The Beekeeper's Son (The Amish of Bee County Book 1) (28 page)

Before she could protest, he paid the grinning, snaggle-toothed man behind the cart and presented her with an ear of corn sprinkled with red chili. He was right. Her mouth watered at the tartness of the lime juice and the spicy seasoning. “Good,” she muttered after the first bite. “Very gut.”

He paused from his technique of demolishing the corn with a steady
chomp-chomp
row by row and laughed.

“What?”

“Now you’ll have corn in your teeth when the dentist works on them.”

“Oh well.”

“So what do you think?” He waved the ear of corn, oblivious to the juicy kernels that landed on his shirt. “I imagine it’s different from anything you’ve seen before.”

“It is. It reminds me a little of the market back home, though. Except for the border crossing and the language I can’t understand.”

“I imagine Bee County is different from back home too.”

“It is.”

“But you like it, right? It’s an adventure?”

“It is an adventure.” At least it had seemed that way at first. “I’m ready for things to be . . . everyday. I’m not in need of adventure.”

“I can understand that. You want to settle down and feel at home.”

“I do.”

Mordecai dropped the bare corn cob in a rusted, overflowing trash can on the street corner. “You don’t feel at home, living in my house?”

“It’s your house.”

“And that pains you? Having to be around me?”

“Nee, nee, that’s not it. I like being around you.” In her haste to correct his impression, she hadn’t thought of how those words would sound. “I mean—”

“That’s gut. Because I like being around you too.”

Mordecai grasped her hand and squeezed past folks gathered around three young men who strummed guitars and played a violin while singing at the top of their lungs. She should pull away, but she found she couldn’t. Instead, she let him lead the way. The singers seemed to be moving with them. They sounded as if they were in pain. “
Aye, Aye-Aye, Aye
,” they shouted in unison, the seams of the shirts straining across broad chests. They wore brown suits with rhinestones and black piping, a costume too warm for August in south Texas. She recognized none of the words, but their faces said they sang of deep emotions.

And they seemed to be following Mordecai and her.

“Another song for your
señorita
?” one shouted, his face creased by a big smile. “
Canción de amor
? Love song?”

Love sounded like
lob
.

She ducked closer to Mordecai. His grip on her hand tightened.

“No,
gracías
.” He nodded to the man, who nodded back and moved away. “Another time.”

“Mordecai, I didn’t mean to say that.” Abigail felt as if she’d
been running. This no longer felt like an adventure. It felt as if she had entered a strange, alien world with no familiar landmarks—physical or emotional. “Forget I said it. Please.”

“I don’t want to forget it. I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now. At the right time.”

In a foreign country on a crowded street. With love songs in the air. This was the right time? Maybe it was. They were far from the familiar dirt roads of Bee County. Far from all the usual everyday things. From other obligations. From their kinner. From Stephen. “I don’t think we—”

“That corn made me thirsty. I’ll get us some bottled water.”

Changing the subject seemed like a good idea. “Isn’t there some place we can get a drink of water that doesn’t cost money?”

“Nee, not a gut idea. Stick to bottled sodas or water.” He doled out more coins and took two plastic bottles dripping with condensation from a girl who looked to be six or seven. “I know this is a strange place to talk about this, but I don’t want to wait any longer. I don’t want it to be too late.”

“Too late for what?”

He took a long swallow from his bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Water trickled down his chin and into his beard. When he lowered the bottle, his gaze locked with hers. “Are you committed to Stephen?”

“Courting is private.”

“Then you are courting?”

“Not very well.” She slapped her hand to her mouth. She shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair to Stephen and it sounded mean spoken aloud. She kept saying things she shouldn’t. Mordecai had her so befuddled. She lowered her hand, her cheeks tingling as if she’d been slapped. “Please forget I said that too.”

“Sometimes when a thing is that hard, it’s not meant to be.”

“You have experience with that? You’ve courted another since your fraa’s passing?”

“Nee. But I’m fixing to do it now, if I can get a by-your-leave.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to Stephen. I broke his heart once before, back in Tennessee when I chose my mann over him. It’s not right that I do it again.”

“Is that your heart talking or your head?” The pulse throbbed in Mordecai’s temple. The words sounded like a growl. “You came out to see if there was something there now. Did you not consider the possibility that there might not be? That you didn’t choose Stephen the first time because he was not and will never be the right man for you? That maybe Gott sent you here for a different reason, for a different person?”

It had occurred to her. She simply couldn’t see how she could hurt Stephen once again. How could she justify such a thing? The stricken look on his face at the lake kept her awake at night. So did the fact that she’d wanted to back away both times he kissed her. “It’s confusing. I’ve been praying Gott would show me His will for me.”

“Me too. It would be far worse to be yoked with someone you didn’t truly love.”

“It takes work to build a relationship.”

“Love shouldn’t be that hard.”

“Was it hard with . . . your fraa?”

All emotion drained from his face, leaving behind a stony facade. He tossed the plastic water bottle into the trash. “Doctor Martinez’s office is right there ahead.”

Talking about his wife still brought pain after twelve years. She’d had two to adjust and everyone seemed to think she should be ready to move on. “You brought this up.”

“I know. I’m looking forward, not back. Are you?”

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, letting the tidal wave of people flow around her. “I’m in Mexico. What do you think?”

His frown eased and the smile she’d grown accustomed to seeing at the breakfast table each morning appeared and spread. “And I’m grateful to Gott for that.”

“Why?”

“For the first time in twelve years, I feel . . . something.”

He didn’t know what he felt? “Something?”

“I’ve been like a block of cold, hard stone for twelve years. I couldn’t feel anything. I feel now—happy, sad, mad, irritated, aggravated, uncertain. All at once every time I look at you. When I see you with Stephen . . . it’s . . . hard, but it’s gut too.”

Good? The man must be daft. No, she understood what he meant. She had been numb with grief for so long, she’d forgotten what the highs and lows of new love felt like. “Because of me?”

“Because of you.”

“How did that happen?”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad. I’m glad and I’m not going to fight it or ignore it. If I thought you and Stephen were meant to be together, I would honor that bond. I would step back and hold my tongue.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “But that’s not what I see. Tell me I’m right.”

She wanted to close her eyes and concentrate on the feel of his hand tight around hers, warm, capable, strong, even fierce. She swallowed against a wave of emotion that threatened to send her into his arms in broad daylight on a crowded street. Stephen’s face hovered close to her, his eyes full of hope filling her mind. This wasn’t fair to him. He’d done nothing wrong. Not twenty
years ago. Not now. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m committed to another.”

His hand dropped.

“Then I’ll step aside.” The stony facade had returned. He held open the door. “We best get in there and get back. The kinner are waiting.”

She ducked past him and slipped into the dentist’s office.

“So am I. As long as it takes.” His last words were nearly lost in the squeal of the door hinges, but Abigail was certain she’d heard them. She glanced back. Mordecai’s eyes held only distant politeness.

Still, those words caused relief to resonate in her head. Despite her denial, he would wait. For as long as it took.

THIRTY

Deborah flapped her hands, trying to create a breeze as she peered from the van window. From where they sat, she could see people trickling into the Customs buildings. Cars filled the parking lot, baking in an afternoon sun that beat down with no mercy. The asphalt seemed to shimmer. An ice cream truck made its way up and down the rows, tinny music blaring.

“It must be 110 degrees in the shade. Are we just going to sit here for two hours?” The whine didn’t become her, but to come so close to a foreign land and not be able to go there seemed wrong. Why did Mudder have to be so stubborn about the photos? One little photo and she could be walking in Mexico. “Could we at least walk around on this side?”

“Daed said we could get a
paleta
if we wanted.” Esther craned her head over the seat from the front row. “Or
raspas
. The ice cream truck is right there.”

“What is a paleta?” For that matter, what was a raspa?

“Popsicle.” Esther rubbed her hands together. She licked her lips. “I’d rather have the raspa. It’s a snow cone, you know, shaved ice with syrup. You can get all kinds of flavors. I like coconut. It’s blue. It makes your lips blue.”

The closest they would ever come to wearing lipstick. “Let’s go, then.”

“We’ll not all go running after an ice cream truck.” Phineas lifted his gaze from the book he’d been studying ever since they left the beach.
Birds
of
North
America.
He hadn’t looked at Deborah once. “Daed also said for us to stay together.”

“Come on, Phin, don’t you want an ice cream?” Esther’s wheedling tone said she knew how to get her brother to cave. “I’m sure they have Push Ups and rocket ship Popsicles.”

He shut the book with a sharp bang as if he’d made a sudden decision. “Give me the money and I’ll go.”

“Nee, we all stay together.” Deborah wanted out of the van. She wanted to get a closer look at the massive palm trees and the bright orange and red flowered bushes that mingled with trees covered with purple flowers. She thirsted for color after months in the brown south Texas oven-baked desert. “Mr. Carson will be able to see us from the van anyway.”

“Fine, Esther, you, and me.” Phineas’s mulish gaze met Deborah’s. “That’s enough people to carry the ice cream back.”

“The three of you, then. Take Butch.” Mr. Carson shook one long, hairy finger at them. “He seems determined to be a watchdog. And stay together.”

Caleb’s lip stuck out. “No fair—”

“Life isn’t fair.” Phin grunted as he shoved open the door and slid out. “Get used to it.”

Surprised he’d picked her after giving her the silent treatment for the past two hours, Deborah hopped from the van before he changed his mind. The pavement singed the bottom of her feet. She hopped on one foot, then the other, hoping to get used to it. Esther did a similar dance a few steps behind her.

“Stay with me.” Phineas glanced back, his tone aggrieved. Butch barked once as if voicing his agreement. “Anything happens to you, Daed will blame me.”

A small grin on her sun-bronzed face, Esther slowed her pace even more, leaving Deborah with Phineas on one side and Butch on the other. The dog seemed friendlier than the man. He drew closer every time a person passed them, his growl a hum in his throat. Phineas didn’t seem to notice. He kept his gaze on the ice cream truck, which had stopped for a cluster of white-haired old folks getting out of a travel bus three rows down.

“Push Ups are really your favorite?” Deborah couldn’t think of another thing to say. “I like Heath ice cream bars.”

“Those are gut too.”

Not much to work with there. Sweating, her throat parched, Deborah concentrated on matching his pace. An ice cream would be a nice treat, and maybe it would improve Phineas’s mood. Her statement about his seeing the world through her eyes hadn’t improved it. In fact, it seemed to make it worse.

“How come you call me Phineas?”

Of all the questions he could’ve asked, he picked that one? She dodged a Styrofoam soda cup sitting on the asphalt and picked up her pace. Was he going to a huge fire? “What do you mean? It’s your name.”

“Everyone else calls me Phin. Not you.”

“I like the way Phineas sounds.” It rolled off her tongue. It was a strong name. “It’s your given name. It’s not like it’s so long that it needs to be shortened. Why turn a perfectly good biblical name into a nickname?”

“Just wondered.”

“Don’t wander too far.”

“Do you always have to be such a smarty?”

“Only when a person aggravates me.”

“I aggravate you?”

“Only all the time.”

“Then my work is done.”

“Phineas—”

He held up his hand and turned his back to her, focusing instead on the man behind the counter who seemed to be sweating more than any man Deborah had ever seen. He smiled, his teeth white in a dark, shiny face, as he dabbed a wad of sodden, dirty towel at his slick bald head. “
Helado
? Ice cream?”

Phineas seemed right at home with this task. He recited the order and counted out the money to see how far they could make it stretch. In the end, they settled for an assortment of Fudgsicles, ice cream bars, and Popsicles. He pointed to each one and recited a name, then counted them again. “One more.”

“That’s everyone. Why one more?” Deborah glanced at Esther, who shrugged. “It’ll melt in the van.”

“For Butch.”

An orange Popsicle for a dog? Deborah giggled and then put a hand over her mouth at Phineas’s narrowed eyes.

He proceeded to count the money twice, to the man’s chagrin.

“The ice cream will melt before we have a chance to
eat
it.” Esther scooped up a bar and started tearing off the paper.

Phineas snagged the Heath bar from her hand. “Wait until we get back to the van.”

Esther snagged it back. “Too late, bruder.”