The Sowing Season

by Katie Powner

  Kylee’s eyes flashed. “Go ahead and say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Whatever it is that’s got you looking like there’s a scorpion in your mouth.”

  “Fine.” Rae slid her arms into her backpack and squared her shoulders. “What did you say to David after school a couple of weeks ago? After you said you would go out with him if he asked?”

  Kylee looked away. “Nothing.”

  “Didn’t look like nothing. I saw you through the glass doors.”

  “Is that why you’ve been acting so weird?”

  Rae threw up her hands. “You’re the one who’s been acting weird. And you’re avoiding the question.”

  Kylee huffed. “I said it was nothing. And that has nothing to do with the way you’re treating David now.”

  Rae checked the time. She needed to get to class, but her feet remained rooted in place. She and Kylee had never been at odds like this before. Despite their many differences, they tended to get each other. But Kylee wasn’t making any sense.

  A flicker of anger sparked in Rae’s chest. “Why do you care about me and David? Are you hoping I’ll screw it up so he’ll run to you? Is that what you were talking to him about?”

  She shouldn’t have said it. She knew it as soon as the words came out. But Kylee always did know how to push people’s buttons.

  Kylee took a step back, hurt streaking across her face like paint on canvas. “I told him he’d be an idiot not to give you another chance.”

  Rae’s heart sank. “What?”

  Kylee opened her mouth as if to speak, then spun on her heels and walked away. Rae watched her friend go, her words drum-drum-drumming in her head. Give you another chance. Give you another chance.

  Oh no. What had she done?

  RAE WANDERED ROOM F aimlessly, unsure what to do with Taylor absent. Taylor’s homeroom teacher had told Mark that Taylor was sick today. Rae had spent a few minutes here and a few minutes there with other students, helping them solve math problems or practice spelling words or organize their backpacks, but she missed Taylor. What would happen to her young friend when Taylor moved away? What if all the work they’d done the past couple of months, all that Taylor had accomplished, was for nothing?

  Her heart twinged as if she were alone in a dark alley. Even David’s smiling face across the room couldn’t cheer her up. Not having Taylor to focus on left her with too much freedom to think about her own problems. Her parents. The Plan. And what had just happened with Kylee.

  “Having a hard day?” Mark appeared beside her, his beard newly trimmed.

  She chewed her top lip. “You look different. Got a hot date or something?”

  He touched his face and laughed. “My mother strongly suggested I clean myself up a little. Apparently some of the ladies in her canasta club have been talking.”

  “Oh.” Rae nodded. “Moms.”

  “Yep. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  She didn’t want to. At least not with the truth. Mark didn’t need to know about her problems with her best friend or her ongoing worries about whether she could keep her family from falling apart. But he might be able to help with the other issue bothering her.

  “Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it?”

  He scrunched his face, obviously confused.

  “All of this.” She swept her arm out, indicating the whole room. “Are we making any difference here?”

  A smile slowly spread across his face. Not a silly smile or even a happy one, really. A smile filled with peace and confidence.

  “Yes.” He looked around the room. “It’s worth it.”

  She narrowed her eyes. How could he be so sure? Did he not see that half the students here only came for the food?

  “But what about Taylor? I’ll probably never see her again, and what if no one cares about her after she moves? What if I helped her pass seventh grade only to have her fail eighth?”

  Mark bobbed his head, his self-assurance undeterred. “So what? That wouldn’t mean—”

  “Wouldn’t it prove I wasted my time here?”

  Maybe Mom had been right about volunteering. It was great for college applications and everything, but it wasn’t “real work.”

  Mark’s expression turned pensive. “Have you ever read the Bible, Rae?”

  She looked at the floor. “No.”

  “There’s this part that says, ‘Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.’ What do you think that means?”

  She shrugged. What did harvesting have to do with anything? There were plenty of farms around here—plenty of fields so fertile you could accidentally sneeze a seed into them and it would grow—but she had no plans to work in them.

  Mark slid his phone from his pocket and glanced at it. “It’s five o’clock. I gotta get these kids out of here. But think about what I said.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Churchy people thought they had all the answers, didn’t they? “I don’t understand.”

  “Pray about it.” He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “See what happens.”

  He turned and cupped his hands around his mouth. “You don’t have to go home . . .”

  As the students shouted back the expected reply, Rae mulled over Mark’s suggestion. He’d already encouraged her to pray about whether she should look into becoming a social worker or counselor or something, but she hadn’t done it. What was the point when law was already in her future? But now he wanted her to pray about understanding what the Bible said. As if prayer were the solution for every problem.

  “God’s got big plans for you.”

  Papa Tom’s words popped into her head and sank like teeth into her brain. If God really did have big plans for her, how would she know what they were? “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” That sounded like something Papa Tom would say.

  As she waited for David to say good-bye to his students so they could walk out together, she stared at her phone. A goofy picture of her and Kylee making fish faces stared back. If she mentioned her fight with Kylee to Mark, would he say to pray about that, as well?

  She studied the photo, smiling wistfully to herself at Kylee’s wild, hot pink hair and ridiculous amounts of facial jewelry. Her teal-blue leather jacket from the Goodwill. Her sharp edges that kept most people from seeing the softness of her heart.

  Rae swallowed hard. How could she have believed . . . ?

  She had no idea what praying about the situation with Kylee might accomplish. Or the situation with her parents, for that matter. But it couldn’t make things any worse.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Cinnamon. How could they be out of cinnamon? Gerrit slammed cupboard doors and jerked open drawers, muttering to himself. Evi and Noah were coming in two days, and how was he supposed to bake a Dutch apple pie with no cinnamon?

  It had been Hannie’s idea to make a list of everything he needed for the party. He’d scoffed at first. How hard could it be to go to the grocery store if he needed to? But then he’d had a nightmare about a gallon of milk being so curdled it turned into cheese, and he changed his mind about the list.

  Everything else seemed to be in order. He had the ribs. The pasta. The ingredients for the sauce. Food for the other meals besides the big party. He had vanilla ice cream to go with the pie and had even bought a half gallon of almond milk, though he still wasn’t sure how it was possible to milk an almond. Almonds don’t have nipples.

  But there was no cinnamon to be found.

  Daisy perked up when he strode to the back door and grabbed his keys. He held open the door. “Hurry up.”

  The drive to Olsen’s Meat & Market was deafening as doubts and questions squabbled in Gerrit’s head. Why had he agreed to let Travis come to the party? What if he forgot something else important? Evi wasn’t going to be impressed by his efforts. She would just hate him more for tr
ying. Who did he think he was, anyway?

  By the time he pulled up to the market, his knuckles were white from gripping the wheel. He unclenched his fingers and gave Daisy a pointed look. “Stay.”

  She frowned.

  “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  It was busy in the market for a Thursday afternoon. He kept his head down. He didn’t know many people in town anymore unless they were old fogies like him, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

  He’d become familiar with the store since taking over dinner duty and found the cinnamon easily. Though the price was high, he’d have to drive to the Walmart over in Riverton for a better deal, and that wasn’t going to happen. He grabbed the plastic container and headed for the checkout.

  Oh, look at that. A box of cream cheese Danishes on sale for $2.99. He’d better grab one of those. The kids might like them for breakfast on Sunday. He could make scrambled eggs to go with it. Did he have enough eggs? Better grab another dozen just in case.

  A young man in a blue apron saw him precariously balancing the items in his arms. “Would you like a cart, sir?”

  Gerrit huffed. If he wanted a cart, he would have a cart. He grunted and continued on. Butter was on sale? He must’ve missed it in the weekly ads. Butter was never on sale. He should stock up.

  Another man in a blue apron stood in his path. “Can I get you a cart, sir?”

  Gerrit scowled and brushed by him. “No.”

  He eyeballed the lines at each of the three open checkout lanes and chose the middle one. He liked to pretend he was always looking for the shortest line, but really the middle checkout lane was the one with the drink cooler. A 20-ounce Pepsi for $1.89. Nothing could beat that.

  A hunched-over woman who must’ve been a hundred years old carefully removed five apples one by one from her basket onto the grocery belt. Gerrit shifted on his feet, feeling the weight and awkwardness of his armload. Condensation was making the butter slippery, and the lid on the box of Danishes had been knocked askew. Oh, for crying out loud. Now she was taking personal-sized cartons of yogurt out one at a time. Perspiration sprouted on his forehead. She must have one in every flavor known to man.

  “Let me help you with that.” He leaned in close and tried to reach into her basket while keeping the pile of groceries balanced in his arms.

  He failed.

  The eggs were the first to go. Then the cinnamon.

  The old woman startled and put a hand to her chest. “Oh my.”

  He let the rest of the pile tumble onto the grocery belt, not caring if his butter got mixed up with her yogurt, then surveyed the damage. The carton of eggs had landed on its side so that the eggs not only cracked open but also rolled onto the floor. The cinnamon landed on its feet, unscathed.

  He pulled a Pepsi from the cooler, twisted off the cap, and took a swig.

  DAISY WAS NOT impressed when Gerrit finally opened the passenger side door and set his grocery bags on the floor in front of her. That was more than five minutes, she seemed to say.

  He slammed the door. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  He went to walk around the front of the truck to the driver’s side but then stopped short. A tall man in a bright blue windbreaker was stumbling down the sidewalk, his back to Gerrit. And Gerrit knew only one person in Greenville who would be wandering around in a blue jacket, drunk before four in the afternoon.

  “Jakob.”

  The man came to a swaying halt. No good could come of this. Gerrit was not prepared to face his younger brother, and Jakob was clearly not prepared to have a coherent conversation. But the image of that blue-and-white suitcase taunted Gerrit, and he held his ground.

  Jakob turned to look at him, blinking against the brightness of the sun. Gerrit gestured at the empty sidewalk next to him. Inebriated as he was, Jakob took the hint and staggered over, suspicion trembling all over his haggard face.

  “I see you’re putting the farm money to good use.”

  Jakob’s eyes narrowed. “Iss my money.”

  “That I worked for.”

  “I worked.”

  “When did you ever—?” A young mom pushing a stroller along the sidewalk turned to look when Gerrit’s voice rose, so he cut himself off. He scrubbed a hand over his face, lowering his voice. “You didn’t deserve a penny of that payout.”

  A fire lit in Jakob’s glazed-over eyes. He shook his head. “You don’t know nothin’ ’bout it.”

  Gerrit’s own words. Their father’s words. His chest burned.

  “I know I kept the farm going after Luke died. After Dad died.”

  “You mean after you killed him?”

  Something snapped in Gerrit’s brain. He pushed Jakob up against the truck and held him there with a forearm to the throat. “Don’t you talk about him.”

  “Get offa me!” Jakob struggled against Gerrit’s arm, adrenaline shaking some of the fuzziness from his speech. “’Less you want another assault charge.”

  Jakob had been sixteen that time Gerrit punctured his thigh with a hay hook. Criminal assault on a minor. He’d just returned home from college and found Jakob napping on a haystack while Luke and their father broke their backs in the summer heat trying to keep the corn from dying in record high temperatures. Jakob ran crying to their father, just like he always did. Gerrit escaped with a two-thousand-dollar fine after pleading guilty.

  He took a step back, releasing his brother. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  Jakob glared and jabbed a finger in his face. “Fine by me.”

  He hobbled away. Gerrit watched him go, fists balled up tight. Then he got in the Dodge and slowly, deliberately pulled on his seat belt and started the truck. He sat like that, engine idling, staring out the windshield for a long minute.

  Well.

  He’d promised Hannie he’d talk to Jakob, and he had.

  Beside him, Daisy whined.

  He finally stopped staring out the window and forced his shoulders down. He glanced at the dog.

  “I won’t tell her if you won’t.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-SIX

  That must be Bernard.” Evi nodded at the rooster, strutting down the driveway as if he were the grand marshal of a parade. “Mom told me about him.”

  Gerrit cut his eyes toward the creature. “Bernard the Terrible.”

  “Is he that bad?”

  He shrugged and tried to smile. “He’s growing on me.”

  Hannie would be rushing out of the house to greet their daughter any minute. Meanwhile, Gerrit stood awkwardly in front of Evi, unable to move. The sight of her pulling into the driveway had been like the sun rising on a winter morning, bringing light and life to an otherwise dreary world. But when she’d climbed out of her car and looked at him, he’d barely been able to think, much less speak.

  “Can I take your bag?”

  She looked down at the small duffel in her hand. “No. Thanks.”

  Another car turned in, and relief flashed across Evi’s smooth, fair face. Noah. Finally, Hannie came bursting from the house, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Why didn’t you tell me they were here?” She shot Gerrit an accusatory glance.

  “I—”

  She grabbed Evi in a hug, then held her at arm’s length and took her in. “I love your haircut. It’s adorable.”

  Before Evi could respond, Noah was out of his car. A greeting stuck in Gerrit’s throat as he fidgeted with his hands, unsure whether to offer a handshake or what. But Hannie didn’t hesitate.

  “Speaking of haircuts, looks like you need one,” she chided their son as she opened her arms.

  Noah accepted Hannie’s hug, then ran a hand through his shaggy locks. “I like it like this.”

  Gerrit grunted. Noah looked like a hippie, but he could hardly say anything. His own hair was brushing the back of his neck and curling into his ears. He should’ve gotten it trimmed up before the kids came. He glanced at Evi from the corner of his eye to see if she was surprised by
Noah’s hair, but she was staring at the pony barn like it was a ghost. He followed her gaze and saw that the barn door was cracked open. Rae must not have shut it all the way after her visit last night.

  His stomach twisted. The barn had been built to be a sanctuary for Evi and Noah. Not Rae.

  Noah looked around. “The yard looks nice, Mom. You’ve put in a lot of work.”

  Hannie clasped her hands in front of her. “That was all your father.”

  “Oh.” Noah looked at Gerrit and nodded.

  He’d never realized before how much Noah looked like Luke. Talked like him. Moved like him. He gaped at his son as if he hadn’t held him in one hand when he was born, torn between uneasiness over how different things might’ve been if Noah had been Luke’s son, and guilt over his pride in finally having something Luke didn’t have.

  His arms were lead, his feet concrete, his throat a dried-up well from which no words could be drawn.

  “Come in, come in.” Hannie gave him an inscrutable look and waved everyone toward the house. “Are you guys hungry? Can I get you anything?”

  “We’re fine.” Noah laughed. “It’s not like we had to catch a flight to get here.”

  Gerrit brought up the rear as they all filed through the door. Had Noah always been so tall? His broad shoulders were thick and muscular, perfect for throwing bales. If only . . .

  “Your old rooms are ready for you,” Hannie said. “Dinner’s in an hour.”

  OVER THE RED-WHITE-AND-BLUE centerpiece Hannie had made, Gerrit watched Evi pick at her salmon. He followed her movements, enthralled by her delicate fingers. She was the spitting image of Hannie back in the day, except with shorter hair. He had taken a risk serving fish—Hannie had said she ate fish sometimes—and it didn’t appear to be paying off. Or else being back in the house was messing with her appetite.

  He couldn’t blame her. Having the four of them sitting around the same table was wreaking havoc on his stomach, too. She caught him staring, and he quickly looked away.

  “So. Mom.” Evi set her fork down. “Are we going to be able to see the shop? I haven’t been there in forever.”