A Season for Tending (17 page)

Jacob tilted back his chair again. “It’s possible, but we can’t be sure right now. We don’t know what the overhead would be or her productivity per day, but we know she wouldn’t have to spend any time in the field tending to the crops, and we could keep her in as much produce as she could process for months at a time.”

Samuel was now armed with plenty of information to take to Rhoda. “Gut. That’s what I’ll present to her.” He made a sweeping gesture at all three of them. “Listen, let’s keep the orchard situation within the family for now. I’d rather have a solution in hand before I have to explain about the back tierce to Catherine.”

Everyone nodded as the dinner bell rang out.

Daed tossed his sandwich crusts into the trash. “I can’t think of anyone else to consider, but tomorrow I’ll do some digging to see if I can find other options.” He put his hand on Samuel’s back. “In the meantime you should go see this woman to find out if she’s interested. Go alone. If she runs her own business, she’s not going to respond well if she feels intimidated or thinks we’re trying to drive her rig, so to speak.”

“I’ll go tomorrow.”

FOURTEEN

Rhoda’s knees ached. She’d been on them for hours, slowly making her way from one blackberry bush to another. Reaching deep into the thick of the plant, past several first- and second-year shoots with their awful thorns—“sharp teeth,” as Emma used to call them—Rhoda plucked four more blackberries from the bush.

The gloves and her father’s long-sleeved shirt, which she wore over her dress, helped protect her from the sharp prickles, but nothing stopped her from getting poked and scratched. “Ouch.” She jerked her hand back, noticing a dot of blood on the end of her finger where the gloves’ fingertips had been cut off.

“Are you giving blood, sweat, and tears, Rhoda?”
Her little sister’s innocent voice washed over her, and the familiar ache inside stirred again.

Emma. Sweet, sweet Emma.

“Will you marry one day?” Emma had once asked. “Will I? You can see so many things that are going to happen. Surely you can see this too.”

Emma had always believed that Rhoda’s ability—her gift, as Emma called it—was from God. Rhoda believed that too. How disappointed was God that she never handled the gift in the right way and always made situations worse?

Emma’s question about marrying rang inside her.

“Of course we’ll marry.” At sixteen Rhoda had imagined only a smooth path ahead. “All Amish women marry, at least the good ones. We’ll follow in their footsteps.”

“Will we share a home, Rhoda? Your husband and mine could be great friends, maybe even brothers.”

Rhoda remembered closing her eyes, trying to know what the future held, but all she’d seen was a black hole, like a starless night surrounding her.

Now two years later, Rhoda knew what she hadn’t known back then. For all her so-called ability to see what would happen, she understood very little.

If a scene did come to her, it was nothing more than a snapshot image. And truth to tell, that’s all life was. Pieces. Images. Hints at a whole that had yet to happen. She had no way to alter that future, even if she visualized it, any more than she could change the day Emma was killed.

If Rhoda had put gardening aside and gone to the store that morning when Emma asked, her sister would still be alive. There were so many ways Rhoda could’ve handled her day so that Emma would be here.

She stayed on her knees, whispering the lyrics to Emma’s favorite song while moving from one bush to the next.

“Hallo.”
A man’s voice startled her.

She let out a yelp, losing her balance and knocking over the bushelbasket. She peeled herself off the side of the overturned basket and stood, peering through the raspberry vines hanging on the trellis. Samuel King stood outside the gate, looking in.

Suddenly feeling undone, she raised her gloved hand above the trellises and motioned for him to come in. “Over here.”

“Ah, I thought you’d be out here, but I couldn’t see you. Still can’t.”

She brushed dirt off her palms and straightened her odd outfit while doing so.

“Wie bischt du Heit?”
he called out while coming toward her, asking how she was today. He rounded the last bush, carrying a pot of healthy lavender. When he caught a full view of her, his eyes grew wide.

“Oh, I forgot.” She jerked her Daed’s straw hat off her head. The thought of peeling off her work shirt ran through her mind, but that’d be more improper than wearing it in the first place, and she was fairly sure Samuel wasn’t a fan of anything improper.

He righted the basket she’d knocked over, set the pot beside him, and knelt as he began picking up dirt-covered berries and putting them back in the basket.
“No worries. I suppose it’s normal for some women to need a warning, and you weren’t expecting company.”

Did this man hear himself? She put her Daed’s hat on her head again. “Some women? As in those of us who don’t make ourselves look all Amish all the time?”

He gazed up at her, clearly caught off guard by her question. “I … I don’t know.” He picked up the pot of lavender and held it out to her. “But I came to apologize for last time, not to add blunders to it.”

The earnestness in his eyes soothed her a bit. “It’s gorgeous.” She took the pot from him. “Lavender is in the mint family, but it’s a great antiseptic and can soothe insect bites, burns, and headaches.”

“I thought it was a flower.”

“God’s design is remarkable, isn’t it? Attractive blossoms that are good for us in many ways. Many plants, the really fascinating ones, are beautiful, fragrant, flavorful, and medicine for the body.” She closed her eyes and took a deep whiff, feeling almost intoxicated by it. “And good for the soul.” When she opened her eyes, Samuel looked totally bewildered.

She couldn’t help but laugh even as her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Denki. Apology accepted.” She wished she’d found Mammi Byler’s apple recipes to show him. That might have melted some of the awkwardness between them. “Lavender happens to be a favorite of mine, among many others.”

“You should plant some, then.”

“Ya, I should.” But she wouldn’t. She pulled off her gloves.

“Neat gloves. Protective, while letting your fingers be nimble.”

“They’re the best solution I’ve found yet.”

“Better for the hands than horse urine is for compost?”

“I didn’t say they were
that
good.”

He grinned. “You’re a bit overzealous about plants, aren’t you, Miss Byler?”

“It seems so, Mr. King, despite my best efforts to temper myself.” She
tucked the pot between the crook of her arm and her body. “But is that what you came for, to point out the obvious while bringing me an apology gift?”

“Actually, I had another reason. You see, we’re having a problem with our orchard.”

She bent to grab the basket, but he picked it up first. “What sort of problem?”

“A third of our trees are infested with spider mites, and we’re an organic grower, so we can’t use chemicals.”

Pondering what little she knew about killing spider mites, she headed for the gate. If she had that problem in her garden, the solution wouldn’t be too difficult. With the short plants on her small plot of ground, she could easily attach an oil-based mixture to the hose and douse the plants as needed. That would hardly work for an orchard of tall trees, however.

She opened the gate for him and led the way across the driveway and down the cellar steps. “Put the basket beside the sink, please.”

He did so and then stepped away. She put a stopper in the sink and added a huge strainer before filling it with water and slowly pouring in the berries. “I’ve heard some people extract oils from neem trees.”

When she glanced behind her, Samuel was walking around the small room, studying it thoroughly.

“I’m not familiar with that.”

“From what I’ve read, it’s supposed to be a good insecticide. Since it comes from a tree, it’s organic. But it’s very expensive, even for a garden my size. I can’t imagine what it’d cost for an orchard.”

“Even if it worked, that wouldn’t help us this year. The damage is already done. Still, I’d like to hear your thoughts on the topic for next year.” He stopped reading the labels on her canned goods and turned to face her. “You should be finished harvesting your garden, or close to it, by the time apples are harvested.”

“You’re interested in talking to me about canning apple products for you.”

He blinked a few times. “Your mind moves fast, but, ya, we’re pondering the possibility.”

An unfamiliar sensation ran through her, and she took a moment to enjoy it. So this was what it felt like for someone outside her family to respect her. But it wouldn’t end well. It couldn’t. She’d do something weird. He’d hear about it and pull away, be sorry he ever got involved with her. “Look, I appreciate that you’d consider me, but I can’t.”

“You haven’t even heard our ideas yet. Come see the orchard, talk to my Daed and brothers, and share a meal with us. Then I’ll accept your answer, whatever it is.”

“Then?” All feeling of being flattered faded, and she wrestled with offense. He should have accepted her refusal and thanked her for her time. She swallowed, unwavering in her desire to decline politely but firmly. “Look, Samuel, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need to think about it. I’m sorry you came all this way and brought me a plant only to receive a disappointing answer, but I won’t change my—”

“Rhoda?” Daed called, interrupting her as he came down the steps. “Lydia said—” His eyes landed on Samuel, and he stopped in midsentence.

“Daed, this is Samuel King. He’s the older brother of the young woman I met while you and the family were gone.”

“Hmm, Samuel King,” Daed repeated, looking thoughtful. “I’m Karl.” He knew communities of Amish in every state and learned about a lot of families he’d never met through the two main Amish newspapers,
The Budget
and
Die Botschaft
. “Where are you from?”

“Harvest Mills.”

“Of the Kings’ Orchard?”

“Ya.”

“No one told me that,” Rhoda said.

Samuel focused on her for a moment, looking as if he had much more he’d like to say. Her heart beat a little faster. When he’d mentioned the orchard, he
hadn’t hinted that it was Kings’ Orchard or that he was a descendent of Apple Sam, a man well known for his success with his apple orchard.

Her Daed shook his hand. “I met your Daadi many years ago. When he died, my wife and I attended his funeral. About five years ago?”

“Eight, actually.”

“Time has a way of slipping by. Are you the grandson he told me about, the one he was grooming to take over the orchard?”

“Ya, but I wasn’t nearly as prepared for that task as he’d hoped.”

“Well, he wasn’t expecting to die as young as he did, and I’m sure losing him was difficult.”

“It was. And we work hard to carry on what he established even half as well.”

“I have a lot of respect for that attitude.” Daed pulled a box of matches from his pocket and put them on the counter. “Rhodes, I picked these up last time I was at the store. Thought you might need more. And Lydia sent me to let you know dinner will be on the table in twenty minutes, and she’d like you to bring some fresh raspberries to go with her cheesecake.”

“I’ll drain them and bring them up right away.”

Daed kissed her cheek. “Will you join us for dinner, Samuel? My wife would be so pleased to meet you. She’ll talk about it for a month.”

Rhoda wished her Daed hadn’t asked. Samuel had an agenda, and she’d answered him. Her Daed’s invite would only make it easier for Samuel to find new angles to ask the same question. “Daed, he only stopped by for a minute. I’m sure he can’t st—”

“Actually, Rhoda,”—Samuel glanced at a row of her canned goods—“I accept the invite.”

Jacob pulled three one-hundred-dollar bills out of his stash. In all the hubbub about the back tierce yesterday, he’d missed sending an envelope to Sandra. At least he had money to send, for now. He hoped this woman in Morgansville
could help Kings’ Orchard. Hoped Samuel could convince her to partner with them.