When Hope Blossoms (4 page)

Tim remained rooted in place, staring at the spot where his lane emptied into the road. A heavy, stifling feeling filled his chest. He recognized the feeling: loneliness. But why? He’d been alone amongst his trees for four years now, ever since the accident stole Julia and Charlie from him. He’d filled his days with work and had discovered a sense of purpose, if not the joy he’d experienced prior to their deaths.

Yet, undeniably, standing in his driveway with nothing but trees for company, he felt alone. He shook his head, redirecting his thoughts. Go inside. Eat some lunch. Fuel up the cart, hitch the flatbed, load the hand mower, and get back to work. The plan established, he thumped his way toward the house. But the firm plod of his soles against the ground couldn’t quite eradicate the loneliness that nibbled at his insides.

A
my stacked the last of the supper dishes next to the sink while Bekah ran hot water. Suds billowed, sending up a clean, lemony scent. Amy paused and inhaled deeply, absorbing the fresh aroma. Somehow the essence revived her even more than the canned soup and grilled-cheese sandwiches had. Maybe she’d conjure enough energy to set up her sewing machines before bed.

Turning from the counter, she aimed a stern look at Adrianna and Parker, who remained at the now-empty table as she’d directed. She put her hands on her hips. “All right, you two. You have a job to do.”

Adrianna groaned. “Momma, we’ve been jobbing all day. I’m tired.” She emphasized her statement with a broad yawn.

Amy’s lips twitched with the effort not to smile. Her daughter’s invented word and the exaggerated slump to her shoulders invited a chuckle. But when the children needed discipline, she couldn’t relent. These were the moments she missed Gabe the most—when she wanted to share a moment of amusement or needed someone else to be the rule-enforcer. “I know we’ve all worked hard today putting the house in order, and you’ll be able to go up to bed soon, but before you do I want each of you to write a note of apology to Mr. Roper for climbing in his trees and destroying several branches.”

An image of the man’s frowning countenance flashed through Amy’s memory. When at all possible, they were to live at peace with their neighbors. She’d gotten off to a rocky start with their nearest neighbor. It would do them no good to make an enemy of the man whose land bordered hers. She prayed that an apology, along with a promise to keep their distance, would be enough to repair the damage the children had done.

Parker hung his head, but Adrianna gazed up at her mother, her bright eyes blinking innocently. “But, Momma, I don’t know how to write yet.”

From the sink, Bekah released a little snort. Of amusement or derision, Amy couldn’t be certain. She chose to ignore her older daughter and focused on the younger one. “You can draw a picture to say you’re sorry.” Shifting her gaze to Parker, she said, “There’s a writing tablet and pencils in the desk in my room. Bring them down, and you and Adrianna get busy.”

Parker nodded and pushed away from the table. His plodding steps carried him upstairs. Amy moved to the other side of Bekah and reached for a dishtowel to dry the dishes Bekah had washed thus far.

Bekah nudged her with her elbow. “Leave them. There’s not much. I’ll dry, too.” She didn’t lift her gaze from the sink but continued washing, rinsing, and stacking, her lips set in an unsmiling line.

Amy appreciated Bekah’s willingness to do the task alone, but she wished her daughter expressed more pleasure in offering assistance. As a child, Amy had gloried in being her mother’s helper, knowing she was relieving a burden from the woman she loved. Bekah relieved much of Amy’s burden, but her sullen expression and negative attitude made it difficult for Amy to appreciate her daughter’s help.

Even so, she slipped her arm around Bekah’s waist and pressed her cheek to her daughter’s temple. “Thank you, sweetheart. If you’re okay here, I’ll get started setting up the sewing room.”

Parker trudged back down, paper and pencils in hand. He sat gingerly and pushed two sheets of paper across the table to Adrianna. He lifted his puzzled face to his mother. “What should I write?”

“Tell him you’re sorry for trespassing,” Bekah said.

“Huh?”

Amy sighed. She’d had a firm talk with the children after returning from Mr. Roper’s house about staying on their own property. She hadn’t used the word “trespassing” because she didn’t feel the younger two would understand it. “Tell him you’re sorry for bothering his trees.”

“And promise we’ll never do it again,” Adrianna singsonged, swinging her feet. She busily scribbled a short, fat tree trunk with a huge ball perched on its top.

Parker leaned over his paper, his tongue poking out one side of his mouth in concentration. With all three children occupied, Amy moved to the room she’d claimed as her sewing room. Standing in the middle of the scarred wood floor, she turned a slow circle and surveyed the large space designed by the original owners as a formal dining room. Despite their intentions, the room couldn’t be more perfect for sewing.

Built-in cupboards flanked the door to the kitchen on the north wall, providing ample storage for her baskets of fabrics and sewing notions. A bank of windows faced west, allowing in the evening sun. The wide doorway opposite the windows, which led to the airy sitting room, promised a flood of morning light, as well. She could set up her sewing machine in front of the west-facing windows, and her quilting machine would fit neatly in the southeast corner. The room was large enough to accommodate her cutting table, too. She planned to leave it up in the middle of the floor, ready for use at a moment’s notice.

A tower of boxes currently filled the center of the room, with the cutting table folded and leaning against the wall. Amy stifled a groan. So much to do before she could set up the machines and sew
.
The children had helped organize the other rooms, but this room she would take care of on her own.

She fingered the plastic file holder on top of the stack of boxes. Inside, the sketches for six different projects awaited her attention. Those orders would carry her through the next three months, but what then? Her business, Threads of Remembrance, which specialized in creating one-of-a-kind keepsake quilts, had provided a secondary income for her and the children in Arborville, but she hadn’t needed to rely on it completely. Now, away from Arborville and her father’s financial support, she’d need a steady income.

“Momma, we’re done!”

Adrianna’s voice carried from the kitchen. Amy stepped around boxes and returned to the table. She picked up Adrianna’s drawing of a well-dotted tree—the child’s attempt at drawing apple buds, no doubt—with clouds floating overhead and a line of shaggy grass stretching across the bottom. Amy hid a smile. Adrianna had signed her name in the upper right-hand corner. It read “Abri.”

“Very nice,” Amy said and reached for Parker’s paper. He handed it over. Amy’s heart ached as she read Parker’s simple message, scrawled in his oversized block print.
Mister Ropper I am sory I climed in ur Tree and boke ur branch pleese Forgiv me Parker.
One long, painstaking sentence absent of punctuation and sporting many misspellings. Amy battled with herself. Should she correct the paper and have him copy it over?

She turned to Parker, ready to make suggestions for improvement, but he looked so hopeful she didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d not done it right. His message was sincere. If Mr. Roper couldn’t see beyond the errors to the sweet apology, then it was his problem, not Parker’s. “Tomorrow morning, before we go into town and see what kinds of activities are available for you during the summer, we’ll go by Mr. Roper’s and deliver your apology letters.”

“Um, Momma?” Adrianna made a face and pointed at her paper. “Mine isn’t a letter. It’s a picture. Of a tree.”

Bekah turned from placing the last of the plates in the cabinet and caught Amy’s eye. An amused smirk twitched on her lips. The unspoken communication between mother and daughter lifted Amy’s heart. She winked at Bekah and then fixed a serious expression on Adrianna. “We’ll deliver Parker’s letter and Adrianna’s drawing of a tree. Now head upstairs, you two. Wash your faces, brush your teeth, and get into your pajamas. I’ll be up soon to read our verses, and then it’ll be time for sleep. We’ve had a busy day.”

The two scampered upstairs, Adrianna’s giggles competing with Parker’s huffing breaths. Bekah hung the dishtowel over a little silver bar above the sink, then leaned her hips on the edge of the sink. “Want me to go make sure they get ready for bed?”

Amy tugged one of the white ribbons trailing from Bekah’s cap. “Wouldn’t you rather take a book onto the back porch and read before the sunlight is all gone?”

Bekah straightened. “Really?”

“Really. You’ve done plenty today.”

Bekah dashed to the enclosed stairs.

Amy called, “Bekah?”

Her daughter paused on the little landing, peeking over her shoulder.

“Thank you for all your help in the house and with your brother and sister. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bekah sucked in her lips, her brow furrowing. Then she gave a quick nod that sent her ribbons bouncing on her shoulders, turned, and trotted out of sight. Amy sank into the nearest chair, looking after her daughter. She’d hoped her compliment might elicit an answering smile, a sweet “You’re welcome, Mom.” Over the past year, it had seemed Bekah drifted farther and farther away. What had happened to the smiling, happy little girl who’d dogged her steps and begged, “Let me help you, Momma. Please?”

The clatter of feet on the stairs intruded upon her thoughts. Bekah trotted around the corner with a book in her hand and slipped out the back door without so much as a glance in her mother’s direction. Tears pricked Amy’s eyes. Might she, in this place of new beginnings, find her sweet Bekah again?
Father, bind us together once more. Please, dear God.

“Adrianna Amelia, stop kicking the back of my seat!” Bekah spun to glare over the backrest at her sister. Adri grinned, one finger in her mouth.

Mom sent a disapproving look in Bekah’s direction. “Season your tone with kindness.”

Bekah huffed and faced forward. Couldn’t Mom scold Adri instead? Bekah wouldn’t be fussing if Adri would just keep her feet down instead of bouncing them on the back of the seat. Last night, when Adri had leaned against her arm while Mom read from Psalms, she’d felt so close to Adri and to Mom. But now all those good feelings had fled, leaving her grumbly. She stared out the window at the passing landscape to keep from scowling at her mother.

Mom slowed the car and turned into a long lane lined by trees. Another bump on the seat’s back sent Bekah sitting straight up. She gritted her teeth and planted her hands on the dash, looking ahead. Instead of a tall, square two-story farmhouse with a spindled porch like theirs, Mr. Roper’s house was one story with some kind of up-and-down brown siding and an almost flat roof. A rickety-looking iron platform served as a porch. The yard in front of the house was bare of flowers, but flowering vines crawled up the side of the huge barn, framed the doorway, and wriggled their way all along its rock foundation. Bekah decided the red-painted barn looked a lot more inviting than the house.

Mom parked the car, then looked into the backseat. “All right, you two. Hop out and deliver your apologies.”

Bekah bit the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing when Parker and Adri gaped at Mom. Parker offered his customary, “Huh?” Adri launched herself forward and hung her arms over the high back of the car’s front seat. “Aren’t you comin’, too, Momma?”

Mom shook her head, her black ribbons swaying beneath her chin. “No. You wandered onto Mr. Roper’s property by yourself. So you can apologize by yourself.”

Bekah almost felt sorry for her brother and sister as they slowly slid out of the car and walked hand in hand to Mr. Roper’s front door. Parker let loose of Adri’s hand to knock, and then the two stepped back and waited on the corner of the rusty iron platform, flicking worried glances over their shoulders to the car. Bekah sneaked a look at Mom’s profile. Mom bit down on her lower lip, her brow all puckered as if she was worried, too.

Bekah said, “If it bothers you so much to send them up there alone, why not just go with them?”

“They need to do this alone. It’s part of growing up, being accountable for your actions. If I do their apologizing for them this time, they’ll expect me to make amends the next time they make a mistake. That isn’t what’s best for them.”

Bekah shrugged. “I don’t think it matters much. I don’t think Mr. Roper is here.” At that moment, someone tapped on the passenger-door window, and Bekah yelped in surprise. She turned to find the orchard owner staring through the glass at her. She quickly rolled down the window.

Mr. Roper looked past Bekah to Mom. “Did you need something?”

“The children have something to tell you.” Mom gestured to the front of the house.