At Home in Pleasant Valley (28 page)

In a way, he could understand why she'd felt as she did. Young married couples usually had best friends who were in the same situation. If Naomi had lived, they'd have been friends as couples, sharing each other's lives as the children came along.

But Naomi hadn't lived. The baby hadn't. Even after all these years, letting himself think of that was looking into a bottomless pit.

Ezra had talked to him, just once, about remarrying. “Naomi wouldn't expect you to live your life alone, Gid.” Ezra's normally merry face had been solemn as he leaned against the wagon they'd been fixing. “Everyone thinks it's time you were looking around for a wife.”

He expected it from everyone else. Not from Ezra. He thought Ezra understood. The wrench he held clanged against the wheel rim.

“I can't.” His voice rasped, and he forced the words past suddenly numb lips. “I let Naomi and the babe die.” He saw the argument forming on Ezra's face. He didn't want to hear it. “Don't, Ezra. No matter what anyone thinks, I'll not be marrying again. I won't take responsibility for another life. I can't.”

The back door banged, forcing him back to the present. Joseph raced across the lawn, his face alight with eagerness. “Mammi says yes, but I shouldn't be a nuisance, and I have to give water to my goat first, and keep her penned up so she doesn't get in the way.”

It sounded as if he quoted Rachel. “Fine, do that.”

The boy spun toward the barn, then paused, darting a measuring look toward Gideon. “Do you want to see my goat?”

Something in Joseph's expression said that this was a rare treat, so he got up from his knees. “I'd like that.”

He followed the boy across the backyard toward the barn. The light breeze ruffled the boy's hair as he raced ahead.

Joseph ran the last few steps to a pen attached to the barn. A small Nubian nanny stood at the door, bawling for the boy as if he were her kid. Joseph opened the pen door and slipped inside, fending off the goat's attempt to get out.

“You must stay in now. Later I'll take you for a walk.”

The little Nubian wore a collar, as if she were a dog instead of a goat. Her coat was glossy from much brushing. She was a beloved pet, obviously.

Joseph kept his arm around her neck and smiled proudly. “This is Dolly. She's beautiful, ain't so?”

“Ja, she is.” Ezra's son might look like him, but he had Rachel's smile. Not that he'd seen much smiling from her lately, but he remembered the look.

“She's going to have a kid. Maybe two. Onkel William says that it might be twins. I'd like it if she had twins. Don't you think that would be nice?”

Gideon nodded. If his boppli had lived, he'd be a bit older than Joseph. They would have been friends. His heart twisted in his chest.

Joseph patted the little nanny's side. “I don't see how she's going to know what to do when the babies come, with no other goats around to show her.”

“I'm sure it's in her nature.”

“Maybe.” Joseph didn't look reassured by the glib answer.

“I tell you what. I'll ask my brother Aaron about it, if you want. He raises goats, so he'll know. Then I can tell you what he says the next time I come.”

“Would you?” Joseph's smile blossomed.

“Ja. Now, what do you say we get some work done?”

“I'm ready.”

With a final pat for the goat, Joseph hurried out, fastening the pen door carefully. Then he darted across the yard toward the construction.

Gideon followed more slowly. He was a fine boy, this son of Ezra's. Rachel was doing a gut job with him, and it couldn't be easy for her, bringing up a boy without a man in the house.

He spotted her then—coming out on the back porch to shake out a rag rug. She paused, glancing from Joseph to him.

Taking that as an indication she wanted to say something, he detoured by the porch.

“Don't let him be a pest, now,” she said.

“He's not. He was just showing me his goat, and now we're going to get down to work.”

“That goat.” She shook her head. “Ezra wouldn't approve of Joseph treating her as if she were a pet, but it's hatt.”

Hard, ja, it was hard for Joseph. For all of them. “Ezra would have been happy the boy found comfort. You must stop worrying about it, because that I'm certain sure of.”

There it was, then—that smile that softened her cheeks and warmed her eyes. Just like Joseph's.

But Rachel's smile was having a funny effect on him, and he wasn't sure he liked that. Or at least, not sure that he should.

•   •   •

“Stretch
your hand out, now.”

Rachel watched as Gideon helped little Mary press her palm into the still-damp cement floor for the new greenhouse. Mary giggled a bit, but her tiny handprint took its place next to those of Joseph and Becky, marking the spot that would be the entrance.

Joseph leaned over Gideon's shoulder, looking at them. “My hand is bigger than Mary's,” he observed.

“But mine is the biggest,” Becky said quickly.

“It's not a contest to see whose is biggest.” Gideon lifted Mary back away from the floor. “We put your handprints there so that years from now, when you're all grown, you'll look at them and see how small you were the day we started the greenhouse.”

Rachel had a lump in her throat already, and that comment just made it worse. Panic gripped her for an instant. Where would they be, years from now? What if Isaac was right? If she couldn't keep the farm, someone else might be looking at the handprints, wondering at them.

The moment Gideon released her, Mary made an instinctive move to wipe her sticky hand on her dress. Rachel grabbed her just in time to avert disaster.

“Ach, no, Mary. Becky, please take Mary and wash her hands at the pump—real gut, now. Joseph, you go, too.”

She kept her face turned away from Gideon, hoping he wouldn't see
that she was upset. Or at least, that if he did see, he'd respect her privacy and not question it.

“Rachel?” He rose to his feet, brushing off the knees of his broadfall trousers. “Was ist letz? What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Despite her efforts, her voice didn't sound quite natural.

“Something, I think, or you would not have tears in your eyes.” He stood, waiting, as solid and immovable as one of the sturdy maples that had been here since before there was a farm on this spot.

“I hope . . .” She had to stop. Start again. “I hope the children are still living here when they are grown.”

“Why wouldn't they be?” His tone sharpened.

“If I have to sell the farm, it won't be the same.” Even if she sold to family, and she and the children came back often, they wouldn't really belong here.

“You're not going to sell the farm.” He reached out, as if to grasp her arm, but stopped, his hand falling back to his side. “You can't just give up.”

“Give up?” Anger spurted through her, surprising her. “Do you think it's easy, trying to run the farm on my own?”

“No, I don't think that. But you have Ezra's brothers helping you with the dairy herd.”

“There's more to it than that.”

He didn't understand the constant worry. He couldn't. He was responsible for no one but himself. How long could she hold on? Even if she did start making money from her plants, would it be enough?

“Rachel, the farm was Ezra's dream.” He did take her wrist then, holding it lightly in the circle of his fingers as if to keep her from walking away until he had the answers he wanted. “He wouldn't want you to give that up already.”

“You make the same arguments as Isaac does. But to a different end.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about? What arguments?”

She didn't want to tell him, but she seemed pinned to the spot by the intensity of his frowning gaze.

“Isaac wants me to sell the farm to him, for his oldest boy. He says that way it would go to Ezra's kin and still be in the family.” Her fingers
clenched. “He says that's what Ezra would want. You say Ezra would want me to keep the farm. The truth is that neither of you really knows what he would want.”

“Maybe that's so.” Gideon spoke slowly, his gaze intent on her face. “Maybe it's wrong to try to judge what Ezra would want. I don't know what Isaac is going on, but I'm saying it because I heard Ezra talk about his dreams for this place. About how it would be his legacy to his children, how one day Joseph would be running it, and you'd be adding on a grossdaadi haus for the two of you.”

She seemed to hear Ezra's laughing voice, talking about the two of them growing old together in the grossdaadi haus he'd build. Her throat choked with tears.

“Do you think I don't know that?” She fought to speak around the tightness. “A wife knows her husband's hopes better than a friend, no matter how close he is. I lived the struggle to get established here. Even with the help my aunt and uncle gave us in buying the place, it wasn't easy.”

His lips parted as if he'd speak, but she swept on, determined to have her say.

“This was our dream, but we never imagined that I'd be running it alone. I can't do it. If I didn't have Isaac and William's help, I'd be done. What if Isaac were no longer willing to help with the herd? What would I do then?”

“Isaac surely has not threatened to do that.” His fingers tightened on her wrist.

“No. He seems willing to wait for my answer.” She straightened, pulling her hand away, and he let her go instantly. “And it will be my answer, no one else's. I am the one with the kinder to raise, and I must decide what is best for them.”

It sounded lonely. It
was
lonely, but it was also true.

For a long moment, Gideon stood looking at her. Finally he nodded. “I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn. You're right—the young ones must come first.”

He turned, picking up the tarp that lay folded on the grass. He began to spread it over the cement.

She picked up an edge and helped him cover the new floor. The tarp slid over the small handprints, hiding them from her sight.

He fastened the corners with stones and then straightened, looking at her for the space of a heartbeat, his face very grave.

“I hope you will not have to leave, Rachel. But if you do, I'll make sure that every part of the greenhouse can easily move with you, except for the floor.”

The tension that had been holding her up went out of her like a balloon deflating, and she felt flat and tired. “That's kind of you, Gideon. I don't know what the future will hold. Maybe that's for the best.”

“Maybe so.” His mouth closed firmly on the words, as if he wanted to say something else but was afraid to upset her.

She couldn't help smiling. She'd grown to know Gideon better in the past few days than she had in all the years before.

“You may as well go on. There is something more you want to say, so just say it.”

He didn't quite smile in response, but his mouth seemed to gentle, somehow. “Just this. Ezra heard a lot of advice from Isaac all his life. He listened, but he always made his own decisions, whatever Isaac said.” He paused, surveying her gravely. “I hope that you will do the same.”

B
ecky!”
Rachel called her daughter's name for the third or fourth time, still with no answer.

She could guess where Becky was. William had brought Ben and Bess, the Belgian draft horses, back from Isaac's this morning, intending to do the plowing. Becky, as fascinated as her father had been by the massive, gentle creatures, had raced for the barn the moment she got home. She was probably still there.

Grabbing her shawl, Rachel wrapped it around her as she hurried off the porch. Fickle April had turned cold after a few days that tempted with a promise of warmth.

Still, the ground was soft underfoot. William would be able to plow tomorrow. Perhaps she ought to have him add a strip or two to the kitchen garden, so that she could grow extra vegetables for market. And maybe some small shrubs, as Gideon had suggested.

She glanced toward the greenhouse. The uprights were in place now, so that she could visualize the completed project. It would be near as big as her kitchen, which made sense since she'd rather garden than cook.

Gideon hadn't come today—off to bid on another job. Just as well. She'd felt awkward with him since the day he'd helped put the handprints in the greenhouse.

Annoyance flickered through her. Gideon didn't understand how dependent she was on Isaac's goodwill. Without William here to handle the draft horses and do the plowing, she didn't see how she'd manage.

She'd try if she had to, but she shuddered at the thought. Ezra had teased her, but she'd always been in awe of the massive beasts, gentle as they were.

All Gideon could think about was what he imagined Ezra would want. Well, that was what she wanted, too, wasn't it? Why did it annoy her so much when Gideon voiced it?

I'm not making sense, even to myself, Father. Please help me to know what Your will is for our future, because I do not see the path clearly just now.

She reached the barn door, which stood ajar, and shoved it wider so that she could enter. She stepped inside and stopped, shock freezing her to the spot.

Becky—Becky was in the stall with Ben. The giant draft horse stood, perhaps dozing, facing away from the front. Becky looked like a doll next to him as she tugged at a hind leg the girth of a young tree.

Terror stifled the cry that rose to Rachel's lips. She mustn't do anything that would startle the animal. He was a gentle creature, but his sheer size made him a danger. The step of one of those dinner-plate-sized feet could break a bone, and the horse probably didn't even realize Becky was there.

She took a cautious step. “Becky.” She fought to keep her voice soft when she wanted to scream. “Komm schnell.”

Becky's face swiveled toward her. Her lower lip pouted, as if she were about to argue. A thud resounded from the loft overhead, reverberating through the barn.

Ben threw his head up, massive body shifting. Before she could breathe, Becky had disappeared, caught between the horse and the wall.

“Becky!” Rachel flung herself toward the stall, heart pounding in her ears, terror speeding her feet.

Becky, Becky, Dear Father, protect her . . .

She heard pounding boots above her, and then William dropped straight down from the hayloft. He vaulted into the stall, shoving at the horse's hindquarters. In an instant he lifted Becky over the stall door and into Rachel's arms.

“Are you all right?” She knelt, holding her, running her hands quickly along Becky's limbs.

“I'm fine, Mammi.” Becky's voice trembled a bit, and her face was white. “Ben didn't hurt me. He wouldn't.”

“N-n-no.” William climbed out of the stall more slowly than he had
gone in, and the horse stamped a giant foot as if to emphasize the word. “He w-w-wouldn't hurt you on purpose. He d-d-didn't know you w-were there.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Rachel smoothed Becky's fine hair back into its braid.

Becky pulled away, her lower lip coming out. “Don't fuss.”

Fear slid easily into anger, fueled by the guilt she always felt when one of the children was in danger.

“That is no way to speak to your mother. What were you doing in that stall? You know better than to go in there.”

Becky's gaze slid away from hers, a sure sign she knew she was in the wrong. “Daadi always checked the horses' hooves to be sure they hadn't picked up a stone. He showed me how to do it. I did it just like he did.”

The picture filled her mind—Ezra bending over the horse's leg, knowing just where to pinch so that Ben would lift his hoof for checking, explaining it all in his confident voice to his small daughter.

She had to swallow before she could speak. “I'm sure Daadi didn't mean for you to do so now. When you are bigger, you will, when a grown-up is there to watch.”

Becky's face turned sullen. “I'm big enough.”

“No, you are not!” She was on the verge of losing patience with the child, and that was surely a failure on her part.

“B-Ben would squash you like a bug and n-n-not know he did,” William said.

“But Daadi said—”

“Enough.” Her voice was sharper than she intended. “Onkel William knows well how to take care of the animals. He will do it.”

“Ja, I will, for sure.” William tugged on Becky's kapp string. “D-don't worry.”

“Tell Onkel William denke for taking care of you.”

“Denke,” Becky whispered.

“Ja, it's okay.”

“Go to the haus.” Rachel gave her a little shove toward the door. “I'll be right in.”

She gave Becky a moment to get out of earshot before she turned to William, because she knew that her voice was going to betray her.

“Denke, William.” She clutched both his hands in hers. “If you hadn't been here—” Tears overwhelmed her.

“Ach, it was n-nothing.” He flushed to his ears. “I sh-sh-should have been w-watching her better.”

“That is not your job. It's mine.” She brushed away the tears impatiently with the back of her hand. She was embarrassing William, and that wasn't fair to him. “I'm so grateful to you. I don't know what we would do without you.”

His flush deepened, and his blue eyes seemed to darken with emotion. “I w-would do anything for you and the ch-ch-children. Anything.”

Leah's idea that William had feelings for her forced its way into her head. Here she stood alone in the barn with him, their hands clasped.

Carefully she drew her hands away. “We're very grateful. Now I must go and find some suitable punishment to keep Becky from being so foolish another time.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to come in for coffee when he'd finished, but Leah's words had made her wary of doing so. That was foolish, wasn't it?

Still, she turned and walked quickly back toward the house. It
was
silly, she was sure of it. She'd let Leah's comments change the way she reacted with William.

William had been upset, maybe a little emotional, too, just as she had been. But that was because he loved Becky. It couldn't possibly be anything else.

•   •   •

“They'll
be opening the doors soon.” Aaron Zook, Gideon's brother, gave Rachel a reassuring smile. “Are you ready?”

“Ach, she's been ready this past hour.” Lovina, Aaron's wife, turned from arranging the loaves of bread she'd placed in a large basket on the counter of their stall at the farmer's market in Petersburg. “This is Rachel's first Saturday at market, so she hasn't been running around
being a blabbermaul to the neighbors like me.” Lovina chuckled, her round form jiggling.

“It is so kind of both of you to share your stall.”

Gideon had arranged it, of course—Rachel had no doubt of that, even though it was Lovina who had come to see her a few days earlier with the suggestion.

Her plants—pansies and a variety of potted mints, basil, rosemary, and dill—were ready on the end of the counter they had given her. She had hung bunches of dried herbs from the overhead rack. There weren't many of those, because when she'd dried them last fall she hadn't been thinking of bringing them to market. This year she would do more, if this effort proved successful.

Lovina had been right. She had never even visited the market before, let alone been part of it. The rectangular brick building in the center of town was crowded with vendors of all sorts, some Amish, some English, all of them calling to each other in cheerful, familiar tones.

Lovina and Aaron participated with the ease of long practice. Had being out among the English ever seemed as strange and scary to them as it did to her?

Aaron, four or five years older than Gideon, shared a strong family resemblance with him, although Aaron's beard held a few traces of silver. Perhaps, if Gideon had not had so much sorrow in his life, he'd also share Aaron's jovial good humor and ready laugh.

Aaron had chosen a mate who matched him. Lovina had a round, merry face, snapping brown eyes, and a laugh that came often. She was spreading comfortably into middle age and ruled her large family with cheerfulness unimpaired by the mischief their four boys and three girls seemed to get up to, judging by the stories she'd told on the drive to town. Since they'd started out at five this morning, there had been plenty of time for talk.

“Here they come,” Aaron said.

Rachel's gaze shot to the doors, and her breath caught in her throat. People poured through the openings, spreading out into streams that flowed down each of the aisles in the long building. The noise bounced from the high ceiling, and she feared she'd drown in the hubbub.

Lovina pressed her hand in a quick squeeze. “Don't fret. You'll soon get used to it.”

She doubted that, but she managed to return Lovina's smile. Then those leading the stream of people reached them, and Lovina turned with a smile to her customers.

Folks headed toward the baked goods and Aaron's cheeses first, giving her a chance to watch the two of them in action. When customers approached her end of the counter, she knew what to do.

After she'd waited on a few people, her tension began to slip away. This wasn't that different from the Mud Sale, except that she'd known most of the people there.

Finally, the initial rush slacked off. “There now,” Aaron said, grinning, “that wasn't so bad, was it?”

She shook her head. “I guess not. Is it over?”

“Ach, no.” Lovina brushed up the crumbs that had fallen on the countertop. “This is just the lull. There's always those who think they have to be here right when we open. Then it settles down. It'll get real busy again around noon, probably. Meantime, I'll go and get us all some coffee. You'll mind my baked goods, ja?”

“Sure thing.” Coffee would taste good about now. And Aaron was there to be sure she didn't make any mistakes while Lovina was gone.

No sooner had Lovina left than a woman appeared at Rachel's end of the counter, looking at the potted herbs with a faintly disdainful air. She carried a large basket that already held several bunches of dried flowers.

“May I help you?” Rachel asked, echoing the way she'd heard Lovina do it.

“Is this price correct?” The woman flicked at the small tag Rachel had attached to the dill.

Rachel took a second look. “Ja, that's right.” Lovina had helped her price things, and Lovina knew what was right to charge.

“It's too high. I'm certainly not going to pay that.” The woman glared as if Rachel had offered her an insult.

Taken aback, Rachel could only gape. “I'm sorry—”

Someone elbowed her lightly to the side. She glanced up and blinked. Not Aaron, as she supposed, but Gideon. Where had he come from?

She couldn't ask, since he was already dealing with the customer. He consulted the price tag gravely.

“That's the price for one,” he said, as if they were his plants, not hers. “If you wanted a half dozen, we'd be glad to bring it down to six plants for five dollars.”

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, and then shut it again as the woman scrutinized the plants.

“Hmm . . . don't know that I want that many. How about three for two-fifty?”

“You won't find finer herbs anywhere you look,” Gideon said, his tone persuasive. “Our Rachel grows nothing but the best. Take six, and you can make it a mixed batch—say two each of three varieties. That's the best we can do.”

For a moment she thought the woman would turn and walk away. Then, meek as a lamb, she picked out six of the potted herbs and handed over the money.

When the woman had moved on to another stall, Gideon shot a look at her, as if to assess her reaction. What he saw on her face must have reassured him, because his mouth relaxed into a smile.

“D'you mind my butting in on your business?”

“Not when you can sell the customer six plants instead of one. But how did you know how to deal with that woman? And what are you doing here?”

She thought, too late, that the question was rude, but Gideon didn't seem to mind. He rested one elbow on the counter.

“I usually stop by on Aaron and Lovina's market days unless I have a job. I spell them so they can take a break. But I guess you're taking over that job today.”

“Lovina went for coffee.”

Aaron was busy with a customer at the other end of the counter, but otherwise all seemed quiet enough for the moment. She could ask the question that bothered her.

“But you didn't explain—how did you know what to say to that woman?” She had stood there like a dummy, not knowing how to respond to what had seemed an insult.

He shrugged, seeming at ease in this situation. “Experience, that's all. When someone starts out by saying your price is too high, that usually means they want to haggle. It makes them feel gut to bargain over something they're going to buy anyway.” He grinned. “No one ever outsmarted a Dutchman when it comes to a bargain.”