by Marta Perry
She was too close, and he was far too aware of her. But he couldn’t bring himself to move away.
Maybe she felt that, too. Her breath seemed to quicken, her eyes to widen.
And then suddenly she was looking down at the toolbox, as if searching for something to distract her. Or him.
“Is this a design for one of the windmills you’ll be building this summer?” She touched the sketch he had tucked into the lid of the toolbox.
“Not exactly.” He forced himself to focus on the paper, instead of on the curve of her cheek. He spread it flat. “I was playing around with an idea for a model windmill—something that folks might want to buy to put in their garden. It was just a thought I had when I was laid up. Don’t suppose it amounts to much.”
“Don’t say that. I think it’s a wonderful-gut idea. Think of all the ornaments the English like to put on their lawns and in their flower beds. I bet you could sell those easy. When are you going to make one?”
He folded the sketch and tucked it back into the box. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll make some when I get time, if you’ll sell them along with your plants. That would be a gut deal.”
He was only joking, of course. But he’d like it fine if he could make it come true.
Rachel tucked another marigold seedling into its own peat pot. The seedlings should be a nice size by the time frost danger was past. She stood back a little from the trestle table, admiring the lineup of plants. Ser gut. She’d have plenty to sell when the time came.
Picking up a water bottle, she began spraying the seedlings with a fine mist. Only a day had passed since the greenhouse was completed, and already it felt as familiar to her as her own bedroom.
Not only that—it had given her courage, it seemed. She’d asked William to help prepare an addition to the garden for some more ambitious plantings. Lavender would be simple to grow, and folks liked that. She’d put in a variety of small shrubs, maybe even some dogwood trees if she could afford them. She could get young plants cheap and bring them along until they were ready for sale.
Thanks to Ezra’s gift, she had hope for the future. She and the children didn’t need much, after all—just enough added income to make up for the portion of the milk money that went to Isaac. She wouldn’t have to sell, and the children would have the security that went with a gut farm.
Thanks to Gideon, as well. She couldn’t forget that. If he hadn’t made her dream about the greenhouse again, with his insistence on fulfilling his promise to Ezra, she might never have pursued it.
Gideon had become close to them in the past few weeks—closer than she’d have imagined possible. Her hands stilled on the sprayer.
Forgive me, Father, for my attitude toward Gideon. I’m trying to do better. Please help me.
A shadow fell across the tray of seedlings in front of her. She looked up, startled, to find Isaac standing there, staring in through the glass at her.
Her stomach tightened even as she smiled at him. In her enthusiasm, she had forgotten that Isaac had his own idea of what should happen to the farm.
She put the sprayer back on its shelf and took a last look around the greenhouse, soaking in its peace. Then she opened the door and stepped outside.
Isaac’s expression didn’t give anything away as he surveyed the completed greenhouse, but that very lack of expression told her he wasn’t pleased.
“See Gideon got it finished at last.” He tapped on the framing around the door.
“Ja, just yesterday. It turned out nice, I think. I’m very grateful to him.”
He peered through the glass at her tables, his forehead creasing in a frown. “You got a mighty big lot of plants in there. More than you can use yourself, I’d guess.”
“They’re to sell,” she said, schooling her voice to patience. “I’ll take them to the farmer’s market, alongside Aaron and Lovina’s things.”
He grunted a response that might have meant anything and turned away from the greenhouse. He seemed to transfer his gaze to her newly plowed garden. “William told me you’re talking about putting in a bunch of new things this year, bushes and whatnot.”
This was what bothered him, she could see. She should have realized that he’d disapprove of those plans. The greenhouse he could rationalize moving to a new location, but if she started something bigger, like an actual nursery garden, he’d know she was determined to stay put.
“I’m hoping to grow enough to make a little income from it. For the children, you know.”
“Is this your idea? Or did Gideon Zook come up with it?”
She blinked at the hardness of his tone. “Mine. Well, I did talk to Gideon about it, maybe.”
“It seems to me you’d want to talk to family about this idea first, instead of an outsider.”
“Gideon isn’t an outsider.”
“Not English, no, but he’s not a member of your family, either. Just because he was Ezra’s friend doesn’t give him the right to interfere.”
“He’s not—” She stopped herself. The only way to deal with Isaac in this mood was to be patient with him. And he was right, in a sense. It would have been proper to discuss it with Isaac ahead of time. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk with you about it first. I’m sure you’d have had some gut advice for me about what to plant.”
“There’s no reason for you to be planting anything. I told you that. Caleb will be glad to take over the farm, and then you won’t have to worry about such things.”
So this wasn’t about her failure to talk to the family about her plans. It was about his plans—his plans to wipe out Ezra’s dreams as if they’d never existed.
She actually felt a flicker of anger. She’d deferred to her father and to Ezra when it was needful. They’d had the right to be concerned with what she did, and they’d always wanted the best for her.
But Isaac—it seemed that Isaac wanted what was best for him and for Caleb.
She took a deep breath, quenching the anger before it could grow into a flame. Impossible to come to an actual breach with Isaac. He was family, he was one of the brethren, and she counted on his help.
But it was equally impossible just to cave in to him.
Please, Father. Give me the right words.
“I know you feel it’s for the best that Caleb takes over the farm,” she said carefully “But I’m not sure that’s what Ezra would want me to do. Isn’t it my duty to carry out what I believe are his wishes in the matter?”
For a long moment Isaac just stared at her, as if he were measuring the extent of her stubbornness. Then he shrugged.
“Maybe you’re right, but maybe not. I guess we can’t say for certain, since Ezra is not here to speak for himself. But I do know he wouldn’t want you to start in on something risky without thinking it through.”
“What is risky about putting in a few more plants and shrubs? I’m able to take care of them, and the older children are big enough to help me.”
“It would be risky if you invested money in them and didn’t have enough water to keep them going over the summer.”
She blinked. It took a moment to understand his meaning, and then her hands tightened into fists that pressed against her skirt. “Why would I not have enough water?” If he was going to threaten her, he’d better come right out with it.
“When your well has run low in the past, our spring has always had plenty of water to share.” He hesitated, and she thought he was wondering just how far he wanted to go. Then his face tightened. “Could be that this summer we’ll need all that we have.”
“I see.” She stared at him steadily, and his gaze shifted away from hers.
“Think about it.” He turned away, his movements jerky “I’m sure you’ll see that my plan is best for everyone.”
He walked away, leaving her fighting down unaccustomed anger.
I’m sorry, Lord. I must not be angry with a brother. But what am I to do?
“Ach, they’re having a gut game, they are.” Lovina Zook leaned back in t
he lawn chair she had dragged over to the edge of the field at the Zook farm.
“They are that.” Rachel relaxed in the seat next to her.
Lovina and Aaron had invited her to come to supper and bring the children. She’d thought perhaps Lovina wanted to talk about plans for market, but so far Lovina seemed more concerned with making sure everyone had enough to eat. Their four boys and three girls made for a hungry, cheerful group around the supper table, especially with her three added.
And Gideon, of course.
His presence was only natural, since he lived here and had his shop in an old barn on his brother’s farm. He and Aaron had organized an after-supper ball game.
At the moment Gideon was pitching, sending an easy ball toward Becky. Aaron seemed to be coaching her on how to hold the bat.
“I hear tell when the English play ball, there’s lots of yelling and cheering, even loud teasing.” Lovina smiled fondly at her brood. “Sounds funny, ain’t so?”
“Maybe they’d think we’re funny,” Rachel suggested. “Playing a game so quiet-like.” The more she saw of the outside world, the more she realized how strange Amish ways would be to them.
“There’s no need to make a lot of ruckus to have a gut time. I’d say Aaron and Gideon enjoy it as much as the children.”
“Ja. It’s nice to see how well your family works and plays together. You and Aaron must be doing a fine job, with raising seven of them.”
The bat cracked, and they both leaned forward to watch Becky race for first base, apron fluttering, a huge grin on her face.
“A big hit for such a little girl.” Lovina glanced at Rachel, her usually merry face turning serious for once. “I’d guess that being around other families makes you miss Ezra more sometimes, ja?”
“I guess it does.” Rachel hadn’t thought about it that way, but Lovina had a point. “I don’t begrudge others their happiness, you understand. But Ezra was such a gut father. And husband. I miss that feeling that there’s someone who’s always there to help and support me.”
She’d felt that keenly when she’d heard what Teacher Mary had to say about Becky. The young teacher’s eyes had been filled with concern when she talked about how daring Becky had become—challenging even the older boys to climb higher or run faster at recess. Teacher Mary had been forced to discipline her more than once.
Ezra would have known what to do. Rachel didn’t.
Lovina nodded. “I plain don’t know how I’d deal with my seven if I didn’t have Aaron,” she said, an echo of Rachel’s thoughts.
Somehow it was easier to talk about it with Lovina, who wasn’t family. Rachel’s mamm would listen, but she wanted so much to help that it almost hurt to talk to her.
“It’s hardest when the children worry me.” Like Becky. “I think about how it felt to be able to share it all with him.”
“Ja.” Lovina reached over and patted her knee. “But you’re still a young woman, Rachel. Losing Ezra doesn’t mean that you can’t ever have that kind of partnership with a man again.”
Rachel realized she must be healing, since that comment didn’t pain her as much as the implication usually did. “I don’t know. I guess I can’t imagine loving anyone else the way I loved Ezra.”
“Well, of course not.” Lovina’s tone was one of brisk common sense. “I mean, it stands to reason you’re not going to love someone the same way when you’re thirty as you did when you were sixteen.”
“No, but—” It was certain sure that her love for Ezra had changed and deepened over time.
“I figure it’s like loving your children.” Lovina’s gaze followed her oldest girl, chasing a fly ball. “They’re all different, so you love them in different ways, but you don’t love one more than another.”
Rachel wasn’t sure that applied to loving a man, but she did understand what Lovina meant about the children. “It is a challenge, knowing what each of them needs. My three are all so different.”
Her gaze sought them. Mary, safely out in right field, was picking dandelions with Lovina’s youngest. Becky danced off third base, daring Gideon to try to pick her off. And Joseph was at bat, his small face intent and serious.
“Imagine what it’s like with seven.” Lovina chuckled. “Course, we’ve had Gid around a lot of the time. He’s a gut onkel, he is, in spite of having lost his own wife and the boppli. It helps having him here, but I’d sacrifice that gladly to see him married again. ”
Rachel wasn’t sure what to say to that. Was it a hint?
“It’s been a long time since the accident. I’m sure he’s had plenty of chances to marry, if he wanted to.”
Lovina shrugged ample shoulders, as if in agreement. “Has he maybe talked to you about it?”
“No.”
That probably came out too sharp, but she couldn’t seem to help it. Her mind had suddenly filled with an image of Ezra talking about Gideon. Explaining why it had been important for him to go off and do something with his friend on one particular day.
Rachel’s cheeks flushed, just thinking about it. Had she been petty, nagging, wanting him to stay home with her?
It’s the anniversary of losing his wife and boppli, Rachel. In her mind’s eye, Ezra frowned at her in disappointment at her attitude. I couldn’t leave him alone today. He’ll never talk about it, but he needs a friend right now.
She’d been embarrassed, of course. Apologetic. But she’d still probably harbored a little resentment.
Maybe it’s time he started looking for someone else.
At the memory of her words she cringed. She hadn’t understood, then, the power that grief could wield.
I don’t think he can. Ezra’s eyes had gone dark with pain for his friend. I don’t think he ever will.
“Aaron says I’m too eager to manage everyone else’s business.” Lovina’s cheerful voice interrupted Rachel’s thoughts. “And maybe he’s right, but I don’t like to see anyone alone. It’s not what the gut Lord intends for us, to my way of thinking.”
Joseph hit the ball at that moment, saving Rachel the difficulty of answering. The boy just stood looking at it in astonishment until Gideon called to him to run. Then he scrambled toward first base.
The hit was an easy fly ball that Aaron unaccountably failed to catch. That gave Becky the chance to score. Laughing, Aaron declared it was time for a snack, and the game was over.
The players flooded toward the picnic table, where Lovina had put out a pitcher of lemonade and a platter of cookies. Joseph ran to Rachel, his face lit up.
“Mammi, did you see? I hit the ball.”
“I saw.” She gave him a quick hug. “Go and have your lemonade and cookies now. It’ll soon be time for us to head home.”
“Not yet,” he said, dancing with impatience. “Gideon promised to show me Aaron’s goats first.”
She’d like to get started before the sun set, but there was still time. And she couldn’t deprive him of something that was so obviously important to him. “Go along then, but don’t pester Gideon, all right?”
Joseph nodded and ran off.
“Ach, don’t let that fret you.” Lovina grasped the chair arms and shoved herself up. “Gideon is always talking about that bu of yours. He’s very fond of Joseph and happy to show him the goats. I’m surprised Aaron’s not going along, too. He’s so pleased with those creatures that he loves the chance to show them off. Komm, let’s have some cookies and lemonade, too.”
Rachel followed Lovina toward the picnic table, wrestling with the thought. Gideon was fond of Joseph, always talking about him, according to Lovina. Well, that was a gut thing, she supposed. A child couldn’t have too much love, and Joseph needed a man to look up to.
She just wasn’t sure that Gideon was the man for the job.
Becky was full of herself over having scored the winning run, and Rachel sat on the picnic bench, listening to it twice over. Mary crawled up on the bench next to her, settling down with a cookie in each hand. In only a moment she was leanin
g against Rachel’s shoulder.
Rachel patted her. “We’d best think about getting along home.”
“Not yet, Mammi,” Becky protested.
“Soon,” she said, getting off the bench. “You finish your treats, and I’ll go and see if Joseph is finished looking at the goats. Then we must be leaving.”
She crossed toward the fenced area next to the barn. Aaron’s herd of goats was larger than she’d expected. He must be having good luck with the goat cheese he sold at the market.
Gideon and Joseph leaned on the fence watching them, their backs toward her. The goats clustered close to them. Gideon had probably let her son hand-feed them, or they wouldn’t be so eager to be petted.
She drew closer, her sneakers making little sound on the grass. Gideon and Joseph seemed so intent on whatever they were saying to each other that she hated to interrupt them.
“... Becky says it’s silly to have a goat for a pet. She says goats are farm animals, not pets.” Joseph’s voice reached Rachel clearly. “I guess Aaron’s goats aren’t pets, are they?”
“I guess not, but Aaron is a farmer.” Gideon sounded as if he were torn between saying what was true and reassuring her son.
“I’m going to be a farmer, too, when I’m bigger.” Joseph’s profile tilted toward Gideon. “But Dolly—” He stopped.
Gideon put his hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “Dolly is special to you, isn’t she?”
“My daadi gave her to me, for my very own.”
Rachel’s heart twisted. Why hadn’t she seen that? The greenhouse was important because it was Ezra’s gift to her, and Joseph loved that goat for the same reason.
“Well, then, if you’re asking me what I think, I’d say that Becky is wrong.”
“Wrong?” Joseph’s eyes widened, as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him.
“Not about other things, mind. But about this.”
The boy reached between the rails to scratch the muzzle of a persistent little goat. “But you said Aaron doesn’t think his goats are pets, either.”
Joseph, like the little goat, was persistent. She should intercede, but somehow she wanted to hear how Gideon would answer that.
