This was not how things were supposed to go.
He should appreciate life on a dairy farm, just like his daed and bruder did. And he certainly should not be thinking about a girl who wanted nothing to do with him—no matter how much she intrigued him. He had to remember that, after three days of working together she still seemed annoyed by his very presence! And yet that independent streak was what made him admire her.
Joseph paused. Did he just admit that he admired Rachel Miller? What was he thinking? Sure, she was clever and spirited and unlike any other girl he knew—but she had made it clear that she was not interested. Besides, his heart was already halfway in the English world. The last thing he needed now was a distraction—even if it had sparkling blue eyes and a knowing smile that intrigued him.
Joseph hurried back to the house for a hot cup of black kaffi while Eli sanitized the equipment and shoveled out the stalls. Joseph filled a glass with water and poured it on his mamm’s peace lily in the windowsill above the sink, then picked up his mug and blew across the top. The warm ceramic felt good against his cold fingers. He shifted the peace lily’s pot a few inches to catch the sun. The weak rays of early morning light brightened the waxy green leaves. Joseph leaned against the old butcher-block counter and sighed contentedly, then stopped and frowned. Had he always cared about that peace lily? He thought for a moment. Yes, he had. Every morning he came in from the barn, watered the plant, and made sure it was in the sun. How strange. He had never thought about it before.
“What’s the matter, Son?”
Joseph turned to see his maam standing behind him with a laundry basket in her hands. Gray hair peeked from the front of her blue work kerchief.
“Ach, nothing.”
“You look like you’re thinking about something . . . or somebody.” She raised an eyebrow. “A lucky young woman?”
“No.” Joseph laughed and pushed away from the counter. “I was thinking about that peace lily.”
Erma smiled. “You always had a green thumb.”
“I never thought about it before.”
“Your daed and I have. Why do you think he found you a job in a greenhouse?”
Joseph opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head. “I thought it was because I failed at that woodworking job I tried last year.”
Erma pressed the laundry basket against a hip to free one hand and tousled Joseph’s hair. “Carpentry isn’t your gift. We thought you might like working with plants better.”
“I thought you were trying to punish me.”
Erma’s forehead crinkled and she tilted her head. “Whyever would you think that?”
“Rachel isn’t easy to work with. She doesn’t want me there.”
Erma waved her hand. “Ach, that. Easily solved. Just be yourself.” She moved her hand to his shoulder and held it there. “Don’t you see that we’re trying to help you?”
“After I wrecked the buggy and almost got Abner killed? No, I don’t see that. Why would you?”
Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “Because we love you. You need to earn money to pay your daed back, but maybe a change of scenery will do you gut. Get the restlessness out of your system, ya? We know your heart’s not been in the dairy farm lately.”
“You do?” A flash of panic rocketed up Joseph’s spine. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. Your daed and I can see.”
“You can?”
“Ya.”
“I never wanted Daed to know that. The farm is so important to him.”
“He’s your father. He knows you well enough to see you’re unhappy here.”
“No. I’m not unhappy. I’m just . . . ” Joseph shrugged and turned away from his mother’s gaze. Her understanding attitude made him feel guilty.
“It’s just you feel as if you don’t belong here.”
Joseph’s eyes shot back to his mother. “Ya.”
“Your onkel didn’t like dairy farming either. That’s why he started Webber Creamery. He found a way to fit what he wanted into the life God gave him. Don’t you know that God gave you whatever talents you have? He wants you to use them. And I believe you can find a way to use them right here, with us—otherwise you wouldn’t have been born Amish. Take a break; work with plants for a while; try and enjoy yourself. Then maybe you’ll be ready to settle down on the farm for good.”
“What would you think if I did something else, like Onkel Isaiah did?”
“I don’t see how you could. Eli will be wanting to start a family soon.” Erma shook her head. “This farm can only support so many people. As the older brother, he knows he’ll have to work somewhere else. You’re young enough to wait until your daed retires to take over.”
“I know.” Joseph looked away. “It’s okay. I don’t want to leave.” The words stuck in his throat because he knew that was already halfway gone.
Erma gave him a long, hard stare. “Really? Then why do you spend so much time running around with the English? I wonder what you think you’ll find with them.”
Joseph felt uncomfortable. Had he really been that transparent? He thought he had done a better job of hiding his restlessness. And as far as running around with the English . . . well, he sure thought he had hidden the extent of that from his mother. He wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or relieved that she was on to him.
“Everyone knows Eli should take over the farm when Daed retires. He loves the work.”
Erma sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair under her kerchief. “I wish it were that simple.”
“I better get going. Don’t want to be late.”
Erma nodded. She didn’t say another word, but she watched with concerned eyes as Joseph set his empty kaffi mug on the butcher-block counter and strode out the door.
* * *
Rachel emptied a bowl of kitchen scraps into the compost bin on the greenhouse floor. As the food decomposed, heat rose to help warm the air and save on propane. She checked the thermostat behind the propane heater and nodded. Everything was running smoothly. Except for her thoughts.
As she puttered through her morning routine, Rachel’s focus kept drifting back to eighth grade. Eighth grade of all places! She scowled and picked up a pair of gardening shears. What had gotten into her? As she pruned an heirloom cucumber vine, she remembered Joseph’s classroom antics. He had such a big personality. The entire room would roar with laughter when he cracked a joke or teased a girl.
Rachel had disliked him for his teasing. He never said anything mean or hurtful or inappropriate to the other girls; he just pointed out something cute or endearing about them. She had thought him very foolish, even though he always had something clever or funny to say about Anna, Rebekah, or Abigail. He would say it loud enough for everyone to hear, so that everyone would react. Then the girl would get a haughty look on her face, sit up a littler straighter, and giggle in an annoying, overly feminine way.
Rachel had always told herself that she was glad he didn’t target her for such attention-seeking nonsense. Why should she care? As the metal blades of the shears whispered against each other, Rachel realized why she had always felt vaguely angry with Joseph Webber. He had left her out. He had never targeted her. He had never even noticed her. She had sat quietly in the corner while he grinned at the other girls and they giggled and blushed.
Ach! What foolishness! Why should she want some silly boy to notice her? And yet—
Rachel snapped the shears shut with too much force and clipped a vine she had meant to save. She sighed and set down the shears with a hard clang. “All right. Fine. I admit it.” She knew in her heart that she wanted Joseph Webber to tease her instead of the other girls. She didn’t want to be the silent, forgotten one.
And here she was, six years later, still silent, still forgotten. Her friends had drifted away into their own busy lives when she got sick. Months stretched into years, but she had not moved forward when everyone else had. They had enjoyed youth groups and singings, b
uggy rides and festive after-church dinners. She had been home or in the hospital. Now all she had was her greenhouse and her own thoughts. And her plants, of course. They had become her closest friends.
Until Joseph Webber came crashing in like he owned the place. Of all the people to invade her cozy, safe world—it had to be the boy who had made her feel the most alone!
The door creaked open and slammed shut. Ha! Perfect timing. Just when she realized she wanted Joseph Webber in her life almost as much as she wanted him out of it. Why did life have to be so complicated?
“Morning.”
Rachel swallowed and forced her voice to sound steady. “Good morning. You’re early.”
“Am I?” He flashed that endearing grin of his. “Just wanted to get on your nerves.”
Was he teasing her? Was he really? Rachel frowned and turned away. Of course not. Why would he do that now, when he had ignored her in school? That would mean that he was treating her as if she were just like anyone else . . . and so few people did that now. She cleared her throat, raised her chin a fraction, and spoke in a cold voice. “You’re succeeding.” Ach. What a thing to say!
Joseph sighed and shrugged. “Just till Christmas.”
Rachel nodded. Her cheeks burned and she kept her face turned so that he couldn’t see. “Ya. Just until Christmas. Less than two months to go.” She hadn’t meant to be rude. But, what else could she say? Joseph had told her he didn’t want to be there. There was no point in indulging silly fantasies that he might actually see her as a person. He never had before. Why would he start now?
“So, what’s the goal here?”
“What?” Rachel felt ruffled and uncertain. She didn’t understand this boy at all. He had her completely thrown. If only he weren’t quite so handsome or quite so tall and charming. She smelled the musky scent of his aftershave as he stepped closer. Her hands fumbled over the shears and they dropped to the floor. The metal clanged against the concrete. She just couldn’t think straight. This was getting ridiculous.
Joseph swooped in and picked up the shears. His eyes met hers as he straightened back up, tossed the shears in the air, caught them by the handles, and handed them to her.
Rachel swallowed. She could not pull herself out of his mischievous brown eyes. “Thank you.”
“The goal?”
“What? Ach. I don’t know. . . .”
“You’ve got all these plants. Why? What are you going to do with them?”
Rachel shrugged. “I used to put a sign at the end of the driveway for the English tourists to see. They would stop in and buy things sometimes.” She shrugged again.
“So, why isn’t it up now?”
“I couldn’t keep up with my plants when I was sick.”
“You’re not sick anymore, are you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
Rachel gave him an irritated look. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Nope.”
Rachel raised her eyebrows and stared at him.
“I tell you what, figure out what you want to sell and how much you want to charge, or whatever. And I’ll go put the sign back up. I bet you’ve still got it around here somewhere.”
“Not many people drive by. It’s too far off the main road.”
“Sounds like you’re making excuses. The English like to drive the back roads on the way to Bird-in-Hand, ya? I bet plenty come by here. You know how they are—they want the ‘authentic Amish experience,’ whatever that means.”
“Ya. But I’d do better selling at the Bird-in-Hand Farmers Market. I was going to, you know.”
“Okay. So it’s settled.”
“What’s settled?”
“We reopen Rachel’s Greenhouse—or whatever you want to call it—and we get you in the farmers market.”
“You think people would buy from me?”
“Ya. Of course.”
Rachel smiled. She felt a tiny spark of warmth build inside her chest. “I’ve been daydreaming about it.” Ach! Why had she told him that? Information about her dreams was personal!
“I’m surprised at you. I figured you’d have it all up and running by now.”
Rachel frowned. Why was she putting it off? “People are complicated, I guess.” She didn’t want to admit that she was afraid. What if her parents were right? What if she couldn’t cope?
Joseph chuckled. “Yes, they are.” He turned and headed in the opposite direction. “I think I see a sign in that pile of junk.” He nodded toward a stack of plywood, bags of potting soil, and empty pots in the far corner of the greenhouse.
Rachel watched him but didn’t answer.
Joseph stopped and turned to look at her. “Unless you want to give up . . . ?” She noticed the glint in his deep brown eyes. He was goading her into trying and she couldn’t help but fall for it. Ach, if only he weren’t quite so charming!
“No.” The word came out as a grunt.
Joseph smiled a satisfied smile. He had her. Rachel watched as he strode across the greenhouse with that confident walk of his. She had the feeling that everything in her life was about to change. And she didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified.
Chapter 4
The rest of the week passed in an uneasy truce as Rachel considered how to attract tourists to her little out-of-the-way greenhouse. Every day at 12:00 sharp, her mamm knocked on the greenhouse door, cracked it open, and announced that lunch would be ready in five minutes.
“Do you have any ripe tomatoes?” she asked on Saturday, and swept her gaze over the long rows of plants. “Would be wonderful good with the meal.”
Rachel beamed. “Ya. I do.”
Ada nodded and slipped back to the kitchen.
“Over here,” Rachel said, and led Joseph to a fuzzy vine tied to a wooden stake. Strange-looking fruit with uneven, bulgy sides hung from the vine.
“What’re those?” Joseph asked.
“Tomatoes, of course.”
“They don’t look like it. They look like squishy little pumpkins.”
Rachel laughed. “They’re heirloom tomatoes. This is what tomatoes used to look like, before people bred them to look like the ones in the grocery store.” She plucked a misshapen oversized orange tomato and handed it to Joseph. It felt heavy and smooth in his hand, just like a regular tomato.
“I guess you think it’s ugly,” Rachel said.
“No. Just different.”
“And different is ugly.”
“No. Different is . . . different. Nothing more, nothing less. It isn’t bad or good to be different. It just is.”
“Oh.”
“Do these taste better than the ones in the grocery store?” Joseph asked.
“Absolutely.” She grinned and grabbed the tomato from his palm. “But you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
The scent of baking bread met them at the kitchen door. Joseph smiled at the sourdough loaf, the Mason jars of pickled watermelon rind and pickled beets, the plate of cheese, and the platter of cold ham on the red-checked tablecloth. “Looks, great, Ada. Thanks.” He slid onto a straight-backed wooden chair as Rachel’s mamm sliced the heirloom tomato and sprinkled each slice with salt and pepper.
“It’s good to have you here,” Ada said as she set the plate of sliced tomato on the table. “And you’re in for a treat. Rachel’s tomatoes will be the best you’ve ever tasted.”
The front door swung open and Samuel barged in with a blast of frigid air. “Cold front’s come in,” he said as he hung his heavy coat on a peg and then held his palms up to the propane heater. “It’s good to be home.”
“It’s good to have you here,” Ada said. “Slow day at the harness shop?”
Samuel grinned. “Slow enough to get away for a home cooked meal.” He dropped into a wooden chair at the head of the table as Ada poured him a hot cup of kaffi. Steam rose from the mug as they blessed the food.
“Have you heard the gut news?” Joseph asked as he reached for the jar o
f pickled watermelon rind. Joseph smiled and glanced at Rachel. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head slightly, just enough for him to see. Joseph hesitated. Had he done something wrong?
“Good news?” Samuel leaned forward. “Let’s hear it!”
“Ya.” Joseph cleared his throat. Why was Rachel giving him that look? “Rachel didn’t tell you? She’s going to start selling plants again. And not just here. She’s going to sell at the Bird-in-Hand Farmers Market too.”
“Ah.” Samuel’s eager expression evaporated. He sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his long gray beard. “I see.”
“Rachel?” Ada’s face crumpled.
Rachel frowned. She looked down at her plate. “It’s what I want to do.”
“You can,” her mother said. “Later. But it’s so soon. . . . ” Her eyes swung to Samuel. “Tell her it’s too soon. She can’t possibly manage.”
“Mamm, I’m right here. You can talk to me about it.”
Samuel put a large, calloused hand atop Rachel’s and patted gently. “Your mamm’s right. You need to take care of yourself. She just wants what’s best for you.”
“But Daed, I’m twenty years old! I can’t live like this forever.”
Samuel looked very tired. “No, of course not. But just a little while longer. Until you’re stronger.”
“You’ve been saying that for a long time, Daed.”
Samuel rubbed his forehead. He shook his head. “Your mother is so worried about you, Rachel.”
Joseph worked very hard to concentrate on the slice of ham on his plate. He cut it up into small pieces as the Miller family argued around him. What had he started? He only wanted to help but had made things worse instead.
“Can’t you let us take care of you?” Ada asked in a small, pleading voice. “Can’t you see we worry so?”
“Ya. But I need to live again. Can’t you see that?”
Ada didn’t answer. She stared at Rachel with tight lips and frightened eyes.
“I’m not going to break,” Rachel said, and speared a pickled beet with her fork. “The worst has happened. It has to get better from here.”
“She’s right, Ada,” Samuel said in a weary voice. “She has to figure out how to live the life she’s been given.”
An Amish Second Christmas Page 18