The Harvest of Grace

by Cindy Woodsmall

  He stopped at the edge of the quilt, holding a thermos in one hand and a plate covered with aluminum foil in the other. The fact that he’d gone out of his way to locate her gave her some much-needed assurance that he was worthy of her growing fondness for him.

  She hid her smile, not wanting to give her thoughts away. “How did you find me?”

  “I think I know all your favorite resting places now.” He held out both items.

  She wanted to respond, but suddenly she felt shy in light of his efforts toward her. On mornings when Michael didn’t come to the barn before milking, Aaron always brought her a cup of coffee. But Michael had insisted on that. Three days ago he’d brought her helpful information about farming. She hadn’t had time to figure out what all the gibberish meant; still, it showed his willingness to share the burden of the farm with her.

  “It’s not a marriage proposal, for Pete’s sake.”

  His sarcastic humor relaxed her, and she moved the kittens to her other side and patted the quilt before taking the items from him. “Denki.”

  “Not a problem.”

  He bent his knees and put his forearms on them, reminding her of the one thing she kept trying to overlook—that he was, above all else, a man. One who seemed different from any other she’d ever known. And the relaxedness of between Sundays looked good on him. Actually, his appeal was just as strong the other days of the week. Her trying to stay too busy to notice hadn’t worked. But it wasn’t, by any means, just his appearance that made him look good. What attracted her came from deep within him and radiated through his eyes and showed in the determined way he carried himself.

  She opened the thermos and poured icy water into the lid. She brought the drink to her lips and enjoyed the coolness as the liquid filled her mouth and slid down her throat. After setting the cup on top of her picnic basket, she peered under the aluminum foil. “Bread pudding! I love this stuff.”

  “Mamm said you did.”

  “You even brought me a fork.” She dug into the gooey confection. “Mmm.” The sweet, soft, cinnamon-flavored bread melted in her mouth. “Delicious. And still warm. Care for a bite?” She held a forkful up to him.

  “Not me, thanks. Never been a fan of bread pudding.”

  “Your mom has a new recipe. You ought to give it a try.”

  He didn’t look convinced, but he opened his mouth, and she eased it past his lips. “Oh, wow.” He chewed and swallowed. “That’s actually quite good.”

  “Isn’t it?” She took another bite. “Dora made a batch for me with her old recipe last winter.” Sylvia mocked a cough and shuddered. “I had to tell her the truth, and I passed on to her a much better recipe, one that belonged to my great-grandmother.” After taking another bite, she held a second one out to him.

  Aaron leaned back on his elbows. “This spot is sort of nice.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  His chestnut eyes held a spark of challenge, but he closed them.

  “Now feel, hear, and breathe in everything around you.”

  He lay back and propped his hands under his head. He took a deep breath, and a trace of pleasure showed on his face.

  Sylvia remained sitting upright, but she closed her eyes too, hearing a crow caw, a fish in the pond jump, and wind rustle through the trees. “Everything you sense, Aaron, has been here long before this country began, yet every bit of it is new, right here today, for you.” Her eyes refused to stay shut, and she watched a smile caress his face.

  “You do have a way of making a person value a day.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “But the joys of nature can’t make a small dairy operation like ours less of an uphill battle.”

  “I wasn’t trying to change your mind, only open it to the world around you.”

  “Is that what you like about dairy farming, the romantic view of it?”

  “Oh, please. No real farmer can keep a romantic image of the job. Besides, I never said I was in love with cows.”

  He sat upright. “Yes, you have.”

  “When?”

  “Well, not in words. But your actions have said it.”

  “My great-grandparents were dairy farmers, as were my grandparents, and now my Daed. And they made a decent living doing it.”

  “I don’t know your family’s operation, Sylvi, but times have changed. You have to have substantial growth to compete these days, and this place isn’t set up to sustain that kind of expansion.”

  “Your Daed has barns, cows, and milking equipment—everything a farm needs for a healthy dairy business.”

  “The profit margin isn’t equal to the work load, especially considering what we’d need in order to grow. If they were equal, I wouldn’t feel like it’s such a waste of time.”

  Unsure what to say, she took another bite of the bread pudding and then gave him a bite. She took a deep breath. “Between Sundays are actually sort of nice.”

  Aaron took the fork and plate from her. “Your turn to close your eyes.”

  She stared at him.

  “Go on. I did it for you.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Feel the ground under you and the breeze on your skin,” he said. “Pay attention to all the sounds—the birds and the wind. Smell the aroma of hayfields, flowers, and distant rain.”

  She relaxed and relished the nature surrounding her.

  “God is everywhere, Sylvi.” Aaron’s whisper sent chills over her body. “You can’t avoid Him by refusing to attend meetings. You only avoid acknowledging Him.” He brushed his fingers across her back. “You don’t have to go to church to find Him, but you can’t hide from Him by avoiding it. I learned that the hard way. I show up in my rig at your place every other Sunday because I want you to find peace with your mistake, with yourself. It seems you need to face the church folk during Sunday meetings.” His hand rested on the center of her back. “The answer you need won’t be found in running any more than mine was found in drinking.”

  Sylvia wished going to church would magically erase her shame, but it magnified it. Ready to put some emotional distance between them, she shifted away and huffed. “I think you’re in cahoots with the church leaders.”

  “When I began running from God, I wish someone had been willing to make me angry if that would have kept me from doing things my own way. Caring people aren’t the enemy, Sylvi. Apathy is.”

  Aaron didn’t seem to have an apathetic bone in his body. She didn’t know why that was so important to her, but she truly valued it. And whether he liked it or not, he’d just confessed that he cared about her.

  “I need to mention a few recent changes I’ve worked out. You want to hear them now or later?”

  “Now, of course.”

  “We’re not planting or harvesting any more crops,” he said. “I’ve rented the fields to Mennonite farmers who own tractors and modern equipment. It’s the right thing to do for both our sakes.”

  “What about the field of corn that’s almost ready to harvest?”

  “I’ve worked that out too. They’ll harvest it for a percentage of the crop. We won’t make as much money, but we won’t work ourselves to exhaustion either.”

  Michael had given the running of fields over to Aaron, and she wouldn’t argue. If they weren’t in such a tight fix for money, she’d be thrilled with the idea.

  He dug something out of his pocket. “I brought you more than a dessert.”

  The white envelope was thicker than if it held a letter. “What is it?”

  He shrugged. “Hopefully not the cause of a fresh argument.”

  She licked her lips before taking the envelope and opening it. “Money?”

  “Did you forget what it looks like?”

  She closed the envelope and held it out to him. “Michael and I have an agreement. I receive pay after the overdue debts are paid.”

  “Ya, I heard, and I’ve already gone a couple of rounds with him on this. Here’s the deal, Sylvi. If you work on the Blank farm, you get paid. End of discussio
n.”

  “Where did you get this?”

  “It took some juggling, I’ll admit. But the bills are paid, and nothing’s been borrowed.”

  “The overdue bills are caught up?”

  “No. I’m not a miracle worker. But we’ve paid enough that the threat of immediate liens and repossession of equipment is over … for now. Take the money, Sylvi.”

  A lump formed in her throat as if the bread pudding had stuck there. He was settling up debts. Did that mean he’d found a buyer for the farm without having to put it up for sale? “Have you accepted a down payment from someone?”

  “No. We wouldn’t do that without telling you.”

  We? “So your Mamm and Daed have sided with you about selling?”

  He leaned back on his elbows. “Take a breath, Sylvi. I brought your favorite dessert and a long-overdue payday. That’s all.”

  She turned the envelope over, saddened by its contents. He had four weeks before he had to take over at the appliance store, and he was doing all within his power to get there by then.

  With the issues on the farm—the drought, Michael’s arthritis giving him fits, and being in violation of EPA laws—Aaron only needed to wait a few more weeks, and his parents would be more than ready to sell and move to Owl’s Perch with him.

  The farm wouldn’t be sold by the time he took over the appliance store, but it would be on the market.

  Sadness pressed in. He’d told her all along that this was the way things would work out, but mourning the loss of another farm was going to take its toll. She’d believed she could make a success of this place. And she realized for the first time that somewhere inside her had been a faint hope that her coming here had been some kind of fate. As if there was a slim possibility that God would give her a second chance.

  Thirty-One

  Aaron poured a cup of coffee and added cream and sugar, hoping he had the right amount of both. Cup in hand, he walked down the driveway toward the path to the cabin. Every morning about this time, Sylvi returned from milking, washed up and changed out of her barn clothes, and came to the house for a midmorning break. Warm winds stirred the summer air, and thunder rumbled across the cloudy sky. The first of August would arrive the day after tomorrow. His time here was dwindling rather than dragging.

  Sylvi came out the cabin door, looking scrubbed, with a few loose strands of damp hair hugging the nape of her neck. She walked his way without looking up. His heart beat like crazy as her presence caused an avalanche of emotions.

  She was about ten feet away when she finally noticed him. “Well, hi there.” Her energetic, willful smile mesmerized him.

  He paused under a canopy of rustling trees and held out the coffee.

  “Denki.” She took it from his hands. “To what do I owe this treat?”

  “I wanted to talk to you for a minute, and we can’t talk easily with Mamm and Daed around.”

  She brought the mug to her lips. “Mmm. That’s delicious. Did you make it?”

  “Ya.”

  Closing her eyes, she took several more sips.

  “I altered it from the way Daed does it. I’ve noticed that you like desserts with cream, so I added extra.”

  “I expect this same concoction again, you know. It’s a good thing I work hard enough to burn off all these calories.” She stretched a bit, as if working a few kinks out of her shoulders, then let her free arm fall to her side. When the back of her hand brushed his, he stroked her soft skin and dared to slide his fingers between hers. Her eyes bored into his, and she took a step back before wrapping both hands around the mug. “What did you need to talk about?”

  He shrugged, unable to think of anything except kissing her. It’d be a dangerous move, altering everything between them. But it could be worth it. Stepping closer, he leaned in, pausing mere inches from her. She smelled delicious. “Let’s forget the farm for a minute, Sylvi. Be here with me, just us and nothing else.”

  She didn’t argue or turn away. That had to be a good sign. But he waited, hoping for some indication that he was welcome.

  “Convince me,” she whispered.

  He placed his mouth on hers. The delicate softness of her skin was beyond what he’d imagined. But she didn’t return the kiss. She held firm to the cup of coffee between them.

  He kissed her again, and this time she responded.

  A good ten seconds later, she tucked her head. He kissed her forehead while catching his breath. He’d never dreamed that a kiss could mean so much.

  He straightened and put a bit of space between them.

  She drew a deep breath and ran her fingers along her lips. “I’ve never … wow.”

  Never and wow had to be good, right? Aaron laughed. “My thoughts exactly.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she headed toward the main driveway. He fell into step with her. He knew he shouldn’t stare, but he did anyway.

  She sipped her coffee. “This confuses things.”

  “Ya, I know.” His voice was husky. “But I’d do it again.”

  “Me too. But in light of our differing goals, it seems rather shortsighted.”

  For the first time he wondered if maybe they had the wrong goals. “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked again.

  “The grant money. I spoke to Daed, and he believes we have no other choice than to accept it. The fence line has to be moved, and we don’t have the money to do it ourselves.”

  “Are you okay with taking grant money?”

  “I want to verify with Dusty Randall that it doesn’t come with strings, but otherwise, ya, I am. What do you think?”

  “I can’t say the idea of taking government money is easy to accept. But I’m not sure we have a choice. The government is demanding something we can’t do on our own.”

  They stepped onto the main driveway and turned toward the house.

  “Was there anything else you needed to talk to me about?”

  “There is one thing I’ve been wanting to ask.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, and they walked in silence. The minutes dragged by as he fought to ask a question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered. “Do you still love him?”

  “Who? Elam?” She rolled her eyes, looking disgusted. “No. A woman can’t remain in love with a man she doesn’t respect.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Old feelings and unfulfilled dreams tugged at us. But even then I knew what I felt for him wasn’t love or respect or anything else worth having.”

  “It sounds as though you really spent some effort trying to understand your feelings. Until I went into rehab, I’d always tried to bury my emotions instead of examining them.” He didn’t know if he was making sense, but it was part of the reason he’d started drinking. It wasn’t that his parents had been unfair or that he hated being a farmer. He drank to bury emotions that needed to be felt, dealt with, and released or expressed.

  She grabbed him by the suspenders, and they both stopped walking. “Be that as it may, you are a good man.” He smiled down at her, loving the way she thought. And the way she expressed her heart to him. “I like who we are together.”

  Something unfamiliar to him flickered through her eyes before she released his suspenders and stepped around him.

  He fell in step beside her. “I know we’ve muddied the waters. But let’s take a little time to think, and then we’ll talk.”

  Dust billowed on the driveway toward the main road. A vehicle was heading their way. Their time alone for the day was coming to an end too quickly.

  He’d made no promises, and she’d asked for none. But he was connected to her more than he’d known was possible.

  “Aaron,” Dusty Randall called while pulling his truck to a stop beside them, “you ready to discuss moving fence lines?”

  “You want to go with us?” Aaron asked Sylvia.

  “No. You need to head up the fence-line project. I’ll take care of the rest of the chores.”

  With a nod to Brian Clayton in the front passenger seat, Aaron opened the door
behind Randall and climbed into the cab of the truck.

  He couldn’t stay on this farm. That much he knew. If he asked, and if he gave Sylvi time for the idea to grow on her, would she be willing to leave with him?

  Thirty-Two

  The rain pounded on the roof as Cara wrote “Happy Birthday, Sylvia” in yellow icing across the cake’s chocolate frosting. Ada walked out of the room, carrying a load of freshly folded towels.

  Ephraim dipped his finger in the bowl of frosting. “So I finally make it here again midweek and on a perfect night, since Ada’s House has no business on rainy days, and you’re leaving. What’s with that?”

  Cara passed him a spoon with remnants of the gooey chocolate. “Poor planning on your part?”

  He took the spoon from her, gazing into her eyes. “It’s your loss, you know.”

  “Hey, no being mean to me. It’s bad enough I’ll miss out on enjoying a rare night off with you. Between your workweek and the weekend busyness at Ada’s House, I feel deprived enough already. Of course, you could go with us.”

  “To an all-girl event? No thanks. Besides, there’s only one of you I wanted to spend time with tonight.” He pulled her close. His lips had almost touched hers when Lori ran into the kitchen.

  “Ew!” she screamed.

  “Cut it out, you two.” Ada’s laughter-filled voice came from the other room.

  Ephraim backed away and passed the spoon of frosting to Lori. Her eyes grew large, and she ran to show Ada. Ephraim focused on Cara, moving his eyebrows up and down. “Now where were we?”

  Cara closed the gap between them. “About here …” She held his face, but just before she kissed him, Deborah walked into the kitchen.

  “Oh, sorry.” She went to the refrigerator. “I forgot to mix up a pitcher of lemonade for tonight’s gathering.”

  Cara released him and shrugged. “Who’d have thought a simple kiss was too difficult a task to accomplish—in private, no less!”

  Ephraim shrugged. “Eventually there will be only one interrupter in our house—Lori.”