Like a Bee to Honey (12 page)

Rose's eyes stung with tears—not for herself, but for the broken-hearted young man who still wept at the memory of his
mater
. Levi Stutzman had been eighteen years old and still in
rumspringa
when he had bought a car and a cell phone. He'd been texting and driving when he hit a buggy with four Amish women inside. Josiah's
mamm
had been killed. None of the others had been seriously hurt.

Rose laid her hand on Josiah's arm. “You may have been angry, but you never said a word against Levi Junior.”

“But in my heart I hated him for taking my
mamm
.” He set his hat on the lower step and placed his hand over hers. “You sat with me for two hours and didn't say one word about Levi Junior. You didn't tell me I needed to forgive him and didn't make me feel guilty for hating him. You asked me about my
mamm
, and then you cried for her and let me cry with you. You wanted to talk about why people loved her, why I loved her. You wanted to hear about the quilts she made and about the time she chased the cow through the corn and about when she made a hole in the ceiling with the pressure cooker.”

“You have some wonderful memories.”

“I was very ungrateful. I had nineteen years of memories with my
mamm
. You had barely five,” he said.

“Nineteen is not near enough either.”

His eyes filled with tenderness. “You listened to me. I felt a glimmer of hope that I would be all right because Rose Christner helped me see it. You'll never know what that meant to me.”

She looked down at her hand, which was still comfortably sitting on his arm. It was too much to gaze into those eyes indefinitely. “No matter what happened at the funeral, everybody loved your
mater
.”

Josiah nodded. “In time, I understood that. I visited Levi Junior in prison and forgave him. He forgave himself too.” She didn't pull away when he laced his fingers with hers. “I don't expect anything from you, Rose. On that day of the funeral, I just knew I wanted to spend more time with you. I guess I hoped some of your kindness and bravery would rub off on me.”

Rose sighed. “I don't have any bravery to spare.”

“You were sixteen and scared of boys. I had to wait until you got older so I could figure out a way to sneak up on you. So far, I haven't been doing a very
gute
job of sneaking.”

“So buying me paint is your way of sneaking up on me?”

“I thought you'd like blue.”

Her lips twitched slightly upward. “You probably know by now that I am not the type who likes people sneaking up on her.”

He groaned. “I know. I've been going about it all wrong.”

“I like blue so long as it doesn't come with conditions or strings attached.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You're afraid you'll disappoint me?”

“I
will
disappoint you.”

“So if I have no expectations, you won't be afraid of me?”

She frowned. “Well, I don't know. I don't want to feel like a project either—like you have to be nice to me because I'm pitiful.”

He squeezed her hand. “Rose, you're not anyone's project, especially not mine. I promise not to expect anything from you, even an occasional birthday cake, if you promise not to be worried about disappointing me. I'll bring you paint and you can keep it or give it back without hurting my feelings. I just want to make you happy. I think you deserve to be happy.” He grinned and slipped his hand out of hers. “Besides, I'm too busy to make anybody a project, but if I did, it would be Paul Glick.”

“Paul Glick?”

“The worst-behaved people are usually the ones who need the most love.”

Rose pursed her lips. “We definitely need to try to love and forgive Paul Glick, but I'd rather do it from a distance.”

“Maybe I'll see if I have time for a project next year.”

His silly grin made Rose giggle. “As long as I'm not your project, you can choose whoever you want.”

His smile faded as he gazed at her. “You should always be laughing.”

She took a deep breath. “I know. I cry too much.”

He shook his head. “That's not what I mean. You don't want to be afraid anymore. I'm going to do everything I can to see that you aren't.”

“But that's exactly what I don't want. I don't want you to sacrifice anything for me. I don't want you to go out of your way, and I for sure and certain don't want you to waste one minute thinking or worrying about me.”

He rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “You might as well ask me not to breathe or eat.”

“I will let you down, Josiah. I always do because I'm not brave or strong. Are you sure you want to be my friend?”

“I'll carry a supply of tissues in my pocket at all times, just in case.”

He didn't seem to understand what she was trying to say. “I'm going to become tiresome.”

“I don't want you to be anxious every time we see each other. Try to remember that I have no expectations for how you should act or how you should treat me. If you get sick of me, you can tell me to leave and it won't hurt my feelings.”

“And when you get sick of me?” She lowered her gaze, not wanting to see what she feared she'd see in his eyes. Better to never talk to him again than to disappoint him and watch him walk away six months from now.

“I won't.”

“
Jah
, you will.”

He took her hand in his once again. “I promise that I won't leave you until you tell me to go.”

Her heart felt heavy and dull. She pulled her hand away. “That's too much pressure, and you're too serious.”

“Friends are loyal.” He stood and pulled her up with him. “No pressure and no expectations.”

“When you grow tired of me, I don't expect you to stay my friend,” she said.

He bowed his head as if in surrender. “I'll do whatever you want.”

She wasn't quite satisfied with that answer, but she didn't know what else to say. Deep down, she didn't want to talk him out of being her friend, no matter how frightened she was of his expectations, no matter how bad it would hurt when he finally gave up on her.

And he
did
have expectations, despite what he'd said. But she had warned him. She could take a small bit of comfort in that.

He snatched the paint from the step. “So,” he said, smiling doubtfully, “do you want the paint?”

She mustered her courage, just to show him how contrary she could be and maybe to test if he'd truly meant what he'd said about not caring if she took it or not. “You are very kind, but I can't accept it.” She waited for his disappointment.

He smiled as if he hadn't a care in the world and stuffed the paint in his pocket. “Okay. Blue was a bad choice. I'll try a nice brown next time.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“You will not,” Rose said. “I hate having to keep refusing you.”

He tapped his finger against his chin as if thinking really hard. “They have a wonderful-
gute
phlegm-green color at the craft store.”

She giggled. “Sounds like something Luke Bontrager would buy.”

His mouth fell open. “How did you know?”

* * *

It was still broad daylight, and Rose insisted that she could drive home by herself. Josiah watched the buggy down the road until he couldn't see it anymore. Had he scared Rose away by telling her too much? He'd been so careful not to say or do anything that might upset her, but it seemed he did nothing
but
upset her.

Oy
, anyhow.

He shouldn't have said anything about the funeral. Rose couldn't begin to understand what that meant to him. For her, it was just another memory she couldn't measure up to. For him, it was the day he had fallen in love with Rose Christner.

Rose had literally saved him after his mother died. She'd listened. She hadn't judged or admonished him. She hadn't urged him to offer forgiveness he wasn't ready to give. After she'd sat with him for two hours, he'd known she was the girl he wanted to marry. Rose and her sisters had brought Josiah dinner every week for three months and then once a month for a year. Every time she'd crossed his threshold, it had been like the sun rising on his soul.

After that, it had been everything he could do to stay away from her. She was only sixteen. They both needed to grow up. But every breath he took from that moment on was focused on being worthy of Rose Christner. He'd named his dog after her. He watched her at gatherings, never daring to get too close for fear of frightening her away. He did a lot of praying in his fields and a lot of crying on his pillow. Thoughts of her were what had eventually led him to the jail to offer his forgiveness to Levi Junior.

If he lost her, he'd never forgive himself.

Josiah walked slowly back to the house. He slipped his hand in his pocket and curled his fingers around the tube of paint that Rose hadn't wanted. If he won her, it would be worth every long night and every tear ever shed.

He took off his hat, hung it on the hat stand, then pulled the paint out of his pocket. He slid a cardboard box out from under the table and dropped the paint in with the thirty other tubes he'd bought. He slumped his shoulders and stared at the paint tubes, each a different color. Maybe the store would take them back. Maybe he'd keep them. Rose might want them someday.

Either that or he could take up a new hobby.

Honey followed him into the house and jumped onto the sofa. She propped her paws on the back of the sofa, tilted her head to one side, and looked at him. Her floppy ears dangled off her head like rags, and she seemed to be smiling at him. The sofa sat in the living room with its back to the kitchen, and Honey often perched like that to watch Josiah as he made supper for himself.

Rose's pineapple coconut cake sat on the counter.
Ach
. It was his birthday. Rose had made him a cake. He pulled a fork from the drawer, speared it into the cake, and took a bite. The toasted coconut on the outside and the creamy pineapple filling on the inside made him sigh with pleasure. He'd never tasted anything quite so delicious. There was no better proof that Rose was an angel from heaven.

Rose had made him a cake. She'd come all the way from Honeybee Farm to deliver it herself. She'd laughed and smiled, and she'd liked his pumpkins. It was the best day he'd ever had.

“Happy birthday to me,” he said, taking another bite.

Maybe things weren't so hopeless after all.

Chapter Seven

“Rose Christner, you must stop slouching,” Mammi said. “You look like a turtle hunched over like that. You'll never get a husband if you don't make the most of everything
Gotte
has given you.”

Even though she was kneading bread dough, Rose pulled her shoulders back until her shoulder blades were practically touching. Mammi had scolded her for slouching twice already today. Her back was going to kill by the time they went home.

Lily, who was mopping the kitchen floor, gave Rose a reassuring smile. Rose gave her one right back. Saturday afternoons spent at Mammi and Dawdi's were always a bit trying on Rose's nerves. Mammi seldom had a kind word to say, even to her beloved granddaughters, and Dawdi was constantly scrutinizing all of them to make sure they were behaving like proper and righteous Amish girls. Poppy usually got the brunt of Dawdi's displeasure because she seldom behaved like a proper Amish girl, but that was one of the things Rose loved the most about her sister.

Poppy was brave and bold and didn't let anyone frighten her or push her around. Rose wished she was more like Poppy, who let Mammi's criticisms flow off her like water off a duck's back.

The Honeybee
schwesters
visited their grandparents a few times a week, and on Saturdays they spent the whole afternoon there cleaning and baking for Mammi and helping Dawdi in his garden. Mammi and Dawdi lived on two acres of land in the middle of town. Dawdi had a small garden, and Mammi grew herbs for cooking. Dawdi was eighty-one years old, worn out and bent over with age. Maybe his knobby back was the reason Mammi was so adamant that Rose stand up straight.

Rose often studied Mammi's face in hopes of catching a glimpse of her mother. Mammi was almost ten years younger than Dawdi, and she looked as young as Dawdi looked old. Her light brown hair had only a few streaks of gray, and her wrinkles congregated around her eyes and mouth, leaving the rest of her skin smooth and soft. Rose thought she was a very pretty woman. Had her
mamm
been pretty like that?

Mammi stood at the threshold to the kitchen and inspected Lily's mopping and Rose's kneading. “You didn't sweep well, Lily. You're slapping around all sorts of crumbs with your mop.”

“Sorry, Mammi,” Lily said. “I'll make sure there are no crumbs left when I'm done.”

Lily and Rose never argued with Mammi. If she said they were wiping down walls or washing clothes the wrong way, they simply agreed with her and tried to better follow her instructions. That was probably why Poppy spent her time in the garden with Dawdi. Dawdi didn't approve of Poppy's behavior, but he would have to be blind not to see how
gute
she was with the plants. His tomatoes always grew better when Poppy tended them, even with her hand in a cast.

Keeping her shoulder blades tightly together, Rose separated the dough into pans and covered the loaves with a dishtowel to rise. Three loaves to carry Mammi and Dawdi through to next week. Maybe Josiah could use a loaf of bread to carry him through his week. She'd have to make him a loaf or two when she got home.

Mammi propped her hands on her hips. “You didn't give the kneading enough time, Rose. It must have plenty of air or it turns out heavy as a brick.”

Rose nodded. “Don't worry, Mammi. I kneaded them extra, just the way you like.”

“I hope so. I won't have my bread ruined. You seem not quite yourself today.”

“I do?”

“You would have forgotten the salt if I hadn't reminded you. You're usually so careful.”

Rose washed the sticky dough off her hands and then set to work on the counter caked with flour. What was Mammi talking about? She wasn't distracted in the least. It was just a normal Saturday, like every other Saturday they'd spent at Mammi's. The day before had been a normal Friday, spent baking cakes and running errands and crying like a baby in front of Josiah Yoder.

She forgot about her shoulder blades and felt her face get warm. Josiah had seen her cry so many times, he probably feared she would dry up and blow away. That's probably why he kept trying to give her water.

Still, he hadn't made fun of her or run as fast as he could in the other direction. Maybe he hadn't even pitied her.

Next to her sisters and Aunt Bitsy, Josiah was probably the kindest person Rose had ever met. At the funeral, he might have felt nothing but anger and hurt, but she'd never heard him say a bitter word about Levi Junior or the bishop or anyone in the
gmayna
. She had watched him put his arm around Levi Junior's
fater
and mingle his tears with Levi's
mamm
'
s.
He had gone to the prison to visit Levi Junior, and although few people knew, he had helped Levi Junior's
dat
plant feed corn every year since the accident.

And he had very nice eyes, the color of a clear sky on a bright fall day.

He'd said he didn't want to be her friend. But then he'd sort of said he did. He'd said he wanted to spend more time with her in hopes some of her kindness and bravery would rub off on him.

She shook her head. He didn't know her very well if he thought she was kind or brave. In reality, she was selfish and pitiful.

Rose's heart flip-flopped in her chest as she scraped the dried dough from the counter with a spatula. What did she want? Josiah made her nervous, but when she wasn't busy worrying about disappointing him, she sort of liked being with him. He acted as if he was truly interested in what she had to say, and it was endearing the way he thought he could fix things when he couldn't. He was unfailingly patient with his nephews and too hard on himself when he made a mistake. She even liked the feel of his hand when he helped her cross furrows.

Ach, du lieva
. Her heart felt as if it were galloping around Lily's newly mopped floor.

“Rose, you're making a mess of that apron,” Mammi said.

Lily rinsed out the mop in the sink and set it on the back porch. “That's what aprons are for, Mammi.”

“
Cum
, girls.” Mammi tiptoed across Lily's damp floor, took Rose's hand, and tugged her in the direction of the living room.

“Don't slip, Mammi,” Lily said. “The floor's wet yet.”

Mammi waved her hand in the air. “Rose won't let me fall.” She reached out her hand to Lily. “
Cum
and sit. Your
dawdi
wants to have a talk with you.”

Rose's heart sank. Dawdi only wanted to talk when he felt compelled to call his granddaughters to repentance. Rose had heard enough from Aunt Bitsy to know that Dawdi had been a very harsh
fater
. Salome, Rose's
mamm
, had been the “
gute
” daughter, never sticking a toe out of line, embracing the
Ordnung
with all her heart. Aunt Bitsy had been the “rabble-rouser”—probably much like Poppy—and Dawdi had withheld his approval and his love.

Bitsy and Salome had loved each other fiercely, despite how their parents had treated them. Salome had watched out for Bitsy and defended her against their
fater
's wrath. Rose had always wanted to be like her
mamm
—good, kind, and brave—even though Rose was too flawed to ever measure up.

It made Rose's heart hurt to think that Aunt Bitsy hadn't found much love in her own home. It was why she had jumped the fence and lived as an
Englischer
for twenty years. But she was so devoted to her sister that she was willing to come back to the
gmayna
and raise her nieces. It had been Salome's dying wish.

Rose said a prayer of thanks every night for Aunt Bitsy. If Bitsy hadn't loved Salome so much and hadn't wanted to honor her wishes, Rose and her sisters would have been raised by Dawdi and Mammi. She couldn't bear to imagine how much worse off they would have been.

Mammi led them into the living room and directed them to sit on the sofa. She went back into the kitchen, tiptoeing all the way. Lily raised her eyebrows at Rose and sighed. She knew a lecture was coming too, but unless they stood up and sneaked out of the house, they were stuck.

Mammi returned to the living room, carrying the plate of honey cookies that Rose and Lily had brought this afternoon. “Have a cookie,” Mammi said.

“But Mammi,” Lily protested, “we brought these cookies for you and Dawdi.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” Mammi said. “We'll get fat if we eat all these. None of you girls are fat. Yet. With all the goodies your Aunt Bitsy makes, it's a true miracle. You won't get husbands if you get fat.”

Dawdi opened the front door and hobbled into the room with the help of his cane. Poppy followed close behind making sure Dawdi didn't pitch backward and fall down the porch steps. She gave Rose a resigned smirk, as if she knew what was coming as well as Rose and Lily did.

Dawdi took off his hat to reveal a full head of snowy-white hair. His unruly horseshoe beard hung down past the first two buttons of his tan work shirt. Rose had always loved that beard. It made her think of white, billowy clouds and newly fallen snow.

In the last couple of years, Dawdi had developed a wheeze in his lungs. It was especially noticeable when he breathed heavily, like after he worked in the garden and then climbed up the porch steps. He hung his hat on the hook by the door and heaved a great sigh before lowering himself to his threadbare chair that he had probably owned since he and Mammi got married. “Priscilla, sit there by your sisters,” he said, motioning to the sofa.

Poppy frowned in a good-natured sort of way, folded her arms, and sat down by Rose. Lily and Poppy often placed Rose between them so she would be protected on either side. Rose looked down at her hands. They always had Rose in mind, no matter where they went or what they did. To them, it was the way they had always done things. Putting Rose's needs before their own was almost as natural as breathing. They didn't seem to resent her or even wish she were different, but Rose felt the sting of it. Her sisters sacrificed so much for her without even knowing it, and Rose had come to expect it. How selfish she had become.

Mammi handed each of the girls a cookie and sat next to Dawdi in her rocker.

“First of all,” Dawdi said, “have you girls been good this week? Have you said your prayers and repented of your sins?”

All three of them nodded.
“Jah,
Dawdi,” Lily said. “We have been trying to be
gute
girls.”

Dawdi seemed pleased even though he asked that same question every week, and they always gave him the same answer. “
Gute.
I will never stop worrying about that.” He scooted to the front of his chair and leaning both hands on his cane. “Now then. Have you had any more trouble on your farm since the fire?”

Poppy glanced at Lily. “They slashed the door of our buggy. Josiah and Luke took it to the shop and got it fixed.”

Dawdi couldn't have frowned any harder. “Is anything being done to find out who it is? Have you seen any strangers lurking on the farm?”

Poppy squeezed Rose's hand, for sure and certain to comfort her. She was embarrassed that she needed it, but she was grateful for Poppy's firm hand. “Dan Kanagy found a pocketknife that we think one of them dropped. Josiah Yoder says Amos King sells them at the harness shop. Amos is going to make a list of all the people he remembers buying that knife. The neighbor boy who lives behind us also saw a car parked on the edge of our clover field a few nights ago. Brown and rusted, like the one that rolled my hand up in its window. He said if he sees it again, he'll get a license plate number.”

Rose eyed Poppy in confusion. “I didn't know that.”

“Josiah told Dan, and Dan told us,” Poppy said, almost too matter-of-factly.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Rose said, even though she already knew the answer.

Poppy patted Rose's hand as if that made everything all better. “We didn't want you to be upset.”

Dawdi pointed his cane at Rose. “That's right. We don't want you to be upset.”

Rose lowered her eyes.

“I'm sure we will find out who is doing all the damage,” Lily said. “They can't hide forever.”

Dawdi sat back in his chair. “Maybe all this trouble is
Gotte
's will. Perhaps He is trying to tell Elizabeth to repent. Sometimes He speaks in a still small voice, sometimes He speaks through earthquake and fire. You girls are being punished for your
aendi'
s sins. It is time you came to live with us and let Bitsy bear the consequences for her own choices.”

Rose's chest tightened painfully. She longed to defend Aunt Bitsy, to make Dawdi see how wrong he was. But she couldn't speak.

“Dawdi,” Poppy said, lifting her chin. “Was Job a wicked man?”

“
Nae,
but King David was.
Gotte
took his son as punishment for his evil deeds.”

“What about Jeremiah or Paul? Did they get what they deserved?”

Dawdi scrunched his lips together like he always did when he refused to admit he was losing an argument. “I've heard talk that the deacon paid you a visit. It is a very serious thing when the deacon comes to your house. I don't wonder but Elizabeth gave him reason to shun you yet.”

Dawdi never had a nice thing to say about Aunt Bitsy. They all tried to bite their tongues when Dawdi talked like that, but Poppy usually ended up in an argument with him. It did no good. Dawdi would never admit that Aunt Bitsy was one of the best Amish women who'd ever lived in the community. Lily and Poppy both grabbed on to Rose's hands at the same time. She only felt more ashamed of herself that they thought she was so weak.