The Lesson (31 page)

But there was no one there.

HI JENNY GIRL!

Your momma is sure proud of you for getting so much money to me. You must be working really hard. What are you doing to get so much dough? Baking a lot of pies, huh? Ha!

I’ve got some AWESOME news! But, ssshhhh! baby, you got to keep this secret from Chris. I want to surprise him. They’re letting me out of this crummy joint early cuz I’m clean! Clean as a whistle.

I want you to be here when I get out. You could take the bus, meet me, and we could surprise Chris together back in Stoney Ridge! It’ll be the three of us, together again, for Christmas. This time it’ll be different, Jenny. I promise. I’ll stay clean. You know your momma is the only one you can depend on. Promise me you’ll come, okay? Tuesday, December 23rd, 11:30 a.m. SHARP. DON’T LET ME DOWN! And remember: this is top secret! I’m counting on you!

For a long time, Jenny sat right there without moving, feeling a weird hollowness in her chest, like all her air had been sucked out. When she took a breath, it didn’t go away. She didn’t want to go to Marysville all by herself. She didn’t think Chris would be at all happy to have his mother arrive in Stoney Ridge as a Christmas surprise. But how sad for her mother—to not have anyone waiting for her when she got out of rehab. To not have anywhere to go for Christmas.

Jenny’s hands were shaking as she read through the note a second time. And then she began to make a plan.

M.K. heard someone call her name and looked up to locate the voice.

“Mary Kate!” Chris Yoder stood at a distance and waved to her. “I’m not coming any closer to those bees.”

Her heart lifted like a balloon. She was repairing a loose piece of tarpaper that the wind in yesterday’s storm had ripped off. The bees needed her, but this could wait. For Chris, they could wait. She put the staple gun down and set the smoker aimed at the beehives before she walked over to him. She hadn’t seen Chris since that kiss at the schoolhouse last Friday and she felt giddy with anticipation. It was never far from her mind, that kiss. That sweet, tender, wonderful kiss.

She had woken in the night and relived it, over and over again. His lips had touched hers, as softly as a butterfly landing, and rested there for a moment before he moved closer and his mouth seemed to melt into hers. His arms slid around her waist and she felt the stubble of his chin as his face brushed against hers. The sensation was the most amazing, terrifying, wonderful, frightening one she had ever felt. All of it—the feel of his strong arms around her, his sturdy body next to hers, the way he breathed, the way he smelled. As his warm lips brushed against hers, she decided that a kiss was the most wonderful sensation in the world. It started where his tender lips joined hers and traveled slowly through her like a wave of warm water. That kiss was a moment in her memory that went on forever and ended too soon. M.K. finally understood why her friend Ruthie liked to kiss so much. Now M.K. got it.

She thought a lightning bolt had struck her, and she thought it was love.

She was glad she had the netting over her face as she walked toward Chris. M.K. was beaming. Beaming!

But something was wrong. Chris looked upset. “Do you know of any reason why your dad would fire me?”

“Fire you? What did he say?”

Chris looked past her to the hives. “He said there wasn’t any more work to do at Windmill Farm for the winter.” He looked back at her. “It wasn’t long ago that he talked about all kinds of things he wanted me to do for him this winter. He even talked about expanding the Salad Stall with some winter crops—kale and cabbage. Did something happen? Could he be worried about paying me?”

“Not that I know of.” Her father didn’t share any financial problems with her. That never stopped M.K. from eavesdropping, but she hadn’t overheard her dad and Fern talking about money lately. In fact, if anything, her father seemed awfully quiet lately. Quieter than usual.

Chris frowned. “You didn’t say anything about . . . what happened between us at the schoolhouse, did you?”

“Of course not!” Did he think she was crazy?

He turned to leave, then turned back. He gave her a long, lingering look, like he was memorizing her face. “Look, about that. I apologize. It should never have happened. It won’t happen again.”

Why won’t
it happen again?
M.K. thought, watching him stride down the hill.
Why not?

Maybe getting fired was a blessing in disguise. Chris had been letting his guard down. He should stick to the plan—fix up the house, start looking for the right mares to breed
with Samson. That’s what brought him here—that was his grandfather’s gift to him. A fresh beginning.

He would be twenty-one in six weeks. Then, he would feel safe. He would have kept his unspoken promise to his grandfather. He would have provided for his and Jenny’s future.

It was the Lapp family that was starting to get to him—each one of them. Fern and Jenny were thick as thieves. Jenny was acting more and more like Fern. Baking bread, fussing over a clean kitchen, ironing his shirts with so much starch that they could stand up by themselves. It was preposterous.

And Amos? Over the months of working for Amos Lapp, Chris had developed a great admiration for the man. Amos had always been fair with him. He possessed a natural business sense that Chris respected. More than a few times, Chris had thought that Amos was the kind of father he wished he’d had. Caring, calm, kind, wise. There had been a subtle change in the way Amos treated Chris. He used to work beside Chris. For the last few weeks, he would start Chris on a task and leave him to complete it. Or he would send him off to work for Hank in the buggy shop. Chris thought Amos might not be feeling well, that maybe his heart was acting up. He didn’t know much about Amos’s heart problem, but he did see all those pills he took at meals.

At least, that was what Chris had assumed about Amos’s cool treatment—up until thirty minutes ago, when he had been abruptly and inexplicably dismissed. For no apparent reason.

Chris felt like he’d had the wind kicked out of him. He racked his brain and couldn’t think of anything he might have done wrong. He had no idea what had gotten into Amos. The only thing he could come up with was that kiss. Maybe Mary Kate had told him. But she looked stunned when he
mentioned it, and she wore her thoughts on her face. If she were lying, he would have known.

Then there was Mary Kate. He had to get
that
girl off his mind. Kissing her like he did the other night—it shocked him. Where did that kiss come from? One minute they were talking, the next . . . he had leaned over to kiss her. He had always prided himself on his self-control with girls. He noticed women on occasion. What fellow didn’t? But with discipline, he always guided his focus away. Something not as easily done with Mary Kate Lapp.

He wasn’t like some of his friends from Ohio, who talked about girls constantly and, given the opportunity, could barely keep their hands off them. What was happening to him?

But he knew. He knew. He really was totally and hopelessly smitten with this girl. This had to stop. This wouldn’t last. He had to keep remembering that.
This. Will. Not. Last.

Maybe all this was a good reminder. Chris’s only true family was with Jenny. That was the one person—the only person—he needed to take care of.

Chris passed by Hank’s buggy shop to walk down the driveway. As soon as he realized Bishop Elmo was involved in a deep conversation with Hank over the state of his buggy, he veered away from the shop.

Normally a lighthearted, softspoken man, Elmo sounded exasperated. “You haven’t made a lick of progress on fixing this buggy, Hank Lapp!”

Hank was shocked. “I’ve been utterly swamped!”

“Swamped, eh?” Elmo’s hands were on his hips.

Chris tried to make himself invisible, but those yellow puppies spotted him and charged happily toward him, barking and yipping. Elmo turned to see what the commotion was all about.

Too late.

“Chris Yoder! Come over here.”

Chris crossed over to the bishop, puppies tangled at his feet.

“Hank said you’ve been giving him a lot of help around here. Seems like Stoney Ridge could use another buggy shop. Hank is going to volunteer to teach you everything he knows about buggy repair.”

“I am?” Hank asked.

“And when he’s done sharing all of that vast knowledge, you are going to open up a buggy shop.”

“I am?” Chris asked. He felt a shiver of dread run down his spine.

“You are.” Bishop Elmo popped his black felt hat back on his bald head. He pointed to his buggy, up on blocks. “Starting with that one. I need that before Christmas. My wife’s entire family is coming to visit.” Then he marched across the driveway to his waiting horse and buggy. “Before Christmas!” he called out, as he slapped the reins on the horse and it lunged forward. “You have one week!”

Chris looked at Hank, shocked. “What in the world just happened?”

Hank was at an unusual loss for words. Hands hooked on his hips, he crinkled his wide forehead in confusion as he watched the bishop drive away. “There is one thing I have learned in my life. Don’t waste your time arguing with a bishop.” He tossed a wrench to Chris. “So, boy, let’s get to work.”

After supper, Amos went out to his favorite spot on a hill, overlooking the orchards, to watch the sun set. It was a habit he had when he needed reminding that God was sovereign,
that he held the world in his hands. Amos stood watching, arms crossed against his chest, as the sun dipped below the horizon. How many times had he stood in this same spot when the sorrows of life overwhelmed him?

As his gaze shifted from the sun to the first sign of the North Star, he realized Fern had followed him and stood beside him. “That might have been the quietest meal we’ve ever had. Hank is bothered with Elmo for making Chris his apprentice. Mary Kate is bothered with you for letting Chris go. I’m bothered with all of you. Mind telling me why you told Chris you didn’t need his help anymore?”

Amos glanced at her. His dilemma bounced back and forth across his brain like a volleyball in a match.
Tell
her. Don’t tell her. Tell her. Don’t tell
her.