The Beekeeper's Son (The Amish of Bee County Book 1) (16 page)

Deborah tried not to listen to the strained conversation between Stephen and Mudder on the front seat. Stephen’s bass carried and seemed to step all over Mudder’s high, breathless voice. She sounded as if she were talking to a stranger, even after two months in Bee County. Stephen wasn’t happy about them staying at Mordecai’s. Deborah could see why. Mordecai was a kind and decent man. He should have a fraa. God had blessed
him with a sister who could take care of the house, the cooking, and the garden when she wasn’t teaching, but a man like Mordecai should have a wife.

Why couldn’t Mudder be interested in him? It would mean staying in Texas, but at least it wouldn’t be with Stephen. Why Stephen instead of Mordecai?

Deborah opened her eyes and peered up at Stephen’s back from her vantage point in the bed of the wagon. She tried to see him through her mudder’s eyes. Broad shoulders, hair long enough to stick out the back under his straw hat, tall, a hard worker, a farmer who owned his own land. Everything a fraa could want.

Almost. He wasn’t daed.

And he never would be. That wasn’t his fault.

She switched her gaze to the back of the wagon where she could see Esther and Frannie following along behind them in the Kings’ buggy. She should’ve squeezed onto the seat next to Esther to avoid hearing her mother and Stephen chat, but Mudder had insisted she sit with Susan. Why, Deborah couldn’t imagine. To talk about Phineas. Surely not.

“What’s a
taquería
?” Rebekah pointed at a dusty pink-and-green building with a flashing neon sign in the front window. B
REAKFAST TACOS
3
FOR
$
2. “They’re everywhere.”

“They sell tacos.” Susan offered the explanation in her schoolteacher tone. “Taquería comes from
taco
.”

Deborah hadn’t eaten many tacos in her life, but she would surely like a hamburger now. Stephen had rushed them out of the house and onto the road before breakfast was over.

“Look, Deborah, there’s a McDonald’s.” It was Leila’s turn to point. She must’ve been having the same hunger pains. “French fries and hamburgers.”

“If you had money.” Stephen swiveled to toss the words at them. “We brought sandwiches. No need to waste money on eating out.”

Deborah’s mouth watered at the thought. They hadn’t eaten in a restaurant since the trip here. Susan King set a good table and they never lacked for fresh vegetables and fresh-made cookies or pie, but they didn’t get a lot of meat. Eating in a restaurant would be a treat.

Stephen tugged on the reins and made a sharp right turn. Deborah tumbled against the back of the wagon and smacked her head on the side. “Watch those jars.” His tone was curt. Why was he so cranky? He drove the wagon, not her. “Hold the boxes steady—that’s your job, not daydreaming.”

Rubbing her head, Deborah clamped her mouth shut to keep from saying something she shouldn’t. With Susan’s and Leila’s help, she realigned the jars of wild grape jam, honey, and pickles next to baskets of fresh tomatoes, okra, cucumbers, cantaloupe, radishes, corn on the cob, onions, and squash. Nothing had broken, no thanks to Stephen. The pies they’d spent the entire previous day baking were snug in boxes with towels tucked around them to keep them safe on the journey.

Susan said the Englischers loved those pies. They would earn a nice price and then maybe Stephen could be convinced to buy a round of burgers and fries—they could share orders. She could almost taste the tang of the catsup and the salt as she licked her greasy fingers.

Susan smiled at Deborah as if she were reading her mind. “We’ll have a cookout on July Fourth. We always roast hot dogs and make hamburgers on the Fourth. I make French fries. Homemade are better anyway. If we can afford it, we get a few firecrackers for the kinner. They like the sparklers.”

Deborah nodded, appreciating Susan’s attempt to smooth things over. “Hazel likes the ones you light and they look like worms curling up when they burn.”

“We’re here.” Stephen pulled the wagon to a stop on the street in front of Walmart’s enormous parking lot. People trundled out, their carts full of groceries.

“Get the sign up.” Stephen hopped from the wagon, his tone brusque. “Folks will be coming by as soon as they see it. They always do.”

He was right. No sooner did they anchor the sign Frannie had made with her pretty print on a piece of cardboard box that read F
RESH
P
IES
* P
RODUCE
* J
AMS
* H
ONEY
to the side of the wagon than folks began to make a beeline for them. A lady who sniffed the pecan pie and gushed over the apple pie, an elderly couple who wanted three jars of honey to give to their children visiting from New York, and a cowboy who grinned at Leila and stuck a toothpick in his mouth before carrying off a pecan pie in each hand. One man carted off the entire box of corn on the cob, even though the ears were small and stunted from lack of rain.

“Not bad,” Stephen muttered as he counted out the bills, stuck them in a coffee can, and snapped the lid on with a satisfied air. “All right. We best get to the bank, Abigail. We can walk from here.”

“The bank?” Deborah studied her mudder’s face. She looked as if she felt . . . guilty. Or unsure of herself. Mudder never used to be unsure of anything. “What’s at the bank?”

“Money.”

No need to be sarcastic. Deborah chewed the inside of her lip as she forced back the retort. “We’re putting this money in the bank? It’s not really much yet, and it’s not even ours.”

“You’re right. It’s not ours. We’re not putting it in.” Mudder rearranged the jam jars, wild grape in front of the peach, even though they were perfectly fine the way they were. “Stephen wants to irrigate a few more acres so he can expand the orchards.”

Something in her tone explained the pink on her cheeks. “With our house money?”

“Your house money?” Stephen’s frown deepened, making his thin lips thinner. “You don’t have money. Or a house.”

“It’s not your money either. My daed built that house.” Deborah slapped her hand to her mouth, horrified the words had burst from her. She breathed and let it drop. “I mean—”

“I’ll not have disrespect from you. You may be the oldest, but you’re not too old to be thrashed.” Stephen took a step toward Deborah. “You’ll find yourself in the shed.”

To her horror, Deborah felt a giggle burble up in her. The idea that this man would attempt to take her to the shed seemed downright silly. Daed had never taken a switch to her. She’d never given him a reason to do so. And now she was a grown woman. She gritted her teeth to keep the giggle and the words from escaping.

“Do you hear me? Answer me when I speak to you.”

“Stephen, you’re getting ahead of yourself.” Mudder’s face had turned a deep, ugly hue of red and purple that matched Stephen’s. “And not here, not on the street. We’ll talk about this at home. Please.”

“Why don’t you and I go to the Walmart for the material and sewing goods we need?” Susan stepped in front of Deborah. Stephen loomed over them, his face even darker than Mudder’s. Susan smiled up at him, the picture of calm. That patient air must have been a King family trait. “We can take the buggy and Frannie can run the stand for us. She has lots of experience.”

This couldn’t be happening. Stephen Stetler couldn’t be her daed’s replacement. He was . . . He wasn’t the right man. He couldn’t be. Deborah ducked around Susan and Stephen so she could crowd Mudder. “I thought we were waiting a bit to see how things go. What’s the hurry?”

“No hurry. It’s a loan.” Mudder shook her head, her expression a cross between beseeching and furious. “We’ll be back in an hour or so. You go with Susan. Hazel, behave yourself and stay with Leila and Rebekah. Remember, cars use the street. Not little girls.”

“I want to go with you.” Hazel grabbed Mudder’s apron, her chubby fingers tight around the bunched-up material. “I go to bank.”

“Nee, little one.” Mudder attempted to loosen Hazel’s grip. “You help with the stand.”

Hazel’s face crumpled and she began to sniff, her blue eyes bright with tears. “Want to go.”

“You heard your mudder.” Stephen grasped Hazel’s arm and tugged her away from Mudder. “You best do as you’re told. At least you’re young enough to still learn to respect your elders.” His glare scalded Deborah. “It’s not too late for any of you. Mark my words.”

Deborah scooped Hazel into her arms and settled her on one hip. The girl hiccupped a sob and buried her wet face on Deborah’s shoulder. “Wanna go home.” Her words were muffled, but her meaning unmistakable. “Go home now.”

“Me too,
bopli
, me too.” Deborah nestled her close and watched Mudder walk away, her head down, a few steps behind her future husband. “We’ll be fine.”

Fine
was a relative term.

SEVENTEEN

Deborah wanted to melt into the ground. She wanted to turn and run and keep running until she reached Tennessee. She’d talked back to a man. A girl didn’t do that. But Stephen tried her patience down to her very soul. He did. He wasn’t her daed. He never would be.

“Come on, come on, Deborah, we’ve got shopping to do.” Susan scooped her canvas bag from the wagon and tucked the strap over her shoulder. She didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the scene she’d just witnessed in front of Englischers who only wanted to buy pies and cantaloupe. She tugged Hazel from Deborah’s hip and winked. A big wink. “Hazel can come too. She can help us carry the food.”

“The food?”

“Didn’t you know? This Walmart has a McDonald’s inside.” Susan patted her belly with her free hand. “My stomach is rumbling, and I have my egg money tucked in my coin purse.”

“We don’t need anything. We brought a water jug and some sandwiches.” Deborah didn’t want to saddle Susan with any more expenses, and Mudder had given her only enough to
cover material, thread, underwear, and socks. It was the last of the cash she’d brought with her from Tennessee. On the other hand, it sure would be nice to eat some of those fries, just because Stephen didn’t want them to do it.
Bad, bad attitude.
Gott, forgive
me.
“We’re fine.”

“My treat.” Susan’s smile widened. She looked so much like Mordecai that day they’d played in the rain, they might’ve been twins. “Later on down the road, you can treat me.”

“If Deborah doesn’t want her fries, I’ll take hers.” Frannie looked a little pouty that she was being stuck with the produce stand while Deborah got Walmart. “I’m starved and so is Esther.”

Esther nodded, but she seemed more interested in sneaking side peeks at Deborah. She’d been a little cool toward Deborah since their exchange at the singing, but after the fire, she’d offered to help Deborah make new dresses. Now she had to be horrified at how Deborah had talked back to Stephen. It wasn’t done, and Deborah would hear all about it from Mudder when they got back to the house.

“I’ll bring the little junior burgers for everyone, and we can share a couple of orders of fries. It’ll be plenty and not too costly,” Susan promised. “You girls just make sure to count the money and make change properly and don’t take any checks.”

“We know, we know,” Esther, Frannie, Rebekah, and Leila chimed in unison. “And no wooden nickels.”

They all laughed. The lingering pall of Stephen’s rant dissipated.

Ten minutes later Deborah traipsed behind Susan, Hazel between them, past the Walmart McDonald’s with its scent of French fries and hamburgers wafting by them. The frigid air made her shiver. It felt like winter inside the store. With Susan’s assurances that they would get the hamburgers after they made
their purchases, Hazel allowed herself to be settled into the shopping cart with a small root beer. They made their way through the long aisles in the store’s sewing section filled with bolts of material in all colors and patterns.

Deborah didn’t know where to look first. She touched a bolt of silky pink material and then flannel covered with puppies. Winter nightgowns. She didn’t even want to think about what winter must be like here. It took some rummaging, but finally she unearthed a bolt of plain blue cotton. Perfect for shirts for the boys and dresses for the girls. “I don’t see any plain black cotton.” She tugged a bolt of gingham aside followed by some burgundy material with a paisley print. “Do you?”

Susan lifted a bolt of black fabric from the far side of the display table. “I ask them to keep it in stock. They’re real nice about it, even though they don’t have much use for heavy black cotton.”

Deborah smoothed a nice lilac cotton/synthetic blend. It would make a pretty dress. Not that she had anywhere to wear such a dress.

“You know, Stephen means well.” Susan touched the lilac material. “This is nice. We’ll get it. Y’all need new dresses. It’s on sale. So is the gray material. And look, they have thread on sale too.”

“It’s not too fancy?”

“It’s just right.” Susan added the bolt to her pile. “So does Phin.”

How did Phineas get into this conversation? “I know.”

“At your age, sometimes it’s hard to understand why people act the way they do.”

“So when you get older, it gets easier?”

“Nee.” Susan chuckled and patted Deborah’s shoulder. “You just have more patience with it, I guess. I can tell you this, though. I’ve known Phin his whole life. He has a gut heart.”

Esther’s exact words. They would say that about someone who belonged to their family. They loved him. Susan shook her head as if she knew what Deborah was thinking. “I’m not just saying that because he’s my nephew. Even if he hadn’t been in that accident and lost his mudder, he would be a little on the independent side. He loves his family and he’s committed to his faith, but he struggles with the need to be solitary. It’s his nature. Like my bruder.”

“Mordecai seems . . . nice.”

“He changed after the accident. My bruder used to be stubborn and impatient with people who couldn’t keep up with him. After he lost his fraa in the accident, and almost lost Phin, he slowed down. He began to treat people better. He stops to enjoy the moment, whether it’s the sunrise in the morning or sharing honey with some homesick girls. He knows those are Gott-given gifts. Our days are numbered on this earth. We should appreciate the journey as we pass through.”