Maybe she wasn’t supposed to partner with Kings’ Orchard after all.
Or maybe, as her community had believed since she was a young child, she was simply bad luck.
“Good morning, Rhoda.” Camilla tied the sash to her housecoat, but her gray shoulder-length hair looked freshly washed and dried.
Rhoda pulled from her thoughts, realizing the candle was giving off a black, smoky light. “Oh, what am I thinking? It’s daytime.”
“Not really. Just threatening to be in a bit.”
“Still, I should get my shoes on and hair pinned and—”
Camilla moved next to her and put her arm around Rhoda’s shoulders. “Would you mind taking some time to share a cup of hot chocolate with me before going to the farm? Bob won’t be up for hours. We don’t have to talk about uncomfortable subjects.”
Rhoda didn’t walk through the woods in the dark, not since she’d gotten lost, but it’d be daylight soon. Some days she stayed here until later in the morning, working on new recipes. Did she really need to hurry to get to the orchard on any day? She couldn’t go to the office for fear Jacob would think she was sneaking time alone with Samuel. She couldn’t step inside the house to speak until Samuel and Jacob had gone to the orchard—in opposite directions—or it’d start a fresh argument or deepen the angry silence between the two men.
No one looked forward to her arrival.
Camilla squeezed her shoulder. “Rhoda?”
“I’d like that.”
“Good, because I’ve been pulling recipes from lots of places. What do you think about apple salsa?”
Before long they had steaming cups of hot chocolate in hand and recipes scattered across the table. Even though dawn had arrived, Rhoda remained put. She had no desire to trade a good conversation here for being ignored at the farm.
“This one looks like a pretty good recipe for apple salsa.” Rhoda placed the card on the table and scratched out the word dried in front of cilantro. “I tried this kind of salsa once before.” She picked up the card. “Not so sure its failure had anything to do with the recipe.”
“It didn’t sell well?”
Tell her.
The child’s voice was so clear … and yet imaginary. It felt as if someone had thrown cold water on Rhoda. The words had urgency, and she had to say something to try to relieve the internal commotion the voice caused. “Do you ever sense something that you have no proof of?”
“Sure.” Camilla pushed a torn page from a magazine toward her. “I sense this apple salsa recipe will be a big hit in this home even if no place else.”
Rhoda lifted it. “I’ll make enough to last you all next year if …”
“Deal.” Camilla tapped the table with the palms of her hands. “So what do you want?”
“To talk to you about something without angering or upsetting you.”
Camilla smiled. “That’s what I’ve been wanting. You can tell me anything, and I won’t get angry.”
“Not about me.”
“What then?”
“I’m not sure, but I think … your son.”
Camilla arched an eyebrow, and her face changed. She looked nothing like the woman Rhoda had come to know. She seemed suddenly cold and unfeeling. “Pick a different topic, Rhoda. Now.”
If Rhoda dared to push for answers, would Camilla ask her to leave too?
Samuel made his way through the woods, trudging on dried leaves and occasional patches of snow as he flagged the trees. In his twenty-five years of life, he’d never understood how it must feel for people to dislike themselves.
But now he was making up for lost time.
He hated the trouble he’d caused. It dogged him day and night. He had little doubt that Rhoda hated him too. Regardless of what she felt toward him, though, he wasn’t waiting one more day for Jacob to mark the path for her.
When Samuel went into the field each morning to work, he kept the dogs near him so they’d alert him when their beloved Rhoda approached the property. But some days she didn’t arrive until nine or so. He didn’t know why. Maybe she’d gotten turned around, or maybe she’d left Camilla’s late for some reason, but at least he knew when she arrived. However, when she left at night, he had no way of knowing if she would arrive safely back at Camilla’s.
He hadn’t wanted to interfere or to act as if Rhoda was his to protect, but no one besides him and Jacob knew the way through the woods to Camilla’s, and Jacob left him no choice. Well, Rhoda knew the trail, but she’d also been lost in these woods before.
Fog surrounded him, making the woods look like something from a dream.
But if he were asleep, Rhoda would appear in the distance, a shrouded vision that would make his heart go wild as she slowly moved toward him. When he could see her clearly, she’d look him in the eye, and he’d see the same respect and love he had for her. Then she’d take his hand, and they’d walk and talk.
Dreams were for fools. In reality, he’d fallen for a woman who belonged to his brother. What had he been thinking to pull her into his arms the way he had? He’d ruined two of his most important relationships—probably, at least to some degree, for the rest of his life.
He loved Jacob. And his brother was a better man than he in many, many ways, but …
Samuel tugged at the elastic flagging until he tore off another piece. He wasn’t going to think about what Jacob lacked. Samuel had his own shortcomings to look at if he wished to evaluate such things.
He wrapped another strip of flagging around a tree. Thankfully, Jacob spoke to him today. That was a good sign.
Some might think Jacob’s silent treatment of Rhoda and him was a character flaw or weakness. Maybe it was to some extent. But mostly it was Jacob’s deep sense of gentleness that caused extreme disappointment or hurt to mute his vocal cords. At least he wasn’t like Samuel when upset—yell now, think later. Jacob’s calmer, more thoughtful disposition seemed to draw women. The call from Sandra, with her daughter in the background asking for “Ache-up,” was a clear reminder of that. But Jacob was a one-woman man. No one doubted that.
Samuel had been doing a little better about not losing his temper since starting each day with the Scriptures and prayer. He’d become diligent in seeking God shortly after moving here because he was so drawn to Rhoda. Despite his effort to wrestle temptation into submission, he’d kissed her. And now his Bible, the one she gave him for Christmas, lay closed beside his bed. He’d managed to read it for a few minutes here and there, but the words were no longer encouraging. They were a weight he couldn’t carry. Even if he spent all day reading the Word, he’d never have an easy-going, laid-back personality.
But he’d never meant to charge into territory that wasn’t his and try to take over. Never. He longed to apologize for making Rhoda’s life harder. No one needed that, especially not Rhoda. He’d like to ask what he could do to make up for the trouble he’d caused.
At the same time, he was livid with her. Why didn’t she blurt out the truth to Jacob and get it over with—that Samuel was fully to blame for kissing her?
A thousand emotions gnawed at him. He was far more angry with himself than anyone else, but if Jacob truly cared about what was best for Rhoda, he would find a way to look her in the eye and deal with what had happened. And if Rhoda would simply throw Samuel to the wolves and be done with it, Jacob would be back to himself by this time tomorrow, and she would save the settlement and the business.
He was weary of thinking about it, of being so in love he couldn’t stand it. But regardless of all that, it was time to focus on the one thing he could perhaps do—save the orchard from failure and keep the small settlement from having to sell and move back home. But with Jacob threatening to leave, and probably taking Rhoda with him, how much chance did he really have?
FOUR
Rhoda sat across from Camilla, fidgeting with papers as she explained about the time she’d sensed that a neighbor in Pennsylvania was in trouble and she broke into her home to get to her. The
elderly woman had fallen days before and broken her hip. Once the woman was in the hospital, her doctor said she would’ve died if she had stayed in the house a few more hours. “But my family discouraged me from speaking to the woman if I saw her outside, let alone entering her house uninvited.”
“Or breaking her window. But why wouldn’t she want to talk to you?”
“I’ve had things come to me since I was quite young, but a lot of people think knowing the things I do is akin to witchcraft.”
“People feel that way just because of an inkling? That seems a bit over the top, don’t you think?”
“I’m hoping you keep thinking like that.” Rhoda stacked and restacked the papers as if her movements had a purpose. “I found your home because I was drawn to it.”
Camilla shrugged. “My playing the cello outdoors drew you, right?”
“That too. But …”—her heart raced—“I know you have a son.”
The lines on Camilla’s face grew taut as she stared at the table. “Had.” She took a sip of her drink. “The thing about intuitions is they’re based on what a person picks up that is not obvious to others—body language, pictures, whispers between people. You probably subconsciously noticed that your neighbor hadn’t been around for a while. When you walked past her home on the way to a store, every piece of subconscious information came together in your conscious mind—only it felt like a forewarning rather than a gathering of half-hidden pieces of information. As for my son, if I’d realized you have a keen sense for noticing the unobvious, I might not have opened my doors to you quite so quickly.”
She’d been told Camilla and Bob were reclusive, yet they’d willingly opened their house to her as soon as she met them. Were they more open to her because she was Amish? Or perhaps God had warmed their hearts to feel that way, to prepare them to hear about her shadowy intuitions concerning Camilla’s grandchild. Rhoda wavered between hoping she’d never find out the full meaning of tell them and hoping she’d know all of it so she could be free.
“Your son’s name is Zachary,” Rhoda offered, hoping Camilla would believe her about her knowing.
She nodded. “Zachary,” she whispered reverently. “It’s been six years, and I still have bad days when I can’t contain my grief.”
It was a relief that Camilla remained calm at Rhoda’s gentle prodding. She seemed to have dismissed where Rhoda claimed she got her information. But there was so much more she wanted to say, like, Do you know you have a grandchild? Somewhere. Maybe. It’d be cruel to say such a thing, especially since it might not be true. Perhaps questions were best. “What happened?”
Camilla shook her head. “You know enough. Trust me. And that’s far more than anyone else around here knows.” She reached across the table and clutched Rhoda’s hand. “He would be about your age now.” But unlike you, he wanted nothing to do with me.
The hairs on Rhoda’s arms and the back of her neck stood on end as she heard what Camilla hadn’t said. So her son was Rhoda’s age, but he had died six years ago, at or near seventeen years old. The girl’s voice Rhoda heard was around six or seven years old, wasn’t she? Would Camilla’s son have fathered a child as a teen?
Rhoda’s Daed came to mind. “Remember the slave soothsayer from God’s Word, Rhoda, and mind your ways.”
She squeezed Camilla’s hand, willing to let go of this conversation. “I’m glad we met. We both grieve what can’t be undone—me with my little sister and you with your son.”
“Seems so.” Camilla wiped at a stray tear. “I’m glad you know. It helps. But there’s really nothing else on that topic to talk about.” She cleared her throat. “I do, however, have something we need to explore, and I’d like for you to hear me out.”
Maybe it was best to keep approaching the subject of Zachary slowly. But a memory hit hard. The first day she met Camilla, she heard—or maybe imagined—that the little girl said, Tell them while I still have a home. Perhaps time wasn’t on her side. It had been more than five months since then.
Rhoda shook free of those thoughts and focused on Camilla. “Okay.”
Camilla pointed out the window. It was daylight. “It could take a little while.”
“I’ve decided I’m in no rush this morning.”
“Good.” Camilla took a sip of her drink, looking reluctant to speak her mind. “I’m concerned you’re not fully grasping why you felt the need to move out.”
“I thought we’d covered this already. I give you my word that no one in that home is violent.”
“And I believe you, but your needing to move in here is a red flag. Do you know how many women get down the road in a relationship and then say, ‘I should’ve seen the warning signals long before now’?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think you need a way to keep your canning kitchen business separate from Kings’ Orchard. Surely having to move out has opened your eyes that you have too little control in the relationship.”
“I … I’m hoping the separation will end soon. Surely it will.” It had to. Rhoda couldn’t imagine life any other way.
“I believe you need to reexamine where you’re headed, because as soon as the chips were down, you were put out on your, uh, keister.”
Rhoda couldn’t take her eyes off Camilla. Even knowing that Samuel and Jacob weren’t violent, Camilla still had serious concerns about the situation between Rhoda and them. “They didn’t throw me out. I chose to leave. Sort of.”
“Take it from a woman who put all her eggs in one basket: you should maintain your rights and power so that if Kings’ Orchard chooses to send you packing, you, at the very least, leave with what you had when you joined them.”
“I love the business we’ve started, and no one’s interested in booting me out.”
Camilla ran her fingers through her silvery hair. “And yet here you are.”
Rhoda couldn’t keep going round and round with Camilla. “Because I’m seeing Jacob, but I’ve caught Samuel’s eye … I guess.” How did Samuel really feel about her? She rubbed her forehead. Why would she even ask herself that question? It didn’t matter, and besides that, she knew the answer. He’d had a moment of insanity.
“Oh.” Camilla folded her hands, studying them. “That eases some of my concerns.” She placed her hands flat on the table and leaned in. “But it adds new ones. Before I share those, is it safe to assume one those two holds your heart?”
She nodded. “Jacob.”
“Is he the one you mentioned that you could get things straight with if you could talk to him?”
Rhoda fidgeted with her thumbs. What would Camilla make of her response? “No. He’s hurt, and he’s harder to reach. You know?”
“Afraid I don’t.”
Rhoda tapped her temple. “He keeps so much of himself inside his head and heart, and I’m not sure how to clear the air with him. Samuel does too, I suppose, but at least he’ll stand his ground and argue. And if I could get a few minutes alone with him, I’d give him something to contend with.”
Camilla chuckled. “Well, I guess that clears up all fears of either of them being aggressive with you. So Jacob, the one you’re dating, doesn’t want you anywhere near Samuel, who is the one you’d like to talk to.”
“The one I’d like to yell at is more like it, but yes.”
Camilla angled her head. “You care for both of them. You realize that, right?”
“Of course I like them both but not the way you’re thinking. They’re as different as fall and spring.”
“I always thought of those seasons as being similar.”
“Spring is the start of growing season, and for apple farmers fall is the main harvest.”
“So which man is the end of the wintry, barren season, bringing all its newness, and which one is the harvest with all its abundance?”
Rhoda’s offhanded remark to compare them with seasons hadn’t been well thought out. “I … I didn’t mean it that way. For me, Jacob is both. He was my first love. My f
irst courtship. My first kiss. My first hope of having a family of my own someday. But we haven’t been together long enough to reach any kind of harvest yet.”
“Just remember this, and I’ll drop the topic: follow your heart. Don’t stay in a relationship because you think you should or because you believe you owe it to Jacob or even because you loved him first. I once heard it put this way: If you’re torn between two men, choose the second. If you had truly loved the first, there wouldn’t have been a second.”
“There is no second love, Camilla. There’s only Jacob.”
“Okay.” Camilla patted Rhoda’s hand. “I believe you, but even so, don’t give any one person too much of your power, Rhoda—not over your business or your personal life. A truly good man can handle you maintaining some control, whether that means earning your own money or keeping your canning business separate from Kings’ Orchard.”
Camilla held feminist views, and that wasn’t the Amish way. Most Amish women married young, and if they had a job or income, they gave it up before their wedding day. But Rhoda’s situation was consistent with the rest of her life as an Amish woman—an oddity.
Camilla’s cautioning words did make Rhoda realize one thing, however. If she was going to restore Jacob’s faith in their relationship, she needed a place to live and work that would keep her and Samuel from crossing paths a gazillion times each day and night.
“Even if I liked your idea of acquiring and keeping a canning kitchen separate from Kings’ Orchard, there is no money for such a plan.”
“But you’re open to the idea?”
“Actually”—Rhoda fidgeted with her braid—“I think I am.”
“Good. That’s where we start.” Camilla grabbed a pen. “How large does the kitchen need to be?”
For Every Season Page 4
