His eyes darted around the greenhouse as if seeking an escape, swept back to hers, then abruptly, he turned his attention to the workbench. To the rose. The light coming through the greenhouse ceiling played on and off the leaves of the rose like sun upon waves.
“Thank you for telling me, Billy,” she offered softly, then, discomposed, swung away toward the door of the greenhouse.
9
Billy didn’t need to turn around to know Bess had left, just as he knew when she had entered the greenhouse. His body seemed to have developed sensors that went on alert whenever she approached. In the silence that followed, the sensation withered, dulled, leaving him sitting on the wooden stool with a pencil gripped tightly in his hand, motionless. He turned his head, stared out across his right shoulder through the frosted window as Bess crossed the yard toward the house, head tucked down against the wind. Only when she had disappeared into the house did he release a rush of breath; his shoulders sagged, his eyes closed.
He’d known it would come down to this, but he hadn’t expected it to hurt quite this much. He knew his words had hurt her. It was a lie that hurt him as badly as it hurt her. He saw the shock of rejection riffle across her face and steeled himself against rushing to her with an apology, taking her face between his hands and kissing her. But that wasn’t fair to her or to him. Or to Amos.
He collected himself, exhaled deeply a number of times. It’s over. It’s got to be, because she doesn’t belong in my world any more than I belong in hers.
He heaved an enormous sigh, dropped his hands, lifted his head, and got back to work. He finished measuring the rosebud, put his tools into his backpack, replaced the heavy rose back in its corner, walked out of the greenhouse and down the driveway without looking back.
For the rest of the day he felt out of sorts, crotchety and malcontent. That evening, back at College Station, he accepted Jill’s invitation to go out for a quick burger, but afterward, she looked vexed when he told her he needed to get back to work. “I thought you said this Stoney Ridge rose was no big deal.”
“I never said, one way or the other.” He fished for a response. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to let on that this rose could be a found. Hedging was his best bet. “As soon as the rose opens, I’ll be able to make a clear identification.”
“I don’t believe you. Something happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve changed.”
“In what way?”
“You seem distant. Preoccupied. Moody.” She scrutinized Billy’s face. “Did you meet someone?”
Billy felt his jaw drop and snapped it shut. “No. Nothing like that.”
“People have hardly seen you around the greenhouses this week. Everyone’s noticed.”
The idea that his co-workers had noticed his absences bothered him. “Jill, you’re the one who sent me to Gap to check out that rose. Do you have any complaints about my work?”
Slowly, she shook her head. “No, no. Your work is getting done, but I don’t see you doing it.”
Billy’s stomach tightened like a fist. Had she seen George hanging around the greenhouse? He knew Jill would blow the whistle on the arrangement he’d made with the hobo. But from the look on her face, she didn’t seem to suspect anything. If she didn’t ask, Billy wasn’t saying, and he wasn’t staying. He rose to his feet. “I’ve been working late. In fact, I’m going there now. Need to check on those drought-resistant wheat seedlings. They’re at a delicate stage.” She didn’t buy that, and he didn’t really care. He just wanted to be back in the greenhouse, alone, where he could find peace.
The moment he walked into the warm, woodsy-scented greenhouse, he heaved an enormous sigh, tossed his backpack on the ground, and leaned his palms against a shelf. Suddenly Billy’s life stretched out before him like a bleak, lonely purgatory. He hadn’t felt this low, this full of despair, since that hard time. That awful Christmas.
He thought he had come so far from that day. He had diverted his pain into a kind of moat, buffering himself from despair. Rose rustling gave him a sense of purpose, a reason to get up each morning. His life held some meaning . . . and then this rose interrupted all that, reminding him of the life he’d lost. He felt like he’d climbed up a steep hill, only to slip near the summit and tumble back down again.
He heard the click of the greenhouse door and barely stifled a groan when he saw George amble in.
“What do you think?”
“Of what?”
George lifted an arm in a semicircle. “The pots. All rotated. And I swept the shelves clean.”
Billy’s eyes took in the changes. He hadn’t even noticed the plants had been rotated from back to front, to allow for more sunlight, just as he had wanted them to be—though he didn’t remember leaving a note for George to do so. And the wooden slats that held the flats of seedlings were swept clean of dirt and leaves and debris. “It looks . . . great. Wow.” It was heavy, time-consuming work that must have taken him all day. “Really, really great.”
George walked in and sat on the lone metal stool near the shelf that served as Billy’s desk, then reached for a book tucked against the edge. “I noticed this while I was cleaning up.” It was Billy’s Bible, one that Amos had left with him at the hospital. He made a show of brushing off dust from the top of the weathered Bible, hacking and coughing and choking.
A smile tugged at the corner of Billy’s mouth. “I guess I haven’t read it much lately.”
“Guess not,” George said, leafing through it. “But this is how to know God. As you read it, your heart burns within you. As Jesus said, ‘The Scriptures . . . testify of me.’ John, I believe.”
Billy stared at him. That was the second time George quoted Scripture to him. “How well do you know the Bible?”
“Not as well as some, better than others. Where I come from . . . well, it’d be like riding in a hot air balloon and reading a travel book with my head down instead of looking around.”
Billy took off his coat and tossed it on the metal stool, trying to puzzle out George’s words. There was surely no knowing or understanding him. “Where in the world do you come from?”
George’s face took on a look of longing. “Quite a distance, Billy Lapp.”
“Oh. You mean, like, Texas?”
George grinned. “Even farther away. Someday, I will take you there and show you around. Introduce you to my friends. They’d get a kick out of you.”
Fat chance of that happening. Billy could just imagine the kind of place George came from. An empty railroad car, a highway underpass, a grimy soup kitchen.
George’s eyes were on him, as if reading his thoughts. “So . . . since you seem to be back in Stoney Ridge pretty often, don’t you think it’s time to mend the rift with your family?”
“Rift?” More like a yawning crevice.
“No?” George scratched his head. “Isn’t there a rift?”
“Do you realize you always answer a question with a question?”
“Do I?” He seemed astounded by that. “So, isn’t there a rift?”
Billy’s back stiffened, his shoulders tensed. Then, resigned, he felt the tension drain from him and he let out a puff of air. “Yeah. There is.”
“What’s it going to take to get you back home?”
Billy coughed a laugh. “Not gonna happen in this lifetime.”
“Ah,” George voiced knowingly, “pride.” He leaned back so his elbows rested against the shelves. “So you’re just going to keep on living this solitary life, cut off from everyone you love. From your family. From your church. From Bess.”
Billy’s mouth dropped. George was getting onto ground, in more ways than one, where he did not want to be. “Whoa right there,” he said testily. “I know for a fact that I never mentioned anything about Bess to you.”
“You don’t have to. You turn into a bundle of raw nerves whenever you’ve been near Rose Hill Farm.” The greenhouse was warm and George unbuttoned his
coat. “So are you ever going to let Bess off the hook?”
“Let her off the hook?” Billy was getting steamed. “Bess overheard my brother say I was seen with my old girlfriend and she jumped to the conclusion that I was cheating on her.”
“And you weren’t trying to be the big hero to your old girlfriend?”
Billy fit the edges of his teeth together and said nothing. He was incensed. Incensed and guilty. He had enjoyed the feeling of saving the day for Betsy Mast. She was desperate and needed cash, and it made him feel wonderful that she had sought him out for help. But it didn’t mean he was two-timing Bess. He wasn’t.
George the hobo was getting downright annoying. Billy turned back to the makeshift desk. As calmly as a frustrated man could, he pointed out to George that there was work to be done in the greenhouse. “You work for me, remember? You forgot to move those orchids on the lower shelf. I want them moved up a row. They’re not getting enough light.” He put on his work gloves and busied himself with an ailing potted rhododendron.
“Bess is only human, Billy. Everybody makes mistakes.” But when Billy didn’t respond, George moved quietly to the far end of the cylinder greenhouse, shifting delicate orchids from the lower shelf to the high one.
Blast it all! Billy tried to ignore George’s comments, but they kept intruding in his thoughts. That old hobo had a way of rubbing salt in a wound. And yet he couldn’t deny that George’s insights were spot-on. About living a solitary life. About missing his family, his church. About Bess.
Tomorrow she was going to marry Amos. Knowing it was about to happen and he couldn’t, shouldn’t do anything about it—it upset him to the core.
He thought about whether he should have told her that he still cared for her, but what would that prove? She didn’t love him. If she had, she wouldn’t have let him down when he needed her the most. His life had lost value in the moment when Bess looked at him with doubt in her eyes. When would he learn?
Why? Why? What did he lack? What more must he prove?
Grow up, Lapp. When are you gonna realize that you’re alone in this world? Nobody fought for you then, nobody’ll fight for you now, so give it up.
George must have come up the aisle when Billy wasn’t paying attention, because suddenly he was on the stool, sipping coffee, reading aloud from Billy’s dusty Bible: “‘Then they cry unto the LORD in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses.’”
Slowly, Billy straightened up and watched George—irritated at first, then calmer as he listened to the words, and, finally, a conviction from the words read aloud. It had been so long since Billy had dared have faith, and even then what good had come of it?
“‘He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.’”
Dare he trust it?
“‘Then are they glad because they be quiet; so he bringeth them unto their desired haven.’”
What was Billy’s desired haven? Where was it? This greenhouse. Any greenhouse. It was his safe haven. But was that enough?
What about someone to love? A family to care about, to be cared for? Why was such a haven denied to him?
George read the last few lines of the psalm, closed the book and then his eyes, reverently.
Billy turned away from George, feeling hard again.
“Billy, do you know much about the Pharisees?”
“A little. They were around in Jesus’s time.”
“They knew their Scripture. They knew their laws.”
Billy looked up at George. “Maybe they were just trying to do what was right.”
“Perhaps. They were certainly trying to please God. But they ended up smothering the Word of God with all their unbiblical traditions.”
Billy wasn’t sure where George’s peculiar line of thinking was wandering to in this conversation. “Half the time I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
George smiled. “The Pharisees tried to obey the law. They thought they were pleasing God, but in their efforts, they forgot the most important thing.”
“Which was . . . ?”
“Loving God, loving others.” George folded his arms across his chest. He stared at Billy a moment in that intense way of his, with his hand still on his Bible. In a quiet but firm voice, he added, “Billy, has it occurred to you that you’ve forgotten how to love your father?”
Billy stilled, deeply indignant though he tried not to show it. “Me? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
George reached into a box of crackers that Billy had left on the shelf. “Mind if I have one?”
“Help yourself.”
“You might not have done anything wrong, but you didn’t really do anything right, either.” George chewed a few crackers with a thoughtful look on his face. “These need more salt. Speaking of salt . . . how are you going to be salt to your family when you’re hiding away in a greenhouse in College Station? By staying away like you’ve done, you’ve only made things worse for your father. He has no one to pull him up. You might be standing on principle, but you’re all alone.”
“I’m not hiding away,” Billy growled. “You’re forgetting that my father didn’t care whether I stayed or left.”
“I’m not forgetting. But things aren’t always what they seem. Your father needs you, Billy. He needs God even more. Be the son he needs you to be.”
Billy’s heart was pounding so hard, he clapped a hand to his chest to try to calm it. “So you think I’m a Pharisee? Me? All rules and no love?”
“When those rules didn’t work for you, you tossed everything out the window, along with the most important things in life. About faith in God, about love, about forgiveness.”
Furious now, Billy practically spat out the words. “You have no idea what it was like to be a child in that home. With him for a father.”
Unruffled, George said, “You’re not a child anymore.”
Billy’s throat went dry, resentment twisted his gut. The effort of revealing himself was mighty, and he felt a wave of fatigue. His gaze jumped to George, who stared back in earnest. When he spoke, his voice had a raspy, sharp edge. “It’s been a long day. I think I want to be alone.”
“Understood.” George glanced at the clock on Billy’s shelf. “It’s that late already? I’m not good with time. It always seems to be running out.” Slowly, he rose to his feet. “Thankfully, it’s never too late to find your way back to God. He is faithful even when you are not. ‘Then they cry unto the LORD in their trouble, and he bringeth them out of their distresses.’” He walked to the end of the greenhouse and put his hand on the door. “Go see your father, Billy. Don’t wait. There’s a lot at stake here.”
As the door closed behind Billy, he mulled over George’s final words. What did that mean—a lot at stake? What was he trying to say? He jerked his jacket from the chair and shrugged it on, then hurried to catch up with George. But when he got outside, the hobo had disappeared into the dark night.
Later, Billy sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched, heavy with loss. He felt haunted by George’s accusation, yet unable to act on it.
He flopped back, eyes closed, arms outflung. As he lay flat on his back staring at the ceiling, he pictured Bess in her blue wedding dress, next to Amos, dressed in his new black Mutza coat, standing together in front of the bishop. The thought made him miserable. All at once, he fiercely missed the life he could’ve—should’ve—had. He ended up rolling to his stomach, punching down his pillow, wishing for sleep to clear his mind of forbidden wishes.
10
In less than fifteen minutes, Bess was going to become Mrs. Amos Lapp. A bead of sweat rolled down her neck and continued down between her shoulder blades, making her squirm. She had twisted the ends of her freshly starched apron so much that the edges were curled. She glanced across the room to Amos and wondered what was running through his mind. His chin rested on his chest; he looked like he was praying. Then he must have sensed she was looking at him, because he lifted
his head and caught her eye, giving her a reassuring smile. She tried to smile in return but felt it came out all wrong. He was such a fine man. A wonderful man. It was good she was marrying him. Everyone said so.
And then the bishop called her name. Bess took a deep breath, rose to her feet, wondered if her shaky knees might go out right under her, and walked up to join Amos. She kept her eyes on the steps in front of her, trying to keep one foot in front of the other. She didn’t dare look up at Amos. If she did, she thought she might faint.
She had been doing fine, just fine, well, somewhat fine, until she and Amos had been taken into a room with the ministers while the guests were singing hymns. The ministers asked if Bess and Amos were ready to take this important step of marriage. Amos readily answered yes and looked at Bess with such hope and happiness on his face. She whispered yes. Then one of the ministers—she didn’t even remember which one—started to describe some details about the marriage bed. He explained a woman’s monthly cycle to Amos, instructed them both to abstain from the marital act for three days after today’s wedding, according to the book of Tobias, so that their marriage would be blessed. Amos, whose face was beet red, kept his eyes on the tips of his shoes.
No wonder the bride and the groom always emerged from this ministers’ conversation looking like singed cats. It was a birds-and-bees lecture given by graybeards, condensed into ten minutes. And it was mortifying!
As they returned to the crowded living room, the awful reality hit Bess full force. She felt pinned in place, queasy under the gaze of so many observers. She pressed her fist to her lips after getting an awful feeling that her breakfast might reappear. The burn mark in her dress felt like it was searing her. Her prayer cap tilting. Her head splitting.
She had imagined herself making a life with Amos, imagined sitting together at the table each evening to talk over the day and plan the next day. She could imagine catching his eye during the preaching and sharing a smile. She could imagine working the fields beside him at Windmill Farm, and picking apples or peaches on drooping branches in those orchards his grandfather had planted long ago. Picnics at Blue Lake Pond on summer days, holidays celebrated with the Lapps’ large, extended family.
Christmas at Rose Hill Farm Page 12
