Rachel's Garden (12 page)

“She’s fine, though I sometimes wonder why.” Rachel made an effort not to let her frustration show in her voice as she smiled at the young woman. “She’s far too daring, that’s what she is. Takes after her daadi in that.”

Mary nodded, but she didn’t smile in return, and that set off all Rachel’s maternal alarms.

“Mary? Is there some problem with Becky in school?”

“She’s a fine scholar,” Mary said, almost too quickly. “I’ve just been thinking—well, perhaps I could come by the house sometime this week to talk. Would that be all right?”

Rachel opened her mouth to ask the questions that flooded her mind and then shut it again. Obviously Mary didn’t want to talk about school issues at the after-church meal.

She took a breath and tried to erase the worry from her face. “I’ll be happy to have a chance to talk. Stop by any afternoon, whenever it suits you.”

Teacher Mary moved off toward the picnic table, leaving Rachel with more questions than answers. It wasn’t unusual for the teacher to come calling, but it hadn’t happened before with Becky.

“And how was your day at market, Rachel? You didn’t find it too tiring?”

Isaac had come up behind her, and she was uneasily aware that he might have overheard her conversation with Mary. Still, what difference did it make if he had? Isaac was family.

“It was a long day, but very gut.” The enthusiasm she’d felt when she talked about market with Leah had disappeared, and she tried to regain it. “Everything I took with me sold, so I’m thankful for that.”

“Gut, gut.” But Isaac didn’t sound convinced, and his gaze avoided hers.

Her heart sank. Isaac no doubt intended to say something she didn’t want to hear—probably more about selling him the farm. She’d hoped he’d respect her request for time to consider.

“About this business of going to market. Do you really think that’s appropriate, with you widowed not even a year already?”

For a moment she couldn’t answer. Widowed not even a year. The words sank into her heart. Soon it would be a year since the morning Ezra had driven off in Gideon’s buggy. Would things be better once that terrible landmark passed? She didn’t know.

But Isaac was still waiting for an answer.

She cleared her throat, so that she could reply gently, quietly, as was the Amish way. “I don’t think anyone could complain about my behavior in trying to support my children as best I can.”

“Not that, for sure, but in such a public place, among all them English.”

“I was well-chaperoned by Aaron and Lovina, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She reminded herself that Isaac meant well.

“They’re gut folks, but they’re not family. You should be relying on family just now.”

“Isaac, I do. You should know how much I rely on you and the rest of the family.” Was he thinking that it was a slight to him that she turned to others? “The children and I couldn’t get along without your help, that’s certain sure. You know how much we appreciate all that you do, don’t you?”

“Ach, there’s no need for thanks.” He patted her hand. “Now, I won’t talk business on the Sabbath, but I want to be sure you’re thinking about my offer.”

There it was, just the subject she didn’t want to discuss. “You’re right, Isaac. We shouldn’t talk business on the Sabbath.”

He looked a little disconcerted at having his words turned back to him that way. “I see your mamm and daad coming to collect you for the meal, so I won’t say more. Just ... don’t let this business with your little greenhouse affect your decision.”

Sure enough, her mother and father approached, Mary awake but clinging to her grossdaadi’s hand. If Rachel asked them, they’d no doubt agree with Isaac and take the opportunity to urge her to move back home with them.

No one, it seemed, thought her plan at all reasonable. Well, except maybe Gideon, and Gideon was convinced, no matter what he said to the contrary, that she should do what Ezra would want.

Guide me, Lord.
Her heart whispered the prayer as Mary rushed to grab her skirt.
Ineed to know what is right to do.

 

It
had been two days since that Sabbath meal, but Rachel still struggled with the opinions that had buffeted her. Most of all, she hadn’t been able to reconcile herself to Leah’s negative reaction.

Was Leah’s approval really that important to her? Apparently so.

She’d been trying not to think about it, but this quiet moment at the end of the day, cleaning up the kitchen as she glanced through the window over the sink at the slow settling of dusk on the farm, seemed to let the concern slip back in.

She’d turned that conversation every which way in her mind. She’d told herself that Leah had just been tired, or was feeling overly cautious because of her pregnancy

But the end result was the same. Leah didn’t support her plan. She didn’t think Rachel was capable of doing it.

Rachel hung the dish cloth on the drying rack and then grasped the edge of the sink with both hands, bowing her head in the stillness. She could hear the children’s voices, coming softly from upstairs as Becky helped Mary get ready for bed. Otherwise, the farmhouse was quiet with the end-of-day serenity

She seemed to be praying the same prayer over and over these days, first for her feelings toward Gideon, now for those she harbored toward Leah. The advice Bishop Mose had given her was harder to follow than she’d thought it would be.

The soft voices from upstairs were suddenly no longer so quiet. She straightened, appalled to hear Becky practically shouting at her little sister. Hurrying toward the stairs, she tried to quell the frustration that rose in her.

Ezra used to joke that this was the time of day when even gut children turned into little monsters. How she missed his steady hand with them!

She reached the door of the bedroom Becky and Mary shared to find Mary sitting on her bed in her white nightgown, tears running down her cheeks. Becky stood in the center of the hooked rug between the beds, her hands clenched and her face red.

Joseph, who’d probably been drawn by the noise, slipped past Rachel and out of the room, obviously having no desire to get into this, whatever it was.

“Hush, Mary, hush.” First things first. Rachel sat down on the bed and drew the little one into her arms. “Quietly, now. It’s all right. Mammi is here.”

Mary clung to her, burying her face in Rachel’s shoulder, her sobs lessening already. Rachel stroked her, murmuring softly, until they calmed into little hiccupping sounds.

“Now, then.” She kept her voice low as she focused on Becky. “Tell me what has Mary so upset. And you also, I think.”

For a moment Becky didn’t speak. Her fists were clenched tightly against her apron, and strong emotion twisted her lips.

“She doesn’t remember!” The words exploded from her. “Mary says she doesn’t remember what Daadi looks like!”

That brought a fresh outburst of tears from Mary. Rachel held her close, murmuring to her, patting her back. Poor Mary, who probably didn’t even understand what was happening, only that Becky was angry with her.

And poor Becky, too. Rachel understood what Becky felt, because her own heart was sore at just hearing the words.

Could Mary have forgotten Ezra so soon? If so, it was her fault. She should have talked about him more, made sure his image was fresh in the children’s minds. Without photographs, words and memories were all they had.

“Hush, little girl.” As Mary’s sobs lessened again, she tilted the small face up so that she could see it. It was blotched red with tears, and just the look of it wrenched her heart. “It’s all right. You remember Daadi. You remember how he used to lift you high in the air, so high that you touched the ceiling, and you loved it. You’d say, ‘Again, again!’ to him.”

Mary nodded, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand.

She must tell the child more, say the words that would bring Ezra clearly back into her memories. But panic swept through her like a cold wind. Ezra’s image, his dear face, the sound of his laugh, the look in his eyes—they were fading, all fading.

Rachel was terrified at the thought of losing him, but even more terrified at letting the children know how she felt.

“His beard tickled you and made you laugh.” Somehow the words came, as if the Lord had heard. “And his eyes were so blue—just as blue as yours are. He was strong, so strong he could lift all three of you children up at the same time. Remember? Remember how he’d make a Mary sandwich, with you in the middle?”

“I remember.” Mary smiled at that, the tears banished. “I remember Daadi.”

“Of course you do.” She put Mary down on the bed, pulling her quilt up and tucking it around her. “You remember, and if you start to forget, we’ll all help you remember.”

She glanced at Becky. “Come and kiss your baby sister, and tell her how sorry you are that you made her cry.”

Becky, looking on the verge of tears herself, crawled up on the bed and wrapped her arms around Mary, kissing her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I love you.”

Mary clutched her in a throttling embrace. “I love you, Becky.”

“Now is time for sleep.” Rachel kissed Mary, holding her close for a moment. “Good night, my little one.”

Mary snuggled down under the quilt, turning her face to the side as she always did for sleep. Rachel slid off the bed and put one hand on Becky’s shoulder to shepherd her out of the room. She pulled the door to, leaving it a few inches ajar as she always did, so that she could hear if one of them cried in the night.

“Komm,” she said to Becky. “Sit down here on the steps and let’s talk.”

She sat on the top step, trying to push away the weariness and the tears that would come too easily if she let them. Becky sat down next to her, her face downcast, the nape of her neck so exposed and vulnerable-looking that Rachel’s heart twisted again.

“Mary is still a boppli in some ways, ja?” She put her arm around Becky. “She was only two when Daadi went to Heaven. She doesn’t have as many memories as you do of Daadi, because she didn’t get to be with him as long.”

Becky nodded. “I’m sorry, Mammi,” she whispered.

“It’s forgiven and forgotten.” She hugged her close. “We will keep Daadi alive in Mary’s heart by our love for him and by our stories about him. Ja?”

“Ja, we will.” Becky tilted her head up so that Rachel could see her face. The tears still lingered in her eyes, but she was smiling.

Rachel pressed a kiss to her forehead. If only she could always solve her children’s problems with a little talk and a lot of love.

“Why don’t you read for a bit before bedtime,” she suggested. “I’d best see to Joseph.”

Becky, nodding, went down the steps. Her book would be tucked under the cushion of the small rocking chair that her grossdaadi had made for her, and she’d lose herself in the story for a while.

The door to Joseph’s room stood open, but he was not there. Rachel glanced quickly into her bedroom and the spare room before hurrying down the stairs, hand running along the wood rubbed smooth by generations.

She glanced into the living room, where Becky had lit one of the lamps. “Have you seen your brother?”

“No, Mammi.” Becky slid off the chair, her finger marking her place in the book. “Do you want me to look for him?”

“I’ll do it.” She walked through the dining room, peeked into the pantry. Empty.

The kitchen had grown dark since she’d been upstairs. She lit the ceiling lamp that hung over the table, its yellow glow banishing the shadows. “Joseph?”

No answer, but the back door stood open. Hurrying, a nameless fear clutching her, she rushed onto the porch.

All was still quiet. But the barn door, which should have been closed, was open, a yawning dark rectangle. Before she could gather breath to call again, a massive dark shape erupted from the barn.

CHAPTER SEVEN

R
achel’s
heart nearly failed her until she heard Joseph’s panicked voice.

“Mammi! Wo bist du?”

“Here! I’m here, Joseph!” She jumped down the steps and ran toward the sound of his voice. “Are you all right?”

Joseph barreled into her, and she clutched him, torn between thanks and fear.

“Was ist letz? What’s the matter?”

“The draft horses—one of them got out.” He sounded close to tears. “I’m sorry, Mammi. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“We’ll talk about it later.” Her eyes were adjusting to the light now, and she could see his face—a pale, anxious oval. She grasped his hand. “You must stay up here on the porch, you understand? Don’t come off the porch.”

She waited for his nod, and then she patted his shoulder. “It will be all right. Just let me get the lantern, and then I’ll put the horse back in the stall.”

He nodded again, which she hoped meant she sounded more confident than she felt. She reached inside the door for the battery lantern that hung there on a hook. Lighting it, she managed a smile that seemed to chase the worry from Joseph’s face.

“Stay here,” she repeated, and stepped off the porch.

Luckily the horse didn’t seem to have any immediate plan to run off—Ben, she saw now, the more skittish of the two. He’d dropped his head and was cropping the grass next to the lilac bush. If he went a little farther, he’d be munching on her tulips.

Well, he wouldn’t have the chance. She went forward, repressing the butterflies that danced in her stomach. Stupid, to be so nervous of the animal. If only it were Brownie, her buggy mare—Brownie would come right to her when called. The big geldings were another story.