A Simple Hope: A Lancaster Crossroads Novel (29 page)

“James? Hallo! Is that you?”

Rachel shot up straight, and James’s face went white as snow.

“It’s my dat!” There was a gasp of desperation in James’s voice. “He can’t find you here.” His powerful arms wheeled the wheelchair away from the cart and down the row, toward his father. “It’s me, Dat!” he shouted.

“I thought his father never came out to the orchards,” Shandell whispered.

“He doesn’t, usually.” Rachel moved in front of Shandell, dragging the rake behind her. “He’s coming this way. You’d better hide.”

“Where?” There was nothing out here but trees, and they were too narrow to conceal her. The tree line was about thirty yards away, but if she made a mad dash for it, Jimmy would spot her right away.

Wheeling around, she saw the cart, its nearly empty wooden bed gaping at her. Oh, please, no! There had to be somewhere else to hide.

“Where can I go?”

“I don’t know, but get there quick as a bunny. He’s getting closer.”

“This is not going to be good.” Gritting her teeth, Shandell braced herself against the rear of the cart and hopped up. Manure crumbs smashed under her hands, turning into a slimy clay as she kept her body low and crawled into the cart. As she reached ahead, the borrowed green dress got stuck under one knee, causing her to slip down onto her belly.

Oh, yuck.

“Are you okay?” came Rachel’s tense voice.

Lifting her head, Shandell closed her eyes and tried not to breathe. “Happy as a pig in poop.”

I
n his black pants, jacket, and hat, Jimmy’s silhouette was big and bold against the morning sky with its streaks of peach and gold.

“What are you doing way out here?” Jimmy called, closing the distance between them in long strides.

The same question I have for you
, James thought, though he was in no position to confront his father. He turned the wheels of his chair as fast as he could, hoping to head his father off and stop him from approaching the wagon. Dat could not run into Shandell; if Dat found out about her, there was no telling what he would do.

“We’re spreading fertilizer,” James answered. “Rachel and I figured we’d work the rows at the back of the orchard. No need to be tripping over Luke and Peter and the others out there.”

Dat slowed as he reached James. “Mmm.” His lips pursed as his gaze moved beyond James to the cart.

Did he see Shandell?

Glancing back, James saw Rachel pause in her raking to give a
wave. No sign of Shandell. Where had she hidden? The pear trees were young; none of them had trunks wide enough to hide a person, even a small woman like Shandell.

“That’s a lot of hard work to put on a young girl,” Jimmy said. “Lots of heavy lifting and such. You could bring along one of your brothers to help.”

“Rachel’s a hard worker. She doesn’t mind.” James knew his father would pick up on what he wasn’t saying: that the two of them wanted time alone—a rare thing for Amish folk.

Dat tipped the brim of his straw hat, revealing his dark eyes, soft and weary. Gone was the usual ramrod-straight poke of his demeanor. And when had those deep creases formed at the outer edges of Jimmy’s eyes? The dark half-moons smudging the top of Dat’s cheeks were a recent change, too. “I see you’ve got two rows done.”

“Ya. We just started this morning. We’ll empty this cart, but then we’ve got to get on the road to the clinic.”

“Two rows is good work for a morning, but it’s not good enough.” Jimmy squinted against the sun as he scanned the rows of trees behind him, and then pulled the brim of his hat down again. Now his eyes were shadowed and hidden, impossible to read. “The last hour, I’ve walked the orchard from end to end. I took a quick inventory. There’s been a lot of hard work here this week, everyone pulling together. That’s a good thing, but May is upon us, and with only half the orchard fertilized, we can’t put this off any longer. I’m going to hire the nurseryman old Jacob recommended. The sooner the better.”

The news knocked James back like a gust of wind. “Dat … no.”

“The good care of the orchard cannot be neglected any longer.”

“We can handle it, Dat.”

“We’re too far behind, James. I know you’re out here every day, inspecting and telling your brothers what to do, but they slack off
when there’s no one on them, and you’ve got your treatment taking you away for most of the day. We need a foreman, now.”

“But it’s the Lapp orchard. Your father managed it, and his father before him, too. Don’t bring in an outsider. I’ll talk to Luke about taking on more responsibility.”

“I’ve made my choice. Consider it done. I’m going into town to meet with Orchard Al. He’ll get us back on track.”

Although James knew it would be disrespectful to argue any more, he could not stop shaking his head. This would not be a good thing for their orchard. Doddy would not want a stranger here, taking shortcuts and throwing down store-bought pesticides to make his job easier.

“You’ve done a good job here.” Dat’s voice sounded different; kinder, without the barbs of judgment. “It’s time to let it go, James. Time to accept a helping hand.” Dat remained for a moment, as if waiting for James to agree.

That will never happen
, James thought, digging his fingernails into the rubber armrests of his wheelchair.

With a small grunt, Jimmy turned back toward the path and walked away.

S
uch a busy day! Rachel had risen early to work in the Lapp orchard, and then, after a quick breakfast with James’s family, off to Paradise they went. Usually, Rachel cherished her time alone with James, but there was no laughing or hand-holding today. Today he tested her patience with his concern over Jimmy’s decision to hire on a new ranch foreman.

“He’s replacing me,” James said quietly. “That’s what he’s doing.”

“There’s no replacing you, James Lapp. Get that out of your head right now. And think about the time you’ll have to rest. Didn’t Doc Finley tell you that sleep was as important to your recovery as exercise?”

“A sleeping man never brought in a harvest,” James grumbled.

Let someone else bring in the harvest this year
. Rachel wished that James could let go of the way things used to be, but she knew her words wouldn’t make it so.

After James was dropped off at the clinic, Rachel navigated
around the crowds of tourists jamming the sidewalks as she walked to the art shop, where there were even more customers than the day before.

“Saturday is our busiest day,” Pepper told her when she asked about the people gathered around to watch her paint. It was one thing to turn away from their prying eyes, quite another to have to pull her focus away from her painting every time someone asked a question.

Good thing Gott granted me patience
, she thought as she began to block in the quilt on the clothesline. It was slow going, but some progress was made.

As she parted with James in front of his house, she reminded him that she would be visiting in the evening. After all, it was courtship night. James seemed tired, but he didn’t disagree. “Are you going to shine a flashlight on my window?” he teased.

“Maybe I will. More likely I’ll just come through the front door.”

Once she got home, Mamm asked her to hitch up a buggy and go fetch Bethany and cousin Ruthie from the roadside stand.

“Those girls are so eager to make some sales, they wiped out every jar of jam we had in the pantry,” Mamm said as she leaned down to search through a kitchen cabinet. “We’re low on Tupperware. I wonder where it all went.”

Over to the sugar shack, filled with food for Shandell
. Rachel paused in the doorway, tempted to tell her mother everything. Mamm would be disappointed that she hadn’t said something earlier, but she would understand that Shandell needed help. With one hand pressed to the wall, she asked: “Mamm? Did you hear about any more stealing in town today?”

“Nay,” Betsy answered without looking up from the cabinet. She
straightened, placing a square plastic container on the counter. “I’m hoping it’s over, just a bad wave passing through.”

“Me, too.” For a moment she wondered if she was a thief, too, taking her mother’s Tupperware. But she was going to return it all, and she lived here. It was different, but Rachel didn’t fancy walking on the edge of right and wrong. “I’d best go get the girls,” she said, heading out to the stables.

As Pansy trotted down the road, Rachel squinted to make out the colorful fabric waving like flags in the breeze. Were the girls selling Amish dresses?

“They’re aprons for cooking,” Bethany explained. “Mamm let us use leftover cloth. We’ve been sewing and sewing.”

“They’re meant as Mother’s Day gifts.” Ruthie’s amber eyes flashed with joy. “Remy thought Englishers would take a liking to them, and she’s right. We sold three today, and a few jars of jam.”

“We were hoping to stay open awhile, in case some more customers come by.” Bethany slid a few jars to the front of the counter. “Can we stay a little bit longer, sister dear?”

Rachel put her hands on her hips. “Trying to butter me up?” Although she was tired, she couldn’t resist the hopeful smiles of these girls. “Just a few minutes. It’ll be dark soon, and Mamm wants us home for supper. You’re eating with us, Ruthie.”

“Denki, Rachel.” Ruthie clapped her hands together. “Maybe the next person to come by will want some flowers.”

A few cars passed by, but two stopped. Rachel hung back near the buggy, rubbing Pansy. It was good for the two younger girls to handle things on their own.

One customer bought an apron for her mother. The second car contained two women who were on their way to see a show in
Paradise. The blond woman purchased two aprons and some jam. “I’ll be back tomorrow for flowers. I would take some geraniums now, but I don’t want them to sit in the car overnight.”

“We’ll be here,” Bethany promised. “All day tomorrow.”

“They’re good flowers. Really hardy,” Ruthie said. “Our grandmother started them in the greenhouse.”

Such good little salespeople
, Rachel thought with a smile.

As the two ladies were walking to their car, another car pulled off the road, raising dust as it slid to a stop along the gravel at the roadside. The driver, a young man, grimaced as he slammed the car door and passed the other customers.