the rain still coming down in a soft drizzle that would last for hours. “Ach, the rain is good.”
“It’ll help your corn.”
“That it will.”
“I wanted to plant the flowers today.”
They had left the plastic buckets of impatiens and marigolds on the porch along with the petunias, zinnias, and all the other flowers they had chosen. Gideon had acted like he didn’t care one way or the other about the flowers, but when they got to the nursery, he started picking out different types and colors with as much enthusiasm as she.
“The rain will make the weeds easier to get out of the ground. The new plants easier to put in,” Gideon added.
“I suppose you’re right, but . . .”
“But what?” He turned to face her and for some reason, Avery didn’t want to say the words. Soon I’ll be going home, and I don’t want to waste a day of it. “We need to get the marigolds in the garden before the bugs eat my tomatoes.”
Gideon laughed, most probably picturing the tiny little tomato-less plants in their neat little row. “I’m sure your tomatoes will be all right ’til the morrow.”
