Samuel took her hand into his. “I know how this must sound. I really do.”
She pulled free. “No, I don’t think you do. I can’t stand by and allow this.”
Was she giving him an ultimatum? Something hard and immovable took up residence inside him. “I’ll do what I think is right. I’d hoped you’d see that and appreciate it, but I’m not altering the plans I’ve made.”
Her eyes filled with disbelief, and without another word she hurried toward the house.
When they’d last spent time apart, it seemed to do both of them some good. So he let her go.
Rhoda took the sole remaining jar of blackberry jam off the shelf and placed it in the box at her feet, the last of her garden’s produce, canned and ready to ship. She looked around her beloved cellar, now void of fresh fruit and delicious aromas. It had been four days since she’d found her garden destroyed.
As Tuesday wound to a close, her cookstove was lifeless. The fireplace was filled with cold ashes. The counters and shelves were empty. She couldn’t stand the look of the place, but going outside hurt worse. The barren space that once held her garden reminded her of a desert.
“Knock. Knock.”
She turned at the sound of Samuel’s voice. When she peered through the screen door, she saw him and Jacob standing at the entryway. She hadn’t heard them arrive or come down the steps.
“Kumm.” She closed the box of goods.
Samuel’s eyes moved about the desolate room. “We’ve brought you another proposition. One we think you’ll like.”
Jacob stepped forward. “At some point he’ll remember to say something personal before he begins talking business. Like maybe, ‘Hello, how are you?’ ” He bowed slightly.
“Hi, Jacob.” She returned his gesture with the slightest of curtseys. “I’m as well as can be expected. And you?”
“I’m much the same. Thank you.” Jacob turned to Samuel. “Take notes, man.”
Samuel studied her, his eyes serious and unhappy. “You don’t look so good.”
Jacob shook his head. “He’s like trying to train a cocker spaniel.”
Rhoda smiled, and it felt a bit odd. She hadn’t smiled in what felt like forever, but it’d been mere days since she’d had such a wonderful time at the King family gathering.
Right now she felt as empty as her room, and she needed something to do with her hands. She should invite them upstairs, but instead she leaned back against a counter. “You took time out of a workday to come here instead of calling? Why?”
“That’s what I said.” Samuel put his hands in his pockets, looking a little antsy. “But Jacob felt it was important to check on you in person.”
Her eyes met Jacob’s. “Ah.” The more she knew of Jacob, the more she liked him. And he seemed interested in her too. She pulled her attention back to Samuel. “So what’s your new proposition?”
“Before we talk about that, we need to tell you that it’s our fault Rueben knew you and your family would be gone last Friday night.”
“Ours or Eli’s?”
Samuel’s eyes widened. “You know?”
“When some of the shock wore off, it dawned on me. Eli meant no harm, and I take no offense. Ungodly meanness was in Rueben’s heart, and he’d have discovered a perfect opportunity to do what he wanted without anyone telling him when we’d all be gone.”
Samuel nodded. “Ya, well, here’s what we were thinking—”
Jacob removed his hat and smacked his brother with it. “We appreciate your attitude, Rhodes. And we have some ideas we’d like to present. If you don’t like them, we’ll understand. But we’re hoping you’ll at least consider them.”
Samuel crossed his arms, looking more relaxed by the minute. “May I share the plan now, Jacob?” Samuel’s teasing made her smile.
“Would you like to go upstairs and sit at the kitchen table?”
Samuel turned to Jacob. “If I say yes, is that too businesslike for you?”
“If I say yes, would you stay in the cellar while Rhodes and I go upstairs?”
Rhoda chuckled. Whatever they had in mind, she wanted to say yes. She needed to be a part of something bigger and stronger than she was on her own. Kings’ Orchard and the men who ran it fit the bill to perfection.
“Kumm.” Rhoda went up the stairs.
Her father and brothers were standing in what used to be her blackberry patch, talking to a couple of land surveyors about parceling up the property. Her family was wasting no time in getting the proper construction permits. Soon they’d know whether they could get building permits for one home or two. Before winter set in, at least one house would stand where her berry bushes once grew, and children would play in the grass that would be planted in place of her garden.
Her mother stood on the driveway and turned toward Rhoda. “This will be best for everyone in the long run.”
“I know, Mamm. I know.”
Although her heart ached at the thought of making her last deliveries to customers, it hurt even more being here, staring at the cemetery where her lifelong dream had died.
She headed for the house, unable to remember a time when she didn’t have canning to do—not since she was a little girl, anyway. Now there was nothing left to can. Once the last box was delivered, Rhode Side Stands products would cease to exist.
She went inside, hearing her sisters-in-law and their children moving about upstairs. She looked over her shoulder at the brothers. “May I get you some lemonade or water?”
“Water. Denki,” Jacob said.
“I’m good, but thanks.” Samuel pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat.
Rhoda put ice and water in two glasses. She passed one to Jacob and took a seat on the opposite side of the table from the brothers. “So what’s on your mind, Samuel King?”
She listened as he shared their plans for the summer kitchen and how they wanted her to stay on their property anytime she had a mind to.
“We’ll hire Landon as a farmhand.”
“You’ll hire him? You don’t even like him.”
Samuel squinted. “I have vision problems.”
Rhoda raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“It seems I can’t see anything right the first few times I look at it. You won’t hold that against a man, will you?”
“Depends. Are you willing to trust what I say the object looks like?”
“Probably not every time. I mean, nobody’s right all the time.”
“I am.” Jacob plunked his hand against his chest.
Samuel rolled his eyes. “With the exception of my brother.”
Rhoda realized she did a lot of laughing when she was around these two. She took a sip of her drink. “Are you really thinking of hiring Landon full-time?”
“We’d like to talk to him about it and make an offer, but we’ll limit it to six months for now. Then we’ll reassess. He’s never done this type of work and may hate it. I know you find him valuable, but I’m not sure we will once the canning season is over. If he accepts, he’ll work wherever we need him most—with you or us. And he’ll be available to drive you back and forth between our place and your home whenever you want.”
She liked the sound of that. “He’ll be good at taking the products to different buyers and getting them on board to order from us. And he has a Rhode Side Stands website set up for orders as well. He’ll contact all those customers about the new apple line.”
“Excellent.” Samuel drummed his fingers on the table.
Rhoda played with a drop of condensation on her glass. “The summer kitchen is a building that sits off by itself, right?”
“Ya.” Jacob nodded. “I’ll start remodeling it soon and get it operational as quickly as possible.”
He ended his sentence there, but Rhoda heard his thoughts: if I can make myself. But why would a carpenter think that?
Jacob motioned. “When the remodeling is done, the kitchen will be bright and airy, unlike your cellar.”
“
How big a space is it?”
“Eight times the size of your cellar.” Jacob smiled. “And laid out with canning in mind.”
“Really?” She glanced from one to the other. “I like how this is sounding.”
Samuel leaned back in his chair. “It’s nothing grand, and I don’t want this offer to sound like more than it is, Rhoda. It’s a practical space, and the size of it will enable you to can more goods.”
She frowned, looking to Jacob for backup. “Explain”—she waved her hand up and down, motioning at Samuel—“this.”
Jacob laughed. “Not sure we have that much time, but here goes. He’s offering full disclosure so you don’t enter the agreement thinking it’s one thing only to discover it’s another. He does that a lot, and once a person agrees to the raw, ugly view he gives, he feels he’s been extremely honest, so the deal, in his mind, is binding.”
“Ah.” Rhoda ran her fingers over the wooden tabletop. “Glad to finally understand that about him, and I appreciate his honesty.”
“As I was saying,”—Samuel straightened the front of his shirt collar—“there’s much to do and not much time to get organized, so we’ve been looking at ways to use the space in the summer kitchen for every possible contingency. One of which is if you wanted to sleep there, you could.”
“I accept.”
“You can’t say that yet.” Samuel frowned at her. “I haven’t finished explaining, and you haven’t seen the setup.”
She focused on Jacob. “I accept.”
Jacob raised his glass in the air. “I accept your acceptance.”
She touched her glass to his.
“Although the first of the apples will be ready soon,”—Samuel continued as though they hadn’t said a word—“the bulk of the crop won’t be ripe for five weeks yet, and then we’ll harvest from sunup to sundown until the end of October. Our aim is to have that kitchen operational in three weeks.”
“Sounds perfect. I have a lot to do to wrap up here and customers to contact, to let them know I can’t fill the orders and such.”
Samuel looked at her. “Have you called anyone yet?”
“No, and I know what you’re thinking. When I call to tell them about Rhode Side Stands not being able to fill the orders, I should let them know about the new line of apple products I’ll be making.”
“You’re quick.” Samuel grinned. “We’ve been brainstorming labeling ideas. And since you’re giving Kings’ Orchard your recipes and helping us through at least one season to get us started, we wondered if you might like a label we came up with. Kings’ Orchard is well known for its apples, so we want to use that. We’ll keep our usual logo, the one stamped on the apple crates and such. It’s a silhouette of a horse and buggy under an apple tree with a full bushelbasket next to it. And we’d keep the name ‘Kings’ Orchard’ at the top. But for the labels on the canned goods, we thought we’d put ‘by Rhode Side Stands’ at the bottom.”
She knew his aim was to be generous, but he’d missed the mark. “You’d like to make me feel as if I still have my business. Is that right?”
“Ya. You haven’t lost it. It’s just facing a lot of changes.” Jacob smiled. “Like Samuel and his poor vision.”
“The problem is that the layout for the label is wrong. I don’t want to be listed at the bottom, as if my recipes and canning products aren’t worthy to share the top of the label with Kings’ Orchard.”
Samuel took a sideways glance at Jacob before responding to her. “I thought you’d consider it a generous offer.”
“You thought wrong. It isn’t all that surprising, is it?”
Jacob watched, like a calm spectator unwilling to get between the two of them, at least at this point.
Samuel’s jaws tightened. “I suppose it’s not surprising that you think I’m wrong.” He paused. “Well, go on.”
“My recipes. My work. My reputation. My established buyers will be purchasing my canned goods. Maybe you should put ‘Kings’ Orchard’ at the bottom of the label and ‘Rhode Side Stands’ at the top.”
Samuel splayed his fingers, palms up. “That’s not happening. We approached you to partner with us—not the other way around, remember?”
“And I’ll not be an underling at Kings’ Orchard. If I’m a partner as you say, then treat me as one.”
Samuel gestured from the top of her head downward. “This is the Rhoda Byler I met the first day I came here and the one I argued with in front of her family while we shared a meal. She sees nothing the way I see it.”
She reached over and tapped the table in front of him. “The names of both businesses at the top of the label. Since my products carry the most in-store recognition, I suggest ‘Rhode Side Stands’ go first, but I may be negotiable on that.”
Samuel blinked once and opened his eyes wide. “May?”
“Ya.” She leaned back in her chair. “Keep being stubborn, and I’ll change it from may be negotiable to won’t be. Any questions?”
“I have one.” Jacob raised his hand. “Do you two know that you’re like oil and water?”
A car horn tooted, and Samuel stood. “That’s our driver returning for us. If we need more time, I’ll ask him to wait.”
“No, we’ve covered plenty.”
Samuel moved toward the door. “You have a lot to do, and we don’t want to pressure you, but the sooner you can come to the farm, the better. And please tell Landon we’d like to speak to him as soon as he can find the time in his schedule.”
“Denki.” She followed them outside. As she waved good-bye, she saw that Mrs. Walker’s curtains were drawn to the side and the windows were open. A medical transport service had brought her home from the hospital this morning. Rhoda hadn’t seen her children visit her yet. Maybe work kept them from being able to fly in. But if that was so, who was taking care of her elderly neighbor?
Rhoda went to her cellar, opened a partially full box of raspberry preserves, and pulled out a jar. Her father had told her that Mrs. Walker no longer held any ill will toward her. But would she mind if Rhoda made contact with a peace offering in hand?
She went down the sidewalk, turned the corner, and walked up the woman’s porch steps, her palm sweating against the glass jar she held. She knocked.
A young woman in a pale-blue uniform answered the door. “May I help you?”
“My name’s Rhoda. I live down the block.” She pointed toward her house.
“I’m Maggie, Mrs. Walker’s nurse for the next couple of months.”
“I brought something for her.” She raised the jar of preserves. “Perhaps you could give it to her?”
“Let her in.” Mrs. Walker’s voice was barely audible, but she sounded cranky.
The nurse stepped aside so Rhoda could enter.
She found Mrs. Walker lying on a bed in the middle of the living room, her face pale.
“You can leave now.”
Rhoda handed the preserves to Maggie and turned to go.
“Not you, child.” Mrs. Walker shooed away the nurse, who nodded and then disappeared into the kitchen. “Come here, dear.” She gestured Rhoda forward with shaky hands.
Rhoda approached the bed. “I thought you might like some of my preserves. They’re from my last batch.”
Mrs. Walker reached out and took Rhoda’s hand. Her fingers looked frail, but they had a firm grip. “That’s so thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
The woman seemed genuinely grateful.
She picked up a pad of stationery that was beside her on the bed. “I was going to write you a note. But what needs saying is best done in person.” She looked toward the kitchen. “My mother was one of the most superstitious people I ever knew. Every shadow and every speck of light meant something threatening, a warning of bad things to come.” She grimaced. “I promised myself I’d never believe the nonsense she did. But I’ve been much, much worse without even knowing it. When you fell in front of my home while trying to get to your sister—when you said that she was going to be kil
led before it happened—it scared me. And I was convinced you must be a witch.” She took a drink of her water. “But that’s not at all who you are, is it?”
Rhoda shook her head. “I sense things sometimes, mostly just an intuition as an event is unfolding. Unfortunately, I usually pick up on what’s happening when it’s too late to do anything about it.”
The nurse came in with a plate of toast covered in preserves. “Would you like a taste now, ma’am?”
“Of course I would.”
The nurse pushed a button on the bed and helped Mrs. Walker to a semi-upright position. Then she set the plate on a wheeled tray and positioned it over the woman’s lap.
Mrs. Walker took a tiny bite of the toast. Her eyes closed for a moment. “Mmm.” She took a slightly bigger bite. “Oh my. This is delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
The nurse returned to the kitchen, and Mrs. Walker swallowed another bite. “You knew I was in trouble, and you acted on those feelings before it was too late. You saved my life. I’m glad, because I want to be here for my teenage grandchildren, to see them marry and have their own children. I don’t get to see them often, but when I do, it’s wonderful. They tell me I make a positive difference in their lives, and I want to be here for them.”
Mrs. Walker gazed at the barren field between their properties. “But now I need to say something I wish weren’t true.” Her quivering lips curled up.
Rhoda waited, unsure what to say to comfort the elderly woman.
“I know you didn’t plow your fields on purpose. And I know I have to accept some of the blame for what happened.”
“But you weren’t even out of the hospital.”
“Neighbors are saying you plowed the fields down yourself to make room for your brothers to build. But I’ve seen you. For years I’ve watched you tend your berries with more love and affection than a lot of folks give their own kids. You wouldn’t give them up voluntarily. And I know your father wouldn’t ask it of you.”
Rhoda moved to the window, looking at her barren land. “You had something to do with what happened?”
“Not directly. But in my fear, thinking I was protecting others who might come into contact with you, I helped spread the rumors that you practiced witchcraft. I backed up that Amish man who came by here, asking how I felt about you and those herbs—because he thought you were using them in incantations, and I said I thought so too.” She pushed the wheeled tray away from her.
A Season for Tending: Book One in the Amish Vines and Orchards Series Page 27