A Season for Tending (3 page)

“So you struck up a conversation and gave him some herbs too, didn’t you?”

“What am I supposed to do? It’s not something I choose to feel, but when I do, I act on it.”

“You’ve been to see this man several times?”

“Ya, feverfew gives him some relief, and I purchased a bit of butterbur root. That seems to be helping too.”

Landon’s forehead crinkled. “And you think Rueben knows about all this?”

“I can’t imagine how. I’m discreet.”

“You’re playing with fire, Rhodes. After exposing him as a cheater, damaging his reputation, and causing his girlfriend to break up with him, I’d say he’d plow your whole garden under if he could.”

“Daed wouldn’t let that happen to my garden.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should have thought about the possible consequences before you ruined Rueben’s relationship with his girlfriend.”

“Someone needed to tell her he was cheating on her.” The faded blue geranium petals caught her attention. As an herb, geraniums were supposed to relieve anxiety, although no one could prove that by her. She did believe valerian to be potent, and maybe she should harvest some to fix a brew for herself.
Now that Landon knew what all she’d been up to the past two months, he could probably use a cup to settle his nerves too.

She heard men talking, and she turned to see her Daed, Rueben, and Naomi coming out of her home. If her Daed had been able to settle the matter, Rueben and Naomi would have left her house by themselves and gone home. Instead, the three of them were walking toward her, and now she would be pulled into the discussion too.

“It’s time you head home, Landon.” Her family appreciated Landon and his loyalty to her, but incidents among the Amish were not discussed in front of those who weren’t Amish. Landon studied her for a moment before he pulled the keys out of his jeans pocket.

Her Daed, Naomi, and Rueben crossed the driveway toward her garden. Unwilling for Rueben Glick to set foot inside her sanctuary, she went toward the little white gate, Landon mere steps in front of her.

He held the gate for her. “Keep your head, Rhodes,” he whispered. “You have to try to undo some of the damage.”

TWO

Samuel put his forearms on the antique oak desk while he pored over the bills. The sweet scent of apple blossoms flowed in through his bedroom windows, riding on the May breeze, and the waning sunlight made shadows bob and dance across the paperwork. As he studied the numbers, he could hear his grandfather’s voice rumbling aged wisdom:
Take care of the orchard, Samuel, and it’ll take care of you. Never give up. Loyalty is the key
.

He missed his grandfather. It’d been eight years since he passed. But if he could see Kings’ Orchard now, Samuel believed he’d be pleased. They’d suffered a few disappointing harvests in the last several years. That wasn’t unusual for an orchard. But it’d been a good spring thus far, promising an excellent harvest. If Kings’ Orchard could have a bountiful harvest this fall, he would ask Catherine to marry him.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the smell of rain mingled with the sweetness of apple blossoms. He tossed his pen onto the bills and walked to the window. He looked beyond the yard and the barns to the rolling hills filled with acres of apple trees, all of them lush with white and pink blossoms.

The image of his grandfather’s rough, weathered hand reaching for the first ripe apple of the harvest was vivid. He always gave it to Samuel during his growing-up years. Always to him. Not to Samuel’s grandmother or to his Daed or to Samuel’s brothers. And
Daadi
would say, “A good man is loyal to what God has given him.” Then he’d place the apple firmly in Samuel’s palm as if bestowing on him the responsibility of the orchard and instilling in him the loyalty to see the job through.

These days Samuel gave the first apple of the harvest to Catherine. She was the one who understood him. What he thought often didn’t line up with what
actually left his mouth. But Catherine heard him when he spoke, and she knew what he meant before he did.

A banging on his door vibrated through the room. “Samuel.” Leah knocked again.

“Kumm.”

She walked in, carrying hangers with shirts on them. “I’ll just put these in your closet.”

Samuel held out his hand.

She huffed, but she stopped and passed him the ten hangers. He inspected the shirts that draped from them.

Leah put her hands on her hips. “I have plans for tonight. Can I get paid?”

There wasn’t much way of telling where she’d go tonight, and if he asked, she’d lie. Nothing like the
rumschpringe
years to keep the family in the dark about where young people spent their evenings, so he was in no hurry to give her money. He consoled himself with the reminder of his own running-around years. Now twenty-four, he had left behind his time of extra freedoms quite awhile ago, but he’d learned some valuable lessons the hard way—like going to a theater cost a lot more than it was worth, and playing video games never won you anything. In fact, the opposite was true. He’d lost valuable time that he’d never regain.

He thumbed through the shirts. She’d done a half-decent job. The collars were clean, and his Sunday best were well pressed. He’d pay her for those. But his everyday shirts hadn’t felt much heat from her iron.

Leah extended her palm toward him. “Anytime today would be really nice.”

He held up three hangers with half-ironed shirts. “These need to be redone.”

“No way.” She huffed. “You only wear them to work in the orchard. I see no reason to heat a pressing iron and work up a sweat to make them crisp.”

It didn’t actually matter how his work shirts looked, but she hadn’t done an acceptable job. He continued to hold out the hangers with the wrinkled shirts. “The principle is always the most important.”

Leah took the three hangers. He gave a half nod to affirm that she’d made the right decision to redo the shirts. But instead she went to his closet and hung them up. “You’ve never washed or ironed anything in your life. If you ever do, we’ll have this conversation again.” She returned to him and got the rest of the hangers. “I’m not laboring one second longer on any of those. It’s a complete waste of time.”

Samuel went to his sock drawer. She deserved a reasonable fee for what she had done well. “If a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”

“Ya, right. Like you’d spend any time on something as boring as doing laundry or dishes. Maybe if your work were as dull as mine, you’d do something with your money besides save every penny. You should use some of it and enjoy today, but we all know that’s not going to happen.”

He hadn’t removed money from his savings account since he put the first twenty dollars in it at fourteen years old. Leah spent every penny she earned.

By offering to pay her to do his laundry, he’d hoped to encourage her to want to work. If she didn’t develop a desire to do something other than read novels and go out with friends, he didn’t know what her future held.

He placed seven dollars in her hand. “You’ll get the other three when you redo the shirts that need it.”

She tightened her fist around the money and walked back to his closet. After grabbing the hangers that held the wrinkled shirts, she went toward his door.

Samuel smiled. “I’m glad you know I’m right.”

“Ha.” Leah swung them over her shoulder. “You’ll get these shirts back when you pay for the labor I’ve already poured into them.”

The old wooden floor creaked as he followed her into the hallway. Where was she going to hang them? He’d need those before the end of the week.

She pulled them off the hangers and twisted them into a ball. Apparently her plan didn’t include hanging them anywhere. “Let’s see you wear them now, Samuel.” She bent over and scrubbed the wooden floor with them and then took them into the bathroom, where she picked up a bottle of pine cleaner and squirted them.

“That was very mature of you, Leah. You should be proud.”

She left them in the bathroom sink, went into her bedroom, and slammed the door.

Catherine was right. There was no way to get a point across to a fence post or to Leah.

Rhoda caught her father’s eye while he, Naomi, and Rueben crossed the wide driveway toward her. He carried so much these days, more than any man should have to and more than her aunt or even the church leaders knew, but his shoulders remained broad and strong. He was determined to see his family through these dark days and into good ones again.

Did better times exist for them?

Daed stopped and studied her. “Fresh concerns have been raised.” He moved next to her. She knew he longed to defend her. If she was innocent.

Rueben eased forward a bit, his gray eyes carrying more hardness than the last time she’d looked into them, the day she’d uncovered his deceit in front of his girlfriend. “I know what you’ve been doing.” He said it quietly, and she knew he hoped to convince her to own up to her rebellion.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an image. A young Amish woman stood near the house. Rhoda turned to see if one of her sisters-in-law had come outside. But no one was there. Just her imagination conjuring up a vision of Emma—her dainty features, beautiful green eyes, and her gentle smile.

Was this what
“It’s time”
meant? Did Emma want her to give up her garden? Rhoda couldn’t do it. Not then. Not now.

At first Emma’s death stole all of Rhoda’s desire to set foot inside her garden ever again. The very idea turned her stomach. But she soon learned it was the only place she could hide from her family’s watchful eyes. They wanted to comfort her and be comforted by her. She couldn’t manage either, and she discovered that the harder she worked, the more her family accepted her pulling
away from them. The distraction the garden offered became like a drug, and she was an addict. Her source of guilt became her place to escape.

Rueben studied the area near the house that had captured Rhoda’s attention. Of course he didn’t see what she had. He frowned, looking uneasy. “The Amish in this town take a black eye because of the rumors and nonsense that surround you. We’ve had enough.”

Rhoda folded her arms. “What is your accusation this time?”

He shifted. “You make it sound as if I bring false claims. I have the truth.”

Her aunt rubbed her hands down the front of her apron. “Rhoda, why don’t you tell us what you’ve been up to the last few months?”

“I’ve been tending to my berry garden mostly, canning the early strawberries and getting ready for another abundant summer.”

Fear crept into her aunt’s face. She was one of many who thought Rhoda used unholy methods to produce such abundance.

But she’d defended herself before on this topic. “Whatever I have in the way of bounty is from God and His wisdom.”

Naomi took several steps back, her eyes wide, her hands starting to tremble. “You … you read my mind.”

Daed put his arm around Rhoda’s shoulders. “We all knew what you were thinking, Naomi. You’ve expressed those same thoughts many times. My daughter’s done nothing wrong.”

Rueben removed his straw hat. “Why don’t you tell your Daed about your contact with Mrs. Culpepper and Mr. Amerson?”

Daed removed his arm from her, and she knew he too wanted an answer to Rueben’s question.

Rhoda’s mouth went dry, and she found it hard to respond. “Have you been spying on me?”

“He’s watching out for you,” Naomi said. “He’s taken it upon himself to be sure you don’t cause any more problems among our Englisch neighbors or your own people.”

That wasn’t the least bit true, but if her aunt Naomi believed that and dared to come here and say so, she had to have the backing of at least two church leaders.

Rueben jumped in, explaining who Mrs. Culpepper and Mr. Amerson were and what Rhoda’s contact with them had been. Her Daed looked disappointed.

“You need to stop dabbling in magic,” Rueben said. “If you could find it in yourself to yield to a higher wisdom—”

“Higher?” She moved in closer. “As in your wisdom, Rueben? Be honest. Isn’t that what you mean?”

“At least my good judgment would not give in to premonitions and the use of herbs with incantations.”