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.
CHAPTER EIGHT
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.”