Seasons of Tomorrow (5 page)

The farmhouse sat on the same acreage as the harvest kitchen, but even without snow or night hindering one’s vision, it couldn’t be seen or heard from here. However, she knew it was loud and busy this time of day. If this winter weather continued much longer, her niece and nephew might explode with pent-up energy. But whenever Rhoda came here to work, she enjoyed the blissful silence.

A light scratch on the kitchen door made her heart quicken. That was Samuel’s knock, if one could call it that. As she grabbed a hand towel, her chest thudded with anticipation. It didn’t matter how much she relished quietness, her heart was far from silent on the topic of Samuel King.

“Kumm.” She strode across the room, smiling.

Unlike their first winter in Maine, this one had been a lot of fun. She could still hear her friends’ and family members’ shouts and laughter and see their beautiful smiles framed by red noses and pink cheeks when they went sledding or ice-skating.

The door handle jiggled but didn’t turn. Were Samuel’s gloved hands unable to open it, or were his hands full?

Just as she reached for the knob, the door swung open, and a blast of cold air blew snow inside. Samuel entered, and the sight of him—his broad shoulders and expressive brown eyes—made her wonder if he had any idea how much she loved him. They talked about most things but not this. Not yet.

Sure enough, his arms held a large covered basket. She glanced outside. He was by himself? That was odd. By his own rules he was rarely alone with
her. She closed the door behind him. As he set the basket on the table, the aroma of chicken and fresh-baked bread mingled with the smell from her burned concoction.

She swiped the towel across the table where flakes of snow had landed and melted. “Hard to believe it’ll officially be spring in two days.”

“I agree.” Samuel removed his snow-covered hat and hung it on a peg. “I’m looking forward to warmer weather.” He glanced at the pendulum wall clock. “But that needs winding.”

She studied it a moment. It had been stuck on ten minutes after six for quite a while. How had she not noticed that?

He moved to the wood stove and held out his hands. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Time for you to bring me food?”

He shook his head, a trace of a smile showing despite his apparent efforts to subdue it. “If I didn’t remind you it was time to eat, how many meals would you miss?”

“Apparently none. Ever again.” Her eyes met his, and she could feel how drawn he was to her.

He returned to the table and propped his palms on the edge of the basket, still studying her. “Sustenance. It’s what’s for dinner. Now go wash your face and whatever else you like to do before you eat.”

“I’ll hurry.” She scurried up the narrow stairs that led to a small attic.

Rhoda lit a kerosene lamp and pulled the straight pins out of her apron. Despite the really rough start when they had moved to Maine seventeen months ago, she’d still choose to come here and do it all again because it had brought what now existed between Samuel and her.

Thoughts of Jacob tried to push in again, but she said another prayer for him and then refused to ponder where he was or how he was doing. She unpinned her hair and ran a brush through it. With her hair fixed, prayer
Kapp
in place, and a fresh apron on, she blew out the lantern and descended the stairs.

She was on the third-to-the-last step when she stopped cold. Samuel
had set up what looked to be new outdoor furniture. And the worktable had been transformed into a kitchen table of sorts with two perfectly arranged place settings, a kerosene lamp, and a small cake … with lit candles.

Her birthday! Until this moment it hadn’t dawned on her. She was twenty-four.

If she could find her voice, she’d say something. Her family hadn’t celebrated birthdays since her sister had been killed on her Daed’s birthday, and Rhoda had stopped even thinking about them.

Samuel walked to her. “Now that I know when your birthday is, it’s a day I’ll always celebrate.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she swallowed hard, emotions carrying her like a snowflake on a strong wind. Her nature was to put on blinders and labor like a workhorse, but Samuel had ways of removing her blinders and causing her to pause so she could take in the beauty of life.

He motioned to her. “Kumm. Make a wish and blow out the candles before all the frosting is covered in wax.”

She drew a shaky breath and walked to a barstool. He’d thought of everything, even coffee, and she hoped he’d brought the decaffeinated kind. If not, after they cleaned up here, they’d move to the farmhouse with its many chaperones and stay up half the night talking.

Hmm. Maybe she did want caffeinated coffee after all.

At the table she paused, closed her eyes, and then blew out the candles, wishing for something silly—for this to be the last snowfall of the spring. If she really wanted something, she’d pray for it.

She opened her eyes, feeling a little awkward about all Samuel had done to honor her. Why had he spent good money to buy outdoor furniture when they had old foldup chairs? Her discomfort grew as she walked over to the all-weather wicker furniture.

“Samuel, it’s lovely.” Since they liked to end their day sitting outside when weather permitted, it was perfect for them, but how could she accept such a gift? “I … know this sounds odd, but it’s easier when we argue and yell.”

“And I’m all for making your life as easy as possible.” He smiled. “You know, through yelling.” He pulled out a barstool for her. “Just not today.”

But she knew he preferred not to argue. It was just necessary when two strong-willed people with heavy-duty opinions had a relationship. She returned to the table. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“The furniture I ordered via phone and had it delivered. Landon drove me to the store where I bought the cake and candles. And Phoebe made the dinner. So nothing I did was all that remarkable. But you are free to count my actions every bit as amazing as you wish. It is, after all, your birthday.”

She laughed. He smiled and bowed his head. She finished her silent prayer before he did, so she waited. When he was done and looked up, she took a bite of the baked chicken and noodles. “I love this dish.”

“Ya, Phoebe said it was your favorite.” He used a napkin to wipe the Alfredo sauce from his lips. “Did she cook this last year and I had no idea it was your birthday?”

“Ya.” Several months ago she’d told him her birth date, explaining that since her sister was killed on their Daed’s birthday, her whole family had stopped celebrating those days.

Emma’s death had shattered far more than their hearts. It had broken traditions and celebrations. It had stolen sleep and peace. What it didn’t steal, it buried under their shock and grief. Her family simply learned how to maneuver with missing limbs.

Her eyes met Samuel’s, and sadness and guilt faded as love for him captured every thought. Her heart pounded.

Samuel swiped the back of his thumb across his forehead. “Did you create a new recipe today?”

She laughed. “Only if you count the ones that list what
not
to do.”

He smiled. “Life needs those too, doesn’t it?”

The conversation moved slowly as they ate. The ends of Samuel’s usually straight hair curled into ringlets as it dried from the melted snow. “It’s after ten, Rhoda. Once we eat and clean up, you need to call it a night, okay?”

“It’s that late?”

He nodded.

She bit her bottom lip, hoping to tease him while keeping a straight face. “Then why didn’t you bring me dinner sooner?”

“Because you messed up my plans.
Gross dank
.”

“You’re very welcome. Anytime you need anything messed up, I’m your girl.”

Amusement danced in his eyes. “How is it that I like the sound of that at the same time I don’t like the sound of that?”

“Because you confuse easily.” She raised one eyebrow, aiming to look defiant.

“Birthday girl or not, don’t give me any lip … uh, eyebrow. I had planned this celebration to be at the house, and I kept waiting on you to arrive, but you never came home.”

The man was going to drive her crazy, making her feel so unworthy of his kindness, so she decided to do what she did best in these situations—push back. “That’s not true. As long as I’m on this farm, I am home.”

He grinned, looking as if she’d given
him
a gift. “I apologize for lying.”

“And well you should.” She waved her fork in the air. She noticed there was a lumpy blanket over one of the worktables. “Samuel King, have you done something else?”

“Two things, actually.”

She pointed at him. “Do not make me yell at you.”

Samuel laughed. “But I’m so good at it.” His lopsided smile melted her heart. She giggled, nodding in agreement. Thankfully, when they argued, he neither caved because he loved her nor tried to bend her will to his because she was
only
a woman. He fought fair, and she appreciated it … eventually.

She eyed the long workbench, noting that whatever was under the king-size blanket was quite bulky. “What is it?”

“Go see if you must.”

She crossed the room and removed the blanket. Was she looking at a new kind of apple butter stirrers … automatic ones?

Samuel stayed seated. “They’re not really a birthday gift, but since they arrived yesterday, I thought I’d surprise you with them.”

“Are they automated stirrers?”

“Ya. It’ll take some time to set them up, but they’ll run off solar power, and you’ll be able to set a timer.”

“Samuel, this had to cost a fortune.”

“It’ll save you enough time and backbreaking work to be more than worth it. I would’ve gotten them in time for last year’s harvest, but they had to be specially made to fit our Old Order Amish harvest kitchen.”

“Denki.”

He nodded, and from seemingly nowhere Samuel slid a gift across the table. “It’s not much.”

She returned to the table and eased it from him. “Samuel, what else have you done?”

“Open it and find out.”

She sat and turned it over, enjoying the beauty and smooth texture of the wrapping paper. It felt like a book of some kind. She wouldn’t blame him if it were a cookbook. She could hardly make anything other than recipes to can. At least those came out delicious and sold really well, shoring up her waning confidence when it came to the kitchen.

As Rhoda opened the gift, she realized it was a photo album. “Well, aren’t you the bold one? An Amish man giving pictures as a gift.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Oh, I’m definitely telling.” She winked before flipping through it, seeing images Iva had taken—pictures of her niece and nephew; of the orchard; of everyone eating at the table, all except Iva, who was taking the picture. Most were carefully done, showing no one posing and only a few discreet but full faces. What a beautiful treasure.

Her heart jumped when she came across a picture from last fall of Samuel with her niece asleep in his lap and her nephew standing at his knees talking to him. She remembered being in the living room with him when this happened. It was a Saturday evening, and she and Samuel were going
over business stuff when Arie climbed into his lap and soon fell sound asleep. It’d stolen her heart that day, but she hadn’t realized Iva had taken a picture of it.

When she turned the page and saw a collage of tiny images, an odd sensation skittered through her. The page blurred for a moment. Was it her imagination, or was God trying to share something with her? As she prayed and ran her finger over the collage, she realized someone from the core group was missing. But every one of them was on that page mere moments ago. The blurry images wavered and shifted before being covered with a black veil. She blinked, and nausea churned. Someone in an Amish dress had disappeared from the page, and the rest were fighting to survive without her.

Rhoda’s insides quaked, but she wouldn’t share her thoughts with Samuel. She searched the image. It seemed that either Phoebe or Leah was gone. Rhoda couldn’t tell which, but fear ran cold chills down her spine. The missing one wasn’t just living elsewhere. She was beyond being reached by any human method.

Alarm gripped Rhoda, and she couldn’t swallow.

Dear God, please let these thoughts just be my imagination
.

FIVE

The house seemed unusually quiet for a Sunday evening as Leah tiptoed down the stairs. She didn’t have to sneak out, but that was easier than having to meet the eyes of those she shared a home with as she left to attend an Englisch church week after week.

Her brother and the others knew where she went on Sunday evenings—Unity Hill Church.

She pulled her coat and scarf off the wooden pegs. Before she opened the front door, Steven walked out of the kitchen, a small plate of banana pudding in one hand and a spoonful of it on its way to his mouth. He spotted her and lowered the spoon. His gentle smile was outweighed by the concern, maybe also disappointment, in his eyes. “That time again, huh?”

Leah nodded. “I’ll be back around ten.”

“Okay.”

Leah started to open the door.