by Mindy Steele
“I’m sorry, I dressed to check the hives and meet the bee inspector. I know I look...” She fidgeted nervously with the veil in her hands.
“Like a woman not wanting to get stung by a thousand bees.” Ada waved off her worry.
Belinda had never been inside the Hostetlers’ house before. Anytime it came their turn to host church, the large barn usually offered ample space. The home was overly tidy, even by Plain standards. Not a speck of dust anywhere. Belinda had heard that Ada’s overwhelming need for cleanliness stemmed from her terrible allergies. Dirt didn’t dare take up residence here.
The lemony scent of Thieves oil mingled with the scent of baking bread. The small sitting room to the right held two couches and two puffy green chairs. Atlee lay across one couch with his leg in a contraption that must have made it impossible to move. One suspender hung loosely over his right shoulder and his britches had been cut just above his knee. Belinda expected him to look out of sorts, but his gleaming smile proved quite the opposite. Adam had his father’s smile and deep-timbered voice.
“Hello, neighbor. Tell me, how is your grandfather? I heard he had to go for more cancer treatments.”
Belinda cleared her throat, preparing to speak up. Mica often said she had a voice like a rock, meaning he could hear more of what a rock had to say. “Tabitha spoke with our parents last night. He is doing as good as expected, but he isn’t taking treatments any longer. Mamm and Daed are staying until...” Belinda pushed back unbidden tears. It would do no good to cry in front of Adam’s parents, even if thinking of all her dawdi was going through broke her heart.
“Your dawdi is a good man. He will be rejoicing with your mammi soon, my dear. Think of that when it troubles you.” Atlee was kind to coddle her oversensitivity. Sometimes it was hard to simply accept things as they were. “Even flowers die. Everything has a season,” Mamm always said, but Belinda found no comfort in that when it came to losing her dawdi.
“Adam says you’re helping with the honey harvest this year. I see you take your job seriously.” Atlee gave her clothing a careful study. He had strong, sharp brows like Adam, but unlike Adam, his eyes didn’t seem to be searching for anything.
“Now Atlee, we can’t be having our Belinda here getting stung. Adam would be terribly upset.” Ada touched her arm and smiled. Our Belinda. That was the second time his family had referred to her as our Belinda. It was sweet, but terribly unnecessary.
“If a bee dared sting her, that is,” Ada added with a laugh. Belinda flinched, wondering if she was being mocked.
Sensing her confusion, Atlee chuckled. “Adam says you sing to the bees, charming them. I think our sohn is smitten by your talents.”
Belinda’s face went crimson, more in response to the suggestion that Adam was smitten than because of the comment about her singing.
“He does?” Her skin grew damp, just thinking Adam found anything about her appealing.
“I’m glad you could help. With Atlee in such shape, I wouldn’t have the time needed to do much myself, and I can’t imagine lifting those screens of honey,” Ada said a bit regretfully. Belinda didn’t correct her mistake in calling hive frames screens.
“You leave the heavy lifting to Adam,” Atlee said sternly, waving a long finger at Belinda. “No sense hurting yourself, especially after being so kind to offer.”
“I’ve done my share of it before,” Belinda quickly reminded them. “He can’t possibly do everything.” Adam’s parents eyed her with appreciation.
“Who would have thought you and Adam had so much in common?” Ada smiled. “I worry terribly about him, working so many hours, taking no time for himself.” Ada’s eyes started to glisten. “We have been blessed with a selfless sohn, but I fear it costs him much.” Was she speaking of him having time for himself, or something else? Was Mammi right about the end of Adam’s romance with Susanne?
“Now Ada, he knows his limits. And he has Belinda here now to help. All is as it should be.”
Belinda nodded in agreement. It was clear Adam’s mother worried for him, and Belinda couldn’t blame her. Adam was stretching himself out rather thin. “I will do my best to see some of the load is lifted.” Belinda lifted her chin in determination. Adam’s parents needed reassurance. She could offer that much.
“You always were a respectful maedel.” Atlee smiled. “And a whole lot quieter than those others, too.”
“I should go. The inspector will be here soon.” The last thing Belinda needed was for Adam’s parents to get the wrong idea about her reason for helping. And she didn’t want to get the wrong idea from them, either—no matter how she liked the idea of Adam finding her interesting. It wasn’t true. He needed her; wanting had nothing to do with it. She was smart enough to know the difference.
Belinda left the Hostetlers’ doorstep and put all fanciful thoughts out of mind as a white truck pulled into the drive. She had all afternoon to think about Adam, if she dared think of him at all. Right now she had a bigger problem. She had to talk to a stranger for Adam’s sake. She took a deep breath, whispered a prayer for control, and stepped forward.
An hour later Belinda had bitten her nails to nubbins, but Steve, the state inspector, had been very kind. His tan trousers needed a hem and his buttoned-up shirt looked two sizes too small, indicating a man who hadn’t missed many meals. Three pens rested in his breast pocket, but his fingers held a fourth as he made little check marks over a healthy stack of papers clutched in his hand.
“Adam has a decent setup here. Have you seen inside the honey house?” Steve scribbled a few more notes on his clipboard stack of papers and looked up.
“Nee. I mean no.”
“Well, it’s a beaut. The fellow is a real engineer. He is even considering adding a generator to run most of it. Will shorten the harvest time,” he said with a wink.
If Adam upgraded whatever setup he currently had by using a generator, he wouldn’t need help at all. Strangely, that made her wish generators went against Ordnung, but they didn’t. Many local Amish businesses used generators as a form of alternative energy.
“I have everything I need. I’m pretty behind today and have three more stops just in Havenlee.” He pocketed the pen and looked at her more intensely.
“You just put those,” he motioned toward the two plastic packages in her hands, “where we noticed a problem, and let Adam know what we discussed.” Belinda stared down at the beetle traps he had gifted, hoping that as she checked more hives there would be no more surprises.
“Thanks for meeting with me while Adam was at work. I never knew he was married, but I’m glad I finally got to meet the other half of his business.” Steve reached out and Belinda hesitated before shaking his hand. He smiled widely and let go just as quickly as possible. Maybe he sensed her unease.
“I’m just helping out. Adam isn’t married.” She couldn’t let him leave thinking she was Adam’s fraa. That wouldn’t be right. “We’re neighbors,” she added.
Steve lifted a brow. “Oh, I see,” he said. It sounded as if he didn’t altogether believe her, but he didn’t say anything else before he got back into his truck. As the truck speed down the little drive and veered onto the road, Belinda touched her cheek.
“He didn’t even seem to notice my mark,” she said to herself. Tabitha’s words flowed into her heart. “You don’t see what we do.”
Chapter Eleven
He was worn down, life challenging his resilience, but Adam was looking forward to delivering good news to Belinda—while also getting an update from her about her appointment. He hoped meeting with the inspector hadn’t been too hard on her. He felt guilty that she’d had to do it, considering her history with strangers, but it couldn’t be avoided. When he reached the front door and knocked, Adam barely had time to blink before it opened with a swift jerk.
Just under five feet tall, Mollie Bender stretched her neck up to
meet Adam, eye to eye. Her gaze lowered and settled on the empty green pail in his hand. “I take it you had a good day.” Her grey eyes twinkled with delight. Belinda had that same twinkle, minus the cunning.
“It was a day, that’s for sure,” Adam bantered. He liked Mollie, her hospitable smile and easygoing nature. Her tendency to talk openly to the Lord baffled a few, but she wasn’t the kind who paid any mind to what stumped others.
“Don’t think flowers are so foolish now, do you?” She folded her arms. Adam winced. It was clear Belinda had told her grandmother of his less than enthusiastic reaction toward the idea of a flower business.
“Not anymore,” he conceded with a smile, having learned his lesson. “I found two buyers—actually, I found one, and one found me.” He peered over her kapp. “Is she around? I have a list and some numbers to discuss with her.” Mollie beamed even brighter. He wished Belinda would smile that easily.
“So the florist, and who else?” Mollie asked.
“A baker, if you can believe it. She saw me walking into the flower shop this morning and when I went back after work to talk to Marcy—that’s the florist—she was waiting for me. Apparently bakers really do use flowers too.” Adam had liked the baker immediately. Both she and Marcy, the florist, were more than excited to strike up a deal. Marcy had given him a list of flowers for which Belinda had a high demand, and had given him a second list that she and Mia, the baker, hoped Belinda could provide. When Marcy quoted a price and the baker agreed on the same numbers, Adam knew he was in a whole different world. Flowers were very profitable. Who knew?
“I knew that foreigner would want them,” Mollie slapped her hands together happily. “But who doesn’t love flowers?” Adam knew better than to respond. “Belinda has you to thank for much today.”
“None needed. We had an agreement. I’m just keeping my end of it.”
“Oh, posh.” Mollie swatted the air between them and he nearly stepped back. “Everyone likes to know they are appreciated. Do you feel appreciated, Adam Hostetler?” Her grey eyes narrowed, compelling him to respond.
“Um, yes? I do.” He hadn’t thought about it. Of course his family appreciated him, valued all the hard work he was doing.
“Do you also appreciate? This world can’t stand one-sidedness.” Taken aback, Adam didn’t know what to say. Where was she going with this rambling? His brain was too tired for deep-seated questions, probing intentions. Sensing his bewilderment, Mollie continued. “Your bees need what she has, and she needs that smooth-talking tongue of yers. You can’t have one do better than the other. They are joined, your bees and her blossoms, you and her. A man must feel appreciated and know how to return it to keep the balance.” Adam hadn’t a clue how to respond. Mollie looked up, frowning. “Lord, this one needs a lot of work yet. I’ve got one summer, but that might not be enough.”
He blinked twice before gathering a bit of composure. Belinda’s mammi was a complicated woman.
“It’s the oldest romance told.” Mollie waved her chubby finger toward him again. “Bees and flowers. The good Lord couldn’t depend on just the wind to work around the clock.” She leaned closer. “So He devised a plan for his beautiful plants to multiply.” Who talked like this? What did it even mean? Was he the wind or was Belinda?
“I...um...” Mollie had rendered him speechless.
“You two make a fine match, as far as these old eyes can see,” Mollie added, smiling as if holding a thousand secrets. Adam’s neck grew excessively warm. He took a step back, let the sun hit him. Even its full-on blaze felt cooler than Mollie Bender and her squirrely thoughts.
“We are helping each other. That’s all. I’m not...” Adam fumbled with his words.
“Not yet. But soon, perhaps. Been a lot of years since I could make a young man blush—I take that as a promising sign.” Mollie laughed. He couldn’t help but wonder if she might have lost some of her wits in her old age. “She’s out there now, with the bees. I never thought anything would come before her flowers.”
Adam shifted nervously. Inside, he had to admit, knowing Belinda enjoyed the same passion as he did had recently snuck into his dreams and interfered with his realities.
What would it be like to be married to a woman who walked beside him in faith and in interest? Working alongside one another, sharing the joys. Someone who didn’t mind the quiet but could also talk about the things he loved with no judgments or soured expressions. He shoveled the thought back, buried it. No way would he let his guard down to even tinker with such an idea. He might not be able to control his wandering thoughts, but he could control his own heart.
“Well, yer wasting daylight.” Mollie rattled him back to the present. “See ya on Sunday.” She slammed the door.
“Uh, danki,” Adam stuttered. He placed his hat back on his head and strode to the back pasture, but slowed when the reality hit him. Putting distance between himself and a meddling old woman was closing the distance between him and her granddaughter. Why had he let Mica talk him into this in the first place?
When Adam didn’t find Belinda behind the house or in the horse pasture, Adam knew she had to be at the orchard. He needed to tell her about the florist and the baker so she could prepare for Monday morning’s order. It’s business. Just business. I’m not the wind. Mollie Bender’s not the wind. There is no wind.
He heard the sweet humming hanging on an afternoon breeze long before he saw her. The wind captured her sound, carrying it a fair distance before swallowing it up. She always did have a pleasant voice. Now, standing in the wake of it, he recalled a time when a younger Adam had snuck over to her family’s farm and hidden behind the barn to hear her singing. He’d grown out of that right quick when Melvin Graber made him muck stalls for three days as punishment, after he was caught on his second attempt. Fortunately Belinda’s daed never squealed on him, but he was ten and she sounded like an angel. At least what a ten-year-old imagined angels to sound like. How had he forgotten that?
Adam recognized the old garden hymn, but didn’t dare join in the singing, despite wondering how their voices might accompany one another. As he closed the distance, he suffered a mighty shock. There in the center of his world stood a stranger. In fact, if not for that sweet voice, Adam would have thought a thief had found his honey hives.
This new version of Belinda stood on a spray of apple and pear blossoms, covering the ground like a fresh snow. The setting was familiar—the woman was not. Gone was the plainly dressed woman he had known most of his life. In her place was someone wearing denim britches and a shirt that looked three sizes too large. Charming bees and me passed through his mind before he shook the thought clear from his head. He needed to tread lightly, stop letting others’ words affect him so. Mollie Bender had gotten into his head good and deep. Mollie was the wind, he decided, settling that debate for now. But he would not let her stir up trouble for him, no matter how she huffed and puffed.
Regardless of these thoughts, Adam realized he wouldn’t mind standing there all day, listening, watching Belinda toy with bees as if they had no bite to them at all. He’d once read about a woman in Kansas, “the bee charmer” according to the article he’d read, who could walk among swarms as free as a breeze. He imagined Belinda capable of the same.
He discarded the fancy, replacing it with common sense. She might welcome the bees around her, but no man was given such liberty. Everyone knew where she stood. A reclusive spinster, Tobias called her. Rejection stung worse than a few bees, and he wouldn’t be thrilled to receive either.
He narrowed his gaze, noting Belinda wasn’t using the smoker he’d set out for her. No matter her obvious ability, she had no business ignoring safety. The smoker calmed the bees, prevented them from growing angry. It was a necessary precaution. He couldn’t be responsible for her getting hurt. Here she was dressed like a boy and ignoring her own safety. He couldn’t decide which he would address first as he
marched forward.
“You’re supposed to use the smoker,” Adam said, in a not-so-tender voice. There were rules when dealing with bees, and her carelessness couldn’t be ignored.
“What are you doing here?” Belinda’s head shot his way, her voice shaken and distant-sounding under the covering of her veil. In her bare hands, she held a frame covered in bees, thick with bulging cells, capped and waiting for harvest. He approached slowly and stopped twelve feet away.
“I live here,” he responded. Denim britches, bare hands, a shirt three sizes too large. All three made him growl under his breath.
“You’re usually not home so early.”
“It’s not early.” Yep, she was in her own little world. “Mr. Shetler is letting me have a few days off here and there, so I will be here to help with these.” He motioned to the hives.
She slid the frame back into the hive with long bare delicate fingers. Under the veil he couldn’t see her blue eyes or that little dimple that had a way of appearing on a rare grin. He stepped closer, resigned to stings at this point. Surprisingly, none came.
“I have extra gloves. Left them right by the smoker. You should be wearing them,” he reminded.
“It’s easier this way.” A few dozen bees crawled up her right arm. Her brother’s shirt would offer little protection if they decided to defend their homes. Fatigue and disappointment needed little fertilizer to grow into a temper.