Rhoda hadn’t responded to his comment about Landon’s not being there.
Samuel grabbed a towel and picked up a plate from the dish drainer. “And Landon, why didn’t he stay?”
She shrugged. “He’s still angry at me.”
“At you? Why didn’t I know about this?”
Silence.
“Rhodes.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “It’s going to be okay. All of it—this mess with the law and those teens will be over soon. Jacob will return. Even the conflict with Landon will melt away. Life will be good again.”
“Ya. Maybe.”
Maybe?
“So why is Landon angry with you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Samuel set the dishtowel on the counter, reached to take her by both arms, and slowly turned her toward him. She didn’t resist, but once facing him, she stared at the buttons on his shirt. The sadness etched on her face tugged at his heart. If he could fix the situation for her, he would. He would swap with Jacob. Investigate those teens himself. Make Landon a partner. Whatever it took.
Why had the police station rattled her so? Or had she picked up on what her future held?
“Can you look at me?”
She pulled away and grabbed a washrag. “Could you let me do the dishes by myself, please?”
His brother was witless. How could he stay gone at a time like this?
She swiped the dishrag across the kitchen table. “I’ll feel more like myself tomorrow. Okay?”
“Ya. Sure.” He went to the hearth and stoked the fire one last time. “Look.” He put the poker back in its place. “I don’t want to decide what’s best for you anymore. I learned that the hard way, so if you really want to be left alone, I’ll go. But I think you need to talk. And it’s okay to cry.”
“Ya?” She threw the rag onto the table. “So when’s the last time you broke down while talking to someone?” Her voice cracked, and he could only hope she didn’t demand he leave.
“I read something one time. I’m not sure where, but it stuck to me like superglue. It said, ‘A woman who tries to be like a man is a waste of a good woman.’ ” He rested his hands on the back of a kitchen chair. “And if you don’t trust me about anything else, do so on this one thing—you are a truly good woman.”
Her chin quivered, and he got the dishtowel off the sink and held it out to her.
She laughed, tears spilling down her cheeks as she took it from him. “It’s just too much. All of it. You know?”
“I know.”
She took a deep breath. “I can’t do one thing without it becoming some huge, ridiculous ordeal—Rueben, partnering with your family and the tornado destroying most of the crop and trees, this new beginning—nothing.”
“It does seem that way, but this is just a really tough season—for some reason.”
She stood there, saying nothing.
“Tell me what I can do to help.”
She shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
She shook her head. “I met my public defender today. She’s young and seemed as scattered and confused about this whole thing as we are—and with way too much of a workload to have time to dig for answers. To make it worse, while at the police station, I saw something.”
“Saw?”
She touched her temple. “In here.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she’d seen, but now he knew what had her weighed down. “What did you see?”
She drew a ragged breath. “My fingerprints will be found on those bags.”
“What? How is that possible?”
“I’m not sure. Somehow someone took them off something else and put them there.”
“The girls?”
“Maybe. But I think someone with power slid a lot of money to someone with access to the fingerprints.”
“Landon said Gretchen’s family is wealthy. We’ll fight this. I’ll take out a second mortgage, and we’ll hire our own—”
“Could you …”
When she didn’t finish her sentence, he answered, “Ya, I can.” He folded his arms. “Name it.”
“Wrap your arms around me for a minute?”
He stepped forward, and when he embraced her, she leaned on his chest and sobbed.
How long had he waited to hold her? But not like this, not while she was brokenhearted, and he felt a warm tear slide down his face. “Great,” he whispered. “Now you have us both crying.”
She cried harder.
“It’s going to be okay, Rhodes.” He cradled her against his chest.
“What if they don’t get it straight? What if I go to jail for this?”
“You won’t.” He had never wanted to promise anything so badly in his life, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t promise it. “This will get straightened out, and when it does, I’m going to say, ‘I told you so.’ Hear me, Rhoda Byler? I’ll get to say, ‘I told you so!’ And maybe, if I’m lucky, you’ll figure out something to argue with me about.”
Her breathing slowed, but she didn’t let go of him. If only she never would.
If God didn’t ever let him be right about anything else, he prayed God would make him right about this one thing: the police would get this mess straightened out.
And Rhoda would be able to smile again.
THIRTY-FIVE
Rhoda breathed in the fresh air, willing herself to stay emotionally buoyed. Two weeks ago, after realizing someone with money and know-how was making Gretchen’s story look true, Rhoda had allowed herself a meltdown in Samuel’s arms. But since then she had regained some peace.
If God was for her, she could face whatever man set against her, but clearly she would do so with a few tears and emotional upheavals. However, she wouldn’t hire a lawyer and add debt to the farm. She’d use the public defender.
On her way inside for lunch, she took a slight detour and trudged through the snow toward the mailbox. Her insulated underwear and rubber boots kept her reasonably warm, despite the below-freezing temperature and brisk wind. None of her outerwear, from the top of her wool cap to the soles of her rubber boots, was pretty, but it was all necessary.
Maine weather was new for Samuel too, but he was used to tending crops during the winter, spending weeks pruning apple trees and hauling off debris. Rhoda had always harvested the last bit of her fruit garden by the end of October.
She opened the mailbox and pulled out several envelopes and an advertising magazine. They had a letter from the Benders, the Amish brothers who would soon be bringing their families here. It was addressed to Samuel, so Rhoda scurried toward the house. She stepped inside the warm, deliciously noisy home and peeled off her gloves, coat, and hat. After placing her boots on the thick towel Phoebe had dictated as the only place for snow to melt, Rhoda went into the kitchen.
Phoebe was getting food on the table, and Steven was at the sink, helping Arie and Isaac wash their hands. Samuel was reading what looked like the newspaper want ads.
“Where’s Leah?” Rhoda set the mail on the table.
“Reading,” everyone said almost in unison.
Phoebe chuckled. “And she’d like to be left alone for a bit.”
Guilt nibbled at Rhoda. Was Leah missing Landon’s friendship as much as he missed hers? Despite it being a weekday, Landon was off. Erlene was having a medical test of some kind that would require heavy medication, so she needed Landon to drive her.
Rhoda held out the letter to Samuel. “The return address says it’s from Abram and Enos Bender.”
“From both of them? That’s a first.” Samuel took the letter with one hand and set down his newspaper with the other. “Let’s see what update they have for us this time.”
Steven put Arie in her booster chair, and Isaac climbed into his seat next to her. Phoebe set a piping hot hash-brown casserole on the table and took a chair next to Steven. “That’ll need to cool for a bit.”
“Just as well.” Samuel ripped open the envelope and pulled out a o
ne-page letter. “Everyone ready for another update from the Benders? It’s a short one this time.” He studied it for a moment, and concern suddenly etched his face.
“Well?” Steven asked.
Samuel folded the letter. “Maybe we should eat and talk about this later.”
Steven held out his hand, and Samuel gave him the letter.
A moment later Steven folded it and set it aside.
“This is ridiculous, you two.” Rhoda pointed at the letter. “What does it say?”
“They aren’t coming.” Samuel tapped the table, fidgeting. “They’ve released the contract on the house they were buying and lost the contingency money they put down on it.”
Rhoda reached across the table and picked up the letter. “Why?” The words leaped from the paper and pierced her heart. It was short and blunt.
“What’s their reasoning?” Phoebe asked.
“They’ve heard about my troubles with the law, and they’re concerned the new settlement won’t make it.”
“That’s absurd.” Samuel flailed one hand heavenward. “We aren’t tucking our tails and going back to Pennsylvania, and we’re not going to be absorbed into the Englisch life and give up our Amish ways. Of course this settlement will make it.”
“Still”—Rhoda folded the letter—“they have a valid reason for not wanting to uproot their family to join a faltering settlement that, even if we do survive, will have a negative reputation that half the nation seems to be aware of.” She pressed the letter against the table. “They sent their sincerest apologies, hoping the best outcome for us, and they’re praying for us.”
Samuel grabbed the letter, crumpled it, and threw it into the fire. “We don’t need them anyway.”
Steven nodded. “We’re fine, and it’s their loss.”
But she knew the same thing as everyone else in the room knew. This settlement needed more families to become self-sufficient, to create a safety net for one another and to provide spouses for strong families.
“Cowards.” Leah walked into the room, evidently having heard plenty.
Phoebe set a slice of buttered bread in front of Arie. “The men are doing what they think is best to protect their families and livelihoods from failure and hurt.”
“Phoebe’s right.” Rhoda shrugged. “We can’t blame them. Who among us would have chosen to come if we’d known this nightmare might happen—news reporters showing up when least expected, minutia about our lives printed for everyone to see, constant speculation of who we are and what we’re doing here?”
Samuel studied Rhoda, a half smile on his face. “My favorite news article is the one that says Rhoda wears men’s boots … and perhaps the pants of the family under that pleated Amish dress.”
She didn’t find it funny. One or two people with a camera perched inside a vehicle to observe everyone on the farm, and then they wrote articles with more speculation than facts.
“They aren’t men’s boots, and it’s none of their business if I put on pants to work in the orchard in winter.” She hadn’t done that yet. There was no reason for it. The men wore insulated underwear under their pants anyway, and she put on two pair under her dress and was probably much warmer and more comfortable.
Samuel picked up his paper. “I was talking to Steven about an ad I found. There are two”—he glanced at the children—“d-o-g-s for sale.” The children never even looked his way as they played with their napkins and each other. “I think Landon, Leah, you, and I should go look at them tomorrow. We’ll leave midmorning and make a day of it.”
“Me?” Rhoda asked. “The police said I’m not to go anywhere.”
“No. They said you can’t go out of the state, and we won’t. These creatures are in upper Maine.”
“Are you aiming to distract me? Because if you are, I don’t need an activities director to divert my attention.”
Samuel chuckled. “I have no idea where those news people would get the idea that you wear the pants around here.” He squared his shoulders. “You’re going.” His eyes held a firm resolve—and maybe understanding. “I need your opinion concerning the d-o-g-s because they will become our shadows and be our responsibility. You had no feelings for Hope.”
“You didn’t either.”
He smiled at her. “I stand corrected. We had no feelings for Hope.”
“Actually,” Rhoda harrumphed, “that’s not true. I felt plenty for that little d-o-g of yours and Catherine’s.” She paused, thinking of how much trouble that four-legged nuisance called Hope had caused her. “Mostly what I had for it was disgust.” She rolled her eyes. “Annoying little thing. And about as brainless as any animal I’ve ever seen. I’d be in the summer kitchen, canning like crazy, and it would slip in and get under my feet when I wasn’t looking. I’d trip over her and fuss, and Hope would just look at me, wagging her tail.” She brushed wisps of hair from her face. “Need I say more?”
“No.” Samuel took a sip of water. “But we’re sure that won’t stop you from talking.” His wry grin let her know God was not the only one fully on her side in this battle.
So how was Jacob dealing with the separation? Did he go through his day missing her, praying for her, or simply trying to forget until the time he could get back to her?
Samuel’s recent attitude toward her was a nice distraction, the two of them quipping the way they used to—no hard feelings or anger, just humor and venting through wit.
“Hit Pause, please.” Steven pulled his napkin into his lap. “I’m sure the casserole is cool enough now. Let’s pray.”
They bowed their heads for a few moments, and then Phoebe dipped some casserole onto her children’s plates.
Rhoda tucked strands of hair behind her ears. There was nothing like putting a wool cap over one’s prayer Kapp to make hair become quite messy.
Even though she appreciated Samuel’s efforts to get her away from the farm for a day, she was no better judge of dogs than she was of vehicles. “It seems like Steven might like to see these”—she glanced at the children—“objects.”
“He can’t.” Samuel dipped out a generous helping of the casserole. “Steven and Phoebe are house hunting tomorrow, followed by an evening out. Erlene expects to be on her feet tomorrow, even after having that colonoscopy today, and she’s agreed to be their chauffeur and watch their children. And I know Leah is ready for a break from this farm.”
“You can say that again,” she quipped.
“See what I mean?” Samuel gestured at his sister. “I’m sure Landon would enjoy taking us on a day trip.”
Amusement got the better of Rhoda. “So just how long have you been planning this?”
“He’s been looking for objects for a few weeks now.” Steven sprinkled some salt on the cheesy hash browns. “This is the only set he’s found in Maine.”
Rhoda studied Samuel, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a likable fellow. Sometimes.”
Samuel dipped his head. “Back at you.”
“I’m a fellow?”
Steven chuckled. “According to the papers, you’re quite close to it.”
“What must Daed think when he reads those stories?”
“What he’s always thought—that few people know the value of what they’re seeing when they look at you.”
Rhoda rolled her eyes. “What’s with everybody? Are you afraid I’m going to fall apart again?”
“Again?” Her brother studied her.
Rhoda looked at Samuel. “You didn’t tell them?”
Samuel held her gaze. “Tell them what?”
He knew, but Samuel turned to Steven. “I guess she wants me to tell you that she’s been testy and pigheaded lately, just like she’s being about going to see the you-know-whats.”
Steven stabbed a bit of casserole. “So what else is new?”
“And she always thinks it’s me.” Samuel suppressed a smile and took a bite of food. “Let’s call Landon and see what he thinks of our plans for tomorrow.”
Rhoda pushed h
er plate away, her appetite having disappeared at the thought of what she had done to Landon and Leah. “I’m not sure he’ll be in a mood to take us anywhere.”
“Ya, he has been acting weird.” Leah rolled her eyes. “I can’t figure it out. What gives?”
Rhoda drew a nervous breath. “I’d rather talk to Samuel about it in private.”
Leah shrugged. “Sure, go ahead. I’ll buy a paper tomorrow and read about it.”
Phoebe laughed. “She’s having quite a good time at your expense, isn’t she?”
“Either that or she knows something we don’t.” Samuel studied his sister, a smile hinting that he was amused. “Are you stashing recorders so you can sell conversations to the media?”
Leah stretched her back. “I tried. Your conversations were so boring they wanted me to pay them, which isn’t going to happen.”
The banter warmed Rhoda’s heart. How would she get through this without her friends? She would never forget the support they were giving her. Friends, really good ones, were hard to come by. Despite having good reasons for doing so, had she been wrong to ask Landon to step away from Leah?
THIRTY-SIX
The sound of jackhammers and saws rang in Jacob’s ears as he stepped into the temporary elevator. He nodded at the operator. “Fourth riser.”
While the elevator rose, Jacob secured his push-to-talk phone—a hybridized walkie-talkie–cell phone provided by the company for the overseers of each floor—to his belt. Despite Sandra’s objections, he’d called an attorney’s office and given the secretary his phone number. But the idea of receiving a callback had him antsy.
Was Sandra right and the conversations he’d heard among his coworkers wrong?
He stepped onto the high risers and nodded at some of the guys he’d gotten to know over the past few weeks. It was much quieter up here than on the lower levels since the heavy welding had yet to start for his floor.
Construction still made him uneasy, but it was a great way to get fast money without too many questions being asked. A lot of construction foremen were willing to hire undocumented workers, but he’d had to show his employer his real name. Since he’d convinced them to pay him in cash, he hadn’t needed to give his Social Security number. Working here might be a little chancy, but he wasn’t returning to Rhoda empty-handed. Besides, no one had any idea he was Amish, and his name was only one on a roster of hundreds of men. There was even a Jake King working on this site.
The Winnowing Season Page 28
