The Harvest of Grace (31 page)

“Some place in Baltimore that Mom knows about and trusts. My parents said if I come home clean, I can move back in. Like I’m looking forward to that. But if you can stand it, I can. I might even go back to school.” Her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and looked at it. “It’s Mom. I told her I’d just be a minute.” She hit a button that made it stop ringing and shoved it into her pocket. “I gotta go. I don’t suppose you got a number where I can reach you?”

“No. But you won’t be allowed to call anybody for a while anyway. You can write me.”

She tilted her head. “Where? Aren’t you selling this place and moving?”

“Well, yeah, but not for at least a couple of weeks, maybe four.” It struck him that his time was running out. But more than that, he wasn’t in a hurry to get off this land and move to Owl’s Perch. “Write to me here. And then I’ll send you my new address.”

“I don’t want to lose touch.”

“Then don’t. The farthest I’m going is no distance by car.”

“I don’t understand, Aaron. Why did you try so hard to get me to go for help?”

He shrugged. “I should’ve heard you years ago when you drank the night away but kept talking about getting sober. You wanted it long before I did. And this has sort of been like reaching into that part of my life and grabbing hold of one redeemable thing.”

“Aw.” She hugged him. “That was really sweet.”

He patted her back and stepped away. Hugging her was like embracing a cousin. A small scrunch was plenty.

She smiled. “I won’t ever forget what you’ve done for me over the last couple of months—yakking at me about God and my future. It took someone who’s been right here, someone who knew the real me and still believed I had a fighting chance, to get me this far.”

“It’s not near far enough.”

“I know. But it’s a start.” She tugged on his shirt before hopping into her car. “See ya.”

He waved as she drove off, glad she’d chosen to follow the once-buried hope of getting and staying sober. They might write a few letters here and there. Maybe they’d see each other a couple of times a year, but other than the days they’d spent drinking, they had little in common.

Longing for time with a woman he did connect with, he wondered if Sylvi might go with him to Shippensburg to get an ice cream. It was a long shot, and he couldn’t say it was a particularly wise idea for them to spend more time together, but he didn’t care. He was going to ask anyway, right after he showered and shaved.

But whether she agreed to go or not, he’d tell her some of the new farming ideas that were forming in his head.

Annoyed and irritable, Sylvia soaked her aching body in the bubble bath. She’d scrubbed the milking parlor and tank room for hours, getting ready for tomorrow’s inspection. For what? To give the place a little more value when it came time to sell it?

Her usual way of ridding herself of frustrations wasn’t working, so she got out of the tub, dried off, and dressed. It was time to own up to the facts. Aaron had come home with a plan, and he was slowly accomplishing it. Michael’s defenses and anger continued to fade. Not that he’d admit it openly, but she saw subtle changes in him—the look of pleasure on his face instead of resentment whenever Aaron came to the table.

What really had her in a foul mood was seeing Aaron all cozy with Frani out in the driveway. And Sylvia had volunteered to let the woman live with her! She was such an idiot. He clearly wanted a different kind of life—one that didn’t involve a woman who sometimes smelled of Holsteins. She seemed to care only for men who wanted something or
someone
else. Did all men have to connect with women on an intimate level behind other women’s backs?

Maybe some food would make her feel less grumpy. She wandered into the kitchen and looked through her mostly barren cupboards.

Someone tapped on her screen door, and she turned to see Aaron. He held a large manila envelope in his hand, and his smile stirred fresh irritation. She had no interest in hearing about other ways to make the farm more valuable when he put it up for sale.

“Sylvi, I have something to show you.”

She pulled a jar of peanut butter out of the cabinet. “Great.”

He stepped inside. “Is something wrong? I mean, other than the bad news we got about the fence?”

“No.” It was a lie, but how could she tell him the truth?

Aaron set the envelope on the small kitchen island and sat on a barstool. “I think I understood you better when you threw that hammer at me.”

She opened the jar of peanut butter and grabbed a knife. “So, does Frani need to move in here?”

He leaned his forearms against the island. “Actually, she doesn’t.”

She faced the counter, her back to him, determined not to let him see any sign of the swell of relief moving through her. “Good. I’m sure having her own place will make your relationship with her easier.”

He sighed. “I’ve already explained my connection to Frani.” He tapped the manila envelope. “Look, I brought you some information that may be useful in your quest to keep this farm. I thought maybe we could talk about it. But I guess you’re not in the mood.”

He stood and headed for the door, and it thudded behind him.

Until she saw him with Frani, she’d thought he was totally honest with her. So why did their hug make her think otherwise? Her stomach turned.
Jealousy
. Unwarranted and unfair to him.

“Aaron, wait.” She hurried out the door and tried to catch him as he strode up the lane, but her bare feet slowed her. “Aaron, please.”

He turned, and she gingerly made her way to him on the gravel.

When she looked into his eyes, she knew a simple apology wasn’t enough. “I saw you and Frani smiling and hugging, and I.” She shook her head. “You still frustrate me, with your defenses and contradictions. But …”

His anger faded, and he sighed. “It’s not like that between Frani and me. Sylvi, think about it. Have I done anything that says I’m in a relationship with Frani?”

She crossed her arms and held herself tight. It was time to come clean with him. “When Elam asked me to marry him and then asked someone else so soon afterward, I realized he must’ve shared moments with her while courting me. I had no idea, and I felt like a fool not to have known.”

“Moments?”

“I’m sure you feel it when we have a moment—when we share a laugh or talk about something meaningful, and our friendship grows stronger.” Her face flushed.

“I like our moments.”

“I do too. But I won’t be so foolish again, having them with someone I shouldn’t.” She scooted dirt around with her bare toe. “I’ve been on the other side of that fence too. I was close to the woman Elam married, and because of the moments he and I shouldn’t have shared, I ended up betraying her.”

Aaron brushed strands of loose hair out of her face. “And yourself.”

Tears filled her eyes.

“You know forgiveness from God is there for the asking.”

“I did ask. Over and over until I gave up.”

“If you asked, He forgave you. Walking it out until you feel that forgiveness inside you—that’s often a different issue. But you have to accept that He forgave you. It’s a done deal.”

Her tears refused to stay at bay. She wanted so much to believe that.

“You seem to be carrying enough guilt for you and Elam both. Some of this belongs to him, you know. I mean, you didn’t chase him down and hogtie him, did you?”

She couldn’t help but chuckle. His kindness and humor warmed her.

“Frani came to say good-bye because she’s going into rehab at some place in Baltimore. The night I returned home, I saw her headed for this cabin, and I figured God had put her in my path for a reason. I now see that I needed her too. As I talked to her, I got fresh perspectives on all the reasons sobriety is so important. When her rebellion reared its head, I understood more of my own. And as it turned out, it was sort of like getting to reach into the past and salvage someone else’s life.” He gently brushed a strand of wet hair from her face, looking at her as if he truly cared. “She and I both needed that. But she’s nothing else to me.”

“I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you. It’s just—I can’t figure out how I feel about you.”

He gazed down at her. “I’m confused about how I feel too. Seems all we really know is how we feel about this homestead.”

She laughed. “It’s a stressful mess on the Blank farm, isn’t it?”

“Uh, ya.”

She swiped at her wet cheeks. “So you brought me hopeful news, and I dumped my baggage on you.”

He flexed his biceps, which looked rock solid under his short-sleeved shirt. “I can carry it.” He lowered his arm. “You were carrying most of my load before I ever showed up.”

Looking him in the eyes, she saw a true friend standing in front of her. She knew that much. “You’re doing that
almost tolerable
thing again.”

He shrugged. “Blanks aren’t tolerable. We’re difficult. You don’t have that figured out yet?”

“Well, you’re all rather confusing. I’ve got that much clear. I mean, you care about your parents, and they love you, but no one can admit that. You stormed back here, fuming about dumping the farm and trying to corner
and
bribe your parents to go with you, but you haven’t sat down and told them why it’s so important to you.”

“You want me to confess that I think they’re not capable of knowing what’s best for them or of accomplishing anything even if they did know?” His half smile and tone signaled his dry sense of humor at play.

“I want you to admit the truth to yourself and them—that you feel deeply and you rarely know what to do with it. Your parents are the same way, Aaron. And each of you is hiding behind the walls you’ve built.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but you’re seeing this all wrong. They care deeply about
you
, and I’m glad for you and them, but that’s where their affections end, Sylvi.”

He wasn’t convinced that they were invested in him, but he was on the farm to do the right thing, and she admired that loyalty in him. It was past time that someone told him they cared, but she had little proof to back up her statements.

“Michael put the want ad for farm help in the paper last September,” she said.

Disbelief registered on his face. “In September?” He mulled that over. “That was even before Elsie died.”

His forehead remained tight as he stared at her, processing what she’d said. That meant Michael had known Aaron was struggling with the work and had tried to find a solution. It was a tiny peek inside the usually locked door of Michael’s heart.

Aaron rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. My dream of coming here began then, but my Daed wouldn’t hear of it.”

“You have scary dreams, Sylvi.”

She laughed. “You never once considered the freedom to farm this land and work with this herd a worthy goal?”

“Ya, actually I did, but that was a long time ago. A better question is, why didn’t Daed tell me he was trying to get help? Why keep that a secret?”

She shrugged. “Remember your first Sunday home when you refused to leave the barn? You were angry that your Daed would let me work on the Sabbath by myself, but you couldn’t see that Michael was purposefully giving me the freedom I’d asked for. Later you insisted I have Sundays off, as a break, and even did your part in helping me make friends. That’s not your Daed’s way. If I want to be left alone, that’s what he’s going to give. It doesn’t mean he’s heartless. For him, it means the opposite. You’re all each other has, and I can’t understand why you let your thoughts and feelings push you away from each other rather than drawing you closer.”

A shadow passed over Aaron’s face, and she wondered if she’d said too much.

She gestured toward the porch. “Care to sit?”

He nodded, and they sat on the steps.

Sylvia drew a deep breath. “Maybe I’m out of line to tell you this, but I’ve been holding my piece, giving your parents and you time to open up on your own.”

“Not so sure the earth will last that long.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle when Aaron turned on his parched humor; it wasn’t always what he said but the way he said it that made her laugh. “You may be right about that. But Jesus said, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’ And clearly there’s a lot of inner poverty between you and your folks. Dirt-poor, honestly.”

“Ya, I guess so. I always thought we fit the part in the Sermon on the Mount about those who mourn and hoped we’d find comfort, but that hasn’t worked out so well either.”

“Mourning? Because your sister died?”

He sighed, gazing down the narrow footpath that led from the cabin. “Throughout their marriage my parents lost six newborns, which is why they had only two children … and now just one. Instead of the losses drawing our family closer, each one scattered us to the wind, emotionally.”

Sylvia studied his handsome face, realizing anew how deep his thoughts ran and seeing the magnitude of the mismanaged feelings that had pulled him toward drinking. “Michael and Dora are very tenderhearted people, even with thick walls guarding that tenderness. They’re sensitive, much like you. Maybe Elsie was too. I don’t know, but it seems that for gentle people such losses here on earth are even harder to bear.”