The Harvest of Grace

by Cindy Woodsmall

  As he pulled into a parking space in front of Frani’s trailer, a young woman with a fussy baby on her hip came outside. “Well!” the girl yelled.

  “Home sweet home.” Frani sighed. “Thanks a lot, Aaron. Now that my sister knows I’m here, I’m stuck.” She held out her hand for the keys.

  “I’m not walking home for the second time tonight. I’ll park your car in the usual spot and put the keys under the mat.”

  “I’ll have to walk that far to get my car back?”

  “That’s right. You need help getting inside?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Get some sleep, Frani. We’ll talk after you’re sober.”

  She got out, taking her beer with her.

  He left, determined to board up that cabin tonight. Since his parents were out for the evening, it was a perfect time to kick out anyone in it and to nail the shutters closed.

  Once back at the house, he went to the pegs that lined the wall beside the back door. His tool belt still hung there, just as it had before he went away. Had his parents held on to it for him, hoping he’d return? Or had they simply not bothered to move his stuff?

  He grabbed the lantern, lit it, and headed toward the path that led to the cabin. The trail was much clearer than when he’d left five months ago. Even if his parents remembered this cabin was here, they had no need to go back and forth from the cabin to their house or the barn. Either vagabonds or old drinking buddies were using it. Whatever the case, they had to go.

  He climbed the two wooden steps to the cabin’s front door and turned the knob. Locked. The place was dark, so he set the lantern on the porch floor, withdrew his hammer from his tool belt, and tapped on a window-pane in the door. The ancient glass shattered. He reached inside, twisted the deadbolt, and opened the door, taking the lantern in with him.

  Frani was right. The place showed no signs of the mess he’d left. No empty beer bottles or pizza boxes scattered about. Instead, three brown cardboard boxes sat in a neat row on the floor along the edge of the wall. He pushed one with his foot. It had contents. Other than the boxes, the rooms were as bare as ever. Except for the trash being picked up, nothing seemed different … until he noticed the table beside the front door.

  Flowers? Tiny blossoms, scrunched together and lying on a table. They reminded him of the ones his sister used to pick as a young girl and give to their mother. The depth of Mamm’s loss hit him again, and he drew a deep breath.

  An aroma of gardenias surrounded him, but the smell hadn’t come from the scrawny, uprooted plants. Faint sounds of water dripping echoed against the quietness. He followed the noise, expecting to find a leaky faucet or broken water pipe.

  As he drew closer to the bathroom, he noticed reflections on the hallway floor, apparently from candlelight flickering in the next room. The door to the bathroom stood ajar about two inches. He eased it open. A tendril of black smoke looped from an almost used-up candle. Bubbles, mounds of them, wavered in the tub as if someone had been there moments earlier.

  He swung the lantern to cast light into the hallway behind him, making sure he wasn’t about to get clobbered by a stranger. He saw no one.

  Water swooshed, jerking his attention back to the bathroom. A woman’s head and shoulders slowly came out of the water. She leaned back against the tub, wringing water from her long, black hair.

  It seemed that she hadn’t heard the glass shattering or him coming inside. He took a step back, aiming to get out of the cabin before he startled her or before her husband showed up. As he slowly took another step backward, the floorboard creaked.

  She screamed. Not a dainty, feminine scream or even a frightened one. She was mad.

  He hurried through the living room. Almost at the front door, he tripped over something. His kerosene lantern went one way and his hammer the other. His palms landed in broken glass, sending pain through him. He jumped to his feet, grabbed a couch cushion, and used it to douse the burning wick from the broken lantern.

  The woman bounded out of the bathroom, holding the puny candle and wearing a housecoat … his housecoat. The one his mother had made for him as a Christmas present a few years back. She stood about five and a half feet tall and looked quite thin under that oversized housecoat.

  She picked up his hammer and threatened to throw it at him. “I’ve told all of you before. Get out of my house!”

  “Don’t throw that. And this is not your house, lady.”

  She winged the hammer at him full force, and he jumped out of the way, but the tool still smacked him in the knee. “Ouch!” He rubbed his leg. “You’re the one who’s trespassing!”

  “Why don’t you idiots try coming up with a new line? I’m tired of that one.”

  “This is my place.”

  “Yours? Really.” Her candle sputtered out. In the darkness she grabbed what sounded like a box of matches and struck one. She held it up toward him and gave him an unfriendly once-over. “That makes you Aaron Blank, I suppose.”

  “Ya.” He wiped his slightly bleeding palm down a pant leg and then held out his hand. She didn’t take it.

  “Your Daed said you wouldn’t be back.”

  “Nonetheless, here I am.”

  She tilted the match closer to him as if he might be a vision. “Great. This is just great.” She yelped and slung the match from her. Within a few seconds, she’d lit another one. She moved to a gas pole lamp mounted on wheels that stood in the corner. After lighting it, she glared back at him. “Of all the deadbeats I’ve had to deal with—people removing the screens and crawling through the windows or poking screwdrivers through the screen door and letting themselves in even while I’m standing in plain sight—none of them did this kind of damage.” She picked up the couch cushion and sniffed it. “Kerosene,” she mumbled and tossed it back onto the floor.

  Aaron glanced at the mess he’d made. It wasn’t that bad. “Why did you say this is your home?”

  Ignoring him, she went into the other room. When she returned, she had on shoes. She grabbed the kerosene-soaked couch cushion, and glass crunched under her soles as she walked to the front door and tossed the cushion outside. “Obviously, you haven’t spoken to your parents about the transformation of this place from hangout to homestead.”

  “They know I used this place as a hangout?”

  “Sure. And a lot more. Your Daed caught some of your friends here one night soon after you left, and they filled him in on everything.”

  Aaron shuddered to think of all she must have heard about him.

  The wheels on the gas pole lamp clattered as she moved the light closer to study him. She didn’t say it, but he clearly heard her: Drunken louse!

  “And you have their permission to live here?”

  “This is a dairy farm. It’s not unusual to offer a place to live in exchange for help.” She went back into the kitchen.

  He picked up the remains of his lantern. “I should be going. You can tell your husband I’ll have the glass in the door replaced.”

  She returned with a broom. The image seemed fitting. All she needed to do was climb aboard and ride it.

  “If I were a man, would you assume I had a wife?”

  “Well … no. But you said …” He tried to think of exactly what she’d said that made him think she was married. “I guess I thought. I mean, Daed would not hire just a woman to help with the farm work.”

  “Why? Because just a woman would do a worse job than you did?”

  “You don’t have to get ugly about it. I know I’m no dairy farmer.” Aaron raised his hands. “I realize I got your dander up, intruding on you like I did. And rightly so. But can we call a truce?” He moved to the table and lifted the flowers toward her. “Please?”

  She gave a disgusted sigh mixed with a faint laugh. “You’re going to offer me wilted weeds that I picked myself?”

  He shrugged.

  “Fine.” She took the pitiful-looking things. “Since you’re not a dairy farmer, we shouldn’t cross paths whil
e I’m doing my job.”

  “You’d have to take up that request with my Daed. The prodigal son isn’t supposed to come home unwilling to work for his meals and a place to sleep.”

  “Michael and I have an agreement. No one comes into the barn during milking times unless I’ve invited them.”

  “Then we don’t have a problem.” He went to the door. “I’ll get the glass fixed tomorrow. Wait. Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’ll get it fixed Monday.”

  “No need. But thank you anyway.”

  “I really think I should.” He put a bloody hand on his aching leg. “Mostly as a way to ward off any would-be trespassers. It’ll protect them.”

  He was fairly sure he saw a smile underneath her obvious frustration.

  “Any chance you know where my parents are?”

  “They said they were going to Abner Mast’s for the evening. Some kind of fellowship dinner’s taking place there tonight.”

  “Okay. Denki. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  He wondered if she milked the herd by herself, but he didn’t dare ask. If all his father had for help was a girl, talking his folks into selling the farm would be easier than he’d imagined.

  Six

  Aaron jolted awake and jumped off the couch. Sunlight filled the room, as did the sounds of his mother making breakfast. A familiar ache moved inside him. He’d tried to wait up for them last night. Before nodding off, he’d left a note on his Mamm’s pillow, telling them he was home and asking them to wake him when they got back.

  They hadn’t, so he prayed for the right words and walked into the kitchen. Only Mamm was in the room.

  She turned to see him, but no smile crossed her face, and she didn’t open her arms to hug him.

  “I’m sorry, Mamm.”

  She pulled three plates out of the cabinet and set them on the table. “You should be.” She backed away from him. “How could you just disappear like that? Your sister … died. And we needed you.”

  He pulled out a chair and sat. “I know. But I couldn’t help anybody.”

  “I didn’t even know you had a drinking problem until—”

  “I’m better now.” Aaron wondered if either of his parents had even opened the letters he’d sent them while in rehab.

  His Daed came downstairs, wearing his Sunday best. He walked stiffly past Aaron without more than a glance at him and took his place at the head of the table. Mamm set a cup of coffee in front of him.

  “Am I supposed to be honored you’ve returned?” his Daed asked.

  “No. But I’d be honored if you’d hear me out.”

  His Daed looked at him directly for the first time. “Not on the Lord’s Day.”

  “Tomorrow, then?”

  Daed shrugged. “You will ask for forgiveness, and I will have no choice but to give it. But I can’t imagine that you have anything else to say that I’ll find useful.”

  His mother set a cup of coffee in front of Aaron and trailed her hand across his shoulders before taking her seat. It wasn’t much in the way of affection, but it was better than her reaction a few minutes ago.

  They bowed for the silent prayer. Not a word was spoken while they ate, not even an invitation for Aaron to join them for church. Did they not want the community to know he’d returned?

  After eating very little, Daed rose. “I’ll get the rig.”

  Mamm put the dishes in the sink and wiped off the table. That’s all the cleaning the kitchen would get on a Sunday. “There’s leftovers in the refrigerator for your lunch. It’s not much.”

  “It’ll be plenty.”

  A weak smile crossed her lips. “If you were to put on Sunday clothes and get in the buggy, he wouldn’t throw you out.”

  “Denki, Mamm. But it’d be best if I wait until next time.” Aaron wasn’t ready to face everyone just yet.

  She left the house, and Aaron sat back in his chair. The sounds of the horse and buggy going down the long driveway slowly faded.

  “Home sweet home.” He mumbled the words sarcastically, but he’d known coming back would be tough. He’d embarrassed his parents deeply and hurt them twice as much.

  He intertwined his fingers, trying to find words to pray for them and himself, but he only heard the echo of his parents’ silence.

  A clanging sound came from the barn, drawing him to the window. His knee ached where that woman had hit him with his hammer.

  About half the herd stood outside the milking parlor, banging their heads on the metal gate, wanting in. Surely his dad and the girl had milked the cows before church. Was that a person’s shadow in the barn? He hustled out the door, trying to ignore the twinge in his knee.

  Once inside the barn, he noticed the line of cows in the milking stalls.

  The woman from last night stood beside a cow, humming. Who hummed while milking?

  Her black hair was loosely braided and hanging down one shoulder, but she wore a prayer Kapp. She couldn’t be Amish. No way. She had on men’s pants, a shirt, and suspenders—all of it looked like his clothes from when he was a scrawny teen. The pant legs stopped an inch or two above her ankles. He guessed she was his age. He had a hundred questions for her, and he intended to ask every one of them before leaving the barn.

  She spotted him and nodded. “Aaron.” Her smooth tone held a degree of politeness.

  “I heard a racket.”

  “It’s just me and the cows.”

  “And you are?”

  She paused. “Oh. I assumed Michael had told you.” She wiped her hand down a pant leg. “I’m Sylvia.”

  He shook her hand, caught off balance by her effort to be nice.

  “You agreed last night not to trespass in the barn when I’m working, remember?”

  “Of course I remember. I wasn’t drunk.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “If you say so.”

  “I say so.” He took the hose and rinsed the next cow’s udder.

  She tucked loose hair behind her ear. “I was hoping you and I wouldn’t have to argue anymore.” Her calm manner made her seem like a different person from the one he’d argued with last night.

  “I know how you feel. You made that clear.” But he wanted answers. The best approach was probably to avoid being too personal too quickly, so he’d start out talking to her about the obvious thing—milking cows by herself on a Sunday morning. “Daed went to church this morning, so I guess Sundays are your day to milk alone.”

  She got the milk flowing with little effort. After dipping the cow’s teats in the iodine solution and wiping them off, she attached the milkers. “Alone is the key word.”

  He’d worked by himself on Sundays a hundred times in order to avoid attending church, and he wondered if that was her reason too. “Nope. Sunday is the key word.”

  She rubbed her forehead, probably trying to figure out how to get rid of him.

  He adjusted the pressure on the nozzle. “Daed was strong enough today to help milk cows. The two of you could have been done in plenty of time for church, but instead you’re here, and he’s gone.”

  The taut lines in her face told him a couple of things. One, he was right about Sunday being the key word. Two, she was a fairly easy read. He wasn’t particularly good at reading people, at least he didn’t think so, but this woman spoke loudly without saying a word.

  “Look, I know every evasion tactic when it comes to avoiding church. You don’t want to go? No one gets that more than I do. But I’m not leaving you with this herd to milk by yourself. No one has to know I helped. When we’re done, you can go have an uninterrupted bubble bath.”

  She shook her head. “Can’t you just respect my wishes?”

  “Not today.” He went down the line, preparing each cow. When his father’s arthritis kicked up, Aaron had been expected to run the farm without anyone’s help. His Daed shouldn’t ask that of someone outside the family, and Aaron wouldn’t allow it.

  He pointed at her outfit. “Are you Amish? Or did you borrow that prayer Kapp like you
borrowed my old clothes?”

  “I was raised Amish, just like you. Much to my parents’ disappointment, I haven’t joined the faith.”

  “I get that. So, Sylvia, since we’ve established that you’re Amish and that you avoid attending church, how many visits have you received from the local church leaders?”

  “A few.”

  “Only a few?”

  “Preacher Alvin told me about a woman named Cara that the church leaders have been dealing with. They feel they handled her situation too strictly and were unfair to her, so I’m reaping the benefits.”

  They worked side by side for a good fifteen minutes in complete silence. She refilled the troughs with feed, getting ready for the next group. “Isn’t there somewhere else you’d rather be?”

  He’d go see Frani later today and talk to her about trying to get clean. He figured he’d need to repeat that conversation numerous times before she began to hear him. But even if she was up, she’d have a monstrous hangover.

  “Nope.”

  “Why come back now?”

  He paused, unsure what to say. He couldn’t discuss his plan until he’d revealed it to his parents, and they weren’t ready to hear it yet. He shrugged. “It’s home.”

  She stopped and stared at him. “You’re here to stay?”

  “It’s complicated. I just … Actually, I’m not sure it concerns you.”

  “You’re right. It was rude of me to ask.”

  He couldn’t figure her out. The agitation between them was like two male cats squaring off, yet she spoke softly and seemed determined to be nice.

  “Tell me about yourself. I’ve never heard of a woman running part of a farm on her own.”

  “Me either.”

  “But.” He elongated the word.

  “Your Daed needed help, and I needed the work.”