Sweet as Honey (3 page)

Apparently, he wouldn't give up and go home. Stalling would only delay the inevitable and keep her from other chores she had to get to today. With Aunt Bitsy and Rose, she tromped across the lawn toward the house, removing her veil and her gloves as she went. She was painfully aware of what a sight she must be to someone like Dan Kanagy in her jeans and boots.

For sure and certain, Paul Glick wouldn't like seeing Lily in pants. He didn't even like it when she wore her canary-yellow dress. He said the color hurt his eyes and drew unnecessary attention when she should be seeking to go unnoticed. A humble girl should not wear a peacock dress.

Paul often lectured her on how to be a proper Amish girl, reminding her that since her
aendi
practically ignored the
Ordnung,
Lily's behavior must be beyond reproach. She hated it when Paul talked about her aunt that way, but she always bit her tongue. In eighth grade, Paul had been the only boy who hadn't teased her about her
hesslich
glasses or her homely face. She had always been very grateful to him.

Paul didn't come to their farm often because he hated bees and all other creepy, crawly creatures. Lord willing, he would never see her in her bee suit and never be the wiser, because she wasn't about to try to tend to the hives in a dress. Bees had a way of crawling into very unusual places, underneath stockings, up skirts, into underwear.

Tenaciously sweeping dirt from the flagstones, Dan glanced at Lily as she followed Aunt B and Rose into the house. Would he make a fuss about her jeans like Paul would have?

She paused and turned to him. “I need to change my clothes. You really don't have to wait.”

His grin seemed to be a permanent part of his face. “I don't mind waiting, Daddy Long Legs.”

Daddy Long Legs? She was only five feet six inches tall. Really? Daddy Long Legs?

Had he forgotten her name?

Nae.
It was just another insult to add to his list. A backhanded way of saying he disapproved of the jeans.

Her face burned hot as she ducked into the house. She didn't care if he disapproved or not. She knew she was unappealing. She knew she was awkward and gawky and homely. He didn't have to keep reminding her. Dan Kanagy could go jump in the lake and live with the smelly fish where he belonged. And no, she'd never tell him to his face. He could figure it out for himself.

Lily stomped into the house and seriously considered not coming out for the rest of the day. Let him sweep and weed and grin until he got the hint that she never wanted to lay eyes on him again.

By the time she climbed the stairs to the room she shared with her sisters, she had changed her mind. She should be ashamed of herself for wishing he would go jump in the lake. What an unkind thought to have so early in the morning.

She sighed, knowing it was best to get rid of him soon. If he hung around all day, she'd be miserable, and there was no doubt in her mind that he'd hang around all day. He had already proven himself the persistent type.

If only he weren't also the very rude type.

She put on her yellow dress, just to annoy him, removed the scarf from around her hair, and donned her
kapp,
determined to get rid of Dan Kanagy in thirty seconds flat.

Take the present and dash back into the house before he had time to think of another cruel nickname.

Rose and Aunt B were in the back room putting their veils and gloves away when Lily came down the stairs. “I'll be back soon,” she called. In thirty seconds, to be precise.

Rose leaned her head out of the back-room doorway. “Give him one of those cookies you made.”

Aunt B chimed in her two cents. “Don't give him a cookie. Boys are like stray cats. If you feed them, they'll keep showing up on your porch.”

Lily cracked a smile. She agreed with Aunt B. No feeding Dan Kanagy.

Dan sat on the bottom porch step and had to sort of unfold himself to stand up. With his grin firmly in place, he gazed at her, his eyes dancing in amusement. Probably thinking of how funny she looked in yellow. Like a baby chicken. “
Ach du lieva
. You look so pretty, Amtrak.”

Lily felt her face get warm. Only Dan could put
you look so pretty
and
Amtrak
together in the same sentence. Should she be insulted or flattered? She cleared her throat. It would take too much time to decide, and her precious thirty seconds were ticking away.

“I've got chores I need to get to,” she said.

Dan seemed to snap to attention. He scrambled up the porch steps and handed her a gift wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of twine. She fingered the tight knot. It would take more than thirty seconds to loosen it. She'd have to go back in the house and open it after he left. “
Denki,”
she said, stepping back and grabbing the door handle, a definite signal that she was finished with him. “It's very kind of you.”

He didn't take the hint. “Here,” he said, fishing in his pocket. “I've got a pocketknife.”

He retrieved his knife and quickly slit the twine. Even though she resisted, the excitement in his eyes was contagious. Maybe she could spare an extra fifteen seconds to open it.

She pulled back the paper to reveal a hardbound book with a beautiful illustration of a boy and his two dogs on the cover. Her heart swelled inside her chest, and she lost complete track of time.

He tilted his head so he could meet her eyes. “Do you like it?”

“Oh my,” was all she could think to say.

“My
mammi
said it's one of your favorite books. After all you did for her, I wanted to get you something special.”

Lily felt about ten degrees warmer than she had a minute ago. “Dan, this is too much. I already told you that reading to your
mammi
was my pleasure. It's so expensive.”

He winked at her. “Worth every penny to see your eyes light up like that.”

She lowered her gaze self-consciously. Did her eyes really light up? Did he never stop teasing?

“I bought one for me too,” he said. “I've never read it.”

Her mouth fell open in mock horror. “You've never read
Where the Red Fern Grows?
That's a tragedy.”

“I didn't read much growing up. But since I've been home, I'm starting to get interested. I think it will help me feel closer to my
mammi,
reading all the books she loved so much.”

Lily curled the corners of her lips. “We read
Where the Red Fern Grows
together several times.”

Dan shuffled his feet. “I thought maybe I could read it, and we could talk about it. Together. You and me.” His grin drooped, and he suddenly looked uncertain.

The request caught her off guard. She didn't like Dan Kanagy, but she never could resist a good book. Besides, he seemed so eager. She would never forgive herself if she single-handedly killed Dan's budding interest in reading.

“I suppose that would be all right.”

He bloomed into a smile as bright as a whole lawn full of dandelions. “That would be wonderful-
gute.
You've always had such a kind heart.”

What would Paul think of her reading with the enemy?

Maybe he'd never find out—like the jeans thing.

It was only one book.

Lily lovingly clutched the book to her chest. “
Denki
for bringing this to me. It was very thoughtful.” How much time had passed? More than thirty seconds. “I should probably go away now.”

Go away? She didn't need to go away. He did. What kind of strange thing was that to say?

He took a step back and thumbed his suspenders, looking slightly crestfallen. “
Jah
. Of course. You have plenty to do without me around to bother you.” He pointed to the pile of weeds he'd pulled from Poppy's flower bed. “Where should I put these?”

“I'll take care of them later.”

His lips twisted playfully. “Why should you, when I'm here to help?”

Still clutching her book, she tilted her head and gave him a half smile. “This way,” she said.

Dan scooped up the generous pile of weeds and followed her north past the birdbath and three-acre vegetable garden. Poppy had planted cantaloupes, peppers, and cucumbers, and raspberries bordered the entire north side.

“That's quite a garden,” Dan said, pausing to admire the meticulous row of caged tomato plants. “Not a weed in sight. How do you sisters do it all by yourselves?”

She felt a little ruffled by the look of admiration in his eyes. She certainly didn't deserve any such thing. “As you can see by your armful of weeds, we don't always keep up.”

“I found a few measly weeds in that huge bed of flowers. I'd say you're wonderful-
gute
at keeping up.”

She turned her face and pretended to inspect the raspberries so she wouldn't have to try to make sense of that look in his eyes. She just wanted him to go away. “Poppy is in charge of the gardens and beds yet. We help her weed, but their beauty is all her doing.”

“She's got the muscles for it,” Dan said, grinning as if Poppy hadn't assaulted him earlier.

Lily should probably apologize that Poppy shoved him, but he'd deserved it and Lily was grateful that her sister always stood up for her.

He didn't seem to expect an apology. “Poppy used to go after me on a regular basis in school. I was never sure why.”

Lily worked hard to keep the disbelief from her face. He was never sure why Poppy slugged him at recess? Were boys really that thick?

“She warned me to stay away from you. I guess she was being protective. She probably saw how much I liked to hover around you.”

Hover around her and call her cruel, cutting names that left invisible scars.

She led him to the barbed-wire fence that separated the Johnsons' pasture from their property and pointed over the fence. “The Johnsons gave us permission to throw all our weeds over here. It's their old horse pasture, but they don't keep horses anymore.”

Dan quickly dispatched with the weeds and brushed the dirt from his hands. Resting one hand on the fence, he did a quick survey of his surroundings. “Are those your apple trees?” he asked, pointing to the small orchard north of the barn.

“
Jah
. We planted them when we started with our first hives. We wanted our bees to have plenty of forage.”

“Will you show me?”

He acted as if he were really interested in apple trees and beehives. Paul was never interested. He'd never set foot in their orchard. Was Dan pretending to care? And why was he pretending to care if he
was
pretending to care? A girl could get quite confused trying to figure some people out.

He raised an eyebrow and concern made a shadow across his face. “Unless you don't have time. I don't want to make a pest of myself.”

She
didn't
have time. He
was
making a pest of himself. But a certain vulnerability in his eyes thawed her resistance.

“Okay,” she said. “I don't mind.”

He held out his hand. “Do you want me to carry
Where the Red Fern Grows?
We could pretend I'm carrying your books from school.”

“It's not heavy.” She didn't quite know what to do with his disarming sincerity. One minute he made fun of her and called her names, the next he offered to carry her book.

They strolled along the fence line until it turned a corner north, opening to the space where the orchard began. Ducking low, Dan stepped between two rows of apple trees, his expression like a little kid. “My
onkel
Menno has apple trees. We played in his orchard as children, throwing dirt clods at each other and making hideouts out of fallen tree limbs. How many acres do you have?”

“Fifty. Counting the field we rent out.”

“Fifty?” he said, as if it were the best news he'd ever heard. He
was
a little kid. Who besides Lily and her sisters got excited about fifty acres? “Plenty of room for the bees.”

“
Jah
,” she said, letting her lips curl into a smile. He had surprised her again. “I am impressed that you noticed.”

“It makes sense. You've got blooming bushes and trees. Lots of flowers and lots of dandelions. Food for the bees. How many hives do you have?”

Lily pointed to the orchard hives visible through the trees and started walking toward them. “Ten in the orchard, ten by the clover field, and the ten you see when you come over the bridge. We also have twenty hives at Chidester's sunflower farm. He pays us a fee to pollinate his sunflowers.”

“Genius,” he said under his breath as if he were in awe of pollination.

“Another farmer grows clover on our acreage to the west. Aunt B won't let him cut it until it blossoms and the bees get a feast.”

Lily stopped about ten feet from the orchard hives. The trees were no longer blossoming, but the hives buzzed with activity as the foragers flew in and out, searching farther afield for their nectar. Rose had painted pictures of bright, friendly flowers of different varieties on each hive. On the one closest to them, she had painted a vine covered with tiny midnight-blue blossoms.

“The hives are in full sun most of the day, except in the morning. They do better in full sun.”

“The painting is wonderful-
gute,
” Dan said.

“Rose loves to paint. She likes the solitude, and Aunt B says the different designs help the bees recognize which hive is theirs.”