by Tricia Goyer
Hope pressed her seed packets to her chest. She’d have time to plant them later today, but first she needed to talk to Lovina. Her oldest sister had been eating a piece of toast and fried egg when she’d first woken up, and she was gone by the time Hope made her own breakfast. Hope guessed that Lovina was already in the pie shop, preparing for the day. Even though Me, Myself, and Pie had four full-time bakers, the shop had brought in many more customers than expected—especially during high season. Grace had even approached Lovina about opening an online shop after a local businessman had suggested it. While the idea was a good one, Lovina was having a hard enough time simply keeping up with the pies sold in the store. Sometimes—like today—she came early to make as many pie crusts as she could to get ahead.
Hope walked around to the front. She set the seed packets in her garden bucket and then left the bucket by the open front door. Even before she entered, she recognized both Lovina and Noah’s voices. But there was also another voice that she didn’t recognize. It was an older woman, and her voice held a slight quiver from age. Hope entered and all three faces turned to her. Lovina stood behind the baking counter, rolling out pie crusts. Noah leaned against the counter with his arms folded over his chest, and Elizabeth Bieler—Joy’s boss from the fabric store—sat on a wooden chair next to the counter. On her lap she held a paper bag that had been rolled down on top, making it looked like an oversized lunch.
“Well, there she is.” Elizabeth offered a quick wave. “Just the person I wanted to see.” Then she turned back to Lovina. “Oh, I enjoyed talking to you, too… don’t feel as if I didn’t. And I promise I’ll bring by that recipe for orange fritters. I think you’ll like it. I found the recipe in one of my mother’s old cookbooks. With so much wonderful citrus this time of year you’ll just have to give it a try.”
“Ja, I’d love to. Believe it or not, sometimes I need a break from baking pies.” Lovina chuckled. “And if you have any good pie recipes, I’d love to try them too. I love to add a new, special pie every few weeks or so.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin. “Ja, I’ll have to look around and see what I can find. I love being able to give special gifts to friends.” She patted the bag on her lap and glanced over at Hope. “Which is why I’ve come.”
Lovina’s eyes brightened. “Oh, Hope, do you remember the other day when I told you Elizabeth had something for you? She got tired of waiting for you to stop by.” Lovina chuckled and brushed the back of her hand across her forehead, leaving a smudge of flour on her temple. “I told her that I thought you were out back, in the garden, but she insisted on waiting until you finished your conversation.”
Noah looked at Hope from the corner of his eyes. “Conversation? Your sister doesn’t hide her excitement very well, Hope.” He clucked his tongue. “Is it someone we should know about?”
Heat rose to Hope’s cheeks. “It was Jonas Sutter. He’d just come by. I hadn’t expected him.” She shrugged. “Maybe he just wanted to check out the new garden?”
“Check it out?” Noah shook his head as he reached over and snatched a strawberry from the bowl in front of Lovina, taking a bite. “I’m not sure what Jonas needs to check out. He’s the one who helped me with the layout. He also designed the irrigation system.”
“Jonas did that?” Hope’s voice broke, and she quickly looked to the side, embarrassed by the emotion that was evident in her voice. “I—I didn’t know.” She turned to Lovina. “You told me Noah and the teens were building it. But you didn’t say anything about Jonas.”
Lovina pressed hard against her rolling pin, not looking up. She worked quickly, rolling with fast movements. “Well, I, uh… I told you that other men from the community were helping too. I didn’t know I needed to mention names.” The dough under Lovina’s rolling pin tore. She picked up the dough and formed it roughly into a ball.
Hope narrowed her gaze. Lovina was usually gentle with her crusts. Lovina had told Hope more than once that being in a hurry made sloppy crusts, which could only mean one thing… Lovina was nervous. Lovina had something to hide.
Noah reached over and placed a hand on Lovina’s shoulder. “Lovina, that crust isn’t going to get up and crawl away, I promise.”
She glanced up, surprised. And then she bit her lower lip. “Ne, of course not. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me.” She looked up at Noah and her face softened. A silent conversation passed between their gazes. Hope placed a hand on her hip. Both of them knew something—something they were hiding from her.
Looking away from Noah, Lovina took a keep breath, and then she turned to Hope. “Actually, I do have something that I need to talk to you about.” Her cheeks lifted in an attempt at a smile. “Maybe tonight, after dinner?”
What could be so serious, so secret? Hope’s mind went blank. By both Noah and Lovina’s responses, Hope knew it had something to do with Jonas. Why would he volunteer to help with her garden? And why had he been there this morning, looking it over? Nothing made sense.
“Ja. I’d be happy to talk to you tonight.” Hope looked to Elizabeth, understanding that whatever Lovina wanted to share didn’t need to be discussed in front of their elderly friend.
“I know that the two of you need to have a talk about Jonas Sutter—he is worthy of a conversation—but I have something to talk about too.” Elizabeth slowly began to unroll the top of the paper bag. She reached her thin, age-spotted hand inside and pulled out a folded square of fabric.
“First, I made an apron for you, Hope. Your sister Joy designed the aprons for Lovina’s pie shop, and I thought I’d try to create my own apron—a garden apron.” She handed it over.
“You did this for me?” Hope unfolded the heavy canvas material. It was an apron all right, with thick straps and large pockets in front. But the best part was what Elizabeth had embroidered on front.
“Planted with Hope,” Hope read. Emotions surged up through her chest. She’d hardly had more than a few short conversations with Elizabeth, but the thoughtfulness of the gift overwhelmed her.
Hope put the strap over her head. It caught on her kapp and then she fixed it. The apron slipped on and she tied it in back.
“I love these pockets.” She slid her hands into the deep openings. “These are perfect for my seed packets and my tools.”
“And for something else—another special gift. Although this one isn’t for you to keep. It’s for you to borrow for a time.”
Hope’s brow furrowed. “Borrow?”
Elizabeth pulled out an old book from the bag. It was the size of a small notebook with a hard cover. The edges were worn, and the green faded cover proved its age. Elizabeth set the paper bag to the side, and she ran her hand over the cover.
Lovina paused in rolling out her crust. “What is that? An old hymnal?”
Noah straightened and stepped forward. He leaned down, excitement clear on his face. “That’s an antique. I’m sure of it. It looks like an old journal.”
“Ja, that’s exactly what it is.” Elizabeth smiled again, broader, and for the first time Hope noticed the hint of dimples on her aged cheeks. “It belongs to one of my friends—well, a friend who started out as a customer at my fabric shop. She’s Englisch, and her family has lived in Sarasota for over a hundred years. They have a beautiful family home by the water.”
“But why would she want to lend that to me?”
Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled. “It’s a garden journal. From 1942. My friend’s mother was named Pauline, and in the midst of World War II she started a Victory Garden—have you ever heard of that? Most families had one during the war. There was rationing back then, since so much food went overseas to the troops. Gardens sprouted up in small backyards, on large estates, and even in parks. People knew if they were going to make it through that war they had to do their part to fill their stomachs.”
Hope looked from Lovina to Noah and then back to Elizabeth again. She’d heard about Victory Gardens before, but she hadn’t paid much attention.
Lovi
na placed a perfect crust into a tin plate and started to flute the edges. “That’s an amazing gift.”
Noah leaned even closer. “I’d love to get my hands on that. Collecting antiques is one thing, but reading about a person’s experiences is another.”
Hope glanced to Noah, then to her sister, and back to Elizabeth. They all seemed to understand what this was about, but it still wasn’t making sense to her. None of it.
“So, you want me to read it… to… to get ideas for my garden?”
“Well, that’s part of it, but mostly I just thought you’d enjoy reading about what Pauline faced in 1942. There are many similarities between you and Pauline, even though you may not see them at first. You’re an expert in the garden and she… ” Elizabeth paused. She flipped open the front cover and traced her hands on the woman’s name. “She wasn’t a very good gardener at first, but that changed. And more importantly, she changed too.” Elizabeth shrugged. “Janet—my friend—told me her mother’s story once, and then she let me read this. When I heard that it was time for a garden in this place—behind the pie shop—I knew Pauline’s story was one you needed to hear.”
Hope nodded, still not understanding. Part of her was afraid to borrow such a priceless heirloom, but in another part of her excitement bubbled up. She’d already skimmed through a few books on gardening in Florida, but maybe Pauline’s journal would provide even more tips. It would be worth glancing through if nothing else.
Hope stretched out her hand, and Elizabeth handed over the journal. Then she pointed to Hope’s pockets. “I even made sure there was a pocket big enough for the journal to fit inside.”
“Oh, I’m not going to carry it into the garden. I don’t want to mess it up.” Hope opened it. Small, neat handwriting scrolled across yellowed pages. “I’ll look through it and get it back to you next week.”
“Next week?” Elizabeth shook her head. “You’ll never be able to get through it by next week. There is no rush.” She reached forward and patted Hope’s hand. “Take your time. Savor the stories. There are even some recipes that Pauline wrote down—some of her favorites. I’ve tried a few.”
“Recipes?” Lovina snickered. “Elizabeth, Hope has many talents but she doesn’t really enjoy the kitchen very much.”
“You never know. I might like these recipes.” Hope glanced down at Elizabeth. “Maybe I’d like a copy of your orange fritters recipe too.” Then she jokingly raised an eyebrow at her older sister. “Just because I don’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen doesn’t mean that I can’t cook.”
“And just because I don’t garden doesn’t mean I can’t pull a weed,” Lovina huffed with a bit of humor.
Hope chuckled, and it felt good. Lovina had her pie shop, and she had her garden. And together—well, they acted more themselves than they had since leaving Ohio.
Hope held up the book to take a closer look, and she also pushed all the questions about Jonas Sutter to the side. She’d worry about that later too. Today, she was excited to read the journal and to discover its secrets, but for the first time since being in Pinecraft she also felt a small sense of belonging. Elizabeth had lived here for years. There were new people coming and going all the time, yet Elizabeth had thought of her. She’d reached out to her. Elizabeth had given her hope… not only for the garden, but in how she was seen in the community.
Hope gazed into Elizabeth’s eyes. She tucked the journal into her pocket and then leaned close. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth nodded, smiled, and reached out her hand. Hope placed her hand in the older woman’s grasp. The woman’s skin felt paper thin, yet soft.
Elizabeth squeezed gently. “Enjoy the journal, and know that I am available if you ever need someone to talk to. Each of us needs a listening ear sometimes—someone to help us weigh our options, whether that means staying or leaving.”
“Leaving?” The word shot from Lovina’s lips, and Hope straightened up. She pulled her hand back, surprised.
“I never heard about you leaving,” said Lovina. “You’re not leaving Pinecraft, are you? Not now, ja?”
Hope’s mouth dropped open, and she glanced over at her sister. “I haven’t really mentioned it to anyone, but I have to admit it’s been on my thoughts.” She turned back to Elizabeth. “I haven’t told anyone except for Eleanor. Have you talked to her? Do you know my cousin?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I know many Eleanors, and I’m not sure if any of them are closely related to you. Since most of us came from the same group of Anabaptists, I’m sure that most of us are related to each other somehow, but to answer your question I haven’t talked to anyone—well, except to God.”
The older woman placed a hand over her heart. “He doesn’t spill any secrets, but once in a while I have a sense of something to pray for. Last year I started praying for this warehouse.” She swept her arms wide. “And when it was nearly done I felt called to start praying for a garden… ” She pointed. “A garden out back. Oh, and once, while in church, I felt God telling me to pray for you, Hope. I started paying attention to you then, even though you like to keep to yourself, and that’s when I heard that you’d been a wonderful gardener back in Walnut Creek, but you weren’t having much luck here. That made me think that you’ve most likely started thinking about returning home to Ohio. After all, each of us loves to be in the place where we find the most success.”
A cool sensation rushed from Hope’s chest and into her limbs. It was the same feeling she had once in a dream where she’d forgotten her dress and covering. In the dream she’d run from hiding place to hiding place but couldn’t find any way to cover herself. She felt the same way now, but it wasn’t a dream. She felt seen by Elizabeth in a way that she usually wasn’t, and it made her uncomfortable. It was as if the wall she’d placed around her had been stripped bare. She felt vulnerable and exposed. Hope tucked the journal into the large front pocket and then crossed her arms over her chest, pulling them close.
Lovina still hadn’t picked her rolling pin back up. Instead, she eyed her sister as though seeing her for the first time. She reached her hand to Noah, as if needing support, and he grasped it and took a step closer to her.
“Is this true, Hope?” Lovina asked.
“I have been thinking about going back. Maybe by May. I wrote Eleanor to see if she needed a maud and a gardener.”
“This May?” The color drained from Lovina’s face, and Hope wished she’d said something sooner. “But—but we just put so much work into the garden out back. So much… ” her voice trailed off.
“It was an idea, nothing more.” Hope pulled her arms tighter against her chest and shrugged. “I was simply testing the waters to see what Eleanor thought. I have no specific plans.” She thought about the entry she’d written in her journal and backpedaled, trying to tell the truth in a way that didn’t hurt her sister even more. “Or rather, maybe it is a goal—a dream for the year—but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the gift you’ve given me with the garden. I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know, and I have no plans of leaving soon. It’ll be a big decision if I do.”
Lovina nodded, and Hope noticed tears welling up in her older sister’s eyes. “It seems as if we do have a few things to talk about, Hope. I’ll try to see if I can get home early.”
“I’d like that.” Hope let her eyes flitter closed, and she focused on the pull of the journal in her pocket. Had Pauline faced many questions and doubts? Maybe so. And maybe she needed to understand those even more than receiving gardening tips.
Because harder than getting anything to grow in Pinecraft was trying to understand how to maneuver in this community.
Orange Fritters, 1942
Peel oranges and separate into sections. One orange makes fritters for two or three. Remove seeds, if any, carefully, making the smallest possible incision. Dip sections in batter made of:
¼ tsp. salt
1 cup flour
2 Tbsp sugar
1½ tsp. baking powder
⅓ cup milk
1 egg
1 Tbsp melted butter
Mix salt, flour, sugar and baking powder, add milk gradually, egg well beaten, and melted butter. Fry in deep hot fat. Sprinkle fritters with powdered sugar, to which may be added, if desired, ½ tsp. grated orange rind. Serve hot.*
* Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Cross Creek Cookery (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1942), 197.
Chapter Twelve
Those who fear the future are likely to fumble the present.
AMISH PROVERB
Hope picked up her garden bucket and headed in the direction of home. Her heart ached remembering the pain in Lovina’s eyes when she discovered that Hope had thought about leaving. She should have mentioned something sooner. Lovina had just put up a huge expense to create a garden for her. The least she could have done was to tell her sister the truth.
Then again, she didn’t think Lovina had been completely truthful either. There was something about Jonas Sutter that Lovina was hiding. Hope just wished she knew what. It would be hard waiting until this evening to know. It would be even harder to get the look of Jonas’s gentle eyes gazing at her out of her mind.
An Amish woman walked by in a sea-foam green dress. A small white dog trailed on a leash. The panting dog had a hard time keeping up. Hope smiled and called a greeting, but instead of stopping to chat, the woman continued on.
The streets of Pinecraft were filled with bicycles and those on foot. There were many more people out than when she’d left home this morning. And thankfully by the time she returned home her other sisters and parents had already left for the day. It wasn’t that she didn’t want time to see them, but she did appreciate the quiet and the time to process her thoughts.
Her guess was that Mem and Dat had gone over to see how things were shaping up for the Haiti mission auction. It was a large event, drawing huge crowds every year and raising hundreds of thousands of dollars for the poor in Haiti. And maybe—with that event coming to the area at the end of the week and drawing attention—she’d have fewer people poking around her garden. One could only hope.
