The Haven (21 page)

Over the next few weeks, he alternated between reading the Old Testament—skipping over the genealogies and lengthy scoldings aimed at the Israelites—and stories about Jesus in the New Testament. He found himself continually surprised by what he had assumed about the Bible and what it actually contained. His appetite for Scripture was growing, and he started to seek out moments when he could read a passage and ponder it. It startled him how often those ancient words seemed uniquely customized to his life.

One afternoon, Amos asked Will to take the sheep to another fenced-in pasture to graze. Sheep were loud with their complaints, day and night, and Will grew frustrated trying to get all of them into the pasture. He chased down one black lamb and carried it over to its mother, bawling at him rudely from behind the pasture fence. A verse he had read that very morning popped into his head: “All we, like sheep, have gone astray.” Will settled the lamb next to its mother and looked up at the sky. “Okay, okay. You made your point. The Bible is still relevant. I got that.”

He heard a familiar
klak klak klak
sound and shielded his eyes to look for Adam. The tiercel was stooping—diving down to capture its lunch. While stooping, his body hyper-streamlined to achieve high speed, in complete control of the kill. Falcons have been clocked at over two hundred miles per hour. They’re the fastest animals on earth; three times faster than a cheetah. As soon as Adam caught his prey, midair, he would pull out of the dive. Karate in the air! The sight never failed to fill Will with awe and reverence—though lately he found that awe didn’t end at admiration for the bird but for its creator.

And on the heels of that thought came another out of the blue. Something inside Will cracked open. He suddenly had trouble breathing. In that moment, all the anger and resentment and frustration he felt melted into one emotion—regret.

He wished he could share the sight of Adam’s stoop with his dad. Will missed his dad.

Amos jerked the buggy shafts off of Cayenne so abruptly that the jumpy horse reared up on her hind feet. “Settle down!”

M.K. stroked Cayenne’s neck, watching her nostrils flare. “What’s got you in such a mood?”

Amos sighed. “Never you mind me.” He finished unbuckling the harness’s tracings and handed the reins to M.K. to lead the mare to a stall.

If the situation weren’t so serious, it might even be comical. Ira Smucker had quietly told Amos that he was going to ask Fern to marry him tonight. And what did Amos do about it? Nothing. Coward! How many times had he had an opportunity to speak to Fern, to express his feelings to her? Hundreds. And yet he said nothing, did nothing. He just watched another man swoop in and make off with the woman he desired, like Adam pursuing prey. Tonight, as Ira had picked Fern up to head to town for dinner, Amos simply stood there, smoldering like a pine log in a forgotten fire pit.

M.K. brought in a basket brimming with fresh eggs and put them in the kitchen sink. She had to scrub the chicken manure off the eggs, never a task she liked.

“Dad’s getting crankier than the handle on an ice cream churn,” M.K. said to Sadie. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. He snaps at me for the smallest thing.”

“Fern’s gone to town with Ira Smucker tonight, hasn’t she?” Sadie said. She had been cooking down a large pot full of plump wild strawberries to make jam. She was ladling the jam into clean jars, then setting them in a boiling hot water bath to seal the lids.

“Yes. They just left a few minutes ago.” A light dawned slowly in M.K.’s mind. “Do you . . . are you saying . . . you can’t be serious! Dad? Sweet on Fern? Our Fern? Stern Fern?” The thought was too much for her.

Sadie wheeled around from the pot and wagged a finger at her. “You stay out of it. They need to figure this out on their own. There are times to be curious and times to let things be.”

Suddenly the thin wail of a baby could be heard, and Sadie stopped the lecture, handed M.K. the wooden spoon, and ran upstairs.

M.K. stirred the jam, watching dark red splatters hit the pot wall. Fern? Fern and Ira Smucker? Fern and her dad? She couldn’t get her head around it.

W
ill was walking along the street that acted as a property line for Windmill Farm, replacing No Trespassing signs that had gotten knocked down in the thunderstorm last night. The wind was the worst part of the storm—branches were down all over the farm. He hammered a nail on a cockeyed sign and stepped back to straighten it.

“Hey!”

Will turned to see that schoolteacher approaching him from down the street. Will raised a hand in greeting. Gideon Smucker stopped, his spine stiffening enough to be noticeable from a hundred feet away. A smile curled Will’s lips. This should be interesting. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know how this blustering, tongue-tied man felt about Will—suspicious, jealous, threatened. All because Will was spending time with Sadie Lapp. A great deal of time with her. Probably more time than this schoolteacher had a clue about!

Sadie, the woman Will knew he could never have and yet—

No. He wouldn’t think he wanted her. She was a diversion, a spring fling, an excuse to spend a great deal of time at the farmhouse, to eat at the Lapp table and enjoy being a part of a healthy, happy family. After June 16, Sadie could renew her relationship with the schoolteacher, with Will’s blessing. Sort of.

Now a yard apart, Gid and Will eyed each other up and down, waiting to see who would speak first. If Will were a cartoonist, he would draw two raptors, one head up, one head down, neither willing to look each other in the eye because that would be considered an out-and-out threat.

Gid was taller than Will, and lankier. With those thick glasses, he reminded Will of Clark Kent, the alter ego of Superman. Bumbling, awkward, ill at ease, but good-hearted. Even Will couldn’t deny that. Then his insides tensed at the sight of Gid’s large, work-roughened hands. Those calluses would scratch Sadie’s smooth skin. Surely she wouldn’t let those hands touch her.

“I saw you. Early this morning. Talking to a man in a gray car.”

You could have heard a pin drop, a heart beat. A blue jay shrieked overhead, breaking the silence. Another screeched in response.

Will had been careless. The man in the gray car was Mr. Petosky. “I was out this morning, yes. I go out every day to make sure the bird-watchers are respecting the Lapps’ property lines.”

“He handed you something. I saw it.”

Will’s mouth went dry, and he couldn’t think what he should say. Mr. Petosky had given him the bands for the chicks that he had obtained for his breeding colony—the one that had been wiped out by the virus. But he hadn’t bothered to notify the government of that fact. Those bands were treated like gold—all bands were registered with the game commission’s office. With a dramatic flair, Mr. Petosky had counted the bands out, one by one, as he handed them over.

Will tried, probably too late, to defuse the situation. “You must be mistaken.”

“Something isn’t quite right.” Gid took a step closer to him and pointed a finger at his chest. “You’re up to something.” His words emerged roughly, as though each one was formed of grit. “Whatever it is . . . leave Sadie alone. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

The gloves were off and Will stepped closer. “Seems to me that you’ve done plenty of that yourself,” he snorted.

Gid looked as though he was about to explode. “Leave her be,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “She’s not a girl to be toyed with.”

“Gideon!”

Both Gid and Will spun around to face Sadie, staring at them with a shocked look on her face. They had been so focused on each other that they hadn’t noticed she was at the end of the driveway, getting the mail from the mailbox. How much had she heard?

She was indignant, but not at Will. “Gideon, my relationship with Will is none of your concern.”

Gid’s eyes flashed, hurt. “It’s my concern if he’s doing something wrong. And dragging you along with him.”

Sadie’s cheeks turned the color of berries. “Gid, calm down. Will and I are—” She hesitated.

Will held his breath in anticipation of her completed statement as to what he was to her.

“Friends,” Sadie finished.

Friends? Just . . . friends? A blast of disappointment shot through Will.

“And he’s not dragging me along anywhere.”

Gid held his fisted hands at his hips as though ready to strike at any moment. “Then why weren’t you at the gathering last weekend?” Gid demanded. “Mary Ruth was counting on your help with the girls’ alto section. And yesterday, why weren’t you at the workshop frolic at Rose Hill Farm? Bess was looking all over for you when her daughter was stung by a bee.”

Will knew the answer to those questions. On Sunday, he talked Sadie into going canoeing on Blue Lake Pond. And yesterday, she was heading out to pick wild strawberries in a secret patch near the woods and he offered to help her. They were having such a good time that they lost track of time and didn’t get back until the frolic was nearly over.

Gid glared at her. “What kind of friendship is that, Sadie—when it makes you forget about promises you’ve made to others?”

Sadie was livid. The way her lips looked at that moment—thin and tight—Will wanted to kiss them again, change their conformation to something much softer.

But Will thought it would be wise to take this opportunity to beat a hasty retreat. “I’ll just be on my way.” He took off up the driveway before either Sadie or Gid could say another word.

As Will loped toward the cottage, he weighed his options. Maybe he should try to forget about Sadie and concentrate on getting his problem solved by June 16. After all, Sadie had no place in his life outside of this farm, nor he in hers, and he needed to get a grip. Pursuing her the way he had been could bring trouble—he had already created animosity with Clark Kent. And Fern was definitely onto him. That woman scared Will. She watched him like a hawk whenever he was near Sadie, which was often. More and more often.

This was a great example of why he didn’t like to complicate his life with relationships. It was like walking on thin ice. You never knew when the ice was going to crack and you were going to fall in a hole. Trouble was brewing, and that was the last thing Will needed this spring.

Still, there was just
something
about Sadie. Maybe . . . he would worry about life after June 16 some other day. For now, he had found a girl who was worth the trouble.

Gid was outside chopping wood when the air began to fill with the smell of rain. Daylight was fading away and the wind was picking up, so he put the ax down and stacked the wood. Before he went inside, he sat on the fence, his head in his hands, berating himself. He was such a fool. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He whacked his hands on his knees so hard that he tipped forward, barely catching himself before he landed, face-first, in the freshly plowed soil. It would serve him right.

Sadie, his Sadie, was involved with another man. An English cowboy. He could see it in her eyes as he confronted her on the road—the way she became so flustered, so defensive.

It was his own fault.

He had bungled things so badly—flown off the handle when he never flew off the handle. He accused her of not keeping promises to her friends. He made her feel guilty because Bess couldn’t find her for her daughter’s bee sting. It might have been true, but it wasn’t as if Bess couldn’t manage a simple bee sting. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

He hadn’t trusted in the Lord to bring her back to him and had tried to compete for her attentions, her affections. And all he had done was push Sadie closer to the man who was winning her heart.

No wonder Sadie considered him to be untrustworthy. He was.

“God, how can I make things right?” he murmured. “How can I get Sadie to forgive me and trust me again if I behave this way?”

Crows screamed overhead, seeming to mock him with their harsh cawing.

Somewhere, in the deep creases of his mind—the folds where hopes and dreams were caught—he had believed that whatever was wrong between him and Sadie was reparable. When you loved someone, it didn’t seem possible to suddenly lose that bond.

“Anything wrong, son?” His father’s voice was gentle. “You look like you’re not feeling well.”

Gid snapped his head up. His father was standing a few feet from him with a worried look on his kind face. “I’m all right.” Another lie. He wasn’t all right. His head ached. His stomach ached. His heart ached.

“Sadie will come around. Give her time.” His father leaned on the top rail of the fence beside him.

“Not as long as Will Stoltz sticks around.” Gideon straightened up and looked his father in the eyes. People told him that they had the same blue eyes. His father’s were older, though, and crinkled at the edges.

“You know it goes back further than that, Gid.” His father’s mouth set in a stern line. “You jumped to an assumption about her that was wrong. I’m ashamed to say that I did too.”

“No, but I’ve—” He stopped before he said he’d learned his lesson. He had just proved again to Sadie that he didn’t trust her, that he didn’t think she had good judgment. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Gid pounded his fist on the rough planks of the fence. “Dad, what can I do? How do I win her back?”

Ira’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “You don’t. You just keep being the man you are.”

Gid stared at his father.

“If Sadie is as smart as I think she is, she’ll figure it out.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“Well, Gid, the way I see it, there are plenty of other fish in the lake.”

Maybe. But none like Sadie Lapp.

The sun was rising over the corn rows as Will brewed a pot of coffee and cleared a stack of papers off a chair to sit down at the kitchen table. He had to push a few things out of his way to set the coffee cup down too. He really should take time today to clean up after himself, he thought, looking around at the growing collection of dirty dishes in the sink. He had started to eat most of his meals right from the pan. It crossed his mind that cleaning up was a new thought. He was proud of himself!

Suddenly, the door to the cottage burst open. “HELLO!”

Will jumped slightly and spilled some of his coffee onto the table. Hank Lapp stepped into the cottage, carrying his rod-and-reel fishing pole. It looked like he’d been on the lake, or else was headed that way. He strode across the room and handed his rod to Will. Will had patiently untangled the mess of Hank’s line one afternoon, and ever since, Hank considered him the finest untangler east of the Mississippi. He was forever hunting Will out on the farm, handing him his rod to repair.

“Well, Hank, you’ve got a real bird’s nest here,” Will observed. “I’ll try, but I’m not sure I can fix this one.”

“DAGNABIT. I was afraid of that.” Hank sauntered over to the kitchen table, pulled things off a chair, sat right down across from Will, and eyed his cup of coffee.

“Here, take this. I haven’t had a sip.” Will pushed the cup on the table in front of him.

“Oh, no thanks. No, no. I didn’t come over here meaning for you to offer me food and drink.” Hank picked up the coffee cup and took a sip with a loud slurp.

It always amazed Will to see how much space Hank Lapp took up. It wasn’t just his Christopher Lloyd–like appearance: ragged white hair, leathery skin, one eye that looked at you and the other that didn’t. It was his presence. He had an outgoing, fun-loving nature and a window-rattling laugh. Whenever Hank found him on the farm, Will felt as if he needed to protect himself from the blinding brightness, the piercing loudness. He wanted to shout out: “Warning! Warning! Protect yourself! Get your sunglasses on! Put on your earplugs!”

Hank picked up a cereal box and looked at the cover. “I’m not stopping you from breakfast, am I?”

“No. Would you like some cereal? I don’t have milk.” Will didn’t have a refrigerator in the cottage, which considerably limited his meal choices—just one of the many reasons he happened upon the farmhouse at mealtimes.

“No milk? Ah well.” He reached in the box to grab a handful, as he started talking about a recent fishing trip with Edith Fisher. “I told you about it, didn’t I?”

Will was always a little uncertain of how to respond to that question. He couldn’t begin to keep straight all the tall tales Hank wove into his fishing stories. Fishermen, in Will’s point of view, were pretty much the same everywhere—they talked, they fished, and they talked about fish. It’s one of those universal rules.