While her mind searched for solutions, she and Elam continued milking the herd. By the time all eighty-two cows were milked, the sun shone brightly through the slats and the dirt-streaked windows. Once the stalls were empty again, she sterilized the milkers and buckets while Elam scraped the grates and cleaned the stalls. After scrubbing the bulk tank, she started spreading white lime sand onto the concrete floor. As soon as Elam joined her, she set the shovel aside and went to the mud sink. He could finish by himself.
When she turned to leave the wash area, Elam stood directly in her path. He searched her eyes the way he had when they were dating.
If she had the guts, she’d ask him what was going on between them. But it’d take so little to dismantle her will. She tried to step around him, but he moved in the same direction.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
He touched her cheek, sending both surprise and warmth through her.
She commanded her body to turn and walk away, demanded herself to break free of his spell, but she couldn’t budge. No matter what Bible verse she tried to grab, she wanted what stood before her. “I … I need to … go.”
As if the two of them were floating dust particles, they continued hanging in midair and yet moving toward each other. How many times had she dreamed of kissing him again? His lips met hers, and suddenly nothing existed but the feelings that ran between them.
She pushed him away, tears stinging her eyes. Her skin burned with embarrassment. “Get away from me, Elam.”
“I don’t want to,” he whispered. “What are we going to do?”
She knew how he felt. “You have to help me get out of here. Daed doesn’t want to let me go, but he’ll listen to you.”
He brushed a tear off her face, looking weary and sorry and trapped. “Okay.”
The door to the barn creaked open. “Sylvia? Elam?” Her sister’s hoarse voice sent alarm through her. Beckie’s brows furrowed as she looked from Sylvia to Elam. “What’s going on?”
Sylvia’s heart shattered into a hundred pieces. “I … I tripped, and he caught me.” It was a believable lie. Beckie often teased that, when Sylvia was tired, she had all the grace of a newborn calf. Guilt ate at her, and she no longer recognized any part of herself.
Coughing, Beckie grabbed a nearby wall for support.
Elam hurried to her, placed his arm around her, and guided her back toward the house.
Desperate for a moment alone, Sylvia went to the tack room and closed the door. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed, her whole body shaking.
Three
June
Shoving a thick packet of money into his pocket, Aaron left the small bank. He’d emptied his account of ten years’ worth of hard work and diligent saving. Even in his worst years, he’d never touched his savings account, and now he had something to show for all that time spent doing what he hated—dairy farming.
He crossed the parking lot to the hitching post, removed the leather reins, and mounted his horse. With the click of his tongue, he was on his way.
Hope tried to spring up inside him, but heavier realities overrode it. A feeling of griminess had taken up residence inside him long ago. His thoughts, emotions, and even the blood that pumped through his veins felt as layered in black soot as the rooftops and porches of homes near industrial smokestacks. He didn’t suppose he’d ever be free of it. But he had a plan that would bring as much joy as someone like him could expect.
He stopped in front of the appliance store where he worked, tethered his horse at the post, and went inside.
Aaron walked the narrow aisle, enjoying the business ideas pulsing through him. The cash in his pants pocket gave him a sense of power over his future. A smile tugged at his face. The idea of owning and operating this store fit who he was, and in spite of the weight of his past that he carried, he could see a good life ahead of him.
A middle-aged Old Order Amish couple stood at the sales counter. The man plunked cash into Leo’s hand while his wife wrote their address on the invoice so they could have the new wringer washer delivered.
A dusting of eagerness lifted his spirits. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been excited about anything. Owning this business felt more right than anything he’d ever done.
If he signed the papers and put down earnest money today, he could own the shop in about two and a half months. Well, he and the bank. Leo would still hold the note, but he’d retire come September, leaving Aaron as the proprietor. Aaron had to be ready to take over by then.
As he walked through the display area, the wooden floor creaked. Only natural light illuminated the room, and open windows were the sole source of ventilation. Leo wasn’t Plain, but he handled his business in a way that made the Plain folk feel right at home. There were living quarters above the store, large enough to house Aaron and his parents comfortably until he could afford better.
Thoughts of his parents dampened his mood. An Amish couple well past their prime with only one surviving child—who’d ever heard of such a thing? If his older sister hadn’t died last fall, and if his parents’ six other babies had survived, they would have other children to rely on. Aaron didn’t doubt he’d still be the black sheep of the family, but at least they’d have white sheep to help them. Instead they had only him.
And he wouldn’t let them down. Not again.
Shaking off the negative thoughts, he studied the many types of wringer washers, cookstoves, hot water heaters, and stoves for warming a home. Not one appliance in this store needed electricity. Depending on which sect of Amish or Mennonite the buyers were, they might use solar energy, coal, wood, battery, various types of gas, or diesel fuel. The store had some of those items in stock, and others could be ordered through a catalog.
Though Aaron had been working here for four months, he didn’t know much about running a store or about appliances. But he’d grown up on a dairy farm, and he knew how to work hard. Besides, he’d always been a quick study when his heart was in it. And his heart was definitely in this.
Leo shook hands with the customers, promised a delivery time, and told them good-bye. The bells on the door jangled as the couple left.
Aaron stepped up to the counter. “I have the earnest money, and I’m ready to sign the papers.”
While putting money into the register, Leo’s eyes lit up. He and Aaron had been talking about the possibility of this for at least eight weeks. “A man with a plan and money to back it up—I can’t argue with that. However, there’s one thing we haven’t talked about. My lawyer friend brought it up last night while he was drawing up the papers. A cosigner.”
Aaron found it hard to catch his next breath. “But …” He had no one who would cosign with him. “I’ve brought you more than the agreed-upon down payment, and once I take over, I’ll pay you each month from the money I make until I own the store outright. Isn’t that enough?”
“Well, it’s just prudent to have someone with good credit back you in case of default. You’re going home. Get your dad to sign it in front of a notary public, and we’ll be all set.”
A sick feeling crept into Aaron’s stomach. Money he could come up with. His Daed’s signature was another matter.
Leo came out from behind the counter. “Let’s go to my office and sign the papers between us, and I’ll give you the ones you need a cosigner on.”
After signing the papers, Aaron mounted his horse and began the ride back to the Better Path. Country stores lined the main street of the small community. The idea of town living sat well with him. He prayed that after he moved here, he’d never live on a farm again.
But first he had to convince his parents to sell and move with him.
Until he left home in January, they had no idea that he was addicted to alcohol and that he’d made a mess of his life along the way. He didn’t know how much they knew even now, except that he’d entered rehab five months ago. After being sober for a couple of months, he hadn’t returned home. Instead, he’d started working
at the appliance store and leading groups at the rehab center where he’d been living since arriving in Owl’s Perch.
But he’d realized that he could never truly move on until he acted like a responsible only son by making amends. He figured—no, he knew—that the best way to make up for the past and for his unwillingness to be a farmhand was to get his parents out of that money pit they called a dairy farm.
As his horse ambled toward the Better Path, the sun hung almost directly overhead. Fields were thick with tall, green hay that needed to be cut, dried, and baled for the first time this season. A second and probably a third time were sure to follow.
Farm work. It never ended. And no matter how hard farmers tried, they never got caught up.
Trying not to dread what lay ahead, he put his horse to pasture and went into the rehab housing unit.
He shoved clothes into his canvas bag. He liked the idea of leaving rehab. He was ready.
Well, maybe he was.
He’d certainly learned a good bit about his addiction and how to manage it.
Alcoholic. It had taken him months of rehab and counseling to accept that label. Adding the word recovering in front of it did nothing to lessen his embarrassment. But he had to face his past, even if his only goal now was to extract himself from it.
Someone tapped on his door.
“Kumm.”
Paul Waddell stepped inside the small room. “Hannah sent you these.” He held up a tin. “It has some of the leftover cookies from last night’s going-away tribute.”
“That’s really nice. Thanks.” Aaron set the canister on the bed before opening his nightstand and taking out the small stack of letters he’d received from Lena.
Lena—probably the only friend he had left or maybe ever had to begin with. She’d been the one who told him about this rehab facility. He hated the choices he’d made that caused him to come here, but checking himself in was the best decision he’d ever made.
Paul closed the door and sat in the reading chair beside the bed. “Today’s the day.”
“Ya.”
He’d never met a man like Paul—a straight shooter, untraditional, and so very patient. In fact, sometimes the breadth of Paul’s tolerance grated on Aaron’s nerves. His wife, Hannah, was still in nursing school, but she kept close tabs on everyone who went through the rehab program and even joined the meetings whenever it was family group session day, which took place once every three to four weeks.
There’d been six family sessions during Aaron’s time here. He’d invited his parents to every one, but they hadn’t come. When they didn’t answer a single letter he’d sent them, Paul sent formal invitations on the Better Path stationery, but he didn’t get a response either.
“How are you faring?” Paul asked.
“Good and bad, I guess.” Aaron moved to the dresser. “The good part is I just signed the papers and put down money on the appliance store.”
“You made a plan and followed through. I’ve seen that strong suit numerous times since you arrived here.”
“Unfortunately, I’m losing valuable training time in order to return to Dry Lake, a place I’m definitely not wanted. I’m aiming to be back mid-August, but as long as I’m in Owl’s Perch and ready to take over the shop by September first, I have nothing to worry about. That gives me at least eight weeks to do what I should be able to accomplish in four.”
“It could be tougher than you expect.”
Daed had always claimed the farm was his dream, but surely he’d had his fill of it by now. Despite how Aaron’s parents felt about him, he was confident they’d jump at selling the old place and join him in becoming merchants in Owl’s Perch. They just needed to warm up to the idea. It would certainly be easier to make a living here.
Aaron put the last of his things into the backpack. He slung the strap over his shoulder and picked up the tin. “I could use a ride to the bus station.”
Wiping sweat from her brow and loosening the top buttons on her shirt, Sylvia moved to the open hayloft doors, hoping to feel even a smidgen of breeze on the hot June day. The Blank farm stretched out before her on all sides, and although fence lines divided one pasture from another, no one else’s property was in sight.
Another two hours of work in this sauna known as a hayloft and she’d have accomplished her goal. Since breakfast she’d tossed, dragged, and toted bales of hay to one side and straw to the other—all in hopes of making it easier to get at whichever one she needed.
What would possess someone to intermix the two so carelessly?
She leaned against the doorframe, studying the beautiful wild flowers and rolling fields where a contented herd grazed.
Her cows. She didn’t own them, of course, but Michael Blank had hired her to tend to them. He trusted her, and she hadn’t let him down. When she arrived here four months ago, the herd was in dire need of diligent care. The overall health of the cows matched their milk production—poor. But after working endlessly, she had good reasons to bask in her accomplishments.
She wished it were possible to feel joy again, but she didn’t believe she deserved to be happy. Even contentment was beyond reach. She hadn’t been able to resist Elam, and the weight of her sin lay heavily upon her. Finding peace was impossible, even with her new start. She alone was responsible for her actions. She knew it. God knew it.
She shoved her hands into her pockets. Elam’s life went on as it always had, but she’d had to give up everything.
When her Daed realized he couldn’t talk her out of leaving home, he warned her she’d be giving up her portion of the farm and all the money he’d put back as a salary for her over the years. He even said she couldn’t write to her sisters, nor would he allow them to write her.
She had left anyway. No one but Elam would ever know why.
Thoughts of home flooded her. She missed her sisters most of all. Any sense of accomplishment disappeared as heaviness tightened its grip. If she thought it would do any good, she’d pray for relief.
Unfortunately, working like an ox came easier than whispering a simple prayer. In the distance the treetops swayed as the humid air stirred, and she wondered if she’d ever pray again. She had called out to God after her adulterous kiss with her sister’s husband, but all she could manage was to beg for forgiveness. God’s silence bore down on her without relief, and she’d given up praying altogether. She had hope for this farm, but she had no peace inside her, and she missed it.
By the time she milked the cows tonight and tended to the barn, she’d barely be able to lift her feet and walk to her cabin. Freedom to start anew came with a physically exhausting price. If she could sleep at night, it’d help. She would take a long bath before bed tonight, hoping she’d be able to clear her mind and heart.
Soft mews caught her attention, pulling her back to the present. She climbed over several bales of undisturbed straw and shifted a few out of the way before she spotted four young kittens that appeared to be about three weeks old. The mother was nowhere to be seen, but by the look of things, she’d been taking good care of her litter.
Sylvia sat among the bales of hay and pulled the kittens into her lap, stroking each one, hoping to make them more people-friendly than their wild mother. If she had any money, she’d get them fixed and teach them to trust humans. Every barn needed good mice catchers, but a little effort could keep them from being feral hunters.
After several minutes she left the kittens sleeping in the hay and headed for her cabin. It was run-down and small, but each evening as she trudged back to it, the last rays of golden sunlight enveloped it, as if promising that one day the ache inside her would ease.
Until then she found solace in her new home here with Michael and Dora Blank.
Four
Cara studied the Pennsylvania Dutch phrase in the notebook before her, wishing it made sense. The preacher and his wife sat across the kitchen table from her. They’d invited her to come to their home twice a week between now and the end of summer as th
eir gift to help her learn the language. Cara needed to know a little German and a fair amount of Pennsylvania Dutch, and she had serious concerns whether she’d ever get the hang of either of them. But if she didn’t, she had no chance of receiving the church leaders’ approval to marry Ephraim come fall.
“I don’t know.” She closed the book and pushed it away. “Male, female, child, adult, singular, plural—nearly every word changes based on who is being spoken to. I can’t do this.”
Preacher Alvin reopened the book and set it in front of her. He tapped it with his rough hands. “Try again.”
His patience and his confidence in her were comforting. She pulled the notebook closer. Studying the phrase again and comparing it with other words, she finally understood. “So Gott segen dich is used when the person is talking to only one other person, and Gott segen eich is used when the person is talking to at least two people, right?”
“Gut, Cara.” Esther’s weathered cheeks rose slightly when she smiled. “What do the phrases mean?”
“Both mean ‘God bless you.’ ”
“Wunderbaar.” Esther had been teaching German to Amish young people for nearly fifteen years, but this was her first time to teach Pennsylvania Dutch. She held up a flashcard. “Saage es, Cara.”
“You said, ‘Say it.’ ”
“Gut.”
Cara stared at the image of an infant on the card. “Bobbeli.”
“Gut.” Esther held up another hand-drawn card, this time of a horse.
Cara tapped her pencil on the table. “Langsam?”
Esther smiled. “Letz.”
Wrong. Cara definitely knew the meaning and pronunciation of that word.
“Langsam means ‘slow.’ It could be a slow one of these, I suppose.”
“Horse … Oh, Gaule.”
“Gut.” Esther put the cards on the table. “Our time’s up for today. You’re doing fine.”
“Denki, Esther.” Cara closed her notebook. “But I know how I’m doing, and fine isn’t the word for it.”
The Harvest of Grace Page 4
