The Keeper (13 page)

Rome went back inside and found Amos at his desk in the living room. “The cherries are in full bloom, just like you said. The peaches are going to be blossoming out in a week or two, and plum and apricot buds are starting to swell. I’m concerned about the weeds in the orchards, though. Too many dandelions blooming. The bees will forage the pollen from the dandelions instead of those trees. It’s the pears I’m most worried about. You know that pears need more bees than other fruit flowers.”

“Why’s that?” Fern said. She brought in two cups of coffee and handed one to Rome.

“Thank you, Fern.” Rome looked her right in the eyes. He still wasn’t sure how she ended up at Windmill Farm, but she wasn’t pestering him with questions or demands to return to Ohio the way he thought she might. He felt a grudging respect grow for her. Maybe it was true—that she just wanted to check up on him. If so, check away! He had nothing to hide, because he had nothing. “Pear flowers produce only a small amount of nectar, which is low in sugar.”

Amos looked troubled. “I thought I told Menno to keep the orchards mowed.”

“He needs directing,” Fern said. “He can’t think of those things on his own, especially when he’s distracted by those pups.” She turned to Rome. “I’ll be sure he gets out there today.”

It was strange and yet comforting to Rome to see how Fern fussed over each member of the Lapp family. In a short period, she seemed to have a sense of each person’s strengths and weaknesses. How had she done it so quickly? “The hives are out there, so Menno needs to wear light-colored clothing,” Rome told her. “Both shirt and pants. If he doesn’t have light-colored pants, he can borrow a pair of mine. Bees are soothed by lighter colors.” He turned back to Amos. “I don’t want Sadie or M.K. out in those orchards for a while. While bees are getting accustomed to a new area, that’s when they’re most dangerous.”

“Fern tells me you’re staying out at the old cottage. That’s good news. Until I’m back on my feet, I’m grateful for every pair of extra hands.”

“I’m staying at the cottage for that very reason, Amos. To see if I could help. Can I help?”

Amos nodded. “I won’t refuse you.”

“Better not,” Fern added. “Alle Bissel helft, wie die alt Fraa gsaat hot, wie sie in der See gschpaut hot.”
Every little helps, as the old woman said when she spat in the sea.

Amos heaved a ponderous sigh. “Geblauder fillt der Bauch net.”
Talking won’t fill the belly.

“Oh no! My muffins are in the oven!” Fern sailed to the kitchen.

Rome waited until Fern was out of earshot. “Amos, I thought I saw some bear scat in one of the orchards.” When he saw the alarmed look on Amos’s face, he waved it off. “Never mind. I might have been mistaken. Don’t worry yourself about it.”

Rome wasn’t mistaken, though. He had seen quite a bit of evidence that a bear and her cub had passed through Windmill Farm. Broken branches, scat, the remains of a small animal. The bees weren’t the only reason he wanted the girls to stay out of the orchards. Brown bears were common in Pennsylvania, and under normal conditions, they didn’t engage with humans. But these weren’t normal conditions. After two years of a severe drought, he knew wild life grew even wilder. Especially when a mother bear was trying to forage for food for her hungry cub. He was worried enough that he decided to use a solar-powered electric bear fence—three strands of wire fenced around the hive, connected to insulated posts. A curious bear would get a shock on its nose and that would be enough to send it packing.

Bears were a beehive’s biggest natural enemy. They could devastate a hive—tip it over, tear it apart, chew the comb, carry off parts. It wasn’t just the honey they were after—they needed a high protein diet and bee larvae fit the bill.

He heard the creak of Fern’s bedroom door and thought he’d slip out while Fern wasn’t in the kitchen. As he left Amos and walked to the kitchen door, Fern cut him off at the door. She handed him a manila envelope, fat with letters. “Here. You’ve got a decision to make. It’s time.”

Julia had an idea. If Rome offered to help out this summer, why not take him up on that offer? Regardless of his shortcomings, and there were many, he was an able-bodied male and the price was right: free. She actually felt a small tweak of gratitude for Fern for finding a way to keep Rome beholden to them for the summer by setting him up in the old cottage.

In the greenhouse, she grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil and started writing. She had to hurry. She kept one eye on the house, waiting to catch Rome after he finished talking to her father. When she heard the squeak of the kitchen door, she rushed out of the greenhouse and across the lawn. “Rome!”

He stopped when he saw her running toward him. Lulu, who had been roaming around the yard sniffing for squirrels, bounded over to him, her red ball in her mouth. Rome took the slimy thing and tossed it across the lawn.

When Julia reached him, she drew herself up to her fullest height. Roman Troyer was a tall man and could be intimidating, but she wouldn’t let him have the upper hand. “I always think it’s better to clear up things right from the beginning, don’t you agree?”

He looked amused. “We’re clear enough for now.”

“I have a list.” She thrust the list out in front of him. It was three pages long, filled with undone work to do around Windmill Farm. Fences to mend, hay to be cut, leaky barn roof to be patched, a window to be replaced. She hadn’t even finished the list, but it was a start.

Rome studied the list intently, page after page. “Fine. I’ll have to squeeze the tasks around my bees, but I’ll get to them.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “There’s more. I didn’t finish.”

“Fine.” He waited patiently.

“I’d like all of those jobs done before you disappear . . . wherever it is you disappear.”

“Fine.”

That was it? Just . . . fine? She felt a little disappointed. She expected him to be taken aback, to start making noises about the need to move on. “Well, then, you’d better get started.” She brushed past him to return to the greenhouse. She wanted to add more things to the list.
This list will never end!
she decided with a catlike smile. One way or another, the Bee Man would move on.

Rome watched Julia march back to the greenhouse. Despite her order-giving, he found himself intrigued by her. As she pushed the list—three pages long!—into his face, her little chin shot up, her shoulder levered back, and those full lips set in a stubborn line. He pretended to study the list just so he wouldn’t laugh at her feigned boldness. Then she pushed past him, nearly knocking him over as she swept by, and his amusement changed to fascination.

At that moment, Rome’s enthrallment with Julia Lapp was official.
Boom!
A blow to the heart. She had a way about her that riled him right down to his toes.

This bee season might just turn out to be more fun than he’d had in a long time.

At his cottage, Rome sat at the kitchen table with the manila envelope. He tore the first postmarked envelope open, dated over a year ago, and read the letter.

Dear Mr. Troyer,

We haven’t met, but I would like to make you an offer to buy your farm in Fredericksburg, Ohio. I’m prepared to offer you $5,000 per acre—as is. No improvements necessary. A simple, clean transaction.

Roman (may I call you Roman?), I hope you’ll accept my offer. I think you’ll agree it’s a pretty good deal. You can contact me at P.O. Box 489 in Fredericksburg.

Waiting to hear,
R.W.

Then Rome read the next letter, and the next. They were all the same. The only change was that the purchase price kept going up. An offer to buy the farm out from under Rome’s feet? For twice the going price for land? From a mystery man named R.W. Outrageous! Insulting.

Intriguing.

It was a few weeks later and Julia’s first tomatoes—grown in the greenhouse—were ready for picking. She had a way with tomatoes, which she trained way up high on stakes. They were big monster beefsteaks, big as a softball. You could make a meal out of them.

One night Fern said, “Mary Kate, skin up the road to Annie’s house and give her this box of tomatoes.”

“I’d rather not,” M.K. said. “Annie’s grandfather is mean. And it’s getting dark. Too scary. I’ll get lost and eaten by that bear that’s prowling around.”

“You could scare off any bear,” Fern said, holding out the box to M.K.

“That’s not true. Edith Fisher said she’s sure she’s heard that brown bear and her cub prowling around her hatchery, helping itself to a hen or two. More than twice! She said she doesn’t go anywhere without a shotgun. It’s true too. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. She walks around everywhere with it in the crook of her arm.”

“That is ridiculous,” Fern said.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Menno said, grinning ear to ear.

M.K. found a Kerr quart jar and punched holes in the lid. “For lightning bugs,” she told Menno. “In case we need to see our way home.” She waved the jar in front of her. “I call it an Amish flashlight.”

Menno rolled that over a few times before letting out a “Haw!”

M.K. had only been to Annie’s house once or twice before. It was the sorriest excuse for a farmhouse that she had ever seen. Paint peeling off the tired-looking clapboards. The porch roof sagged on one side. One puff of wind might blow it over. There were no flowers bordering the house. Only the barn looked slightly cared for—painted a dark red color. A dim light shone from one downstairs window. Nobody seemed to be around when they went up on the porch to leave the tomatoes.

“HEY, BOY! WHAT BUSINESS HAVE YOU GOT HERE?” A voice sailed out of a downstairs window.

Every hair on M.K.’s head stood up.

“I SAY WHAT BUSINESS HAVE YOU GOT ON MY PORCH?”

M.K. walked a few feet to see a wispy-haired man with a long scraggly beard peering at her through a grimy windowpane. Annie’s grandfather.

“Tomatoes. I mean, TOMATOES!” She held one up for proof and set the box on the floor. “THEY’RE FOR YOU AND ANNIE.”

The man turned his glare toward Menno. “I RECOGNIZE YOU. ARE YOU THE SAME BOY WHO THREW EGGS AT MY BUGGY WINDSHIELD?”