The Harvest of Grace (15 page)

Twelve

Sylvia hobbled into the barn, her muscles screaming. The dark morning sky held no charm for her today. She found the kerosene lanterns lit, the bales of straw down from the loft, and Aaron spreading it on the stalls.

He looked up for a moment, then returned to his work. “Coffee’s on the ledge.”

She tried to walk normally as she went to the mug. Gingerly she picked it up with her aching, blistered hands and took a drink. “Denki.”

“You should thank Daed. He won’t let me leave the house without it.”

She wasn’t the only one who was sore. Aaron grimaced as he moved at half the speed he had yesterday. She dreaded the work ahead, but they had at least two days of stirring the cut hay and letting it dry before it could be baled.

“We have four teens coming to do the evening milking until we get the hay out of the field,” Aaron said, “and Daed’s able to supervise them, so we can keep mowing while they tend to the cows.”

“There’s no money for that.”

“I promised to pay them when we sell the hay.”

“But we need that money.”

“I know that. But it’ll take us another week if we have to do the milking as well. We’ll be too tired to keep up the needed pace in the field, and the rains might move in before we’re done.”

She set her coffee on the ledge. “You’re right. As I’ve said, I don’t know much about baling hay.”

“Well, this is an awful way to learn.”

“Agreed.” She grabbed a pitchfork. “My head feels woozy from working in the heat all day, my hands are blistered, and my feet ache all over.”

“And it’ll be worse before nightfall.”

Just what she wanted to hear.

They moved through the milking as if they’d worked side by side for years. While he harnessed a set of horses to take to the field, she went into the house and rustled up snacks and drinks.

Dora should be the one keeping them fed throughout their workday—snacks, drinks, and meals included. She moved better these days than when Sylvia first arrived, but grief over losing her daughter kept Dora from being able to hold to a schedule. She got things done whenever she could manage it.

Sylvia carried the basket of food and a blanket to where they’d begin cutting. They had finished mowing near the road. Today’s path wouldn’t allow anyone to see her, so she didn’t change out of her pants. Last night when she got into the bath, she noticed her legs were covered with scratches, though not nearly as many as there would have been if she’d stayed in her dress all day.

To her surprise Aaron wasn’t strapped into the cart. She put the blanket, drinks, and food under a tree before pulling fingerless gloves out of her pants pockets. Even with gloves, she’d earned several blisters yesterday.

“Kumm.” Aaron motioned for her. “You’re in the cart today.”

“Why?”

“If we’re going to survive the next two days, we have to swap jobs. Each position works different muscles.”

“My sisters and I used to do that with our vegetable garden.”

He helped her get the team’s rigging around her shoulders and firmly placed in each hand. “How many sisters do you have?” he asked as he adjusted the straps.

“Eight.”

“Any brothers?”

“No.”

“Do all your sisters have the same rule about who can enter the barn during milkings?”

“I don’t want to talk about my family.”

“Of course you don’t.” He tugged on the straps around her. “Does that feel okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“The horses don’t like stopping, but if you pull back too hard, you’ll split their mouths.”

“Horses I know.”

“Okay, let’s get this glorious day under way.” He sounded sarcastic, and she ignored him.

Time seemed to drag as the sun moved across the sky, and the heat was more suffocating than the day before. Her body ached as if she’d been beaten.

They changed the worn-out horses for mules midmorning, and Sylvia passed Aaron a hunk of coffeecake. The mules proved so stubborn and frustrating to work with that Aaron traded them for a set of horses they’d used yesterday. They shared a lunch and then worked through the hottest hours of the day. By the time the sun flirted with the tree line, Sylvia’s legs shook with exhaustion, and her peripheral vision burned with brown spots.

“Whoa!” Aaron yelled. He wiped sweat from his brow and freed the blades of thick hay. He held his back as he slowly stood up straight. “It’s time to call it quits.”

“There’s at least forty more minutes of daylight.”

“We’re done for today. End of discussion!” He threw the pitchfork to the ground.

Part of her wanted to cheer, not just because he had insisted they quit, but also because he wasn’t afraid to say when enough was enough.

He loosened the horses and passed the reins of one to her. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Forget about it.”

“You still like farming?” he asked as he stepped into the lead position.

“The only thing I don’t like about farming is working with mules.”

His laughter echoed off the hills.

She trudged through the thick, uncut hay to get the canteens, lunch containers, and blanket. Just before reaching them, she tripped and fell, seeing snatches of images on her way to the ground—the trees, the ocean of ripe hay, a ladybug on a strand of dry grass, and finally the ground. Everything turned brown for a moment, and she fought to inhale, but she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Sylvia!” Aaron ran to the last place he’d seen her just before she seemed to disappear into the ground.

He found her lying facedown in the grass, and she didn’t appear to be breathing.

He gently sprawled his hands along her back. She moved, and relief made his knees go weak. “Sylvi.” It felt right to refer to her as Sylvi, to call this odd woman by a name that no one else used.

She tried to roll over, but he had to help her. The movement caused her to jerk air into her lungs. Apparently, the breath had been knocked out of her.

“You okay?”

Seconds ticked by as she lay there blinking, as if trying to focus her vision.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I … I don’t know.”

“Don’t try to get up.” He ran to the picnic basket and returned as fast as he could with a canteen of water.

He sat beside her and lifted her head to help her get a sip. “You really scared me. One moment I saw you marching across the field, and the next you were gone. I thought maybe you fell into an abandoned well, like you sometimes find on old farms. You know, the kind that farmers dug long ago and then boarded up when they went dry. The thought of them makes me shudder.”

She took another sip, then mumbled, “No more.”

He gulped down a drink, closed the canteen, and set it next to her.

Relieved that she seemed to be all right, he put a piece of hay in his mouth, trying to look relaxed and unperturbed. “I can’t do this stupid, overfertilized field by myself, you know.”

She stared at the evening sky with its streaks of pink and gold. “I really don’t like you.”

He chuckled. “Ya, back at you.” But he didn’t really feel that way. He wished she was more unlikable, but how could he not enjoy someone as sincere and focused as Sylvi, even with her oddities? “But you’re a good worker. Never seen better.”

She slowly raised herself to a sitting position. When she tried to stand, he got up and helped her. She wavered a bit, no doubt feeling the effects of a day of manual labor in soaring temps.

“Maybe you should stay put for a little longer.”

She rubbed her temples. “Not here. I’m bug food in this grass.” She teetered, and he grabbed her arm.

“Kumm.” He steadied her as they slowly walked back to the blanket. He helped her sit and passed her the water. “Did you really think you and Daed could have done all this alone?”

“I thought we could hire some help. He didn’t tell me how much debt there is. I knew money was tight, but it is for most farmers.”

He nudged the canteen, encouraging her to drink. “Was it tight on your farm?”

“Some years were really tough, but my grandfather’s father owned the farm outright. It’s been passed down and divided up for generations, but there hasn’t been a penny borrowed for decades. When milk prices drop and equipment prices go up, money is tighter, and we hire fewer workers, so the days are longer. During good years equipment is bought or repaired, we grow the herd, and we save up.”

“Your folks have the ideal situation.”

“You couldn’t convince my Daed that having nine daughters and no sons is ideal for a farmer.”

He doubted that losing six babies, having their only daughter die, and raising a son who’d been nothing but a disappointment was any better. He opened a container of fruit and offered it to her. “This’ll help.”

The sounds of evening grew as they ate a few grapes and waited for her strength to return. He didn’t feel antsy or annoyed sitting with her. Truth be told, he liked having an excuse to talk to her and almost regretted that he needed her to leave the farm.

He nudged the grapes toward her again. “How did you land here?”

“Your Daed put an ad in the paper, and I responded. Our fathers spoke on the phone a few times, and then the three of us met halfway between the two places. The men talked until my Daed felt sure I’d be safe, and I came home with Michael. But I paid a high price.”

“You mentioned that earlier. How?”

“In many ways my Daed feels the same about me coming to work this farm as your Daed does about you leaving home when you did.”

“Parents always think we’re the problem, which in my case is only true about ninety-eight percent of the time.”

She laughed. “Michael said you guys moved here from a farm in Ohio about eight years ago.”

“That we did.” He let his mind wander back over the years. “I was seventeen. Daed assured me time and again that this would be our promised land. Before we moved, night after night he talked about this place and had me totally sold on the idea.”

“Why’d they leave a farm in Ohio to move to Dry Lake?”

“If they didn’t tell you, I won’t.”

“Seriously?”

Irritation stirred within him. “You think that because they’ve told you every embarrassing thing about me, I’ll share their problems?”

“We all have embarrassing things. Your folks needed to talk, and I listened. Much of the time they reminisced about Elsie. And about how you hate this farm and how they found out that you drink—I mean, drank.”

“They’ll talk about it, but they refuse to say the word
addict
, let alone admit I am one.”

“Is that important?”

“I’d like them to understand at least one or two things about me. Real forgiveness would be nice too. Not that forced ‘I forgive you’ that Daed gave me while meaning the exact opposite. Isn’t that what family is about? Forgiving unconditionally?”

Sylvia’s forehead wrinkled, and she stared into the distance. He wondered what had happened in her family to cause her to leave home and attach herself so strongly to someone else’s parents.

When she turned back toward him, he saw tears in her eyes.

“You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Ya.” She swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I miss my family, that’s all. But part of the reason I’m here is that I don’t want to see … some of them, especially one sister.”

“That must’ve been some fight.”

“No one in my family even knows how to get here, so I accomplished my goal. I guess that means you and I are both a twisted array of faults.”

“I guess so, but unfortunately I still win by a long shot.”

She gave him a slight grin. “You know, you’re almost tolerable right now.”

“
Almost
being the key word.”

“Will I have to hurt myself again to see a repeat performance?”

Heat flushed his cheeks. “No.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Ya, if you get hurt again, I won’t be the least bit tolerable.”

She broke into laughter. “That was mean, Aaron Blank.”

“You wouldn’t want me to be too nice. You might go into shock or something.”

They had ten weeks of working together ahead of them, and it would make it easier if he could enjoy her company. But the issue that was most important to him—getting his parents to sell the farm—sat between them like an immovable boulder.

He picked up another piece of hay and chewed on it for a while before tossing it aside. “Do your sisters like farming too?”

“No, none of them. Beckie is married, so Daed now has a son-in-law working beside him.”

“Is she the one you argued with?”

Sylvia’s features melted into a pool of sadness. “Aaron, I know I started this conversation, but I don’t want to talk about that. Ever.”

“Sure. Okay.”

But they didn’t need to talk about it again. He now knew what to do. He’d write to her sister Beckie, sending a detailed map and inviting her to visit. Once Sylvia talked things out with her sister, she’d want to go home. Maybe not right away, but at least she’d be willing to help him get this place ready to sell. After she left, his Daed and Mamm would see the wisdom in moving and owning a shop with him. It was best for all of them. Even Sylvia.

All he needed was to find her home address in that mess of papers on his Daed’s desk.