Planted with Hope (37 page)

The warmth grew in her chest at her older friend's kindness.

“Can I see it?” Joy held it up. “Maybe we should stock some of these at Me, Myself, and Pie too. The kitchen aprons are selling so well I'm sure that all the customers who peek around the back at the garden would also be interested in these.”

Hope sucked in a breath. Her first reaction was to argue—to tell Joy that she didn't need any more visitors than she already had. But as she thought about it, having all those people around was less of a bother than she thought. She also knew that if Emma enjoyed an apron like this others would too.

“That's a good idea, Joy. Let's talk to Lovina about that,” Elizabeth grinned. “But that's not the only thing in this bag. I have something for Hope too.”

Hope waved her hands. “Oh, you don't need to give me anything else.”

“Nonsense.” Elizabeth reached into the bag and pulled out a small wooden hoop. She handed it to Hope.

Hope turned it over, reading the needlepoint words. “Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.” Her brow furrowed and she guessed that Elizabeth thought this was a good quote for a gardener.

“I bet you've never seen that Scripture hanging on a kitchen wall, now, have you?” Elizabeth smiled. “It's a special verse for me. About a month after my wedding a new neighbor stopped by my house. She said she had a gift for me, but she'd been out of town. Her name was Miriam and she had twelve children, including two sets of twins. She said after the birth of her third child she was overwhelmed and weary. And that's when she came across this verse. In the Bible Jesus is talking about His death and return to life.

“A corn of wheat yields no increase unless it is cast to the ground,” Elizabeth continued. “None of us could be called children of God now if Jesus had stayed in His heavenly glory, without becoming a man. And living the life of a family is following His example. A grain of wheat that stays in the granary has no life. There is a hidden germ of life inside, but it doesn't sprout unless it's sown. Once buried, what's inside grows and bears fruit, and what's outside falls away. Jesus's life was the greatest sacrifice. It saved our souls. And when we die to ourselves and are crucified with Christ, we too will get the newness of life. Our eternity counts on that. But there's a daily dying too—in our hearts. In our homes. As we die to our own desires we'll discover a new life, coming from the inside out, that's been just waiting for the time to grow.”

Hope pressed it to her chest. “You've given me a lot to think about, Elizabeth.”

“That's a good thing… just as long as you don't get your head into it all that much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, child, that we need to listen to our hearts, too, not just our logic. More than that, we need to listen to God's voice. The more time you spend with Him in the quiet, the more you learn to hear it. That's part of that new life that grows inside you when you give yourself to Him to die.”

Elizabeth had just finished the last word when the door opened and two customers walked in. Joy rose. “I'd better get back to work.”

“
Ja,
and I'd better start heading back to the garden. School is almost out and I'm sure I'll have some visitors, especially one who is going to love this apron.”

Hope walked out of the fabric store, her heart full. It tugged
on her and it expanded with hope and promise. She remembered picking raspberries with her sisters. With each berry added one at a time she couldn't feel the weight change. It wasn't until she filled one small metal pail and reached for the new empty one that she realized how heavy the pail had become.

Now her heart felt like that full pail, and she realized how empty it had been just months before. In Ohio she'd had her beautiful and perfect garden. But this new type of love—both for Jonas and Emma and for God—was too consuming.

And she could have missed it all. She could have stayed in Ohio. Or she could have found a position as a
maud
quickly and moved away. Or she could have built a fence around her garden behind Me, Myself, and Pie and never become the wiser.

Hope smiled as she sent up a silent prayer to God.
Thank You for all the prayers You didn't answer. Thank You for not allowing me to hide myself in a garden. Thank You for forcing me to crack open my heart by wrapping a wet little girl in my arms.

Tears came to Hope's eyes then, and she paused and placed her hand on the metal pole holding up the crosswalk sign. As she waited, she thought about seeds being planted and being allowed to grow.

Seeds waited to germinate until three needs were met: water, a warm-enough temperature, and a good location, especially soil. But everything started with water.

Little did Hope know that wrapping up that wet little girl in her arms would start all of this—would water the seed. Tears filled her eyes as she imagined the brackish water from Emma's dress and the young girl's tears seeping through her own wet dress, penetrating her skin and going straight to her heart.

Hope's knees felt weak as she suddenly saw herself as part of God's plan in a different way than she ever had before. It was
God who'd brought her to Pinecraft—not her father's illness. It was God who'd put these gardening gifts inside her, but He was the One who also asked for them back. He didn't wrench them from her hand, but asked her to look at them in a different way. She didn't have a talent for gardening to build her own pride, or even to line her own pantry. God had made her a gardener so that she could bring the people of Pinecraft together. So that she could help Amish children understand gardens and life cycles, even though they were being raised away from a farm. But mostly so that she'd have a common place to spend time with Jonas.

Thinking about it, there would be no other place that they could have gotten to know each other quite as easily and quite as naturally. Working side by side for a common goal had connected them to the community, but mostly it had entwined their hearts.

But they needed time. More time. Hope, more than anyone, knew that seeds needed time to germinate, sprout, establish their roots, and grow.

May 16, 1943

Henry is home and it's harder than he thought adjusting to doing everything with one arm, one hand. My father welcomed us both into his home until Henry could get on his feet again. He dreams of finding us our own place soon. I hope it can happen—well, as long as it's not too far of a walk to the garden.

The war has been a horrible thing. So much missing. So much pain. So much loss. Yet I can't imagine where my life would be if it hadn't happened. I'm certain I wouldn't know my neighbors three doors down. I would have missed out on friendship. I would have missed out on so much love from Henry. Henry losing an arm doesn't mean much to me, especially since God returned the rest of him intact. There are so many women who aren't as lucky.

From the looks of it, the garden is going to do better than we thought this year—much better than last year. I smile at this. Somehow the little bit of knowledge that everyone brought together made the garden what it is. I knew a thing or two about tomatoes, but not enough to have lined my shelves or kept us satisfied for winter. Each neighbor knew enough of one thing to bring completeness to the whole. The garden is truly
our
garden in so many ways.

Even my parents have changed. Just a few days ago our cook was sick and Mother made a huge pot of sausage potato soup. That was surprising enough, but when it was clear that we had more than we could eat she invited the neighbors! Imagine that. It was a beautiful evening filled with good food and laughter.

I'll be enjoying every meal in the days to come with thanksgiving. Gratitude not only for a full belly, but for the friends and family with whom I will be sharing the meals. The war still rages, but we have each other. For now, that is enough.

 

Sausage Potato Soup

1 pound ground sausage

¼ cup onions, minced

1 stalk celery, minced

4-6 potatoes, peeled into ½-inch cubes

½ cup uncooked rice

2 tsp. salt

pinch ground black pepper (or more to taste)

pinch thyme

2 ham or beef bouillon cubes

1 cup frozen peas and carrots or mixed vegetables

Fry sausage in a kettle until browned. Add onions, celery, potatoes, and rice. Add enough water to cover potatoes plus 2 inches. Add salt, pepper, thyme, and bouillon cubes. Bring to boil and simmer for 10 minutes. Add peas and carrots (or mixed vegetables) and simmer for 5 minutes longer, or until potatoes are soft. Serve hot with crackers.

Chapter Thirty

Worry is interest paid on trouble before it is due.

A
MISH
P
ROVERB

J
onas dressed early, taking time to smooth his hands over his shirt and remove the wrinkles. His hair fell over his ears, and he considered asking Ruth Ann to trim his hair. Amish men wore their hair shorter here in Pinecraft. Instead of buttoning his shirt at the cuffs he rolled up the sleeves in symmetrical folds. The thought of seeing Hope again—of saying what he wanted to say—wedged both expectation and anxiousness in his heart.

He paced in front of the dresser and then paused to look at his hand mirror. With slow movements he ran his hand down his beard. During his bachelor years he'd shaved it close, and from the day of his wedding to Sarah he let it grow. Once married, an Amish man would never consider shaving his beard, but it felt strange to start courting a young woman and still be wearing one. He could tell it bothered Hope too. All she had to do was look at his face to be reminded that he'd been married. To be reminded that he'd given away his heart once before.

He thought of Hope's greenish blue eyes.
Can you look past the beard, Hope? Can you look into my eyes and see my care for you?
He hoped she could.

Hope slowly dug a channel in the dark soil, keeping her eyes fixed on the corner of the building Jonas would walk around. She'd come early, hoping for quiet, and she'd found it. Well, except for the parrots that squawked in the tall tree just over the back fence.