The Harvest of Grace

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Begreiflich meant “easy.”

  Yeah, right.

  Ada set a cup of coffee and a slice of pie in front of her. “I heard that sigh. Maybe this will help.”

  Through the kitchen window, Cara saw Deborah hanging laundry on the line. Cara’s eight-year-old daughter, Lori, chased her dog, Better Days, with a hose, and he in turn chased her. Cara removed her prayer Kapp and the rubber band holding back her rather short ponytail. She ran her fingers through her hair. “How am I ever going to learn this?”

  Ada took a seat. “Well, the good news is the church leaders want you to pass. So they’re not going to do any nitpicking.”

  “But I’m tired of sitting through services that make no sense, though I do like Ephraim explaining it all later in the day. Why is learning Pennsylvania Dutch so hard?”

  “You’ve only been here a little more than a year, Cara. And look at all you’ve learned. You’ve been focusing on the heart of matters. Ya?”

  “It’s hard to believe I’m the same person I used to be. But if I’m honest with myself about all the garbage I still carry, I can’t believe how far I have to go.”

  “You’ll get there, dear, because you’re in love.”

  “So much so it’s almost sickening.” Cara chuckled. “But for some reason I can’t manage to tell Ephraim how I really feel. I beat around the bush and make wisecracks.”

  “I think he knows. Loving and gentle words don’t come easy for you. They don’t come easy for me either.”

  “You say lots of loving things to Deborah and me.”

  Ada sipped her coffee. “Ya, but you two are like daughters to me. You’re each a gift from God, for which I’ll always be grateful. Still, I would like to be able to voice how I feel to a man.”

  Cara leaned back, enjoying Ada’s openness. The woman was like a mom one moment, a best friend another, and always a trusted confidante. Truth was, Cara had never been around a mother and her adult children. Was this what it was like? “Just any man or one in particular?”

  Ada’s eyes flashed with surprise at Cara’s question, but before Cara could coax a response, someone knocked on the door.

  Ada stood. “I think I’ve been saved by the bell … or rather a knock. You study, and stop thinking about Ephraim.”

  “That’s impossible,” Cara called after her.

  As she looked over her notes, she heard Ada talking and then her footsteps coming closer. “Cara.”

  When she looked up, she saw that Ada’s face had lost all its color. “There’s a man at the door. It’s … Trevor Atwater.”

  Cara trembled. “Are you sure?”

  “I looked at his ID.”

  Images flooded Cara’s mind. Her mother hiding her in the attic to keep her out of his sight. Standing at her mother’s casket. Her dad taking her to the bus station. Him demanding that she, an eight-year-old girl, stay put as he turned his back on her and walked off. Horrible emotions pounded her like claps of thunder.

  “I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Thanks.”

  The hallway between the kitchen and the foyer had never seemed so long.

  He stood in the entryway. It turned her stomach to see him in Ada’s home. She motioned for them to go onto the front porch, and they went outside. Sarcastic, bitter words came to mind. “Can I help you?”

  “Carabean, it’s me … Dad.”

  Only her mother had called her that and only at really tender moments. Cara called her daughter “Lorabean” at such times. But this man had no right.

  “Cara,” she corrected. Actually she’d prefer “Mrs. Moore.” Or better yet, for him never to say her name at all.

  He nodded respectfully, looking unsure of himself. “I’ve been thinking about what your little girl said …”

  “You had no right to approach my daughter and ask her leading questions.”

  He wouldn’t have had the chance to talk to Lori if Ada’s House, with its outdoor booths and activities, weren’t a place for tourists. He’d hung around the booth where Cara sold desserts and drinks, and he’d bought items and talked to Lori and her for weeks before he said something that made her suspect who he was.

  “I was trying to figure things out.” His eyes reflected bewilderment. “But I understand less now than ever. Your daughter said something about the two of you living in a barn and your not having been here very long. I don’t understand, and I need to.”

  You need? What did she care what he needed?

  Sarcasm begged to be unleashed, but thoughts of Ephraim and the need to protect her standing in the community caused her to keep control. “It’s a long, personal story, one I’m not interested in sharing with you.”

  He didn’t flinch or show anger. He seemed resigned to her dislike of him. “You have plenty of reasons for being angry with me. But I want to make things right.”

  She laughed. “Is this some type of reality show? Are there cameras somewhere that I can’t see? Surely that’s the only thing that would make you say something so.” Ephraim surfaced in her mind again, and Cara shut up. She cleared her throat. “I don’t need you to do anything except leave me alone.”

  “But I have to know, Carabea—Cara. Lori said you don’t know the language, but you must have learned some of it while growing up in Dry Lake with Emma and Levi.”

  As a child, Cara was supposed to have been passed off to Levi, her mom’s brother, and his wife, Emma. They were going to raise her, but.

  “No comment.”

  “But I’m your dad.”

  “My father was a drunk. And Mom hid me from you as much as she could until she died. I was told a car struck her. Is that true? Or did you kill her while I was tucked away in that tiny wall space?”

  His expression became defensive. “Of course not. Your mom meant everything to me. She was walking to work, and a car ran a red light, hitting several pedestrians. She was the only one who died.”

  He rattled off the horror like a well-rehearsed performance, but her body shook the way it had the day she learned her mom was dead. Her mother had loved her and had tried hard to protect her. What had this man done?

  She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from striking him. “I needed a lot of things from you growing up, and I got none of them.” The words came out hoarse and shaky. “For the first time since Mom died, I have a chance to choose who and what I want and to be happy. But my chance is fragile.” She hated being so vulnerable with him. “So can you please just leave me alone?”

  “But Emma and Levi were supposed to—”

  “You stupid, drunken idiot! Don’t you dare talk to me about what Emma and Levi were supposed to do. You left me at a bus station! No one showed up for me but the authorities. I was hauled off to foster care. And here’s the kicker: those were some of the best years of my stinking life!”

  The man clutched the porch railing. “No. You’re wrong. I made sure you were with Emma before I left.”

  “You dreamed that up so you could live with yourself. With the help of Mom’s diary, I found my way here a year ago. A year ago!” She pointed her finger in his face. “Go drown yourself in drink, and leave me alone!”

  “Cara.” Ada’s arm slipped around her. “Kumm.”

  Nothing felt real, not Ada’s tenderness or standing on the porch or finally facing her dad. She could be caught in a dream for all she knew. In spite of Ada’s prompting, she couldn’t stop venting her fury on the man before her.

  “All you had to do was pass me off like some stupid baton in a relay race, and you couldn’t even do that. Mom would hate you for that.”

  “Kumm, Cara.” Ada tugged at her. “Now.”

  She pulled Cara inside and closed the door.

  Shaking as if she were having a seizure, Cara paced the floors, ranting. “Idiot. He has no clue. None.” When she looked up, Ada wasn’t there, but Lori was.

  “Mama, what’s wrong?” Tears filled Lori’s eyes. She ran to her mother and wrapped her arms around her waist. “You’re scaring me.
”

  Cara breathed deeply, trying to calm herself, but she felt terrified and powerless. The old, uncontrollable anger had taken over, just as it had when she ran away from foster care, fueling her ability to survive. Oh, God, help me. She didn’t know anything else to pray.

  Cara patted Lori’s back. “I’m fine, and so are you. Dry your tears.” She pulled Lori free of her. “There’s nothing to cry about.”

  “Cara?” Deborah spoke softly as she entered the room. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Cara looked at her daughter. “You stay with Deborah for a little while. I need to go for a walk, okay?”

  Lori wiped her eyes. “I want to go with you.”

  Deborah corralled Lori. “Let’s make double-fudge cookies. Big fat ones. When your mom gets back, they’ll make her feel better.”

  A tentative smile eased across Lori’s lips. “Okay.”

  As the two of them headed toward the kitchen, Cara went to the window. Ada stood on the sidewalk, talking to him.

  She hated him. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t supposed to. There was no way to get free of what he’d done to her life, just as there was no way to escape her hate.

  When she’d seen him a few weeks ago, she’d thought she could cope. She’d known his presence would be a difficult obstacle, but now she knew she couldn’t tolerate him. If the church leaders discovered her weakness, they’d tell her she needed at least another year of growing spiritually and learning before she could join the faith.

  Ada stepped inside, closed the front door, and leaned against it. “He’s gone.”

  “Forever?” Cara’s voice sounded small and vulnerable. She didn’t want to feel anything for her dad, not anger or compassion or anything.

  “I don’t know.” Ada drew a shaky breath. “You were merciless, Cara.”

  “He lived exactly as he wanted, and I’m supposed to walk on eggshells so he doesn’t feel too bad about it?”

  Ada closed her eyes. “I’m not saying you weren’t justified in your reaction to him. I’m sure you didn’t come close to unleashing all the pent-up anger you’ve stored over the years. But if you want to be free of him, you have to extend what he doesn’t deserve—mercy and grace.”

  “I have no clue what that means.” Cara flew out the front door and slammed it behind her.

  Eight

  Aaron stood in the equipment shop, dripping with sweat as he continued to fight with the blades on the hay mower. His fourth day back home, and he’d accomplished nothing. Not clearing the air, mending relationships, taking any stress off his parents, or making headway toward returning to Owl’s Perch. He tried to loosen the bolts that would free the blades of the hay mower.

  If you’d cleaned it properly last year …

  He’d spent yesterday cleaning last year’s dried mud and hay off the mower. As soon as he finished removing the blades, he’d sharpen them and put the rig back together, and then, joy of all joys, he’d be ready to start mowing the hayfield.

  Disgusted and irritable, he set another blade next to the grinding wheel.

  His Mamm was warming up to him some, but his father had little to say. Daed had listened while Aaron asked for forgiveness yesterday, but he’d walked out of the room when Aaron tried to explain about his past behavior and addiction.

  He was used to the silence between them. It’d been that way for nearly ten years, except now there was clearly unspoken anger in the silence.

  He’d earned their anger and lack of respect, but if they could see their way clear to forgive him, they’d realize that he was trying to do the right thing by them. Farm work was no picnic, but the real problem was the unspoken resentment between him and his father.

  However, his folks certainly liked Sylvia. When she walked into the house for meals, Daed became someone Aaron didn’t even recognize. He was kind and witty. Aaron didn’t blame Sylvia. It wasn’t her fault. But she believed that with enough effort the farm could be profitable. Only a fool thought the Titanic could be patched with a little elbow grease and kept afloat.

  The dinner bell rang.

  Despite being hungry, he preferred not to go inside for another round of tactful coldness. But he would. He wiped his hands on a greasy cloth and tossed it onto the workbench.

  When he entered the house, he saw his mother at the stove but no sign of his Daed or Sylvia. “Smells delicious in here, Mamm.”

  She smiled without making eye contact. “It’ll be ready by the time you wash up.”

  Walking up the stairs to his room, he removed his suspenders, unbuttoned his shirt, and peeled out of it and his T-shirt. A two-minute shower would help.

  He opened the door to his room and found Sylvia asleep on his bed. She had on a dress, but her prayer Kapp and black apron were lying on the chair.

  “Aaron, honey?” his Mamm whispered loudly as she topped the stairs.

  He pulled the door closed. “Let me guess. You forgot to tell me she takes naps in my room.”

  Mamm wiped her hands on a dishtowel. “It’s the quietest and coolest room during the day. She was out all night dealing with a calving. You can wash up in our room. I imagine she’ll sleep awhile today. She never made it to her own bed last night.”

  He curbed his desire to remark that she still hadn’t managed to make it to her own bed. Was everything that had once been his now hers? “Not a problem.”

  “There’s a basket of clean towels and clothes on my bed.”

  After a quick shower he went downstairs.

  Daed walked in, carrying the mail. “Are you going to be able to get that hay mower in working order or not?” Daed hadn’t glanced up to acknowledge Aaron’s presence or mumbled one hello since Aaron had arrived home, but he wanted updates on his work. Daed sat at the table and began opening the bills.

  Aaron moved to his chair. “It’ll work—not great, but it’ll do its job. The blades still need sharpening. If I can get them to hold an edge, we’ll be okay. It’s a really thick crop of hay this year.”

  “Sylvia fertilized the fields with chicken manure a couple of times so we could get a bumper crop.”

  “Of course she did,” Aaron mumbled.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “She’s … different.”

  “Ya, she is.” His Daed didn’t seem to mind her strangeness even though his parents were as traditional as they came. Maybe their need for her had stretched their capacity to tolerate differences in people.

  “We even managed to get the dent corn planted in the west field.” Daed opened a business-sized white envelope. “It’ll take time to get us out of the hole we’re in, but Sylvia and I are making progress.” He stared at the DairyAll bill he’d pulled out.

  DairyAll provided equipment for farmers and carried loans for the purchases. His folks had owed them money since the day Daed had bought this place. Daed laid the bill on the table, and Aaron caught a glimpse of it.

  “Horse neck.” He picked it up and studied it. “We owe that much?”

  “We?” His Daed took it from him, folded it, and slid it back into the envelope.

  Mamm passed Aaron a glass of icy lemonade. “A cooling tank went out, along with sterilizing equipment and half the milkers. It all had to be replaced last winter.”

  He set the drink down. “That payment is three months overdue. And it mentions putting a lien on the place in four weeks if a payment isn’t made.”

  “I know all that,” Daed snapped. “What do you think, Son, that I’m too stupid to understand what the statement says?”

  Aaron bit his tongue and willed himself to speak quietly. “No, of course not. It shocked me, and I was thinking out loud.”

  “Do me a favor and don’t use that super-nice, you’re-an-idiot tone with me.”

  Aaron nodded. Even his effort to sound respectful had managed to annoy his father.

  Daed put the bill beside his plate. “If we get that hay in and sold, we can make at least one full payment, maybe one and a half. That will
keep the threat of the lien at bay for a while. If the weather cooperates, we might get three harvests this year.”

  Aaron groaned inwardly. “And you’ll face something similar again next year and the next. There are easier ways to make a living, ones that aren’t filled with ifs.” He took a breath. “You could sell the farm.”

  “That’s ridiculous, although I’m not surprised you are suggesting it. I’m a farmer. I farm.”

  “Daed … could you bear with me and listen for just a few minutes, please?”

  “You won’t stop at a few minutes.”

  “Please.”

  Daed pulled out his pocket watch, opened it, and laid it on the table. He folded his arms. “You have two minutes.”

  “This place is too much for you. Maybe if your rheumatoid arthritis didn’t keep you from working some of the time, it wouldn’t be. But it is. I’m not the same man who left here five months ago. I’m clean. I’m here to help you get out from under this place. There are other jobs you’d enjoy and could do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well … what about selling appliances to Amish folks?”

  “Appliances?” Similar looks of displeasure appeared on his parents’ faces.

  “I’ve put money down on Plain People’s Appliances. It’s a store in Owl’s Perch.”

  “Our family has farmed for as far back as the records show, and you want us to move to town and sell machines?”

  “I know it sounds strange to you right now, but it’s work we can do together as a family. It’ll be much easier on your joints. We’ll be closer to doctors and pharmacies and—”

  “Sylvia, honey,” Mamm interrupted him. “Kumm.”

  Sylvia stood in the doorway, apron on and prayer Kapp in place, looking at him as if he were a monster.

  “Did we wake you?” Daed closed his watch and put it back into his pocket.

  “No.”

  “Gut. I saw that new calf and her mama. They both look strong and healthy. You’re doing great.”