For Every Season (41 page)

She turned. “I thought I knew everything.”

He smiled. “Most women tend to think they know everything.”

Disbelief flickered through her eyes. “Really? Humor? Now? Two women died! You didn’t consider it important for me to know that?”

Her sharp, shrill accusation jabbed him like a knife, and Jacob’s heart sank. Would he ever get out of this hole? He rested the palm of his hand against the back of his neck. “It sounds worse than it is.”

“Is that even possible?”

Her bitter disillusionment with him stung beyond words. “I should have stayed. I know that.” He kept his voice low, hoping it’d calm her. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to mention this. Her soul was on fire against him. “But I wasn’t there when it happened. Ambulances had arrived by the time I heard about it. There was nothing I could do by stepping forward but cause trouble for Sandra and me. You can’t imagine how completely sorry I am for how I handled that. And I’ve paid a high price for my mistakes.”

“Why am I always the last to know? I try so hard to see you, but even after all we’ve been through, all I get are glimpses.”

She
tried hard to see him? Did she think it was easy for him to see her? “Rhodes, listen—”

“Just tell me one thing: Why can’t I hear about these things before you’re backed into a corner?”

Had Samuel told her? “Speaking of, how did you hear of it?”

“Iva. She told me without realizing I didn’t already know about it.”

“Sandra told Iva. Not me. And I did try to tell you once. Remember? It was back in October, not long after we moved here, and I started to share about the whole awful mess. Just as I was getting to this part, you said you didn’t want to hear any more. You were gone all the next day to be alone and think and pray, and when you returned, you said you knew I’d walked into that mess because I wanted to help, and you had peace that you didn’t have to figure it out or understand it. You felt the whole situation was between me and God.”

Her stare reflected disappointment, but he was certain she was reaching within herself to take responsibility for her part. She nodded. “You’re right. I’d forgotten …”

“Rhodes.” Jacob reached to touch her face, and when he did, tears poured from her eyes.

“Who are we, Jacob? I keep looking at who we used to be, and I can’t find us.”

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “But we found ourselves again, only two months ago. Remember? We went to the beach and rediscovered the best of who we are.”

“I’m not looking for something magical that happens as seldom as a day at the beach.”

She didn’t see what he meant, maybe because she saw little value in getaways. He hoped to change that once they were on their own.

He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s been a hard year in so many ways, and much of it is my fault. We just need a fresh start. That’s all. Once we leave here, you’ll feel the weight of all this fall from your shoulders.”

She eased from him, wiping tears from her face.

He ached for the disappointment and hurt she felt. “Maybe we should try to leave before the end of the harvest. I’ll have finished instruction by mid-September. We could get married then.”

“Jacob, no.” Her husky voice carried as much grief as he could tolerate.

“You know we need it, Rhodes.”

“What I know is that I’ve agreed to all the concessions I’m going to. When are you going to stop punishing me for what happened?”

“Rhodes, nothing I want for us is a punishment. It’ll be freedom. You’ll
see. And we can settle elsewhere in time to do some fall planting for a fruit garden.”

“But where would we live?”

“With my parents.”

“Your parents?” She sounded horrified.

“Just for a little while. I’ll find us something better or build us a little place if we can afford it.”

“Your Daed falls about a hair short of hating me.”

Jacob knew how his Daed felt, but he hadn’t been aware she knew it—certainly not to this depth. “What would make you think that?”

A whispery scoff escaped from her. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t know that was made common knowledge to all the Amish communities across Pennsylvania. You weren’t there the night I had to sit before the church leaders. You’re never
there
. And then when you return, we don’t talk about what happened while you were in hiding. It’s not fun enough for your tastes.”

Her anger hit him full force, and he couldn’t find a single word to share with her.

“Say something, Jacob! Please, fight back.”

Is this how she viewed him, or was this just anger they needed to work through?

She held up her hands. “I need to help get breakfast on the table.”

He stepped in front of her, blocking her. “I’m in a battle for you, for us. I’ve known that since the day I stepped into the barn and realized a flame burned between you and Samuel. But I’m not a fighter, Rhodes. Not like what you’re throwing at me. That’s Samuel you’re thinking of.”

She lowered her head, taking several deep breaths. “Okay,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.” When she looked up, he didn’t see an apology as much as a surrender. “But I can’t live with your folks. I know the bedroom in the summer kitchen is a tiny pantry and the place has only a half bath, but maybe it would work until you can find or build better.”

Was this how they’d continue to approach getting married, like a bargaining table between developers and construction workers, hashing out what the other could or couldn’t agree to?

When Jacob wanted to find her, he listened, and he could hear her joy even when she was silent. He closed his eyes for a moment, and all he heard was her weeping. What had he done? Or was it her? Or Samuel?

“Please, Rhodes, for us.”

“Rhoda?” Leah called.

Jacob stepped from behind the rig, seeing Samuel about halfway between the barn and the house, heading for the front door. Had he started this way and overheard Rhoda and him?

Anger reared its ugly head. Jacob’s relationship with Rhoda should be more private. But it seemed to be an open book for Samuel. Jacob’s patience with living here couldn’t wear much thinner.

He focused on his sister. “She’ll be right there.” He eased his finger under Rhoda’s chin and looked into the sadness reflected in her eyes. His heart broke. Were they going to make it out of here together? With uncertainty eroding his hope, he now understood why neither of them had said a word to their parents about their plans to marry or to move away from the farm after the harvest. According to Amish tradition, no one except the bride- or groom-to-be would mention their intention to marry or the plans they were making. So none of their visitors knew.

Did their wedding plans feel more like sad news than happy to Rhoda? He feared so.

And he knew what he had to tell her. “I love you, Rhodes.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “With all that is in me. You know everything now. I believe in us, who we can be, how happy our life will be. Do you still believe in us?”

Fresh tears welled in her eyes even as she nodded. “I do. But you seem to think Landon, Leah, and Iva can jump into the middle of this canning business and run it the same as if I were here.”

“No, sweet Rhodes. I know better. But money is all their mistakes and bobbles will cost.
We
, you and me, are much more important. That’s what I think, what I know.”

She pursed her lips and straightened her apron. “Okay.” Her whisper sounded as if she was too sad to speak any louder.

Jacob was still reeling from her anger, but when they left here, they’d put hurt and disappointment behind them. He looked forward to their building a life that would be as pleasurable as anything he’d ever built. He wasn’t sure when they’d get to leave, but he knew Rhoda would stay true to her word, and she’d find a good time to break free.

He needed to get the harvest kitchen built and help her get it in good running order. After that, they couldn’t leave here soon enough for him.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Leah drove a wagon of food to the construction site. After easing as close to the long, makeshift tables as possible, she set the brake and hopped down.

Noise echoed—men shouting instructions, laughing, hammering. A line of young boys stood at an entry to the harvest kitchen, tapping nails into the frame. She’d seen Jacob put them there hours ago, assuring them they were helping the building to stay upright. What he’d done is gotten them out of the way while making them feel good about themselves. Of course they didn’t stay there the whole time. Some would run off to play while others hammered, and then they’d reverse roles.

She’d never seen Jacob like this—a confident leader and exuberant in his work. Carpentry suited him, and she could understand better why Rhoda was willing to sacrifice her desires for his.

“Leah’s here.” Her aunt motioned.

Several women scurried to the wagon and began unloading the food. For days the women had hustled about, tending to babies and toddlers while keeping the men fed.

Leah hopped down and grabbed the box that held the flatware and a roll of paper towels. She spotted Landon at the foot of a ladder about to carry a load of shingles to the roof. Her heart skipped a beat. That man was so attractive.

He’d worked every bit as hard as any man here and had used his truck to make dozens of trips to the stores as needed. It was a shame neither of them could be accepted like this if she left the Amish and he helped her. But one couldn’t be considered a trustworthy supporter of a group if they were proven disloyal.

But she didn’t need to think about any of that, not for a couple of years yet.
There was no telling what God could work out in their favor between now and then—if He wanted to.

She set the box on a worktable, grabbed the paper towels, and began wrapping the flatware in the oversize napkins so she could set them at each place. Her Mamm was at the far end of the six-foot table, dispensing cups of cold water from a ceramic crock. Despite how Mamm was doling out water, the Amish believed in family-style mealtimes, and that’s what the women were getting on the table. Buffet style was rarely appreciated.

For this meal, like all the others, the men would eat in shifts—her Daed and brothers, Rhoda’s Daed and brothers, Leah’s preacher uncle and his construction crew, her bishop from home, several male cousins, and the men from the two visiting Amish families.

What a week it’d been—five days, actually. After lunch one group of men would install the last windows while another crew put on the last shingles.

It looked like a building. An unfinished, rough-hewed shell of a building. It didn’t have siding or Sheetrock or linoleum or interior doors or bathroom fixtures or …

“You cause quite a commotion when you arrive.”

She’d only known the man for a few days, but she recognized the deep voice. She glanced behind her. Crist Schrock, at six feet three inches, towered over her.

“Admit it, woman.” He grinned while removing his tool belt.

“I’ll do no such thing.” Leah shooed him. “Be gone with you before you end up eating pasta casseroles and applesauce with your fingers.”

Her Mamm walked over and handed Crist a glass of cold water, and soon the two were talking feverishly about something.

The Millers and Schrocks were an interesting lot. Boisterous and funny while working. Wouldn’t they add a welcome flavor to this district if they decided to move here?

Crist liked to cut up and laugh. If he caused all eyes to turn to him, he’d deflect it by casting his humor onto someone else. But all the people who’d come this week were hardworking folks filled with hope for this settlement. If the Millers and Schrocks moved here, Leah could certainly put Crist’s energy
to good use. But each of the new families would run a separate business from Orchard Bend Farms.

Crist and two of his brothers had already said that if their parents moved here, they’d be willing to pick up extra hours and pay by helping with the orchard as needed. She doubted they’d make good pickers. That took specific skills best found in those who’d grown up picking. So they’d hire migrant workers and their Pennsylvania Amish relatives who had years of picking experience behind them.

When her Mamm saw other men heading for the water crock, she hurried to fill glasses for them. Leah’s Daed ambled toward her Mamm.

Crist turned back to her. “I think I’ve talked your Mamm into fixing ice cream tonight.”

“Probably so.” Leah plunked another folded napkin on the table. “I thought I had the gift of gab, but it seems I’m wrong.”

He straightened up, looking pleased. “Like I always say, I can talk my own ears off.”

Leah paused her work. “And you consider that a compliment?”

Crist laughed. “You don’t?”

She suppressed a smile and resumed wrapping flatware.

Leah’s aunt walked to the table with a tray of cookies. Crist backed away. Her aunt spoke, set the tray on the table, and took a huge stack of prepared flatware.

Crist took one of Phoebe’s chocolate-chip cookies from the tray. “Is it true, Leah, that you’d rather work in the orchard than cook or do laundry?”

Leah laughed. “I’d rather do none of the above. Who told you that?”

“Your Daed. He seems very proud of his eldest daughter.”

“Really? No one told me that.”

“I’m no one?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. He was bold and had a dry sense of humor when in a crowd. But by himself, he had a quiet, subdued nature.

She only knew that quieter side of him because, after Landon had gone home and the Amish were visiting among themselves, she’d slipped off to the porch swing to wait for Jacob to take her and the others back to the Cranfords’.
Crist had joined her where it was quiet and restful. He’d said little, but when he talked, it was revealing and thoughtful. He liked nature and baseball. He’d lost his dog a few months back, one he’d had since he was little, so he took a shine to Zara and Ziggy. And if it was up to him and if they moved to Maine, the Amish there would be the first Amish to build a meetinghouse. He saw no reason for families to expend all the extra energy getting ready to have church in their homes and feed everyone a meal before they left. A permanent meetinghouse could provide everything they needed.