The Harvest of Grace

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Within a few minutes Cara had the song down pat. “All is all. And dressed is gegleed. And black is schwarz.” She reached behind her, patting Ephraim on the arm. “Songs. That’s our answer to my learning the language!”

  He sat up, clearly interested.

  “Sylvia, do you know any English songs?” Cara asked.

  “A few. Mostly Elvis songs.”

  Everyone broke into laughter.

  Aaron had a strange look on his face, an expression somewhere between amusement and confusion. “Elvis?”

  “I owned a used iPod in my rumschpringe, so I listened to whatever songs were already on there when I bought it—until it fell to the ground during a milking and a cow stepped on it.”

  “Stupid cow,” Lori said with a giggle.

  “How’d you keep it charged without a computer?” Cara asked.

  “The Englischer guy who picked up our milk recharged it for me.”

  “Do you know any Elvis songs?” Ephraim asked Cara.

  “Oh, yeah. ‘Heartbreak Hotel,’ ‘Don’t Be Cruel,’ ‘It’s Now or Never,’ ‘Jailhouse Rock.’ And you’ll love this: ‘You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog cryin’ all the time.’ ”

  He laughed. “I think I’ve heard that one somewhere.”

  “Think you could teach me some more Pennsylvania Dutch words for songs I know?” Cara asked Sylvia.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “I have to learn the language, and I need help.”

  “Oh. I’m glad to try, but when?”

  “I go to Dry Lake on church Sundays for instruction class, and I meet with Esther and Alvin on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons to study Pennsylvania Dutch and German. I can easily come to your place on any of those days and other ones too, I’m sure.”

  “The hay will still be drying Tuesday, so that’ll work this week. After that we’ll figure out our days week by week.”

  “Ever milked a cow?” Aaron asked Cara, chuckling.

  “I’m certainly willing to learn.”

  “Speaking of cows …,” Aaron said. “Four o’clock in the morning comes awfully early.”

  “Just one more game,” Deborah said. “It won’t take more than twenty minutes, and everybody can remain right where they are. Think about the person you walked up the mountain next to tonight, and tell the first thing you remember that person saying when you met.”

  “I’ll go first,” Lena said. After a short silence she said, “I’m done, because I didn’t walk up the mountain with anyone.”

  The laughter made Sylvia feel lighter than she had in many months. Well, that and Cara needing her. And having a pleasant conversation with Aaron. And having an evening with new friends.

  “Ephraim, you’re next,” Deborah said.

  “I was twelve and Cara was eight when we met. The first thing I remember saying to her is ‘Are you a boy or a girl?’ ”

  Cara cackled. “That was closely followed by ‘Do you fish?’ ”

  “Hey, she had on jeans and had really short hair. I was confused.”

  The laughter didn’t stop.

  “Cara, what’s the first thing you remember saying to Ephraim?” Deborah asked.

  “Oh, man, we’re going back twenty years, but I think it was ‘You got a name?’ ”

  “And the next time you saw each other?”

  Ephraim chuckled. “Fast-forward twenty years, and I didn’t recognize her while trying to get her out of Levina’s old barn and off my property. I remember asking her if she was from around here. I was trying to be polite before insisting she move along. To which my lovely wife-to-be replied.” He gestured toward her with his palm upward.

  “ ‘Is that the Amish version of “Haven’t we met before?” ’ You should have seen his face turn red with embarrassment and anger.”

  Amid the chortles Sylvia longed to know more of their unusual story.

  Deborah proceeded to ask each couple. Jonathan told of Deborah’s early days in school and some of the stunts he pulled on her. Deborah talked of the first time she began to be drawn to him.

  “Aaron, what’s the first thing you said to Sylvia?”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good thing to talk about.”

  Sylvia scoffed. “He’s a chicken because he’s afraid to mention that the first time we saw each other, one of us wasn’t dressed.”

  “Not dressed?” an echo of voices said.

  “I can’t believe you just shared that,” Aaron said.

  Among the hoots and claps, Sylvia stood and gestured for them to quiet down. “I was in a tub with mounds of bubbles the first time he saw me. When he went into the other room, I put on a housecoat, so I was fully covered by something at all times.”

  Deborah smiled. “And what’s the first thing you said to Aaron?”

  “Get out of my house!”

  The group howled and clapped.

  “To which Aaron said, ‘Lady, don’t throw that.’ To the best of my memory, the next thing he said was ‘Ouch!’ ”

  “She threw a hammer at me!” Aaron’s eyes stayed on hers. “My poor knee hasn’t recovered yet.” He stood, mocking a fresh limp.

  The roars of laughter filled Sylvia with a joy she thought had died long ago.

  “You all can stay,” Aaron said, “but we have to head home. Sylvia’s usually out cold hours before now. Can we borrow a horse and rig from someone?”

  Israel stood. “Not necessary. We need to call it a night too. You can ride back with us.”

  Sylvia gathered the blanket, thinking that Aaron made little sense. He pushed her and insulted her—like when he complained about her putting too much fertilizer on the hayfield—but then made sure she was invited tonight, caring very much that she got a night off. And he talked about God as if he’d shared a cup of coffee with Him or something. No condemnation or gnashing of teeth, just trust and faith in Him. How did someone who’d been where he had freely talk to God? And why did Aaron care that she be a part of tonight?

  Sixteen

  Aaron rubbed an oversized cotton handkerchief across his face, wiping away the sweat. The horse pulled the hay rake up and down the field. Stirring the hay wasn’t anything like cutting or baling it. He’d been in the field less than three hours, and he’d almost completed the job. He’d stir it again tomorrow. Praying the rains would stay away was a daily thing, much like asking for the strength to stay sober.

  Desire for a drink pounded him. Unbridled. Unmatched. Unwanted.

  Most days he could ignore wanting a drink. It was like his own shadow. It never went away, but as long as he didn’t try to outrun it or give up because it was always there, he knew he could win the battle.

  Today the shadow taunted him, and he didn’t know how to free himself of it. Not one ounce of faith seemed to stir as he petitioned God for help.

  “Aaron,” Sylvi called to him, yelling above the creaking and groaning of the hay rake, the swooshing of loose alfalfa, and the racket of the horses pulling the contraption.

  She stood at the edge of the field with a picnic basket in hand. He brought the horses to a stop. Until this moment he’d barely caught a glimpse of her today. His Daed had helped her milk the cows this morning, and stirring hay required only one person.

  By the time he unhitched the horse and walked to her, she had a blanket spread out and was unloading the basket.

  “Your Mamm brought this out to me and asked if I’d find you. Your Daed’s asleep, and she doesn’t want us waking him. She’s on her way into town to get supplies.” She put a piece of oven-fried chicken on a plate. “I gave my word, so tie the horse to some shrub and come eat.”

  He did as she said.

  She met him with a bowl of water, soap, and a towel. He washed up, dumped the water, and followed her back to the blanket.

  She paused, watching him. “You okay?”

  “Just one of those days.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You wouldn’t understand. It goes with the territory of once being
addicted to something.”

  “I might understand more than you think.”

  His interest was piqued. “Do you have a poison?”

  Innocence radiated in her eyes. She had no clue what he meant.

  He couldn’t help but smile. “Never mind.”

  He ate while she stared at her plate.

  She set the dish on the blanket. “I’m not an addict, but I’ve struggled in other ways—unable to think of anything else night or day. It drives and molds you until you slowly become someone else, someone you don’t like. But it doesn’t matter because you don’t care. In your mind you know it makes no sense to want it, but that does nothing to ease your craving.”

  “Ya, exactly.” Maybe she did understand. But he wouldn’t ask her twice what tempted her.

  She pinched bits of bread off her roll and ate them. “We can get top dollar for this hay, and we should be able to get three, maybe four cuttings without reseeding, right?”

  “Ya, that’s right. If the weather is good all summer, not too dry or too wet.”

  “Then wouldn’t we make enough money to end the threat of a lien?”

  “That’d get Daed caught up on every bill with some money left over. But we can’t sell everything we plant. We have to store some hay for the winter. The acres of corn in the west field could become a cash crop too, but we have to use it to fill the silos.”

  “Isn’t there any way for us to get ahead, even just once?”

  Aaron wished she hadn’t asked, wished she’d make his life easier and accept defeat. She wouldn’t abandon the farm with the work that needed to be done to sell the place. He knew that. But if she could let go of hoping for the impossible, he’d feel much better about the situation. “There might be a way. But help just once would not be nearly enough.”

  “It might be. What did you have in mind?”

  “If Daed asked for enough hay, straw, and silage from other farmers to get him through to next spring, and if the farmers had enough to share, and if we managed to get three harvests of hay to sell—the combination of those things could give you the boost you desire.”

  She pursed her lips and sighed. “That’s a lot of ifs.”

  “Ifs and farming are looped together like strands of fiber in a hand-woven basket.” The disappointment in her eyes bothered him. “I don’t want you to get hurt in this, Sylvi. You can help get the farm in proper shape to sell and stay until it sells, but you need to plan to move on when that happens.”

  She stared out over the land as if willing it to meet her needs. “I know you’re telling me like it is.”

  “No reason not to.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s ever done that for me before. My Daed and … other men I’ve known seem to think they need to keep certain things cloaked when it comes to the big picture.”

  Her openness unnerved him, making his defenses rise. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not your answer to anything. And I’m not interested in helping you find answers.”

  “I know that.” She said it matter-of-factly. “But you seem to be transparent with me. And I want us to be that way for each other.”

  If she wanted transparency, he could pull her to her feet and lecture her on getting real about the farm. But just then he noticed someone near the edge of the woods. He stood, watching an Englischer woman with an infant on her hip draw closer.

  Frani.

  When he glanced at Sylvi, her doe eyes reflected a genteel spirit of absolute resolve. She had strength, no doubt, but she couldn’t handle what was real for him.

  “I need to go. Thanks for lunch.”

  He turned his back on Sylvi and headed for Frani.

  Cara stood in her bedroom, staring into a mirror, assuring herself she could do this.

  Who was she kidding? She couldn’t express regret and pardon to the man who’d abandoned her. Been a mean drunk. Made her mother’s life miserable. Been a no-account father. Shown up here on false pretenses. Then run to Emma and Levi and tattled about her outburst at him. Why was she the one who had to apologize?

  Her relationship with Ephraim was not the reason she had to meet with Trevor. She’d planned to join the faith back when she mistakenly thought Ephraim loved Anna Mary. So she’d be in this fix whether Ephraim was in the picture or not.

  This war raging in her had to be dealt with, but how?

  She moved to the side of her bed and knelt. “Dear God, I know it’s wrong, but I hate him. And I can’t act my way out of it.”

  Memories flew across her mind like stones from a slingshot, one after another, hurting her as if they had just happened. Trevor had been worse than useless when her mother was alive and completely useless once Cara entered foster care. Biting coldness moved inside her. That frozenness used to define her. It didn’t now, but she wasn’t free of it.

  “Cara.” Ada tapped on the door before opening it. “They’re here. Ephraim too.”

  Cara remained on her knees, unable to move. A tingling sensation ran through her fingers and toes. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Ada closed the door.

  Cara’s mind went numb too, but at least the memories had stopped. She remained on her knees, a silent lump of screaming pain. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the edge of the bed. No tears fell as emptiness overshadowed her other emotions. Emptiness and rage were strange bedfellows, but the two went together—at least they did for her as far back as she could remember.

  She thought she heard someone knock on the door again, but she wasn’t sure. Too drained to respond, she ignored it and kept her face buried. She didn’t know how much time had passed since Ada had come to her room, but she kept waiting for the strength to apologize to Trevor. Her jaws ached, but she hadn’t yet whispered a prayer.

  The door clicked open. Just like when she was a little girl in the homes of strangers, she couldn’t make herself look. She used to keep her eyes shut tight, unwilling to stare into the eyes of people paid to keep her, and tell them good night. She’d lie there, trying to remember what her mother had looked like and hoping to see her in her dreams when she fell asleep.

  A warm, strong arm slid around her shoulders.

  Ephraim.

  She kept her eyes closed, unable to look at the love or understanding or expectation or disappointment in his eyes. He placed his hand over her folded ones.

  “I can’t do it. You weren’t there. You don’t know how he ruined my life.”

  He didn’t say anything, but the warmth of his embrace began to ease the ache inside her. She folded her arms on the bed, placed her forehead on her wrists, and wept. His gentle, silent love touched her deeply, and his presence seemed to reach into the wounds of her childhood. He couldn’t touch her past, of course, but he offered her a future filled with love and respect. Suddenly love was tangible, as if she could hold it in her hands, as if it could be shaped and molded at will. And the monstrous ache and hatred of the past could be absorbed into the love he gave her today.

  The battle of dealing with anger and resentment at her dad wasn’t over. It had probably just begun. But she felt equipped to fight … and for the first time had hope of eventually winning.

  Her tears stopped, and she wiped her wet cheeks. “Thank you.” She rose, opening her eyes.

  Shock pierced her, and she gasped.

  No one was in the room with her.

  Seventeen

  Sylvia walked into the Blank home, knowing she was late for supper. Michael sat at the dinner table, hidden behind a newspaper. Dora stood at the sink, shoulders slumped while she stared at dirty pots and pans. Aaron leaned against the edge of the counter. He seemed irritated, but he offered her a half smile.

  Dora pulled a plate of food out of the oven and set it on the table. “Here you go, dear.”

  Sylvia moved to the table and took a seat. Michael jerked the newspaper away from his face and folded it. She bowed her head in silence.

  After she took a few bites, Sylvia turned to Michael. “Daisy’s
gone to the briars in the east pasture. Unless it’s a false alarm, I’m sure she’ll deliver by morning. I’ll sleep in the hayloft tonight. That’s the best place to hear her if she starts bellowing.”

  “See?” Michael gestured toward her as he glared at Aaron. “That’s how it’s to be done.”

  Sylvia glanced from one to the other, sickened that Michael was using her in his attack on Aaron. Michael had been cold and difficult with his son since he’d arrived home. She’d started out treating Aaron much the same way, but Michael’s hot and cold temper grated on her nerves.

  “Daed,”—Aaron took a mug from the cabinet—“this conversation has nothing to do with my farming skills.”

  Sylvia looked down and examined the plate before her, wondering what she had interrupted.

  “If you’d given heed to what needed to be done over the last eight years and spent less time indulging your whims, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  Aaron poured himself a cup of coffee before sitting at the table. “You’ve said that over and over in the last few hours. Can we change the subject?”

  “I should’ve known you had someone in Dry Lake.” Michael smacked a palm against the folded newspaper. “Now I understand why you’ve come back. Well, that girlfriend of yours and her child can’t live on this farm. I won’t have it.”

  Sylvia felt as if a cow had kicked her. Girlfriend?

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Aaron said. “She’s a friend who’s lost her job, and if she can’t find another one right away, she’ll lose her trailer in the next couple of weeks. If that plays out, she and AJ will have nowhere to go. I won’t let that happen. She can help out around here. I’ll pay her expenses. And we have an extra bedroom.”

  “Where are her own folks?” Dora asked.

  “They’re not willing to help her right now.”

  “Go figure!” Michael barked.

  “Maybe they’re justified, but I won’t let her and AJ go without a home to live in.”

  “Is he … yours?” Dora’s hands shook while she held a napkin over her mouth, as if trying to take back the words she’d spoken.