The Harvest of Grace (5 page)

Years of avoiding him, of working opposite milking shifts, had come to an abrupt halt with this illness.

She went to the dresser, lit a kerosene lantern, and pulled out a newspaper ad she’d clipped a month ago. The ad was for help on a dairy farm belonging to an Amish man named Michael Blank, who lived in Dry Lake, a couple of hours southeast of here. Far enough away that she’d never have to see Elam unless she came home for a visit.

She’d shown the ad to her Daed, hoping to convince him to let her go. But he’d bristled at the idea and said he didn’t want to hear anything else about it.

He’d never let an unmarried daughter move away from home, and she’d dropped it. But now she clung to the idea of leaving as if it were her only chance of escaping temptation. And maybe it was.

Daed had kept his word, and over the past three years, she’d visited relatives whenever time allowed. She’d gone to singings and dated men from across four states, and not one of them interested her. What was her problem?

Whatever it was, she had to get out of here.

After this time with Elam, living in the main house with her parents would no longer be a sufficient barrier between them. Living a few miles away with a relative wasn’t good enough either. She’d still see Elam at church meetings, community functions, and family gatherings.

She peeled out of her nightgown, convincing herself that in spite of whatever had stirred between them last night, today was just another day of farm work and babies. She dressed for morning chores, then quietly opened the bedroom door, went to the mud room, and put on her boots, coat, and hat before heading for the barn.

Cold winter air filled her lungs. The sky’s dark majesty sparkled with dots of white light, as if trying to assure her that its vastness covered more than her problems.

As she drew closer to the barn, she heard the faint sounds of Elam moving through the morning routine. Bracing herself, she went inside.

“
Guder Marye
, Sylvia.”

She nodded in response to his softly spoken
good morning
, refusing to get pulled into a conversation. If talking could milk cows, he’d never need anyone’s help.

She moved toward the wheelbarrow of silage, feeling his eyes on her.
Don’t look. Just don’t
.

Her eyes moved to his, and she felt caught.

He’s forbidden
. She didn’t need the reminder, but the phrase ran circles in her mind.

After filling the troughs with feed, he opened the gate, and the cows nearly stampeded into the milking stalls. As soon as the cows put their heads through the stanchions, she began locking the panels. He grabbed the nozzle of the hose that hung overhead through an elaborate scheme of cables and pulleys and squirted the cows’ udders.

“Hey, Sylvia.”

She finished locking the devices and grabbed the milking stool. A diesel engine in the milk house ran the refrigerator for the bulk tank and powered the air compressor for the portable milkers, but she had to start the milk flowing from each cow before the machinery could do its job.

“You okay?” Elam asked.

“I’m not getting sick, but I can’t say I’m okay.”

“Ya, I know. Me either. Just don’t be mad.”

She wasn’t angry. Terrified, maybe. Definitely overloaded with guilt. But too confused about herself to be angry with him.

After she cleaned and primed the first cow, Elam moved next to her with the claw milker and its attached bucket. She tried to get up, grab the stool, and move out of the way before he got too close, but instead she managed to trip into him.

He steadied her, his eyes never leaving hers.

With confusion and desire churning inside her, she went to the next cow. She hated Elam, but she still felt as though he were a magnet, drawing her closer. She longed to feel his lips against hers.

Think, Sylvia, and stop feeling
.

“Did you get any sleep after I left last night?”

How she slept was none of his business. “Rhoda’s breathing easier.” She patted the cow as she stood to move to another one.

Elam’s hesitant smile drew her. “I never doubted you’d get the twins through this ordeal safe and sound. You have strength … determination that the rest of us don’t.” He moved closer.

Every part of her begged to slip into his arms. She passed him the milking stool and took the nozzle, keeping a safe distance.

She had to get out of Path Valley, but she doubted Michael Blank would hire her. She didn’t know of one man, Englischer or Amish, who’d hire a female farmhand—not unless she was part of a package deal that included a husband.

Even if Michael Blank would give her a chance, how could she convince her Daed to let her go? He couldn’t make her stay, but he could cut off her contact with him, Mamm, and her sisters.

While her mind searched for solutions, she and Elam continued milking the herd. By the time all eighty-two cows were milked, the sun shone brightly through the slats and the dirt-streaked windows. Once the stalls were empty again, she sterilized the milkers and buckets while Elam scraped the grates and cleaned the stalls. After scrubbing the bulk tank, she started spreading white lime sand onto the concrete floor. As soon as Elam joined her, she set the shovel aside and went to the mud sink. He could finish by himself.

When she turned to leave the wash area, Elam stood directly in her path. He searched her eyes the way he had when they were dating.

If she had the guts, she’d ask him what was going on between them. But it’d take so little to dismantle her will. She tried to step around him, but he moved in the same direction.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

He touched her cheek, sending both surprise and warmth through her.

She commanded her body to turn and walk away, demanded herself to break free of his spell, but she couldn’t budge. No matter what Bible verse she tried to grab, she wanted what stood before her. “I … I need to … go.”

As if the two of them were floating dust particles, they continued hanging in midair and yet moving toward each other. How many times had she dreamed of kissing him again? His lips met hers, and suddenly nothing existed but the feelings that ran between them.

She pushed him away, tears stinging her eyes. Her skin burned with embarrassment. “Get away from me, Elam.”

“I don’t want to,” he whispered. “What are we going to do?”

She knew how he felt. “You have to help me get out of here. Daed doesn’t want to let me go, but he’ll listen to you.”

He brushed a tear off her face, looking weary and sorry and trapped. “Okay.”

The door to the barn creaked open. “Sylvia? Elam?” Her sister’s hoarse voice sent alarm through her. Beckie’s brows furrowed as she looked from Sylvia to Elam. “What’s going on?”

Sylvia’s heart shattered into a hundred pieces. “I … I tripped, and he caught me.” It was a believable lie. Beckie often teased that, when Sylvia was tired, she had all the grace of a newborn calf. Guilt ate at her, and she no longer recognized any part of herself.

Coughing, Beckie grabbed a nearby wall for support.

Elam hurried to her, placed his arm around her, and guided her back toward the house.

Desperate for a moment alone, Sylvia went to the tack room and closed the door. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed, her whole body shaking.

Three

June

Shoving a thick packet of money into his pocket, Aaron left the small bank. He’d emptied his account of ten years’ worth of hard work and diligent saving. Even in his worst years, he’d never touched his savings account, and now he had something to show for all that time spent doing what he hated—dairy farming.

He crossed the parking lot to the hitching post, removed the leather reins, and mounted his horse. With the click of his tongue, he was on his way.

Hope tried to spring up inside him, but heavier realities overrode it. A feeling of griminess had taken up residence inside him long ago. His thoughts, emotions, and even the blood that pumped through his veins felt as layered in black soot as the rooftops and porches of homes near industrial smokestacks. He didn’t suppose he’d ever be free of it. But he had a plan that would bring as much joy as someone like him could expect.

He stopped in front of the appliance store where he worked, tethered his horse at the post, and went inside.

Aaron walked the narrow aisle, enjoying the business ideas pulsing through him. The cash in his pants pocket gave him a sense of power over his future. A smile tugged at his face. The idea of owning and operating this store fit who he was, and in spite of the weight of his past that he carried, he could see a good life ahead of him.

A middle-aged Old Order Amish couple stood at the sales counter. The man plunked cash into Leo’s hand while his wife wrote their address on the invoice so they could have the new wringer washer delivered.

A dusting of eagerness lifted his spirits. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been excited about anything. Owning this business felt more right than anything he’d ever done.

If he signed the papers and put down earnest money today, he could own the shop in about two and a half months. Well, he and the bank. Leo would still hold the note, but he’d retire come September, leaving Aaron as the proprietor. Aaron had to be ready to take over by then.

As he walked through the display area, the wooden floor creaked. Only natural light illuminated the room, and open windows were the sole source of ventilation. Leo wasn’t Plain, but he handled his business in a way that made the Plain folk feel right at home. There were living quarters above the store, large enough to house Aaron and his parents comfortably until he could afford better.

Thoughts of his parents dampened his mood. An Amish couple well past their prime with only one surviving child—who’d ever heard of such a thing? If his older sister hadn’t died last fall, and if his parents’ six other babies had survived, they would have other children to rely on. Aaron didn’t doubt he’d still be the black sheep of the family, but at least they’d have white sheep to help them. Instead they had only him.

And he wouldn’t let them down. Not again.

Shaking off the negative thoughts, he studied the many types of wringer washers, cookstoves, hot water heaters, and stoves for warming a home. Not one appliance in this store needed electricity. Depending on which sect of Amish or Mennonite the buyers were, they might use solar energy, coal, wood, battery, various types of gas, or diesel fuel. The store had some of those items in stock, and others could be ordered through a catalog.

Though Aaron had been working here for four months, he didn’t know much about running a store or about appliances. But he’d grown up on a dairy farm, and he knew how to work hard. Besides, he’d always been a quick study when his heart was in it. And his heart was definitely in this.

Leo shook hands with the customers, promised a delivery time, and told them good-bye. The bells on the door jangled as the couple left.

Aaron stepped up to the counter. “I have the earnest money, and I’m ready to sign the papers.”

While putting money into the register, Leo’s eyes lit up. He and Aaron had been talking about the possibility of this for at least eight weeks. “A man with a plan and money to back it up—I can’t argue with that. However, there’s one thing we haven’t talked about. My lawyer friend brought it up last night while he was drawing up the papers. A cosigner.”

Aaron found it hard to catch his next breath. “But …” He had no one who would cosign with him. “I’ve brought you more than the agreed-upon down payment, and once I take over, I’ll pay you each month from the money I make until I own the store outright. Isn’t that enough?”

“Well, it’s just prudent to have someone with good credit back you in case of default. You’re going home. Get your dad to sign it in front of a notary public, and we’ll be all set.”

A sick feeling crept into Aaron’s stomach. Money he could come up with. His Daed’s signature was another matter.

Leo came out from behind the counter. “Let’s go to my office and sign the papers between us, and I’ll give you the ones you need a cosigner on.”

After signing the papers, Aaron mounted his horse and began the ride back to the Better Path. Country stores lined the main street of the small community. The idea of town living sat well with him. He prayed that after he moved here, he’d never live on a farm again.

But first he had to convince his parents to sell and move with him.

Until he left home in January, they had no idea that he was addicted to alcohol and that he’d made a mess of his life along the way. He didn’t know how much they knew even now, except that he’d entered rehab five months ago. After being sober for a couple of months, he hadn’t returned home. Instead, he’d started working at the appliance store and leading groups at the rehab center where he’d been living since arriving in Owl’s Perch.

But he’d realized that he could never truly move on until he acted like a responsible only son by making amends. He figured—no, he knew—that the best way to make up for the past and for his unwillingness to be a farmhand was to get his parents out of that money pit they called a dairy farm.