by Beth Wiseman
“What about apple pie?” he asked.
She glanced at him. “Not on your diet, Grossdaadi.”
“It has apples in it.” He winked.
Rachael smiled and brought him his sandwich. “Do you need anything else?”
“I need to talk to you.” He patted the chair next to him. “Sit.”
She sat, alarm pooling inside her. “Are you okay?”
He pushed at the plate. “Ya. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’ll be just fine by myself now. I know it was touch and geh for a while, and I’m glad your parents could spare you to come and help me out.” His voice turned gruff. “It’s been nice to have another person around for a while.”
She wanted to reach out and pat his hand, but he wouldn’t appreciate it. He never showed affection, an unusual quirk she’d accepted. A widower for over five years after being married for almost fifty, he’d lived alone for a long time. Her parents, who had moved to Indiana shortly after they married, couldn’t move back to care for him. But she could. And she wouldn’t let him be alone again.
“It’s time you went home, Rachael.”
She just wished he didn’t make it so hard sometimes.
“I’m not going home.” Rachael stood and went to the sink. She rested her hands on the edge of it. “My place is here.”
“Your place is back with your mamm and daed. Your bruders and schwesters. Don’t you miss them? Don’t you want to be with your friends instead of an old mann?”
She spun around and looked at her grandfather. How could she think about what she wanted when he needed her? She had no intention of going back to Indiana, not anytime soon. “I belong here.”
“Humph.” He picked up his sandwich. “You’re as stubborn as your daed.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
When they finished lunch, she could see he was tired. “You should take a nap.”
“Nee.” He started to get up from the table. “I think I’ll geh out to mei barn. I haven’t been there in a while.”
“But—”
He held up his hand. “You’re already telling me what to eat. You’re not gonna tell me how to spend every second of mei daag.” He grabbed his cane. “I need some air.”
She started to say something, then bit her bottom lip. He was right. She couldn’t order him around like he was a child. But she couldn’t stop worrying about him, either. She peeked through the back door of the kitchen and watched as he hobbled to the barn, saying a quick prayer that he wouldn’t do anything overly strenuous. Or overly foolish.
When he disappeared into the barn, she closed the back door and finished cleaning the kitchen.
Later, she stepped onto the front porch, breathing in the fresh air, the scent of flowers wafting from the garden mixed with the earthy smell of the Beilers’ farm next door. She thought about what her grandfather said. But she didn’t want to go home, even though she missed her family. She belonged in Middlefield right now, helping her grandfather, making sure he had fresh vegetables to eat and didn’t overwork himself. She couldn’t stop him from tinkering in the barn, but she could be here if he needed her help.
If she set aside her worry, she knew she wasn’t being fair to him. After her grandmother died, he would spend hours in the barn, going through the things he’d collected over the years, sometimes forgetting to eat or get adequate sleep. His deteriorating health had led to the stroke that nearly killed him. But as long as he didn’t do too much, there was no reason why he shouldn’t be surrounded by his collections, the things that made him happy. Still, he didn’t need to be alone.
Indiana could wait. Her father had asked her, his oldest child, to be there for his father. She would keep that promise to make sure her grandfather was safe and healthy.
And possibly surprise him with a small sliver of apple pie for tonight’s dessert.
CHAPTER THREE
By cultivating the beautiful we scatter the seeds of heavenly flowers, as by doing good we cultivate those that belong to humanity.
—ROBERT A. HEINLEIN
Once he’d finished the day’s work, Gideon sat down with his parents and sister for their evening meal. After bowing his head in silent prayer, he picked up a dish of steaming mashed potatoes and plopped a large spoonful onto his plate. He passed them to his father.
“There’s a hanging basket on the front porch,” Maam said. “Beautiful pink Petunias. Hannah Lynn, do you know where they came from?”
His sister shrugged. “I saw them when I came home from Rebekah Yoder’s. I thought you bought them.”
“They’re from Rachael.” Gideon kept his eyes on his food as he swirled the potatoes in the creamy gravy.
“Rachael, hmm?”
Gideon looked up and glared at his sister. “She gave them to me when I took over the compost.”
“And she thanked you with flowers.” Hannah Lynn’s brown eyes danced with teasing behind her glasses. “How sweet.”
“They’re for Maam.” He glared at her. Hadn’t she pestered him enough for one day?
“That was nice of her.” His mother took a fried chicken breast from the platter in front of her. “She has such a gift for gardening. I’m amazed at how much work she’s accomplished in a year.” She looked at Gideon. “I baked some oatmeal cookies today. Maybe I’ll take a plate over to her tomorrow.”
“I’m sure Gideon wouldn’t mind taking them for you.” Hannah Lynn grinned.
He scowled at her.
“I’ll do it. I haven’t had a chance to visit with Rachael in a long while. Eli seems to be doing better, from what I’ve seen of him at church. Having Rachael there to help him is such a blessing.”
Gideon took a bite of his fried chicken, saying nothing. But he felt Hannah Lynn’s foot nudge him from across the table. He pushed back.
“Ow.”
“Not at the supper table, you two.” Their father didn’t look up. He didn’t have to. His tone said it all.
“She’s a nice maedel too,” his mother continued, as if nothing had happened. She piled her plate high with buttered green beans. Bits of bacon clung to a few of the shiny pods. What Rachael Bontrager was to gardening, his mother was to cooking. Gideon’s parents’ plump frames attested to that. Unlike him and Hannah Lynn, they were both on the short side. “But she does seem to keep to herself.”
“That’s what I said,” Hannah Lynn commented.
He ignored her and took the bowl of green beans from his mother. “Ya. I guess.” At least his mother seemed oblivious to his feelings for Rachael.
Mamm sprinkled a little salt on her chicken. “You should invite her to a singing, Gideon.”
Then again, maybe not.
“Ya, Gideon.” Hannah Lynn smirked. “Invite her to a singing.”
“We’ve got two heifers due to birth any day,” his father said, giving Hannah Lynn a stern look before turning to Gideon. “We need to make sure we’re prepared.”
“We are.” Gideon appreciated his father’s quick switch of topics. Discussing his love life—or lack of it—with his mother and sister was turning into a nightmare.
After supper, Gideon went outside to bring the cows into the barn from the pasture. He made sure the horses were comfortable for the night, filling their water troughs to the brim and adding a thin layer of extra hay over the trampled straw in their stalls. Chores done, he went inside, pausing at the edge of the backyard where their property abutted the Bontragers’. There were no trees or bushes to obscure his view of the house and Rachael’s garden, which was partly obscured by two tall, wide oak trees. He didn’t see her, only heard the echo of hammering.
She was probably working on the greenhouse. He should offer to help her build it. She shouldn’t have to work so hard. Or work alone.
Just as he started to step across the property line, she appeared, carrying an empty glass. He froze, watching as she paused to pull a few weeds from the square vegetable patch on the right side of her garden. Tiny shoots of tomato an
d pepper plants peeked through the soil. He squinted through his glasses. The sun hung low in the sky behind her, the muted colors of sunset providing the perfect backdrop. His heart thrummed. Her independence and work ethic appealed to him just as much as her beauty. With her grandfather being ill, he knew she was in charge of all the chores and keeping the Bontrager household running smoothly. He helped out when she let him, mostly with cutting wood for the stove in the living room. But more often she refused his offers. She was the most capable woman he knew, and he’d never heard her complain.
“You’re staring.”
He groaned at the sound of Hannah Lynn’s voice. “Back to pester me again?”
“I can’t help it.” She grinned, looking up at him. “You’re too easy to tease.”
How well he knew that. “I don’t appreciate it.” His private moment ruined, he turned and headed for the house. He heard Hannah Lynn coming up behind him.
“I’m sorry.” She stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “You’re right. I shouldn’t tease you about Rachael.”
He looked down at her. “Danki for finally realizing that.” He started to walk away from her.
“I should be helping you instead.”
He paused, turning. “What?”
“I know how you can tell Rachael how you feel.”
He took Hannah Lynn by the arm and led her toward the front porch. “Keep your voice down.”
“She can’t hear me.” Hannah Lynn shook him off. She moved to the top of the porch steps. She was now even with his line of sight.
Now he wished she’d go back to teasing him. He shook his head. “Nee. Absolutely not.”
“Won’t you at least hear me out? Do you want to court Rachael or not?”
Hannah Lynn could be relentless, like a dog guarding his bone. If he didn’t listen to her now, she’d never let it drop until he did. He looked over his shoulder. Rachael was gone. “You know I do. But that doesn’t mean she’ll agree to geh out with me.”
His sister’s grin widened. “By the end of next week, she will.”
The following Monday morning dawned cloudy, but it was the warmest day they’d had so far. Before Rachael left the house, she grabbed the last oatmeal cookie from the plate Gideon’s mother had dropped off last week. She would return it with some brownies, using her grossmutter’s popular recipe. Maybe she’d set aside one for herself before she took them over. She did miss sweet treats, and it had been difficult to keep her grandfather out of the oatmeal cookies. She’d relented and let him have one, which he savored.
She went to feed her grandfather’s horse, which had his own pocket of space in the barn along with Grossdaadi’s various collections. When she finished giving him his oats and fresh water, she patted the horse’s gray head and left the barn, glancing at the Beilers’ yard. No one was outside. Just the cows and goats.
She hadn’t seen much of Gideon since he’d brought over the compost. For the rest of the week she’d tried to catch a glimpse of him, but she never did. Yesterday he disappeared right after the church service. She even tried to think of an excuse to go over to his house, but everything she came up with seemed ridiculous. Her feelings for him had grown stronger over time—and more pointless. If he liked her, he would have let her know by now.
Rachael made her way to the garden. But when she opened the gate, she noticed the latch was a bit loose. Short on time, she made a mental note to tighten the screws when she returned from the flea market. She made sure the gate was securely shut behind her and went to the unfinished greenhouse. Nearby was her potting bench, along with several iron shepherd’s hooks holding her hanging baskets.
She decided to take four of them, two containing purple Petunias and two filled with multicolored Impatiens. They seemed to be the most popular flower for hanging baskets. She stood on a small stool and reached up to grab two of the baskets. When she stepped down and turned around, she noticed something lying on her potting bench.
She neared, peering at the single stemmed flower that hadn’t been there the night before. Rachael set the baskets on the ground and picked up the flower. A purple Iris. She touched the small, plain white card attached with a thin pale-blue ribbon.
My Compliments.
Rachael looked around the garden. Nothing else had been disturbed. She studied the Iris. It was a beauty, with the darkest purple petals she’d ever seen. A slash of lemon yellow peeked out from the interior of each petal. This wasn’t from her garden.
She fingered the card. My Compliments. What did that mean? The short sentiment was written in uniform print, the letters almost square in shape. Plain. Masculine.
Her hanging baskets forgotten, she went inside, carrying the flower. She walked into the kitchen, where her grandfather sat at the kitchen table, holding the newspaper in one hand. He peered up at her over his reading glasses. “Ready for me to drive you to the flea market?”
She sighed. They’d argued about this last night. “I’m driving myself. There’s nee sense in you hanging around for hours, waiting for me to sell flowers.”
“I refuse to be trapped in mei own haus.”
“I know.” Rachael rubbed her temple. “What if you come with me next week?”
He looked at her before focusing on the newspaper again. “I suppose that will be fine.”
She let out a breath. She’d deal with next Monday when it arrived. She started searching the cabinets. After the third one, her grandfather asked, “What are you looking for?”
“Grossmutter’s vase. I thought I put it in here.” She crouched down and opened the cabinet under the sink. “There it is.” She filled the glass cylinder with water, put the Iris in it, and placed it on the table.
“Nice flower,” he said. “I didn’t know you were growing Irises.”
“I didn’t know you knew what Irises were.”
“I do know a little about flowers. Your grossmutter kept a gaarde too. Not as big as yours. But enough for us.” He looked at the Iris. “She liked Tulips the best.”
Rachael nodded. Every spring dozens of yellow, red, and orange Tulips bloomed in the flower beds that edged the front porch. She untied the card from the Iris stem.
“Someone give that to you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It was left on my potting bench. There’s nee name on the card.” She glanced at the battery-operated clock on the wall. She didn’t have time to talk about this now. “I have to geh. I’ll be back this afternoon. Please don’t geh anywhere other than the barn while I’m gone.”
He sighed. “I promise. But I’m only doing this as a favor to you.”
“Understood.” Satisfied, Rachael started to leave.
“Secret admirer,” her grandfather mumbled.
“What?”
“Nix. You better hurry or you’ll be late.”
She went to the barn to hitch the horse to the buggy. Secret admirer. The fact that her grandfather had mentioned it was surprising. But the idea was silly. She had been invited to a couple of singings over the past year, but she’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested. Eventually the buwe stopped asking. The only man she wanted to go to a singing with had never asked her.
But he was also the only one who had easy access to her garden. Could he have left the Iris?
Rachael paused. Would he? Her pulse thrummed at the thought.
She frowned, dismissing the thought. If he were interested in her romantically, he wouldn’t go to this kind of trouble. He was shy, but also plainspoken, a quality she appreciated. He wouldn’t leave her a flower with a vague card. He would simply ask her out.
She put the mystery out of her mind as she loaded her plants and flowers into the back of the buggy. When she finished, she guided the horse down the driveway at a brisk pace. She needed to arrive as soon as she could, since business at the flea market was at its peak during the morning hours.
But as she drove to Nauvoo Road where the flea market was located, the fragrant scent of flowers and potting soil fil
ling her buggy, she thought about the Iris again. Could it be from Gideon? Deep in her heart, she willed it to be true.
CHAPTER FOUR
Arranging a bowl of flowers in the morning can give a sense of quiet in a crowded day—like writing a poem or saying a prayer.
—ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH
Business at the flea market was brisk. Rachael had set her small stand of flowers, plants, and hanging baskets near the outside entrance of the flea market hall, and within two hours she had sold everything but two petite Croton plants.
A young Yankee woman walked by Rachael’s stand, wearing huge round, black sunglasses. Her lime-green purse, practically the size of a duffel bag, was slung over her shoulder. She paused in front of the Crotons.
“What are these?” she asked, pointing to the plants.
“Crotons.” Rachael picked one up. “They’re very easy to care for and make great indoor plants.” She touched one of the leaves. “As they grow, the leaves change from green to red, and the yellow spots turn a pinkish color.”
The woman lifted up her glasses. “That sounds pretty. But I have a black thumb. I’ve killed every plant I’ve ever owned, so I just gave up on the gardening thing.”
Rachael smiled. “There’s no such thing as a black thumb.” She took the other plant and handed them both to the woman. “Here. Try growing these. Make sure they get plenty of sunlight and don’t overwater. I promise you’ll be happy with them.”
The young woman eyed them for a moment. “Okay. How much?”
“No charge.”
Her eyes widened. “I couldn’t take them for free. Let me pay you something.”
Rachael shook her head. Although she could use the few dollars these two plants would bring, she enjoyed the woman’s surprise even more.
“Thank you. I’ll take good care of them.” She took the plants and grinned. “At least I’ll try.”
“I know you will. Enjoy them.”
As the woman walked away, Rachael folded up her table, still smiling. First the surprise flower, then she’d sold all her plants and had managed to put a smile on someone’s face. What a great morning.
