At Home in Pleasant Valley (25 page)

William didn't get any further before Isaac turned on him. “Forget that idea. I need you at the farm. You'll have no time to indulge this whim of Rachel's.”

Her teeth gritted at the way Isaac disregarded William's wishes. Just because it took the boy a long time to say something didn't mean he couldn't have an opinion.

But that was how most of the family treated him, finishing his thoughts for him instead of having enough patience to hear him out.

“If that is indeed what William intended to say, it is very kind of him.” She smiled at him, and he blushed to the tips of his ears.

“William is not available.” Isaac ground out the words.

William's jaw clenched as if, for once in his life, he might go against Isaac's wishes. But she couldn't let the boy get into trouble on her account.

“I can't take him away from his work—he does so much for me already. I'll manage.”

“How do you plan to do that?” Isaac's face darkened to a deep red, and he looked dangerously close to an explosion.

It seemed she didn't even consider the words before they were out of her mouth.

“Gideon Zook is going to build the greenhouse for me.”

She caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye. Gideon was standing there, watching them, close enough to hear every word.

G
ideon
winced inwardly as the expression on Rachel's face hit him. She'd just announced that he was going to build the greenhouse for her. But as soon as she'd seen him, she'd regretted her hasty words.

He hadn't been listening intentionally. He'd just noticed that her stand didn't seem to be busy at the moment, and he'd thought this might be a good opportunity to see if she'd made up her mind about the building.

Well, now he knew. She had, and if he wasn't mistaken, she'd been driven to that by Isaac's attempts to boss her around.

Ezra had always said his eldest brother was a little too fond of giving people orders. Even when they were boys together, he remembered Isaac trying to rule the roost. But Ezra had been a peaceable person. He'd listened politely to what Isaac advised, and then he'd gone his own way.

The surprise was Rachel. Who would have thought that someone who seemed as soft and gentle as Rachel would display such a stubborn streak when she was pushed?

Isaac, apparently following the direction of Rachel's gaze, turned and saw him. His face darkened a little.

“Gideon.” He jerked his head in greeting. “Is this true, what Rachel is telling us?”

“Ja.”

Sometimes the less said the better, and Isaac, though a good enough man in his way, had an uncertain temper to go with his bossy ways.

Isaac hesitated, and his expression said he was trying to adjust his attitude. “That's kind of you.” It sounded as if he had to push the words out. “Still, Rachel's family is well able to help her.”

It didn't seem the moment to point out that he'd just refused to do
that very thing. “It makes no trouble. I promised Ezra that I would build the greenhouse if he got the materials.” He kept his voice even with an effort, Ezra's face filling his mind, head thrown back, laughing as he'd done so easily. “I want to fulfill that promise.”

Isaac's jaw hardened at the words, his eyes narrowing. He'd probably be surprised to know that Rachel had reacted much the same way.

And neither of them would ever know that his determination to do this thing went far beyond a matter of wanting to fulfill a promise to a dead friend.

A fresh spasm of pain went through him. He would do this because Ezra had been closer than a brother, and because he owed it to him. Ezra was dead, and he was alive. The pain deepened.

“Ja, well . . .” Isaac's words trailed off. “We can talk about it more later, when Rachel has thought this whole thing through.”

When Rachel had come to her senses, Isaac clearly meant. His piece said, Isaac nodded to Rachel's mother, then turned and walked away. William, with a slightly apologetic smile directed toward Rachel, followed him.

Gideon watched the brothers walk down the now-muddy stretch between the rows of booths. He hesitated for a moment. The expression on Rachel's face wasn't very encouraging.

Still, since she'd committed herself openly to the project, he'd best nail it down before she had any more regrets than she already did. He approached the stand and leaned against the waist-high wooden counter.

“It looks as if you had a fine sale day, Rachel.” He gestured to the flats that had been filled with blooming plants when he'd passed by her stand earlier. He'd not only taken note of them—he'd directed several people to her stand for flowers.

“Ja.” She glanced at the counter, as if surprised to find it empty. “It's the first Mud Sale of the year, so everyone's eager to get something blooming, they are.”

“We've had a wonderful fine turnout today, with the sun finally shining. The fire company will have a nice profit when all's said and done.”

Mud Sale season would run for a few more weeks, probably, but their township volunteer fire company liked to be the first, especially
this year, with the fund drive for a new fire engine. He'd been a fire company volunteer for years, and even though he and the other Amish couldn't drive the fire truck, they knew well how important it was to have up-to-date equipment.

“Ser gut.” Rachel seemed to relax a little with the conversation safely off her own affairs.

He couldn't leave it at that, or she'd be backing out again. “You'll be able to grow a lot more plants for sale once you have your greenhouse up and running.”

“I guess so.” Her gaze evaded his, and she began stacking the flats, as if she wanted to keep her hands busy. “About the greenhouse. I—well, I spoke hastily. You don't have to feel obligated to do the building.”

He studied her downcast face for a moment. Rachel had always been a pretty girl back when they were in school together, with those big blue eyes and the light brown hair that curled rebelliously out of her braids. She had become thinner since Ezra's passing, and dealing with loss had given a new maturity to her face.

Why did she dislike the idea of his helping her so much?

He brushed bits of potting soil off the counter's surface, trying to find a way to bring her to acceptance. It was strange, in a way, that he knew so little of how Rachel's mind worked, when Ezra had been his lifelong friend. Somehow his relationship with Rachel had always been a tenuous thing. Ezra had been the focal point, and with Ezra gone, he wasn't sure how to talk to her.

But he had to try.

“You know, it's more than a year ago now since Ezra showed me the sketch you made of the greenhouse you'd been dreaming about. He said he'd had to sneak it out when you weren't looking, trying to keep it secret until he was sure we could do it. I used that sketch to work up the plan and figure the materials.”

She looked at him then, her face suddenly soft. “Really? Ezra started planning it that long ago?”

He nodded, glad that he'd been able to bring some pleasure to her. He remembered that day so clearly, hearing the love in Ezra's voice when
he talked about his wife. “He knew we wouldn't get around to building it for a bit, but he was wonderful happy to find a gift you'd like.”

“He knew how much I love growing things.” Her fingers toyed with a leaf that lay on the counter.

“Ja.” Memory blossomed in his mind. “He told me once that you had such a green thumb that you could put a stick in the ground and it would grow a flower.”

Her eyes were wet suddenly. Maybe his were, too, as Ezra's words brought him back in the minds of the two who'd loved him.

He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “There's something I've been wanting to say to you. I had a lot of time to think about this while I was laid up.”

After the accident. He sensed her withdrawal. Was she shying away because she didn't want to think about Ezra's death? Or was it because she blamed him?

If she did, that seemed only fitting, since he blamed himself.

She started to turn away, as if to end the conversation, and he touched her sleeve to halt her. She froze instantly.

“I need to get this said once, and then I'll never mention it again.” His voice thickened, and he fought to control it. He'd be fortunate to get the words out once, with the pain and guilt riding him constantly. “I couldn't make any sense out of the fact that the Lord let me live when Ezra died.”

His throat tightened at the thought of the other, older pain that was so similar, hovering over him, darkening his life. With Ezra's death the darkness might never leave, and then how would he keep going? He pushed the thought back and concentrated on saying what he had to.

“It seems to me the only reason I survived was so I could help Ezra's family.” Surely she could hear the truth of it in his voice. “And that's what I plan to do, God willing.”

•   •   •

It
had been raining nearly every day since the sale, and the well-trodden paths where the cows approached the barn were a sea of mud. Rachel peered out the kitchen window, streaked with the latest shower. William
was working in the barn. She must catch him and give him a cup of coffee when he finished.

She hadn't seen Gideon since the day of the sale. He'd probably been kept away by the rain. At least that would stop him from doing anything more about the greenhouse.

Just as well. She hadn't figured out yet how to deal with him. Most of the time, she didn't even want to try. That moment when they'd seemed to share their grief—that had unsettled her, shifting her perception of him, she supposed.

He grieved for his friend. Somehow she had too easily forgetten that. She'd been so absorbed in her feelings that she hadn't made room in her heart to remember that he suffered, too.

The barn door moved, and William came out. Thankful to be distracted from the difficult thoughts, she hurried to the back door and waved at him.

“Komm out of the wet and have something hot already,” she called.

He hesitated a moment, then nodded and started across the expanse of wet grass that seemed to be greening more and more by the day, maybe even the hour.

By the time William had removed his boots and reached the kitchen, she had a mug of coffee poured for him and had set a plate of cinnamon rolls within reach.

“Sit down. What are you working on so hard out there?”

William sat and took a gulp of the steaming coffee, then grabbed the largest of the cinnamon rolls.

She smiled. At eighteen, William was still growing.

“B-b-broken b-b-board,” he said briefly. He always found the shortest way of answering any question, having learned the hard way that most people didn't like waiting around for an answer.

“That's kind of you,” she said. “I didn't even realize anything was broken. I guess I haven't been out there in several days.” She spoke casually, busying herself with the coffeepot. Given a little time and acceptance, William's stammer improved remarkably. “You've been taking care of things so well that I haven't had to.”

He nodded, taking a huge bite of the roll and speaking around it. “Okay n-n-now.”

He was relaxing already, she could see. Filling her own mug, she sat down opposite him. If only there was a way to make it easier for him to communicate. He suffered so, locked out of the easy talk that should flow between him and his friends.

“I w-w-anted to d-do the greenhouse for you.” He blurted the words out, his hand tightening on his mug.

“I know you did, William.” She hurried to assure him. “It's all right. I understand that your work for Isaac has to come first.”

“Not just that. We should d-d-do it, not Gid.” He frowned, his mouth setting in a firm line.

William took his responsibilities seriously—too seriously, maybe. He was still a boy who should be enjoying his rumspringa, his running-around time, instead of trying to take care of her.

“I know what you feel,” she said carefully, not wanting to make it seem that she was angry with Gideon. “I didn't want Gideon to do it either, at first. But he was Ezra's good friend. It's only natural that he wants to keep his promise.”

A red flush ran up William's face to the roots of his straw-colored hair. He clutched the edge of the table. “It's not r-r-right. That he lived when Ezra d-d-died.”

The words caught her on the raw, and it was a moment before she could respond. “Du muscht schtobbe. You must stop thinking that. If we want God to forgive us, we must forgive others.”

She patted his hand, taut on the table's edge. It was big and rawboned, the wrist protruding a little from his shirt—the hand of a boy still growing into a man.

William shouldn't be angry that Gideon survived when Ezra died. That was wrong. And yet, didn't she sometimes feel that herself, despite all her prayers to forgive?

She wasn't alone in feeling it. Gideon himself felt it, judging by his words to her.

“I sh-should help you.”

“You do.” She was comforting him as she'd comfort one of the children. “You help every day, me and the children.”

“I'm g-g-glad to.” He flushed a little, his gaze almost too intense for comfort.

Maybe it was time to change the subject. “Speaking of the kinder, is Joseph still out in the barn?”

Becky would rather stay in and read when it was raining, but Joseph had hurried out as soon as he spotted William coming.

He nodded, his face breaking into a grin. “W-w-wants me to make a b-bed for the goat.”

She shook her head, smiling in return. “He treats that goat better than he does his little sister. What Ezra would think about that, I don't know. He never believed in making a pet out of a farm animal.” Her smile faded. “Still, Joseph seems to get comfort out of it. I don't have the heart to discourage him.”

They were silent for a moment, and she knew they were both thinking of what Joseph had lost.

“I'll d-do it.”

“You're a gut onkel,” she said, her voice filling with affection for him. “I don't know how we'd get along without you.”

William flushed again. “I been thinking about th-that. You n-n-need someone to take c-c-care of you.” He seemed to be growing nervous, the stammer increasing.

“The family already does that.”

“N-not enough.” He leaned toward her, his face suddenly filled with intensity. “R-Rachel, will you marry me?” He said the words as formally as if in worship.

For a moment she thought she'd misunderstood him, but a look at his face told her he was serious. The boy actually felt so strongly about taking care of them that he'd propose marriage to a woman old enough to be . . . well, not his mother, but certainly his big sister.

She didn't know what to say. Whatever it was, she couldn't let him think she was laughing at him. He was so young, so vulnerable already because of his stammer.

Please, Lord, give me the right words to do this without hurting him.

“William, that's so kind of you.” She infused the words with caring for the little brother Ezra had loved. “I know you want to help us, but that's not the way.”