A Season for Tending (34 page)

His confidence in her reasoning had been undermined, and he didn’t like where that left him. “Rhoda isn’t a temptation. Now ask me if losing patience with you is one.”

“Don’t yell at me.”

Samuel drew a deep breath. “Oh, that wasn’t yelling. Trust me.”

“I’m not a child. I know what I saw between you and her.”

Samuel removed his straw hat and raked his hand through his hair. “We’ve talked about this, Catherine. You can’t take this attitude with Rhoda. We need her.”

Her face reddened. “And you can’t tell me what I can and can’t feel. We’re not married, you know. We aren’t even engaged.”

Hope ran back and forth, barking at them. How had their discussion taken
this
turn? “I’ve told you, Catherine, that I need to wait until—”

“Save your breath.” Catherine yanked the pup’s leash. “Come on, Hope.” She looked at Samuel, her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s not my fault you can’t see the truth staring you in the face.”

As he watched her storm back to the house, he leaned against a tree. Why
hadn’t he gone with Jacob, Leah, and Rhoda on the hayride? It would have been fun.

But even if it hadn’t been, it would have been better than another argument with Catherine.

THIRTY-THREE

Rhoda sat in the front of the Kings’ buggy, watching the battery-powered headlights cut dim white beams into the dark night. At almost 2:00 a.m., the roads from Lancaster to Morgansville were nearly empty.

Cool air blew into the carriage from the front windows, and Rhoda put on her sweater. But there was tension in the rig for some reason, and no outer garment could protect against that.

Jacob drove the carriage in silence, one hand managing the reins and one holding a bottle of water he was sipping. Samuel was in the back with Leah. Rhoda glanced at Leah, who dozed with her head on Samuel’s shoulder. Loud music boomed from somewhere, the bass vibrating the air. Rhoda guessed it came from the place where Leah had gone to that party weeks ago.

Rhoda’s family and other Amish didn’t turn in complaints against noisy neighbors, but why didn’t the Englisch nearby call the police? A neighbor once told her Daed that they wore earplugs and kept a fan on high right beside them. Maybe most of her neighbors had their own way of tuning out—windows closed and air conditioners, fans, and televisions running.

A young Amish woman stood on a street corner, covering her face with her hands as if she were crying.

Rhoda touched Jacob’s arm. “Stop.”

He did as she asked. “Why?”

“That woman.” She pointed.

“Where?” Jacob looked where Rhoda had directed.

The woman lowered her hands, staring at Rhoda.

Emma
.

“Sorry,” Rhoda mumbled. “I guess my eyes were playing tricks on me.”

Jacob seemed confused, but he got the rig moving again and soon pulled onto her road. The headlights illuminated the fence around her berry patch. Something about the familiar sight seemed odd. She studied the place, focusing on a strange shadow in the fence. Her eyes adjusted, and she realized the dark shadow was a ten-foot hole. She gasped. Jagged wood poked out from the smooth white fencing strewn over the ground. Broken slats. Rhoda couldn’t catch her breath.

What—or who—could have done this?

“Stop here. Please.”

Though they were only a few yards from her driveway, Jacob pulled the rig next to the curb. “What’s wrong?”

Rhoda got out and ran to her garden. Under the glow of the moonlight and street lamps, she saw wide, deep-treaded tire tracks running from the road through the broken fence and into her berry patch. She couldn’t tell how far they went. “Can you point the headlights this way?”

As if he’d anticipated her need, Jacob came to her side with a kerosene lantern. She took it from him and walked into the shadowy field. Her heart sank as the light revealed row after row of blueberry bushes, all pulled up or flattened to the ground.

A loud moan escaped her. “No.”

“Oh, Rhoda.” Leah stood next to her, gazing at the destruction.

Samuel joined them, carrying a second lantern. Together, the four of them walked from the blueberry patch to the strawberries. The tire tracks continued—not in perfectly straight lines, but weaving in a way that indicated this was done purposefully. And the driver was either drunk or having fun.

Probably both.

They continued to the raspberry and blackberry patches and discovered equal damage there. Her enemy—or enemies—had certainly been thorough. She couldn’t tell in the dim light whether one or more trucks, maybe even a tractor, had invaded her property.

And ruined her life.

Rhoda held her breath as she headed toward the grapevines. She’d already finished picking most of the berries for the season, but her grapes hadn’t quite ripened yet. She’d anticipated a bumper crop this year. Just that morning she’d been delighted how the vines were heavy with almost-ripe fruit.

But the intruders hadn’t left her even that. The trellises had been mowed down.

She almost sank to her knees, but she remained upright, looking down the length of the field. What had been vibrant with promise when she left the house hours ago was now rubbish.

“Seems like neighbors would have heard the racket it’d take to do this kind of damage and would have called the police.” Jacob’s tone was grim.

“Seems like.” Numbness was her friend right now. She wouldn’t collapse. That’s what the intruders wanted, wasn’t it? She fought the desire to run crying into the house.

Music vibrated the air around her, coming from down the block.

“I can’t believe it. All the years I spent tending this berry patch, and now it’s … ruined.” She couldn’t catch a full breath.

“Who would’ve done such a thing?” Samuel’s question trembled with outrage.

Who indeed? Rhoda’s shock gave way to speculation. The tire tracks were big. As though they came from a tractor. Or a monster-sized truck. Did Rueben Glick hate her this much? How could he accomplish such destruction? No Amish owned a truck large enough to make those tracks. Rueben had Englisch friends. Did one own such a vehicle?

Dizziness got the better of her, and she sat on a pile of upturned dirt and stems from broken plants. Jacob crouched beside her and held out the bottle of water he’d brought with him.

Between sips of the tepid water, she gazed at her land. Would she wake to find this was a bad dream?

She looked at the concerned faces of her new friends. No, this was no dream.

Eventually her ragged breathing and her pounding heart calmed a bit. But she still didn’t have the strength to stand. She scooped up a handful of soil. “I started this garden when I was a little girl. Daed bought each of his daughters a blueberry bush and helped us plant them.”

She ran her thumb through the dirt in her palm, remembering the excitement she’d felt at putting that first tiny bush in the ground. Images of her brothers trying to snatch fruit ran through her mind, and she chuckled. “The hardest part of keeping my harvest safe was stopping my brothers from eating the fruit straight from the vine. Daed shooed them away time and again, making sure everyone in the family knew the berry patch was mine to handle as I saw fit. Daed’s bought me at least one new plant for every birthday and Christmas since. And when I graduated, he helped me expand into an entire vineyard.”

She longed to call him and tell him what was going on, to feel the comfort of his arms. But he’d take this news hard. He’d paid a high price over the years to protect this land for her. His heart would break as much as hers when he saw what had happened to their precious field. She spread out her fingers and watched the soil run through them.

Samuel looked around at the moonlit field. “I saw a few plants that weren’t uprooted. And you can replant the ones that were only partly damaged. With your skill at cultivation, I imagine most will survive. At least some will.”

“Ya.” Leah’s face brightened. “You started out with one blueberry bush, and you created all of this. Surely you can make a fresh start with whatever we can save.”

Jacob stood beside his brother, and Rhoda felt his gaze on her face. “Where do you keep your shovels?”

She stared up at them. Didn’t they understand the severity of the devastation? She couldn’t start over with just a few bushes, even if some were left. “I appreciate that you want to help me, but—”

“They’re probably in the shed.” Samuel headed to the small wooden building like a man with a plan. Leah and Jacob followed him.

Their desire to do something to salvage the situation touched Rhoda’s heart, but it was hopeless. She looked at the house, the windows dark. Everyone in her family was gone for the night. She’d been away all evening. How did the vandals know no one would be home?

The way the property sat, Mrs. Walker would have heard and seen whoever did this. Even though the woman didn’t want anything to do with Rhoda, she’d have called the police had she been home, but she was still in the hospital.

Rhoda looked at the other homes. She imagined the households were so used to tuning out the parties, revving engines, and nonsense that not one of them thought to look out the window.

In less than four hours, the sun would rise, and the destruction would be visible to everyone.

She’d have to call her Daed in the morning to tell him what had happened. They’d return from the relatives, where they’d hoped to find a home for one of her brothers. Her house, so quiet and peaceful now, would be filled again with the noise and stress of numerous family members all squeezed into one home. What would they say about her ruined fields?

Although her brothers would grieve along with her and would work beside her as much as possible to reestablish her plants and get them yielding a healthy crop again, they would long to use the plot for their own families. If she didn’t replant, her family could build a house on that land, maybe two. Her brothers would try to hide their thoughts for her sake, and they would feel bad for her, knowing how much she loved her berry patches. But in the place where dreams and hopes grow without encouragement, they’d imagine how great it’d be to build their homes on this land.

She listened to Samuel, Jacob, and Leah rummaging through the shed and rubbed her weary eyes. Was keeping the land selfish? Was God showing her that she needed to let her brothers have her property? Even if the business plan with Kings’ Orchard didn’t work out, she had other options. There were fields she could rent to grow her berries. Her brothers had no other alternatives.

She rose, feeling the weight of the grief that had just begun.

The King siblings came back, armed with gardening implements and wearing gloves and sympathetic faces.

She steeled herself. “We’re going to clear the land and burn all the uprooted plants.”

They stared at her as if she were crazy.

Samuel’s brow furrowed. “Rhoda … are you sure?”

How could she be sure of anything? “I won’t let the neighbors see my plants uprooted like a white flag waving on a pole. I refuse to give the vandals that kind of satisfaction.”

Jacob leaned against the handle of the shovel sticking in the dirt. “Maybe you need some time to cool off a bit and think this over. You don’t want to make any rash decisions that you’ll regret later.”

“My mind’s made up. In time my heart will follow.” Rhoda clutched the handle of the shovel in Jacob’s hand. “Whatever time I have for canning this fall now belongs to Kings’ Orchard. And at least one of my brothers will have a piece of land to build on. Maybe both of them.”

She’d met Samuel, Leah, and Jacob only three weeks ago, but they were willing to give their time, energy, and hard work to help her try to save her dream.

She closed her eyes, seeing the sprawling vines and tendrils of her garden sparkling with dew in the early morning sun.

Some wondrous things grow in the heart, not the ground.

THIRTY-FOUR

Samuel lit a kerosene lamp in the phone shanty. Rhoda stood near him, quiet but going through all the right steps. He looked up the number for where her Daed was staying, dialed it, passed her the receiver, and stepped to the side.