Seeds of Hope

by Barbara Cameron

  “I saw your car outside,” he said. His eyes sparkled and his cheeks were flushed. “So, you’ve come home!” He threw his arms around Mark and bear-hugged him.

  Mark held up a hand. “It’s just for a while. I have some unexpected time off and I thought I’d spend it here. It’s a long story.”

  His grandfather’s face fell.

  “John, have you eaten supper?” Miriam asked. “I was about to walk over to your house with some food.”

  “Nee, I’m late getting home from my doctor’s appointment.” He turned to Mark. “Have you eaten?”

  Mark shook his head. “I haven’t been very hungry lately.”

  Miriam went to the refrigerator and began pulling out bowls and plastic containers. “Give me a few minutes and you can take supper home with you. We had lots of cold salads and such. Gut on a hot day.”

  “Danki, Miriam, that would be wunderbaar.”

  Mark couldn’t meet his grandfather’s eyes. He wasn’t looking forward to telling him why he’d returned to the farm. His hand went to his temple again.

  Miriam opened a cabinet. She found a bottle of aspirin and, without commenting, put it on the table in front of him.

  He glanced up, thanked her, and washed two tablets down with the tea as he watched her fill the plastic containers and put them in a wicker basket.

  “Oh, can’t forget the watermelon,” she said, giving Mark a smile as she tucked a plastic container of chunks of the fruit in with the food.

  When they walked outside Mark looked around, then looked at his grandfather. “Where’s your buggy?”

  “Driver took me, then dropped me here when I saw your car.” He got in the passenger side. “First time I’ve been in your fancy car.”

  “That’s what Miriam calls it. Do all Amish call them fancy cars?”

  John chuckled. “Nee. But you have to admit, it’s pretty fancy for an Englisch car, isn’t it?”

  “De rigueur for an attorney,” Mark muttered.

  “Eh?”

  “Nothing.”

  The drive was short and silent. Once inside the farm house, Mark set the basket down on the table.

  John sat down at the table and looked at him. “Allrecht, now tell me what’s wrong. You’re acting like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. Nothing can be as bad as you’re acting.”

  Mark sank into a chair and sighed. “Not true.” He looked at him. “I guess the news didn’t travel this far.”

  “What news?”

  He told him about Maurice and about his boss ordering him to take a leave of absence.

  “So you came home, as you should,” John said, nodding. “This is where you belong at such a difficult time.”

  “I appreciate your saying that. I thought I could help you with the harvest instead of sitting around my condo worrying.”

  “Working with your hands always makes a man feel better,” John told him. He looked at his own hands resting on the wooden table. “Well, unless your arthritis is getting worse.” He sighed and began unloading the basket.

  “I just don’t understand what happened,” Mark said as he rose to get plates from a cupboard. “I don’t believe Maurice killed a man. But it doesn’t look good that after the jury found him not guilty, he’s arrested for another murder.”

  “Things will work out.”

  “I wish I had your faith.”

  John’s gaze was steady and serious. “I do too. It’ll come. Sometimes, when we feel tested, we don’t think we can meet the challenge. But the strength is in you. I’ve seen it as you’ve matured into a man.”

  “You always saw more in me than I did.” Mark studied his hands. “I didn’t think I could do anything when I first came here. I was a skinny city kid who’d never seen a farm, who didn’t know a corn plant from a weed. You made it seem like something I could do. Something fun.”

  He’d planted seeds, Mark thought.

  “Still, you loved having your nose in one of those big books you borrowed from the library. I can’t remember how many times I found you up in the hay loft reading after you did chores.”

  “All that reading paid off,” Mark reminded him. “I was able to do dual enrollment and take college classes while I was in high school and graduate earlier, go to law school sooner.”

  Funny, he’d often thought his grandfather had understood him more than his own father had, even though they seemed to come from two different worlds. Faith and God weren’t mentioned much in his own home growing up. Yet his father had taken the time to drive him to see his grandparents each summer. His parents didn’t stay but a night or two, but after Mark asked to stay longer when he was fourteen, he’d been allowed to do so.

  His father had been surprised when Mark enjoyed farming and made friends and attended church services. But he’d been relieved when Mark didn’t speak of becoming Amish, even after he’d spent summer after summer on the farm.

  Mark got plates from the cupboard.

  “Get some bread from the bread box and slice us some for sandwiches,” his grandfather said.

  He sliced the bread and then watched without much interest as his grandfather spooned food onto the plates.

  “Miriam’s right,” John said. “A cold supper’s gut on a warm evening.” He pushed the container of egg salad toward Mark. “You loved this when you were a boy.”

  “Grossmudder made it for me every time I visited.”

  Finally, more to ease the headache than to appease hunger, he made his own sandwich and found the simple food delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had homemade bread or egg salad. After he finished the sandwich, he found himself making another.

  When his grandfather opened the plastic container of watermelon chunks, Mark remembered the seed-spitting contest he’d walked in on at Miriam’s house. He’d known her for a long time and never seen her enjoying herself so much. It had been the only bright spot in his day.

  What would his grandfather say if he challenged him to a seed-spitting contest? Surely the man would think he’d lost his mind.

  So they sat and ate cold watermelon on a warm summer evening and talked of the harvesting work that had been done and what Mark could do during the coming weeks.

  It felt like old times when things had been less complicated.

  They cleared the table and put away leftovers. Mark watched day turn to dusk as he washed dishes and his grandfather dried them and put them in the cupboard.

  “Come outside,” John said as he put the last dish away. “There’s something I want to show you.”

  Mark followed him outside and the two of them eased into the rocking chairs on the back porch.

  “Look up,” his grandfather said simply.

  He gazed upward and saw stars winking to life one by one. Soon the sky was filled with hundreds of them—more than he ever saw in the city because of the lights there.

  A sense of peace flowed over him, as gentle as the cooling breeze that swept over the nearby fields and brought the scent of honeysuckle.

  “Times like this I always remember a passage from the Bible,” John said quietly. “‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.’ I read a lot in the gospel of John because of my name, I’ll admit. But this has always comforted me in difficult times. Like after your grandmother died.”

  He rose and touched Mark’s shoulder. “Don’t worry or be afraid. Let peace inside you. Trust God.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Don’t try. Be. Do.”

  Mark nodded. “Sleep well.”

  “You, too. I love you.”

  Mark squeezed the shaky hand that rested on his shoulder. “I love you, too.”

  Seven

  Curiosity was killing her.

  Miriam told herself she wasn’t a good person. It was John and Mark’s business why Mark had come back so unexpectedly.

  But she really wanted to kno
w why Mark was here. Had he decided to do as John wished and take over the farm? She fervently hoped so. But then why had Mark looked so upset? He’d constantly rubbed his temples as if his head hurt. And he’d said he hadn’t had much of an appetite for some time.

  Something was wrong. She didn’t have to be a psychic to sense that. And if Mark had come back to take over the farm, wouldn’t he have said something last night? Instead he’d said he and John had to talk and they’d left.

  She told herself she’d know soon enough. After all, John shared almost everything with her.

  Her mudder walked into the kitchen. “Danki for making breakfast so I could sleep in a little. Katie kept me up most of the night. I think she’s getting another tooth.” She yawned. “I hope she sleeps tonight.”

  “How much sleep have you missed with all of us through the years?” Miriam asked as she took a plate of eggs and bacon she’d left warming in the oven and set it in front of her mudder. She poured her a cup of coffee. It was already getting a bit warm, but Miriam knew her mudder couldn’t get her day started without coffee. When she handed it to her, she received a grateful smile.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Sarah with a tired smile. “All kinner are a gift from God.” She reached for Miriam’s hand. “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

  Miriam glanced out the kitchen window to where the girls were busily weeding and gathering produce. Shrugging, she joined her mudder at the table.

  “Mark came home yesterday.”

  “John’s Mark?”

  “Ya. He came here when he didn’t find John home. John arrived a little later and the two of them left.” She traced the rim of her cup with her finger and frowned. “He looked troubled, Mamm. Said he and John needed to talk. I’m worried. I think something’s wrong. With Mark, I mean. Not John.”

  “You remember what they say about worry.”

  “Ya.” Miriam sighed. “It’s arrogant. God knows what he’s doing.”

  “John’s a very wise man. If something’s wrong, he’ll help Mark.”

  “I know.” She finished her tea and then, restless, she stood and got a basket. “I promised I’d go with Fannie Mae and Naomi to help feed the men harvesting with John today.” She wrapped a loaf of bread and set it in the basket, added cookies and a frozen pound cake baked earlier in the week. John had said there were two chickens in his refrigerator, so she’d bake them when she got there.

  “Do you mind if I take some of the jars of chow chow and pickled beets from the cellar?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be giving me some zucchini.”

  “Gardens are always blessed by zucchini this time of year,” her mudder joked.

  “True. And John’s kitchen garden always does so well.” She smiled as she gathered food for the basket. “He told me once his kitchen garden grows so well because when he works in it he thinks of his fraa and how they planted it together.”

  “They were so happy together.” Sarah finished her breakfast and pushed aside the plate.

  “Like you and Daed.”

  “I hope one day you’ll meet someone special and be just as happy.”

  Miriam felt she had, but what gut was it when the man was Mark and they could have no future?

  “Well, I’ll be going over to John’s for a few hours.”

  “Miriam? Don’t worry about Mark and John. God has a plan for them and everything will work out.”

  “I know,” she said slowly. “I just wish I knew what it was.”

  She heard her mudder’s laugh as she left the room.

  Mark’s car was parked in John’s drive. So he hadn’t left. Not that she’d expected him to, but remembering how upset he’d looked the night before, she had no idea why he’d come or how long he’d stay.

  She went into the house and found it empty. Apparently she was the first of several women who would help feed the workers today. She set the basket on the kitchen table. The chickens John had mentioned were in the refrigerator, so she preheated the oven and set about preparing them to roast. Then she went outside to harvest produce that had ripened.

  An hour later, she used the back of her hand to wipe perspiration from her forehead. Another hot day and it would only get hotter as it wore on.

  She glanced at the fields and saw men working. If she was this warm, she couldn’t imagine how they must be feeling. She picked up the basket, now full of greens and tomatoes, and went inside. Fannie Mae and Naomi had just arrived and were unpacking some dishes and desserts. She greeted them, washed her hands, and checked on the chickens. Her timing had been gut—they were almost ready to come out.

  “We saw John’s grosssohn’s car outside,” Fannie Mae said as she set a pie on the counter. “So he’s here to help with the harvesting as usual?”

  “Ya.”

  “That’s gut,” Naomi said with a nod. She lifted a big bowl of macaroni salad from an insulated bag and carried it to the refrigerator.

  Miriam opened the oven, winced at the blast of heat, and pulled the pan with the chickens out. She set it on the top of the stove and turned off the oven. “I think I’ll take some cold drinks out to the men.”

  “Gut idea. I brought some monster cookies. We can take them out, too. Something to hold them off until lunch.”

  “The kinner love those when you bring them to schul.”

  “And so do the big kinner we call men,” Naomi said with a gusty laugh. She found a plate and arranged them on it.

  Miriam poured glasses of iced tea and started outside. Fannie Mae followed her with a pitcher and Naomi carried the cookies. The minute the men saw the women approaching the table set by the field, they started over.

  All except for Mark.

  She caught a glimpse of him continuing to work in the far reaches of the field.

  John caught her glance. “I tried to get him to take a break. He said he’ll be along in a minute.” He accepted a glass of iced tea from her.

  The men took their drinks and cookies and went to sit in the shade of a tree near the house. Fannie Mae and Naomi returned to the house to continue lunch preparations.

  “Boy’s working hard because he’s got some heavy thinking to do,” John said quietly, looking at her intently. “He needs a friend.”

  She nodded. “I hope he’ll talk to me.”

  The men returned to the field and she had no reason to stay outside, so she went back into the house.

  Mark drove himself to move down another row and another row. The sun was relentless, but hadn’t it always been during harvest? This was just like running a marathon. If you hadn’t trained you were going to suffer.

  Tomorrow would be better.

  He’d watched the other men go for a break and promised them he’d do so soon. It wasn’t like he didn’t know to stay hydrated. He’d brought a bottle of water out and drunk it, hadn’t he?

  Another row and he’d take a break. The other men had taken time from their own farms to help his grandfather while he’d been sitting in a cool, air-conditioned office. He knew it was part of community here, but still, he should have been here weeks ago. He’d spent so many summers helping with harvest, but each year work had interfered until he arrived later and left earlier.

  Now here he was . . . only it hadn’t been by choice and he felt bad about that.

  So he drove himself.

  “Won’t get it all done in one day,” his grandfather came to tell him. “And you won’t get it done if you kill yourself.”

  “I’ll stop soon.” He paused to take off the straw hat his grandfather had provided and used a bandanna to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Had he ever sweat this much? “You go in for a bit and I will, too.”

  The older man hesitated, then nodded. “Allrecht. You’ll be right behind me?”

  “I will be. Tell Miriam I’m looking forward to some of her sun tea.”

  “Fannie Mae brought her monster cookies.”

  “Great. I used to love those.”
He rubbed his temple. Another headache was brewing—a bad one. And while he’d told his grandfather he was looking forward to a drink and cookie, the fact was his stomach was roiling.

  He turned back to the team of horses being used to harvest and wished they could use tractors like they used in some other Amish communities.

  “Let me take over for you,” Abraham said. “You’re pushing too hard your first day here.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “He’s right,” Samuel said. “We’re used to it. You need to take a break.”

  Mark started to protest, then realized he was seeing spots before his eyes. He waved his hand at them and frowned. He didn’t remember gnats being such a problem in the past. But not only didn’t they go away, they were multiplying in front of him, their buzzing sounding louder and louder in his ears.

  “Stupid bugs,” he complained, waving his hand at them. “Aren’t they bothering you?”

  “Bugs?”

  “Guess I’m going to have to get some bug spray.”

  He started to walk toward the farmhouse.

  And fell flat on his face in the dirt.

  Mark woke and found himself lying on the back porch of the farm house. Miriam’s face swam above him and something cool and wonderfully wet was being stroked over his hot face and wrists.

  “Miriam?”

  “Ya?”

  “What’s going on? What am I doing here?”

  “You don’t remember why you came to your grandfather’s farm? Fannie Mae, I think we need to call the doctor.”

  “No, no, I remember driving here. Why am I lying here on the porch?”

  “You fainted,” Fannie Mae said.

  “I did not!” he said, appalled. “I must have tripped.” He struggled to sit up, but the world spun. Limp, he lay back down.

  Miriam wiped his face with the cold, wet cloth. “Abraham and Samuel carried you here. As soon as you’re feeling a little better, they’ll help you inside to rest.”

  “They said they tried to get you to take a break,” Fannie Mae said tartly.

  “Don’t fuss at him when he’s feeling so poorly,” Miriam said.