The Beekeeper's Son (The Amish of Bee County Book 1) (20 page)

“Nee, the best smell around is cherry pie.”

“True. Or pumpkin. I like pumpkin.”

He liked pumpkin pie. She made a good one, if she did say so herself. “Maybe come Thanksgiving, I’ll bake you one.”

“The fish are burning.” John approached with a full plate in one hand, the other hand waving the air as if trying to clear imaginary smoke Abigail couldn’t see. “What a waste.”

“It’s not burning.” She returned to her task, aware of Susan and the girls crowded at one table, giggling and whispering. What would Susan think of her? She wasn’t flirting with Mordecai. She surely didn’t remember how to flirt. And she was committed to another. “I like the breading crisp, don’t you?”

John stuck a pickle in his mouth and chewed without responding. He looked as if he’d taken a bite of the wrong end of a porcupine. Maybe he’d been goosed by one of those armadillos Deborah went on and on about. He’d been morose and grumpy for days now. Not that she blamed him, losing the house and all. Didn’t seem to affect his appetite, however. He’d been standing around shoveling food into his mouth like a starved child for several minutes.

Abigail nodded to an open spot on the bench next to John’s boys. “Sit, bruder. It’s not good for the digestion to eat standing.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale.” The words were muffled by a mouthful of jalapeño-cheese bread Susan had baked the previous day. John swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort. He jerked his head. “Come. Talk with me.”

Abigail picked up the tongs and turned the fish pieces over with a gingerly touch. “Go ahead. I’ve got a whole mess of fish still to fry.”

“Frannie and Leila can handle it.” His tone suggested she not argue. “Or Eve and Theresa.”

Eve and Theresa sat at a picnic table in a nearby pavilion, side by side, backs to the table, matching dishwater-red hands on their big bellies, faces damp with sweat. Their conversation had been faint and breathless.

“Leila, take over here.” Abigail gave the fish another stir. It didn’t look or smell burned to her. Her turn to eat would have
to wait, it seemed. What did John want that couldn’t wait a few minutes or be said in front of the rest of their family? She handed the tongs to Leila. “Careful not to bump the stove or you’ll have hot grease running down your legs.”

John stalked away, choosing a concrete sidewalk that led down to the water’s edge but ended abruptly with a downturn that went nowhere. Curiosity stirring in her, Abigail scurried to keep up. “What is it? If you want me to help with the baby, I’d be happy to do it. I’ve delivered a bunch of babies over the past few years. I just thought Naomi would do it. She’s helped with others, according to Susan.”

“It’s not Eve.” A dull red crept across John’s cheeks. A pulse beat in his temple. He faced Abigail. “We’re moving to Missouri.”

Her bruder suddenly spoke a language Abigail couldn’t understand. “Missouri? What? What are you talking about?”

“Eve’s family is from up yonder around Jamesport.”

“I know, but you have land here and friends and . . . family.” The hunger Abigail had felt earlier turned into a hard, heavy stone in her stomach, leaving her with a desire to retch. John had her and the kinner. His family. They’d only just arrived in Bee County and, at the moment, were homeless. “You told me it would be a good move, to come here. That’s what you said.”

“I did. I’m sorry.” John’s hands clenched at his sides, then opened again. “I didn’t know what was coming. No one could’ve. Our family is growing, and I’m hard-pressed to provide for them here. I could barely make ends meet, and now with the house . . .”

“Gott will provide. He already has. We’ve already started to rebuild. The foundation is still there.” Abigail worked to keep the panic from her voice. “The supplies are here. We’ll have a building frolic tomorrow. Surely that is Gott’s plan.”

“Building the house will make the property easier to sell. Eve and I have prayed and we believe moving is Gott’s plan.”

“Sell? Who’ll buy it?” Abigail clamped her hand over her mouth to keep the words from spilling out. Such an ugly place. Even this lake, with its dearth of water and dead trees reaching their shorn gray-and-white branches to the sky, seemed to be dead or dying. She’d kept that opinion to herself for weeks now. She wouldn’t criticize God’s creation, as much as the drab grays and browns reminded her of a funeral.

She breathed and dropped her hand. “You mean to leave us here with no family?”

“You’re to marry Stephen. That’s been the plan all along. You’ll be settled here with a good man who can provide for you and your kinner.” John faced her. Creases around his eyes and mouth made him look older than she knew him to be. “I have a sense of peace over that. Don’t you?”

Despite the oven-like heat of midday, a shiver ran through Abigail. Her life stood before her, the road empty all the way to a barren horizon. This was her life from now on. And the life of her kinner. She’d brought them here for a new start. With Stephen. “I thought to have you and Eve close, that’s all. Everything is better with family. You can rebuild.”

“It’s not just the house.” John stooped and picked up a rock. He slung it into the lake, making it bounce across the shimmering blue water. “Truth be told, it’s been a long time coming.”

Something he hadn’t shared with her before she uprooted her kinner and trekked halfway across the country to this alien place. “I don’t understand.”

John chucked another rock into the lake. Like a little boy in trouble, he couldn’t seem to look her in the eye. “Eve misses her
family. She misses Missouri and snow at Christmas and leaves that change colors and silly things like that. I want to farm in a place where the earth is fertile and meant to grow crops. This is ranching country.”

“Are you saying it was a mistake to start a district here?”

“That’s not for me to say. Leroy’s daed saw something here. Gott called him here.” John waved his hands toward the horizon. “I just don’t think He called me here.”

“Have you told Leroy?”

“Jah.”

“What did he say?”

“He’s disappointed. We’re the third family to leave in the last year.”

“Third? Why didn’t you tell me this before I moved here?”

“The district has struggled to make it for years. Folks come and go. I thought you and the kinner, especially the girls, would help grow it. The fire was the last straw. Maybe a sign, I don’t know. I have decided to trust Gott and move closer to Eve’s family.” He kicked at the hard ground with a dusty boot. “Besides, you weren’t coming here for me. You came for Stephen. Leastways, that’s the impression I had. I know it’s the one he has.”

It was Abigail’s turn to stare at the water. Jah, she came to Beeville because of Stephen, but also because she had family here. A fallback. She could admit to herself she’d been counting on John and Eve as her backup plan.

Instead of counting on God.
Gott, forgive me.
“When will you go?”

“Next week. I’d like to get Eve settled before she gets too far along.” He ducked his head and cleared his throat. “Eve’s brother
needs help with his harvest. He can pay me a wage. That’ll get us started until I can sell the land here.”

Abigail’s throat ached with a sense of loss she hadn’t felt since Timothy’s death. John didn’t die. It didn’t make sense that she should feel so bereft. So lost. “We can’t keep living in Mordecai’s house.”

“You have two choices.” John sounded much surer of himself now that the topic had shifted from him to her. “You can do what you came to do here and marry Stephen. Or you can come to Missouri with us.”

Or she could admit coming here had been a fool’s errand and return to Tennessee. That would make the kinner happy. What they didn’t understand was they had no home left. Some other family lived in the house that had once been theirs.

It was just a house, but somehow she couldn’t bear the thought of watching another woman hang clothes on the line outside the house she’d shared with Timothy. Or plant potatoes and peas in the ground Timothy had tilled for her garden.

Or she could uproot the kinner yet again to go to another place to start over once again without a husband.

Or marry Stephen and lie in the bed she’d made for herself.

TWENTY-ONE

“Abigail! There you are!”

The familiar refrain. The familiar voice. Abigail felt as if she’d lived this moment before. More than once. Stephen always seemed to be following after her, pursuing her, a bit of a whine in his voice telling her he didn’t like it. As if conjured by her thoughts, Stephen trotted along the path to the spot where Abigail stood with John, gazing out at the lake. He puffed as if he’d run the entire way from the farm. To him, it probably looked like they were having a nice, bruder-schweschder chat beside the lake.

“Stephen came to me yesterday and told me he wants to announce the banns soon. He doesn’t want to wait until November.” John waved at Stephen, then turned to her. His voice was low, the words meant for her ears only. “He also says you seem hesitant. You should take him up on his offer before it’s too late. A man like Stephen won’t wait forever. And you shouldn’t expect him to. It’s best for everyone involved.”

He sounded so sure of himself. Abigail wanted that same certainty. She stared at Stephen, traipsing toward them with that loose-hipped, gangly walk he had. Like a kid who’d never gotten used to his height after a growth spurt.

John did an about-face and passed Stephen on the path with a nod. Stephen barely seemed to notice. “When John said everyone was fishing today, I had to join in. I enjoy a gut fish fry, you know. Caleb was anxious to come too. I think he misses his schweschders, even though he’s not about to admit it.”

“Caleb loves to fish. I’m glad you’re getting to do something fun together.” Caleb had seemed content with his stay at Stephen’s. He helped in the greenhouse, and Stephen seemed to enjoy teaching him how to fend for himself in the kitchen. All good things. Fighting a drowning sensation, she tried to compose herself. “It’s nice that it costs nothing for the kinner under twelve to enter the park.”

“He’s a gut boy.” Stephen cocked his head, his expression eager. “I look forward to teaching him how to work the fields and harvest the olives and the citrus fruit.”

To treat him as a son. The thought struck her heart as an arrow to its target. “It’s gut of you to take him under your wing.”

“I care for him.” His gruff voice deepened. “As I care for you.”

“I’m thankful for that.”

He shook his head, the eager look dissipating. “That’s not the response I hoped for. How much longer will you make me wait?”

Mordecai’s whistled tune filled Abigail’s head. Followed by his chortle when the wind blew his hat from his head and the way his voice sounded when he talked about rubber worms, names for dogs, and fishing. She swiveled and faced the lake, hoping Stephen wouldn’t see her expression. “I don’t know. I’m trying, but I need time.”

Time for feelings to grow. Was that too much to ask for?

“I’m trying to be patient, I hope you know that.”

He tried so hard.
Gott, soften my heart toward him.
“It’s a
beautiful day. Come back to the picnic shelter and let me make you a plate of fried fish. It’s delicious. Mordecai—”

“You need to be out of Mordecai’s house, the sooner the better. I’ve spoken with John—”

“He told me.”

Stephen sighed, a long, exasperated sigh. He didn’t say anything for several beats. A bird somewhere beyond Abigail’s line of sight chirruped. A fish jumped and disappeared into the water.

“I—”

“You—”

They walked over each other with their words. Abigail halted. Stephen did the same. Another beat of silence. Stephen cleared his throat. “You first.”

“Nee. It’s only right that you speak your mind. I’m sorry.”

Stephen moved a step closer. He had a woodsy scent of leather and sweat. After a second or two, his hand came out and grasped hers. It was damp, but not unpleasantly so. His fingers curled around hers. “When you picked Timothy the first time, I knew then that I would never be the man your heart desired—”

“Stephen—”

“Nee, you said I could go first.” His grip tightened. The deep bass of his voice sounded hoarse. “I can’t compete with the memories of your husband. I’m clumsy and I don’t always have a way with words.”

“You do fine.”

“Don’t lie. You find me lacking. I see it in your eyes.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been harder than I expected to get used to being here.”

“Being with me, you mean.” His gaze sideswiped hers and careened back to the lake. “I had hoped you would see me in a new
light here. That your affection for me would grow and deepen. It hasn’t. It shouldn’t be this hard for me to get your attention. I know when I . . . kissed you . . . you didn’t feel what I did.”

She had hoped it would too. She’d prayed for it. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt this man once again. She’d been so sure she would grow to love him. “I’m truly sorry if I’m hurting you. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard.”

He let her hand drop and faced her. “I went too fast. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“Nee, it’s my fault. I thought I was over Timothy’s death, but I’m beginning to see you don’t actually get over such a thing.” Could he understand that? Abigail prayed he could. She prayed God would give him patience. “You learn to go on and begin a new season in your life. Maybe for some, like me, it’s harder than for others.”

His arm slid around her and she found herself enveloped in a simple, brief hug. “I’m sorry if I made it harder for you.” He let her go and took a step back. “I’m awful at this. I’m pigheaded and used to going about things my way. I hope you’ll give me another chance.”

Abigail looked into his eyes so blue against his sunburned face. He was as earnest as a teenage boy on his first ride with a girl. She could recall with minute detail everything about her first buggy ride with Timothy. His soapy, clean scent, the way his dark hair curled on his neck, the white of his teeth as dusk fell and stars began to pop out in the night sky. The clatter of the wooden wheels against the gravel and dirt road. His laugh. Mostly his laugh.