The Beekeeper's Son (The Amish of Bee County Book 1) (26 page)

She nodded and managed to close her mouth. Words escaped her. All up and down the beach folks in skimpy bathing suits, funny straw hats, and dark sunglasses played in the water. They sat on plastic chairs that sank into the sand under windblown umbrellas anchored in that same sand. None of them seemed as awestruck by the sight in front of them as she felt.

“It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?” He slapped a hand on his hat to settle it before the wind snatched it away. “Go on, get closer. The waves won’t grab you and suck you in. We have about an hour and then we need to get back on the road if we’re going to get to Mexico and back today.”

An hour. She would need at least that long to catch her breath. She wished they could stay here permanently. South Padre Island. Even the name was pretty. “What about all those people?”

“They may stare a bit, but mostly they’re too busy having fun to care about a bunch of Plain folks getting their feet wet.” Mordecai balanced on one foot and tugged off a boot. He stuck the boot in the sand, then tugged off the other. “I better get out there before Butch drowns. Come on. Wade in. It’ll cool you off.”

A grin stretching from ear to ear, he took off toward the water with a pace suited to a much younger man. He hippity-hopped a bit, zigged, then zagged, looking much like Butch had a few seconds earlier. “Last one in the water has to walk home!”

Deborah eased one foot onto the sand. Hot. She picked up the skirt of her dress to keep it from getting dirty and began the trek across the sand. Her feet sank. It felt as if they were encased in an oven. Mordecai was right. She could see God’s hand in this. As
she padded closer and the sand turned wet, the heat dissipated. It felt like sticky clay on her soles. Her feet made squelching noises as she walked. A little boy in a drooping, sand-smeared diaper chased a striped blow-up ball across her path, forcing her to sidestep. His delighted laughter mingled with the chatter of the seagulls.

Water lapped at her feet, leaving suds around her and tiny holes that filled again as the water drained away. Her footprints washed away as quickly as she made them. The water felt cool as it rushed against her ankles and calves, then swept away in a steady, rhythmic tide that rushed in her ears.

“Water, water!” Hazel shrieked and ran past her, arms flailing, dress flapping. She threw herself into the shallow water and rolled around. She staggered to her feet, mouth gaping. “Cold!”

“It’s not that cold.” Esther splashed ahead. “It feels like heaven.”

Deborah wouldn’t go that far, but it did feel good. “What are those?” She pointed at enormous birds flying in a line in the distance. They looked like flying dinosaurs. One swooped down and skimmed the water, its baggy mouth open. “What are they doing?”

“Those are pelicans, silly.” Esther squatted and splashed Hazel, who shrieked and toddled away as fast as her short, fat legs would take her. “Haven’t you ever seen one before? They’re getting their lunch. They like fish for lunch and supper and breakfast.”

“We didn’t have pelicans in Tennessee. They’re strange looking.”

“Strangely pretty.”

Deborah jumped in spite of herself. She hadn’t noticed Phineas’s approach. That he would come near surprised her. He still worked the apiaries with Mordecai and showed up regularly for supper, but he had nary a word to say to her. Nor had he
spoken to her in the van or even looked her way, his nose stuck in a bird book. As if he, too, was haunted by the feel of his hand on hers that day in front of the medical clinic. His fingers rubbing the skin on the back of her hand. They hadn’t done anything wrong. So why did she have this strange, queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach every time she saw him?

She kept her gaze on the birds, trying to ignore the catch in her breath at the sight of him. Every muscle in her body tensed at his nearness. He was only a man. A prickly, gruff, rude, unbearable know-it-all who had her all mixed up for no apparent reason.

Determined to ignore all this foolishness, she studied the pelicans as they soared, swooped, and bobbed. Unfortunately, the pelicans reminded her of that first real conversation she and Phineas ever had. The night he walked with her on the dark road back to John’s house after the singing. He’d said then he’d like to know what it felt like to fly, a sentiment she shared.

“What about those, what are those?” Pleased that her voice didn’t shake, she pointed at brilliantly colored sails that soared on the horizon. They seemed to hover and dip in the wind. “Are there people on those?”

Phineas lifted the ever-present binoculars to his eyes, then let them drop on their strap. “Parasails. And jah, those are people.”

He moved away, splashing water that darkened the bottom of his black pants as he trudged in the same direction as the parasails. People were flying. Using sails like wings. Deborah glanced at Hazel, already soaked to the bone, her bonnet hanging down her back. Esther splashed water at her. “Go on, you know you want to.”

“I should watch Hazel.”

“I’ll watch Hazel. Leila and Rebekah are right there.” Esther jerked her head down the beach where the other girls knelt,
gathering shells with Susan, Naomi, and Mudder. Caleb squatted in the water, examining something in his hand. Leroy had plopped down in the sand and was untying his boots. Esther grinned, looking particularly pleased with life and herself. “Go. Everyone’s busy having fun. They won’t care.”

Wondering if she had a penchant for hopping out of the frying pan and into the fire, Deborah wheeled and trotted after Phineas, her feet making slapping sounds on the water. “Have you ever tried parasailing?” She lifted her voice to make herself heard over the noisy waves. It sounded high and childish in her ears. “It would be a little like flying, don’t you think?”

“It costs a lot of money and it’s not something we would do.” Phineas kept walking, his bare feet making a
slap-slap
sound on the sand. “All those fancy, bright colors. Everybody watching.”

“Everyone’s watching us now.”

“No more than they do anywhere else.”

Three girls building an ornate castle in the sand stopped what they were doing to stare as Deborah and Phineas walked by. One sat up on her knees, hand to her forehead to shield it from the sun. “Look, Amber, they’re wearing costumes on the beach.” Her high voice carried on the wind. “They’re like pilgrims or pioneers or something.”

“No, moron, they’re Amish.” Amber waved with both hands. “Hey, you guys, come over here. Come join us. You’re welcome to build our castle with us.”

Phineas, apparently unfazed by this attention, kept moving. “Thanks, but we’re taking a walk.”

“Did you see his face?” The girl named Amber didn’t wait quite long enough to ask the question. Even the crash of the waves couldn’t drown it out. “He had a Frankenstein thing going on.”

Phineas’s speed increased. He probably wasn’t even aware of it. Deborah scurried to catch up. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Why? That also is no different from anywhere else.” He glanced back at her. “Why are you following me . . . again?”

“Why have you been avoiding me . . . again? Is that why you bought the house? To get away from me? You couldn’t stand to live in the same house as me?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted the binoculars and let her hurt, angry words flow out with the tide. She had no right to be angry. He wanted to hide behind those binoculars and see the world without letting it see him.

He didn’t want her to see him. Not the real him.

He’d talked to her at Choke Canyon and in town. Maybe Phineas needed neutral ground to be able to speak his mind to her.

“I wish we could live here all the time.” The heat that burned her face had nothing to do with the sun. “I mean, I wish I could be here all the time.”

The binoculars dropped. Droplets of water and sweat glistened his forehead and cheeks, giving his scarred face an odd glow.

“That’s the thing about beauty. If you have it all the time, you can’t truly appreciate it. If you lived here, you might start to take it for granted.” His voice was so low and hoarse, she had trouble hearing him over the waves. “It’s like if you had cake every day, it wouldn’t be a treat on your birthday.”

“I suppose that’s true.” She scrambled to walk closer, to hear him better, to be near. “But it would be nice to have it a little more often. Maybe birthdays and the Fourth of July.”

“And weddings.”

Why had he brought up weddings? From the startled look
on his face, he wondered the same thing. His pace faltered. He slowed, then halted, and turned so he faced the water.

“What is it?” Deborah planted herself next to him, determined to have this conversation. “Don’t stop now.”

“Daed used to bring me here . . . after the accident. The sound of the waves helped me sleep. This was the only place I could sleep for more than a few hours. I wanted to stay here forever.”

“But you couldn’t.”

“Nee. Daed had work to do and the other kinner to think about. Samuel healed up fast, but Jacob had two broken legs and a broken arm. Esther needed Daed home. She’d just lost her mudder. We all had. He said I had to learn to be where I belonged. At home.”

“But he still comes back here.”

“Because it gives him some peace as much as me.” Phineas’s hands squeezed the binoculars, but he didn’t raise them to his face. “He said it’s like hard times. If we never had them, we wouldn’t appreciate the good times when we have them.”

“Like now.” Deborah slid closer. Her shoulder brushed his arm. She held her breath. Waiting.

“Like now.” He squatted and picked up a shell. A piece of sand dollar, one side partially gone and jagged. He held it up as if offering it to her. “Nothing’s perfect.”

Deborah knelt next to him and held out her hand, palm up. He laid his offering there. “It looks perfect to me.” She rubbed her thumb across it in a gentle, careful motion, aware of the fragile nature of this broken shell that had once held life in it. She let the gritty grains of sand fall into her palm and looked at him, letting her gaze trace the scars before returning to his eyes. “It feels perfect.”

He brushed the sand from her palm with one finger in a delicate touch that she felt from the tips of her fingers to her toes. His hand dropped. “Don’t leave.”

Two words. A simple plea. Deborah squinted against the sun that made a halo around his head. She tried to see through the man, past the ridged scars, to someone who had let down his defenses for the first time in twelve years. For her.

The sun beat on her face. The wind, laden with salt and humidity, cooled her at the same time. Exactly how Phineas made her feel. Hot and cold at the same time. She shivered and wrapped her fingers around his offering, careful not to squeeze too hard and fracture what was left of the shell or the strange, delicate thread that held them together in this moment. What was he telling her? What was he asking of her?

“Why do you want me to stay?”

He leaned back on his haunches. The waves washed over their knees and soaked their clothes. “I’m . . . I’m trying to—”

Shrieks filled the air. Someone in pain. One of the boys. Caleb or Phineas’s brother. Deborah put her hand on Phineas’s shoulder and used him to push herself to her feet. His fingers caught at hers. She squeezed and let go. He stood in one easy, fluid motion. “Someone’s hurt.”

“Wait, Phineas.”

He was already gone.

TWENTY-EIGHT

The cry had ceased, but Phineas could see Caleb hunkered down on the sand, rocking and clutching his foot. Esther knelt on one side, Abigail on the other. Phineas picked up his pace. His long-legged stride outdistanced Deborah with no effort. He had experience running on the beach. She hadn’t. And emotions she didn’t understand were pursuing her.

His feet sank in the sand, his thighs ached, and he couldn’t catch his breath. The last part might not be related to the sand and the wind and concern for Deborah’s brother. It might be that he’d been about to admit something he shouldn’t. Every time he got close to her, it happened. He couldn’t help himself. She made him want more. She made him want to hold her hand and spend time with her. Forever.

Until he stepped away and reality set in. It would never happen. Never. She would not yoke herself to a man like him. She shouldn’t. She should go back to Tennessee to a place where she could have the life she was meant to have. That was why he’d bought the Schrock farm. It would’ve been nice to help John out, but his farm was smack-dab in the middle of the district, on
the main road, across from the store. It would never do. Not for Phineas. He needed the distance.

At least that was what he kept telling himself.

Seeing her on his beach, as he always thought of it, had been too much. She looked so pretty and sweet in her excitement at seeing something so magnificent for the first time. He remembered that feeling of being a tiny speck on God’s creation. Nowhere did he feel closer to God than in this place, even as he railed at Him for all he’d lost. The comfort and certainty of God’s existence had made him giddy enough to say what he’d longed to say from the first moment he saw her, flat on her back, scared silly over an armadillo.

He wanted her to stay with him.

It was one thing to admit such a thing to himself, quite another to say it. She’d been shocked. She had no idea. She had no inkling of his feelings. Or returned them. The look on her face made that obvious. No way she’d make a commitment like that—not to him.

He glanced back. She’d hitched up her skirt, and her bare legs showed above feet covered with sand. He faced forward. She was a strong runner. With strong legs. Shapely legs.

Gott, help me.
A puny prayer, at best.

His job was to help and to stand back and let Deborah live her life as God intended. Nothing more. He could not expect her to feel for him—with his monstrous face and hands—what he felt for her. Telling her how he felt would only back her into a corner where she would have to dodge his feelings and feel guilty for it. He would let her off easy. Somehow. He’d stay in his house and keep his distance until she went back to Tennessee or on to Missouri.

Phineas focused on the cluster of folks ahead. Butch had taken to barking in a steady barrage as if calling for help. Rebekah hopped up and yelled over the din of girls talking and the dog barking. “It stung him or something. What is that thing?”