The Winnowing Season (24 page)

Phoebe slid into her housecoat while peering into the adjoining room where the children slept.

Rhoda could still hear Jacob’s confessing his sin. What was she supposed to say to him?

“I need to tell Steven that I’m going away for the day. I’ll miss church.”

Phoebe nodded and slipped from the room, perhaps to stay out of the argument that might ensue.

Rhoda nudged her sleeping brother’s shoulder. “Steven.” He didn’t move, and she shook him harder. “Steven.”

He moaned. “I’m up.” He drew a deep breath without opening his eyes. “What time is it?”

“About four.” When he didn’t budge, Rhoda shook him again. “Wake up.”

He gasped as if she hadn’t already roused him. “Rhoda?”

“Ya. I’m taking my Bible and going for a long walk. I need some time alone, so don’t send out a search party when I’m not home in time for church. Okay?”

“No, it’s not okay.” He sat upright, scratching his shoulder through his black flannel pajamas. “You can’t miss church.”

She would have merely left a note, but she knew her brother, and he would have sent people in all directions looking for her—not out of concern but to teach her that she couldn’t simply decide not to attend church.

“Please, Steven. I
need
time alone.” She used to spend long days by herself in her fruit garden and in her cellar kitchen. She needed that time more than most people, and since joining Kings’ Orchard last summer, she had precious little of it.

He shook his head. “Not during church. You can have the afternoon.”

She couldn’t look into Jacob’s eyes this morning—not at breakfast or during church or during the after-service meal. She couldn’t.

Jacob’s voice, thick with remorse and sorrow, echoed inside her. Every memory of his eyes brimming with tears stole her next breath. Seven hours later all she could feel was turmoil. Who was he? If he glanced at her this morning, what he’d see would pierce him. She knew nothing to say to him. Not yet.

Her father understood her need to be alone, especially when living in a home with several families. She thrived on seclusion, especially when she needed to think.

“Then call Daed and ask him.”

Steven struck a match and held it to the wick of the bedside candle. “He’s not here. I’ve said my piece.”

“And I’m saying mine. You will excuse me from church without allowing others to search for me.”

He glared at her from the side of his bed, but as the moments turned into a minute and more, his eyes softened. He put his hand on her arm. “You be home before dark. Daed would agree with me on that.”

He was right, but just knowing she had a whole day to herself caused warm peace to wash over her. God would direct her thoughts, and she’d return knowing what to say to Jacob. She was sure of that. “Denki.”

“Rhodes, I haven’t wanted to say anything, and I expected there to be some problems with the Kings as we learn to live and work together, but I’m struggling to keep my mouth shut. I’m still not sure what to think or say about Jacob disappearing before the move and not showing up for days. He abandoned the three women he was supposed to guide and protect so he could help an old Englisch friend? When I arrived here and realized he wasn’t with you all, I lost a lot of respect for him. Then last night it seemed to rattle him when you and Landon mentioned an interviewer coming here. Am I right?”

“You are. But for now I’d like you to stay out of what’s going on and continue being patient and prayerful.”

“Ya.” He blew out the candle. “I thought the same thing. Phoebe agrees. I wanted your opinion too.”

“Good night.” She returned to her bedroom, slid into her coat, gloves, and black bonnet, and put her Bible and some dry socks in a backpack. Before she reached the bottom of the stairs, Phoebe came out of the kitchen.

She held out a brown bag. “You’ll need some food.”

Was it that evident that Rhoda would get her way? The thought bothered her, but she took the bag and hugged Phoebe. “Denki.”

“Gern gschehne.” Without another word, Phoebe ambled up the stairs.

Rhoda hurried out the door and across the backyard.

A pungent, smoky aroma clung to the crisp air. What kind of wood was burning to make that smell?

She stopped and sniffed the air. It seemed to be coming from the greenhouses. Had she left a lamp burning? Were her plants on fire? As she went that way, shushed giggles exploded. Was that her imagination too? She hoped not. Oh, how she hoped. She tiptoed, easing toward the sound. It came from the far greenhouse, one of the two she hadn’t yet used. She opened the door. Smoke like twines of hazy rope rising from the ground circled between two tables.

“Can you imagine?” a girl whispered amid her laughter.

“I’d lie,”—a different girl’s voice filled the air with foul language—“devising story after story until they buried me.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” a third girl added. “Your mom is worse than a bloodhound, so you better be ready with a story.”

“But isn’t this smoke worth it?” They chortled.

“Well, I covered my tracks, so that
investigation
is over.”

Rhoda followed the chorus of giggles. Her skin pricked. What if she got beyond the workbenches blocking her vision and no one was there? A moment later she spotted three girls in sleeping bags on top of a blue tarp. What appeared to be empty beer bottles were scattered around the sleeping bags. Rhoda’s nerves relaxed as the girls passed around a funny-looking cigarette.

It made perfect sense. The farm had been abandoned for a while, and they were using the outbuildings as a place to hang out. But thoughts of Jacob’s troubles jabbed at Rhoda, and she knew she had to deal with these girls in a way that wasn’t likely to bring attention to the new Amish family in the area.

“Excuse me.”

The girls looked up from their sleeping bags.

“Look!” One broke into laughter and cursed. “The Pilgrims have landed.” She guffawed, slapping the blue tarp over the ground. “A little early for Thanksgiving, but not by too much if you’re going to pluck those turkeys by hand.”

One young lady with long, straight black hair and fair skin wobbled as she stood. “Hi.”

“Hello.” Rhoda tried to smile, but she wasn’t sure one crossed her lips. “I’m Rhoda.”

“Gretchen. We meant to be gone before anyone was up.”

So they did know someone had moved in. Had they used the house as a hangout as well?

“Maybe it’s a Halloween costume,” another girl said.

“Shush.” But even as Gretchen corrected the girls, she giggled.

Should Rhoda ask questions and try to take them under her wing the way she had done when she found Leah in her fruit garden in a similar condition? She had taken Leah into her home, fed her, and given her fresh clothes, and they had talked. A little later she had insisted Leah call home. But these girls hadn’t stumbled into a place and passed out. This was a planned and apparently recurring event. For Jacob’s sake it seemed that Rhoda should convince them to leave the property and not return. It wasn’t her place to try to sober up or reason with them, was it?

Gretchen lost her balance, and Rhoda steadied her. “Where do your parents think you are?”

“Here. Actually, they had a party of their own last night, and they don’t care what we do as long as we’re not seen doing it.”

Was she telling the truth? If the parents didn’t mind, shouldn’t Rhoda leave well enough alone?

“How did you get here?”

“Walked. We live a road over.” She pointed. “Across that field and through the woods.”

Rhoda nodded. They weren’t driving, and the walk home in this brisk air was sure to sober them.

“Come on. Up. Up. Up. This place is no longer vacant, and that includes these greenhouses.”

“Who bought it? The Puritans?”

“Be quiet.” Gretchen spoke harshly and then nodded at Rhoda. “Okay. We’ll go. I’m sorry Savannah and Kristen are so rude. They aren’t usually.”

Rhoda didn’t care whether they made fun of her or were superfriendly. She only wanted them gone.

Gretchen brushed dirt off the back of her jeans. “We don’t want any trouble. But it seems that my friends need a little time to sober up, okay?”

Rhoda nodded. “We will be holding church on this property today, and I want you gone long before it begins. That gives you about three hours. And,
Gretchen,”—Rhoda caught her eye, wondering how much people remembered once they were sober—“families with children live and work here now. I trust you won’t trespass again. Do we understand each other?”

“Yeah. It won’t happen again. We’ll be gone by sunrise.”

Rhoda left and headed for the creek at the edge of the property. It seemed unusual that she would find wayward, drunken girls hiding on her property more than once in her life. But she supposed life was full of coincidences.

When she’d found Leah, she had met Samuel King, who later introduced her to Jacob. Was that meant to be—something God had His hand on, connecting her with Kings’ Orchard and the handsome, good-natured Jacob King?

God wasn’t surprised by Jacob’s confession. That comforted her somehow. Did He have a plan for this chaos Jacob had shared with her last night? Did His love cover Jacob’s … She didn’t know what to call it. Was it sin? ignorance? both? Her mind churned, trying to make sense of what Jacob had told her.

Once out of sight of the home, she slowed, ambling through the orchard until she came to the creek that separated their property from the neighbors’. As she followed the creek, she could hear what she believed to be wolves much farther in the distance than the night they had moved in. The darkness cloaked her, feeling more like a friend than something to fear.

She was glad the wolves or coyotes weren’t as close. Their howling rattled her, though she’d been told they were skittish around people. Livestock had to be protected from attack. Steven was in charge of taking care of the horses, and he made sure they were in the barn at night. But people were safe.

She topped a knoll, spotted a rock that jutted out, and climbed it. Removing her backpack, she sat and closed her eyes. Her silent prayer turned to whispers, and before long she was talking as if sitting across the table from her Daed. Except loneliness tugged at her. She wasn’t sure why. It seemed Jacob’s secret left her feeling isolated. She tried to push past that emotion and continued to talk to God.

Music vibrated softly, and she hushed. Was it real? She opened her eyes. Purples and pinks filled the sky as light overtook the dark. A scripture she’d memorized long ago came to her. “Praise the L
ORD
, O my soul. While I live will I praise the L
ORD
: I will sing praises unto my God while I have any being. Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help.”

Some of the hurt eased. Jacob couldn’t be as trustworthy as God. It wasn’t fair to expect that of him. And while that truth didn’t cover all the aspects of what he’d done wrong, it helped to lessen her disappointment.

Now, she needed perspective on the actual wrongdoing. What did God think of it? What should Jacob do to make it right? If she knew those two things, peace would return to her, and she’d know how she should feel about it too.

She drew a deep breath and realized the music had grown louder. She rose, angling her head and listening. The girls had been real earlier. Maybe this was too. She grabbed her backpack and started following the music.

The sound vibrated clearer and then stopped. She continued on, and it started again. A small white home came into view. Was that a woman sitting in a chair? The trees blocked Rhoda’s view, so she kept going. When she came to a clearing, she saw a woman with gray shoulder-length hair holding an instrument between her legs and a bow in her hand. The woman’s eyes were closed as she played.

Words from nowhere floated into Rhoda’s brain:
Tell them. Just tell them, even if they don’t believe you. Tell them for me
.

It was a man’s voice, but Rhoda knew it was inside her head. The words seemed to flow with the music. Chills ran over her skin. A child’s voice spoke:
Tell them while I still have a home. Tell them
.

The woman looked up and stopped playing. Her green eyes were striking against her silver hair. She lowered her bow. “Hello.”

Rhoda tried to speak, but no words came out.

“Bob?” The woman looked toward the house. “Husbands.” She sighed. “Are you married?”

Rhoda shook her head.

“Bob!”

A man opened a sliding glass door and stepped outside, looking at the woman. The woman nodded toward Rhoda. “We have a guest.” She smiled. “A shy one.”

Tell them
. A young man’s voice spoke loudly inside her head.

Rhoda ignored it and stepped forward. “I heard the music.”

Tell them
. A little girl spoke, and the power of her words made it hard for Rhoda to keep her composure. She glanced behind her to see if there was a child. There wasn’t.

The man moved forward. “I’m Bob Cranford. This is my wife, Camilla.”

Grandmamma
. The girl’s voice spoke clearly.
Tell them. Tell them
.

Rhoda held out her hand. “I’m Rhoda.”

“Our new neighbor?”

She nodded. “One of several.” She pointed at the instrument. “What is that?”

The woman admired it. “A cello.”

“It makes the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. I thought I was hearing things.”

Camilla smiled. “If you heard anything off-key or out of rhythm, you were hearing things.”

The husband and wife chuckled.

Dumont
.

The word was a muffled echo inside her. Rhoda struggled to keep the tears at bay as a strange power surged through her. “I … I heard a child too.”

Camilla used the bow to point at a chair. “Would you care to sit?”

Rhoda shook her head. “A child?”

“Not from around here. We’re it for acres and acres. Maybe from the other side.” He gestured toward the farm. “About two miles that way. They have children.”

Rhoda nodded. “It sounds as if our farm is halfway between you and them. Maybe the music from your place mixed with the voices from their place.” She swallowed. “Or maybe children visit here sometimes.”