When Hope Blossoms (3 page)

She explained, “The land will be used to grow corn, wheat, and soybeans. But I won’t be the one planting and harvesting. Some families who’ve also moved into the area will make use of the land. With help from my fellowship near Arborville, I purchased the house; a brother Mennonite fellowship in Ohio owns the acreage.”

Had he grimaced at the words
Mennonite fellowship,
or had she only imagined it? Trepidation sped her pulse.

He pulled his lips to the side, as if chewing the inside of his cheek. “I . . . see.”

“I don’t have a tractor or truck, but I do have a car.” Amy gestured toward the small ramshackle garage at the rear of the house. “It has a hitchball for towing. I’d be glad to pull your cart to your property if you’ll give me a few minutes to check on my children.”

He nodded—one abrupt bob of his head—then returned the hat to his head. He stared across the ground, his expression grim.

Amy trotted to the house. All three children were in the kitchen, seated around the table in the middle of the room. Parker wore a milk mustache and Adrianna’s cheeks were smeared with peanut butter. Amy glanced at the half-eaten sandwiches, crumpled napkins, crumbs, and empty glasses on the table’s Formica top.

“They were hungry.” Bekah sent her mother a sidelong look. “I guess I should have asked first before fixing sandwiches.”

Amy gave Bekah a one-armed hug. “I’m glad you took care of lunch.” She moved to the sink and washed her hands. Her time in the pasture, hunting for Adrianna and Parker, had left her sweaty and dusty. “I’m going to use our car to tow Mr. Roper’s cart to his house. Girls, make the beds while I’m gone. The sheets are in my closet. Parker, I want you to put the books on the shelf in your room.” She wiped her hands on her apron skirt, satisfied the tasks would keep the children occupied for the length of time she’d be gone.

Adrianna wriggled down from her chair. “Can I come with you, Momma?”

“No.” Amy ignored her daughter’s crestfallen expression. “All of you stay in the house until I get back. If someone knocks on the door, don’t answer.” She grabbed the car keys from a nail pounded into the back doorjamb and charged out the screen door, letting it slam into its frame behind her. She backed the car from the garage and pulled it close to Mr. Roper’s cart.

Leaving it idling, she hopped out. “Mr. Roper, would you position it correctly? I’m not adept enough at backing to do it right.” Gabe had always done the driving. Amy had been forced to learn to drive following his death, but she’d often deferred to her father. Better a stranger drive her car than risk backing into his cart.

Wordlessly, he strode forward and slid behind the wheel. With a few whirls of the steering wheel and some short jaunts forward and back, he angled the car so the rear bumper of the car and the cart’s nose rested a mere eighteen inches apart. Then he turned off the ignition and got out. “Got a rope?”

“Um . . . I’m not sure.”

“Mind if I check in the barn?”

Amy nodded, and he headed in that direction, his stride long and his arms swinging. Amy fidgeted, waiting for his return. She’d lost an entire week between packing and moving, and she still needed to set up her sewing room so she could get busy on the quilts she’d been hired to create prior to moving to Weaverly. How she hoped her quilting business would flourish. Without Dad’s financial assistance, she needed the income desperately.

Mr. Roper returned, a length of chain dangling from his hand. “This’ll do.” She stayed out of the way while he looped the chain through the cart’s frame and connected it to the hitchball. Brushing his hands, he rose, his knees cracking. “That’s it. Let’s go.”

Amy stifled an amused snort. Apparently all men were short on words and long on action. She’d surmised it was a Mennonite trait, but this man was clearly not Mennonite. He climbed into his cart, and she slid behind the steering wheel. Sticking her head out the open window, she called, “Are you ready?”

He waved his hand in reply.

Gritting her teeth, Amy started the engine and put the car in gear. She’d never towed anything before. What if she hit a bump and bounced Mr. Roper right out of the open cart? Sweat broke out across her back and trickled between her shoulder blades. Her hands tightened on the wheel, her knuckles white.
Lord, be with me. . . .

B
ekah swept a damp rag across the tabletop, sending the crumbs onto the linoleum floor. “All right, you guys, you heard Mom. No more running off.” She’d never admit how scared she’d been when she realized her brother and sister were missing. But now that they were back, safe and sound, she was just plain mad. Shouldn’t she feel relieved rather than angry? She wished she could make sense of her up-and-down emotions. “Parker, go get busy on those books. And, Adri, get sheets for our beds from Mom’s closet.”

Parker looked at the floor, where bread crumbs lay scattered next to his tennis-shoe-covered foot. “Mom puts the crumbs in her hand and then puts them in the trash. She doesn’t throw them on the floor.”

Bekah flopped the rag over the edge of the sink. As many mice as seemed to live in this old house, they’d eat the crumbs in no time. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Crumbs belong in the trash,” Parker insisted, his scowl deep. He stared at the crumbs as if he expected them to jump from the floor into the waste can on their own.

Bekah huffed. Unless she swept up the crumbs, Parker wouldn’t be able to think about anything else. She stomped to the corner and retrieved the broom. “All right, all right, I’ll get rid of the crumbs.” She gave the broom a vicious swipe. Crumbs flew in every direction.

Parker sucked in a huge breath, the gasp almost comical with his wide-open mouth and disbelieving stare.

Adri squealed and leaped out of her chair. “Bekah, you’re making a mess! Momma
never
sweeps like that!”

“Well, I’m not Momma.” Bekah slapped the bristles at the floor again. The crumbs scooted around the floor like a nest of disturbed ants.

Adri grabbed the broom and tried to wrestle it away. “Stop it, Bekah.”

“
You
stop it!” Bekah yanked hard, gaining ownership of the broom.

Adri fell backward and landed on her bottom. She set up a wail. Parker stood beside the table, wringing his hands. His dark eyes reflected fear more than worry. He muttered to himself—the words indistinguishable. Bekah wanted to scream at both of them to shut up and go do their chores. Hugging the broom to her chest, she wished her anger could be swept away as easily as those crumbs.

God, what’s wrong with me? Am I going crazy, like Daddy did?
The thought scared her so much, tears spurted into her eyes. She threw the broom aside and reached to help Adri to her feet. Adri pulled away, refusing her help. Blinking away her tears, she decided to let her sister sit there and cry if that’s what she wanted to do.

Bekah turned to Parker. “Budger . . .” She used the nickname Dad had given Parker—his teasing play on Parker’s name. “I didn’t mean to make a mess. I’ll clean it up.”

Parker gazed at her, unblinking. “You promise?”

“Yes, I promise.” Parker needed so much reassurance. Why couldn’t he be normal, like other kids’ brothers? Why did everything have to be
so hard
with him?

“All right.” He turned and shuffled for the stairway, his movements even slower than usual, and plodded upstairs.

Bekah folded her arms over her chest and frowned down at Adri. Even though her sister was far younger than Parker, there wasn’t any reason she couldn’t behave normally. Then again, maybe sitting on the floor and howling was normal for a five-year-old. Even so, Bekah’s patience was spent. “Are you done yet?”

Adri sniffled, rubbing her eyes with her fists. “You hurt my feelings, Bekah.”

Bekah crouched down to Adri’s level. She knew she should apologize—she’d been rough with Adri, and she was wrong. But she wasn’t really sorry, and she wouldn’t add lying to her list of wrongdoings. Still, she gentled her voice. “You ready to help me make those beds?”

Adri drew in a shuddering breath. Her lower lip poked out, and tears trembled on her thick lower lashes. Her blue eyes—Adri was the only one of the kids to have Mom’s eyes instead of Dad’s—looked even bluer with all the tears. “I’m tired.”

Bekah grabbed Adri’s hand and pulled her up as she rose. “If you’ll put sheets on your own bed, then you can take a nap.”

For a moment Adri stood, shoulders hunched and lower lip hanging in a pout, but then she heaved a deep sigh. “All right, Bekah.” She trudged upstairs, too.

Bekah grabbed the broom and quickly swept the crumbs into a neat pile. She couldn’t find the dustpan—so many things were still in boxes—so she pushed the crumbs onto a piece of paper and dumped all of it into the waste can. Then she put the broom in the corner and headed upstairs. She glanced into Parker’s room. He knelt in front of the bookshelf, his face puckered in concentration. As she watched, he carefully lifted out one book from the box beside him and placed it just-so on the shelf. Bekah considered telling him he could stack more than one at a time, but she knew he’d say “huh?” and then need her to show him what she meant. And she didn’t feel like showing him. So she moved on to Mom’s room instead.

Apparently Adri had been in the closet riffling through the sheets, because the stacks were all askew. Mom wouldn’t leave them like that. Mom did
everything
right. Bekah took a few moments to straighten the stacks of sheets, towels, and pillowcases before removing the pink-striped sheets that belonged on Mom’s bed.

She smoothed the bottom sheet into place, wondering why Mom needed such a big bed. All of the kids had twin-sized beds, but Mom’s was a queen-size. Wouldn’t the big bed make her miss having Dad on the other side of the mattress? But maybe Mom didn’t miss Dad as much as Bekah did. Mom never talked about him. Neither did Bekah. But she couldn’t help thinking about him.

With a flick of her wrists, she flipped the top sheet over the mattress. She knew how to tuck the bottom corners so the sheet would hang neatly, and she performed the task without conscious thought, her mind skipping through memories from way back. Before Adri was even born. When Dad was alive, and Parker was normal, and they all lived in their own house instead of with Grandpa, and nobody in town looked at them with pity or—worse—with blame. Bekah
hated
those looks. That’s why she hadn’t put up much fuss when Mom said they were moving to another town. But now that they were here, away from everyone and everything familiar . . .

Bekah stuffed the pillows into matching cases and plopped them onto the bed. Then she moved to the window and looked across the landscape. In lots of ways, the view reminded her of Arborville. Square patches of farmland stretched to the horizon, resembling a giant quilt. Lots of open space. Clumps of scraggly trees here and there to break up the expanse of farmland. Except the trees east of their new house weren’t scraggly or clumpy. They stood in neat rows, like a king’s forest from a storybook. The tips of the branches all met each other, creating a lacy canopy of green. It looked like a good place to hide away with a book.

With a dramatic sigh, Bekah turned from the window. She didn’t have time to sneak away and read. Work awaited. She grabbed sheets for her bed and Parker’s bed and headed for her brother’s room. Mom would be back soon, and she’d expect things to be done.

Sweat trickled down Tim’s forehead, stinging his eyes. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since early that morning. Couldn’t the Mennonite lady hurry? He could pedal a bicycle faster than she was currently driving her old blue Buick. Through the back windshield, he watched the black ribbons of her mesh cap dancing on her shoulders.

An uncomfortable twinge unrelated to hunger crept through his stomach. When he’d seen those black ribbons, he’d assumed she was married. To discover there was a widow—a widow with children—living next door brought long-buried admonitions to the surface.
Care for widows and orphans.
Hadn’t the biblical mandate been drilled into him along with so many other rules and regulations? He’d fled that life, eager to escape the never-ending lists of
do
and
do not.
But now, without warning and without invitation, the old teachings pricked his conscience.

The Buick’s brake lights flashed. Again. How she loved the brake. Tim tapped the cart’s brake in response. By inches, the Mennonite widow eased the car into the lane leading to Tim’s double-wide trailer house. Dust swirled as they made the turn, but as soon as they entered the lane, the dust settled. Trees on either side of the dirt road blocked the wind. Sweet scents filled Tim’s nostrils, removing some of the unsettledness of the past minutes. His tense shoulders relaxed, and he released a breath of relief. He was home again—his place of security. His place of refuge.

The woman stopped the car midway between the house and the huge, ancient barn. The Buick’s engine stilled, and she stepped out of the car. Tim hopped out and crouched next to the bumper to untangle the chain connecting the cart to the vehicle. Her shadow fell across him. Gooseflesh broke out on his arms. Julia used to stand so close her shadow touched his, but unlike this woman, Julia was never silent. She even talked in her sleep. Sometimes at night, Tim still listened for the mumble of his wife’s voice. Squatting in the Mennonite woman’s shadow, only the whisper of the trees and clank of the chain in his ears, Tim found himself wishing the woman would speak to chase away the memories of Julia’s cheerful, endless speech.

“There.” Tim jerked the chain free and rose, holding the thick lump of links toward the woman. “Thanks for the tow.” Then, almost without conscious thought, he added, “But I meant it when I said keep your kids away from here. My trees . . .” His gaze swept across the nearby row of apple trees, full and lush and green. “I won’t have them damaged.”

“I understand.” Her voice, devoid of condemnation, brought Tim’s focus back to her. A small smile tipped up the corners of her lips. “I’ll do my best to keep the children at home. I’m afraid having an entire forest of trees so near will be a huge temptation for them.” She whisked a glance around, her eyebrows high. “This seems a delightful place to play.”

“This is a working orchard, not a park.”

She nodded, appearing unruffled by his curt statement. “I’ll have a firm talk with the children.” She started toward her car.

Tim took two stumbling steps after her. “There are lots of summer activities for kids . . . in Weaverly.” Now why had he blurted that out? It opened a door to conversation. Wouldn’t it be better to send this lady back to her old farmhouse and get to work? But if her kids had things to do, they’d be less likely to come pester him. He tucked his fingertips into the pockets of his Levi’s and leaned his weight on one hip. “Everything’s listed on a board outside the library doors. Might check ’em out. That is, if you don’t mind your kids mixing with non-Mennonites.” Unbidden, a hint of sarcasm had crept into his tone.

Her smile didn’t flicker. “Thank you, Mr. Roper. I’ll certainly take the children to town and check into the activities after we’ve put the house in order.” A light chuckle escaped her lips. “The children will enjoy meeting others from town before school starts in August.”

Tim drew back, startled. “You’re sending them to public school?” He hadn’t been allowed to mix with non-Mennonites during his growing-up years. Maybe things had changed some in the past two decades.

She raised her shoulders in a delicate shrug, the attached cape of her pale pink dress shifting slightly with the movement. “In Arborville, the children attended public school. I see no reason not to allow them to do so here.”

Why had these Mennonites chosen to move here? Several years back—the year before he’d purchased the orchard from his wife’s uncle—a group of Mennonites had driven over and picked apples. Had they scoped out the area then and begun planning to purchase land? The thought unnerved him. He blurted, “It’s a good school. Small classes, caring teachers.” He recalled her son’s slow movements and delayed speech. “They’ve got a good special ed program, too.”

Pain momentarily flickered in her blue eyes. “I need to get back. The children are alone, and I have a lot of work waiting for me.” She’d left the car door open, so she slid into the seat and curled her hand over the door handle. “Thank you for bringing Parker and Adrianna safely home, Mr. Roper. I appreciate your kindness.” She gave the door a slam, sealing herself inside. The engine ignited, and she turned the car around then aimed for the road. As she rolled past him at a snail’s pace, she lifted her hand in a brief wave. Then the car headed down the lane and around the corner, disappearing behind the trees.