At Home in Pleasant Valley (24 page)

“Forgiveness is only right, but our Father must know it is hard. But Ezra and Gideon were as close friends as you and I are,” Leah said, her voice gentle. “You know he wouldn't want you to hold Gideon at fault.”

That hit home, and her heart clenched in her chest. Ezra had loved Gideon like a brother. But how could she look at Gideon and not feel the pain of Ezra's loss?

She took a deep breath, forcing her hands to relax. “I know,” she murmured.

Leah patted her again, seeming reassured. “Just think how much you'd enjoy having a greenhouse.” She nodded toward the windowsills, crowded with the plants Rachel had started from seed. “By the looks of those windows, your plants will be pushing you out of the kitchen soon.”

She managed a smile. “True enough. But I'll be selling them at the Mud Sale next Saturday, so that will clear off my windowsills.”

Leah had a point, though. With a greenhouse, she'd be able to produce many more plants for sale.

“Ach, I'd best be getting along home.” Leah seemed satisfied that she'd made her point. “I'll see you at the sale, if not before.”

She rose, but stopped partway up, her breath catching as she clutched her belly.

Rachel was beside her in an instant, fear shooting through her. “Leah, was ist letz? Are you all right?”

“Ja.” Leah laughed a little as she straightened. “Just a muscle spasm, I think. All the books say to expect them.”

“You and your books,” Rachel teased, reassured by the laugh. “I think you have a book about everything, ain't so?”

“You can never have enough books,” Leah said. “Anyway, I have you to ask for advice when it comes to being pregnant.”

Rachel put her arm around Leah as they walked toward the door. “That's right. That's the only subject on which I'm the expert, instead of you.”

Over the years she'd turned to Teacher Leah and her books whenever she'd had a question, and Leah had usually found the answer. For
the first time in their relationship, she was the knowledgeable one, and it was gut, knowing she could help Leah.

They hadn't yet reached the door when it burst open. Becky and Elizabeth surged inside. Elizabeth looked to be on the verge of tears, but Becky wore the rebellious pout that Rachel had seen on her face too often lately. Her heart sank. What now?

“Mammi, my shoes are all wet,” Elizabeth wailed.

Exchanging an understanding look with Rachel, Leah went to her. “Well, that's not so bad. Sit up here on the chair, and let's see how wet they are.”

Rachel focused on her daughter, knowing perfectly well that if anyone had instigated mischief, it would have been Becky. “Becky, how did this happen?”

Becky's lower lip came out, her gaze sliding away from Rachel's.

“I'm waiting, Rebecca.”

The pout deepened, and Becky shrugged her shoulders. “I wanted to see if the ice is melting on the pond. That's all. Elizabeth didn't have to follow me.”

Unfortunately they all knew that where Becky led, Elizabeth would follow.

“You know you are not allowed on the ice without a grown-up there. Go find some dry stockings for Elizabeth to wear home. You will go to bed early tonight so that you'll have time to think about being disobedient.”

“But, Mammi—”

The pout melted into the threat of tears, and Rachel had to force herself to remain unmoved. “Now, Rebecca.”

Becky scurried out of the room. Leah, having soothed away Elizabeth's tears, was scolding her gently for being so foolish. “Run along with Becky and get something dry to wear home.”

She gave her stepdaughter a little shove. Her face brightening, Elizabeth hurried after Becky toward the stairs.

“I'm sorry—” Rachel began.

“Don't be silly,” Leah said quickly. “It's not your fault. I'm sure we did much worse when we were their age.”

Had they? Those days seemed very far away just now.

“I don't think either of us was quite so gut at leading others into trouble as Becky is. And it seems to be getting worse, not better.”

“She's had a lot to handle since last year.” Leah's voice was soft. “I'm sure that's all it is.”

She nodded, because she didn't want Leah to have another cause to worry about her.

But the truth was that she was no longer so sure that she was the gut mother she'd always thought she was. What if it had really been Ezra's influence that ensured the children's obedience and happiness? What if she couldn't do it on her own?

Loneliness swept over her—loneliness mixed with longing for something she'd never have again.

•   •   •

“Don't
you have any snapdragons?” The English woman leaned across the stand at the Mud Sale on Saturday afternoon, peering at Rachel's remaining plants and seeming to dismiss them at a glance.

Only the success of the sales she'd made already gave Rachel the confidence to speak up.

“It's too early to plant snapdragons here. You won't want to set those out until the danger of frost is past. What about some of these nice pansies?”

The woman eyed the cheerful faces of the pansies. “I suppose they'll do. Do you have two dozen of them?”

Taken slightly aback by the sudden agreement, Rachel did a quick count. “Ja, I can just manage that.”

Exultant, she began putting the plants into the boxes she'd brought for the purpose. This sale cleaned her out, and it was only two o'clock.

Leah had been right. If she'd had the greenhouse already, she could have made two or three times the money today.

She couldn't go back. She accepted the money and thanked the woman. But she could go forward.

She glanced down the row of booths that had been built for the sale
in the field adjoining the township fire house. True to its name, the Mud Sale had turned the field into a sea of mud, with furrows filling with moisture where pickup trucks and buggies had made their way.

Mud Sales were a rite of spring in Pleasant Valley, and probably folks—Amish and English alike—enjoyed them so much because their appearance meant winter was over. People who hadn't seen much of their neighbors for months were visiting even more than they were buying, it seemed, at the couple of dozen booths that had been set up.

A few booths down, she could see her daadi, buying bags of popcorn for his grandchildren. She could only hope the kinder hadn't been eating junk food since he'd taken them off her hands an hour ago.

“Rachel, are your plants all gone so soon?” Her mother, who was sharing the booth with Rachel, looked as pleased as if she had just sold all her jams and jellies. “That is wonderful gut, that is.”

“Ja. It makes me feel . . .” She paused, searching for the word. “Hopeful, I guess.” Her mood seemed to have flipped around in the week since she'd talked to Gideon.

She studied her mother's kindly, lined face, knowing every wrinkle had been honestly earned. Mamm's hair might be snowy white now and her vision starting to fail, but the sweetness in her face would always make her beautiful.

“Mamm, is that the way of grieving? To be weak and doubting one day and then confident and hopeful the next?”

Her mother's faded blue eyes seemed to be looking at something in the distance. “Ja, you have it right. That's the way of it.” She patted Rachel's arm. “It will get better. You'll see.”

Rachel clasped her mother's hand in hers. “I'm sorry. I've made you think of Johnny, haven't I?”

A kind of longing crossed Mamm's face. “I never stop thinking of him, Rachel. Just as I never stop praying that one day I'll see him again.”

“If Daadi would change his mind—”

Her mother shook her head. “Don't, Rachel. It's not your daadi's fault. He's only trying to do what's right. You know that.”

No matter how much it hurt.
Rachel finished the thought for her.
Daad held hard to the letter and spirit of the Ordnung, the rules by which the Amish lived. Some might choose to bend the rules, but not Amos Kile.

A customer approached Mamm's side of the stand, and she moved away quickly, as if relieved to be distracted from thoughts of her only son, gone nearly eleven years now.

It had been hard for Rachel, too—terribly hard—to lose her twin when Johnny deserted his family to go English. Still, even a twin brother wasn't so close as a husband, and Johnny hadn't died.

She'd even seen Johnny a number of times in the past year, thanks to Leah's intervention. Leah understood too well herself the grief of having a beloved sibling go English, since her younger sister, Anna, had jumped the fence.

Rachel leaned against the counter, watching her mother wait on the customer. She should have thought twice before she'd asked her mother that question. With no other children but her and Johnny, the loss of him weighed heavily on her parents.

Daadi hadn't seemed able to reconcile himself to the truth—Johnny was never going to come back to the church. So he clung to the bann, refusing to see Johnny, even though it hurt him and Mammi more than it did Johnny, busy and happy with his work at the medical research clinic.

Her parents were growing older, more frail it seemed, with each passing month. Daad wanted so badly to help her with the farm since Ezra's passing, but his health just wasn't good enough. She knew it was a constant worry to him.

Mamm, having sold three jars of her raspberry jam, came back to her, studying Rachel closely. “You've been fratched about something. I can see it in your face. Is it too much for you, trying to keep the farm going?”

She shook her head, suspecting she knew the direction of her mother's thoughts. “I'm doing all right. William helps a lot.”

“Still—” Mamm put her hand on Rachel's arm. “Won't you think about your daadi's idea? Sell the farm and move home with us. We'd love to have you and the kinder living with us. You know that.”

“I know, Mamm,” she said gently. “I just can't bring myself to do that. The farm was Ezra's dream. It's what he had to leave to his children. How can I let him down?”

Mamm's eyes clouded with concern. “You can't run a dairy farm alone. Who knows how long Ezra's brothers can continue to do so much? If you sold, you'd maybe get enough to start a small business of some kind. Wouldn't that be better?”

It was tempting, so tempting. To be back under her parents' roof, having them share the responsibility for the kinder. Being able to lean on them when things got difficult. But—

“I can't, Mamm. I just can't make up my mind to that. Not yet, anyway.”

But she had to, didn't she? She had to stop drifting along and make some definite decisions about their future, hers and the children's.

Isaac and William, Ezra's brothers, came up to the stand just then, relieving her of the need to keep talking about it, even if she couldn't dismiss it from her thoughts.

“How are your sales today, Rachel? Gut, I hope.” Isaac, bluff and hearty, his beard almost completely gray now, stopped in front of her counter.

“They're all gone.” She swept her hand along the empty countertop.

“Gut, gut,” he said, and William nodded in agreement, giving her a shy smile.

The nearly twenty years between the oldest of Ezra's siblings and the youngest accented the many other differences between them. Isaac was stout and graying, with an assured manner that seemed to have grown since the death of their father had left him the head, as he thought, of the family.

William, just turned eighteen, hung back, shy as always. He had huge brown eyes that reminded Rachel of a frightened deer and blond hair so light it was nearly white. He seemed always on the verge of growing right out of his clothes.

“Are you having a pleasant day at the sale?” The guilt she felt over her uncharitable thoughts toward Isaac made her voice warm with interest.

“Ja. For sure. Made a couple of deals and have a line on someone
who has a fine colt for sale.” He gave William a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Maybe I'll let William train this one.”

Not sure what William felt about that, she could only smile. But for the most part, William did what Isaac said without questioning, as far as she could tell.

“By the way, Rachel, I found a buyer for those greenhouse supplies you've got in the barn,” he went on. “You won't want it now. I'll come by and pick those materials up on Tuesday.”

For a moment Rachel could only gape at him. Slowly, the temper she rarely felt began to rise. Not only did Isaac assume he knew what she should do—he thought he had the right to make decisions for her.

Forcing down the anger, she managed a smile. “That is kind of you to go to so much trouble. But I don't wish to sell.”

He blinked. “Not sell?” His voice rose in surprise. “But what will you do with all that lumber and glass?”

“Build a greenhouse.” The words came out almost before she thought what she'd say. She'd been having such difficulty in making decisions, and suddenly she'd made one on the spur of the moment. Yet Isaac had pushed her into this one.

Annoyance flared in Isaac's face, quickly masked by an air of concern. “Ach, Rachel, don't be so foolish. The money will be of much more use to you than a greenhouse.”

“Ezra gave it to me for my birthday. I don't want to sell his gift. I want to use it the way he intended.”

“Ezra would want you to do the sensible thing.” Clearly the sensible thing, according to Isaac, was to listen to him.

The smile was so tight it felt her face would split with it. She shook her head. “I appreciate the trouble you've taken, but I've made up my mind.”

Temper flared in his eyes, and his fist clenched on the counter. “How do you expect to get a greenhouse built? I don't have time to do it for you. And you certainly can't do it yourself.”

“I w-w-want t-t-t—”