The Sowing Season

by Katie Powner

  Swearing this time everything’ll be all right

  Could be anyone, anywhere

  It was no CCR song, but Gerrit couldn’t stop staring at it.

  RAE GASPED AS Daisy whimpered and ran away. She hadn’t said anything when Taylor deliberately screwed up her homework and refused to try again. Hadn’t made an issue of it when Taylor yelled at anyone who tried to sit at their table, or when she called Rae that word that rhymes with stitch.

  But kicking Daisy in the stomach was going too far.

  “You apologize right now.” Rae stood and pointed to where Daisy cowered behind Gerrit. “Or I’ll let Mark know you won’t be coming back.”

  Mark had made it clear at the beginning of the program that any student who was disrespectful or disruptive would be asked not to return. No one had been kicked out so far, but Rae meant what she said. And one glance at Gerrit told her if she didn’t do something about Taylor, he would.

  Taylor’s eyes widened as she stared at Rae. Her face scrunched up.

  Rae pointed again. “Now.”

  Taylor burst into tears. “I’m sorry.” She ran to Daisy and threw her arms around the dog. “I didn’t mean it.”

  Though Gerrit glared at Taylor, ready to toss her out on her behind if she hurt his dog again, Daisy was quick to forgive. She licked Taylor’s ear as the girl cried into her neck. The hard looks on Gerrit’s and Morgan’s faces at Taylor’s abuse gradually softened as her tears soaked Daisy’s fur.

  Rae knelt beside Taylor and put an arm around her shoulder. “Okay, it’s okay.” Her tone was soothing and gentle. “Why don’t you come back to the table so we can talk about it.”

  Rae didn’t know what “it” was, but it must be something big to make Taylor lash out at an innocent animal like that. Taylor allowed Rae to help her to her feet and guide her back to her chair. The waif of a girl dropped into the seat, folded her bare arms on the table, and laid her forehead on her arms.

  “What’s going on today, Taylor?” Rae pulled the other chair up close and spoke quietly. “You can tell me.”

  “I don’t want to move again.” Taylor’s voice sounded muffled as she spoke into the table. “I like it here. We’ve lived here longer than anyplace else. But Mom says we’re leaving the day after school gets out. She doesn’t care.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Taylor sniffled. “I don’t know. To my aunt’s, I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “That’s where we usually go when Mom runs out of money.”

  “Did she lose her job?”

  “She doesn’t have a job.”

  Rae waited, but Taylor offered no further information. Rae wanted to ask about her mom’s boyfriend—Steve?—yet she was reluctant to pry. It hit her like a brick, however, that she hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Taylor’s iPhone all week. Her heart sank.

  “Is your aunt’s house far away?”

  “Yes.” The misery in Taylor’s tone was amplified by her voice bouncing off the white plastic table. “Idaho.”

  Might as well be a world away to a seventh-grade girl who finally had a place she wanted to be.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Rae rubbed Taylor’s back the way Hannie had rubbed hers the other night. “Is there any chance things might change?”

  “When Mom says it’s time to go, we go.” Taylor sighed. “At least she’s letting me finish school first.”

  Rae was proud of what Taylor had accomplished in just a few short weeks. Every grade that had been a D or F was now a C. She’d aced her last math test. What would happen to her in Idaho? Without a program like Community Hope, would there be anyone to keep a kid like Taylor from failing out of school?

  “When I grow up, I’m going to buy my own house.” Taylor lifted her head and looked at Rae. “And I’ll never move again.”

  “If you want to buy a house, you’ll have to get a good job.”

  “So?”

  “So if you want a good job, you’ll have to finish school.”

  Taylor hung her head. “I hate school.”

  “I know. But promise me you’ll finish school and buy that house so I can come visit you.”

  Taylor groaned.

  “Promise me.”

  “Fine.” Taylor sighed. “I promise.”

  Mark called out the end of the session, and Rae helped Taylor pack up her things, keeping one eye out for David. She couldn’t let him leave without her.

  As Taylor scooted out the door, Rae called after her, “See you next week.”

  Taylor waved.

  Mark stood by the door and smiled at Rae. “You’re good at this, you know.”

  Rae shrugged. “At what?”

  “Helping kids. You ever thought of becoming a school counselor or something? Social worker maybe?”

  Ha. Rae tried not to laugh out loud. She could only imagine what Dad would do if she told him she wanted to be a school counselor. They’ll call you “Counselor” in court, he’d probably say.

  She shrugged again. “Not really.”

  “Well, you should think about it. More importantly, pray about it. There aren’t many people who know how to help hurting kids. It takes a special kind of person.”

  The words buzzed in Rae’s ear. Hurting kids. A special kind of person. What would that future be like? Papa Tom’s favorite saying flashed in her mind. “God’s got big plans for you.” What had he meant? What kind of future had he been thinking of? She’d never thought to ask Papa Tom for specifics—definitely never thought to pray about it—but it didn’t matter.

  Her future was set.

  Mark turned away to talk to some other kids, and Rae walked back to her table for her backpack. Gerrit and Morgan were deep in conversation in the corner as if oblivious to the fact that their time was up. Was Gerrit that special kind of person, too?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw David sending the last of the middle schoolers from his table off with a fist bump and a smile. Her pulse quickened. Oh, that smile. She’d missed having it trained on her. Was this her chance?

  Her stomach flip-flopped. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe she should wait until she knew what to say. Maybe . . .

  Someone cleared his throat. She turned to see Gerrit watching her, a knowing look on his face. Her ears burned. He nodded in David’s direction. The implication was clear.

  And here she had thought she would be the one bugging Gerrit about his relationships.

  When she turned back, David was walking out of the room. She hurried into the hall after him. Her mom had gone to Riverton to check on Grandma Kate after receiving a call from a concerned neighbor about Grandma wandering her front yard in her pajamas, so she wouldn’t be here to pick her up until 5:20. That gave Rae ten minutes.

  “David, wait.”

  He looked over his shoulder in surprise. “Oh. Hey, Rae.”

  She caught up. “Can we talk?”

  He slowed his pace. “Sure.”

  She couldn’t decipher his tone. Couldn’t tell if he wanted to bolt out of the building, spit in her face, or hear her out like the gracious, sweet, and reliable guy he was.

  Probably that last one.

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry. About last week. You caught me by surprise.”

  He held the door open, and she stepped outside, hoping she wasn’t making a big mistake. What had he been talking with Kylee about? What if she was too late? She searched his eyes for a clue as to what he was thinking.

  He met her gaze. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t know about your parents’ rule. I just thought . . .”

  She waited, breathless. What he thought was suddenly the most important thing in the world.

  “I thought we would have fun.” He gave a small smile. “I like hanging out with you.”

  She floated on air, joy and relief buoying her above mere earthly concerns. “I like hanging out with you, too.”

  His smile wavered. “I thought maybe you liked someone else. I’ve seen you talking with Mor
gan a lot—”

  “We’re just friends. Sort of.”

  “But when I asked you out, you seemed terrified.”

  Her feet returned to solid ground. Looking at him now, standing this close, it was hard to remember why she’d freaked out. She just hadn’t been prepared.

  “I’ve got a lot going on right now.” She thought of her parents. “And this Driver’s Ed. thing has me super stressed out.”

  He scrunched up his face. “Isn’t Driver’s Ed. over?”

  “It is, but I didn’t exactly pass. I have to retake the final drive tomorrow. I’m really nervous.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance. “I heard you ran a red light and almost got T-boned. Is that true?”

  She groaned. “Yes.”

  “I’m a good driver.”

  “You don’t have to rub it in.”

  He gave her a bashful smile. “I just thought you might want to know, in case we ever did go out. The offer still stands, I mean, if you can get your parents to change their minds.”

  Happiness bubbles swam around inside her like a school of minnows. It was all she could do to keep from throwing her arms around David right then and there. But the thought of her dad telling her mom she didn’t take Rae’s future seriously enough held her back. And the sight of a dark blue Ford Explorer stopped her cold.

  For a minute there, she’d almost forgotten about The Plan.

  “Maybe when school lets out.” Only a few short weeks remained before summer break, but it should be enough time to figure something out. To talk to her parents. “Maybe then . . .”

  David grinned. “Okay.”

  Mom pulled up in front of them and rolled down the window, looking at David with suspicion. “Hi, guys.”

  Rae turned her back to the car so her mom couldn’t see and mouthed the words, “We cool?”

  David nodded, eyes sparkling, and waved as she hurried to get in the car before Mom could say anything embarrassing. She waved back.

  “I’m sorry I had to be late, sweetie. Did you have a good day?”

  Rae struggled to wipe the giddy look off her face. “Yeah. How’s Grandma?”

  “I coaxed her into the house with a Hot Pocket, if you can believe it. Was that David Reynolds?”

  “Yeah.” She had to play it off. Had to be cool. “He volunteers too. We’re, uh, friends.”

  “I see.”

  But it was clear she didn’t. Rae’s stomach tightened. What would happen if she revealed her feelings to Mom and Dad? Was David worth listening to her parents argue? Worth the accusations she feared would come? She didn’t know. And she didn’t know how to know.

  Kylee had always been the boy-crazy one, not her. And as far as she could tell, The Plan had no room for feelings. It was about the future. About her career, success, and holding her family together. But what kind of plan made no provision for the heart?

  And what had Kylee been talking to David about?

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The noises coming from George’s shop set Gerrit’s teeth on edge. Every pound of his neighbor’s hammer, every buzz of his Skilsaw, made Gerrit want to fill one of his gardening gloves with rocks and slap George across the face with it. And that radio station he was blaring?

  Christian music.

  Blech.

  The sounds mocked him, reminding him over and over that George had a successful business. Reminding him over and over of George’s smug face. Reminding him one hammer blow at a time of the day he’d come out of the farm shop to find his father shaking George’s hand to seal the deal on a large loan of money that should’ve been his. Money he and Hannie had desperately needed.

  “You don’t know anything about it,” his father had said when Gerrit confronted him. “You’ll find another way to build that house you want.”

  “But I’m your son.”

  “And George has got nobody.”

  His father’s eyes flashed, daring him to disagree. When George’s dad died of cancer a couple of years before, Gerrit’s father lost his only friend. And George was left an orphan, as his mom had run off on him and his dad long ago.

  “So you’ll help him, but you won’t help me?”

  Betrayal had stabbed at Gerrit, lending a sharp edge to his voice.

  His father had turned away. “You don’t need any help.”

  Gerrit blinked at the flower bed and the roots in his hands. His father had been wrong. And Gerrit was hardly getting any weeding done.

  A shot of pain made him groan as he pushed himself up off his knees. Sweat poured down his face from the midday sun. He couldn’t sit out here listening to George make a racket for one more minute. And was that Mallory’s red Jetta parked over there? Oh, so George could make all the noise he wanted when his daughter was around, but Bernard was too loud?

  Unbelievable. George thought he was so much better than him—bragging about becoming a grandpa, calling the cops on him as if he were a criminal—but he wouldn’t even have a furniture business if it wasn’t for Gerrit’s father.

  There had to be something he could do to hit George where it hurt. Something to get back at him for his stunt with the police. But what?

  It was cool inside the house. Gerrit pulled a Pepsi from the fridge and took a long, satisfying swig. Daisy watched him with longing in her big brown puddly eyes.

  “Not a chance, girl.” He made a show of gesturing at her water dish. “You have your own.”

  The dumb dog crept closer, pleading. Licking her chops.

  “Your mother would kill me.”

  She realized he was serious and slumped to the floor in defeat, resting her chin on her front paws. He took another drink and set the can down on the counter.

  A shrill ring nearly made him jump out of his skin. The landline. “For crying out loud.”

  It rang again, and he hurried to check the caller ID. It was probably a telemarketer, as usual, but he wanted to make sure. He grabbed the receiver and squinted at the screen. Unknown Name, Unknown Number. Bah. No way was he answering that.

  He set the receiver back on its base as the ringing stopped. Good. Then he gave the contraption another look.

  Hold the phone. What if . . . ?

  Their home number was unlisted and appeared as Unknown Name, Unknown Number when he called someone, too. Which meant if he were to call George’s work phone to, say, place a custom furniture order using fake information, George wouldn’t know who it was. And if George were to complete the order and try to contact his fake customer for pickup, Gerrit and Bernard would be avenged.

  He pulled up George’s cell number from his own cell and considered what he was about to do. He wouldn’t order a five-piece living room set or anything. He wasn’t a monster. But a nice little end table that wasted an adequate amount of George’s time and money would be just the ticket.

  His conscience flinched, but he quickly ignored it. Yes, part of him knew it was childish. But another part remembered the self-righteous look on George’s face as he shook his father’s hand. The indignation in his own heart when he learned George had purchased the lot right next to the one he himself planned to buy. Not to mention the humiliation he’d suffered at the hands of that snot-nosed officer who had talked down to him.

  George had brought this on himself.

  He punched in the number and hit send. It rang once. Twice.

  “Hello, thank you for calling Sinnema Custom Woodwork. How may I help you?”

  Gulp. He hadn’t counted on Agatha answering the phone. What was he doing? He was in way over his head. He should hang up right this second and cut his losses.

  “Yes, hello.” He purposefully lowered the tone of his voice, making it sound gravelly so she wouldn’t recognize it. “I’d like to place an order.”

  “Wonderful! Can you describe what you are interested in?” Agatha’s cheerful voice gave him fresh resolve. This woman had never suffered a day in her life. She had no idea what he had been through. What her own husband had p
ut him through.

  “An end table.”

  “What kind of end table do you have in mind?”

  They went back and forth, discussing the details. The dimensions of the table. Which kind of wood he would prefer. How long it would probably take. Gerrit was glad it wasn’t the sort of business that required your credit card number up front.

  By the end of the conversation, Gerrit’s throat hurt from talking funny the whole time, causing him to cough into the phone.

  “Sounds great,” Agatha finally said. “George will get to it as soon as possible.”

  “Uh, thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

  “You have a good day now.”

  He hung up the phone, his heart pounding with self-satisfaction. He’d pulled it off. He’d gotten revenge on George, and the best part was George would never know who had made a fool of him. It was an age-old prank. A little juvenile, maybe, but effective.

  After finishing his Pepsi, he slipped his gloves on and went back outside. There were still hundreds of weeds to pull, and he had a feeling the noises from the workshop weren’t going to bother him nearly as much now. Daisy followed him to the small bed of geraniums on the southeast corner of the house and plopped down in a shady spot to watch him work.

  Though the sun was hot on his back, he didn’t mind. It felt good. He was riding high. Before long, he even found himself whistling. If only he could be there to see George’s face when he realized—

  “Ho, there.”

  He stiffened. Speak of the devil.

  He rose to his feet. “What do you want?”

  Turning to face his neighbor, he tried not to grimace at the pain in his lower back. Didn’t want to show weakness. George stood in the driveway, smiling. Smiling, for goodness’ sake.

  “I had a question about your order.” George adjusted the safety goggles on the top of his head. “Agatha forgot to ask you about the feet.”

  Gerrit gaped. What—? How—? “I . . .”

  “I usually do a plain tapered foot on a table like that, but some people like a pedestal corner. It’s a little fancier.”

  Heat burned Gerrit’s face. His mouth went dry.

  “Wh-what are you talking about?” he stammered. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way George could know it had been him who called.