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Rachel's Garden

By Marta Perry

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RACHEL’S GARDEN
By Marta Perry
Chapter One

A flicker of movement from the lane beyond the kitchen window of the old farmhouse caught Rachel Brand’s eye as she leaned against the sink, washing up the bowl she’d used to make a batch of snickerdoodles. A buggy—ja, it must be Leah Glick, bringing Rachel’s two older kinder home from the birthday party for their teacher already.
Quickly she set the bowl down and splashed cold water on her eyes. It wouldn’t do to let her young ones suspect that their mamm had been crying while she baked. Smoothing her hair back under her kapp and arranging a smile on her lips, she went to the back door.
But the visitor was not Leah. It was a man, alone,
driving the buggy.
Shock shattered her curiosity when she recognized the strong face under the brim of the black Amish hat. Gideon Zook. Her fingers clenched, wrinkling the fabric of her dark apron. What did he want from her?
She stood motionless for a moment, her left hand tight on the door frame. Then she grabbed the black wool shawl that hung by the door, threw it around her shoulders, and stepped outside.
The cold air sent a shiver through her. It was mid-March already, but winter had not released its grip on Pleasant Valley, Pennsylvania. The snowdrops she had planted last fall quivered against the back step, their white cups a mute testimony that spring would come eventually. Everything else was as brown and barren as her heart felt these days.
A fierce longing for spring swept through her as she crossed the still-hard ground. If she could be in the midst of growing things, planting and nurturing her beloved garden—ach, there she might find the peace she longed for.
Everything was too quiet on the farm now. Even the barn was empty, the dairy cows moved to the far field already, taken care of by her young brother-in-law William in the early morning hours.
The Belgian draft horses Ezra had been so pleased to be able to buy were spending the winter at the farm of his oldest brother, Isaac. Only Dolly, six-year-old Joseph’s pet goat, bleated forlornly from her pen, protesting his absence.
Gideon had tethered his horse to the hitching post. Removing something from his buggy, he began pacing across the lawn, as if he measured something.
Then he saw her. He stopped, waiting. His hat was pushed back, and he lifted his face slightly, as if in appreciation of the watery sunshine. But Gideon’s broad shoulders were stiff under his black jacket, his eyes wary and his mouth set above his beard.
Reluctance slowed her steps. Perhaps Gideon felt that same reluctance. Aside from the formal words of condolence he’d spoken to her once he was well enough to be out again after the accident, she and Gideon had managed to avoid talking to each other for months. That was no easy thing in a tight-knit Amish community.
She forced a smile. “Gideon, wilkom. I didn’t expect to be seeing you today.”
What are you doing here? That was what she really wanted to say.
“Rachel.” He inclined his head slightly, studying her as if trying to read her feelings in her face.
His own face gave little away—all strong planes and straight lines, like the wood he worked with in his carpentry business. Lines of tension radiated from his brown eyes, making him look older than the thirty-two she knew him to be. His work-hardened hands tightened on the objects he grasped—small wooden stakes, sharpened to points.
He cleared his throat, as if not sure what to say to her now that they were face to face. “How are you? And the young ones?”
“I’m well.” Except that her heart twisted with pain at the sight of him, at the reminder he brought of all she had lost. “The kinder also. Mary is napping, and Leah Glick took Joseph and Becky to a birthday luncheon the scholars are having for Mary Yoder.”
“Gut, gut.”
He moved a step closer to her, and she realized that his left leg was still stiff—a daily reminder for him, probably, of the accident.
For an instant the scene she’d imagined so many times flashed yet again through her mind, stealing her breath away. She seemed to see Ezra, high in the rafters of a barn; Gideon below him; the old timbers creaking, then breaking, Ezra falling as the barn collapsed like a house of cards...
She gasped a strangled breath, like a fish struggling on the bank of the pond. Revulsion wrung her stomach, and she slammed the door shut on her imagination.
She could not let herself think about that, not now. It was not Gideon’s fault that she couldn’t see him without imagining the accident that had taken Ezra away from them. She had to talk to him sensibly, had to find out what had brought him here. And how she could get him to go away again.
She clutched the shawl tighter around her. “Is there something I can do for you, Gideon?”
“I am here to measure for the greenhouse.”
She could only stare at him, her mind fumbling to process his words. The greenhouse—the greenhouse Ezra had promised her as a birthday present. That had to be what Gideon meant.
“How do you know about the greenhouse?”
The words came out unexpectedly harsh. Ezra was gone, and plans for the greenhouse had slipped away, too, swamped in the struggle just to get through the days.
He blinked, apparently surprised. “You didn’t know? Ezra and I went together to buy the materials for your greenhouse. He asked me to build it for you. Now I’m here to start on the work.”
The revulsion that swept through her was so strong she could barely prevent it from showing on her face.
Perhaps he knew anyway. The fine lines around his eyes deepened. “Is there a problem with that?”
“No—I mean, I didn’t realize that he had asked you. Ezra never said so.”
“Perhaps he thought there was no need. I always helped him with carpentry projects.”
True enough. It wasn’t that Ezra couldn’t build things with his own hands, but he was far more interested in the crops and the animals. Since his childhood friend Gideon was a carpenter, specializing in building the windmills that had begun to dot the valley, Ezra had depended on him.
But that was before. Now—
Now the thought of having Gideon around for days while he built the greenhouse that was to have been a gift of love from her husband—
No, she couldn’t handle that. She couldn’t. It was, no doubt about it, a failure on her part, one that she should be taking to the Lord in prayer.
“Rachel?” She had been silent too long, and Gideon studied her face with concern. “Was ist letz? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Nothing at all. It’s just that I hadn’t thought about the greenhouse in months.” Her voice thickened—she couldn’t help that.
Gideon heard it, of course. A spasm of something that might have been pain crossed his face.
“It gave Ezra great pleasure to think about giving it to you.” His deep voice seemed choked.
She blinked, focusing her gaze on the barn beyond him, willing herself to be calm. Think. What could she say that would not hurt Gideon, but would get him to go away?
“I haven’t—I haven’t decided what to do about the greenhouse.” As she hadn’t decided so many things in the past few months, lost as she’d been in grief. “Will you give me a little time to think?”
“Of course.”
But his voice had cooled, as if he knew something of what she was feeling. His gaze was intent on her face, probing for the truth, and all she could think was that she wanted him to leave so that she didn’t have to talk about the bittersweet nature of Ezra’s last gift to her.
The creak of an approaching buggy broke the awkward silence between them. She glanced toward the lane.
“Here is Leah, back with the children.” She probably sounded too relieved as she turned back to him. “Perhaps we could talk about this some other day.”
His expression still grave, Gideon nodded. “Ja, another time, then.” He turned away, but then glanced back over his shoulder. “I promised Ezra, ain’t so? I have to keep that promise.”
He walked toward his waiting buggy, back stiff.
#
Leah shook her head, cradling between her hands the mug of tea Rachel had given her. “I don’t understand. Why are you so ferhoodled at the idea of Gideon putting up the greenhouse for you? He’d do a good job, that’s certain sure.”
“Ja, he would.” She couldn’t argue with that. Everyone knew how skilled a carpenter Gideon was. “I just...it makes me feel...makes me remember...” Her voice trailed off.
Leah reached across the scrubbed pine kitchen table to cover Rachel’s hand with her own. “It’s hard, I know. I’m sorry.”
“Ach, I’m being foolish.” She shook her head, determined not to slide into burdening Leah with her sorrow and her worries. She’d done that enough lately. She freed her hand and stood. “I think I’d best take a look out at those children. I haven’t heard any noise from them in awhile.”
Three-year-old Mary, building a house with her favorite blocks in the corner of the kitchen, chose that moment to knock it over, chortling when the blocks crashed to the floor. Leah laughed, and Rachel shook her head.
“Plenty of noise in here, though. Mary, pick those up, please. It’ll be time to help with supper soon.”
“I set the table,” Mary announced, and began to pick up the blocks, putting them in her wagon.
Rachel leaned against the sink to peer out the window over the plants that crowded the sill. Her daughter, Becky, and Leah’s step-daughter Elizabeth seemed to be in a deep conversation, side by side on the wide swing that hung from the willow tree. Her first-grader Joseph and Leah’s Jonah, who was a year older, were romping with Dolly, the nanny goat.
“All seems well at the moment.” She sat down again, pushing the plate of snickerdoodles toward Leah.
“That’s usually when they’re the most ready to get into mischief,” Leah said. She took another cookie, sighing a little. “I shouldn’t eat this, but it tastes like more. Since the morning sickness finally went away, I’ve been eating everything in sight.”
Rachel studied Leah’s glowing face. “Being pregnant agrees with you, for sure. I’ve never seen you look better.”
Leah shook her head, smiling a little, and patted her rounded belly. “I look like a hippo.”
“I’ll bet Daniel doesn’t think so.”
Leah’s cheeks grew pink, but instead of answering, she shoved the plate of cookies back toward Rachel. “You have another. You need all the energy you can get.”
Leah undoubtedly thought she had grown too thin in the past months, just as her mamm did, but Leah was too kind to say so outright.
It was strange, how much their situations had changed. A year ago Leah had been the devoted teacher at the Amish school, single and content to remain so, while Rachel had been completely occupied as wife and mother, helping Ezra to run the farm, far too busy to think about anything else.
Now they’d switched places, it seemed. Leah was happily married to Daniel Brand, instant mother to his three children, and glowing with the joy of her pregnancy.
As for her—Ezra was gone, and she struggled to raise their children without him, caught in a web of indecision about the future.
Leah must have guessed at her thoughts, because her green eyes darkened with concern as she leaned toward Rachel. “Are you all right? Are you getting enough help? Daniel would be glad to come over, or we could send Matthew to do chores.”
“That’s gut of you, but we are managing to get everything done. There’s not so much, this time of the year. William comes every day to deal with the milking, and he’s so willing to do anything he can. I think it helps him with his grief, knowing that he’s doing what Ezra would have wanted.”
She didn’t need to explain further. They both knew how Ezra’s shy younger brother had loved him.
“He’s probably glad to get out from under Isaac’s thumb a couple of times a day,” Leah said, her tone tart.
Rachel had to hesitate for a moment to think of something positive to say about Ezra’s oldest brother. “Isaac means well, I’m sure. He just believes he’s the head of the family now, and so everyone should heed what he says.”
“I’m convinced William’s stuttering wouldn’t be nearly so bad if Isaac listened and encouraged him instead of snapping orders at him.” Leah spoke like the teacher she had been for so many years.
“I try to do as you suggested, listening to him and making him feel comfortable, and I do think he speaks more when he’s here with us.”
“That’s good. I’m glad it’s helping. I used to get so frustrated when he was one of my scholars and I’d see his sisters speaking for him, instead of helping him try.” For a moment she studied Rachel’s face, as if she hadn’t been distracted from her concern by the talk of William. “Still, you will let us pitch in, any way we can.”
“I will.” Rachel could feel her forehead wrinkling in the frown that came too often these days, and she tried to smooth it out. “The real problem is that I can’t seem to make up my mind about anything. I was spoiled.”
“Spoiled?” Leah’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s silly.”
“I was. My life went so smoothly, you know that. I loved Ezra and he loved me, we were able to buy the farm from my aunt and uncle, the children came along easy and healthy—everything went the way I wanted it to. Until the day Ezra and Gideon went off to look at that barn.” Her hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white.
Leah put her hand gently over Rachel’s. “Is that why you don’t want Gideon to build the greenhouse? Because you blame him for Ezra’s accident?”
Rachel shook her head, tears choking her throat. “I don’t know. Forgive, that’s what God commands. Besides, it was an accident, no one’s fault. Everyone knows that. But when I see him—“
She broke off. She couldn’t explain to Leah. She couldn’t even explain to herself.
“Forgiveness is only right, but our Father must know it is hard. But Ezra and Gideon were as close friends as you and I are,” Leah said, her voice gentle. “You know he wouldn’t want you to hold Gideon at fault.”
That hit home, and her heart clenched in her chest. Ezra had loved Gideon like a brother. But how could she look at Gideon and not feel the pain of Ezra’s loss?
She took a deep breath, forcing her hands to relax. “I know,” she murmured.
Leah patted her again, seeming reassured. “Just think how much you’d enjoy having a greenhouse.” She nodded toward the windowsills, crowded with the plants Rachel had started from seed. “By the looks of those windows, your plants will be pushing you out of the kitchen soon.”
She managed a smile. “True enough. But I’ll be selling them at the Mud Sale next Saturday, so that will clear off my windowsills.”
Leah had a point, though. With a greenhouse, she’d be able to produce many more plants for sale.
“Ach, I’d best be getting along home.” Leah seemed satisfied that she’d made her point. “I’ll see you at the sale, if not before.”
She rose, but stopped partway up, her breath catching as she clutched her belly.
Rachel was beside her in an instant, fear shooting through her. “Leah, was ist letz? Are you all right?”
“Ja.” Leah laughed a little as she straightened. “Just a muscle spasm, I think. All the books say to expect them.”
“You and your books,” Rachel teased, reassured by the laugh. “I think you have a book about everything, ain’t so?”
“You can never have enough books,” Leah said. “Anyway, I have you to ask for advice when it comes to being pregnant.”
Rachel put her arm around Leah as they walked toward the door. “That’s right. That’s the only subject on which I’m the expert, instead of you.”
Over the years she’d turned to Teacher Leah and her books whenever she’d had a question, and Leah had usually found the answer. For the first time in their relationship, she was the knowledgeable one, and it was gut, knowing she could help Leah.
They hadn’t yet reached the door when it burst open. Becky and Elizabeth surged inside. Elizabeth looked on the verge of tears, but Becky wore the rebellious pout that Rachel had seen on her face too often lately. Her heart sank. What now?
“Mammi, my shoes are all wet,” Elizabeth wailed.
Exchanging an understanding look with Rachel, Leah went to her. “Well, that’s not so bad. Sit up here on the chair, and let’s see how wet they are.”
Rachel focused on her daughter, knowing perfectly well that if anyone had instigated mischief, it would be Becky. “Becky, how did this happen?”
Becky’s lower lip came out, her gaze sliding away from Rachel’s.
“I’m waiting, Rebecca.”
The pout deepened, and Becky shrugged her shoulders. “I wanted to see if the ice is melting on the pond. That’s all. Elizabeth didn’t have to follow me.”
Unfortunately they all knew that where Becky led, Elizabeth would follow.
“You know you are not allowed on the ice without a grownup there. Go find some dry stockings for Elizabeth to wear home. You will go to bed early tonight, so that you’ll have time to think about being disobedient.”
“But, Mammi—“
The pout melted into the threat of tears, and Rachel had to force herself to remain unmoved. “Now, Rebecca.”
Becky scurried out of the room. Leah, having soothed away Elizabeth’s tears, was scolding her gently for being so foolish. “Run along with Becky and get something dry to wear home.”
She gave her stepdaughter a little shove. Her face brightening, Elizabeth hurried after Becky toward the stairs.
“I’m sorry—“ Rachel began.
“Don’t be silly,” Leah said quickly. “It’s not your fault. I’m sure we did much worse when we were their age.”
Had they? Those days seemed very far away just now.
“I don’t think either of us was quite so gut at leading others into trouble as Becky is. And it seems to be getting worse, not better.”
“She’s had a lot to handle since last year.” Leah’s voice was soft. “I’m sure that’s all it is.”
She nodded, because she didn’t want Leah to have another cause to worry about her.
But the truth was that she was no longer so sure that she was the gut mother she’d always thought she was. What if it had really been Ezra’s influence that ensured the children’s obedience and happiness? What if she couldn’t do it on her own?
Loneliness swept over her--loneliness mixed with longing for something she’d never have again.
#
“Don’t you have any snapdragons?” The English woman leaned across the stand at the Mud Sale on Saturday afternoon, peering at Rachel’s remaining plants and seeming to dismiss them at a glance.
Only the success of the sales she’d made already gave Rachel the confidence to speak up.
“It’s too early to plant snapdragons here. You won’t want to set those out until the danger of frost is past. What about some of these nice pansies?”
The woman eyed the cheerful faces of the pansies. “I suppose they’ll do. Do you have two dozen of them?”
Taken slightly aback by the sudden agreement, Rachel did a quick count. “Ja, I can just manage that.”
She began putting the plants into the boxes she’d brought for the purpose, exultant. This sale cleaned her out, and it was only two o’clock.
Leah had been right. If she’d had the greenhouse already, she could have made two or three times the money today.
She couldn’t go back. She accepted the money and thanked the woman. But she could go forward.
She glanced down the row of booths that had been built for the sale in the field adjoining the township fire house. True to its name, the Mud Sale had turned the field into a sea of mud, with furrows filling with moisture where pick-up trucks and buggies had made their way.
Mud Sales were a rite of spring in Pleasant Valley, and probably folks—Amish and English alike—enjoyed them so much because their appearance meant winter was over. People who hadn’t seen much of their neighbors for months were visiting even more than they were buying, it seemed, at the couple of dozen booths that had been set up.
A few booths down, she could see her daadi, buying bags of popcorn for his grandchildren. She could only hope the kinder hadn’t been eating junk food since he’d taken them off her hands an hour ago.
“Rachel, are your plants all gone so soon?” Her mother, who was sharing the booth with Rachel, looked as pleased as if she had just sold all her jams and jellies. “That is wonderful gut, that is.”
“Ja. It makes me feel—“ She paused, searching for the word. “Hopeful, I guess.” Her mood seemed to have flipped around in the week since she’d talked to Gideon.
She studied her mother’s kindly, lined face, knowing every wrinkle had been honestly earned. Mamm’s hair might be snowy white now and her vision starting to fail, but the sweetness in her face would always make her beautiful.
“Mamm, is that the way of grieving? To be weak and doubting one day and then confident and hopeful the next?”
Her mother’s faded blue eyes seemed to be looking at something in the distance. “Ja, you have it right. That’s the way of it.” She patted Rachel’s arm. “It will get better. You’ll see.”
Rachel clasped her mother’s hand in hers. “I’m sorry. I’ve made you think of Johnny, haven’t I?”
A kind of longing crossed Mamm’s face. “I never stop thinking of him, Rachel. Just as I never stop praying that one day I’ll see him again.”
“If Daadi would change his mind—“
Her mother shook her head. “Don’t, Rachel. It’s not your daadi’s fault. He’s only trying to do what’s right. You know that.”
No matter how much it hurt. Rachel finished the thought for her. Daad held hard to the letter and spirit of the Ordnung, the rules by which the Amish lived. Some might choose to bend the rules, but not Amos Kile.
A customer approached Mamm’s side of the stand, and she moved away quickly, as if relieved to be distracted but thoughts of her only son, gone nearly eleven years now.
It had been hard for Rachel, too—terribly hard—to lose her twin when Johnny deserted his family to go English. Still, even a twin brother wasn’t so close as a husband, and Johnny hadn’t died.
She’d even seen Johnny a number of times in the past year, thanks to Leah’s intervention. Leah understood too well herself the grief of having a beloved sibling go English, since her younger sister Anna had jumped the fence.
Rachel leaned against the counter, watching her mother wait on the customer. She should have thought twice before she’d asked her mother that question. With no other children but her and Johnny, the loss of him weighed heavy on her parents.
Daadi hadn’t seemed able to reconcile himself to the truth—Johnny was never going to come back to the church. So he clung to the bann, refusing to see Johnny, even though it hurt him and Mammi more than it did Johnny, busy and happy with his work at the medical research clinic.
Her parents were growing older, more frail, it seemed, with each passing month. Daad wanted so badly to help her with the farm since Ezra’s passing, but his health just wasn’t good enough. She knew it was a constant worry to him.
Mamm, having sold three jars of her raspberry jam, came back to her, studying Rachel closely. “You’ve been fratched about something. I can see it in your face. Is it too much for you, trying to keep the farm going?”
She shook her head, suspecting she knew the direction of her mother’s thoughts. “I’m doing all right. William helps a lot.”
“Still—“ Mamm put her hand on Rachel’s arm. “Won’t you think about your daadi’s idea? Sell the farm and move home with us. We’d love to have you and the kinder living with us, you know that.”
“I know, Mamm,” she said gently. “I just can’t bring myself to do that. The farm was Ezra’s dream. It’s what he had to leave to his children. How can I let him down?”
Mamm’s eyes clouded with concern. “You can’t run a dairy farm alone. Who knows how long Ezra’s brothers can continue to do so much? If you sold, you’d maybe get enough to start a small business of some kind. Wouldn’t that be better?”
It was tempting, so tempting. To be back under her parents’ roof, having them share the responsibility for the kinder. Being able to lean on them when things got difficult. But—
“I can’t, Mamm. I just can’t make up my mind to that. Not yet, anyway.”
But she had to, didn’t she? She had to stop drifting along and make some definite decisions about their future, hers and the children’s.
Isaac and William, Ezra’s brothers, came up to the stand just then, relieving her of the need to keep talking about it, even if she couldn’t dismiss it from her thoughts.
“How are your sales today, Rachel? Gut, I hope.” Isaac, bluff and hearty, his beard almost completely gray now, stopped in front of her counter.
“They’re all gone.” She swept her hand along the empty countertop.
“Gut, gut,” he said, and William nodded in agreement, giving her a shy smile.
The nearly twenty years between the oldest of Ezra’s siblings and the youngest accented the many other differences between them. Isaac was stout and graying, with an assured manner that seemed to have grown since the death of his father left him the head, as he thought, of the family.
William, just turned eighteen, hung back, shy as always. He had huge brown eyes that reminded Rachel of a frightened deer and blond hair so light it was nearly white. He seemed always on the verge of growing right out of his clothes.
“Are you having a pleasant day at the sale?” The guilt she felt over her uncharitable thoughts toward Isaac made her voice warm with interest.
“Ja. For sure. Made a couple of deals and have a line on someone who has a fine colt for sale.” He gave William a hearty slap on the shoulder. “Maybe I’ll let William train this one.”
Not sure what William felt about that, she could only smile. But for the most part, William did what Isaac said without questioning, as far as she could tell.
“By the way, Rachel, I found a buyer for those greenhouse supplies you’ve got in the barn,” he went on. “You won’t want it now. I’ll come by and pick those materials up on Tuesday.”
For a moment Rachel could only gape at him. Slowly, the temper she rarely felt began to rise. Not only did Isaac assume he knew what she should do—he thought he had the right to make decisions for her.
Forcing down the anger, she managed a smile. “That is kind to go to so much trouble. But I don’t wish to sell.”
He blinked. “Not sell?” His voice rose in surprise. “But what will you do with all that lumber and glass?”
“Build a greenhouse.” The words came out almost before she thought what she’d say. She’d been having such difficulty in making decisions, and suddenly she’d made one on the spur of the moment. Yet Isaac had pushed her into this one.
Annoyance flared in Isaac’s face, quickly masked by an air of concern. “Ach, Rachel, don’t be so foolish. The money will be of much more use to you than a greenhouse.”
“Ezra gave it to me for my birthday. I don’t want to sell his gift. I want to use it the way he intended.”
“Ezra would want you to do the sensible thing.” Clearly the sensible thing, according to Isaac, was to listen to him.
The smile was so tight it felt her face would split with it. She shook her head. “I appreciate the trouble you’ve taken, but I’ve made up my mind.”
Temper flared in his eyes, and his fist clenched on the counter. “How do you expect to get a greenhouse built? I don’t have time to do it for you. And you certainly can’t do it yourself.”
“I w—w—want t—t—t—“
William didn’t get any farther before Isaac turned on him. “Forget that idea. I need you at the farm. You’ll have no time to indulge this whim of Rachel’s.”
Her teeth gritted at the way Isaac disregarded William’s wishes. Just because it took the boy a long time to say something didn’t mean he couldn’t have an opinion.
But that was how most of the family treated him, finishing his thoughts for him instead of having enough patience to hear him out.
“If that is indeed what William intended to say, it is very kind of him.” She smiled at him, and he blushed to the tips of his ears.
“William is not available.” Isaac ground out the words.
William’s jaw clenched as if, for once in his life, he might go against Isaac’s wishes. But she couldn’t let the boy get into trouble on her account.
“I can’t take him away from his work—he does so much for me already. I’ll manage.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Isaac’s face darkened to a deep red, and he looked dangerously close to explosion.
It seemed she didn’t even consider the words before they were out of her mouth.
“Gideon Zook is going to build the greenhouse for me.”
She caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye. Gideon was standing there, watching them, close enough to hear every word.

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