by Tricia Goyer
He cleared his throat. “Lovina said to just keep it to ourselves for a few weeks. She wants to talk to someone first.” She wants to talk to Hope first, I hope.
Emma nodded, and her kapp strings bounced as she did. “That’s a secret, and we can’t tell.” She shook her head from side to side.
“No we can’t,” Jonas said as she slid out of the booth. And deep down he was hoping that he’d have at least a few days before word got out. But with an eight-year-old girl involved, he guessed that would be an overwhelming challenge.
Old-Fashioned Cream Pie
⅓ cup all-purpose flour
½ cup butter
1 cup brown sugar
2 cups cream
1 unbaked 9-inch pastry pie shell
In a large bowl, blend flour into melted butter. Add brown sugar; mix thoroughly. Add cream and stir until well blended. Pour into pie shell. Bake at 350° for 50-55 minutes. Let cool before serving.
Chapter Six
Faith is the bridge over which we can cross all the unknown waters of tomorrow.
AMISH PROVERB
Hope Miller sat at the kitchen table and flipped the calendar, looking at the white squares stretching from January to May, marking off the months in her mind—January, February, March, April, May… that was only five months until she could start gardening up north. Five months until she could return to the life—the lifestyle—she loved.
Earlier in the day, she’d walked to the small Pinecraft post office and mailed the letter to Eleanor, asking if she needed help with the kinder and garden. Eleanor had always been a favorite cousin and hopefully the response wouldn’t take too long. Once she knew where she’d garden and the size of the plot, Hope could start flipping through the seed catalogs in earnest. Then maybe her life—her days—would feel more right. More meaningful.
The sound of a car idling outside their cottage told her that some women had stopped to chat on their bicycles. The driver was patiently waiting for them to finish their conversation so he could pass. She lifted the white shade and peeked outside, noticing three older women talking. From the looks of their kapps they appeared to be from Lancaster. Hope had seen them before, but she didn’t know their names. During the season it was hard to keep track of who was coming and who was going. She let the white curtain drop.
The sound of hammering also thumped out loud and clear. Noah Yoder’s nephew and friends were putting in a new shed, two doors down, but from the sound of it you’d think they were just outside her front door. Even after living in Pinecraft a year, she still wasn’t used to so many people crammed into such a tight space. So much noise.
Hope attempted to ignore the sounds. She pushed the calendar to the side, wondering what else she could do to occupy her day. Without a job she filled her time helping Mem, but there was only so much she could do in this small place, especially something that didn’t involve food.
She’d woken up to the spicy smell of apple carrot ginger muffins and devoured three. She never enjoyed baking herself, but she appreciated the treats her mem and sisters made.
She rose to wipe down the kitchen counter once again, considering what her friends back in Ohio were doing. They might be ice skating or having a sewing frolic. Or—like her—flipping through seed catalogs and thinking of a northern spring.
It wasn’t that she disliked Florida. Hope liked the beach. She liked wearing flip-flops in December. It was just that she didn’t know who she was here. In Walnut Creek she’d been known for her gardening skills. She’d spent seven months in her garden and the other months planning next year’s crops. But here? She was simply one of the Miller girls.
The warm Florida breeze coming through the open kitchen window fluttered her kapp strings. She looked out at the hopeless garden plot. A few thin plants stretched their spindly leaves toward the sun, trying to live. Maybe her crime had been planting them in the first place.
She didn’t know how to help them. Didn’t know how to make vegetables grow in the sandy soil in their yard. In Ohio, she knew how to test the soil, fertilize it, and plant neat rows. Here, she didn’t have the money to seek out good soil and create a better plot.
Hope crossed her arms over her chest and pulled them tight. For so many years her garden had felt like her true home. She closed her eyes, picturing herself stepping into a garden plot, rolling up her sleeves, and sinking down on her knees onto the rich black soil.
I’ll be appreciated up north. My work will matter.
It was what she wanted more than anything, and she’d have to return to Walnut Creek, Sugarcreek, or a similar Amish community to find it. Until then she was simply an observer in the world around her. An observer of a world she didn’t feel a part of. Out of pure boredom, she picked up another muffin and took a big bite.
From outside the front window came the voices and laughter of two younger women riding by on bicycles. Next door, the whir of a pressure washer mixed with the roar of the water hitting the cement driveway. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly five. She’d missed the gathering at three o’clock to meet the large bus bringing in a new group of snowbirds from up north. Not that she had anyone to greet. Not that she knew many people from Pinecraft to converse with while she waited.
When she first moved to Pinecraft, she used to join her sisters to meet the buses, but she’d given that up. The longing to hop on the bus and head back to Ohio was too great. And then she’d feel guilty—after all, Dat needed to be here. And her sisters seemed to enjoy the place too. They were thriving, especially now that Me, Myself, and Pie was open and doing well. Only she felt out of place and discontent—the opposite of how a gut Amish-woman should be. So to fill time that seemed to stretch out endlessly, she’d go and check on her potted flowers in front of the pie shop. It wasn’t a vegetable garden, but at least it was something.
Hope poured herself a glass of milk and took a swallow. She smiled, thinking of the first time she’d met Emma in front of the pie shop. She’d been adorable with the ice cream dripping all over her fingers and chin, yet the young girl’s questions had been surprising. The girl seemed older than her age. As if she’d already lived a long life in her few years. Now Hope knew why—Emma’s mother’s illness and death had caused her to grow up quickly. There was also a maturity in Jonas Sutter’s eyes. He’d seen a lot, she knew. But he seemed stronger for it.
A songbird beckoned her outside. Placing the glass of milk on the counter she opened the kitchen door and strode out the back. Emptiness filled her chest as she stared down at the small plot of land that she’d tried to garden last year. It was one-sixteenth the size of her garden in Ohio, but somehow it intimidated her even more.
Hope squatted and took a handful of the freshly tilled dirt, sifting it through her fingers. What would be the cost of bringing in good soil? She had money saved up from nannying little Arnie, but his family had moved away, and she no longer had that job. Besides, if she wished to return to Walnut Creek she’d need every penny to get reestablished. She couldn’t waste it on good soil for a small plot she’d be leaving soon.
“So, do you think we need better dirt?” Her dat’s voice interrupted her thoughts. He’d gone for a short walk and must have just gotten home. Hope rose and turned to him, brushing off her hands.
“I know we need better soil, but I just don’t think it’s worth it. It’s going to cost a lot, and I don’t think we’d get a big enough harvest in this small space. Maybe I should forget the whole idea of gardening here in Pinecraft. We can buy vegetables at Yoder’s for cheaper than we’ll be able to grow them. It just doesn’t make sense.”
Dat offered her a sad smile, and she quickly looked away. It was almost as if he could look into her heart and read all the emotions hidden there.
“A garden isn’t just about what it produces, Hope. It’s about working in union with God and nurturing His creation. I’m your dat, remember? I know a garden is where you think your clearest thoughts and where you escape from the noise of the house—of the world.”
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Hope cocked her eyebrows and her jaw dropped slightly. “I—I didn’t think that anyone knew that.”
Her dat moved to the swing, and he held the side rail as he sat. He took a deep breath, and Hope watched as it expanded his lungs. He wasn’t healthy yet, but he was better. And that made their move worth it.
“You live in a home with four sisters,” he continued, “and they all like to talk. They are so similar to your mother in so many ways. Look at Lovina—she told us the pie shop was for other people to connect with one another, but she’s the one always visiting and chatting with her customers. Seeing Lovina in the pie shop I see her truest self—how God made her to be. And Hope, your truest place is in the garden.”
Tears pricked Hope’s eyes, and she quickly turned away. “Ja, well, it seems that God has different plans for me at this time, doesn’t He?” She looked at the sorry little plot of land and tried to hold back the tears. As she took in her own deep breath, the thick, muggy air pressed on her lungs.
“Maybe God does, or maybe He has a surprise for you yet,” Dat said.
Hope glanced up. “What do you mean?”
A smile broke through, causing the corners of Dat’s lips to rise. “I won’t say just yet. I’ll just say that I stopped by the pie shop a bit ago to drop off a sack dinner for Grace, and Lovina wants to talk to you. She asked me to bring you to the pie shop tonight.” He turned to the back door. “Get on your flip-flops. There’s a table waiting for us, and Lovina promised me a piece of coconut creme pie. And she asked for you to bring your seed catalog. She has an idea. One I think you’ll want to hear.”
Vegetables in a California Garden, 1933
Someone has said that it takes a robin to make a spring, but to me the arrival of the first seed catalogue is the real harbinger of vernal dawn.
Works of homely interest, yet colorful and alluring, the catalogues of my favorite seedsmen have always been my spring season literature. They tell of old garden comrades, vegetable varieties tried and true, and bring news of promising youngsters, strains just making their bow to the garden world. Eagerly I thumb over each page, selecting the “guests” to be invited to my garden; and how difficult it is to limit the invitations!*
* Ross H. Gast, Vegetables in the California Garden (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1933), 17.
Chapter Seven
It is better to rejoice that our purse is half full than to fret that it is half empty.
AMISH PROVERB
Hope mindlessly turned the pages of the seed catalog as she sat at the small table at Me, Myself, and Pie. She and Dat had gotten there thirty minutes ago. They’d both ordered pie. Dat had finished his, and Hope had only eaten half of her piece of cherry. The pie was delicious, as always, but she had too much on her mind to think about eating.
Lovina had acknowledged them a few times with a wave and with the mouthed words, “I’ll be there in a minute.” But every time she tried to approach, someone had stopped her to ask for a recipe or to gush about what a great asset the pie shop was to the community. Finally, when the last rush of people left and only a few still sat around the tables, Lovina approached.
There was a sparkle in Lovina’s eyes as she sat across from them, and Hope wondered how much of that was due to the pie shop and how much was due to Lovina’s growing relationship with Noah Yoder. Hope and her sisters enjoyed taking turns guessing how long it would be before Noah and Lovina’s wedding would be published. Faith guessed that it would be in November—the typical month for weddings in the Amish community—but both Grace and Hope believed it would be sooner. It seemed silly to wait so long to marry the one you loved, especially here in Pinecraft. It wasn’t as if anyone needed to worry about getting the harvest in, or even about spring planting. Waiting until November was not important in her opinion.
Lovina sat in the chair next to Dat and turned her attention to Hope. “I’ve been thinking. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to do something with the back plot?”
Hope poked her fork into a cherry and twirled it in a circle. “Are you thinking about putting in an outside patio? That would be nice during the season. I’ve rarely seen the store without a line—more seating would be welcome.”
“Oh, that is an idea too, and maybe something to consider in the future, but what I was actually thinking about was a garden.”
Hope’s head lifted. She dropped her fork to her plate. “A garden?”
“Ja. It’s a large space—much bigger than our backyard.”
“It would be a lovely idea if we were in Ohio, but I don’t think that’s a great idea here.” Hope sighed, and the ache in her chest grew. “You know what a miserable time I’ve had in that little bitty plot in the backyard.”
“That’s true, but I talked to Noah about it earlier today. There are some garden clubs around here, and they have to get their dirt from somewhere.”
“You mean their soil.” Hope sighed. “I can’t imagine the cost of bringing it in.”
Lovina reached over and patted Hope’s hand. “There will be an expense, but Noah and I think it’s a worthwhile investment. If we get in good soil, I have no doubt we can have a wonderful garden. Noah’s very resourceful. He knows so many contractors in the area, and they’re always helping each other out. He’s already talking about building some raised boxes or beds to make it easier. We thought the boxes would be a perfect work project for Mose, Gerald, and Atlee.”
Heat rose to Hope’s cheeks. Her lips started to open in excitement. “Wait… you’re serious?” Hope pointed her thumb behind her, toward the back of the building. “You want to grow a garden—a real garden out back?” She sucked in a breath, taking in the aroma of baking pies, cherries, and promise. “But why would you do that?”
Lovina’s fingers drummed on the table, as if she couldn’t hold in her excitement. “Personally, I love fresh vegetables, and we have all that space not being used. It’ll be something that can be enjoyed by… ” Lovina pressed her lips together, and she stopped there. Then she shrugged. “Enjoyed by so many in this area. Please say yes. I’m excited just thinking about it.”
Hope tilted her head and studied her sister’s face. Lovina’s grin was large—almost too large. With Hope’s perusal Lovina glanced to the ceiling, as if the network of the warehouse’s ducts and beams was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen.
There had to be more than what Lovina was letting on about, but Hope wouldn’t press. Unhindered joy—something she hadn’t felt for months—surged up from her stomach and caught in her throat. It shocked and amazed her that Lovina would do this for her. It would be an expense. It would be a risk. But looking at the spark in Lovina’s eyes Hope knew it wasn’t about the vegetables. It was about giving Hope a precious gift.
Hope reached across the table and grasped her sister’s hand. She squeezed tightly, and then she looked to her dat. He was sitting quietly, but she could tell he was excited too. Pride beamed from his eyes as he watched the interaction between his daughters.
Tears lined her lower eyelids, and the cover of the seed catalog blurred. She ran her hand over the glossy page.
Would it really be possible to have a garden in Pinecraft? And if it was, would it be enough? Would her heart long to stay? If she did get a garden started that didn’t mean she couldn’t leave, could it? Maybe it would be the perfect project for Dat too. He was feeling better, and he didn’t have a farm to run. Maybe she could do it for him as much as herself.
“Ja, Lovina. I like the idea… if you can find good soil, and if it doesn’t cost you too much to set up.” She considered telling Lovina about her letter to their cousin Eleanor, too, but changed her mind. She’d wait to see if Eleanor wrote back.
“Don’t worry about any of the cost, Hope. All you need to do is look through that catalog and decide what you’ll need to get started. I’ll put in the order of seeds for you. I’ll also talk to Noah and he’ll take care of everything else.”
Hope’s chest warmed. Was this really h
appening? She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
Lovina turned. A new surge of customers had entered. Instead of being overwhelmed by them, Lovina seemed pleased. “I have to get back to the kitchen, but let’s talk tomorrow morning when you’ve had a chance to look at the catalog.” Then Lovina smiled, and her nose wrinkled up as she did. “Take time to dream tonight, Hope. Don’t let doubts or worries keep you from dreaming.” She rose and hustled off with a simple parting wave.
Hope watched her walk away, and then unexpected laughter spilled out. She picked up her fork and took another bite of her cherry pie. “Tomorrow? Lovina isn’t wasting any time, is she?”
Dat stroked his long white beard, looking pleased. “Ne. From the moment that she decided to open this pie shop she’s been a different woman. It’s as if your sister has gotten a taste of what God can do, and she can’t wait to see Him show up more.”
Hope tilted her head and looked to her father with curiosity. She’d grown up her whole life going to church. She’d heard more messages from their Amish preachers than she could count, and she’d seen her father and mother leading a simple faith, but she’d never heard him talk in such a way.
“Ja, I suppose that makes sense,” she finally answered.
Hope wanted to ask her father about all the changes within him—with Lovina—but she held her words in. It seemed odd to talk to him about spiritual things. It was so much easier talking about gardening.
She opened the first page of the seed catalog. “So what do you think I should plant? Maybe I should start by seeing what grows well in this zone, ja? I’m sure the library has some books on gardening in Florida.” She again thought about her letter to Eleanor. Should she write her cousin another letter, telling her she’d had a change of plans? Ne. If Hope did get a job and decide to move, she had no doubt that her dat would be happy to take over the back-lot garden.
