Seasons of Tomorrow (30 page)

She wished Phoebe were here, in the house doing what she did best—making it a home for all of them. The few who weren’t at the hospital were in the fields working again. They had little choice. Could Phoebe sense how much everyone loved her? It all felt unreal. Steven, the children, and the parents were at the hospital. Jacob had gone too. Like her and Iva, he needed to see Phoebe … although it didn’t make a lot of sense. She certainly wasn’t aware of who was or wasn’t there.

“Leah.” Crist topped the knoll, driving the wagon. “I’m really hungry. You about ready to head back?” Rhoda’s Mamm had packed sandwiches for everyone to eat while working, but it had to be nearly five by now.

Ever since he’d said he came to Maine because of her, the vibes between them had been a bit awkward, but their conversations flowed more easily now that they’d spent a few outings with Iva. Since almost every relationship she had was negatively impacted by the storm surrounding her and Landon, she was grateful that she and Crist were getting along.

After talking to Pastor Weld last week, she’d spent a lot of time thinking about what he’d said, and now she was certain of one thing—to find her heart’s desire, she had to embrace the possibilities beyond the Amish faith.
When everyone’s nerves weren’t so raw, she’d return to attending the local church. Her family could keep her from Landon, but they couldn’t keep her from going to an Englisch church or seeking to discover what her true heart’s desire was.

Crist brought the rig to a stop. “Aren’t you hungry?”

Now that he mentioned it, she realized how hungry she was. “Ya. I wonder if the Mamms have returned.” She tossed the homemade mound smasher into the back of the wagon and climbed onto the bench seat next to Crist.

“They must have, because I definitely smell food cooking.” He whistled softly as he drove.

The cool air rippled past her face as the rig ambled among the trees. It was the kind of weather that made the traditional Amish clothing feel cozy and comfy.

Crist sighed contentedly, and they rode in silence until they reached the driveway. With the reins in hand, he gestured ahead of them. “Iva seems to want us.”

Iva stood halfway between the house and the barn, motioning for them to come to her. Crist stopped a few feet away, and they jumped down.

“Hey! I was hoping to catch you two before you went into the house.” Iva strode toward them. Was that a mischievous grin on her face? “I’m afraid I bear terrible, awful, horrific news of the worst kind.”

“About Phoebe?” Crist’s eyes grew intense.

“No.” Leah swatted at him, some three feet from where he stood. “Have you even met Iva?” Rolling her eyes at him, Leah frowned. Didn’t he know Iva at all? “Can’t you read her body language?”

Iva bit her bottom lip, acting playfully hush-hush. “Rhoda’s in the kitchen … cooking.”

Leah covered her mouth, stifling a snorting laugh. “Iva.” Her correcting tone only caused Iva to shrug, grinning.

Crist sniffed the air. “Something smells pretty good to me.”

“Oh, poor Crist.” Leah patted his arm in mock comfort. “He hasn’t yet realized that aromas can be deceiving.”

“It’s an important lesson, Crist.” Iva nodded. “But I haven’t had anything except a sandwich at eleven this morning, and I’m
so
hungry.” Iva grimaced as she looked at the house.

Leah chuckled. “With Steven’s and Phoebe’s Mamms here, I was hoping they’d returned from the hospital and cooked.”

Iva shook her head. “Didn’t happen. Any chance of us getting out of this?”

“Oh, come on.” Crist sounded genuinely confused. “Rhoda makes the best canned goods I’ve ever had, and they sell like hotcakes, so I’m not the only one who thinks so. I hear that Orchard Bend Farms can’t keep up with demand from the stores and shops it supplies.”

Leah interlaced her fingers, amused at Iva’s humor and embellishment of the situation. “We do not deny that. Rhoda’s amazing at plenty of other things too, but, trust us, cooking dinner is
not
on the list.”

“What list is it on, then?” Crist seemed to be coming around to the joke.

“Nausea,” Iva offered.

They all laughed, but Leah tried to think of possible options. “If we figure out something else to do about dinner—maybe eat at Crist’s—do you think Rhoda and Samuel will care that we’re not eating with them?”

“Are you kidding? They’re so lost in each other’s world, they won’t even notice we didn’t join them.” Iva was enjoying her exaggeration, but there was a bit of truth to it.

“Well,”—Crist reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet—“we could always take a ride into town and get some pizza.” He searched through his billfold. “I have forty-two dollars on me. That should be plenty, right?”

Iva grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “You are my hero!” She released him, straightening the sleeves of his shirt where she’d crumpled them. “Leah?”

“Ya, that’s a good plan. I just need to leave a note on the desk in the barn in case they start to wonder where everyone is.”

“Hurry, Leah.” Iva headed for the wagon. “Crist, kumm. Take us away so we may dine
without
fear of what we put in our mouths and bodies!”

Iva was remarkably good at helping Leah find something to enjoy about each day, despite how much she missed Landon.

Landon.

Fresh ache flooded her, but she refused to dwell on him. All her energy to muster hope and prayers would stay focused on Phoebe for now. She missed him. Needed him. But Landon had chosen to leave.

Samuel picked up the calendar from the kitchen table and compared it to the to-do list.

If Jacob would stay for a few more days, and if Landon could return—

“Ow!” Rhoda dropped a Pyrex dish onto the open door of the stove.

“Did you burn yourself?” Samuel set down the calendar.

She waved her hand through the air, trying to cool it. “Not too bad.”

He rose. “Let me see.” He took her wrist. The pads of her thumb and index finger were fiercely red. “Kumm.” He led her to the sink and turned on the cold water.

“What is it about getting a meal on the table without a catastrophe that escapes me?”

“Don’t know.” He left her at the sink and got some ice out of the freezer. Once he had the ice in a sandwich bag and wrapped in a dishtowel, he returned to where she stood. He brushed stray hairs from her face, longing to kiss her. “But the dinner looks and smells great, so you’re getting the hang of it, right?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you babying me? If you are, you need to stop. Now. And forever.”

He rattled the ice compress and tossed it at her. Just as he’d known last night that they needed to talk, he knew this side of her too—the one that became defensive after being vulnerable. The first time he saw it, Jacob was in hiding, and Rhoda appeared to be on the edge of going to jail for a crime
she didn’t commit. She’d finally given in to her fears and cried while Samuel held her. A few days later when he tried to bring a little reprieve to her life with a trip to look at dogs they might buy, she’d accused him of mollycoddling her.

He knew her better than he knew himself, and he would love her entirely too much for the rest of his life. If right here, right now he asked her to marry him, would she say yes?

If they were married, he could stay on the farm when Steven left with Phoebe. But the living arrangements would be a perk, an opportunity to sidestep waiting another agonizing year and a half—if not longer—before they could marry. Since the Amish were allowed to marry only during the wedding season, which was in the fall, that created a problem for orchard owners. How could they marry while they worked day and night harvesting and canning apples? So they’d have to wait until winter, and since Jacob wouldn’t truly be ready to see them marry during the next wedding season, they’d have to wait at least until the following one. If they waited until Jacob was truly ready to see Rhoda marry, it might be almost three years.

But if Samuel just forgot about waiting, if he told her how he felt and asked her to be his, how would she react? Would she see a proposal as him looking out for the farm and the fledgling district? He wouldn’t deny that played a part. How could it not? But more than that, the need to do what was right for the farm also provided him an excuse to do what he longed to do: ask the woman he loved to marry him.

“Samuel,”—she snapped her fingers—“get back to work, or I’ll have to send you to your office.” She smiled. “Or maybe to the doghouse.”

“You’d send me to the doghouse for trying to be nice?”

She frowned, but it didn’t hide the gleam of a teasing dare in her eyes. “Quite possibly, ya.”

“Fine.” He returned to the table and picked up the farmer’s almanac and a pencil. He should be in the barn office, close to the phone and more focused on work, but he much preferred being near Rhoda. The deeper bond he’d felt since last night seemed odd. They’d discussed nothing romantic,
no dreams of the future. They’d talked about her seeing Phoebe and the trauma of her little sister’s murder and dozens of memories and wounds she’d suffered due to her intuition.

Samuel tapped the pencil’s eraser on the table. “Last night helped you, right?”

Rhoda set aside the ice compress and spooned up a good helping of the casserole on a plate. “More than I knew was possible.”

He pushed his work stuff out of the way, making room for the plate.

She dipped up stir-fry vegetables. “You gonna use last night as your get-out-of-the-doghouse-free card for years to come?”

“I don’t know. Can I get away with it?”

Her pursed lips didn’t hide her grin as she set his plate on the table. “My fear, Mr. King,”—she sat in the chair nearest him—“is that you can and will get away with far more than is wise for a headstrong man such as yourself.”

If that was true, could he convince her they should marry? “Aren’t you eating?”

“Later.” She picked up his notes. “I’m not hungry. You said you were. And I want to be sure there’s plenty for others.”

He bowed his head, but his silent prayer wasn’t about blessing the food. What did God think of him setting aside how Jacob might feel so he could ask Rhoda to marry him? Was Samuel wrong to want to end the slow progression of their relationship with a quick wedding?

She cleared her throat, and he raised his head. In an Amish home it was the man’s place to clear his throat and end the prayer. How long had he been praying?

“Beseeching God for a meal that is edible and safe?”

“What? No.” Samuel took a forkful of food and blew on it. “It smells and looks amazing.” He took a bite.

Oh
. He tried to swallow without making a face, and he prayed he didn’t gag. Thankfully, Rhoda was looking over the work schedule. Realizing he didn’t have a drink, he rose and got a glass of water. Could he spit the bite out in the sink without her realizing it?

He washed it down with several gulps.

She flipped through some of the notes he’d made. “How is it?”

What could he say?

She turned, and her quizzical look was soon replaced by a knowing one. “It can’t be that bad.”

He wanted to defend himself, to assure her that he hadn’t said it was bad, but instead he stayed by the sink, drinking more water.

“Fine.” She rose and whistled for the dogs. “So the only thing I’m able to cook is scrambled eggs.” She paused, studying him.

“A person could live off eggs and apples.”

Her disappointment crept into disbelief. “You
hate
eggs.”

“I may have discovered something I hate more.” He gave an apologetic shrug. What did she do to food? “But I love
you
.”

She narrowed her eyes, thrusting the plate toward him. “Keep being overly nice to me, and you’ll be wearing this food.”

The dogs danced at her feet, ready to eat the leftovers—all ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the food he hadn’t eaten. His stomach growled.

“This is another reason to have dogs, I suppose.” She set the plate on the floor. The dogs rushed forward, took a lick, and backed away. They looked up at Rhoda as if to say,
You’re kidding, right?

Rhoda gasped. Samuel tried to stifle the laughter bubbling within, but it broke loose, and Rhoda joined him. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around hers as they peered down at the dogs. Their laughter faded, and he propped his chin on her shoulder. “Yum. Eggs. Right?” He kissed her cheek before he returned to the sink to get more water.

“There’s no telling what spice or spices I added too much of.” Rhoda sat and picked up the almanac. “The humor of this incident aside, apparently I’m fairly incompetent at everything but tending the orchard and canning the harvest.”

“It won’t cause me to love you any less.”

The first time Rhoda and he met, he’d thought she was married. He was concerned that she spent all her time tending her fruit garden and canning and didn’t take good care of her family. He’d been ready to correct her,
and when he learned she was single, he’d been relieved for her nonexistent husband’s and children’s sakes. Now he didn’t care that she wasn’t a traditional Amish woman. Or that she might never be a skilled
Hausfraa
. Now he was ever so grateful for exactly who she was.