The Winnowing Season

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Rhoda stood, dusting off her black apron. “If that’s what it’ll take, we may not see him for a month.”

  Her blue eyes bore into Samuel’s, and he knew she wanted Jacob to arrive, and she wanted answers about where he was and why. Samuel didn’t know much to tell her, but he had promised Jacob silence over what little he did know. Besides, how could any good come of telling Rhoda that the man she cared about was with another woman?

  Jacob juggled two armloads of groceries and struggled to get the key in the door of Sandra’s apartment. Night had fallen while he was gone, and the porch light wasn’t on.

  He opened the door, and Sandra looked up from the rocker. She placed a finger over her lips, shushing him as she rocked Casey. He set the bags on the wobbly kitchen table. The small place had been a trash pit yesterday, but they had hauled out load after load of garbage and useless junk, scrubbed down the place, and bought a few pieces of secondhand furniture. The little apartment was old and not in the best part of town, but it was within walking distance of anything she’d need—doctors, dentists, grocery stores, and pharmacies.

  He held up the keys, showing them to her before setting them on the table. He’d already told Casey good-bye before getting groceries. “You have everything you need for now. I have to go.” He’d been away too long as it was. He had left Kings’ Orchard last Thursday evening, and now it was Sunday night. Sandra had said it didn’t seem like much time to her, but he imagined it felt quite different to Rhoda. As it did to him. The list of items on Sandra’s to-do list was endless—putting better locks on the doors, reattaching a few interior doors, fixing broken cabinet drawers—but the place was clean and safe, and he had to go.

  Sandra shook her head. “Just wait.” She eased from the chair and took Casey into the bedroom.

  He supposed they needed a proper good-bye, but he had been trying to get away since early this morning. It took all his resolve not to bolt long before daylight and do so without looking back. But that was impossible.

  If it weren’t for Casey, his temptation to bolt would be even stronger. He looked forward to Rhoda and him having a daughter one day, but Casey seemed so vulnerable that she tugged on his heart as if she were his. By Friday morning she had stopped scowling at him. By Saturday morning she had become his helper. Their time together over the last couple of days mixed with memories of the night she was born and those first few months of helping take care of her. It melted his heart.

  He didn’t know much about Sandra’s childhood, but he knew she’d never been given a stray dog’s chance at a decent life. She had believed Blaine was a better man than her dad. And she said he was, but clearly better wasn’t always enough.

  Jacob began unloading the groceries. Who knew that setting up a single mom in an unfamiliar city took so much effort? In his rumschpringe days, he moved from one town to the next with no more than a small suitcase and food money in his pocket, but evidently ten times that wasn’t sufficient for a woman with a young child. It gave him a bit of insight into why women tended to be quicker to want to build a nest—and why men tended to prefer the opposite.

  He put the half gallon of milk in the refrigerator, along with some condiments, deli meat, and cheese.

  She came out of the bedroom, pulling her hair into a band again. “So this is it.” Her smile wavered a bit.

  “For now.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her voice was hollow, and he knew she didn’t want to be left here alone. He needed to choke out the words you’re welcome, but he couldn’t. He wished he’d never thought of Sandra and Blaine as friends. Then he never would have been pulled into this mess. Be that as it may, he would never turn his back on helping Sandra. She was more of a victim than anyone, except little Casey.

  He gathered the plastic grocery bags and scrunched them.

  “Look,”—Sandra took the bags from him—“I know you’re not going to like hearing this, but I have to get a job.”

  “Not a good idea. I’ll send more money as soon as I earn it.”

  “You don’t have any left. Where will it come from?”

  “Once I’m settled, I’ll come up with ways to earn money and send that.”

  “That’s generous, and I’m really, really grateful, but I can find something that pays cash only. You always did.”

  His pulse jumped, and he stared at her. “Are you sure you know how to do that without raising suspicion?”

  “I’m sure. Are you this skeptical of what your girl can accomplish?”

  He focused on her, willing her to heed his words. “You’ve got to—”

  “Jacob, I know. Don’t give me a list like I’m a kid.”

  He nodded. “As soon as we get a phone, I’ll call and give you the number. Then we’ll both feel better about this arrangement.”

  “You’re a keeper.” She hugged him. “You gave me your word years ago and you kept it. That’s far better than anything Blaine ever did. And more than I deserve. While I’m going through all this to keep Casey safe, Blaine’s on a beach somewhere in Mexico, drinking margaritas and tequila.”

  “Ease up, Sandra. We don’t know where he is or how he’s living.” Jacob wasn’t even sure Blaine was still alive, but he wouldn’t mention that.

  “Yes, I do and so do you.” She moved in closer. “He put the loan sharks on my back, the insurance adjuster on yours, and absconded with the money.”

  “I’ll send something every chance I get. You know I will.”

  “I know. But you’ll need every penny once you marry your girl.”

  “You’re worrying. The orchard will bring in great money soon enough, and I’ll be able to keep sending money.”

  “You’re something else. There are men all over this country who avoid paying child support, and here you are trying to help us. If there is a God, He’s bound to have good things in store for you.”

  Jacob hoped so, but if that’s how God worked—giving good things to good people and repaying evil with evil—then Jacob hadn’t begun to pay for what he’d done. What would he pay for every life he had cost?

  But the Word said all had sinned and were justified by His grace through the redemption of Christ. Forgiveness made the only real difference. A tornado might come through people’s lives at any moment, but they could face it with strength and peace as long as they knew they stood before God as one of His—both loved and forgiven.

  He picked up his duffle bag. “I need to go.”

  “Bye.” She opened the door, a sad smile fixed to her lips. “Don’t forget what I said about search engine alerts. Be careful what you get involved in.”

  Jacob chuckled. “We sound like two old worrywarts trying to make sure the other one is careful enough.” He studied her for a moment, debating whether to leave any final cautions. “Bye.”

  He went out the door and down the steps.

  “Jacob!”

  He stopped, and she hurried to him.

  Tears filled her dark brown eyes. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I know.” He felt sorry for her, sorry he had covered for Blaine, sorry he had tried to help to the point of skirting the law, sorry he had been so naive, and most of all, sorry that people had lost their lives. But he refused to get a few months down the road and be sorry he had let his future slip through his fingers because he’d been shuffling the past.

  He put his arms around her and held her. “I’ve stayed too long as it is.” He backed away, his heart aching for the life ahead of her. “I’ll only be about eighty miles from here. It’s an improvement over the three hundred and something, right?” He lifted her chin. “I’ll find a way to call and check on you in a few days. Okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He walked away. His feet were as heavy as if they’d been cast in concrete, but as he pushed onward, he found himself asking the same questions he had asked since Blaine disappeared. If Jacob found it this hard to leave her and Casey, when all he had was a frail friendship held together by her need a
nd his guilt, how could Blaine have walked away? Or, as he’d often thought, had Blaine been killed?

  FIFTEEN

  In the glow of several kerosene lamps, Rhoda stood in the greenhouse unpacking pots of herbs. She was mostly puttering at this late hour, trying to relax despite wanting to scream. The Amish didn’t work on Sundays, but Samuel said they had to make today an exception because a massive storm was spinning in the Atlantic and possibly heading for Maine within a week or so. They had bought the place “as is” because it was a foreclosure, and Samuel felt they had to repair the roof and barn before a hard rain hit.

  She opened a plastic container of potting soil at her feet, dug a trowel into it, and scooped up some of the homemade concoction. Adding a light layer of the mixture on top of the potted herbs and watering them would help the plants recuperate from the move.

  The farm had been abuzz for two days, and sometimes they seemed to make great progress. At other times it seemed they hadn’t lifted a finger to unpack.

  Her shoulders ached, and her chest seemed to have a twenty-pound sack of potting soil on it. But neither of those things explained why she felt so out of sorts. Was it the new place that had her senses playing tricks or was it the stress from missing Jacob?

  Where was he? Why hadn’t he called?

  Every time anger at him rose within her, fear kicked its feet out from under it. She just wanted him to show up, unharmed and healthy. She longed to feel his arms around her, and yet part of her was too upset to imagine letting him near her.

  Weeks before their first date, she’d known he had secrets. He had challenged her to look into his eyes and see if she had any reason to doubt his faithfulness to her. What she saw there told her plenty about his gentleness and faithfulness. So she hadn’t minded his secrets. She had even enjoyed learning bits and pieces about him through the insights God gave her as the weeks passed.

  But she’d never imagined his secrets would snatch him away from her. What else had she not picked up on? A desire to read him filled her, and she hoped to understand more once she saw him next.

  Her attention was drawn by a sound riding on the air like particles of dust, a sound so faint she wasn’t sure it was real. She tilted her head, listening intently.

  Music?

  She grabbed her shawl off a nail, slung it around her shoulders, then picked up a kerosene lantern and left the greenhouse. The old farmhouse stood quiet at the edge of the grove, smoke rising from two chimneys to knock off the chill. According to the thermometer, it was a mild forty degrees tonight, unlike last night’s freezing temperatures.

  Soft light glowed from some of the windows. She could see Phoebe upstairs, moving around in the little bedroom and suite area she shared with Steven. A constant tapping let her know Samuel was in the barn, trying to create a dry workspace for the filing cabinets and desk.

  A horse in the corral raised its head and whinnied at her.

  At times this farm held the promise of feeling like home. At other times it reminded her of the day the tornado struck—terrifying and overwhelming.

  The unfamiliar instrument echoed against the night. The music seemed to be coming from the far end of the property, and she walked in that direction. The crisp air smelled delicious, and she could imagine people from generations past tending the orchard. A sense of eeriness gave her goose bumps, but she continued through the orchard. She wanted to find the music, to figure out where it was coming from or if it was real. She tugged her shawl.

  A wolf howled in the distance, stopping her cold. She held the lantern up, peering beyond the property but seeing nothing. Leaves crunched.

  Tell them.

  A man’s voice sent chills through every inch of her body, even her scalp and face.

  The wind picked up, rushing leaves westward across the land. Should she ask, tell who what? Or should she pretend she didn’t hear voices?

  Please, God. Did silent begging do any good?

  The two words came again, this time as a child’s voice, and she had to respond.

  “Tell who what?”

  She waited but heard nothing, so she repeated her question. The eeriness clung to her, and she wished she hadn’t followed the music. What type of instrument was playing, anyway?

  “Rhoda?”

  Peace flooded over her at the sound of Samuel’s voice. She put a smile in place and turned, hoping he hadn’t heard her talking to herself. But a shadow of a person stepped out from behind him. She screamed.

  Emma.

  He glanced behind him and turned back to her and hurried to close the gap between them. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

  Looking beyond him, she saw Emma fade into nothing. “I … I thought I heard music.” Not exactly the truth because she still heard it. “Did you?”

  “All I heard was the banging of my hammer.” He tapped the side of his head against the heel of his palm.

  Her resolve to look sane dissolved, and she turned toward the west. “You don’t hear that?”

  He came up beside her. “Sort of. I guess.” He tilted his head, listening. “I’d say you’re hearing wind. Maybe it’s echoing in a canyon or against rocks of some sort. Everything here is unfamiliar to us.”

  “You really think so?”

  He turned to her, concern touching his features. “He’s fine. Your nerves are taut, and you’re in a new place. That’s all.”

  Was that what this was—the stress of missing Jacob, of not knowing if he was safe? She gazed into the western darkness.

  Please let Samuel be right. Let Jacob be fine.

  Samuel reached for the lantern. “How about we call it a day and go inside?”

  She passed it to him, and they walked toward the house in silence. Before they climbed the two short steps to the kitchen porch, she stopped. “Would it be okay … I mean, I think I’d rather go back to the greenhouse.” She drew a deep breath, staring at the circular glow from the lantern on the patch of dirt at her feet. It seemed she had ghosts to wrestle with, ghosts that existed in her mind. She had to find peace.

  When she glanced up, Samuel was studying her, not a trace of a smile on his lips or in his eyes. “You’ve done enough for today. It’s time to come in.”

  She clenched her teeth, ready to rebel against him for treating her the way Phoebe did her children.

  “Please, Rhodes.”

  His gentleness caught her off guard. She met his eyes and knew. He had overheard her talking to herself. When she asked about the music, he probably hadn’t even heard the wind. He’d just made it up to console her. She couldn’t blame him for treating her like a fragile cracked jar, but hurt flooded her. Should she be agreeable for the sake of not arguing?

  A car door slammed out front, and hope was resurrected. She caught her breath. “Maybe that’s Jacob.”

  She and Samuel hurried around the house. When Jacob came into view, emerging from Erlene’s car, Rhoda stopped short.

  Relief flooded her, but a dozen new and much less positive emotions came rushing in. An odd sensation slid up her spine, and she knew … He had left her the night of the meeting to meet up with a woman, one he knew as well as he knew Rhoda, one he’d been with ever since.

  He passed Erlene some cash, and the car backed out of the driveway.

  Rhoda told herself to trust him, to run to Jacob and jump into his arms, but her feet wouldn’t move.

  With a woman?

  Samuel kept going, and soon the brothers were in a strong embrace. They spoke for a moment before both looked in her direction.

  Her emotions warred. Despite her desire to welcome him, she turned and went the other way. Was it to punish him? She didn’t think so. But her thoughts and feelings were as scattered as feathers from a plucked hen, and she couldn’t separate her relief from her anger, confusion, and hurt.

  How could she feel so strongly for him and yet walk away? Apparently there were multitudes of baffling passions that came with a relationship between a man and a woman.

&n
bsp; And right now she couldn’t separate her hurt from her trust.

  Jacob swallowed hard and turned to Samuel. “How angry is she?”

  Samuel’s brows knit as he looked at the side of the house where Rhoda had disappeared. “I didn’t know she was. But the move’s been hard on her. The new surroundings have her senses playing tricks. It’s happened to all of us. Even the children aren’t sleeping well. Nothing looks, sounds, smells, tastes, or feels familiar. But I believe your not being here has made the transition almost unbearable for Rhoda, not that she would say anything. I doubt she’s slept four hours in the last three days.”

  “You two arguing again?”

  Samuel shook his head. “Nee, but …”

  “What?”

  “I’m glad you’re here. Truly. And”—Samuel shifted against the broken concrete of the driveway—“I don’t judge you for leaving when you did. The more I see myself for who I am, the more confident I am that my sins outweigh yours.”

  “But?”

  “Don’t ever again put your secrets between Rhoda and me.”

  Jacob nodded. “Whatever stress I’ve caused, I’ll make it up to you.”

  Again Samuel looked at the side of the house where Rhoda had been less than a minute ago. He put his hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “Denki.” Jacob passed Samuel his newly acquired overnight bag, which now held his Englisch clothes. “I mean what I said about making it up to you.”

  “I know. Now go talk to her.”

  “Any chance you know where I’ll find her?”

  “Probably in a greenhouse, whichever one has a slight glow to it.”

  Jacob strode to the back of the house. It only took a moment to spot the right greenhouse. He tapped on the door to keep from startling her and then opened it. Her beauty flooded his soul, but she wouldn’t look his way.

  He went to the opposite side of the long table, putting a mere two feet between them. “Rhodes, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. If I could’ve avoided leaving, I would have. I promise you that.” He paused, but she continued working. “Was the meeting as bad as you expected?”