Like a Bee to Honey (22 page)

Another deep breath, as if she were stalling for a little bit of extra time. She blinked back several tears and met his eye. “I'm the reason my parents are dead.”

Because he didn't want to scare her away, Josiah remained perfectly still, even though her words sent him reeling. Rose's parents had died in a car accident, but in some way Josiah couldn't comprehend, she blamed herself.

“Rose, you were five years old.”

She nodded, as if being five made her even guiltier. “I was a spoiled child. My parents and my sisters coddled me, and I thought I deserved anything I wanted. No one but my parents loved me, and I'm sure even they didn't most of the time. I wanted a Tickle Me Elmo doll for Christmas.”

“I don't even know what that is.”

She dabbed the moisture from her eyes. “One of my
Englisch
friends had one. It's a red, furry animal that makes laughing noises. It was all I could think about. When my
mamm
told me that she couldn't find one in any store in Shawano, I threw a fit. I fell on the floor and kicked and screamed. I held my breath until my face turned blue. I refused to eat.”

Josiah stayed quiet and gazed at her, willing her to see that there was nothing but compassion behind his eyes. How often in fifteen years had she offered it to herself?

“Mamm finally convinced Dat to hire a driver to take them to Green Bay to search for a Tickle Me Elmo doll. They died in a car accident on the way home. The police returned the doll to me still in its box.” She seemed to disintegrate before his eyes. Covering her face, she sobbed into her hands.

Every tear was like the twist of a knife in his heart.

“The day of the funeral, I sneaked downstairs in the middle of the night and threw the doll into Dawdi's woodstove. Then I knelt by the stove and begged
Gotte
to send my parents back. I promised Him I would never ask for anything ever again. But He didn't listen. He took my parents to punish me for my selfishness.” She lifted her head and looked at him, the tears still streaming down her face. “I didn't speak for a year, fearing that if
Gotte
heard my voice, He would smite me or one of my sisters dead. Since that day, I've tried not to ask
Gotte
for anything, except to plead for the lives of my family and to beg forgiveness for my sins.”

He couldn't keep his distance a second longer, even at the risk of getting her sick. Trying to stifle his coughing, he slid off the sofa, sidled next to her, and wrapped both arms around her shoulders.

To his surprise, she buried her face in the crook of his neck and let him hold her. “This isn't the reaction I was expecting from you,” she said.

“Then maybe you don't know me very well,” he said, his heartbeat vibrating like a bee's wings.

“But you understand why you need to stay away.”

“Nae,”
he said. “I don't understand that at all.”

“If you got hurt,
Gotte
would never forgive me. I killed my parents, and I am responsible for La Wayne Zook's death as well.”

He pulled her closer and smoothed his hand up and down her arm. “My darling Rosie,” he whispered. The words tasted like honey on his lips. For years, he had stored up dozens of sweet names he longed to call her—if only she would let him into her heart.

Now he knew why she had guarded the entrance so carefully.

He smoothed a strand of hair off her cheek. “My nephew Alvin is three years old, just two years younger than you were when your parents died. Would you blame him for anything?”

She pressed her lips together.
“Nae.”

“Now think of
Gotte
, who loved the world so much that He gave His only begotten Son to die for His people. Do you think
Gotte
would punish Alvin for a temper tantrum? Do you really believe that He would be so vindictive with one of His children?
Gotte
promised to forgive us when we repent. He asks us to forgive seventy times seven. Don't you think He would forgive us at least as often?”

She pulled away from him and furrowed her brow. “But if I hadn't thrown such a fit about a foolish doll . . .”

“Nothing we do can change
Gotte
's plan for us. A little golden-haired five-year-old who wants a doll more than anything can't make the world spin in a different direction.”

“But it did turn upside down when my parents died.”

“Can you say for certain that wasn't part of His plan?” He brushed his thumb down the side of her face. Her skin was softer than silk.

For the thousandth time, he thought of the small envelope that had been sitting in the dresser drawer for weeks, and his heart stumbled over itself. Should he give it to her? Would it make her happy, or would she reject it like she had the paint? “Rose,” he stammered. “I have something I want to give you.”

She immediately stiffened, and the turmoil in her expression cut him like a knife.

“You don't have to accept it if you don't want, and you won't hurt my feelings.”

“
Jah
, I will,” she said. “I have done nothing but hurt your feelings.”

“I've gotten over the paint disaster. I only cried for about two hours.”

Rose lifted her gaze as a hint of a smile played at her lips. “For sure and certain, you didn't cry, but I did hurt your feelings.”

“Only because I felt bad for making you uncomfortable. The last thing I want to do is make you upset, and I know you'll be honest with me if I do.”

He rose to his feet, paused long enough to cough, then went into his room to retrieve the envelope. He came back and,
oh sis yuscht,
his hands shook as he sat down and handed it to her.

She clearly didn't want to take it. Maybe she didn't want to have to reject him one more time.

Reluctantly, she pulled the photo from the envelope. A teenage girl with hair like amber honey and eyes the color of cornflowers in early summer looked into the camera, perhaps a bit uncomfortable but smiling all the same. She wore an Amish
kapp
and a black dress with a white apron.

Rose gasped and turned as white as a sheet. She stared at the photo, and Josiah couldn't even tell if she was breathing. “Where did you get this?” she whispered.

He studied her face doubtfully. “An old
Englisch
friend of your
mater
's.”

She didn't respond.

“Are you all right?” he said. “Can I get you some water?”

A soft, involuntary giggle tripped from between her lips. “
Nae. Nae,
Josiah. No water. I just need to see . . .” Almost reverently, she fingered the edges of the picture. “She had kind eyes.”

“Like yours,” Josiah said. “Bitsy didn't want to get your hopes up if it came to nothing. Your
mamm
had an
Englisch
friend take a photo of her on the day of her baptism. Maybe it was one last exciting thing to do before she took her vows. Maybe she wanted something to show Bitsy since Bitsy had left home by then. Your
mamm
told Bitsy about the photo, but Bitsy never saw it.”

“Where was it?”

“I tracked the
Englischer
down in Milwaukee, and she sent it to me. I'm sorry I couldn't find one of your
dat
.”

To his dismay, she broke into a fresh round of tears. “I don't deserve this. I don't deserve such kindness.”

“Please don't say that. You deserve every
gute
thing. Remember when I told you I have no expectations? I have to admit that I do want something from you after all.” He took a tissue from his pocket and dabbed the wetness from her face. “I want you to be happy.”

“I don't deserve—”

“Do you think Griff Simons deserves to be happy? And Paul Glick and petty Dinah Eicher, Luke's old girlfriend?”

“
Jah.
I think everybody—”

“Everybody deserves to be happy,” he said, finishing the sentence she was going to say before she thought about it too hard. “People like Paul Glick won't let themselves be happy because they're holding tight to the things that make them miserable. There's fear in letting go.”

“But I can't just forget all the mistakes I've made.”

“What use are you getting out of their memory now?”

She furrowed her brow. “Only heartache, I suppose.”

“When I imagine you fifteen years ago, I see a little girl who felt so guilty that she never let herself grieve for her parents or for herself.” He nudged her to sit up straight and traced his thumb along her cheek. “She needs to grieve, Rose.”

“I know,” she said. Her voice broke like glass against stone. She covered her mouth with her hand as a heart-rending sob came from the depths of her pain.

He sat silently and let her cry.

It was a full minute before she said another word. “I miss that carefree little girl.”

“She's still in there.”

“But she's never been the same.”

“Except that she is wearing pink in my imagination. Same as you are today.”

That coaxed a smile from her lips.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Are your feet falling asleep?”

A reluctant giggle. “
Jah,
they are.”

He scooted around and leaned his back against the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him. Rose did the same, sitting so that her arm was comfortably pressed against his. He thought he might burst with joy at that small gesture. “You are not a wicked girl, Rose. And you are not responsible for your parents' deaths or La Wayne Zook's drinking. La Wayne's
fater
and his
fater
before him very likely showed him the path, and he didn't know how to do anything but travel it.”

“I still wish it had been different.”

“I do too,” he said. “I wish my
mamm
had not gone out that night. I wish I had worked harder that day in the fields so my
dat
wouldn't have had a heart attack. But why spend any more precious time wishing and grieving for something that will never be? I don't think
Gotte
would want you or me to do that. Remember how He told Lot's wife not to look back?”

Rose sniffled as a grin played at her lips. “I would rather not turn into a pillar of salt.”

They gazed at each other. It was as if some sort of bridge had been crossed. His heart felt as if it would burst.

She took another look at her picture and pressed it to her chest. “I might not deserve this, but I'm keeping it. I have my
mater
again.”

“Unlike a tube of paint, you really can't give it back.”

Her eyes sparkled with their own light. “You were counting on that, weren't you?”

“
Jah
. I'm pushy like that.” He nudged Rose's foot with his. “I have some bad news.”

She studied him with hesitant curiosity. “What is it?”

“Nothing you have told me makes me want to stay away. In truth, it makes me never want to leave your side.”

Her smile grew slowly, as if she couldn't decide whether to be happy or sad about that. “I thought you would be relieved you didn't have to be my friend anymore.”

“You can't be rid of me that easy,” he said, erupting into an attack of coughing.

She stood up and offered her hand. “I need to make you a mustard plaster. Lie down.”

He liked it when Rose Christner bossed him around. He plopped on the sofa, and Rose spread the blanket over his legs.

“Did you tell me all of this because you think I'm dying?” he said.

She grinned. “
Nae,
but you might wish you were dead after you smell my mustard plaster.”

“
Oy
, anyhow. Will it make my eyes water?”

“Jah.”
She smiled as if she were looking forward to it. “You are going to be fine as long as you stay off your feet and out of the pumpkins.”

His throat constricted, and he grabbed her hand before she could move away. “Will you let me come back to Honeybee Farm when you've cured me?”

A shadow of disquiet traveled across her face. “I suppose it should be your choice.”

“
Nae,
Rose. It is only your choice.”

After a little consideration, she gave him the tiniest of smiles. “We're in desperate need of some duct tape.”

Even being deathly ill, he'd never felt better in his life, as if he could skip and hop and leap all around the house. “I'll bring a whole roll.”

“Aunt Bitsy will be pleased.”

Chapter Sixteen

Rose tucked an errant lock of hair underneath her bandanna before going outside onto the porch. The sun had set, but there was still enough light to see the barn and the honey house and even the beehives that stood near the small pond at the front of their property to her left. Crickets had begun their chirping orchestra and a whip-poor-will sang his three-note song to the sky. Rose smelled the slightest tinge of autumn in the air. It was going to be a beautiful night. Dan would probably sleep better on the porch than he did within the walls of his own home.

Lily and Dan sat on the top step, holding hands and gazing into the fading light in the sky. They both turned when she came outside.

“I am to give you strict instructions that there shall be no shenanigans on the porch,” Rose said in her best Aunt Bitsy voice.

Lily giggled and rested her head on Dan's shoulder. “Maybe we need to get a list from Aunt Bitsy of exactly what shenanigans are. I never know if I'm breaking the rules or not.”

Dan shook his head. “
Nae.
We don't want a list. It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and I don't want to stop holding your hand.”

Luke and Dan had decided they liked Josiah's idea of keeping guard on the Honeybee sisters' porch every night. They had taken turns every other night while Josiah was sick; then the three of them went every third night to make sure the sisters were safe. It seemed to be working. They hadn't had an incident on the farm since the ugly black words had appeared on the barn a week and a half ago. Lord willing, the troublemakers had given up, or Dan, Luke, and Josiah had scared them away. Whatever the reason, they were all beginning to feel a little better, even Rose. With Josiah close by, she could almost believe that nothing bad would ever happen to her again. She could almost believe that every
gute
thing in life was coming her way.

Rose sat next to Lily on the step. “In less than three weeks, you won't have to sleep here anymore, Dan.” She smiled when she said it, even though she felt the sting of the loss as if it had already happened.

Dan and Lily would be living in Dan's
mammi
's old house in town, and Luke and Poppy were going to stay in the
dawdi haus
attached to Luke's parents' home. They wouldn't be far, but things would never be the same.

Dan frowned. “Luke, Josiah, or I will still be here every night. We won't stop caring about you just because we're married.”

“What will you do when it gets cold?”

Lily put her arm around Rose's shoulders. “We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“I'm hoping whoever it is will think it's too cold to make trouble. Wouldn't it be nice if they moved to Florida? Or, Lord willing, we will find out who it is before the snow comes.”

Rose simply nodded. She shouldn't have brought it up. It only upset her when she thought about the possibilities. Rose slipped her hand into her apron pocket and fingered the photo of her
mater
she had kept there ever since Josiah had given it to her. At least a part of herself had been returned. She could take comfort in that. “I came out to look for Leonard Nimoy. She's not in her usual spot tormenting Farrah Fawcett.”

“She followed me to the honey house earlier when I took more jars out there,” Lily said. “Maybe I accidentally shut her in.”

Dan leaned back on his hands. “More jars? You must be expecting to pull a lot of honey.”

“The supers are heavy.” Rose laced her fingers together around her knees. “It's been a
gute
year.”

“I should build another honey extractor,” Dan said. “It will take four or five days to pull all that honey.”

Lily nodded. “Carole will buy all the honey we want to sell her, and she's paying us twenty-five cents more per pint than last time.”

Paul Glick used to buy their honey for a fraction of what Carole Parker paid them. Rose felt almost rich with the amount of money that came in. “We'll have more next year with two more hives in Josiah's pumpkins. Think of all the cat food Aunt Bitsy can buy with the honey money.” Or the fireworks. Aunt Bitsy was planning on setting off fireworks at the wedding, but she was keeping it a secret from Lily and Dan.

Dan grinned. “Maybe Ashley and Griff would like to help with the honey. Griff is getting to be downright friendly. I'm glad Ashley thinks Amish people are cute.”

Rose laughed. “Ashley is very sweet, Dan Kanagy. Don't say anything against her.”

Dan raised his hands in surrender. “I agree with you, but it doesn't do anything for my confidence to be called cute.”

Last Thursday, Rose had organized her sisters and their fiancés to help out on Josiah's farm until he was back on his feet. She wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but Ashley and Griff had shown up at Josiah's place the following Saturday to lend a hand. Griff wasn't much help in the pumpkins because he was afraid to pull up anything in case it was a pumpkin plant, but he didn't do any harm either so they didn't mind his hanging around. Ashley picked up on the milking as if she were a farmer's daughter, and she was very good at mucking out the barn, even in her flip-flops.

Rose stood and skipped down the porch steps. “I'm going to look for Leonard Nimoy in the honey house.”

“I'm sorry if I accidentally shut her in there.”

“It's getting dark,” Dan said.

Rose pulled a small flashlight from her apron pocket. “You can see me from the porch. Keep an eye out until I come back.”

“If Leonard Nimoy isn't in the honey house, try by the chicken coop. She sometimes likes to stalk the chickens,” Lily said.

“Hurry back,” Dan said. “Josiah said he might come by yet.”

Rose's heart jumped for joy. “He did?”

Dan grinned. “I supposed there's no ‘might' about it. A team of horses couldn't do much to keep him away.”

With that happy news, Rose turned and strolled down the lane. She turned on her flashlight, though she really didn't need it. It wasn't that dark yet, but she always felt a little more secure with a light and brave enough to walk to the honey house and back by herself. Of course, Dan and Lily were close by, but still, it was a big step for Rose.

The gravel crunched under her feet as she strolled to the honey house, pointing her flashlight first to one side of the lane and then the other. “Here, kitty kitty. Here, Leonard Nimoy. The cat food looks wonderful-
gute
tonight.”

She opened the honey house door and stopped dead in her tracks as her heart lodged in her throat. A young man with straggly hair under a baseball cap stood in the darkened room with an empty glass jar in each hand. Broken glass lay at his feet.

Her flashlight slipped from her fingers as she backed away rapidly. Instead of finding the door, she came up against something hard and unyielding that knocked the wind out of her. The wall turned out to be another young man, not tall but not inclined to be knocked over. She gasped as he yanked her back against his chest and rammed his hand over her mouth. He pressed so hard that her teeth cut against the inside of her lips.

The one holding the jars backed all the way to the wall as if he'd been shoved, obviously as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Rose couldn't see much by the light of her dropped flashlight, but he must have been an
Englischer
. He wore a baseball cap and blue jeans. “Let's get out of here, Jethro,” he hissed.

Jethro, the boy behind Rose, squeezed her tighter. She winced but didn't struggle. Terror made her limbs weak, and she couldn't do anything but stay upright. “She'll give us away.”

“Then let's just run. Now. We can run faster than she can, and we have a car.” As strange as it was at a time like this, the
Englischer
tiptoed over the shards of glass and set the unbroken jars gently back on the shelf. “Come on. Let's go.”

“Wait a minute,” Jethro said. Rose squeaked as he tore the bandanna from her hair and pressed his hand into her face so she would turn her head. “Which one are you?” he said. “Buddy, grab the flashlight.”

The
Englischer
snatched Rose's flashlight from the floor and shined it in Rose's face. Jethro took his hand from her mouth and squeezed her cheeks until she winced in pain. She was too frightened to cry out, and no one at the house would hear her weak attempt anyway. He got a
gute
look at her, and she got a
gute
look at him.

Fright tore through her. It was dark, and she hadn't seen him for thirteen years, but she was fairly sure that La Wayne Zook's youngest son was the one who held her fast. Dan had said that La Wayne's wife had left the church, but Jethro wore a traditional Amish straw hat, a dark shirt, and suspenders. He couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen, but he was solid like La Wayne and his expression was one of pure hatred.

“Rose,” he growled, slapping his hand back over her mouth. “This is the one, Buddy.”

Buddy recoiled in shock, almost as if he wished Rose had not walked into the honey house. “Let's go, Jethro. We've done enough. You've had your revenge. Let's get out of here.”

“We're not going until I show her what she's done. She's going to see.”

“What do you mean, Jethro? You can't show her anything.”

Rose thought she might pass out from the sheer force of her blood racing through her veins. She had never felt such pure terror before. How she wished she were like Poppy, who would have fought her way out of the honey house with her bare hands, or even Lily, who would have been able to struggle free and run away. But Rose was helpless, as helpless as the seven-year-old girl who had been shoved out of the haymow. As helpless as the five-year-old praying for
Gotte
to send her parents back.

The only thing she did well was cry, but her tears would do her no good. They never had. She was useless.

“We're taking her to Wallsby,” Jethro said.

Buddy's expression flooded with confusion and panic. “Wha . . . right now?”

Jethro nodded. “I want her to see.”

Buddy pressed his palm against his forehead and nearly made his hat fall off. “Are you crazy? That's kidnapping, Jethro. You're crazy.” He pointed toward the door. “They're sitting out on the porch. They'll see us.”

Jethro didn't hesitate. He shoved Rose farther into the room. “We go out the window.”

Buddy seemed almost more panicked than Rose was. He walked backward as he panted for air. “No, Jethro. This is crazy. We'll get arrested.”

“Open the window. We can crawl out.”

With his eyes flashing in alarm, Buddy opened the window on the side of the honey house away from the porch where Dan and Lily sat. Leaving the flashlight on one of the shelves, he scooted the table beneath the window, climbed onto it, and kicked out the screen. Then he went out the window feet first.

“Get up there,” Jethro said, shoving Rose toward the table with his hand still over her mouth. “Don't make a sound or you'll be sorry.”

Rose couldn't have made a sound if she wanted to. It was all she could do to stay upright.

Something small and orange dropped from one of the honey shelves near the window and landed on Jethro's shoulder. In his surprise, Jethro yanked his arm up and snapped Rose's head back against him. Rose heard a hiss and a growl as Leonard Nimoy dug her little claws into Jethro's skin. He momentarily released Rose and snatched the kitten from his arm. Leonard Nimoy didn't go quietly. She left eight long and bleeding claw marks.

“Don't hurt her!” Rose screamed, finally finding her voice.

Jethro set Leonard Nimoy on the ground and pressed his hand against Rose's mouth. “Shut up, Rose. Shut up.”

Rose could see the kitten out of the corner of her eye as she tried to climb up the shelf again. She was preparing for another attack.

Jethro shoved Rose toward the window once more. “Get up there.”

She couldn't do it. Her legs felt like jelly. For sure and certain, she'd end up in a heap.

When he saw she wouldn't move, Jethro put his mouth up against her ear. “Get up there or the next person who comes through that door is getting smacked in the head.”

Terror clamped an icy hand around Rose's throat as she heard the thud of horse hooves and the crunch of buggy wheels against gravel outside. The faint sound of off-tune singing accompanied the buggy's approach. Josiah! He was coming up the lane in his courting buggy. She had to get Jethro away from here, and the only way to do that was to get out with him.

With Jethro's not-too-gentle shove, she found the strength to pull herself onto the table and climb out the window. Buddy was on the other side to grab her hand and soften her landing. Jethro followed close behind.

“Stay quiet,” he said, “or you'll get hurt.” He hooked his arm around her waist and half dragged, half carried her across the clover field and deeper into the night.

She felt both profound relief and a sense of dread darker than she could have ever imagined.

She had saved the ones she loved most in the whole world.

Would anyone save her?

* * *

Josiah had started humming a tune the minute he'd hitched up his buggy. The humming had turned into whistling about halfway here. The whistling had turned into singing on the last mile of his journey. He had probably disturbed a lot of birds and livestock that were trying to sleep, but he was too happy to keep it to himself. He was in love with Rose Christner, and he thought maybe she loved him too. He wanted to share his
gute
news with everyone.