by Amy Lillard
She had almost gone over and introduced herself a couple of times, but thought better of it. The other Fisher looked like a big bully, holding Gideon’s arm and glaring at her.
Instead she decided to wait until she and Gideon were alone, then she would offer to leave. It seemed her presence here was not sitting well with his family.
Oh, well, there was always Aruba.
Yet she had grown to like the quiet here. It was a different kind of peaceful, serene and steady. She heard the moo of Gideon’s cow coming from the barn, and smiled. Maybe not so quiet, but the sounds were gentle and comforting.
Even if she felt there was more she should be doing to help Gideon. Maybe it was the mournful look in his eyes or the sluggishness of his footsteps, a delay that seemed to say he would rather be in someone else’s shoes.
But helping him seemed like a moot point after the looks his brother had given her. If she had to guess, Avery would say that the other Fisher did not approve of her being there. Not one bit.
The last thing she wanted to do was cause problems for the kind man who pulled her in from the snow.
Avery settled back in the chair as Louie scampered down the porch steps to flop at Gideon’s feet. She still couldn’t hear what Gideon and his brother talked about, but at least the topic of conversation had turned from her to something else. Something that kept the other Fisher from shooting death stares her way.
She watched the two men for a few more minutes, then Gideon’s brother hopped in his buggy. With a tip of his flat-brimmed straw hat, he set the horses in motion in the opposite direction.
Gideon turned slowly as his visitor disappeared, then walked back and climbed the steps to stand on the porch next to her.
“That’s Gabriel. My brother.” He braced his hands on his hips.
“I could see the resemblance.”
Gideon nodded. “He—”
“Doesn’t approve of me being here.”
He shrugged, but the rigid set of his jaw belied his uncaring attitude. “It’s not his farm.” Then he walked into the house without another word.
Avery stood and followed him inside.
Louie ran over to get a drink of water as soon as the screen door slammed behind them. “I can leave,” she said, addressing the Y-strap of his suspenders and the broad expanse of his shoulders. He stood facing the window that looked out over the backyard.
She didn’t want to go home, but neither did she want to be the cause of problems between Gideon and his family. “I’ll leave tomorrow. If you’ll take me to town.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
“I think I should.”
“I want you to stay.” He spoke the words so softly she almost didn’t hear them at all. Then he yanked open the back door without a glance her way, and disappeared into the sunshine.
Avery was surprised when Gideon showed up to eat supper with her. She was rummaging around in the refrigerator when he knocked on the front door and let himself in the house. Without a word, he hung his hat on the peg inside, and gave a scoop of dog food to Louie before making his way to the sink to wash up.
Avery set the containers of food on the table, and they ate in a companionable if not stilted silence. It seemed like he had something on his mind. Something weighing heavily.
She had just taken the last bite of her chicken when Gideon pushed his plate aside. “I’m goin’ to town in the mornin’.”
She looked at him, realizing her time on the farm had come to an end. “I’ll get my stuff together.” Maybe from Clover Ridge she could rent a car to take her to the airport in Tulsa. Surely she’d be halfway to Aruba before her father realized she wasn’t already there.
But Gideon shook his head. “I told you before that you don’t have to leave. I just wanted you to know where I was goin’ in case . . .”
She had thought he was going to say in case she was worried about him. But that would be too familiar.
“I’m goin’ to town,” he repeated. “To get some seeds to plant.”
Avery couldn’t stop the frown that wrinkled her brow. “Okay, then.” Maybe Gideon just needed to hear the words. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
Gideon spent the next afternoon—like he had the one before—avoiding Miss Hamilton. Something about her unsettled him, made his stomach light, and his hands tremble. He had said he wanted her to stay, not realizing until he said the words that he meant them. He did want her to stay. And that was the very reason to avoid her.
But unlike the afternoon before, he plowed while waiting for the sun to go down.
He’d had no intention of growing anything this year—or ever—but she was in his house, sitting on his porch in his own favorite spot. A man could only stay in the barn so long before he needed a change of scenery, and Molly and Kate seemed eager for the exercise. Even after the spur-of-the-moment trip into town, the mares were more than willing to pull the plow through the soft earth. The snow had made the ground easy to turn. Moisture-rich, black earth just waiting for seeds.
Corn. He’d plant corn. He’d never been much of a farmer. He’d grown hay and alfalfa for feed. Miriam had planted vegetables and flowers like all Amish wives. The bulk of their money had come from the sheep, but after the accident, he’d sold them all. He couldn’t bear to take care of them. Never would again. For months he had wanted nothing more than to join his family on the other side, but if he wasn’t going to die, he might as well farm.
Gideon pulled off his hat and dragged his sleeve across his forehead. Louie dropped to his haunches, tongue lolling as he waited for Gideon to continue. The tiny beast had been his constant companion in the fields, running alongside him, romping through the fresh earth and snapping at bugs. The sight of the pampered dog going country made Gideon smile.
It was a fine day for plowing. The sun was hot but not unmerciful. The sky was blue, and the Oklahoma wind blew just enough to keep things cool. Gideon lifted his face toward the sun and closed his eyes.
Yes, a fine day for plowing. He slapped his hat against his leg, placed it back on his head, and clicked his tongue to start the horses again.
Gabriel pulled his wagon in front of Gideon’s house the following afternoon. The Lord had led him here—that was his only excuse. Simon sat next to him chattering away about things only a ten-year-old boy could recount. Maybe with Simon there, Gideon wouldn’t be so quick to say nay about planting and such.
“Is that her?” Simon pointed to the dark-haired Englischer kneeling in the overgrown garden at the side of the house.
“Jah.”
She was still there, this Englischer, bent over in the strawberry patch, yanking out what looked to be perfectly good plants. She grabbed hold of another one, ripped it from the earth, and tossed it over her shoulder.
“Oi!” She spun around evidently so engrossed in her task that she didn’t hear them pull up. “Where’s Gideon?” he said without preamble. She didn’t belong here, and he wasn’t about to act like she did.
The bright sun glinted off her dark, dark hair as she turned and waved toward the field across the road from the house. “Plowing.”
Gabriel squinted and sure enough he could make out man and horses. He’d been trying to get his brother to grow something—anything—for nigh on a month to no response. But there he was finally taking an interest in life again.
He raised his hand in greeting. God is good. What a difference a day made. Gabriel wanted to believe he was the reason his brother had finally decided to plant, but he feared it had more to do with the woman who had invaded their midst.
Gideon waved back, then started across the field toward them. The Englisch woman stood watching his brother as he crossed the road and headed across the yard.
“Onkel,” Simon waved his arm up high in the air, then typical of his hyper, ten
-year-old nature, started chasing one of the dogs around the yard.
The little pup that had been sitting at the woman’s feet yesterday joined in the romp, yapping and running, its pink tongue hanging out the side of its mouth.
“It’s a fine day for plowin’,” Gabriel said when Gideon got close enough to hear.
“Jah. That it is.” He slipped his hat from his head and ran his sleeve across his sweaty forehead.
“We’re goin’ over to Bishop Riehl’s service on Sunday. Mamm was hopin’ you would come along with us.” He had promised their mother he’d ask Gideon, and either one of them would do anything for Ruth Fisher.
But Gabriel couldn’t imagine his younger brother showing up for the church service barefaced. It was just too shameful. Or maybe that’s what he needed. To be shamed into knowing that God was in charge and only He was all powerful. If only Gideon could understand that Miriam and Jamie’s deaths were part of God’s will, that God had different plans for Gideon. It was a hard lesson. And painfully humbling for a man, but necessary all the same. He had done it when Rebecca had died giving birth to Samuel. Why couldn’t Gideon?
Gideon shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Gabriel stared at his brother a good long time before changing the subject. “Your roof needs some repairs.”
“It’s held up this long.”
“Jah, but when the spring winds come, it won’t.” As if to reinforce his words, the air stirred strands of his hair close to his collar. “Matthew, Simon, David, and me, we’re all goin’ over to Hester Stoltzfus’s place next Saturday. She needs a new roof. We’ll come do yours the week after.”
Gideon nodded.
“She doesn’t belong here.” Gabriel couldn’t stop the words. “Look what she’s doin’ to your strawberry patch.”
She had returned to pulling up the strawberry plants, discarding them like weeds. Thankfully she hadn’t come over to join their conversation. Smart woman on that aspect, even if she couldn’t garden. Gabriel didn’t think he could handle that kind of familiarity with her.
His brother didn’t even turn to look at her. “I don’t like strawberries much anyways.”
“You’re vulnerable right now. You need to geb acht.” Be careful.
“It’s not your concern.”
Gabriel glanced back toward the Englischer. “You’re my bruder. Of course, I’m concerned.”
“Help me plant my corn or leave.”
Gabriel shrank back, unable to believe what he heard.
“It’s my farm, and I’ve invited her to stay.”
“I think you’re makin’ a big mistake.”
“So you’ve said.” He nodded toward Simon. “Grab the bu and a bag of seeds, brother, and I’ll return the favor come harvest time.”
Avery seized another weed, and felt her fingernail scrape against a rock. “Ow!” She jerked her hand back and studied the damage. Broken straight across, but not salvageable. And it had only been a week since she’d had them filled. Normally, she would have dropped everything and hurried to the spa to have it fixed. She couldn’t stand the thought of ragged nails, but she was miles from the nearest salon.
She sighed as she splayed dirty hands in front of her. They looked terrible, but she was pretty certain no one in Amish country cared about the state of her fingernails. Probably for the best. With all the crazy chores she had been doing around Gideon’s farm, it wouldn’t take long before they were all in this shape anyway.
Still, she’d spent too many years parading around with all eyes on her not to care how her hands looked. Surely Gideon had clippers. She could trim them down and at least make them presentable. When she returned to Dallas, she’d buy a whole new set.
She only wore them because she bit her real nails down to the quick. Her father considered it a sign of weakness, so she hid it from him and everyone else with a thin layer of pink and white acrylic.
Funny thing, but out here she no longer had the urge to chew her nails.
Nor did she have the responsibilities she had at home. There were no children with cancer who needed a new hospital wing, no benefit dinner for high-risk teenagers, and no walk for a cure. No eyes watched to make sure she looked and acted her best, and raised enough money to wow the press.
Gideon hadn’t asked her to help with the garden, or clean his house, or any of the other things she had done to repay him for his kindness. Nor would he. Even though her being at his farm did not sit well with his brother—it was obvious Gideon had a problem with her as well. She wasn’t about to worry about it now. In a couple of weeks, she would be on her way back to Dallas.
Nails or no, she would do what she could to help. And when the time came for her to go home, she could hold her head high and say that she had given as good as she got.
Gabriel’s words were still ringing in Gideon’s ears at suppertime. Ach, but he didn’t want to hear his brother say again that she didn’t belong here. He knew that. She knew that. What was the harm in being neighborly and allowing her the time she had asked for?
She was only staying for a few more days. Monday, maybe Tuesday, he’d take her into town and get on with his life.
Still, his brother’s echoing voice made him surly. Or maybe it was sitting across the table from her that had him on edge.
He’d thought by giving her some clothes to wear that she wouldn’t stand out so much, but all it did was make her stand out more. His clothes were much more modest than her sparkly little frack, but he hated seeing her in them. She looked ridiculous, small and fragile. Like a bird pushed out of its nest too soon.
Now he was the one being ridiculous. She was an adult. She had a father who was worried about her. Maybe a suitor. Pretty thing like her had to have beaus vying for her hand.
His stomach pitched, and he took a quick sip of milk to steady it.
He stole a glance at her as she ate. Back in her world, she probably had all kinds of clothes to wear. Yet she seemed to like it on his farm.
She looked up at him, their gazes connecting. “I don’t know how you live like this.”
Her words cut like a knife—even though they shouldn’t have. It didn’t matter what she thought about his way of life, because all too soon she would head back to her reality. Maybe she’d be going home sooner than he’d thought. But he still couldn’t account for his anger.
“I’m Amish, Miss Hamilton.” He tossed his napkin on top of his half-eaten natchess. “This is how we live. We don’t have electricity and fancy clothes and cars. We’re simple people.”
She eyed him as if he’d sprouted another head. “Like this.” She waved a hand over the table. From where he was sitting all he could see was a platter of cold chicken and his mother’s homemade loaf of sourdough. “You’ve been out planting all day in the hot sun, working so hard. Then you come in after all that and eat a sandwich?”
Gideon shrugged, trying not to feel the relief flowing through him. “It’s enough.”
“And will you stop calling me Miss Hamilton? That’s what the headmistress called me at school when I was trouble. Quite frankly, I don’t like it.”
“Then what should I call you?”
“Avery.”
“No.” He hated her name. It didn’t suit her at all. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’ll go home in a few days anyway.”
She paused, staring at him. “Yes.” Then she looked away.
Gideon tried not to be touched that she cared enough about him to worry over what kind of food he ate, but he didn’t understand why she cared. Especially since he didn’t. Food was just the means to get through another day. What he ate was of no concern. Or when. In fact, he’d eaten more since she had been on his farm than he had all of the week before.
“Come.” He stood and grabbed up his plate. “I’ll help you with the
dishes.”
“I can do them. You were out in the sun all day.”
“And so were you.”
“I weeded the garden.” She took his plate from him. “You plowed a field.”
“An acre,” he corrected.
She smiled, the curve of her lips lighting up her face. She had a tinge of pink on her cheeks from her “weeding.” He tried not to notice how becoming it was.
“My point exactly. Now, shoo.” She waved him toward the door. “Go smoke your pipe. I’ve got this.”
“But I don’t—”
“Smoke? Uh-huh. Then go out to the barn and do barn things. I’ll do the dishes.”
Gideon started to protest again, but changed his mind. With a smile on his face, he headed out the door.
Avery ran the warm, wet sponge across her neck and down one arm. It felt so good to wash the dirt of the day from her body. Like starting over. She dipped the sponge again, treating her other arm and the nape of her neck. Droplets raced down her back and fell onto the towel under her feet.
How she would love to soak in the big claw-foot tub, but this was good enough. Cleansing.
Tomorrow she would figure out a way to wash her hair again. It didn’t need such constant attention since she hadn’t put so many hair-care products in it. But it still needed to be washed in the worst way.
She toweled herself dry then padded into the bedroom, Louie right behind her. An oil lamp burned with a golden glow, soft and comforting.
She had decided to take Gideon up on his offer of the bed. Since he was sleeping in the barn, there was no sense in both of them being uncomfortable.
She shrugged on the clean shirt she had found in the closet earlier. This one, too, a beautiful blue. It was forward, she knew, to go digging around in someone else’s things, but no way could she wash herself clean and then put back on the shirt she’d worn all day.
She pulled back the covers and crawled beneath the sheets, cool, crisp, and smelling like sunshine. And Gideon. That alone brought a smile to her face as she extinguished the lamp the way he had shown her and settled down for the night. Louie V. snuggled up next to her and gave her hand a loving lick.