The Harvest of Grace (9 page)

“Am I supposed to be honored you’ve returned?” his Daed asked.

“No. But I’d be honored if you’d hear me out.”

His Daed looked at him directly for the first time. “Not on the Lord’s Day.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

Daed shrugged. “You will ask for forgiveness, and I will have no choice but to give it. But I can’t imagine that you have anything else to say that I’ll find useful.”

His mother set a cup of coffee in front of Aaron and trailed her hand across his shoulders before taking her seat. It wasn’t much in the way of affection, but it was better than her reaction a few minutes ago.

They bowed for the silent prayer. Not a word was spoken while they ate, not even an invitation for Aaron to join them for church. Did they not want the community to know he’d returned?

After eating very little, Daed rose. “I’ll get the rig.”

Mamm put the dishes in the sink and wiped off the table. That’s all the cleaning the kitchen would get on a Sunday. “There’s leftovers in the refrigerator for your lunch. It’s not much.”

“It’ll be plenty.”

A weak smile crossed her lips. “If you were to put on Sunday clothes and get in the buggy, he wouldn’t throw you out.”

“Denki, Mamm. But it’d be best if I wait until next time.” Aaron wasn’t ready to face everyone just yet.

She left the house, and Aaron sat back in his chair. The sounds of the horse and buggy going down the long driveway slowly faded.

“Home sweet home.” He mumbled the words sarcastically, but he’d known coming back would be tough. He’d embarrassed his parents deeply and hurt them twice as much.

He intertwined his fingers, trying to find words to pray for them and himself, but he only heard the echo of his parents’ silence.

A clanging sound came from the barn, drawing him to the window. His knee ached where that woman had hit him with his hammer.

About half the herd stood outside the milking parlor, banging their heads on the metal gate, wanting in. Surely his dad and the girl had milked the cows before church. Was that a person’s shadow in the barn? He hustled out the door, trying to ignore the twinge in his knee.

Once inside the barn, he noticed the line of cows in the milking stalls.

The woman from last night stood beside a cow, humming. Who hummed while milking?

Her black hair was loosely braided and hanging down one shoulder, but she wore a prayer Kapp. She couldn’t be Amish. No way. She had on men’s pants, a shirt, and suspenders—all of it looked like his clothes from when he was a scrawny teen. The pant legs stopped an inch or two above her ankles. He guessed she was his age. He had a hundred questions for her, and he intended to ask every one of them before leaving the barn.

She spotted him and nodded. “Aaron.” Her smooth tone held a degree of politeness.

“I heard a racket.”

“It’s just me and the cows.”

“And you are?”

She paused. “Oh. I assumed Michael had told you.” She wiped her hand down a pant leg. “I’m Sylvia.”

He shook her hand, caught off balance by her effort to be nice.

“You agreed last night not to trespass in the barn when I’m working, remember?”

“Of course I remember. I wasn’t drunk.”

Her eyebrows rose. “If you say so.”

“I say so.” He took the hose and rinsed the next cow’s udder.

She tucked loose hair behind her ear. “I was hoping you and I wouldn’t have to argue anymore.” Her calm manner made her seem like a different person from the one he’d argued with last night.

“I know how you feel. You made that clear.” But he wanted answers. The best approach was probably to avoid being too personal too quickly, so he’d start out talking to her about the obvious thing—milking cows by herself on a Sunday morning. “Daed went to church this morning, so I guess Sundays are your day to milk alone.”

She got the milk flowing with little effort. After dipping the cow’s teats in the iodine solution and wiping them off, she attached the milkers. “
Alone
is the key word.”

He’d worked by himself on Sundays a hundred times in order to avoid attending church, and he wondered if that was her reason too. “Nope.
Sunday
is the key word.”

She rubbed her forehead, probably trying to figure out how to get rid of him.

He adjusted the pressure on the nozzle. “Daed was strong enough today to help milk cows. The two of you could have been done in plenty of time for church, but instead you’re here, and he’s gone.”

The taut lines in her face told him a couple of things. One, he was right about
Sunday
being the key word. Two, she was a fairly easy read. He wasn’t particularly good at reading people, at least he didn’t think so, but this woman spoke loudly without saying a word.

“Look, I know every evasion tactic when it comes to avoiding church. You don’t want to go? No one gets that more than I do. But I’m not leaving you with this herd to milk by yourself. No one has to know I helped. When we’re done, you can go have an uninterrupted bubble bath.”

She shook her head. “Can’t you just respect my wishes?”

“Not today.” He went down the line, preparing each cow. When his father’s arthritis kicked up, Aaron had been expected to run the farm without anyone’s help. His Daed shouldn’t ask that of someone outside the family, and Aaron wouldn’t allow it.

He pointed at her outfit. “Are you Amish? Or did you borrow that prayer Kapp like you borrowed my old clothes?”

“I was raised Amish, just like you. Much to my parents’ disappointment, I haven’t joined the faith.”

“I get that. So, Sylvia, since we’ve established that you’re Amish and that you avoid attending church, how many visits have you received from the local church leaders?”

“A few.”

“Only a few?”

“Preacher Alvin told me about a woman named Cara that the church leaders have been dealing with. They feel they handled her situation too strictly and were unfair to her, so I’m reaping the benefits.”

They worked side by side for a good fifteen minutes in complete silence. She refilled the troughs with feed, getting ready for the next group. “Isn’t there somewhere else you’d rather be?”

He’d go see Frani later today and talk to her about trying to get clean. He figured he’d need to repeat that conversation numerous times before she began to hear him. But even if she was up, she’d have a monstrous hangover.

“Nope.”

“Why come back now?”

He paused, unsure what to say. He couldn’t discuss his plan until he’d revealed it to his parents, and they weren’t ready to hear it yet. He shrugged. “It’s home.”

She stopped and stared at him. “You’re here to stay?”

“It’s complicated. I just … Actually, I’m not sure it concerns you.”

“You’re right. It was rude of me to ask.”

He couldn’t figure her out. The agitation between them was like two male cats squaring off, yet she spoke softly and seemed determined to be nice.

“Tell me about yourself. I’ve never heard of a woman running part of a farm on her own.”

“Me either.”

“But.” He elongated the word.

“Your Daed needed help, and I needed the work.”

“I see.”

“If you insist on staying in the barn against my wishes, I’d appreciate it if we could work without talking.”

“Oh, come on. I’m not asking about your love life.”

She bristled. He’d obviously hit a nerve. His conscience kicked him. He shouldn’t be prying into her personal life. But goading people into disliking him came easy. He’d used it for years to keep up his defenses.

“Just explain to me why a young, single woman is handling a dairy herd.”

Her hand moved gently down the cow’s side. “Amish wives and daughters help run farms all the time. Is it that much of a stretch for me to work on one that doesn’t belong to my parents or husband?”

“An Amish feminist. I bet that goes over well with the menfolk.”

Her brows furrowed, and he saw innocence reflected in her eyes. “An Amish what?”

“Never mind. So where’s your family?”

“Path Valley.”

“Where’s that?”

“Two hours northwest of here by carriage.”

“That’s quite a ways.”

“I … I think it’s far enough.”

Was that fear in her voice? The girl he met last night didn’t seem prone to being afraid. “So what’s his name?”

After a sigh she picked up one of the buckets and headed for the milk house.

Instead of badgering her with questions, he should’ve been emptying those heavy buckets. He moved toward her, reaching for the sealed bucket.

“I’m fine.”

“Please.”

She stopped and let the bucket thud onto the ground.

Aaron tried to suppress his smile.

Her face flushed. “Please just get out. What is wrong with men your age? Is it impossible to respect the wishes of a female?”

“Maybe your wishes lack good sense.”

She closed her eyes for several long seconds. When she opened them, she picked up a half-empty bucket and its claw milker, went to the next cow, and began humming.

He knew he was acting like a jerk, and he couldn’t explain why he was putting so much effort into irritating her. This wasn’t who he was. Not really, and certainly not when sober. That question circled his mind as he took two full buckets into the milk house, removed the lids, and dumped the contents into the bulk tank.

With empty buckets in hand, he reentered the milking parlor. Although he didn’t spot her immediately, he followed the sound of her humming and found her on a milking stool in the tenth stall.

He started to apologize several times, but he wasn’t able to say the words. He sighed and picked up another full bucket to take to the milk house.

“It’s obvious that you don’t want to be here.” She glanced up at him from her milking stool. “Perhaps next time you can follow that instinct and avoid coming into my barn.”

Her barn?

He paused, thinking of what he knew about her and had seen in her eyes and actions since the moment he’d found her in the cabin. Last night he’d thought his father had hired only a girl when this place needed a team. There was just one of her, but she had fearless grit and determination, both of which would make his task harder.

But he’d succeed. He had no choice.

No single individual had enough strength to make this place profitable. She’d grow weary of trying or fall in love at some point, marry, and move off. It was inevitable. But he didn’t have time to wait for either of those scenarios.

He needed his parents to open their eyes about the farm’s condition—and the changes to his character. And his best chance of getting them to agree to his plan was to get Sylvia to quit and go back home.

But how?

Sylvia walked to the creek behind her cabin. Loneliness weighed heavier on Sundays. Only work that was absolutely necessary was allowed on a Sabbath, which meant she could milk the herd and nothing else. All those unoccupied hours gave her time to really miss her sisters, especially Ruth.

Sunlight sparkled off the murky water. The cows were probably upstream, wading in the creek to cool off. The temperature had to be nearing the nineties, and it was only early June. The almanac said this summer would be unusually hot and dry, which would take a hard toll on livestock and crops.

She needed to be working—cutting hay, scrubbing the milk house and parlor for inspection, and tending to the cows’ hoofs and udders, for starters. Michael said the farm had a lot of debt, but if she kept her nose to the grindstone, this place was bound to become profitable soon. He hadn’t shared the financials with her, but it couldn’t be that bad.

Hearing the sound of crunching gravel, she walked to a clearing to catch a glimpse of its source.

Aaron Blank was finally leaving the house.

She’d like to know why he’d come home. Michael had told her that Aaron cared nothing for dairy farming, so he hadn’t come back to work.

With him gone for a while, she could visit with Michael and Dora and enjoy the kind of Sundays she’d had since arriving here. She went to the old homestead and knocked lightly as she stepped inside. No one greeted her.

That wasn’t normal. She went into the living room. Michael sat on the couch, staring out a window. Dora was in her rocker, holding a book, but she wasn’t reading.

“Hello?” Sylvia whispered.

Michael turned to her with a forced smile. “I’ve been wondering where you were.”

He didn’t sound like himself.

“
Kumm rei
, Sylvia. We could use a bit of cheering up.” Dora lifted her book. “I can’t get enough light to be able to see.”

“And you can’t find your glasses, right?” Sylvia looked around, trying to spot them. She snatched them off the top shelf of a bookcase and passed them to Dora. “Now, who do you think put them way up there?” She eyed Michael.

He smiled again, this time a real smile. “I look better to her when she can’t find those things.”

Dora put on her glasses and began reading.

Sylvia hadn’t seen the Blanks look this sad in months. When she’d arrived, neither Dora nor Michael had any words left in them. They’d been blessed with only two children. Their daughter, Elsie, had died eight months earlier in a terrible accident, and their son, Aaron, had left without a word three months later and entered rehab.