A Season for Tending (8 page)

The young man crouched beside her blanket. He was nice looking, with brown hair and broad shoulders. She’d probably seen him before, but her sights had always been on Michael. The way this man looked at her made her feel pretty—and awkward.

He grinned. “Brad told me he gave you a ride here tonight.”

“Yeah.” She’d almost said
ya
, but she didn’t want to sound Amish.
Englischers
often held strong opinions against the Plain sects. Her people had plenty of preconceived ideas about them too. “He brought as many people as he could fit in that van of his.” She did her best to sound like an Englisch girl but was sure her accent gave her away.

“I’m Turner.”

She looked Michael’s way again. He smiled as he talked to the girl wearing
the size 0 jeans. What was it about the superthin ones that always caught Michael’s attention?

“It looks like you’re about done with that beer. Can I get you another one?”

Leah tried to remember how many she’d already had. She ran her fingers through her sandy blond hair, enjoying how silky soft it felt. “I’d take a cold beer, thank you. And a cigarette.”

He grinned, revealing a set of perfectly straight teeth. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, tapped one out, and passed it to her. She put it between her lips and waited for him to strike a flame on his lighter. He held it, looking pleased with himself and comfortable with her.

If he were Amish, he’d never know what it felt like to be pleased with himself. She hated being Amish.

He lit a cigarette for himself and pointed at her with the fingers that held it. “I’ll be right back with some beer. Don’t go anywhere.” He gave her a half smile before he walked off.

She appreciated his offer, but she might need something stronger than beer. All she wanted to do was become someone else. Could he drum up a potion for that? She had spent all her hard-earned money buying the right kind of clothes and getting makeup and haircuts, but it wasn’t enough to make her feel self-assured. She took another drag on her cigarette, trying to appear more confident.

Folks in the Englisch world seemed to understand so much more than she did. She’d been out of school for four years, and every moment since, six days a week, had been filled with chores and rules. Even Sunday, the supposed day of rest, wasn’t free of chores as the women provided food and childcare. What would it be like to have one moment when she didn’t think or feel Amish?

Michael looked as if he fit in no matter where he went—whether sitting on a hard bench during an Amish church meeting or standing in someone’s backyard with a drink in his hand. She’d never accomplish that.

Turner came back, carrying two bottles. He took the lid off one before
passing it to her. The bottle was dripping with condensation. He wiped his hands on his jeans. “May I?” He gestured at the blanket.

“Sure.” She moved over a bit, making room for him.

He sat beside her, opened his beer, and took a long swallow. “It’s too hot to be outside in July—unless you’re at a pool.”

She wanted to say something witty or charming, or at least not stupid, but nothing came to mind. Despite having a cute guy sitting beside her, she couldn’t stop watching Michael. Rather than losing interest in the new girl, he seemed to be wrapped around her finger.

Turner wiped sweat from his forehead. “I roof buildings for a living. Talk about hot work. But once I’m showered for the evening, I like to stay in the air conditioning. The house is almost totally aired out now. Some people have already gone back in. You want to go inside?”

“What is it about guys falling all over skinny girls?”

“What?” His brows tightened.

She pointed at the happy couple.

“Oh.” He took a swig of his drink. “I think you should forget about Megan and what’s-his-face and enjoy your evening.”

“His name is Michael. You know the girl?”

“A little. We went to high school together back in the Dark Ages.”

“Dark Ages?” Leah’s world spun a little more. She took another gulp of her beer. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three. You?”

“Oh, twenty-one. Most definitely.”

He chuckled. “Of course. Where there’s alcohol, everyone is at least that old, right?” He scratched his eyebrow with the back of his thumbnail. “Are you still in high school?”

Had he not picked up on her dead-giveaway accent? Or did he know so little about the Amish that he didn’t realize they rarely attended school past the eighth grade? “No, I’ve graduated.”

“When, last spring?”

“Nope, back in the Dark Ages.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I bet.” He leaned back on his elbows.

Michael laughed loudly, and when Leah looked up, he had that girl by the waist, swinging her around as she squealed and giggled. When he set her feet on the ground, he held out his hand. She put her hand in his, and slowly their lips met.

Leah jumped up, tossed her cigarette to the ground, and headed straight for him, ready to tell him what she thought.

“Leah, what’s up …” Turner’s voice faded as she stormed across the lawn.

“How dare you,” she seethed at Michael.

He stopped kissing Megan and shot Leah a disgusted look. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” She could barely breathe. “How can you even ask that?”

He gave Miss Size Zero’s waist a squeeze. “Give me a minute, will you?” He winked. “This won’t take long.”

Leah’s knees felt like a child’s squishy ball.

After Megan wandered off, Michael glared at Leah. “You got something to say to me?”

She could think of plenty to say. But she didn’t have time to analyze her words. In this moment she had the chance to win Michael back or lose him forever. Her entire future hung in the balance. “I love you,” she whispered. At least she hoped it was a whisper. But for some reason the more people drank, the louder they got. “I thought you felt the same way about me.”

His laugh said she was trying to reason with someone more drunk than she was. “Really? Because I’m pretty confident you decided that on your own.”

How could he be so flippant? The tender way Michael had spoken to her, the romantic words he’d said, the things they’d done together—they had made her believe he was the man she’d spend the rest of her life loving, taking care of, and raising a family with. She’d given her heart to him. And she’d thought he loved her too.

“Look, we had some fun, but that’s it. Don’t make a big thing out of it. If you got the impression it was more, that’s yours to deal with.” He shrugged.

Leah’s dizziness threatened to overpower her. “But … you … I thought we …”

Michael glanced toward Megan. “I’m not going to stay here and argue. I have other things I’d rather do, if you get my drift.”

If?
How stupid did he think she was? She feared her stomach would empty itself right onto his shoes. “Get away from me.” She shoved him, but she bounced off him as though he were a wall and fell on her backside. Snickers and laughter filled the air, and she realized that people, a lot of them, had been watching their exchange. Tears stung her eyes. She had to get out of this place.

She rose and headed for the house, determined to grab her purse, find Brad, and tell him she had to leave. Oh, and she had to find Dorothy too. Her cousin was here somewhere, and the two of them were supposed to leave the party together and catch the usual ride with Brad. She didn’t know what their plan was for the night, but they wouldn’t go back to Harvest Mills. They’d told their parents they were camping out tonight, which meant neither of them had a curfew. But Leah hadn’t spotted Dorothy in a couple of hours.

Halfway to the back porch, Turner stopped her. “Are you okay?”

What a dumb question. If she looked anywhere near as miserable as she felt, he’d have to be blind not to see it. “I’m great. And you?” She brushed past him.

He caught up with her. “You can’t force someone to be with you.”

“It’s not supposed to be that way, not between Michael and me.” She stumbled to the door, yanked it open, and went inside. With a pounding head and misty eyes, she searched for the people she’d come to the party with, but she couldn’t find any of them. She climbed the stairs and looked into the first room on her right—an empty bedroom.

Unable to stand on her shaky legs any longer, she locked the door and sat on the edge of the bed. She stared at the brown carpet, scolding herself for her stupidity. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she broke into sobs.

When she finally calmed down enough to stop crying, she went to the adjoining bathroom. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and her forehead and temples were blotchy with makeup. She washed her face but could do nothing about her puffy red eyes.

Returning to the party, she tried again to find Brad or her cousin or anyone else she’d ridden with, but few people were still hanging around. The wall clock indicated she’d been upstairs for more than an hour. Three thirty in the morning? No wonder almost everyone was gone.

Three people she didn’t know were sitting on a couch, talking. “Anyone know where Brad is?”

A young man set his drink on the coffee table. “He left with a bunch of people.”

Great. Her cousin and friends had abandoned her. They probably didn’t want to be seen with someone who’d made such a fool of herself. But if she wasn’t meeting up with Dorothy, Leah had to get home before her parents figured out she and her cousin weren’t camping. So how was she supposed to do that? She grabbed another beer from a cooler and headed for the curb, hoping that when Brad returned, he’d agree to make a second trip to Harvest Mills.

As she sat under a tree near the sidewalk, sipping her beer, she heard giggling and Michael’s voice. She peeked around the trunk and saw him and Megan going into the house, entwined in each other’s arms. Probably on their way to find a quiet room where they could
talk
.

This couldn’t be happening. How could the man she loved dump her and take up with another girl right in front of her?

Stifling the scream that threatened to come out and wake every neighbor within miles, Leah threw the beer bottle into the grass and ran down the sidewalk. She didn’t know this area, so she had no idea where she was going. But she had to get away from here. Away from Michael and Megan.

Two houses down, the churning in her stomach started bubbling up. Any minute now she’d be on her knees, embarrassing herself. Michael and Megan
might come outside again, see her, and make fun of her. Unable to stand the thought of further humiliation, she searched for a place to hide.

Relief surged when she saw a home without electric or phone lines attached—a sure sign it belonged to an Amish family. If she got caught hiding there, the property owners wouldn’t likely notify the police. She could only hope they wouldn’t call her parents.

She moved into the shadows around the side of the house and spotted rows of tall bushes behind a picket fence. That would keep her from anyone’s view. Following the darkest areas, she crossed the distance between the home and garden area. She searched for a gate, found it unlocked, and hurried into the bushes, going deeper and deeper until she was near the back fence. Feeling safe here, she sat in the soft dirt, pulled her knees to her chest, and wept.

SEVEN

Dewy air enveloped Rhoda as she left her house with an empty bushelbasket and crossed the driveway. Sunlight peeked over the horizon, spreading its glory across the land as it greeted her. By noon the summer’s heat would make her feel as if she were in a frying pan over a blazing fire. But right now, as hues of pink and orange painted the sky and crickets continued to sing their night song, it was a taste of heaven.

She entered her berry patch and shut the gate behind her. A familiar feeling crept over her, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Something was different. Looking around, she decided her senses were playing tricks on her again, and she moved toward the blackberry bushes.

As she passed her grapevines, she saw a girl curled up in a ball in the dirt.
Emma?
Rhoda’s breath caught in her throat.

Impossible, of course. But the sight reminded Rhoda so much of her little sister, who’d always slept curled up in her bed like that, she wondered for a moment if this was some kind of vision.

Rhoda eased toward the lump on the ground. As near as she could tell, the girl was about seventeen. Emma’s age when she died. Kneeling beside her, Rhoda almost expected her little sister to wake up and give her a hug. Rhoda touched her shoulder. She was real.

The girl opened her eyes and gasped when she saw Rhoda. She sat upright and scrambled backward, away from Rhoda.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Looking closer, Rhoda realized she didn’t favor Emma at all. This young woman had blond hair and carried a fair amount of weight. Emma had dark hair and had been as thin as they come, a waif of a girl, really.

From the clothes the girl wore, Rhoda would have guessed her to be one of the Englisch who partied at the house down the street. But for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on, that didn’t seem right. “My name’s Rhoda. Rhoda Byler.”