A Season for Tending (38 page)

“My recipes. My work. My reputation. My established buyers will be purchasing my canned goods. Maybe you should put ‘Kings’ Orchard’ at the bottom of the label and ‘Rhode Side Stands’ at the top.”

Samuel splayed his fingers, palms up. “That’s not happening. We approached you to partner with us—not the other way around, remember?”

“And I’ll not be an underling at Kings’ Orchard. If I’m a partner as you say, then treat me as one.”

Samuel gestured from the top of her head downward. “This is the Rhoda Byler I met the first day I came here and the one I argued with in front of her family while we shared a meal. She sees nothing the way I see it.”

She reached over and tapped the table in front of him. “The names of both businesses at the top of the label. Since my products carry the most in-store recognition, I suggest ‘Rhode Side Stands’ go first, but I may be negotiable on that.”

Samuel blinked once and opened his eyes wide. “May?”

“Ya.” She leaned back in her chair. “Keep being stubborn, and I’ll change it from
may be negotiable
to
won’t be
. Any questions?”

“I have one.” Jacob raised his hand. “Do you two know that you’re like oil and water?”

A car horn tooted, and Samuel stood. “That’s our driver returning for us. If we need more time, I’ll ask him to wait.”

“No, we’ve covered plenty.”

Samuel moved toward the door. “You have a lot to do, and we don’t want to pressure you, but the sooner you can come to the farm, the better. And please tell Landon we’d like to speak to him as soon as he can find the time in his schedule.”

“Denki.” She followed them outside. As she waved good-bye, she saw that Mrs. Walker’s curtains were drawn to the side and the windows were open. A medical transport service had brought her home from the hospital this morning. Rhoda hadn’t seen her children visit her yet. Maybe work kept them from being able to fly in. But if that was so, who was taking care of her elderly neighbor?

Rhoda went to her cellar, opened a partially full box of raspberry preserves, and pulled out a jar. Her father had told her that Mrs. Walker no longer held any ill will toward her. But would she mind if Rhoda made contact with a peace offering in hand?

She went down the sidewalk, turned the corner, and walked up the woman’s porch steps, her palm sweating against the glass jar she held. She knocked.

A young woman in a pale-blue uniform answered the door. “May I help you?”

“My name’s Rhoda. I live down the block.” She pointed toward her house.

“I’m Maggie, Mrs. Walker’s nurse for the next couple of months.”

“I brought something for her.” She raised the jar of preserves. “Perhaps you could give it to her?”

“Let her in.” Mrs. Walker’s voice was barely audible, but she sounded cranky.

The nurse stepped aside so Rhoda could enter.

She found Mrs. Walker lying on a bed in the middle of the living room, her face pale.

“You can leave now.”

Rhoda handed the preserves to Maggie and turned to go.

“Not you, child.” Mrs. Walker shooed away the nurse, who nodded and then disappeared into the kitchen. “Come here, dear.” She gestured Rhoda forward with shaky hands.

Rhoda approached the bed. “I thought you might like some of my preserves. They’re from my last batch.”

Mrs. Walker reached out and took Rhoda’s hand. Her fingers looked frail, but they had a firm grip. “That’s so thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

The woman seemed genuinely grateful.

She picked up a pad of stationery that was beside her on the bed. “I was going to write you a note. But what needs saying is best done in person.” She looked toward the kitchen. “My mother was one of the most superstitious people I ever knew. Every shadow and every speck of light meant something threatening, a warning of bad things to come.” She grimaced. “I promised myself I’d never believe the nonsense she did. But I’ve been much, much worse without even knowing it. When you fell in front of my home while trying to get to your sister—when you said that she was going to be killed before it happened—it scared me. And I was convinced you must be a witch.” She took a drink of her water. “But that’s not at all who you are, is it?”

Rhoda shook her head. “I sense things sometimes, mostly just an intuition as an event is unfolding. Unfortunately, I usually pick up on what’s happening when it’s too late to do anything about it.”

The nurse came in with a plate of toast covered in preserves. “Would you like a taste now, ma’am?”

“Of course I would.”

The nurse pushed a button on the bed and helped Mrs. Walker to a semi-upright position. Then she set the plate on a wheeled tray and positioned it over the woman’s lap.

Mrs. Walker took a tiny bite of the toast. Her eyes closed for a moment. “Mmm.” She took a slightly bigger bite. “Oh my. This is delicious.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

The nurse returned to the kitchen, and Mrs. Walker swallowed another bite. “You knew I was in trouble, and you acted on those feelings before it was too late. You saved my life. I’m glad, because I want to be here for my teenage grandchildren, to see them marry and have their own children. I don’t get to see them often, but when I do, it’s wonderful. They tell me I make a positive difference in their lives, and I want to be here for them.”

Mrs. Walker gazed at the barren field between their properties. “But now I need to say something I wish weren’t true.” Her quivering lips curled up.

Rhoda waited, unsure what to say to comfort the elderly woman.

“I know you didn’t plow your fields on purpose. And I know I have to accept some of the blame for what happened.”

“But you weren’t even out of the hospital.”

“Neighbors are saying you plowed the fields down yourself to make room for your brothers to build. But I’ve seen you. For years I’ve watched you tend your berries with more love and affection than a lot of folks give their own kids. You wouldn’t give them up voluntarily. And I know your father wouldn’t ask it of you.”

Rhoda moved to the window, looking at her barren land. “You had something to do with what happened?”

“Not directly. But in my fear, thinking I was protecting others who might come into contact with you, I helped spread the rumors that you practiced witchcraft. I backed up that Amish man who came by here, asking how I felt
about you and those herbs—because he thought you were using them in incantations, and I said I thought so too.” She pushed the wheeled tray away from her.

“An Amish man?”

“Gluck or Glack.”

“Glick. Rueben Glick.”

“Anytime he came looking for support or information to take back to your people, I gave it to him. I don’t even know why. None of what I thought makes any sense now. But my gossip and influence probably helped people get it in their minds that ruining your gardens was the right thing to do.” She looked into Rhoda’s eyes. “I’m ashamed of myself.”

Part of Rhoda wanted to lecture the woman and walk out, but she moved to the chair beside the bed and took Mrs. Walker by the hand. “It wasn’t just you. But I forgive you.”

“Good.” Mrs. Walker patted her hand. “Thank you.” She held her hand tight, fighting to get control of her voice again.

How sad that misunderstandings between them had stolen so much, and now that they were finally resolved, Rhoda wouldn’t be across the fence working in her garden where they could’ve spoken regularly, taking away loneliness for both of them. She moved to the window, and with her garden uprooted, she could see her home clearly now. Landon’s truck sat in her driveway, reminding her that she had much to do to wrap up business. “I need to go.”

“I’m glad you came to see me. You come back anytime. I’m going to be praying for you every day.”

“Denki.” Rhoda left, grateful for the truth Mrs. Walker now understood. She hurried toward her driveway, anxious to make the final deliveries and to get Landon to take her to Kings’ Orchard. She wouldn’t tell him about Samuel’s idea of hiring him, but once he was on the property, Samuel would waste no time filling him in, and she’d get a chance to see the summer kitchen.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Dark enveloped the land as Jacob took a seat at the picnic table by himself. He’d given his word, but could he actually do the work? He’d told Rhodes he’d start on it, but since he’d arrived home from her place six hours ago, all he’d accomplished was pulling his tool belt out of its hiding place in his bedroom and placing it inside the summer kitchen. Then memories began suffocating him, and the next thing he knew, he’d walked out of the shabby building and gone to the barn office. He’d spent the rest of the day helping on the dairy side of the farm—feeding and milking cows, paying bills, and updating ledgers.

A vehicle pulled into the driveway, and he shielded his eyes from the bright headlights. The engine stopped running, and the lights disappeared. The passenger door opened, and Rhoda got out. Jacob couldn’t make himself move. Landon eased from the driver’s side, and Jacob watched the two of them head toward the house.

Rhoda glanced around, spotted Jacob, and redirected her path. “Hello.”

“Hi.” He motioned for them to join him.

Samuel stepped out of the house and spoke to Rhoda, and then he and Landon went toward the barn to talk business. Rhoda moved closer to the picnic table, where he now sat. The casual look on her face suddenly changed to one of concentration, and she looked around. “The air carries a wonderful aroma of the ocean. Do you smell that?”

“I don’t, and whatever you’re picking up, it’s not ocean. We’re too far.”

She breathed deep. “I’ve only been to the beach once, when I was twelve, but I remember that fragrance clearly.”

“What, dead fish?”

“No. Briny water and sunshine and salt air with hints of seaweed and surf.”

This woman just might be as quirky as she was fascinating. “You like the ocean?”

“I was terrified of it.” She took a seat across from him. “But I dipped my toes in the edge of the water, feeling the tickle of white bubbles. And I sat on the beach and enjoyed the magnitude of the ocean. I even spotted a few dolphins frolicking.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Frolicking?”

She looked at him, seemingly seeing right through him. “The aroma’s not really here right now, is it?”

He chuckled. “Not at all.”

Her expression changed, as if she finally understood. “You love the ocean.” The authority in her statement was undeniable.

His heart jolted. She’d picked up on a part of who he was, or rather used to be. “This is a weird conversation, Rhodes.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t …” She shrugged. “So where is the summer kitchen from here?”

“It’s a little over a thousand feet that direction, just beyond the dip on the other side of the office barn.”

“A thousand feet. Can you put a concrete visual to that?”

“There’s a little more than five thousand feet in a mile, so basically it’s a fifth of a mile from here.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? That I can wrap my mind around.”

“I can show you if you’re willing to walk across a rough path in the dark.”

“I really want to get a glimpse of the place—whatever I can make out in the dark.”

“I’ll get a lantern. Do you want to step inside the house and say hello?”

“No, I’ll wait here. If I’m going to be coming and going all the time, I’d rather everyone get used to me not stopping in for a chat.”

“You and Samuel are more alike than you probably realize.” He rose. “I’ll be right back.”

He found the lantern and lit it, then returned to where Rhoda stood at the edge of the apple orchard, looking out across it. He walked to her and gazed at the view—acre after acre of rolling hills and lush trees shrouded under the beauty of night.

“This may be the most gorgeous view I’ve ever seen.”

“Hold that thought, because the building you’re about to see is hideous.” He held out his arm. “It’s a rough path between here and there.”

She took his arm, and he led her down a narrow, bumpy path, dodging rocks, potholes, and clumps of brush, until the summer kitchen came into sight.

She paused. “You have your work cut out for you.” She released his arm and walked ahead to enter the open doorway. He came in behind her, casting the light in whichever direction held her interest. “It has lots of potential, but you must be quite the carpenter.”

“That’s the hope.”

She turned to him, came close, and took the lantern. Holding it up, she studied his face. “You don’t want to do this, do you?”

He knew she saw things and picked up on the unspoken, but this was eerie. He wasn’t sure he liked this side of her. What else might she pick up on? “It’s challenging me, but I want to do the work, very much so.”

She set the lantern next to his tool belt on the beat-up, weathered block counter. “Tell me your plans.”

Jacob walked from one wall and corner to another, describing what he hoped to do. She added her thoughts, and soon they were coming up with ideas he hadn’t thought of before.

Rhoda smiled at him. “You have vision.”

“Says the clairvoyant to the carpenter.”

She laughed. “I see or know only what’s given to me, and most of the time I botch what I am given. You can look at a broken structure, or even nothing, and see what it can become by your own hands. That’s a truly powerful gift.”