Catherine pointed overhead. “Wow, there’s no shortage of apples this year.”
“Isn’t it a gorgeous sight?”
“You told me about it, but seeing it in person is eye-opening.”
“I’m hopeful, but many things can go wrong between midsummer and harvesttime.”
“Is one good season enough to get Kings’ Orchard out of the hole from the last few seasons?”
“Afraid not. We’re in more debt than a good year can fix, but it’d help a lot.”
“Your Daed stopped by the house a few nights ago, and he said he’s hoping to hire fifty pickers this year.”
“It’d be nice to need that many. Of course, then the challenge is how best to get all the workers back and forth to wherever they’re staying, since we don’t have a place for them to live throughout the harvest. But the downside is, if we need that many workers and can’t find them, the fruit will rot on the ground.”
“You’d never let that happen even if you had to work night and day for the entire harvest.”
He pondered the situation, enjoying the mental exercise of finding a solution. “If we were faced with that circumstance, I’d put tarps under the trees we couldn’t pick and let the fruit fall on them. We’d only get cider apples that way, but at least it wouldn’t be a complete loss.”
She studied his face. “Could you sell that many Grade B apples?”
He wouldn’t explain to her again that apple growers didn’t refer to them as Grade A or Grade B. The inedible ones were cider apples, and she knew that, but she continued to refer to them as if they were eggs. “Ya, no problem. But we’d need to find a way to close the gap between the money we’d make off the eating apples and what we’d make off cider apples. Even with a good harvest, it’d be nice to make more income from the cider apples.”
“May I offer a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“I recommend you figure out that problem.”
He chuckled. “Denki, sweetheart. I’ll work on that.”
She squeezed his hand. “Anytime. So what happens if the crop is damaged or destroyed before the harvest?”
Another year of bad weather or any kind of calamity could mean the beginning of the end of Kings’ Orchard. Large corporations owned most apple orchards, and they had the money and power to survive the lean years. A family-owned place didn’t have that luxury.
“I need to think positive, but your question is valid. I have to look at the big picture, consider how we keep operating.”
While they walked through the orchard toward home, his thoughts returned to his sister. He hoped she’d wise up before she got in over her head. He used to long for the day when she’d stop stealing away to the barn loft to read fiction. Since she was seven or eight years old, she’d disappear every chance she got, shirking her chores to read. Before long she was into murder mysteries, old classics, and legal thrillers. These days he wished that was all she did when she sneaked off.
FOUR
Catherine squeezed Samuel’s hand as they walked from his rig to the Lapps’ home. They’d shared a meal with his family, and now it was nearing eight o’clock. The sultry heat waned as the sun slid closer to the horizon. “The Lapps will be surprised that I’m not visiting the puppies by myself this time.” She already felt calmer about Leah, thanks to Samuel. He always seemed to know what to do to ease her anxiety.
“They’ll think you’ve brought me to help pick one out.”
The Lapps’ seventeen-year-old son, Christian, came out of the house, putting on his straw hat. “Hey, Samuel.” He crossed the front lawn. “How’s the orchard doing?”
“So far, so good. We’ve got a little problem with mice, but there’s always something to contend with.”
“I saw your Daed a few days back, and he said you’ll probably get a bumper crop this year.”
“That’d be nice.”
Catherine gave Samuel a subtle nudge. She didn’t want to interrupt the men, but if they were going to stand around and make small talk, why not do so in the barn where she could see the puppies?
“We dropped by to look at the pups. We don’t want one. We’re just out enjoying a Friday night.”
“Sure.” Christian headed toward the barn. “We have two litters. One of our dogs delivered a month or so ago. And we still have a few three-month-old pups from another mama. Negligence on our part, but both mama dogs have been spayed now.”
“You could take the litters to the flea market and be rid of them all by the end of the day.”
Catherine poked Samuel’s side. “Just because you don’t want a dog is no reason to give them ideas for how to get rid of them.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You already have a favorite one picked out, don’t you?”
She cleared her throat, hoping she didn’t look as awkward or as guilty as she felt. “Maybe.”
His lopsided grin, which spoke of his utter acceptance of her, made her want to kiss him. And after they were married, she was going to make a habit of that. But he hadn’t proposed yet. He’d told her he wanted to wait until he could afford a house for them, which might not be for two years yet. That seemed forever, but no man was worth waiting for more than Samuel.
Catherine slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, already dreaming of having his children.
Christian pulled open the barn door. The earthy aroma of animals overpowered the smell of hay. They followed him to the far end of the barn, and as he neared the last horse stall on the left, high-pitched yelps greeted them.
Catherine adored this sound. She knew Samuel, and they’d leave here without a puppy. Still she couldn’t help but dream. Every girl she’d graduated eighth grade with was already married; most either had a baby or were expecting one. But here she was at twenty-one still waiting to be officially engaged. If she couldn’t yet have a home of her own or start a family, it seemed a puppy would help the days, months, and years pass more easily.
Christian opened the top half of the stall door. In one corner was a mound of hay covered with sheepskin. Another area had bowls of food and water, and the far corner was filled with sawdust for the dogs to use to relieve themselves.
The mama dog lay on the sheepskin, watching her five buff-and-white puppies roll around and on top of each other, tussling over a colorful braided cord.
“Oh, Samuel, aren’t they adorable?”
At the sound of her voice, her favorite pup stopped playing and looked up at her, barking.
“Did you see how she recognized my voice?” Catherine reached her hand across the stall door, talking to her. “Hello, you precious thing.”
The puppy excitedly spun around in circles, barking, while her long, fluffy ears flopped about her head. She then put her front paws on the door, yapping at Catherine.
She reached in and scooped her up. The little pup licked her face, and the scratchy tongue against her cheek made her giggle.
“Seems like they’d shed a lot,” Samuel mumbled.
“Most dogs do, but cocker spaniels aren’t the worst.” Christian rubbed the head of the pup Catherine held. “Would you like to see the other dogs?”
Catherine wasn’t ready to put the cocker spaniel down yet. She held it while Samuel went with Christian to the opposite stall.
Christian grabbed a scoop of dry food and poured it into several bowls. “So, did Arlan finally get what he wanted from the music store?”
Catherine’s throat constricted. “I heard your Daed paid him today for his weeks of hauling hay. But I didn’t realize my brother was planning on taking the money to a music store.” Her voice cracked.
Christian’s eyes grew big, and he looked first to Samuel and then back to Catherine. “I assumed you knew. That’s all he’s talked about for a month.” Christian tossed the scoop back into the bag of dog food. “He was hoping to meet up with Leah and—”
Catherine turned to Samuel. “He’s with your sister?”
Christian laughed. “Wow, that’s a gr
owl to put these mama dogs to shame.”
Catherine quickly backtracked. “That’s not what I meant. I love Leah. But I had no idea she and my brother had plans to meet tonight.”
“Maybe they didn’t,” Christian said. “She might’ve had a date. But if she was free, Arlan wanted her to go with him to the music store. He’s been planning to buy another guitar.”
Anxiety twisted inside Catherine’s chest, threatening to steal her breath. Christian had said “buy another guitar” as if it were something to be proud of, something that was part of the Amish ways. Her brother’s defiance in this area had caused their parents to be excluded from the last communion service. Arlan had regretted pushing the limits and causing the church leaders to discipline his parents, so as an outward show of repentance, he’d turned over his guitar to the bishop. When he’d brought the forbidden item under Daed’s roof, he’d known that their parents would be held accountable to the church leaders … if the ministers found out, which they did. Arlan had agreed never to go that far again. So what was he thinking?
Christian sighed. “Sorry I brought it up.” He rolled his eyes. “But it’s not news that Arlan loves music or that he wants Leah’s opinion about nearly everything. She even got him a gig in town next weekend.”
“A gig?” Catherine asked. “What’s that?”
Samuel shook his head, his facial expression saying it wasn’t important.
“You don’t know?” Christian all but gawked at her. “Did you do anything remotely against the Ordnung during your teen years?”
The Ordnung was the set of rules the Amish lived by. The word meant “order.” Did Christian think it was fine to live the teen years in disorder? To do things they’d regret the rest of their days?
Samuel closed the top part of the stall where the golden retrievers were. “She’s always accepted the Old Ways and honored God through sacrifice of self.” He winked at her. “It’s who she is.”
Christian looked doubtful at Catherine, as if he disliked this revelation about her. “Getting a gig means Leah arranged for him to play his guitar somewhere specific and get paid for it.”
Catherine grabbed Samuel’s arm. “Tell me she wouldn’t have done that. Surely. I thought he gave up music after—”
Christian scoffed. “What planet do you live on?”
“Christian,” Samuel corrected, “you’re not helping.”
“Sorry.”
Catherine bent down to put the cocker spaniel back in the stall, but the pup clung to her arm and whimpered. After she peeled her paws off and stood, the pup climbed the wooden slats, barking and jumping to get back to Catherine. “Samuel, you have to do something about Leah. It’s bad enough that she’s doing things she shouldn’t, but to pull Arlan down too …”
“It’s music, for Pete’s sake.” Christian propped the palm of his hand against a support beam. “A lot of it is about God and family.”
Samuel slid his hand into hers. “You know Arlan. He’s not going to do anything stupid, even if Leah is helping him play for money.”
She gazed into his eyes, begging him to think of something. Unlike him and every other Amish family they knew, she had only one sibling. That pain still tore at her mother’s heart, and it’d kill her parents if they knew Arlan was buying another musical instrument.
“He’ll be fine, Catherine,” Samuel said. “He’s doing what young people do—trying new things and discovering they’re not as fun or valuable as they first thought.”
She took a cleansing breath, trusting his words. “Okay.”
“Instead of focusing on things we have no power over,”—Samuel reached into the stall and picked up her favorite buff-colored pup, the one with her paws stretched up high on the stall door, still trying to get to Catherine, and placed the dog back in her arms—“how about we focus on our new dog?”
“What? Really?” she squealed, wanting to give him a great big hug—puppy and all. But she restrained herself for the sake of propriety. “This is the best way ever to redeem a difficult night, Samuel. Denki.”
As they walked back to the rig, Catherine cradled her adorable cocker spaniel. Pink and orange hues striped the sky as the sun began to dip behind the mountains. “What should we name her?”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
She gazed at the pup, whose bright eyes were beginning to get a little droopy with sleep. “I don’t want some generic name like Daisy or Ginger. I think it should mean something special to both of us.”
After Samuel helped Catherine into the rig, she settled the puppy in her lap. The puppy looked as content as if she had been there all her life.
Samuel climbed onto the seat beside her. “How about Token?”
“What?”
“As in a token of comfort.”
She giggled. “That’s wonderfully romantic.”
“Romantic? How about practical? I salvaged our evening, maybe our weekend or even our entire year, with a dog that cost me nothing.”
“Puppies are never really free. You know that, right?”
“I know. But I’ll swing it without dipping into savings, and it’ll be worth it if she’ll remind you that our siblings will grow up, and until then we can’t take out our frustrations on each other, okay?”
“You mean me not taking my frustrations out on you. Your sister is the one always stirring up trouble, not Arlan.”
He didn’t respond. Did he disagree with her?
She slid across the seat and snuggled against him. “I don’t think I could take life in stride if it weren’t for you.” She stared at the furry little face, which was looking more tired every minute.
Samuel flicked the reins to get the horse moving. “Arlan has a good head on his shoulders.”
Catherine relaxed a bit. Samuel was wonderful at calming her too-easily-frazzled nerves. As she cuddled the new puppy, she raised her little head and looked up into Catherine’s face, eyes gleaming with hope for a happy, carefree life with her, just as Catherine hoped for her future with Samuel.
“How about if we name her Hope?”
“That sounds like as good a name as any.”
She snuggled deeper into Samuel’s shoulder and listened to the puppy snoring in her lap. Hope. Ya, that suited their pup—and their life—just fine.
FIVE
Something clanged and clattered, drawing Rhoda’s attention from the raspberry vines sprawled on a trestle in front of her. Dusk had fallen, and she hadn’t even noticed. After gently dropping the ripe berries into the bushelbasket, she straightened the kinks in her back and looked beyond the picket fence to her elderly neighbor’s garden.
Sweat trickled down Rhoda’s back as she searched the neat rows of half-grown cornstalks and struggling vegetable plants to see if the woman needed help. The mid-July air vibrated with the sounds of insects. A tin pail rolled to a stop, and the clanking noise ceased. A thin, shadowy figure stepped out from the cornrows, walked toward her, and picked up the bucket. Then Mrs. Walker did something she hadn’t done in years: she lifted her face toward Rhoda. Perhaps in the twilight she was unsure who Rhoda was and thought Rhoda was Mamm, because Rhoda favored her mother a lot.
Rhoda remained in place, waiting, hoping Mrs. Walker would realize who she was and speak anyway. She knew better than to initiate a conversation. Her instructions were clear: keep doing her tasks and say nothing to Mrs. Walker.
But was it possible the old woman had changed her mind about Rhoda?
Rhoda had all but frightened the life out of Mrs. Walker two years ago, and although Rhoda was no people pleaser, she’d love to make up for scaring her so badly—if the woman would give her a chance. But despite Daed’s hopes of making peace with their neighbors by removing her herb garden two months ago, Rhoda had seen no evidence of reconciliation.
A nighthawk cawed a nasal peent, peent, then flew inches from Rhoda’s face, startling her. The air seemed to quiver with tension. “Easy.” She spoke quietly, as if cooing to a skittish horse.
Even in the fading light, Rhoda saw the woman tense. Mrs. Walker threw the tin pail to the ground and hurried toward her home.
Disappointment wrapped itself around Rhoda. Biting back the sadness, she gently plucked more berries. She couldn’t help how Mrs. Walker felt about her. She couldn’t stop the rumors. The lies. The fear.
Strums of music, like someone practicing chords or tuning a guitar, broke through the sounds of nature. She guessed the neighbor down the block was gearing up for another Friday night party.
Ignoring the unfamiliar tune, she sang softly as she worked, stopping her songs only long enough to whisper work-related instructions to herself. With her basket full, she headed for the gate.
Children’s voices filtered from inside the house, and she noticed a light moving from one window to another. Someone was wheeling the gas pole lamp from the kitchen to the living room, most likely her Mamm or Daed. Once the sun began to sink behind the hills, they tended to keep a light with them rather than rely on those sitting on a counter or table. But there was no shortage of people to move the lamp. The house already bulged with the three families living there, and her sister-in-law Lydia was expecting another baby in three months.
Landon pulled into her driveway and hopped out of his truck. He grabbed a roll of packing tape and several flat cardboard boxes from behind the seat of his truck. “It’s almost dark, and you’re just now finishing. I knew I was a genius to partner with Rhode Side Stands.”
“Who’d have thought that a UPS Store clerk would become such a loyal assistant and friend?”
“Me.” He followed her across the paved driveway.
Four years ago, when she was eighteen and started selling her produce to various stores, she’d taken her jars of canned goods to the UPS Store to have them packaged and delivered. Landon had offered all sorts of tips and ideas to save her money. He’d also suggested she let him drive some of the items to nearby stores and had volunteered to come to her place for a Saturday or two to teach her how to pack and ship as inexpensively as possible.
A Season for Tending: Book One in the Amish Vines and Orchards Series Page 4