An Amish Garden

by Beth Wiseman

  “Pretty much since I met you.”

  She laughed. “Purple.”

  “What?”

  “Purple roses. Those mean love at first sight.” Her laughter faded. “If I had one, I’d give it to you.”

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her again. When they parted, she glanced down, seeing the rose between them. “We crushed it,” she said.

  He glided his thumb across her cheek. “Don’t worry, we’ll grow more. In your grienhaus.”

  “But it’s not finished yet.”

  He smiled. “It will be soon. Because we’ll build it together. Remember what I said? How you don’t have to do things alone? I meant it.”

  She stepped away from him, suddenly inspired. “I was thinking about how to seal the old windows once the walls are built. Grossdaadi has a box of caulk in the barn. Don’t ask me why, but he does. Also, we need to build shelves inside—”

  He kissed her silently. When he pulled away, he said, “Let’s just enjoy the moment, okay? I’ve waited so long for this . . . we can put the grienhaus, and everything else, on hold. At least for a little while.”

  She snuggled against him, the greenhouse becoming a memory in the back of her mind. He was right. She’d waited for them to be together too.

  As she leaned against his chest, Rachael thanked God for her blessings. For so long she focused on her work, on worrying about how she would do everything, instead of concentrating on what was right in front of her—family, Gideon, and love. She vowed to change that, to enjoy life, no matter what happened. With God and Gideon by her side, she could face anything.

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  1. Do you think Rachael was too overprotective of her grandfather? Why or why not?

  2. Could Rachael have reached out more to her community? In what ways?

  3. Should Gideon have followed his sister’s plan to “woo” Rachael?

  4. What could he have done differently?

  5. Rachael let her worries over her grandfather and her garden take over her mind and heart, keeping her from fully trusting God. Have there been times in your life when fear and worry kept you from putting your faith in the Lord?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to everyone who helped make this book possible: my editors, Becky Philpott and Natalie Hanemann; my agent, Tamela Hancock Murray; and of course my family for their unwavering support.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photograph by Sarah Debevec

  Kathleen Fuller is the author of several best-selling novels, including A Man of His Word and Treasuring Emma, as well as a middle-grade Amish series, The Mysteries of Middlefield.

  Seeds of Love

  TRICIA GOYER

  This book is dedicated to two great churches: Easthaven Baptist Church in Kalispell, Montana, and Mosaic Church of Central Arkansas in Little Rock.

  More than fellow church members, you are friends. And you’ve taught me what a loving community is all about!

  GLOSSARY OF WEST KOOTENAI AMISH WORDS

  aenti—aunt

  danke—thank you

  dat—dad

  Englisch—non-Amish

  Englischman—non-Amish man

  gut—good

  ja—yes

  kapp—prayer cap

  kinder—children

  liebling—darling

  mem—mom

  ne—no

  oma—grandmother

  opa—grandfather

  vell—well

  wunderbar—wonderful

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eli Plank sipped a cup of strong coffee as he sat down to write his Budget report, which had to be mailed today in order to make the next printing of the paper. One of his earliest memories included watching his dat reading The Budget each night after dinner. It was a staple in Amish homes. A way for men and women from all around the country to connect, telling of the joys and hardships of their local Amish communities.

  For as long as he could read The Budget himself, Eli had always sought out the news from the West Kootenai community first. The local scribe’s column often read like an adventure novel, with elk taking down clotheslines and wild turkeys showing up in buggy sheds. The Amish families who’d traveled to West Kootenai were the adventurers among them—like modern-day Lewises and Clarks. Now he was one of them. Eli wondered if the area would live up to the expectations he’d set in his mind. And he also wondered how many days his mother could go before writing him of his need to return to Indiana, settle down, and find himself a wife.

  He sat at the small handmade wooden table. Next to him the large window was open. The cool wind carried in the scent of pine and a stirring of dust from the four-wheel-drive truck that had just rumbled down the road. Yesterday his first visitors had shown up at the cabin. A trio of Amish kids who lived just down the road. They’d brought over cinnamon rolls from their mem as a welcome to the area, and a note to let him know that church would be at their house this week. They’d pointed to a small yet tidy ranch house down the road.

  “That’s where we live, not far at all yet,” the youngest one—a girl—had proclaimed. “And on the other side of that is the Carashes’ house. They’re Englisch. Sally is my best friend.”

  Eli had only been in the small West Kootenai community two days, but it was long enough to discover this was an Amish community unlike any other he’d been in. Three things stood out: the way the Amish and Englisch mingled as friends, the snow still on the mountains though it was May, and the pretty blonde Amish woman who barely glanced his way as he offered a hello in the general store. She was lovelier than most of the young women back home—yet he wouldn’t tell Mem that. The last thing he needed was Mem writing to give him courting advice. She seemed overly worried that he was already twenty-four years old and had yet to find a suitable woman to pursue.

  Instead of glancing his way, the young woman had been focused on bags of planting soil, asking the store clerk, Edgar, a slew of questions about hard freezes and soil content. Growing up with his family’s seed business, Eli knew gardening. He now kicked himself for not stepping forward and offering her some advice. Then again, he’d only be guessing. It wasn’t as if he’d ever gardened in these parts. He was certain that planting in the high mountains had to be quite different from Indiana. And it wasn’t until the woman walked out the door with her purchases that he saw the same trio of kids who had stopped by his cabin waiting for her.

  “That’s Sadie. She’s been through quite a loss,” Edgar had informed him. “Yet those kids keep her connected to real life. Otherwise I think she’d spend most of her thoughts on her garden.” Edgar sighed. “Though I’m not sure if it’s the one she’s planting or the one of her childhood that she thinks ’bout the most.”

  Edgar hadn’t said any more about the woman, and Eli hadn’t asked. Yet he’d been pleasantly surprised to know she lived right down the road. He’d have a chance to see the woman again this morning. After all, being neighborly as he was, Eli had offered to walk the woman’s younger siblings to school . . . seeing that there was a bear in these parts and all. It was the kids themselves who’d stopped by last night to tell him the news. A bear . . . now that was something to write home about!

  THE BUDGET—West Kootenai, Montana

  May—Unseasonably warm weather (or so the locals tell me) with clear skies reflecting off the mountain snow. Schoolchildren were running around barefoot during morning recess, even though the frost had barely melted. Seems to me that in Montana, if the sun is shining, that’s good enough reason not to wear a coat and shoes, or so they think.

  Montana is everything I imagined it to be. Arrived two days ago with three other bachelors and found the West Kootenai area to be just as lovely as everyone describes. Mountain peaks surround the high-mountain valley. Green pastures and the songs of birds hidden in tall pine trees. Everything smells like pine . . . and dust. Very few roads around these parts are paved. If I walk fifty feet in any direction there’s always something to explore—r
ivers, ponds, mountain trails—and words cannot describe the expansive Lake Koocanusa.

  Now I know why so many bachelors come to these parts every year. I, like the rest of them, used the excuse that we must live in this area for six months in order to receive our resident hunting license in the fall. I am looking forward to hunting season, no doubt, but I’m also thankful to live here too. There are numerous bachelor cabins all over the area. I have the smallest one and don’t have a roommate yet. Maybe this means that local families will take pity on me and invite me to dinner and good conversation often. One can only hope.

  Spent a few days giving the bachelor’s cabin a good cleaning before unpacking my things. As I washed a film of dirt off the cabin windows with a hose, I thought of the ladies back home who’d often come to help Mem clean before Sunday church. Wishing they could show up here for even one hour. Tomorrow I start my job at Montana Log Works. My hands are more used to tilling weeds than shaping logs, but I suppose I can just look at these pines as the big brothers of the plants Mem tends back home.

  I just came from Pinecraft, Florida, for the season, and I haven’t adjusted to the weather yet. The balmy days filled with ocean breezes are gone. Even though it’s late spring, Montana’s still clinging to winter. The nights get downright cold, and the cold seeps deep here. You’re not going to find me without my shoes and jacket.

  It’s good to see some familiar faces in the area. I’d met the Sommers family (Abe) when they still lived in Indiana. Linda Tillman (Rudy) is a cousin of my mother’s too. She brought a fresh loaf of bread to my cabin and got the whole place smelling gut. Of course, I’m most excited to meet the bear cub that the neighbor kids are talking about. Yet we all know that when a cub is around, the mother isn’t far. I’m heading out in a few minutes to walk the neighbor kids to school. The kids and I have high hopes we can spot it. One doesn’t have to look far to find adventure.

  This reminds me of God’s Word, which says, “Fear of man will prove to be a snare, but whoever trusts in the LORD is kept safe.”

  Trust is a good word to cling to today for all of us. Trust that being neighborly and introducing oneself to a new friend can warm your heart even more than the Montana sun on a crisp spring day.

  —Eli Plank, the bachelor scribe

  CHAPTER TWO

  The small tomato plant trembled in Sadie Chupp’s hands as she stepped out into the cool Montana morning.

  “Don’t worry. It’s only for the day,” she whispered to the plant. “Tonight you’ll be back in your warm glass cave.” She gently closed the door to the greenhouse behind her.

  The small plant sprouted from heirloom seeds passed down for generations. From her mother’s garden journal, Sadie had discovered that the seeds she used came from Oma’s grandmother. And who knew before that? How many generations of plants had been nourishing the bodies of those in her family? How many tomatoes had been sliced upon a fresh garden salad, canned, or made into tomato gravy?

  “Of course, that was in Indiana . . .” Sadie swallowed down her emotion. In a way, she felt like that little plant—frail and unprepared for a new life in Montana. Hit by the elements on all sides.

  Sadie had only been in Montana five months, arriving just after Christmas. The calendar read May, but the air still held the chill of winter. And as she gazed onto the tall mountain peaks that surrounded their small valley, snow still clung to them. Whenever Sadie mentioned putting in a garden, many folks in this area urged her not to put anything in the ground until after Memorial Day, and even then to harden the plants, setting them out a little each day and then bringing them back into the protection and safety of the greenhouse overnight.

  Sadie set the tray of tomato plants on the ground. The air smelled of earth and dew. Of spring creeks and honeysuckle.

  She sighed, wishing that life could be managed as well as a garden. Wouldn’t it be easier if there was a way to harden yourself—to prepare for big changes? To prepare for cold, dark nights?

  Life hadn’t worked that way for her, especially in the last year. She’d always looked forward to turning twenty years old—with hopes of finding a lifelong partner. But her twentieth year stripped away so much that she held dear.

  Too many times lately life changed for the worst in a moment. First, when she lost her parents in a car and buggy accident, and then when her siblings decided to sell their family home only a few months after their parents’ deaths. She couldn’t stand the idea of watching another family living in the only home she’d ever known, and so she’d come here—to her uncle’s small ranch in the Amish community of West Kootenai, Montana.

  She’d come to heal and to be far from the “attentive” coddling of her older sisters. In their eyes, she’d always be the baby of the family, in need of help and advice. Even from this great distance, her sisters wrote almost every week and became anxious when she didn’t do the same. Maybe that’s why she enjoyed her Montana family. They gave her space, didn’t press, and didn’t mind that she spent hours each day in the greenhouse.

  Just ten years older than her, Uncle Melvin had always seemed more like a brother than an uncle. And even though she enjoyed being with his family—feeling fully loved by them—Sadie still wondered if God would ever give her a place of her own, a home to put down roots, and someone to share a life with.

  A half dozen small brown finches sat on her aunt’s clothesline and twittered as they flew from the ground, to the line, to the ground again, excited for the start of the new day. Their feathers were puffed up, making them look like fuzzy balls, and Sadie was thankful for her thick sweater. The air was chilly still compared to the greenhouse, but the thermometer said it was sixty-six degrees, just slightly above the temperature she’d read that tomatoes liked.

  Out of all the possessions her parents had owned, Sadie had asked for—and received—two family treasures: her mem’s heirloom tomato seeds and her garden journal. Her mother rarely shared her intimate thoughts in conversation—and she never wrote them down. Instead she had been diligently taking notes on what worked best for her plants. That’s where Sadie had first learned about hardening. It’s also where she’d read that tomatoes preferred to be grown at temperatures between sixty-five and eighty-five degrees, which was asking something of this Montana mountain environment.

  Tomatoes also loved direct sunlight, so she’d found the brightest spot in her uncle’s yard. Sadie pressed her lips together and could almost imagine the taste. It would be months yet, but it was something to anticipate after eating the ones from the grocery store that were low in quality, poor in taste, and high in cost. Then again, she doubted any tomato could compare to the ones her mother used to grow.

  The tomatoes from her mother’s garden were always softer than the ones in the store, with green shoulders near the stem. Mem had told her that over the years, scientists had worked to make the store variety of tomatoes more uniform in color when they ripened. They also had to be able to be hardier in growth and be firmer to withstand being shipped around the country. As it turned out, all these changes also compromised the taste. And that’s what made Mem’s heirlooms so special. A flutter danced around her stomach seeing the small green plants living on, thriving. The wind picked up, stirring their leaves as if they were dancing.

  “Excited about being outside, are you?” Sadie chuckled.

  She rose and moved toward the greenhouse that her neighbor let her use while they spent the spring and summer away visiting family. She picked up another tray of plants. Her plain black shoes crunched on the pine needles and maple leaves and the new sprigs of light-green grass that struggled to push through both.

  Her younger cousins’ happy voices carried through the trees, pausing her footfall. She stepped into a clearing to get a better view. Her cousins hurried out of the house, preparing for the mile walk to the little Amish schoolhouse, but something was different. They were more excited than she’d ever heard them on a school day.

  Isaiah’s laughter split the air, foll
owed by Noah’s. Then came six-year-old Rachel’s voice as she called out to her brothers.

  “Wait up!” Rachel called desperately, and Sadie’s heart sank. Little Rachel tried to keep up, but her small stride was no match for the boys’ long-legged sprint.

  “Oh, those boys.” Sadie brushed a stray strand of blonde hair back from her face and tossed her garden gloves to the ground. She rushed through the treed area that separated the two houses in the direction of the dirt road. Her toe snagged on a large rock, tripping her. She caught herself and it only fueled her anger.

  As the youngest sister of six siblings, she knew what it was like to be the one lagging behind. What it was like to be left out. Her older siblings hadn’t even asked for her thoughts when they decided to sell their parents’ farm. Didn’t they think she’d have an opinion?

  As Sadie approached the front of the houses, she noticed the boys a little way up the dirt road, chatting with the bachelor she’d met briefly in the general store yesterday. Little Rachel jogged with her metal lunch pail in her hand, trying to catch up. Sadie strode toward them with a quickened stride and approached the boys at the same time Rachel did. Heat rose to Sadie’s cheeks, and she struggled to catch her breath.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, willing her pounding heart to calm. Willing her voice to stay low as she narrowed her gaze on her young cousins. Her throat tightened, tense, and the words pushed out between clenched teeth. “How many times have I told you that you need to wait for Rachel? You can’t leave her behind like that.”

  Ten-year-old Isaiah and eight-year-old Noah looked back with surprise. But it was the Amish bachelor who gasped. His eyebrows lifted, and his eyes widened. Green eyes, she noted. Handsome eyes, too, but she pushed those thoughts away.