At Home in Pleasant Valley (32 page)

“You are making wonderful-gut progress,” she said. “The windows going in already!”

“Thanks to my fine helper.” He smiled at Joseph.

“I don't want to take him away when he's working, but Dolly is bawling, and no one will do for the silly creature but Joseph.”

“She's not silly,” Joseph said loyally. “She's going to have her babies soon, and that makes her nervous, ain't so?” He appealed to Gideon.

“That could be. Why don't you take a break from this and see to her? I can manage until you do that.”

“I'll come right back,” Joseph said, and sprinted across the yard toward the goat's pen.

“How long do you think it will take to finish the work?” Rachel was obviously counting the moments until she could put her plants in her new greenhouse.

“I should finish up in a day or two, if all goes well.” He picked up the next pane. “I hear you had some trouble here last night.”

“Joseph told you?” Her smooth brow furrowed with concern. “He shouldn't have opened the barn door, of course. But how did Ben get out of the stall? That's what worries me. I'm sure William wouldn't make such a mistake.”

Without seeming to think about it, she moved around so that she could take Joseph's place holding the pane. Now it was her palms that pressed against the glass instead of the child's.

“William's the careful sort, I'd say.” It was odd. And dangerous to the animal even if he hadn't gotten out of the barn.

“That's what makes it so puzzling.” She shook her head, her face troubled. “Joseph shouldn't have been out there alone that late anyway. If it hadn't been for—” She stopped.

“Hadn't been for what?” Gideon prompted.

A small sigh passed her lips. “Becky was upset with Mary. And Joseph hates any rumpus, so he went outside to get away from it. For him, that was just a short step to going to check on Dolly.”

She tried to smile, but he could see that she was bothered by more than just the boy being outside that late.

“What was going on between Becky and Mary? They always look as if they get along pretty well.”

“They do. But apparently Mary didn't remember something about her daadi that Becky thought she should, and Becky got upset. She just doesn't understand that it's natural Mary isn't going to remember much about Ezra.”

“That's too bad.” He hated the thought that Ezra's youngest wouldn't have memories to keep him alive in her thoughts.

“Ja. Sometimes I almost wish we could have photographs, so we'd have an image of him. But I know the Scripture says not to make graven images.” She shook her head. “And I suppose maybe if we had one, we'd make too much of the picture, instead of using our hearts to remember him.”

Gideon's heart ached, just listening to her. If he could make the grief better—but he knew from his own loss that that was something no one else could do for you.

“Seeing so much of the children has made me think about Ezra a lot,” he said. “They're each like him, but in different ways.”

Now Rachel's smile chased the sorrow from her face. “That is what I think, too. Mary has his smile, but Joseph looks the most like him. And Becky—well, Becky has his manner, sometimes.”

“His daring, too. She's like Ezra was as a boy.” He glanced toward the clothesline, but Becky was doing her chore now without looking for mischief.

“Always getting into trouble. I know.” Rachel seemed to look back through the years, but they were happy memories, he could tell.

“We did a lot together when we were boys,” he said. “If you wanted it, I could talk to the children about him.”

He sensed her immediate withdrawal. If she hadn't been holding the glass, she'd have moved away from him.

“I—I'll think about it.”

But her voice was strained, and he could already tell what her answer would be. It seemed they hadn't moved as far as he'd been hoping they had.

•   •   •

Rachel
washed the dishes, lingering over the job as she gazed out the window over the sink. As Gideon had said yesterday, the greenhouse was nearly done. Her last gift from Ezra would soon be a reality.

Gideon had done a wonderful-gut job. Everyone knew that he was a fine carpenter, none better. He worked steadily now, his movements deft and calm.

He'd gotten stronger over the course of building the greenhouse. She could see that now as she studied him. His leg wasn't so stiff as it had been that first day he'd come, and he moved more easily and more surely.

He turned from the greenhouse, glancing toward the window where she stood watching. Heat flew into her cheeks. What must he think of her staring at him?

Looking down at the pot she held, she scrubbed so vigorously that she was in danger of rubbing through the metal. She hadn't been admiring him. Of course she hadn't. He couldn't think that. She just liked watching anyone who did a gut job of something, like Mamma with her jams and jellies. Ja, that was all.

Once the pot was dry, she bent to put it in its proper place and walked across the kitchen to hang the towel on the wooden drying rack. She glanced out the side window. From here, she could see the schoolhouse, nestled in its little hollow. The scholars were coming out the door now, so Becky and Joseph would soon come running across the field.

And if Mary Yoder intended to come today, she'd soon be here, as well. Rachel's fingers tightened on the drying rack. She hadn't told the children that she expected a visit from their teacher. And she hadn't attempted to find out from them why Mary Yoder was concerned about them.

No, not them. Becky. Rachel had been able to read that much in Mary Yoder's face.

Well, she would find out when Teacher Mary came. And then she'd deal with it, whatever it was.

As Rachel turned away from the window, movement caught her eye. She swung back, leaning over to peer down the lane. Something came, all right, but it wasn't a buggy. It was a car.

Johnny? She tidied her hair automatically. She wasn't expecting him, but it was typical of her brother's impatience that he would come rather than sending a note through the mail.

But when she stepped out onto the back porch, she could see immediately that it wasn't John. She recognized the Englischer, though—Thomas Carver, it was. Mr. Carver owned the dairy that bought the milk from them.

Had he come with a problem? Her nerves tightened with dismay. William did everything just the way Ezra always had, so surely it wasn't that. But the man had never come to the farm before, not in all the years since Ezra had signed on with him.

She smoothed her apron down and stepped off the porch as Mr. Carver got out of the car. Middle-aged and balding, he wore the blue jeans and plaid flannel shirt over a white T-shirt that was the common dress among the English farmers in the valley.

“Mrs. Brand. Nice to see you.” He approached, starting to extend his hand and then seeming to think the better of it.

“Mr. Carver.” She nodded politely. “It's kind of you to call.”

Her hands pressed against her sides, hidden by the folds of her skirt, as she waited for him to go on. It wouldn't be polite to ask what he was doing here when he'd never come before.

“Yes, well, I had a little business I wanted to talk over with you.” He glanced toward Gideon. “Mind if we go inside and have a chat about it?”

He moved toward the step. She held her ground. He may be a perfectly nice man, but she'd feel more comfortable talking with him here, rather than in the house.

“It's a pleasant day. Perhaps we could talk here.”

His face seemed to tighten. “Yeah, sure. I guess maybe you people wouldn't think it right for a widow to be alone in the house with a man who isn't Amish.”

Since there was no reasonable answer she could give to that, she didn't try, but just waited.

“Guess this is fine.” He leaned forward to rest his hand on the porch railing, bringing him uncomfortably close to her. “No need for you to be worried about the milk. Young William is doing fine with that. I got no complaints.”

“This is gut.” So what did he want, in that case?

“Still, it has to be rough for you, running a place this size without a husband.”

He was trying to be kind, she supposed. “We are doing all right. The family has been taking care of things.”

“Sure, I know how you Amish stick together. One for all and all for one, huh? Though I guess you wouldn't say it that way.”

Again, there seemed no proper response, so she just inclined her head in a nod.

“Yes, well, anyway, I figured things might be getting a little difficult for you by now, without your man. Thought I'd stop by with a business proposition for you.”

He was talking in circles. Maybe she could move him on toward a conclusion.

“And what is this business proposition?”

“Right to the point.” He chuckled. “I like that in a woman. Well, see, it's this way. I hear tell you don't want to sell the farm, but you're having a tough time making a go of it.”

Her stomach lurched. How could this Englischer know that about her? How could he know anything about her?

“Maybe there's a way you don't have to sell, but you can still make a decent living off the place. And you wouldn't even have to give up the house or that little greenhouse you've got going there.”

“And what is that way?”

A year ago she wouldn't have been capable of having a business discussion with anyone, let alone an Englischer. But then, a year ago she wouldn't have had to. Maybe her introduction to bargaining at the market helped.

“I'd be interested in buying the dairy herd from you.” He must have seen that she was about to say no, because he held up his hand to stop her. “Now, just hear me out. What I propose is buying the herd and just leasing the barn and the pastures from you.”

“I don't think—” she began.

“See, that way you don't have to let the farm go.” He rolled on as if he hadn't heard her. “You have a nice steady income coming in, and you get to stay in your house.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Pretty good deal, don't you think?”

She took a breath, trying to steady herself. Coming out of the blue as it did, the idea had her brain spinning.

“I appreciate your offer, Mr. Carver. But I don't think that's the right thing for me to do.”

“Now, you haven't considered it yet.” He moved uncomfortably closer. “You have to stop and think a bit.”

She tried to step back, but she was against the steps, and there was nowhere to go. “I'm sorry—”

“This is the perfect answer for you. Don't you want to be able to take care of your kids and keep them in this house? Trust me, you're not going to do any better than this. I wouldn't cheat you.”

He was right in her face, and she felt his insistence pushing at her. “I don't—”

“Rachel, was ist letz?” The quiet question, coming in dialect, seemed to go right to the heart of her tension, soothing away her nerves.

Thomas Carver turned to stare at Gideon, and she took advantage of the opportunity to put some space between them.

“I'm fine.” She answered in English, so that Carver would understand. “My business with Mr. Carver is finished.”

Carver's smile was a mere twitch of the lips. “Not finished, Mrs. Brand. You think about what I said. I'll be in touch.”

Gideon stood beside her while Carver got into his car. The man turned in the narrow lane, spraying gravel and clipping one of her rose bushes, and drove off toward the main road.

“What's wrong?” Gideon repeated his question as soon as the man pulled away. “You didn't look fine. Was it bad news about the dairy's deal with you?”

“No, nothing like that.” She managed a smile. “He wanted . . .”

Did she really want to discuss that with Gideon? Maybe not. After all, Gideon had his own ideas of what she should do with the farm.

“Well, it was nothing important.” She phrased her words carefully, intent on not telling a falsehood. “He wanted to talk to me about my arrangements for the dairy herd. If they'd be continuing the way they are.”

Gideon's mouth firmed. He knew she wasn't telling him all of it, she supposed, but it would have to do.

She stared past him—toward the fine barn that had been in her family for generations, toward the pastures lush with spring growth. Sell? Lease? It seemed much the same to her. It meant someone else would be tending the farm that Ezra had loved.

She was being offered too many chances to do something she didn't want to do at all.

R
achel
had been standing in the backyard for several minutes, watching him put the finishing touches to the greenhouse while Mary trotted around, busy with her little bucket and shovel. But Gideon could see that Rachel's mind was far away.

Probably she was still caught up in that conversation she'd had with Thomas Carver, the Englischer. He didn't for a minute think that she'd told him everything about it.

Why should she? He frowned at the latch he was screwing into place. He didn't have the right to expect that. Her business with the dairy was just that, hers. And Isaac's and William's, he supposed, in a certain sense.

Still, in that moment when he'd seen her pull back as if she were intimidated by the man—well, his instinctive reaction was nothing to be proud of. For himself, he'd long since learned to turn the other cheek, as the Lord taught. For Rachel—he couldn't deny the bone-deep need he'd felt to protect her, not that she'd wanted or would welcome his protection.

Rachel had made that clear time and again. He was the one who didn't seem to be getting it.

“Becky and Joseph are coming.” He nodded toward the two scholars as they raced across the lane on their way home from school, detouring to drop their books on the back porch.

“Ja.” Rachel's solemn look disappeared into a smile when she saw the children. She seemed to dismiss whatever had been troubling her, or, most likely, put it away to think about later. “Mary, look.” She turned the little girl with a light touch on the shoulder. “Here they are.”

Mary's short legs churned as she hurried to meet her brother and sister.

Gideon dropped his screwdriver back into his toolbox. “Maybe you'd like for the young ones to help set up your greenhouse.”

Rachel's breath caught. “Now?”

He nodded. “It is finished at last.”

“Wonderful gut.” She clasped her hands together, her face lighting up with pleasure at the thought. “Children, come see. The greenhouse is ready.”

All three of them swarmed over the greenhouse, opening and closing the door. The girls darted inside and out again as if it were a toy house just for them.

After a quick inspection, Joseph came to stand next to him, surveying the greenhouse much as he did. He could sense the pleasure the boy felt at having been a part of the building.

He rested his hand on Joseph's shoulder. “Gut job we did here, ja?”

“Ja.” Joseph leaned against him for a moment. A hand seemed to reach out and grasp Gideon's heart, squeezing it.

Before he could come to terms with the feeling, Joseph had darted off to his mother. “Can we bring the plants out and set them up on the tables? Can we?”

“Let's do that.” Rachel's gaze met Gideon's, and hers brimmed with happiness. “Komm, everyone help.”

They all seemed to figure he'd help, too, so he followed Rachel into the house. Pots of seedlings that she had started perched on every sunny windowsill.

“I didn't know you had so many. You have been busy.”

She pulled trays from the cabinet under the sink and began putting the tiny pots on it. “Ach, I love to do it. My mamm used to say that I was never so happy as when I had my hands in the dirt. I'm sure Daad was sorry it was his daughter with the green thumb instead of his son.”

A shadow dimmed her face on the words, and he knew she was thinking about her brother.

“How is Johnny?” He wouldn't let her feel that she had to be wary of discussing John with him. “Have you seen him lately?”

“Not for a while. He came over one night to help me with the tax forms.”

That seemed to make the shadows deepen in her face, unfortunately. He took another tray and began to fill it with the contents of the windowsill above the sink. “He's well?”

“Ja.” She sighed. The children's voices echoed from the living room as they apparently divided up the plants to carry out. “He was unhappy with me because I wouldn't take money from him. I wish he'd understand about that.”

Gideon nodded. “Not so easy to balance between him and your daad, I guess.”

“They're both too stubborn.” Her mouth set.

“That trait didn't pass you by, either, I think.”

Her gaze met his, startled. “I'm not stubborn.” A faint color came up in her cheeks, and she focused on the plants. “Well, only about some things.”

Some things that included him, he suspected.

“These are ready,” he said, as the children marched through the kitchen, each carrying a share of the plants. Mary had one grasped in each chubby fist, and she frowned as if daring them to fall. “I'll hold the door.”

Coming along behind Rachel and her children as they crossed the lawn to the greenhouse, he felt a sense of—what was it? Belonging?

Not that, maybe, but as if for this moment, anyway, he could share in their happiness. He'd fulfilled his promise to Ezra, and he'd made things a little better for Rachel and the young ones. That should be enough for him.

Just ahead of him, Mary reached the very entrance to the greenhouse before she stumbled, the plants waving wildly as she tried to save them. Balancing his tray with one hand, Gideon scooped her up with the other, setting her on her feet before she lost her cargo.

Mary tilted her face up toward his, leaning against him confidingly. “Denke, Gideon,” she whispered.

The small warm body in his grasp seemed to set something echoing through him, as if the door of his heart, long since closed, creaked ajar. First Joseph and now Mary, making him feel again.

No. He could not let that happen. He would help them, would try to do what he could for Ezra's sake, but he could not let himself care. His faith would never survive another loss, and the only way to prevent the pain was not to risk his heart again.

He set his mind to helping them arrange the plants on the plank tables he'd built for the greenhouse. The children, enthusiastic at first, lost interest quickly, and Rachel sent them off to the kitchen, putting Becky in charge of getting them a snack.

It soon became clear that Rachel had her own definite opinions as to what should go where. Her face wore a serene expression as her hands busied themselves with her plants. She'd forgotten he was there. He had no gut reason to stay longer, so he began gathering up his tools.

“Ach, let me help you get your things together.” Rachel shook her head. “Forgive me. I'm so eager to work on my plants that I haven't even told you how much I appreciate your kindness.”

“Not necessary.” He opened the lid of his toolbox. “Seeing your pleasure in the greenhouse is thanks enough.”

“My last gift from Ezra.” Her voice had grown soft. “It would have been treasured, whatever it was, but especially so since the greenhouse will help me support the children.”

“You'll be going back to market again?”

“Ja. And this time with many more plants to sell, thanks to your help.”

He shook his head. “I told you—”

She put her hand on his arm, the touch of it startling him into silence.

“I know. You did it because you promised Ezra. But I can still appreciate your actions, can't I?” Color flooded her cheeks. “Especially after the way I behaved that first day you brought it up. I'm still embarrassed to think about that.”

“That's of no matter,” he said carefully, wary of trying to press too far into her confidence. “Then, you couldn't see me without being reminded of Ezra's passing. It was only natural for you to blame me.”

“I didn't. I don't. I know the accident wasn't your fault.” She lifted her face to his, and she was so near he could almost feel her breath on his skin as she spoke. “You must accept that, too, Gideon. It would not be right to blame yourself for something that was in the hands of God.”

She was too close, and he was far too aware of her. But he couldn't bring himself to move away.

Maybe she felt that, too. Her breath seemed to quicken, her eyes to widen.

And then suddenly she was looking down at the toolbox, as if searching for something to distract her. Or him.

“Is this a design for one of the windmills you'll be building this summer?” She touched the sketch he had tucked into the lid of the toolbox.

“Not exactly.” He forced himself to focus on the paper, instead of on the curve of her cheek. He spread it flat. “I was playing around with an idea for a model windmill—something that folks might want to buy to put in their garden. It was just a thought I had when I was laid up. Don't suppose it amounts to much.”

“Don't say that. I think it's a wonderful-gut idea. Think of all the ornaments the English like to put on their lawns and in their flower beds. I bet you could sell those easy. When are you going to make one?”

He folded the sketch and tucked it back into the box. “I'll tell you what. I'll make some when I get time, if you'll sell them along with your plants. That would be a gut deal.”

He was only joking, of course. But he'd like it fine if he could make it come true.

•   •   •

Rachel
tucked another marigold seedling into its own peat pot. The seedlings should be a nice size by the time frost danger was past. She stood back a little from the trestle table, admiring the lineup of plants. Ser gut. She'd have plenty to sell when the time came.

Picking up a water bottle, she began spraying the seedlings with a fine mist. Only a day had passed since the greenhouse was completed, and already it felt as familiar to her as her own bedroom.

Not only that—it had given her courage, it seemed. She'd asked William to help prepare an addition to the garden for some more ambitious plantings. Lavender would be simple to grow, and folks liked that. She'd put in a variety of small shrubs, maybe even some dogwood trees
if she could afford them. She could get young plants cheap and bring them along until they were ready for sale.

Thanks to Ezra's gift, she had hope for the future. She and the children didn't need much, after all—just enough added income to make up for the portion of the milk money that went to Isaac. She wouldn't have to sell, and the children would have the security that went with a gut farm.

Thanks to Gideon, as well. She couldn't forget that. If he hadn't made her dream about the greenhouse again, with his insistence on fulfilling his promise to Ezra, she might never have pursued it.

Gideon had become close to them in the past few weeks—closer than she'd have imagined possible. Her hands stilled on the sprayer.

Forgive me, Father, for my attitude toward Gideon. I'm trying to do better. Please help me.

A shadow fell across the tray of seedlings in front of her. She looked up, startled, to find Isaac standing there, staring in through the glass at her.

Her stomach tightened even as she smiled at him. In her enthusiasm, she had forgotten that Isaac had his own idea of what should happen to the farm.

She put the sprayer back on its shelf and took a last look around the greenhouse, soaking in its peace. Then she opened the door and stepped outside.

Isaac's expression didn't give anything away as he surveyed the completed greenhouse, but that very lack of expression told her he wasn't pleased.

“See Gideon got it finished at last.” He tapped on the framing around the door.

“Ja, just yesterday. It turned out nice, I think. I'm very grateful to him.”

He peered through the glass at her tables, his forehead creasing in a frown. “You got a mighty big lot of plants in there. More than you can use yourself, I'd guess.”

“They're to sell,” she said, schooling her voice to patience. “I'll take them to the farmer's market, alongside Aaron and Lovina's things.”

He grunted a response that might have meant anything and turned away from the greenhouse. He seemed to transfer his gaze to her newly plowed garden. “William told me you're talking about putting in a bunch of new things this year, bushes and whatnot.”

This was what bothered him, she could see. She should have realized that he'd disapprove of those plans. The greenhouse he could rationalize moving to a new location, but if she started something bigger, like an actual nursery garden, he'd know she was determined to stay put.

“I'm hoping to grow enough to make a little income from it. For the children, you know.”

“Is this your idea? Or did Gideon Zook come up with it?”

She blinked at the hardness of his tone. “Mine. Well, I did talk to Gideon about it, maybe.”

“It seems to me you'd want to talk to family about this idea first, instead of an outsider.”

“Gideon isn't an outsider.”

“Not English, no, but he's not a member of your family, either. Just because he was Ezra's friend doesn't give him the right to interfere.”

“He's not—” She stopped herself. The only way to deal with Isaac in this mood was to be patient with him. And he was right, in a sense. It would have been proper to discuss it with Isaac ahead of time. “I'm sorry I didn't talk with you about it first. I'm sure you'd have had some gut advice for me about what to plant.”

“There's no reason for you to be planting anything. I told you that. Caleb will be glad to take over the farm, and then you won't have to worry about such things.”

So this wasn't about her failure to talk to the family about her plans. It was about
his
plans—his plans to wipe out Ezra's dreams as if they'd never existed.

She actually felt a flicker of anger. She'd deferred to her father and to Ezra when it was needful. They'd had the right to be concerned with what she did, and they'd always wanted the best for her.

But Isaac—it seemed that Isaac wanted what was best for him and for Caleb.

She took a deep breath, quenching the anger before it could grow
into a flame. Impossible to come to an actual breach with Isaac. He was family, he was one of the brethren, and she counted on his help.