An Amish Flower Farm

by Mindy Steele

  Crossing the road, Adam raised a hand in greeting, and Mica waved him over. Adam wandered over the perfectly trimmed yard and the flowery path leading to the porch. Irises and flowers which he had no name for were in full bloom in an array of colors. Cool evening air delivered the sweetened scents abundantly. Adam, a novice in flora, but appreciative of all things sweet-smelling, inhaled. It was a sensory experience like no other.

  “That horse of yours needs a new shoe.” Mica was known for his blunt speaking. Adam preferred conversations not stuffed with idle chatter, too. Mica leaned back, legs stretched out and resting on the railing. He was a mountain of a man, all six-foot-too-many-inches of him.

  “She threw it on the ride home.” Adam removed his hat and noted an empty plate next to Mica that might have held strawberry pie. His stomach reminded him of another forgotten meal. The Grabers’ front fields yielded rows and rows of strawberries to sell, and few people skipped the chance of trying out the Graber women’s desserts at gatherings. All were excellent bakers.

  “You need me to tend to it before morning?” Mica asked.

  “Nee, I know my way around a hoof when necessary.” Adam was not only a beekeeper, but a Jack of all trades. There were few things he couldn’t do when set to task. “I came over to ask a question.”

  Mica’s thick auburn brows lifted. Adam got right to the point, explaining his predicament, down to the fact that the honey harvest would begin soon. Until he found a moment to spare and check his hives, he didn’t know just how soon that would be. “I’m not sure how to pull off doing all three jobs. We need the income from the mill and Ivan likes that I’m always available to help him on a project, and I can’t risk that. But the hives can’t go unattended. They are my true livelihood,” Adam concluded, masking the tension in his voice.

  “Sounds to me you’re stretching yourself mighty thin,” Mica said. “A man can only do so many things before the body wears, or snaps.” Mica sympathetic expression showed that he was a man speaking from experience.

  “I’m young and it’s only temporary, until Daed gets back to his feet.” Which might not be for a full year. The doctor had explained the lengthy road to a full recovery for his father. A year was a long time. Adam wouldn’t complain, for as much as it would stretch him out, it was still a blessing that his father had survived with no worse hurt. And anyway, Adam’s crowded schedule was nothing compared to what his father was miserably enduring in the healing process.

  “Well, you should know our parents are gone to Kentucky to tend to Dawdi,” Mica started.

  “Jah, I heard his health isn’t getting any better. I’m sorry.” Adam remembered his own grandfather. Losing him when Adam had just turned nine had left an empty void.

  “Nee, it’s not getting better. Nor will it, since he isn’t taking treatments any longer.” Mica’s jaw clenched.

  Adam’s heart went out to him and the rest of Belinda’s family. It was clear her grandfather would be called home soon. Mica cleared his throat. His auburn hair glinted orange in the glow of the sunset. “I can’t help much. Not as much as you need now, with me being responsible for the greenhouses, my shop, and what hay we’ve got, but I’ll do what I can to lend a hand. Have you asked around, or am I the first?” Mica wouldn’t say no, but it was clear he wouldn’t be much help, having so little free time.

  “I asked around,” Adam said on a sigh. “Bishop Schwartz thought you could help, with your experience and all. And you really are the only other person in Havenlee who knows anything about extracting honey besides the Englisch teacher in town. I’d rather pay a friend and neighbor than an outsider.” Mica agreed with an audible grunt.

  After what felt like hours of awkward silence, Mica said, “Belinda could do it.” He said it as if speaking to himself before snapping to attention, sounding more definitive. “Jah, Belinda could help, with all of it.” He got to his feet, towering over Adam, who stood just below the porch. His fully stretched stance was as intimidating as it had been when they were in school. Even then, Mica had been years older and nearly a foot taller, reaching a lofty height in his boyish years.

  “Belinda?” It came out like he’d just swallowed a handful of sand. Surely Adam had heard wrong. Belinda Graber would never consider working with bees, a task that many men hesitated to tackle. She had nearly tripped the last time he’d thanked her for refilling his kaffi cup at a gathering months ago. She was still the same frightened girl she’d been in school. The same one who ignored every look her way, every compliment paid her. She was fearful of everything—surely that included being fearful of bees.

  “She knows as much as I,” Mica said. “When I spent autumns in Kentucky, Belinda went and helped too.” Mica thumbed his suspenders. How did a man nearing thirty look as if he was still growing? But despite his commanding presence, Adam didn’t quite believe his words. Belinda couldn’t know anything about working an apiary...and if she did, she surely wasn’t about to help him. Her creature comforts were with flowers. Not thousands of bees.

  “She helps with the greenhouse and the vegetable gardens, plus she has her flowers to tend to this year.” Mica stepped to edge of the porch, pointing a thumb around the side. “Daed let her plant a few dozen extra rows of flowers this year to try making a go of something herself, but she can spare a little time to help another.”

  Adam peered out toward the three large greenhouses sitting adjacent to the Graber home. The lower greenhouse sat in the full sun closest to the road, a large watering tank at its side. The other two greenhouses were constructed in the shape of a very large T, closer to the barn. Even at this distance, he could see bold colors dotting the insides. The Grabers did well with their produce, and it never went unnoticed how fast they sold out of hanging baskets year after year.

  They also owned a fair amount of land for growing vegetables and hay. Two large gardens were already sprouting green, and Adam noticed tomatoes already heavy in yellowy blooms, uncommon so early in the season. They were a family of green thumbs and blessed seasons, and Adam was fortunate his bees could forage for free next door. His gaze lingered over the flower gardens. A few extra rows, he mused, noting a separate plot from the two regular gardens stretching all the way to the fence line. Among bold blues and purply violets, the occasional pastel pink and withering daffodils, he saw her. In her white kapp and dull grey dress, she knelt between rows, nestled among the flowers.

  “Are you seriously suggesting I ask your sister to help me?”

  “I am. You’ve known her all her life, so why not?” Mica shrugged one large shoulder. “Belinda may be...”

  “Shy, and has never said two words to me, even as kinner.” Adam said too quickly. Was Gott playing tricks? Was the only person available truly a woman, when he’d just sworn off the fairer sex?

  Mica pinned him with a look. “I was going to say, self-conscious, but she knows bees. I’m sure she would gladly help someone in need, and one who has so few options.”

  “Self-conscious?” Adam lifted a brow. What did Belinda have to be self-conscious about? Mica studied him for another hard minute as if the simple questioned perplexed him. The longer Mica stared at him, the tighter the pending threat squeezed Adam’s chest.

  “What?” Adam asked at last, when the silence had grown uncomfortable.

  “Nix. She’s in the garden.” Mica pointed. “You can go and ask her. I’m not the one needing help.” Mica smirked and turned away to scoop up his plate.

  “I don’t want to frighten her. She doesn’t...like to be bothered.” Adam felt his stomach form a loose knot. He wasn’t the type of man who feared much, but he had a soft spot for the meek and he hated the idea of upsetting Belinda.

  Mica chuckled. “Then don’t frighten her. You will have to talk to work together. I’m going for seconds. Strawberry pie is my favorite.” Mica grinned as if he hadn’t just added more weight to Adam’s shoulders.

  Adam
pivoted, studying the figure kneeling in the garden. A thousand scenarios ran through his head, and not one would get him any closer to a solution for his problem than he was right now. He inhaled, slowly exhaled, and took one stupid step forward.

  Mica slipped into the kitchen, empty plate in hand. “What?” Tabitha stood near the counter, arms crossed, brows raised in reproof.

  “You sent him to talk to her, alone?” Tabitha’s voice rose. “Don’t try to deny it—we heard the whole thing.”

  “Then you heard the part about him needing help.” Mica shrugged, fending off the impulse to laugh at her, and inched to the table, where one slice of pie lay, lonely. Tabitha was just as overprotective as he when it came to their youngest sibling. But Belinda wasn’t a little girl anymore, running home crying day after day, convinced the other kinner hated and mocked her. She was a grown woman, and Mamm was right. It was time they all stepped out of their comforts. Belinda needed to test her abilities. She deserved more in life than the sheltered solitude she’d fallen into, and helping another would pull her out of that shell she stayed in. Help grow her confidence. Adam was a safe bet. He had a girlfriend and was an all-around decent fellow. He knew Mica wouldn’t tolerate Belinda not being treated respectfully. Mica grinned. It was the perfect plan.

  “She will be inconsolable. I should go.” Tabitha made for the door, her controlling nature driving her.

  “Nee,” Mammi barked, halting Tabitha in her tracks. “You will stay put and mind yourself. Mica did the right thing. We can’t coddle her for always.” She placed both hands on Tabitha’s shoulders. “Mei Belinda is not so little anymore. She knows her own mind and owns her own tongue. That Hostetler boy has known her for her whole life, and he won’t harm her. He needs help, and it would be good for her to accept.” Blessed Mammi, always knowing how to deal with this house of women, Mica silently mused.

  “But you know how she can get,” Tabitha continued, while Mica slipped the slice of pie ever so quietly onto his plate.

  “You are a good schwester, but don’t you think you should be focusing on your own future and not hers?” he asked. Mamm might be a couple hundred miles away, but her words and hopes sure weren’t.

  “And you,” Mammi turned her attention to him. Mica froze mid-swallow. “You are the eldest and not setting much of an example. Should’ve been married long before now,” Mammi fussed.

  So much for thinking he could escape without a reproach. But, he thought as he headed back to the porch, at least he was escaping with pie.

  Adam brushed his sweaty palms down the legs of his dusty trousers as he neared the flower garden. “What are you up to now?” he grumbled heavenward. “Of all the people in Havenlee, why did it have to be this one?” No answer was forthcoming. He would do well to get this over with.

  Adam homed in on Belinda, plunked down and tending her flowers, as she often did. Singing, as she often did too. Her voice was as soft and delicate as the woman it came from, caressing the air, enchanting the evening. He had forgotten just how sweet her voice sounded, how beautiful she looked nestled among the rows. Like her garden, she’d always been beautiful in flawless splendor, a distant vision of Gott’s good works. It was a serene picture, one that gave his chest a sudden jolt.

  Adam focused on the reason he was here. He needed help with his apiary; that was all.

  Cautiously, he walked to the edge of the garden, considering what he might say. How did one go about asking a woman like her for help? He stepped forward, careful of the flowers. No sense starting off on the wrong foot—literally. Mica insisted she knew a thing or two about bees, which probably wasn’t enough for all he needed, but Adam had no other option. She had the time. Raising flowers couldn’t be that demanding. If she agreed, it would be the perfect solution. So why were his palms still sweaty?

  His very livelihood depended on his shy neighbor who barely whispered around others, but could sing a cricket to sleep, that was why.

  Chapter Four

  Sunset threatened to call day’s end, its crimson shadow etching over the earth and snaking past the greenhouses. Belinda had few moments to herself, and welcomed the free time to spend in her gardens. Here among her flowers, she could find some sanctuary from her assertive siblings. They were always reminding her not only that she had flowers to sell, but also that she was twenty-three with no prospects for marriage. Why was there so much emphasis on marriage, anyway? Couldn’t a person just be content without it?

  And why was Mica intent on shining a light on Noel Christner? Belinda wanted nothing to do with him. He was three years younger than she and far too bold for his own good. She huffed. What kind of man simply walked up unannounced and bluntly asked a brother to let him drive his sister home, without trying to carry on a conversation with said woman first? Granted, she didn’t do conversations, so he wouldn’t have succeeded if he’d tried for one of those, either...but that wasn’t the point.

  Belinda had learned long ago this was her lot in life. She’d lagged behind, letting shyness overrule what was considered natural for a girl her age. She never attended singings, youth gatherings or frolics, and after her school years the world simply shrank down to her family, aside from the occasional wedding or funeral. She didn’t mind it—not at all. She preferred it. So why couldn’t her family let it alone? No one seemed to care that Tabitha wasn’t interested in youth rituals, either.

  She rolled her shoulders, still stiff from making hanging baskets and scrubbing floors all day. She wouldn’t think about Noel and his beady eyes here. She’d be thankful she was blessed with a beautiful garden.

  Spotting where she had left off weeding on her last visit, Belinda knelt between rows and inhaled the mingling fragrances flooding the air. To her left, irises—bedecked in violet purple, creamy peach, and canary yellow—reached for any last drops of sunlight they could consume. To her right, zinnias poked out of soft blackened soil, rich and vibrant. She fingered the thick velvety leaves, anticipating the beauty they would transform into. Flowers were uncomplicated, yet their resilience was inspiring. Their only job in life was to be born, reach heavenward, and then be recycled. It was as simple as that. If they expected something more, in the in between, well, they would be sorely disappointed. She should follow their example, and be satisfied with the simple joys her life held.

  But a girl could dream. And more often than not, Belinda did. Maybe she read too many novels, but she could easily let herself be drawn into a romantic chapter and imagine herself in the heroine’s place. The lady of the house, tending her gardens just as a handsome suitor appeared to confess his heart. Someone with pretty eyes, perhaps, not beady and scary like Noel Christner’s.

  She plucked a small purple and yellow violet bloom, brushed the delicate petals across her cheek, and then tucked it between hair and kapp. She glanced around, felt the day’s weight lift, and let herself sink into the world that belonged only to her. She loved the way the light raced over the earth each morning and then was swallowed up over the pastures across the road in the evening, as if reminding her another day was over and rest had been earned. What some called mundane, she called predictable and safe. If she wanted danger, she’d imagine it, and easily overcome it without getting so much as a scratch.

  A few birds lingered nearby, darting for whatever insect dared to fly in their path. The last bees were getting their fill before calling it a night. This was such a small piece of a very large world, but she loved and appreciated the harmonious mixture of nature and humanity working hand in hand. This was her world, where she knew exactly what she was doing, and where she had a sense of control. Looks were unimportant out here, words weren’t required, and no one had an opinion that they thought she needed to hear. Her heart lifted at the thought, and she began filling the evening with a melody. Maybe a handsome suitor would hear her voice, become enchanted, and seek her out. Maybe he could sweep her away and they would build a new life, a flower farm jus
t as she had always dreamed of, and live happily ever after.

  Yes, the imagination was a wonderful tool for the strange and impossible. She smiled as she hummed “I Give You Freedom,” and then sang the verses.

  “I set the bound’ries of the ocean vast,

  Carved out the mountains from the distant past,

  Molded a man from the miry clay,

  Breathed in him life, but he went astray.”

  Belinda was just starting the chorus when the hairs on the back of her neck bristled.

  A throat cleared, confirming she was no longer alone in her garden. She looked up, way up, as a dark figure stepped into the glare of the lowering sun. Mica was much larger than the shadow before her. For a second, she had the wild idea that she really had conjured up a suitor by singing.

  Sliding a hand in place to shield her eyes, recognition slowly registered, and she found herself staring at the last person she expected in her garden. Adam Hostetler, her neighbor.

  The slow tremble started in her belly and inched into her fingertips. Lowering her arm, she paused, feeling the urge to hide her birthmark. Since her schooldays, she had nearly shed the old habit, but just the sight of Adam Hostetler, this close without another soul around, stirred up the need again.

  “The whippoorwill song,” Adam said, speaking first. His voice was deeper than she remembered. He took a cautious step to her left, drawing closer. Her muscles tensed and she instinctually hunkered in on herself, like a rabbit hiding under a bush. But there was no bush, only anxiety curling her stomach, sharpening her nerve endings. Why was he here, in her garden, her perfect sanctuary?