Seasons of Tomorrow

by Cindy Woodsmall

  As Crist and Iva went up the narrow stairs that led to the small attic, Samuel dug oranges out of his coat pocket and set them on the counter near her. Rhoda used grated orange peel for flavoring in one of the apple butter recipes. As he continued to pull the fruit from his pockets, she grabbed a clean, long-handled wooden spoon from the counter, dipped it into the kettle, and waited for the apple butter to cool.

  She wished Landon and Leah hadn’t fallen in love, but people couldn’t dictate to their hearts who they wanted to spend a lifetime with. She and Samuel knew that all too well. But it did hamper their business decisions. They wanted and needed to make Landon a partner, and at times Amish businesses partnered with the Englisch. An Englisch partner could bring certain modernization to the business that Rhoda and Samuel were forbidden to implement—like having electricity in the harvest kitchen or using motorized vehicles to haul apples and tend the orchard. Landon knew they wanted him to become a partner, but they couldn’t pursue it right now, and he was willing to wait.

  The problem was that the approval of such a venture would have to go through Samuel’s church leaders in Pennsylvania, because that’s where the original business started, and the founding owner, Samuel’s grandfather, had been a church member in Pennsylvania. The scrutiny and visits from those church leaders would soon reveal that Landon was going out with Leah, and under those circumstances the ministers wouldn’t approve Landon as a partner. And once Samuel was turned down, he couldn’t appeal. So Rhoda had no idea how many years they’d need to wait or what would have to transpire before they could make Landon a partner.

  Samuel set two more oranges on the counter. “That’s all Phoebe had. She said if you need more, Landon will have to run to the store.”

  “That’s plenty for today.” She and Samuel weren’t yet skilled in knowing how much of certain items they would need for the kitchen or the orchard. Those calculations had been Jacob’s forte. “But Landon has no time to make a run to the store today or tomorrow. If I need more, maybe Camilla still has some from the bag she bought.” Despite how busy everyone stayed, Rhoda found a way to snatch a bit of time here and there with her Englisch neighbor, and Camilla drove Rhoda whenever she needed to shop for canning supplies.

  Samuel kept an orange from rolling off the countertop. “Speaking of Camilla, she left a voice mail asking if you had time to meet with the private investigator this Sunday evening.”

  Fresh guilt pushed in on Rhoda.

  “Don’t.” Samuel pointed at her, reading her face. “Trust me. They will find Sophia and her mother. I know they will.”

  She forced herself to nod, but she had good reasons to feel culpable in this. God had given Rhoda several insights concerning Sophia even before Camilla knew she had a granddaughter. But out of fear that the leadings might not be from God, Rhoda had held on to them for so long she’d botched what God had wanted to accomplish through her. The investigator the Cranfords had hired had yet to find Sophia and her mom, and Rhoda felt more uneasy with each passing month, concerned that something may have happened to them.

  Unlike working in the orchard or the harvest kitchen, she could do nothing physical to fix the problem. Like the situation with Jacob, she could only pray about it.

  Rhoda drew a deep breath, aiming to find her cheerful self. She couldn’t let grief and guilt over her yesterdays snatch all the good God gave her today. She held out the end of the spoon to Samuel.

  He inched forward and took a taste of the apple butter. “Perfect.”

  She sampled it too, verifying his novice opinion. “It is, and it’ll be ready for the jars in an hour.” She went to the sink and dropped the spoon into the sudsy water.

  In an odd way what happened to her and Jacob reminded her of the Bible saying that a person cannot serve two masters without loving one and hating the other. In her experience a woman couldn’t keep a healthy relationship with one man while harboring tenderness for his brother. But Jacob shouldn’t have been the one to call the situation what it was. She should have. If she had, she would’ve freed him sooner with more of his heart and self-respect intact.

  Samuel stirred the concoction for her. “Phoebe is setting up lunch on one of the tables outside. Let Mary do the stirring while we eat.”

  “I wish I could.” Would she always long for every possible minute with Samuel? “We have to get the batch Mary is working on into the jars before it cools. Leah’s prepping another batch, and this batch has to be stirred nonstop for another hour until it’ll be ready to put into jars. I’ll eat later.”

  “I’ll help you get to a stopping point.”

  “There isn’t one, not today. Just have her put sandwiches on the porch like usual, and we’ll grab bites while working.”

  “Rhoda,”—Samuel’s tone said he was ready to argue if need be—“it’s the halfway point of the harvest, and Phoebe wants the core group, plus anyone else who can, to eat a picnic lunch together.”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “That’s because you missed dinner the last two nights, and I forgot to tell you about it.”

  “Ah, makes sense, but like I said, we can’t stop for lunch.”

  He turned his back to the others. “Find the time. Do we need to dump out the batches that are cooking?”

  Even as their love grew, they still managed to argue easily. Would that go away with time, or was it part of who they were together? “You wouldn’t dare!”

  He raised his eyebrows, and the firm look in his eyes said he would. “Then be reasonable, please.”

  “You can’t breeze in here, Samuel King, and start telling me how to run my kitchen.”

  “I don’t see why not. You don’t mind telling me how we need to run the orchard.” He studied her, waiting for her rebuttal.

  She wanted to put her hands on her hips and set him straight, except … he was right. She drew a breath. “I guess I should be grateful that you insist I take breaks.”

  “You should, but that would be asking too much.” He grinned. “I would settle for begrudgingly agreeable … and for lunch, with everyone together.”

  Regardless of how much work there was to do, how could she argue with his reasoning? “We need to get the batch Mary is working with into jars. While we do that, she can eat, and then she can take over stirring this batch.”

  He nodded. “That’s a plan I can live with. What do you want me to do to help?”

  “You stir.” She passed him the apple butter paddle and turned to Leah. “It appears we’re having a picnic, so let’s stop preparing apples for another vat. We’ll delay starting the next batch.”

  “Works for me.” Leah set down the knife and began to clean her work station.

  Rhoda went to the foot of the stairs. “Iva? Crist?”

  Iva peered down. “Ya?”

  “You two are needed down here, and you can return to that later, okay?”

  “Sure.” Iva hurried down the steps, and Crist followed her.

  Rhoda gave instructions. Bringing most of the kitchen to a halt during the day wasn’t easy. It’s why they ate in shifts.

  “Mr. King.” The foreman of the migrant workers stood at the door of the kitchen. Samuel had told the man not to call him mister, but it was no use. Perhaps the man’s English wasn’t that good, or perhaps using titles was part of his culture.

  “Coming.” Samuel went outside to see what he needed.

  She and Samuel had rented a home not too far from here for the migrant workers to sleep in, and they’d hired two cooks to feed them. The overhead of running an orchard seemed crushing to her, but Samuel was used to it.

  They could use extra workers to help in the spring too, but the migrant workers would be long gone by then. Samuel had hired some workers from the new Amish families in the area to help this fall, but since farming their own land was their main goal, they wouldn’t be available during the spring or summer. Orchard Bend Farms might not have much help during spring and summer for a few more years y
et.

  Within thirty minutes Leah, Iva, and Crist were washing their hands. They passed around a hand towel to one another and then left the harvest kitchen.

  Leah paused. “You coming?”

  “Ya.” Rhoda passed the paddle to Mary. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.”

  “I won’t let it burn. I promise.”

  “Denki.”

  When Rhoda stepped onto the porch, she paused, soaking in the lovely fall day. A canopy of clouds hung overhead. Trees were filled with the splendor of the fall colors.

  Landon brought a wagon to a halt, jumped down, and looped the lead over the hitching post. “Hey, Rhodes, I brought a bushel basket of McIntosh from cold storage.”

  “Thanks.” She used the sweetness of a McIntosh to mix with the tarter apples, which cut down on the need to add sugar to the apple butter. “You’re joining us for lunch, right?”

  “Definitely.” He left the apples in the wagon and headed for the table.

  Could the day be any more gorgeous? Her five-year-old nephew, Isaac, and his three-year-old sister, Arie, were sneaking food to the dogs under the picnic table, and Rhoda laughed. As she watched her loved ones under a harvest sky, she saw Samuel take a box from Phoebe, and then he paused, staring at Rhoda. He walked toward her, his boots echoing against the wooden porch. “Hi.” His deep voice rumbled softly. “You joining us for lunch?” He winked, and warmth ran through her all the way to her toes.

  She raised an eyebrow, aiming to look defiant as she teased. “Maybe. If you’re lucky.”

  He chuckled. Since Jacob had left, she and Samuel hadn’t held hands or kissed, yet they were—dare she think it?—intimate.

  How long would she have to wait to begin a life with him?

  TWO

  The late-November sky spit snow as Jacob carried one end of the panel of Sheetrock toward the half-built home. At least a dozen Amish workers from his uncle’s construction business buzzed in every direction.

  “Jacob!” His uncle’s voice rose above the hammering and sawing.

  Jacob glanced around and spotted Uncle Mervin on the dirt driveway, standing beside a young Amish woman who had a little one on her hip and a toddler hanging on to her dress. Jacob gave a nod. What could an Amish woman possibly want on a construction site? “I’ll be right with you.” He and a coworker carried the Sheetrock into the house and set it down.

  The house had plumbing, a good foundation, skeleton walls, and a finished roof. Jacob’s current goal was to get the exterior insulation on before a wintery blast hit Virginia. But the supply truck with the wall cladding had yet to arrive.

  This house was one of two he was working on. Each sat on a bluff overlooking a valley with the Appalachian Mountains on the horizon. The view was spectacular, and even as he worked, the desire to do construction burned within him, which was good, because not much else interested him.

  He volunteered to work out of town on every available construction job and was the only member of his uncle’s construction crew who didn’t rotate with other men in order to get weeks or months at home. He worked out of state all the time by choice. Sort of … Could he consider anything that had caused him to land in such a lonely place to actually be a choice?

  Between doing construction work and helping build mission homes, he worked long, hard days and fell into a sound sleep the moment he crawled into bed. Funny, or maybe just sad, but he’d never noticed how long twenty-four hours were until Rhoda handed his heart back to him.

  It’d been more than four months, and he was starting to feel a little more like himself again. Whatever that meant. For now he was content to work here. He paid an Amish family for room and board, and he’d be here until these two houses were lock-and-key ready.

  He went into the garage, heading for the driveway.

  “Hey, Jacob.” A young Amish worker, maybe eighteen years old, stopped him while filling his tool belt with nails. “Want to go to the singing with me this Sunday? There are some really pretty Amish girls around these parts.”

  Jacob shook his head. “Not me. Thanks.”

  “Kumm on.” The young man’s forehead wrinkled. “It’d shake up this sleepy little Amish community if a group of us visitors went.”

  Jacob wasn’t interested in shaking up anything, but he could at least give the boy some hope. “I’ll think about it.” When Jacob got to the driveway, his uncle and the woman were gone. He looked past the multitude of work trucks and Amish carriages.

  The toddler ran from behind a red Chevy truck parked at the curb and headed toward the house.

  “Amos.” The woman lunged, grabbing the little boy’s wrist while holding on firmly to the child in her arms. “Duh net geh neh die Haus.”

  The boy complained at her refusal to let him go near the house, but Jacob appreciated it. Any construction area was really dangerous for children.

  The woman and his uncle were looking at what appeared to be a transport trailer for riding lawn mowers that was loaded with old wood flooring and doors. A black man was leaning against the cab of the truck, watching the workers. Jacob would bet money that the man was the Amish woman’s driver. But what did she want?

  “Jacob.” His uncle gestured toward the woman. “Esther salvages items from old homes and repurposes them. I was telling her that you would be helping the owner make decisions about floor finishing and such.”

  Was his uncle trying to pawn the woman off on Jacob? Mervin knew the answer to this woman’s query as well as Jacob did—no, but thank you. Besides, this was his uncle’s job, so why wasn’t he giving the answer?

  Despite himself, Jacob picked up a piece of flooring. It was gorgeous, and once it was sanded, stained, and shellacked, it would regain its luster.

  “It’s two-hundred-year-old pine.” The woman’s voice quavered as the toddler tried to tug free of her.

  “It’s nice, but—”

  The black man moved in closer and crouched, facing them. Esther released the little boy, and he flew into the man’s hands. He picked up Amos and walked off with him.

  Esther breathed a sigh of relief. “You won’t find this quality in anything new.” She shifted the baby to the other hip. “I can give you a good deal on it.”

  Jacob glanced at his uncle. Mervin would’ve said no to a man in a heartbeat, but apparently this pretty, blond-haired, doe-eyed woman with two young children was too much for him to refuse.

  Jacob shook his head. “Sorry, but we use all new materials when we build a home.”

  “But I have pieces—flooring, windows, bricks, doorknobs, and cabinets—that can add character to a new home. It’s the perfect combination, new construction with old-world character.”

  “The owners are Englisch. They expect new-world character.”

  “How do you know that’s what they want?”

  Jacob stifled a sigh. Maybe his newly acquired jaded attitude was influencing him, but he didn’t want to deal with a young Amish businesswoman. Was her kind a growing trend? “It takes a lot of reclaimed wood to complete a room.”

  “You’re right, but how large is the kitchen?”

  “It’s twenty by twenty.”

  “A four-hundred-square-foot kitchen.” Her eyes grew wide. “Wow. Okay, but I have enough of this”—she tapped a strip of pine—“to cover a two-hundred-square-foot floor. That could probably do two small bathrooms, one for sure. Or”—she picked up an old brick—“you could use the pine in the kitchen and then put rows of hundred-year-old brick around the edges to make up the difference. Or slate. I have some wonderful old slate in my work shed.”

  “Our schedule is very tight, and it would take a lot longer to install repurposed items. Whatever you’ve salvaged will come in odd sizes, and probably a third of the best you have will still be too damaged to use once we try to place it.”

  “But I make allowances for those things. That’s my responsibility, not yours.”

  Her responsibility? He seriously doubted she knew that much about flooring
a room, which meant he’d get stuck trying to make the limited supplies fit the space.

  When Jacob’s phone buzzed, he was glad for the interruption. He didn’t wish to be rude, but she would have to take no for an answer. It’s how the business world worked, and if she wanted to dabble in it, she needed to figure that out. He pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the number. The barn office in Maine, probably his brother.

  Again.

  Jacob rejected the call and slid the phone back into his pocket.

  “You have to answer him at some point, you know.” His uncle’s matter-of-fact tone didn’t fool Jacob. Mervin would walk the Appalachian Trail in winter if he thought it’d help Jacob and Samuel work things out.

  “You want to talk to my brother?” Jacob held out the phone to him. “Or maybe you want the phone back that you gave me?”

  “No.” His uncle shook his head.

  Esther shifted, looking like a stranger caught in a rift between relatives, which she was. But she should’ve left before now. If she and her husband needed a handout, he’d dig deep into his pockets, but business was business, and he didn’t need anything the woman was offering.

  The phone in his pocket buzzed again. He didn’t get back-to-back calls from the farm in Maine. Someone, probably his brother, called once a week and left a message—none of which Jacob had listened to. He glanced at caller ID.

  Sandra.

  Any thought of possibly reaching out to Esther fled. He had all the responsibilities of helping others that he could manage right now.

  When he’d stepped into the Englisch world as an older teen, Sandra and her husband had taken Jacob under their wing. But that’d been a long time ago, before her husband disappeared. Since then Jacob had spent too much time helping her cope in the very world she belonged to—the Englisch one. The one good thing in the situation was Sandra’s daughter, Casey. Jacob loved her like she was his own, and she was doing well despite her mother’s issues. He declined the call. He’d already talked to Sandra twice today. Surely he could ignore her call this time.