“Oh, Elsie!” Rachel came around the counter and hugged her friend.
“It’s going to be a busy wedding season,” Elsie said as she patted Rachel’s back.
I hope so. Now that she had let her hopes out of the bag, Rachel worried that it would never happen. What if James kept pushing her further and further away?
Although she knew her friend would understand, she couldn’t share her doubts with Elsie. To say the words … that would give them too much power. She had to stay positive and prayerful.
She covered Elsie’s hand with hers and held tight. “Looks like you and I are heading down the same road.”
It was late Tuesday afternoon when Shandell stacked the last of the wood under the lean-to and grinned. Anyone who knew her in Baltimore would be shocked at how well she’d adjusted to this country life, chopping wood, building fires, and heating water on a stove. Why, she was a real nature girl, just like the reality show about those city slicker girls sent to a farm.
She could imagine a TV crew following her as she drew water from the creek and carried it up the bank of the ravine. The camera would catch the smile on her face as she swung the ax over her shoulder and hacked into a log.
She wiped her hands on her jeans and winced. Each hand had a raw red spot where a blister was forming. That was the downside of working with your hands. She would admit that she missed her coffee from Starbucks, but she would hold up her dead cell phone and attest to the fact that you really get a chance to think about things when you’re not busy with texts and calls, tweets and Instagram messages all day.
“And don’t forget to stow the ax under cover,” she said aloud to the imaginary film crew, parroting the information the Amish guy had told her. She slid the ax into a leather sleeve and tucked it in the corner of the woodpile. “You don’t want the blade to get wet and rusty. That will make your job even harder.” Her friends would hate to be photographed in dirty clothes without any makeup, but none of that stuff mattered to Shandell right now. She was Nature Girl, surviving in the woods, all on her own!
Oh, there were a few things missing from her Nature Girl existence. The trek to the outhouse was a little creepy after dark, and the night wind whistled through the tiny shack. She missed the convenience of grabbing an apple or a yogurt from the fridge at home, and she kicked herself for not bringing ramen noodles or mac and cheese to make on the stove. Food would be an issue if she was planning to stay here for more than a few days. But in a couple of days she would be headed home. And now that she had shaken Gary off her trail, well, this was sort of like a little woodsy retreat, a time to think about all the stuff she kept tamped down in the back of her mind.
Sinking onto the tree stump, she stared at the dense clouds over the hills, lumpy as mashed potatoes. They caught the light of the setting sun in a purple and orange glow, pretty as a postcard.
When was the last time she had noticed a sunset? All this Nature Girl stuff was not part of her life in Baltimore. Nope. Most days when the sun set, she was holed up in Ryan’s garage, playing pinochle or hearts or Ping-Pong. Wow … she’d been hanging there every single day in the past few months. What had begun as a way to avoid going home to Phil and the cloud of negativity that lingered over him had turned into a daily habit. In the beginning, she had sort of been keeping Kylie company, because Kylie liked Ryan but didn’t think it was cool to be the only girl hanging in the garage with Ryan and Gary. And their friend Lucia had come along, so it was the five of them most days. Lucia had always lied to her parents, saying she was over at Kylie’s house, because her father was a cop and he was really strict about where she could go and whom she could see. Shandell used to think Lucia’s father was ridiculous, controlling his daughter’s life. Now she could see that he was just concerned about his daughter; Mr. Bianco didn’t want Lucia to make a mistake that would hurt her future.
The way I did?
She soothed the tender spot on one hand with her fingertips and pressed her lips together in resolve. She wasn’t going to beat herself up about her mistakes anymore. The new Shandell, Nature Girl, was all about moving on. Surviving. Enjoying a sunset and a warm fire and the homemade biscuits James had brought her. She still had one left—a reserve that she was saving for dinner.
With one last glance at the replenished woodpile, she headed back around to the shack entrance. It would be dark soon, and she wanted to take advantage of the natural light to do a little reading in her book. She had learned that the light of the fire was too weak for reading, and she thought it best to save the kerosene lantern for an emergency. Although James had generously allowed her to stay here, she didn’t want to take more than she needed. It would be good to get home, where she didn’t have to worry about taking anything. As she carried a plastic chair outside to the light, she looked forward to the time when she could just turn on the light beside her bed and read day or night.
In a chair propped on the level ground beside the shack, she flipped through the colorful children’s book, landing on a page with an illustration of Jesus sleeping on a pallet that resembled her red sleeping bag. That brought a smile to her face. It was always good to remember that Jesus had walked on this earth, just like everyone else.
The Bible story told about Jesus falling asleep on a boat under a peaceful, starry sky. Suddenly, the winds shifted and a terrible storm blew in. Rain dashed against the boat, which was tossed in the sea. When the frightened men on the boat woke him, Jesus ordered the wind and waves to stop. And just like that, the storm subsided.
Shandell hugged the open book to her chest, and turned to the heavy clouds over the purple hills. Was a storm on its way? When she was a kid, thunder and lightning had scared her. Many a night she’d fled her room for the safety of her parents’ bed, where Mom would hold the covers down for Shandell to dive in between her parents.
“It’s just a storm, Shanny,” Dad would say, rubbing her shoulder.
And in the safety of that big bed, sandwiched between her parents, Shandell always found comfort and sleep.
“Hallo?”
She turned toward the friendly voice and saw James rolling down the path. “Hey there. I was just wondering if it was going to rain.”
“Looks like it. From the way the wind shifted, I’d say we’re due for a thunderstorm.”
“Aren’t you worried about being out in the open?” she asked. “You could get struck by lightning.”
“Mmm.” His dark eyes narrowed as he stared at the clouds over the foothills. “It’s still a ways off.” He nodded toward her. “What’s that book you’re reading?”
Her face warm with embarrassment, Shandell closed the book. “It’s sort of babyish. A silly book, really. Just some Bible stories for kids.”
“Doesn’t sound silly to me.” He held out one hand. “Let’s have a look.”
She held tight to the book, staring at its cover illustration of Jesus surrounded by a field of happy white sheep. Gary would have shredded her to ribbons if he’d seen her reading it, but she suspected that James would be more respectful. She handed it over.
“Bedtime Bible Stories? We have books like this at home.” His brows rose, his interest obvious as he leafed through it. “A very good book. I know someone who would like the pictures, so full of color.”
Relief eased her worries as he focused on the table of contents.
“Noah and the Ark. God’s Promise. Make Me a Fisher of Men. The Lost Sheep.” He nodded. “These are good stories. So why are you embarrassed? Just because the stories are written for children, it doesn’t take the truth away from Gott’s word.”
He pronounced “God” with a hard accent—a sign of his Amish culture, she supposed. “You’re right,” she admitted. “It’s just that I’ve had the book since I was really little. My dad used to read the stories to me, and now that he’s gone … I don’t know. It’s my only real keepsake of him.”
He nodded, handing the book back to her. “A good keepsake. But the best memories are in your he
art, ya?” He pressed two fingers to his chest, and she wondered about the memories held tight inside him, like a vault of short, poignant films that no one but James could understand or savor.
“Memories of the heart, huh? That’s a pretty deep concept.”
“Nay.” He brushed the notion away with a swipe of one hand. “It’s just the way Gott made us.” There was neither judgment nor praise in his voice, just the simple peace of a man who knew he was on solid ground. “Before I forget, I brought you something to eat.”
From the side pocket of his wheelchair he produced a parcel of food covered in silver foil. It was heavy and still warm as she took it from him, and the scent made her mouth water. “Fried chicken?”
“Mamm made it for dinner. I had to get help from my brother Mark to snitch some away.” He also handed her a jar of peaches and honey, a napkin with fat slabs of fresh-baked bread, a thermos of milk, and a warm plastic container of baked beans.
“This is a lot of food, and it smells delish. Thank you so much!” Her arms felt heavy and her stomach suddenly ached with hunger. Carefully, she set the food on the plastic chair. “Do you want some chicken now?”
Already James was maneuvering his chair around, pointing to the house. “I have to get back. I don’t want to be late for supper, and it’s best to be ahead of that storm.”
“Well, I really appreciate you letting me stay.” As she walked alongside him down the path, she pressed her fingertips to her blisters. It hurt, but it was a good pain, a sign of accomplishment. “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, but this is turning out to be a really special time for me. I mean, people would pay big money for this kind of peace and quiet.”
“Why would they want to do that? If they stop the noise, the silence is free.”
“That’s true.” But it wasn’t about silence; there was a certain serenity out here, an inner peace that involved more than lack of noise. Was James aware of that, or was it something so second nature to him that he didn’t see it? “Thanks again for bringing the food out. It’s nice to have contact with another human being, but don’t you worry that your family will get suspicious with you coming all the way out here?”
“This is what I do.” He shook his head. “I come out here almost every day. It’s part of my exercise routine. Besides, these rows of trees are my home. This is where I belong.”
Shandell wished she knew where she belonged. She had a million other questions for him. She wondered why he didn’t have a beard like other Amish men. She was curious about the clothes the Amish wore, especially those crisp linen bonnets worn by the girls. But she knew James had to get back to beat the storm, and she needed to peel off before she was in plain sight. Beyond the scrub and the thin line of trees, she could see where the path widened into a dirt road that ran alongside the prim, neat rows of trees. Time to let James go on his own.
“I’d better turn back. We don’t want anyone to spot me. See you tomorrow?”
“I reckon.” He wheeled himself ahead without looking back at her, but she didn’t take offense. The Amish didn’t dwell on formal manners or good-byes, but when it came to good deeds? From what Shandell had seen, they were first in line.
As James rolled toward home, he imagined himself riding a wave that carried him along to a safe shore, pushed by the hand of Gott, the same mighty hand that once parted the Red Sea for Moses and Gott’s followers.
The wave had begun gathering this morning when Rachel had appeared on the front porch, telling him that she would be the one to drive him into town. Her blue eyes had seemed cool, even stern, but he could see her hesitance in the way her hands worried the pins of her white apron. And then, in that moment, he knew, and his heart sang.
He hadn’t lost her, after all. Despite his attempts to push her away, to cut her loose and let her swim off like a glittering fish, she simply swam right back to him.
Within minutes of her arrival on the porch, they were talking and sharing stories like always. There seemed to be no wall between them as they traveled the road to Paradise. More than once, James had felt the urge to let his hand drift toward her, to touch her arm or brush against her leg. How he longed to pull her into his arms once again!
But he had resisted, reminding himself that he was still not the complete man she deserved to have as a husband. There was hope—that strong white dove, beating its wings steadily—but it had not landed. It had barely taken flight.
And then, the treatment. Gott be praised! The bath of electricity was bringing nerves and muscles in his legs to life again. None of the docs or technicians at the clinic had asked about results, and he had kept this news to himself. “We’ll monitor our progress after seven days,” Doc Finley had told him. But James wasn’t sure he could wait that long to put his legs to the test. Tomorrow, if these pins and needles and muscle contractions kept happening, he was going to speak up.
Even the bristly concern over the Englisher girl in the sugar shack had not whittled down his enthusiasm. Shandell’s attachment to the book of Bible stories had sweetened his view of her, and the more he talked with her, the more he knew in his heart that Gott had meant him to help her.
The Almighty didn’t make mistakes. Gott had put Shandell in James’s path for a reason, and James was sticking by his decision to help her.
He was still a good five minutes from the porch when the rain began to fall—fat, hard drops that pelted his hat and shoulders.
Let it rain, he thought, savoring the smell of damp earth and wet leaves. Let Gott’s love rain down on me.
At the supper table, James bowed his head for the silent prayer of thanks. There was a tension around the table, thick as Mamm’s beef stew. Sixteen-year-old Matt kept his gaze down on his plate, and Peter was hunched over as if that might make him harder to see. Luke, Hannah, Lovina, Mark, and Verena were uncharacteristically silent as they helped Mamm serve and took their places at the table. After her bit of matchmaking, James would have thought Mamm would be pleased that he and Rachel had returned home today talking and laughing.
James wondered if Dat was still sore about him going into Paradise for the treatments. It seemed to James that his father thought he would simply give up, once Dat had handed down the rules that made the journey so difficult.
He waited for Dat to start the conversation, an unspoken supper tradition among Amish families. Biting through the crisp skin of a drumstick, James watched as Dat tucked into his mashed potatoes, then shot a hard look toward Peter and Matt. Those two were the wild ones of the family, but Peter usually got the brunt of disapproval on account of him being older.
“Tomorrow is another day,” Dat said. “But there aren’t enough hours in the day to make up for neglected chores.” His dark brows drew together. “Playing baseball while there’s much work to be done?”
James blinked. This was news to him.
“But Dat, when you told us to help hoe and reseed the Yoders’ spinach, you said it would take all morning and most of the afternoon,” Matt said, his eyes lowered respectfully.
“Ya. But did I tell you to spend the rest of the day playing baseball with the Yoder boys?”
So that was the reason for the discomfort that hung over the supper table. James chewed slowly, relieved that he wasn’t involved.
“That was only because we finished the field work early,” Peter explained.
“Peter.” Dat held a piece of chicken aloft. “You’re nineteen. You know better than that.”
“Did you fix the field first?” Mark asked. The boy obviously felt responsible for his horse’s damage to the Yoders’ spinach. “Is it hoed and planted?”
“It’s all done.” Matt nodded reassuringly. “Emanuel Yoder said we did a right good job. And before we knew it, Leah was setting out a dinner for us.”
“And then when Manny and Steven needed two more for a game …” Peter shrugged.
“We’ll talk no more about it,” Dat said. “The more pressing matter is when are we going to get to the fertilizin
g? We’re more than halfway through April and Luke tells me it’s barely been started.”
“What’s that?” With a stab of alarm, James turned to Luke. “I’ve told you for weeks that April is the month for fertilizing … everything but—”
“The peach trees,” Luke finished for him. “I know, you’ve said it enough times. But without you leading the way, it’s just not getting done.”
James knew that it was hard to corral Peter and Matt. He knew that work in the orchard could be tedious. But his brothers didn’t seem to understand what was at stake: the health of the trees, the quality of the fruit, the future of this land that had been in their family for generations.
James’s sisters, who had watched the scolding of their brothers in silence, now piped in.
“I can help in the orchard,” Hannah said, her lips shiny with oil from the chicken.
“Me, too,” eleven-year-old Lovina agreed. “I’m not that tall, but I can climb a ladder.”
“And you can count me in, if Mamm can spare me in the house,” Verena said.
“Of course I can.”
“That’s all good, but it may be too little too late,” Dat said. “I have half a mind to hire someone on through the harvest. Old Jacob knows a man who used to run a fruit farm up in Lebanon Valley. He’s living with his children now in Paradise. A man like that would prove mighty helpful to all.”
“No!” The objection was out before James could temper his reaction, but he couldn’t sit here and follow along like a trusting sheep while his father hired a man to replace him. All eyes were upon him as he tried to explain. “We don’t need to bring in an outsider. We can get it done, I know we can. Besides, it would cost us money to do a job that’s always been done by this family.”
“I don’t want it any more than you, James, but there’s a lot at stake here.” Dat tossed a bone onto his plate and scanned the table with stern eyes. “Something’s got to change, even if it means me stepping away from the business end to be a foreman.”
A Simple Hope Page 15
