At Home in Pleasant Valley (45 page)

Mose walked all around the windmill. “Just like a real one, ain't so?”

Gideon nodded, waiting.

Mose stroked his beard, seeming to consider. “A gut idea, I'd say. Englischers will want one of those to put in their gardens. Some of our own people, too, I don't doubt. You should put one on display.”

“Maybe.”

He'd said once, half-joking, that he'd make them for Rachel to sell alongside her plants. But going into partnership with Rachel suddenly seemed a dangerous business—dangerous to both his heart and his peace of mind.

Mose didn't prompt him for more of an answer. That wasn't his way. He just looked at him for a long moment, wise eyes seeming to see further into a person's heart than was comfortable.

“I stopped by the Glick farm on my way here. Baby and Mammi are both doing fine. Thanks to you.”

Gideon picked up the crosspiece and began fitting it into place. “Not me. I did nothing but make a phone call. Rachel is the one who did the hard part.”

“Ja. Leah and Daniel are mighty thankful that she was there. But you arrived at just the right time, I hear. The gut Lord's doing, no doubt. Rachel and Leah both would have been frightened if they hadn't known they could count on you to get help.”

“It was only what anyone would do.” He tapped the screw to start it and began to screw it in. “I'm thankful Leah and the boppli are both doing well.”

And he'd be even more thankful if he could stop talking about it. Thinking about it. Remembering Rachel's courage and her confidence in him.

Bishop Mose showed no inclination to leave. He propped himself against the workbench as if he had all day to talk. “Did you hear what they named the boppli?”

“No.”

“Rachel Anna.”

Gideon had to swallow the lump in his throat. “That's fitting, isn't it? Since Rachel brought her into this world.”

“Ja. She's a fine woman, Rachel is.”

“Nobody knows that better than I do.” Where was this going?

“I guess that's true enough. You've spent plenty of time over at Rachel's place this spring. I don't know how she'd have gotten along without you.”

Bishop Mose was clearly hinting, and maybe he'd best deflect him from his matchmaking.

“Just doing the work I promised is all. Guess I won't be seeing as much of her and the kinder now that it's done. I'll be starting on a new job next week.”

“I see.” Bishop Mose blew out a long breath. “So you made gut on your promise to Ezra and that's an end of it, is it?”

Gideon focused on the work so he didn't have to look at the bishop's face. “I'll still help as they need me. I'm not going to leave Ezra's family on their own.”

Mose took a step forward, so that he stood next to Gideon. He touched the blade of the model. “I'll be honest with you. I had hoped for more than friendship for you and Rachel.”

Gideon's fingers tightened on the crosspiece. If he gripped it any harder, he'd probably break it right off.

“I know what you're saying, but I'm not the man for her. She deserves more than I can give.”

“Ach, that's nonsense, that is. You'd be a fine husband to her, and a fine father to those children. Why does everyone see it but you?”

He swung to face the bishop, feeling the dark emotions roil like thunderclouds. “You're wrong. They're wrong. I can't.”

“Gideon, Gideon.” Mose's voice was gently chiding. “What
happened to Naomi and the babe was tragic, but it was a long time ago. You can't mourn forever.”

“I can feel guilty forever.” His voice cracked. “I can't forgive myself.”

“That is wrong, Gideon, and I speak as your bishop as well as your friend.” The old man's eyes turned to steel, and the steel filled his voice, too. “Failing to forgive yourself is failing to accept God's forgiveness. You're saying you know more than your Creator. You're wrong, and it's time you faced the truth. You are turning away from God's plan for your life, and that's the most tragic thing anyone can do.”

He turned and walked out of the workshop, leaving Gideon stunned and speechless.

S
he
was always up early, even on Saturday, but Rachel didn't remember a time when she'd felt so nervous about what the day would bring. The eastern sky had begun to brighten when she heard the
clop-clop
of horse's hooves in the lane. She peeked out the kitchen window to see Daad helping Mamm down from the buggy seat. Her mother started toward the house, while he drove the buggy on toward the barn.

She hurried to open the door. Her mother's hug dispelled some of the jitters.

“I'm happy to see you. I didn't expect you to be here this early.”

Mamm set a pan of still-warm sticky buns on the counter next to the coffeepot and hung up her bonnet. “Ach, you know how your daadi is. He's not happy unless he gets places before everyone else.”

“That's if anyone else comes.” Rachel poured a mug of coffee for her mother.

“Of course folks will come. Your ad looked real nice in the paper. Georgia Randall from down the road brought it to us. She'll be coming by, I know. Said she wanted to get some snapdragons in. I told her you'd put some back for her.”

“I'll be glad to.” Rachel didn't expect that much of a rush on any of her flowers, but Mamm would worry she'd run out before her English neighbor arrived. “I'll be glad to sell even a few things today. Hopefully then folks will tell others, and I'll get some steady business from it.”

Her father appeared at the door just then, stomping his feet on the mat.

“Ready for some coffee, Daad?”

“Ready for you to tell me what needs doing,” he answered. “Got to be set for business when the customers get here.”

She couldn't help it—her eyes filled with tears. “Denke. It means so much that you came.”

Her father brushed that away with a sweep of his hand. The thunder of children's feet on the stairs said that the young ones had heard their grandparents' voices, and Rachel banished the emotional response. This was her day to behave like a businesswoman, and that didn't include any crying.

“I'll see to the children's breakfast,” Mamm said. “You go on out with your daad and get organized.”

“Ja, I will.” She gave the children a smile. “You be wonderful gut for your grossmutter, now. It will be a busy day.”

She hoped.

“What first?” Daad said the moment they were outside. “You're wanting to put some tables up so you can have plants outside the greenhouse, aren't you?”

“Ja.” But she didn't want her father to be doing any heavy lifting. “Let's check on the number of seedlings I have potted, first. See if you think it's enough to start with.” She headed for the greenhouse. “Komm.”

If she waited until the children came out, she could enlist them to help carry the planks for the tables. Daad would insist he could do it, as he always did. He hated admitting that the doctor had cautioned him to slow down.

By the time they emerged from the greenhouse, the sun had struggled above the trees, and a wagon came lumbering down the lane. Rachel stared, holding her breath. It wasn't—ja, it was. Isaac and William sat side by side on the wagon seat.

Isaac drew to a stop near her, inclining his head to her and to her father. Daad nodded in return, not speaking. Was he holding on to a grudge against Isaac? She prayed not. It would be far better to let go. Whether or not Isaac had done wrong in going to the elders about her was of less importance than restoring family relationships.

“We brought some sawhorses and planks to set up tables for your plants. Just tell us where you want them.”

“That's wonderful gut of you both.” She smiled at William, but he was carefully avoiding her gaze. “Right here near the drive will be perfect. Denke.”

“About the farm—” Isaac looked as if he were shoving the words out. “We'll keep going the way we have been. No need to make any changes that I can see, ain't so?”

It was as close to an apology as Isaac was ever likely to come. She nodded, thankful. “Ser gut.”

Isaac slid down, and in a moment William followed suit. They began unloading the materials for tables. Daad watched, frowning a bit. Finally his face eased, and he caught the end of a plank as Isaac slid it off the wagon.

Now, if only she could get William to speak to her, perhaps one of the thorns would be removed from her heart.

The tables began to take shape. She carried a flat of snapdragons out, veering so that her path led her close to William.

“William, will you put these on the table for me?”

He started like a deer at the sound of her voice. Nodding, his eyes still not meeting hers, he reached for the flat.

She seized the moment to pat his hand. “Denke, William. It's kind of you.”

Color flooded his face. “I—I'm sorry. I'm s-s-so ashamed.”

“It's over,” she said quietly. “You'll confess. God and the people will forgive.”

“But I—”

“No, William.” Her fingers tightened on his. “Forgiveness is a precious gift. Don't push it away with your guilt.” Pain gripped her heart at the reminder of Gideon. “That hurts too many people. Promise me.”

His eyes were dark with questions, but he nodded. “I promise.”

“Gut.” She turned away, trying to quell the memories of Gideon that flooded her. For today, at least, she must keep reminders of him at bay so that she could do the work that was before her. She'd have plenty of time to think of him. To regret.

Another buggy appeared in the lane. She started toward it. Surely everyone she'd expect to help was here already.

The buggy pulled to a halt. She could not, after all, keep away from reminders of Gideon, since it was Lovina, his sister-in-law, who smiled at her a little uncertainly.

“Lovina, it's so gut of you to come.” She would not let Lovina feel that anything that happened between her and Gideon affected their friendship.

“I wouldn't miss your opening. I brought some things.” She gestured to the floor of the buggy, stacked with trays. Several gallon jugs of lemonade nestled against the seat.

“What is all this? You didn't need to bring food.”

Lovina slid down from the seat and began pulling trays out, handing them to Rachel. They were filled with dozens of cookies. “I noticed that whenever stores have their grand openings, they always have refreshments for folks. So I thought you could, too.”

Rachel's throat tightened. Lovina's expression suggested that she was trying to make up for something. It could only be that she knew or guessed what had happened between Rachel and Gideon and was trying, in her own way, to express sympathy.

“You are so kind. If Gideon—” She stopped. That sentence couldn't go anywhere happy. “Denke.”

“Gideon is an idiot, and I'd like to tell him so.” Lovina snorted, grabbing a jug of lemonade. “But Aaron says we must be patient. Patient! What do men know about it anyway?”

Rachel actually managed a weak laugh at Lovina's words. “I'm not upset.” Grieved and pained, but not upset. “It is in God's hands.”

Lovina looked as if she thought the Lord could use a little help, but she kept the words in. “Let's get these inside until opening time, ja?”

“Ja.” Rachel led the way toward the kitchen. Odd, to feel so heartened by Lovina's support.

She'd like to believe that patience was the answer, but she couldn't. She feared all the patience in the world wouldn't bring Gideon to the place where he could love again.

•   •   •

There
was still a half hour to go before the opening time, but a car came down the lane already. Rachel assessed the situation, nerves jumping. Were they ready?

The refreshments weren't out yet. Everything else looked fine. The
potted marigolds glowed yellow and orange along one end of the table, while snapdragons formed a rainbow at the other end. Between them were waves of cosmos and zinnias, ready to take off in someone's garden.

A second long table held the perennials Rachel had potted up. Not so many of those, but she could always do more if there was a demand. They were ready.

She took a deep breath and turned to greet her first customer. But it wasn't a customer. It was Johnny.

Any concern she felt at having him come when so many Amish were around was supplanted by pure gratitude. He'd supported her throughout, believing in her idea when others didn't. Without his help and encouragement, her dream might not have become a reality.

“Johnny. You're here.” She hugged him hard. “I'm so glad.”

“I'd have come earlier, but I stopped to put up a few directional signs. Wouldn't want your customers getting lost on these back roads, would we?”

Probably no one else would notice the nervousness shown by the way he shifted his weight and ran his hand through his hair. But she knew him too well to be fooled by the casual expression he'd put on.

“You are so kind. I'd never have thought of that.” She squeezed his arm. “I just hope I have some customers to follow the signs.”

“That's a sure thing.” He patted her arm. His gaze wandered past her, scanning the display of flowers ready for sale. Then he froze.

“Guess I should have known Daad would be here.” He moved back a step, his jaw hardening. “I don't want to cause trouble, Rach. I'll leave.”

“No.” Sharp and hard as an axe, the word stopped him. “Don't you dare go.”

“I'm thinking of you . . .”

“If you are, then think of this—I can't stand to keep losing people I love. You and Daad are just alike. Do you know that? You're both letting your stubbornness keep you apart.”

Emotions warred on his face. She could almost feel the desire to leave, but to his credit he fought it.

“I don't want to hurt you.” He stopped, as if he struggled to get the words out. “But if Daad won't change, there's nothing I can do.”

“There's always something you can do.” She said the words fiercely, unable to keep Gideon out of her mind. “You don't just give up.”

“But—”

“You don't have to apologize for what you believe. Don't expect Daad to apologize for what he believes, either. Just take a step toward him. Give him a chance.”

Johnny stood there a moment longer, fists clenched. Slowly, as if he were wading through a muddy field, he started across the lawn to where William was helping Daad set up a table for the refreshments.

A step sounded on the porch behind her. Mamm stood close, hands folded under her apron.

“You heard?” Rachel whispered.

“Ja.” Mamm's hands seemed to grip tighter, and Rachel knew she was praying.

Please, Father. Please. Don't let them shut each other out.

Johnny reached, grabbing the end of the board Daad was trying to put onto the sawhorses. Daad froze. They stared at each other, the length of the board between them.

Daad gave the smallest of nods. Together, they put the board into place. Together, they lifted the next one.

Thank You, Father.
Rachel felt the tears Mamm was stifling, felt her own eyes prick.
Thank You.

•   •   •

A
few hours later, Rachel knew that her opening was a success. She'd been steadily busy, selling to English and Amish alike.

She knew, well enough, that the Amish had turned out to support her and might not prove to be continuing customers, but that didn't matter. Plenty of English had come, praised the quality of her offerings, and promised to tell others.

Everyone had come—everyone except Gideon. Rachel tried telling herself that she was foolish. She had every reason to be happy today. Her business was booming, her friends had turned out to support her, the breach with Isaac and William was well on its way to being healed.

Best of all, her father and brother were working their way toward
a new relationship. God had answered her prayers in an amazing way, and she was truly grateful.

Yet each time she looked at the greenhouse, overflowing with plants, each time she saw the windmill, its blades circling gracefully, each time she let her mind stray to Gideon, her heart grew heavier.

Nodding and smiling as she waited on a customer, she tried to be sensible. Gideon had done what he'd set out to do. He'd fulfilled his promise to Ezra, and thanks to him, she would become self-sufficient.

She still had to make a decision about the farm, but with Isaac no longer pressuring her and some money coming in, she could take her time. She would listen for God's leading and trust that He would show her the right decision at the right time.

And then she saw him. Gideon worked his way through the crowd toward her. He carried a windmill—the model windmill he'd shown her the plans for, that day when she'd begun to feel she knew him.

She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “You've made the model windmill you talked about. It turned out so well. You must be pleased with it.”

“Ja.” He set it at the edge of her flowerbed, twisting it to settle it firmly into the damp soil. “I made it for you. For the business, I mean.” He was staring at the windmill instead of her. “Maybe folks will want to buy them for garden ornaments.”

“Maybe they will.” Was that the only reason he'd come? To try to give Ezra's widow another small source of income? She swallowed, trying to relieve the tension in her throat. “You're very kind.”

For an instant something flared in his eyes at her words. It was gone so quickly that she couldn't identify the emotion.

He cleared his throat, as if his was as constricted as hers. “I wonder—” He glanced around, seeming to register the other people for the first time. “Could we—there's something in the greenhouse I want you to see. Can someone else take over here?”

Before Rachel could speak, someone bumped her elbow. Lovina had slipped behind the table where she kept the cash box.