Rachel's Garden (20 page)

Dusk had drawn in while they were in the kitchen, and the lilac hedge cast a long shadow on the lawn. There was still enough light to see, though, once her vision adjusted, so she didn’t go back inside for a flashlight.

She walked quickly past the greenhouse. Then, knowing she was out of sight if her mother watched from the kitchen window, she stopped, putting her hands over her face.

She blotted the tears that spilled over onto her cheeks. Even here, she shouldn’t let herself cry, because the signs would be there on her face when she went back inside.

She glanced at the darkening sky. The children were the most important thing in her life. Was she doing right by them? She’d tried to continue handling them as she had when Ezra was alive. Maybe that wasn’t enough. What if Becky’s foolish act today was a sign that her parents were right?

Shadows deepened by the moment. She’d best get this finished before she couldn’t see at all. She started for the barn, and then stopped again.

A buggy stood next to the barn, and a horse was still in the paddock. Gideon’s buggy. Gideon’s horse. Had he ridden home with his brother, or was he still here?

Her steps quickened. She slid the barn door back and grasped the torch that always hung just inside, switching it on.

The barn’s interior sprang to life in the flashlight’s beam, and her stomach clenched with the memory of what had happened here earlier. But Becky was safe, thanks to Gideon. She couldn’t let the memory control her actions.

She took a step. “Is someone here? Gideon?”

A rustle answered her, and she swung the beam in the direction of the sound. Gideon sat slumped on a bale of straw, his bad leg stretched out. He lifted a hand to shield his face from the light, but not before she saw that it was wracked with pain.

Lowering the light, she hurried to him. “Gideon, was ist letz? Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, but she knelt next to him anyway, touching his bad leg gently.

“Your leg is paining you, ain’t so?”

“It will heal.” His voice was choked, alarming her still more.

“Daad is in the house. I’ll get him to come and help ...”

“No.” He grasped her hand to keep her from moving. “I’m all right. I’ll go now.”

Bracing his hand on the stall behind him, he attempted to lever himself to his feet. A spasm of pain crossed his face, and his leg seemed to buckle under his weight.

“No, no.” Sliding her arm around him and dragging his arm across her shoulder, she helped him sit back down. “I’m so sorry Becky’s foolishness has ended up with your leg getting hurt.”

He leaned back, seeming spent, but he shook his head. “The leg will be better in a few days.” He closed his eyes. “My heart will take longer.”

She saw, then, and wondered why she hadn’t realized it sooner. “This is about Ezra. When you saw Becky—it was just like Ezra.”

His hand clenched spasmodically on hers. “I can’t talk about it. Not to you, of all people.”

She took a breath, reaching inside for calm.
Please, Father. I didn’t see that he was hurting so much. Please, give me the words to help him.

“You’re wrong.” She saw it now, if only she could make him understand. “It is hard to talk about. Hard to hear about. But maybe we two are the only ones who can really understand. Really help each other. Because we both loved him.”

He shook his head again, but she sensed the need inside him to get it out.

“I know,” she said softly. “When I saw Becky on that beam, I saw Ezra, too.”

“I should have stopped him.” His voice was harsh with pain. “I should have kept him from going up. If I hadn’t been so slow, if I’d moved more quickly, maybe I could have stopped him.”

“Gideon-”

“I shut it away. Tried not to think about it. But it didn’t work. And seeing Becky today just tore it open.”

His head moved again, and he was like an animal in pain seeking relief. Her own heart seemed clutched in a vise that tightened with every word. Somehow she had to ignore that so that she could ease his grief.

“You’re not thinking straight. How could you have stopped him? You know what Ezra was like.”

Even as she said the words, she realized that she was seeing Ezra more clearly than she had since the day he died. For the first time, she thought of that day without seeing him falling. Instead she saw him laughing, climbing higher just as Becky had, probably chiding Gideon for taking his time.

“He was daring, too daring sometimes. You know that better than anyone else.” The hand that clutched hers feverishly seemed to relax just a little. He was listening to her, and for his sake she had to get this all said, just this once. “I know he teased you about being slow, but that was just his way.”

“If I had-”

“No.” She snapped out the word. “Don’t you think I’ve been down that road a thousand times myself? If I had done something differently, maybe he wouldn’t have gone. If I hadn’t told him to hurry home, maybe he’d have been more careful.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” He leaned toward her, and she knew her words had jolted him out of his absorption with his own imagined guilt. “Nothing you did caused Ezra to fall.”

“No. And nothing you did caused it either.” She gripped his arm with both hands, wanting to force him to understand. “Gideon, think about it. Ezra asked you to go and check out that barn for soundness because he knew that you would do it thoroughly, the way you do everything. He knew you would be careful and methodical—that’s why he valued your opinion, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly, almost reluctantly.

“Ezra was a gut man, and I loved him with all my heart. But he wasn’t perfect.” She saw him with such precision now, as if he stood in front of her, with no need for a photograph to prompt her memory. “He was always daring, and Becky is too much like him in that. He was quick and impatient, and that day—” Her throat tightened, but she had to say the rest of it. “That day he should have been more cautious. But he wasn’t, because that was who he was.”

Something that had been tied up in knots inside her seemed to ease, and she could think of him without pain. “It was an accident, that’s all. We both know that, don’t we?”

His gaze fixed on hers, and her heart seemed to lurch. Then he nodded. “Ja. I guess we do.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

R
achel
misted the snapdragon seedlings, pausing to touch the creamy edge of a blossom that had begun to show already These plants would be a beautiful addition to someone’s garden.

Maybe hers. If she was going to sell plants from her home eventually, she’d have to have an overflowing flower garden herself. That would be what buyers expected.

William had painted a neat sign for the end of the driveway last year, advertising the strawberries she’d had for sale. Maybe he’d do another one for her plants.

She turned, movement drawing her eye, and her breath seemed to catch in her throat. Gideon was back to work on the windmill. Even as she watched, he pulled his wagon up close to the site, which probably meant he had supplies in it.

Or maybe that his leg was still bothering him and he didn’t want to walk. If so, he shouldn’t be here at all, although he wouldn’t welcome her saying so.

They hadn’t talked in several days—not since Saturday evening, when she’d found him in the barn. She’d seen him at worship on Sunday, moving cautiously, his brother or one of his nephews always close to lend him an arm. He hadn’t come near her after the service, and she’d tried to respect his obvious wish to avoid talking with her.

He was embarrassed, she supposed, over having revealed so much of his inner feelings to her. He wasn’t a man who did that easily in any event, and especially not when it came to something bound to be so painful to both of them.

She put down the mister and tried to focus on thinning out a tray of marigolds. Without her willing it, her gaze kept straying back to Gideon. He was starting up the structure now, making her hold her breath until she saw that he was wearing a safety harness.

Mostly the Amish didn’t do that, and she’d seen enough of Gideon at work to know that it was unusual for him. Was he doing it because his leg was still paining him?

What happened on Saturday had been painful both physically and emotionally. And yet, for her at least, that encounter had been healing, too. She could see Ezra more clearly now, as if the fog of grief and guilt was lifting. She could only hope that was true for Gideon as well.

She finished the tray of seedlings before she let herself look again. And jumped to find someone staring in through the glass at her. William.

Smiling, she went to the door. “William. I didn’t see you. Will you come in and look at my greenhouse?”

He took a step forward and then paused. “I—I—maybe I shouldn’t. I mean, b-b-bother you.”

“It’s not a bother. I want to show you what I’ve been doing with the flowers.”

She held the door wide in invitation, but still William hesitated, standing a few steps away and surveying the building as if it were a skittish colt about to buck.

“William? Do you disapprove of the greenhouse so much that you won’t even come in?”

“No, no. F-f-for sure it’s not that.” Clutching his straw hat in his hands, he stepped inside, ducking his head to avoid the hanging pots of plants.

She stepped back, giving him as much space as she could in the confines of the greenhouse that was really made for one. “I thought maybe you agreed with Isaac—that I should forget this foolishness and sell the farm to Caleb.”

He didn’t respond, and she immediately regretted putting him on the spot. Hadn’t she just been telling herself that she couldn’t contribute to a family quarrel?

“I’m sorry, William. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

He shook his head. “N-n-no, it’s okay. I’m g-glad for you, that you have the greenhouse Ezra w-wanted to give you.” His big hands tightened on the hat’s brim. “J-j-just sorry G-Gideon was the one to build it for you.”

She paused, not sure what to say to that but knowing she had to say something. “William, you’re not blaming Gideon for Ezra’s death, are you?”

“You d-d-did.”

Her throat tightened, making it difficult to speak. “I didn’t blame him. Not that. I just couldn’t seem to forgive him for living through the accident when Ezra didn’t.”

“Now you d-d-don’t f-f-feel that way.” He said it almost accusingly.

“I think I see things more clearly now.” She tried to marshal her thoughts. If only she could help William take the step that she seemed to be taking, it would be a comfort to him, she was sure. “You remember how Ezra was—always a little more daring than everyone else, always needing to go first, even to take chances.”

“You th-th-think it was his fault.” He threw the words at her.

“No, not at all. I mean that we both know what he was like. It was part of what we both loved about him, wasn’t it?”

William jerked a nod.

She was talking out of hard-won insight, and her assurance grew as she formed the words. “It was in Ezra’s nature to go first, just as it was in Gideon’s nature to move more slowly, to check things out methodically, just as Ezra wanted him to.” She found herself smiling. “Maybe that was why they were such gut friends. They each had something the other one needed.”

William was frowning, but he seemed to be listening, even understanding.

“For a long time, when I thought about that last day, I could only see Ezra falling.” Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to go on. “Now I can see him the way I know he would have been—climbing higher, enjoying it, maybe laughing at Gideon for taking his time. I can see how his eyes would sparkle when he did something daring.” She touched William’s hand. “It’s better to see him that way. It is. Don’t blame anyone else. All right?”

He jerked a reluctant nod. “Ja.” He hesitated. “But I still wish I—w-w-we were the ones helping you.”

She patted his hand, relieved at his acceptance. “Isaac wouldn’t want you to be helping me with something he doesn’t approve of. He hasn’t said anything to me yet about the windmill, but I can guess what his opinion is.”

“He says you are w-w-willful. I don’t think that.”

“Gut. I’m glad you understand.” She wouldn’t let herself dwell on what Isaac thought. “I just have to take care of the children the best I can. I wish everyone could see that.”

“I—I do.” He gripped her hand suddenly, his fingers tight on hers. “I’m on your s-s-side. Always.”

“Denke, William.” But she didn’t feel comfortable with the intense expression on his face. Better to change the subject, if she could. “In that case, come with me and see the new windmill. Once it’s finished, this farm will have plenty of its own water. Bishop Mose says that will make the farm more valuable, so that’s gut, isn’t it?”

She moved around him as she spoke, gently loosening the grip of his hand. She stepped outside, feeling as if she were stepping out of a situation that was getting increasingly uncomfortable.

William followed, ducking his head to get through the door. Funny. She always saw him as Ezra’s little brother, but he was growing into a man now, and no one in the family seemed to notice.

She led the way toward the windmill. “The children have been fascinated to see it go up so fast. Isn’t it amazing?”

“I d-d-don’t know m-much about those things.” William sounded sulky, but he followed her.

Gideon spotted them coming and began to descend more quickly than he had gone up. In contrast, William’s pace seemed to slow when he saw Gideon.

“What do you think?” She turned toward William, but he was already stepping back.