The Harvest of Grace

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Half of the cows were milked before Trevor showed up.

  “I took Sylvia’s sister home.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “They both seemed really upset.” Trevor released a set of milkers from a cow and grabbed the bucket. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Aaron shook his head. He had no idea what he could do himself. He thought of Trevor on the ladder inside that apartment building and the toolbox falling on that little boy’s head. The toolbox had just fallen on Aaron. Or maybe he’d shoved it onto Sylvia. Either way, there was no undoing what had been done.

  Thirty-Five

  Aaron lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Darkness and heat clung to the early morning. Hours from now Sylvi would walk through the blackness to the milking parlor, and he’d meet her there, hoping she’d forgive him.

  He’d spent the night lying here, trying to sort through his motivations. Sure, at the time he’d wanted Sylvi to go away. He’d come home with a goal, and she stood in his way. He had expected her and her sister to argue, but he’d banked on Sylvi’s more gentle nature taking over and enabling the two to settle their differences. She’d then pack her bags and be on her merry way, leaving him free to convince his parents to sell the farm.

  He’d never once thought the letter might rip their lives apart.

  He sat up, putting his feet on the floor and his head in his hands. The image of Sylvi’s brokenness brought another round of fresh pain.

  He caught a glimpse of an insight and latched onto it.

  He’d broken an unspoken rule—one person did not reach into another person’s life and make decisions for her … or him. It seemed this was a lesson he should have learned long ago.

  As his thoughts followed that trail, he understood something else. It wasn’t his place to pry his parents’ grip free of this farm. He wasn’t wrong in showing them options for a different life or in sacrificing his time to help them. But his way was overzealous.

  He was doing for them what he wished they’d done for him—see the problem and get involved. But they were mature adults with the right to hang on to this black hole until they or the bank said otherwise.

  He’d offered them a good, sound plan to move to Owl’s Perch. It made sense for him and his parents to stay together since he was their only surviving child. Since Daed wasn’t easy to get along with, asking both parents to move into the living quarters above the appliance store and his Daed to help run the shop was a huge sacrifice. But …

  He’d learned in rehab that a spouse, friend, or parent can’t make someone want to get clean. And he couldn’t make his parents want to leave this place. He’d banked on having more influence over his parents than he really had. It was now mid-August, and his Daed trusted him a little more but not enough. He hadn’t expected his Daed to be grateful for what he was trying to do, but he’d thought his Daed would cooperate more by now.

  After moving to his desk, Aaron lit a kerosene lantern and looked through the informational documents the EPA worker had left. He found the page titled “The Struggle to Make Small Farms Profitable.” Unfortunately, it all hinged on one thing—getting that boost Sylvi kept looking for. He took out a notebook and began writing down information.

  By the time he heard his parents moving around downstairs, he’d come up with a couple of plans that might work. After putting each idea for a specific section of the farm into its own folder, he gathered his work, tucked his small notebook and pencil into his pants pocket, and went downstairs.

  A sense of nostalgia tugged at him as he gazed at his parents in the kitchen, dimly lit by a kerosene lamp. His Daed stood at the counter with the percolator in front of him, making coffee. His mother kneaded a bowl of dough, probably preparing a batch of cinnamon buns. They had legitimate reasons to struggle with coping. Mamm had carried eight children to term, and only two had survived past the first few hours or days of life. They left Ohio under duress, and then they lost his sister in a horrific accident. But his sympathy for those terrible events and for Daed’s battle with arthritis didn’t offer any solutions. Answers for the future were what mattered, not heartbreak for the past.

  He put his plans on the kitchen table. “We need to talk.”

  His Daed lit the eye on the gas stove and set the percolator on it. “What’s that?”

  “A new set of plans that I believe represent your best chance for making this farm both manageable and profitable.”

  “Is it something we can do and afford?”

  “You’ll need money and some restructuring to get it started. I should be able to get out some of the cash I put down on the appliance store—it was more than what was needed anyway. I’ll get back as much of it as I can.”

  His mother moved toward him, eyes wide with hope. “Are you staying?”

  “No.”

  Sylvi didn’t want him here, and he’d done what he came to do—face his parents and give them his best until it was time for him to take over the store. Surely they would cosign the loan papers, even if they didn’t go with him, so that his agreement with Leo would be satisfied.

  Anger shrouded his Daed’s face.

  “Daed, you can’t do to Sylvi what you did to me. If you want to keep this farm, you have to be willing to do your share or hire full-time help for her.”

  “You do more bellyaching than a girl.”

  “This isn’t about me. I’m here on Sylvi’s behalf. You drew her in on promises, much as you did me when you wanted to move here from Ohio. You bought this place because you had a dream, but then you gave up and blamed me for every failure. You can’t do that to her.”

  Daed grabbed a newspaper off the counter and threw it across the room. “How dare you—a strong, healthy man in your twenties—judge me! I’ve been through hard times you know nothing about.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. But you need to decide whether you’re capable of pitching in to achieve your dream—or if you even want to. If you can’t or won’t, then free Sylvi before all this hard work breaks her.”

  “You always think I’m not fair. Life isn’t fair. I’d think you’d know that by now.”

  “You need to be honest with Sylvi. If you don’t want this place enough to pull your weight or hire the needed help, say so.”

  “I do want this place! But I don’t have the money to hire help, and a man with back problems can’t work that milking barn twice a day every day.”

  “The barn can be redesigned with a ramp for the cows so you don’t have to bend so much. And once the overdue bills are paid, you can start setting aside money to buy supplies.”

  Daed wagged his finger. “I may not handle as much around here as you think I should, but I’ve never run out on this family. You abandoned us. After your sister died, milk prices plummeted, the cost of feed and veterinarian bills skyrocketed, and you left!”

  “So did you. You crawled into your bed and became just as unavailable as I was when I went to rehab.”

  “We moved here for you.”

  “Hogwash.”

  Daed had left Ohio because his own father had divided up his farm based on the number of grandchildren in each of his children’s households. Daed’s brothers ended up with hundreds of acres. Daed was left with only forty acres and the right to use the dairy barn.

  For years his parents had carried the grief over their six lost babies. When Daadi Blank divided the land based on living grandchildren, it was as if he’d cursed them in front of all their relatives and friends. It was too much for them to handle, so they found this farm in Dry Lake and moved.

  His Daed picked up the folders and flung them. “Why don’t you keep your money and your plans and just go? We don’t need your help. Sylvia and I were managing just fine without you.”

  “No, Michael, you weren’t. Besides, he’s our only child.” Mamm turned to Aaron. “He grieved for you constantly, and I prayed day and night that you’d come home again. Please don’t leave now.”

  “Don’t beg him. He ma
de up his mind years ago.” Daed jerked a chair away from the kitchen table and sat, but his harsh words and movements didn’t hide the pain in his eyes. “You want to go, go.”

  Aaron took the seat beside his father. “Daed, I know you have hurts, really deep ones. But you shouldn’t have dumped your agony and garbage on me. We’ve become just like you and your dad—only worse. Well, I’m tired of making excuses for you, and I’m finished trying to fix your problems.”

  His Daed stared at him, eyes filling with tears. “Then leave.”

  Spiteful words coursed through Aaron until he thought they’d explode from him. He marched out the back door, slamming it behind him.

  Black skies hovered, and the cows mooed, ready to be let into the barn and milked. He stomped across the wet fields. He’d always believed his Daed loved him, but now he wasn’t so sure. Pain throbbed inside his chest. He’d taxed his parents for years, lied to them, and embarrassed them in front of the community. But Daed’s hardness wasn’t rooted in Aaron’s behavior. His father didn’t like him, plain and simple.

  He wished he could talk to Sylvi, but she wanted nothing to do with him right now and for good reason.

  Even with the hostility between his Daed and him, he didn’t regret coming home. He’d do it all again a hundred times over for the chance to get to know Sylvi. And to let his Mamm know he loved her and was sorry for bailing on them the way he had.

  Hurt swirled around inside him, picking up other hurts as it went. At least now he understood a little better why he’d felt the need to escape. And he wanted that escape right now. A six-pack would take the edge off. Two would do a better job. What else could he do? There were no answers, not to his and Sylvi’s relationship, not to his and his parents’. He walked the fence line, using the moonlight to avoid the huge tractor ruts wherever he could.

  Everybody used something to escape, right? His Daed crawled into bed for weeks at a time. Sylvi left home and worked herself into exhaustion. What was so wrong with his way?

  The mud and earth shifted under him. A cracking noise rumbled, and suddenly the lower half of his body dangled in a hole. He tried to dig his fingers into the ground, but the mud came loose. He grabbed onto wet grass, trying to find something that would keep the rest of his body from being pulled into the hole.

  He slid farther. “No. God, hear me, please!”

  The grass yanked out by its roots, and Aaron plummeted. Everything around him went pitch black.

  Sylvia woke with her eyes burning, her body aching, and the same pressing question that had kept her up most of the night—what should she do now? Darkness filled the room, and she wished she could hide in it forever. It didn’t matter that she’d cried herself to sleep. Nothing had changed. She owed God and her sister a price she could never pay.

  Thoughts of Aaron crowded her mind, confusing her even more. She pushed herself upright, determined not to think about him. She didn’t know who’d handled the milking last night, but she needed to get to the barn this morning. Heaviness pressed down, as if she were trying to carry a newborn calf on her shoulders.

  Without putting a match to a lantern, she slid into her clothes and made her way along the shadowy path. Light shone from inside the barn. If Aaron was there, she’d leave.

  She stepped inside. The stalls were already bedded, feed sat in the troughs, and the doors were open to let the cows enter.

  Trevor looked up. “Morning.”

  “Is it just you today?”

  “Yeah. Aaron had me come in early.”

  Good. At least she wouldn’t have to see him.

  Tears welled again, and she turned away to grab the spray bottle, paper towels, and stool. How many times would she believe in a man only to be made a fool of? She sat beside the nearest cow, cleaned her udder, and prepped her for milking.

  Trevor paused near her. “I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, please don’t run from it. Face it, Sylvia. I give you my word it’s the only way. New cities can be built on top of old ruins. Did you know that?”

  Maybe she shouldn’t bare her soul, but she had to talk to somebody, and Trevor didn’t seem like the kind who would judge her unfairly. “But I knew right from wrong. I walked right into the middle of lust and stayed there.”

  “God forgave Paul, who called himself the chief sinner. From what I understand, he tortured, imprisoned, and killed people in God’s name. What makes you think you’re better than he was?”

  “Better? I don’t think that.”

  “Sure you do. God forgave the worst sinner. The Bible says so. Only thing I can guess is that either you think you’re too good to take the same grace Paul took, or you think God is too weak to supply it.”

  Tears spilled onto her cheeks. She didn’t want to agree with him, but his bluntness held wisdom. Needing fresh air, she walked outside and looked into the dark sky. Was it really possible to make things right between God and her?

  “God, please … I can’t undo what I’ve done. If I could relive it, I’d never let myself or anyone else get me in that same situation, but I did let it happen, and I’m sorry. What can I do now? Please, I need Your guidance and strength.”

  As her muted whispers pierced the quiet around her, energy and hope trickled into her. And she knew what had to be done. She had to go see her sister.

  She returned to the barn. “Trevor, I need a ride to Beckie’s. I don’t know how long I’ll stay or if my Daed will let me come back. But I have to talk to Michael and then go.”

  Thirty-Six

  Sylvia’s stomach clenched and her fingertips throbbed with an odd numbness as Trevor drove down the narrow road toward her home. The trip to the Blank farm had taken Beckie more than two hours by horse and carriage, but it had taken Trevor less than thirty minutes to drive here.

  It was well past lunchtime. Since she didn’t know what she’d face when she arrived home, she had spent the morning talking to Michael and Dora, doing laundry, and packing all her clothes.

  She hadn’t seen Aaron. He was probably still working the fence line, which was just as well since she didn’t know what to say to him.

  One battle was all she could handle today.

  Trevor passed her brick homestead. The red milking barn still needed a new coat of paint. The herd stood grazing in the lush fields. A little farther down the road, he pulled into the driveway in front of the eighteenth-century gray stone house where Beckie and Elam lived.

  In spite of looking like her home, it didn’t feel like it. It had lost its homeyness the day she learned that Elam intended to marry Beckie. With a little time, she could have adjusted to that disappointment easily enough if not for two things—Elam’s backstabbing sneakiness at dumping her for someone so close to her, and her inability to get away from him. The real shame was that the mess had given a mediocre man too much power over her emotions.

  Trevor put the vehicle in Park. “I think the best way for you to reach me when … if you’re ready to come home is to call Ephraim’s cabinetry shop. Either I’ll get the message from him, or he’ll bring it to the farm.” He passed her a piece of paper with Ephraim’s name and phone number scrawled on it. “How far to the nearest phone?”

  “Unless the bishop has approved one for someone closer, it’s two to three miles away.” She opened the car door, her head swimming. “I can get to it easily enough when I’m ready. Thanks for the ride.”

  “Glad to do it.”

  The tires crunched against the gravel driveway as Trevor left.

  Movement near the pasture, some two hundred feet away, caught her eye.

  Elam.

  As he walked toward her, her legs felt more like flimsy rubber bands than muscle, sinew, and bone. But the reaction came from dread of facing her family with her sin exposed, not from any feelings for Elam. Nothing about him interested her anymore.

  Still, memories of their best courting days ran through her mind. Whatever she’d found so special about him eluded her now. He’d been charming, to b
e sure, and everyone flocked to him as if his boyish good looks and handsome smile inflated his value. Aaron was far more attractive to her, and he thought nothing of his looks. But Elam relied on his appearance and hid his disloyalty behind it. He’d been slowly maturing for years, so maybe he’d changed, but the person she knew was self-absorbed, conceited, and manipulative. She’d seen those flaws when they were courting and had foolishly been willing to overlook them.

  Elam stopped within five feet of her, looking drained and subdued. There wasn’t a hint of the bold-faced, overconfident man who had married her sister.

  She cleared her throat. “I didn’t intend to tell her.”

  “I’m glad it’s out.”

  His words gave her some much-needed hope.

  He studied his home, sadness radiating from deep within. “I wanted to tell her so many times, but I couldn’t make myself. It seemed unreasonably selfish—even for me—to lighten my load by dumping it on her.”

  She needed to make sure every speck of unfinished business and all secrets between them were attended to. “You were right when you said I was never going to marry you. It never would’ve happened.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t want to hear it.”

  “I need to know.”

  Elam waited, and thoughts of Aaron tugged at her. “You had no sense of loyalty. No ability to care about what I needed over what you wanted.”

  Within a week of knowing her, Aaron had more respect for her position on his farm than Elam ever had of Sylvia’s place on a farm she partly owned. Aaron understood her better than she had herself—her avoidance of church and her drive to overwork. He put effort into planning breaks for her. The man in front of her had no understanding of being someone’s equal partner, and she wondered if he had the capacity to really love someone. Aaron did. She’d seen it in the way he treated his parents and Frani.

  And her.

  A new ache for her sister banged around inside her.

  Sylvia turned to face the house Elam and Beckie called home. “My regret is deep, and I need to tell Beckie that. But I don’t know if she’ll hear me.”