by Anna Schmidt
“Of course.” Samuel shifted the camper into gear.
“Wait,” John called as he ran to get a bucket filled with ferns. “Could you drop these off at Hester’s? For her mother’s garden.”
Samuel reached across and opened the passenger side door so John could set the bucket on the floor. “I’m on my way there now,” Samuel said. “We’re having supper together.” He waved and drove the camper down the rutted lane.
John stood watching him go and thinking that it was odd the way he’d spoken of being late for an appointment when clearly he had a date with Hester. And then he thought how unusual it was that he had suggested bringing Rosalyn out to Tucker’s Point when surely Hester had suffered the aftermath of nursing her mother through all those years, watching her grow more frail and dependent day by day, unable to do anything to stop the downward spiral. It seemed to John that in many ways his situation had far more in common with what Hester had experienced than what Rosalyn had gone through. And why would Samuel suggest allowing Arlen to help, and Zeke, and even Rosalyn—but not Hester?
After stopping at a gas station to call Hester, Samuel used the rest of the drive to practice how to tell her that he had fallen in love with Rosalyn. Perhaps he shouldn’t mention Rosalyn at all. Perhaps he should just state the obvious, that he and Hester did not love each other and were unlikely ever to share such feelings. Perhaps he could phrase things in such a way that she would be the one to break off with him.
But that would be dishonest and manipulative. The gossips in Pinecraft would forever lay the blame for their failed relationship at her door. No, he was the one who wanted to end things, and he should be the one to say so.
“Dear God, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in Thy sight,” he murmured as he turned down Hester’s street. “And hers,” he added when he saw her sitting on the porch.
He parked his camper and got out. “Good evening, Hester. I’m sorry to be so late.”
She was engrossed in reading a magazine. When she looked up at him, he understood that as usual something in that magazine had caught her attention so completely that she’d been unaware of his arrival until he spoke to her.
He thought about the way Rosalyn had looked at him after the doctor had stitched her forehead and she’d returned to the waiting room to find him standing there. Her eyes had widened with pure joy as she moved toward him, as if the distance was too great and she couldn’t wait to be closer. There was the essential difference between the two women. One of them now openly looked forward to seeing him, having him near, sharing her day with him. The other gave him a distracted smile and waved her hand in dismissal at his apology for being late.
“It’s okay,” Hester said. “Come on inside. It will only take me a moment to put everything on the table.” She walked ahead of him into the kitchen and started pulling dishes from the refrigerator. “How was John?” She pointed to the place he normally took whenever he shared meals with her and Arlen.
“He has decided to sell his place and return to Indiana for a fresh start.” He watched her scurry around the large kitchen, slicing bread and placing a plate of it on the table, then hurrying back to the refrigerator for butter and applesauce. She seemed distracted, and he wondered if she had heard him. She stood in front of the open refrigerator door for a moment, a jar of orange marmalade in her hand. “The applesauce is fine,” he said, “unless you prefer the marmalade.”
Again she gave him a distracted smile. “No. I was just …” She removed a pitcher of lemonade and then shut the refrigerator with her foot. “John’s giving up?”
“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose. But he seems genuinely relieved to have made the decision. I think he has some unfinished business in Indiana that he needs to address, but he seems prepared to do that.”
“I see. He’s leaving soon?”
“Not so soon. He can’t put his place up for sale until the house is finished and everything is in order.” He stood up and pulled out a chair for her. “Come and sit, Hester,” he said. “We have everything we need.”
She glanced at her father’s empty chair and then sat down at her usual place. When she poured lemonade into the two tall glasses on the table, her hand shook, and Samuel realized that she was nervous. “Dad said you wanted to talk to me,” she said, offering him the chicken salad first and then helping herself. “I think I know what this is about, and before—”
Samuel relieved her of the pitcher and set it on the table. She did not protest. Instead, she kept her gaze focused on her plate. “I just—”
“Shhh,” he whispered when she glanced up, looking ready to speak. “Pray with me, Hester.”
She nodded and closed her eyes, and they prayed in silence. After a moment Samuel murmured, “Amen.”
She looked directly at him for the first time since he had arrived. Samuel drew in a long, resolute breath and uttered the words he’d come to say. “I can’t marry you, Hester.”
He didn’t know what he had expected. Perhaps tears, anger, those fathomless blue eyes filled with hurt. He had even prepared himself for her eyes to widen in surprise, perhaps even shock. What he had never considered for one moment was the reaction he got.
“Really?” she said. “That’s what you came to say?” She leaned toward him, her expression one not of hurt but of hope.
He nodded, half afraid to utter any sound until he could be sure of her reaction. She sank back in her chair, a half-smile twitching the corners of her mouth. She pressed her fist to her lips as her eyes filled with tears, and then she burst out laughing. Soundless, shoulder-shaking laughter that she seemed incapable of controlling.
It was worse than anything he could have imagined. The woman who had always seemed stronger than any person—male or female—he had ever known was now clearly hysterical. “In time,” he began, but the words only seemed to set her off again. “Hester, please,” he pleaded, wishing Arlen were there.
She shook her head and used her napkin to blot away the tears. “Oh, Samuel, I thought …” A fresh wave of laughter threatened, but she controlled it and continued, “I thought you were coming here tonight to propose, and I was trying to find a way to tell you that I couldn’t marry you.”
It was Samuel’s turn to feel the flood of relief that led to a smile that matched hers and then shared laughter as the two of them rocked back in their chairs. It was the closest he’d ever felt to Hester, and whatever the future might bring for each of them, they had found tonight something even more precious than they could have imagined, given that they both had understood that theirs most likely would have been a marriage of companionship. They had each found a friend for life.
When Arlen came home an hour later, Hester and Samuel were still sitting at the kitchen table, their heads close together, the dishes still on the table along with a legal pad, pens, and the magazine Hester had meant to return to the hospital.
“Dad, read this,” Hester said, tapping her forefinger on the magazine. She waited while her father scanned the article that she had practically committed to memory. A decade earlier a woman in California working with a group of teenagers had come up with the idea of collecting the unwanted fruit from her neighbors’ backyard orchards and turning it into jam to donate to food banks.
“I don’t understand,” Arlen said, handing her back the magazine. “Now you are thinking of working with young people to collect fruit? I thought we had discussed this, daughter. I thought you had agreed that you need to concentrate on your volunteer work here in Pinecraft.”
“But this is about our people, Dad. Our young people will be an enormous part of this. I’m counting on the women of Pinecraft to make the marmalade and jam that the young people will sell at the markets.”
“But you also plan to include others from outside….”
“Yes, homeless people and maybe senior citizens looking for something to do, some way to make a contribution. But, Papa, that is what we do. Think of the auc
tions we held these last several years to raise money for the people of Haiti. Are we saying that those funds can be used only for Haitians who are Mennonite? No.”
Arlen pulled out the remaining kitchen chair and sat down. “I’m listening.”
But Hester knew from the furrowing of his brow and the way he glanced at Samuel that he remained unconvinced.
“The process that they used in California might not work exactly for us here, but there’s a similar program in Tampa that we could follow. The point is that we can make this work, Dad, and we can use it to rebuild Rainbow House, and after that …”
Arlen folded his hands over his stomach and waited.
Hester took a deep breath. “This woman in California got the word out that these teenagers were willing to clean up unwanted fruit in private yards for free as long as they could take the usable fruit for their jam-making project.”
“That was the start of it,” Samuel explained. “But then they received so many requests, and there was so much fruit, that it was impossible to keep up with making it all into jam.”
“So they went to the local food banks,” Hester said, taking up the story, “and offered to give them the best of the whole fruit. Dad, they collected as much as twelve hundred pounds of citrus, all of it from private residences each with just a few trees.”
Samuel searched the article and then showed Arlen a passage. “Right here it says that just two years ago they collected nearly one hundred and seventy-five thousand pounds of fruit from just five hundred homes, and they now have nearly a thousand volunteers of all ages.”
“I still don’t see—”
“Dad, think about it. Grandma has at least half a dozen citrus trees in her yard, and Jeannie Messner? She must have six lemon trees and another four key lime trees.”
“Slow down and help me to understand this. I can see where you might gather the fruit. I don’t see how this raises funds for Rainbow House.”
“We make marmalade and jam and sell it at the local farmers’ markets. Perhaps even some of the specialty stores would stock it, as well as the shops right here in Pinecraft.” She made another note on the legal pad. “We need to speak with Grandma,” she said to Samuel. “She has a wonderful recipe for marmalade.”
“And I’ve tasted some jam made by the Crowder sisters that was quite tasty as well,” Samuel said. “It might be good to get them involved.”
“I suppose,” Hester said reluctantly; then she brightened and made an addition to her list. “And Emma. I must speak with Emma first thing tomorrow. She always has such wonderful ideas when it comes to organizing these kinds of projects, and it will be great to work with her on something like this.” She sat back and looked across the table to her father. “Wouldn’t Mom just love the whole idea?”
“She would indeed,” Arlen murmured thoughtfully, and Hester could see that he was beginning to warm to the concept. He pushed back his chair and began gathering the dirty dishes and taking them to the sink. “So the two of you have been planning this…all evening,” he asked.
Hester shot Samuel a smile and then went to her father. She placed her hands on Arlen’s shoulders. “Not all evening,” she admitted. “There was a little matter of deciding we were not right for marrying each other that came first.” She felt the tension drain from his shoulders as easily as the soapy water circled the sink and disappeared. He rinsed a plate and set it in the dish rack.
“And you are all right?” he asked, turning so that he could read Hester’s expression.
“It seems that Samuel and I were thinking along the same lines,” she told him. “He came to say he wouldn’t be proposing, while I had sat here since you left trying to figure out how to turn him down if he did. Grady always talks about that as a win-win situation.”
Arlen was not completely convinced. “But you must be …”
“Hurt?” Hester asked. “Oh, Dad, how could I be when I had been agonizing for days now over how best not to hurt Samuel?” She smiled. “Now all we have to do is figure out how best to get Samuel and Rosalyn together.”
She heard Samuel suck in a surprised breath. She turned to face him. “Oh, come on now. I’m not blind, you know. Half of Pinecraft knows the two of you are perfect for each other.”
“You might try telling her how you feel,” Arlen suggested. “In my limited experience that always seems to work best.”
“Ja, Samuel, look how much time we wasted not speaking our true feelings.”
Instead of relieved, Samuel looked worried. “Rosalyn is very loyal, especially when it comes to you, Hester. She would set her feelings aside if she thought being with me might hurt you.”
Hester sighed. “All right, I’ll talk to her for you. Coward,” she teased, and Samuel grinned. “In the meantime, Dad, what do you think of our idea? We could have a shelter, a food bank, even a free clinic.”
“You could certainly do all of that,” Arlen agreed as he dried his hands on a dish towel. “The question, of course, becomes where you would do all of this plus set up a kitchen to make the jam with a space for collecting and packaging the fruit for delivery to the food banks.”
“Okay. I know we have some things we have to work out, but the idea is a sound one, don’t you think? I mean, it worked for this group in California.”
“It has merit,” Arlen admitted.
“And if anyone can make it a reality,” Samuel added, “it’s you, Hester.”
“But it is a huge undertaking,” her father warned her, his expression leaving no doubt that he was concerned that this was yet another of her grand projects that would distract her from the need to focus on herself and her future.
“I don’t know how I know this, Papa, but I feel in my heart that God is leading me to do this. I have never felt anything so strongly in my life.”
“Then His will be done.” Arlen held out his arms to embrace her.
But in spite of her relief, Hester could not repress a feeling of panic. When she had thought she would marry Samuel, there had been a certain security in that. She could clearly see her future laid out in front of her. Now that was gone. She found herself thinking about the Crowder sisters. Neither had ever married. Hester couldn’t help wondering if either of them had ever come close. Would her future be like theirs, caring for others through her volunteer work? And as the years passed, would she reflect the giving, joyful spirit of Agnes or the bitter, controlling personality of Olive?
She shuddered at the thought and firmly reminded herself that her calling had always been that of service to others. Tomorrow she would begin the process of devoting all of her energy to the new project. She would turn her work for MCC over to Rosalyn and focus all of her waking hours on making sure that the faceless, nameless, and homeless souls she had seen on the streets of Sarasota would have a chance to start fresh, to make a life, to find their purpose. And if some people in her father’s congregation took exception to that calling, then too bad.
She fingered the magazine that had followed her for days now—from the hospital to the restaurant to her father’s house. The article had caught her attention at the very moment when she knew that her life was about to reach a crossroads. If God was not showing her His plan for her life, then what was all that about?
No, Samuel would marry Rosalyn; Rosalyn would take over Hester’s position as the local MCC representative; Hester would join forces with Emma and Jeannie and others and create a new, bigger, and better Rainbow House. And John would go back to Indiana and, God willing, find happiness and peace.
The following morning as she sat with her father having breakfast, Hester studied her to-do list.
Get Grandma’s recipe for marmalade
Have coffee with Emma
Talk to Rosalyn
Set up meetings with:
Grady
Emma
Jeannie
Samuel
Olive and Agnes
Zeke
John (???)
She was not at all sur
e why she had added John’s name to the list, but there it was. She had hesitated far less time over including the Crowder sisters than she had adding his name to the list. In the end she crossed it off.
But when Samuel had mentioned that John had decided to put his place up for sale, she had felt a jolt go through her that she could only equate with panic. What was that about? she wondered. Why should it matter to her one way or another if John Steiner sold his place, moved back to Indiana, and she never saw him again?
And there it was. What if she never saw him again? It wasn’t so much that she might never know what he’d meant by saying he had killed his mother—in terms of the facts, Liz had cleared that up. It was more that she would never know if he found what he’d come to Florida searching for.