Planted with Hope

by Tricia Goyer

  Janet picked up her fork, but instead of eating she let out a soft sigh. “One of my earliest memories was watching my mother walk down the manicured law of my grandparents’ estate with a shovel in her hand. My grandfather was a banker, and they had numerous yard men to care for their estate. I’m not sure why Mother picked the spot to stop and start digging. But all of a sudden—with nothing but a sea of grass all around her—she stopped, jabbed the tip of that shovel into the ground, and pushed it down with her foot.” Janet chuckled again. “If she’d been smarter she would have started the garden closer to the house, and then we wouldn’t have had to drag those water buckets so far. But thankfully she put the garden closer to the front gate where everyone in the neighborhood could see it. It became more theirs than ours that way, and looking back, the relationships we built over the years were worth every bucket of water hauled.”

  Janet paused, but Hope could see there was more of the story running through the older woman’s mind, so instead of asking more questions she just waited. Joy must have realized it, too, because she didn’t say a word either. Instead she poked her fork into her green beans, stacking them up before putting them in her mouth.

  “When Mother pulled the shovel out there was a clod of dirt and grass. Mother flung it over her shoulder and it landed not far from me,” Janet said.

  “What did you do?” Joy asked. “I’m sure that was a big surprise.”

  “Yes, it was. I picked it up, and turned it over in my hands. The roots held the clump together. The dirt was warm. I squeezed and some of the dirt broke apart. I was horrified because dirt got on my dress. I tried to wipe it away, but it just made it worse.” She pouted, and Hope could see five-year-old Janet in her gaze. “I thought I’d go to bed without dinner for certain when I went inside with that dirty dress.”

  The waitress came and refilled their drinks, and Janet finally started on her salad. Hope and Joy shared a little about their growing-up years and their garden back in Walnut Creek, but Hope had many more questions for Janet too. From the interest in Joy’s eyes Hope knew that her sister was enjoying this as much as she was.

  “Were you afraid your mother was going to be upset by the dirt that you got on your dress?” Joy asked, taking them back to the story of a moment before.

  “Not my mother, my grandmother. Like I said before, she was from high society. She believed little girls should be seen and not heard. We always dressed for dinner… and after we moved back in with my grandparents my mother conformed back to that. If it wasn’t for Mother’s determination that lawn would have stayed pristine all through the war, and all those children would have gone to bed hungry.”

  Hope cocked an eyebrow. “Children?”

  Janet smiled. “Why, I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I?” Then she sighed. “Actually, I could tell you about it, but I’d love for you to read about it first… in the journal.”

  “There is so much to read. I’m just thankful that you’re giving me the chance. I never knew so much about Victory Gardens, or World War Two. Amish are pacifists, you know.”

  “Oh, I didn’t lend you the journal so that you could learn more about the war, but about the garden. The community garden.”

  “Oh Hope, are you going to create a community garden? That would be so wonderful.” Joy put down her fork and clapped her hands together. “I’m sure there are so many people around Pinecraft who’d like to be a part.”

  Heat crept up Hope’s neck. Did Janet know about Jonas wanting the children to help with her garden too? Was that what this was about… a way to try to convince her? Her back stiffened and she pressed against the chair.

  “I’ve thought about that. It seems like it would be a lot of work to me.” Hope took a bite of her tuna salad and then looked from Joy to Janet. “Maybe next year we—someone—can grow it into a community garden.” She leaned back on the seat. “This year I just need… more quiet. More peace.”

  Janet used a knife and a fork to eat her salad. She made neat, small bites, and Hope could tell she’d been trained with fine manners.

  “You remind me of my mother. So independent.” Janet took a bite of her salad. A wistful look filled her eyes. “The war was hard, but my mother discovered a part of herself that she never knew before. It caused her to be a stronger person. It caused her to depend on God more too.” There was a twinkle in Janet’s eyes. “Just remember, Hope, that although giving ourselves to others is hard, and takes work, in the end it’s better than being independent. As we learn to depend on others we learn to depend on God too.”

  “You think I’m independent? Really? I’ve never really heard people call me that before.” Hope forced a smile. How much did this woman know about Amish communities? The Amish lived a life of conformity. They worked together and depended on each other. She’d grown up that way, but maybe Janet didn’t understand.

  As if reading her mind, Janet nodded. “Even those who live in a conformist society find their own ways of living independently. If it hadn’t been for the war I’m not sure my mother would have been brave enough to step out and change. She married my father, the man my grandmother wished her to marry. He owned a huge factory and usually stayed up in the office, but one day when he went down to check on a complaint on the floor there was an accidental explosion. He was killed—him and two of his workers. Even as a married woman, my mother went to all the right luncheons and social events, but when my father was killed, and the United States entered the war, she realized that each person needed to do her part to serve others, including her. She realized there were more important things in life than being seen by the right people or attending the right events.”

  “And that garden… that’s where she served?” Joy asked.

  “Yes, it was a great contribution.” Janet smiled, and then she turned back to Hope. “But don’t take my word for it. Read it for yourself. You’ll enjoy the rest of the story.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  Joy looked at the clock on the wall. “Oh!” She sat up straighter in her chair. “I need to get to work. I told Elizabeth that I’d come in today.” She motioned to their waitress. “Can you get me a box? I’ll take the rest of this to go.”

  Hope put down her fork too. She was full. Full of tuna salad, full of wonder over the stories she’d just heard, and in a strange way full of questions about her own garden—her own motives. She was also full of awe over the fact that Janet chose to share them with her. She turned to Joy. “Speaking of Elizabeth, I need to talk to her. Emma just loved my garden apron. I wanted to see if Elizabeth could make another one—a smaller one.”

  Janet nodded. “Yes, I would have loved a garden apron when I was that age. Maybe I wouldn’t have gotten in trouble for so many dirty dresses.”

  “Emma and Hope have become quite close,” Joy explained. “Emma’s dat is a widower. He’s the new schoolteacher for this semester. Jonas and Hope have become gut friends… ”

  Janet pushed her salad to her side. Then she reached across the table and took Hope’s hand. “I hope that means what I think that means.”

  Hope forced a smile. “We’re just friends for now. We haven’t known each other very long. But I do enjoy spending time with Jonas and Emma.”

  “Oh, that does my heart good, Hope. You know my step-father dared to love a widow. My mother had given up on love until he came along. He was a wonderful father. I’m very thankful that I had him in my life.”

  Hope’s eyebrows lifted. “Wait, your step-father?” She squeezed Janet’s hand. “Was it Henry?”

  “Oh, Henry. You’ve read about him, have you?” Janet winked. “I’d hate to tell you more and give it away. You’ll just have to read it—”

  “In the Victory Journal, I know.” Hope stood. She reached out a hand to help Janet to stand too. The woman seemed a little more unsteady on her feet than when she first arrived.

  “I do have one more question before we part,” Hope said. “Can you tell me—out of all the recipes in the
Victory Journal, which are your favorite?”

  Janet smiled thoughtfully. “Oh, I have two. Aunt Effie’s Custard Johnny Cake and Steamed Pudding. I make both often myself. My mother found them in one of her grandmother’s cookbooks. You’ll have to try them both.”

  “I will.” Hope nodded and accepted Janet’s hug. “In fact, I might go home and try them now. In addition to reading more of the journal, I have to find out who your step-father turned out to be. I can’t wait to find out.”

  Aunt Effie’s Custard Johnny Cake

  1 cup cornmeal

  ½ cup flour

  1 tsp. baking soda

  1 tsp. salt

  2 Tbsp sugar

  1 cup buttermilk

  2 eggs

  1 cup whole milk

  Mix and sift together the cornmeal, flour, soda, salt and sugar. Beat in the buttermilk, then stir in the well-beaten eggs. Add the whole milk last, blending quickly. Pour into a greased rectangular pan and bake in a hot oven about 35 minutes. Serve immediately, cutting in squares at the table. The custard will rise to the top in baking. Serves four to six.*

  * Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Cross Creek Cookery (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1942), 26.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Were we meant to talk more than listen, we would have one ear and two tongues.

  AMISH PROVERB

  In the early morning Hope was already at work in the garden, but for some reason the quiet didn’t seem right this morning. She hadn’t read more of the journal last night—she couldn’t—even though she wanted to find out if Henry was the one Pauline married. Instead, it was as if fear kept her from opening those pages.

  What if everyone—Janet, Elizabeth—expected Pauline’s story to become her own? Just because Pauline found friendship and joy in creating a community garden didn’t mean that she would too.

  Instead, last night she tried to go to bed early. But instead of sleeping, all she could think about were Janet’s stories, Janet’s words.

  The garden changed my mother. The friendships we made were worth every bucket of water we hauled. My mother was a different person because of the war. She learned to depend on others and depend on God.

  The first sprouts of radishes poked through in her raised beds, and the smallest carrot tops were following. According to what she read in a book on Florida gardening, she’d be able to start planting melons soon. But would she be around for the harvest? Hope still wasn’t sure.

  A whistling came from around the corner, and Hope looked up. Her sister Grace approached with a hop to her step. As the youngest daughter, Grace was a spot of sunshine for all of them. She was almost always in a happy mood. Grace enjoyed being around people, and sometimes Hope wished that she had Grace’s ease with others—her approachability.

  “There you are. I knew you would be back here.”

  “Of course.” Hope looked around at the long rows of raised beds, teeming with new life. “Ever since we moved to Pinecraft this was exactly what I wanted—just where I wanted to be.”

  “Oh, I love that, Hope. I love how both you and Lovina dared to follow your dreams.” Grace spread her arms, as if taking it all in. She lifted her face to the sun and soaked it in before turning back to Hope. “And I love how all this turned out. In fact, I think this is a story worth sharing.”

  Hope frowned. “You’re not thinking about writing about it in The Budget, are you?”

  “Well, you know I’m the youngest scribe in Pinecraft, and I’m one of the youngest in the nation. I have to come up with gut stories, and there are none better than those close to home. You know how much everyone loved the story about Me, Myself, and Pie, ja?”

  Hope twisted her lips. “I know, I know… but if you wrote a story… ”

  “Actually, it’s not just a story I want. I want to introduce you around. We’re having a Budget scribe meeting here in Pinecraft. They have it the first Saturday of every month. I’ve been there a few times, but I’d like to bring you as my guest.”

  “A guest?” Hope didn’t like the sound of where this was going.

  “Yes, and then I thought the other scribes would like to come by after the meeting to see the garden. This is the newest feature to Pinecraft. Ja, I want to write about it, but maybe they do too.”

  “No.” The word shot from Hope’s mouth. “It’s not a big deal, really.” A thousand needles crept up her arms. The sun suddenly felt way too warm. Grace’s presence overbearing. If Grace wrote about the garden—and if the other scribes wrote about it too—then the word would get out. And once the word got out more people would come. It would be a regular place to visit here in Pinecraft, and Hope didn’t like that idea one bit.

  “No, please… I don’t think I’d like to come to the meeting. In fact, I beg you not to write about it. This garden, it’s no big deal,” she repeated again.

  “No big deal… then why that reaction? Are you all right?” Grace leaned down and placed a hand on Hope’s shoulder.

  “There are already so many people stopping by as it is. I’m not like you, Grace. I need quiet. I need space.”

  “But haven’t you considered making this a community garden? It seems like so much work for one person.”

  Hope refused to answer that. She was sick of the words community garden, just sick of them. She just shook her head. “Enjoy your meeting, Grace. I’m sure you can find something else to write about.”

  Grace left with a mere wave, and then Hope’s lunch with Janet came to mind. Why did everyone have to bring up the same thing? Why did everyone think she needed to bring people in? She was not Pauline. She was not Grace. God had created her differently. He had His own story for her. Why did everyone else try to write hers?

  Hope attacked the weeds with renewed diligence and prayed that her cousin Eleanor’s response would come quickly. It was clear that even if Hope didn’t have very many visitors here in Pinecraft she’d have no peace. The only way was to go to Ohio where everyone gave a woman working in her garden no attention whatsoever.

  Hope’s resolve to not read any more of the journal only lasted one evening. By the next morning she couldn’t ignore it. She was fearful of the story, but she longed for it too. She wanted to know how that garden had made such a huge difference to a community. She wondered why people kept talking about it, especially when it was planted over seventy years ago.

  Monday, May 18, 1942

  Mother bought me a gas mask. Father is having an air raid shelter built in the backyard. Cook’s newest kitchen gadget is a ration book, and I’m the proud owner of an identity card—as if everyone in Sarasota didn’t know me already.

  Everyone knows Mother. She’s done her part in helping Madira Bickel organize the Sarasota County unit of the British War Relief and worked with James Haley for the Sarasota Red Cross, and I was just her daughter—a miniature version of Mother, so they assumed. Until I started my garden and I became my own person. Some thought I was foolish. Others crazy. Some believe I was simply acting out against my mother’s traditional ways, but at least they thought of me. At least I wasn’t a shadow, a clone.

  Hope’s mouth opened slightly and she pressed the journal to her chest. It smelled like dust and old leather, but she also felt a special connection with those words.

  She had never told those things to anybody, but she’d felt the same way. In Walnut Creek she was known for her garden, and here… she was just another woman in an apron and kapp.

  And that was what bothered her too. Wasn’t it being prideful to want to be noticed? It was. But still… still she wanted to feel like herself again. She wanted to feel as if she had meaning and purpose. She wanted to be known for her garden… if only she didn’t have to have so much company while she worked in it.

  Hope put down the journal and decided to make a new treat. The recipe for Upside-Down Vegetable Cake was too interesting not to try, and then—when it was in the refrigerator and ready to put in the oven for dinner tonight—she’d head over to Elizabeth’s.
She wanted to purchase an apron for Emma, but even as she walked to the kitchen she worried. Would Elizabeth talk about a community garden too? Hope didn’t know how she’d handle it if she would. And she was certain that if others knew of Jonas’s request to get the children involved, too, she’d never hear the end of it.

  Jonas sat inside the classroom eating his lunch and watching the children playing in the grassy area behind the school. They didn’t have fancy playground equipment like the public schools, but a while back some men had put up swings. There was also an area used for jump rope or tag. It didn’t take much for Amish kids to find a way to entertain themselves.

  “I have a garden!” Emma’s voice rose above the noise.

  “Back where you came from… ” Sadie, who was a couple of years older than Emma, wasn’t impressed.

  “Ne, I have a garden here. It’s mine and Hope’s. We planted a hundred million plants and it’s going to take a lot of work.”

  Jonas smiled to himself and took another bite from his sandwich, sure that Emma had no idea that he was sitting inside, right by the window, and could hear every word.

  “I want to help in the garden,” a younger boy named Elmer piped up.

  “Oh, you can help. Dat says that we can all go there for school.”

  “For school?” A chorus of voices rang out.

  Jonas jumped to his feet and strode away leaving his lunch on the desk. He walked outside. Almost the whole group of kids had gathered around Emma. Eyes were fixed on her as she shared about the seeds that were beginning to sprout and the shed her dat had built.

  Jack, a tall boy from Pennsylvania, turned to Jonas as he neared. “Is it true? Is there a garden behind the pie shop?”

  Jonas released a slow breath. He had to be truthful, but he knew the last thing Hope wanted was more uninvited visitors. He understood that in a way. After Sarah’s death the people hadn’t stopped coming by for months. As much as he liked being around people, there were just some days he wanted to be alone.