A Season for Tending: Book One in the Amish Vines and Orchards Series

by Cindy Woodsmall

  “Aw, don’t worry about me. I’m used to this. Matter of fact, I never have more energy than after the first day of apple picking.” He set the pan in one of the sinks. “After months of preparation, it’s exciting to see all those ladders set up against the trees with full buckets coming down, being emptied into crates, then taken back up again.” His green eyes were bright, and she wondered how bloodshot and weary her eyes were at this point.

  She tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears, fully aware she needed to comb and pin her hair.

  Jacob’s eyes met Rhoda’s, and she finally admitted to herself that what she felt for him fascinated her.

  Jacob winked. “Besides, if you don’t let me help you out, you’ll still be cleaning up come morning, when it’s time to start again.”

  “You could be right about that.”

  After the sink was filled with hot, soapy water, Rhoda turned off the faucet and started washing.

  “Hey, Rhodes.” Jacob grabbed a fresh towel out of a drawer and began rinsing and drying. “Why are we washing dishes by hand?”

  “The dishwasher is sterilizing Mason jars for tomorrow.”

  “Makes sense.” He set a clean measuring cup on the shelf. “Did you use as many spices today as you expected?”

  “No, and I’d like to know your secret. How do you always know figures and estimations? I was off by a case, and you had it down to the jar.”

  He swiped the towel over a spoon and tossed it into the drawer. “Good at guessing, I suppose.”

  “Hmm. You’re far better at guessing than telling lies.”

  He stopped and looked at her.

  “You’re beyond good at numbers, Jacob King. You know it, and I know it. And if you’re going to be bad at something, I’m glad it’s lying.”

  He smiled. “The family knows I’m good, but they don’t really know. Understand?”

  “Ya.” She wouldn’t ask any questions. They made him uncomfortable, and it was nice discovering tidbits about him slowly.

  She scrubbed a stubborn bit of cooked-on apple butter off the lip of a pot. “I have to be honest, if the rest of the season is anything like today, I’m not sure I can keep up the pace. Not unless I can figure out a way to streamline my efforts. Any chance we could go over how I’ve organized my day and see if you can uncover a better—”

  A thwack on her arm made her whirl around. Jacob stood behind her with a huge grin, twirling the damp towel in his hands. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” The mischievous glint was back in his eyes.

  “Oh, now you’re asking for it.” She scooped a handful of suds and flung them at him.

  He ducked just in time. The sudsy water hit the floor, and Jacob knelt to mop it up. “Towels make even better swatters when they’re wet and soapy.”

  “Don’t you even think about it, Jacob King.”

  He stretched the towel in front of him, tugging on each end with his fists. His impish grin nearly made her laugh out loud, but she held it in. After all, this was war.

  Rhoda looked around for ammunition to use in her defense. Spying a stirring spoon with a good-sized dollop of apple butter in it, she lunged for it. As his arm reached back to prepare for a good swing, she snatched up the spoon and snapped it at him, aiming for his chest. Unlike the marshmallow incident, she smacked him right in the face this time.

  “Ach! I’ve been hit!” He reeled as if mortally wounded.

  She pressed her advantage and grabbed the towel from him. “Aha!”

  He closed his eyes and turned his head, angling toward her the side of his face with the moist apple butter. “You win. Just smack that stuff off my face. I deserve it.”

  Instead she used the towel to gently wipe off the glob.

  He faced her, his eyes soaking her in, making her feel as if he understood her. Accepted her. Wanted her. She’d never imagined experiencing the kind of attraction that ran between them. She’d spent so many years muddling through the long, dark tunnel of loneliness.

  He remained stock-still as she removed the apple butter from his chin. She could feel his coarse whiskers through the cloth. The aroma of his aftershave still clung to him. Had he showered before coming here tonight? Her heart beat so hard she was certain he could hear it.

  He cleared his throat and gently took the towel from her. “I … I think you probably got it all.”

  “Not quite.” Noticing a bit more near the corner of his mouth, she dabbed at it with her forefinger.

  He turned toward her hand and kissed her fingertip. Everything seemed to freeze, then move in slow motion. A dozen emotions flooded her every second that passed. He put his hand over hers, drawing all her fingers to his lips and kissing them. Rhoda’s breathing constricted, and it was as though the world spun around her. She swallowed hard and eased her hand away.

  But she could still feel his touch on her fingers and in her soul. She’d been alone for what felt like forever, avoided by most men in her community, never a date with anyone she admired. At twenty-two she’d begun to visualize herself as single forever. Right now she had no idea what she thought. Only what she felt.

  Unable to stay near him, she went to the sink.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was low and deep, right behind her. “I shouldn’t have crossed the line.”

  She could feel his breath on the back of her neck. “It’s just, well, I’m not sure I know you that well.”

  “What is there to know that you haven’t seen over the last month? We’ve been together often. It probably equals a year of courting for some.”

  She turned to face him. The tender look in his eyes said she drew him the way he did her.

  He swallowed, making the muscles in his throat constrict. “Clearly I should have kept things between us on a more professional level, like Samuel suggested.”

  “Maybe that’s best for a while, give us more time to be sure of each step. Our lives are so entangled, and we need to be certain.”

  “Rhodes, look at me, please.”

  She did as he asked.

  “What do you see?”

  She gazed into his eyes and allowed herself to sense what she could. “A good man who carries blame I don’t understand. But there is so much I can’t see.”

  “Is the not knowing what causes you to shrink away?”

  “I don’t think so. But you keep a tight lid on part of your life.”

  He nodded, looking ready to walk away rather than tell her what he kept hidden.

  She caressed his face, not as interested in his past as in his future. “Despite what I’m about to do, I believe it’s best to tuck these few minutes away as a memory and begin anew the next time we see each other.”

  Confusion flickered through his eyes.

  Trembling, she went up on her tiptoes and brought her lips to his.

  FORTY-ONE

  A kerosene lamp cast a dim, flickering glow across the old desk as Samuel jotted down figures in the appropriate columns. Thunderstorms rumbled in the distance, their dark clouds making the first rays of daylight slow in coming.

  Apple-picking season had begun a week ago, and all of the Kings’ property, even this rustic office inside the barn, carried the delicious scents of Rhoda’s canning products.

  Rhoda.

  Her entry into life here in Kings’ Orchard seemed destined. She made such a difference, and he didn’t blame Jacob for feeling about Rhoda as he did. If she became his sister-in-law one day, well, he’d look forward to that.

  His thoughts returned to Catherine. Her character weaknesses that caused her to rely too much on him to fix issues, to lie about Leah, and to resent Rhoda weren’t what kept him from her. In his estimation she could overcome those faults easier than he could overcome his own. His lack of patience and hard-to-please ways seemed to be a part of his nature—issues she accepted. All in all, she had fewer faults than he did, so what separated them? It wasn’t as though he’d given up hope for a future with her. He just couldn’t make himself go to her, talk to her
.

  And he wasn’t sure why.

  Enough of that. He pushed aside thoughts of Catherine and filled in the last numbers from yesterday. The calculations for the orders coming in looked better than he would have dared to hope for after a month of harvesting and canning, and they’d only been at it a week.

  Samuel closed the ledger, tucked it under his arm, and stood. Maybe he’d see light coming from the summer kitchen. He went to the side door of the barn and peered through the darkness and the few trees between the barn and Rhoda’s kitchen. A tiny hint of light came through the windows, meaning she was up, but barely. She didn’t bound out of bed in the mornings. Maybe that was just her way, or maybe she was too exhausted from the start-up of the canning season.

  If the latter was the case, well, with figures like these, they could afford to hire more help for her.

  Despite her certain drowsiness, he strode toward the summer kitchen, needing to get the final numbers on the applesauce she’d canned yesterday. Just as he raised his fist to knock, she opened the front door and gasped.

  “Samuel King! Startle a body to death, why don’t ya?”

  “Rather not, at least until harvesting season is over.”

  “I appreciate that.” She stretched while stepping outside. “I smell rain.”

  “Ya, it’s been thundering for hours.”

  She faced him, frowning. “You’ve been up working all that time?”

  “Ya. All I need now is a final count on yesterday’s canning.” He went inside, and she followed him. “That’d be the ones you did after you’d agreed to call it quits for the night.”

  She stifled a yawn. “The ones I didn’t do are sitting right there.” She pointed at a shelf that had been empty when he left last night and was now lined with jars of applesauce.

  While he went to the shelf, she put on a pot of coffee to percolate. Before he finished counting, rain began to patter on the roof. She unloaded the dishwasher and set up the table for another day of assembly-line canning.

  He closed the ledger. “Leah will probably open her eyes, realize it’s storming, and go back to sleep.”

  Rhoda pulled two mugs from the cabinet. “There may not be any apple picking today, but there’s no shortage of apples sitting in crates, waiting to be canned.”

  “I know. But I thought you might need a slower start to your day. I’ll wake her when you’re ready to begin.”

  She poured coffee into both cups and added the same amount of cream and sugar to each. A loud clap of thunder made her jump, and she spilled some of her coffee on her clean apron and dress.

  He laughed before accepting a mug and taking a sip. “Didn’t take you for one who’d be bothered by a little inclement weather.”

  “I never have been. Maybe I’m a bit jittery today.” She set her mug on the counter and used a clean dishtowel to wipe off the liquid.

  “Did you find the time to call your Daed last night?”

  “Has a cat got a tail?”

  He chuckled. “And nine lives, or so I’ve heard.”

  She went to the pantry and pulled out a loaf of his Mamm’s homemade bread. “A day is not complete until I’ve talked to my Daed.”

  “Did you mention my idea about hiring another helper?”

  “No.” She put a slice of bread on a plate and passed it to him. “He’d side with you, and I don’t. End of it, Samuel.”

  “Do you have to disagree with me on every topic before finally seeing that I’m right?”

  She sliced herself a piece of bread. “You’re annoying, Samuel King. Do you know that?”

  Samuel sipped his coffee. “How should we go about finding your new help?”

  “I said no.”

  He knew what needed to be done, as did Jacob. So Samuel chose to ignore her opposition. “I imagine you’ll want to find someone who is careful to follow directions, doesn’t dawdle, and can be a good fit with the three personalities already working here.”

  Her eyes met his, and he saw anger begin to mount. “I don’t want another helper. Not yet. I just need to hone my routine. That’s all.”

  “Trust me. You’re wrong about this. The Sunday-evening singing is at our house this week. We could invite everyone to the summer kitchen for the snacks and fellowshipping time. We’ll ask the girls to come early to help us get ready. Those who show themselves as interested, diligent workers and who take instruction well would make our best candidates.”

  As he explained his idea to Rhoda, he wondered if Catherine would come, perhaps out of curiosity. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He should be ready to see her by now and to talk, but he didn’t want to cross that bridge. Not yet.

  His girlfriend and their troubles aside, his spirits felt lighter of late.

  “No.” Rhoda grabbed a filled jar and set it in front of him. “Do you need me to spell it out in apple butter across your forehead?”

  Rain pounded on the roof. Thunder rumbled. The aroma of spices and coffee filled the air. This extension of Kings’ Orchard felt homey and right.

  “Just think about it today, okay?”

  She nudged the jar of apple butter closer to him. “Your answer to everything I don’t want to do is that I need to think about it.”

  “That’s because when you disagree with me, you’re always wrong.”

  She huffed. “We’re not doing it your way. Not until I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  Her opposing opinion irked him, but whether they agreed on this or not, they’d have a very profitable harvest. He knew that for sure now, and he wouldn’t need to sell any land.

  He set his mug in the sink and realized he hadn’t checked that Eli had overseen the pickers putting away all the ladders and buckets last night. “I need to see if all the equipment is properly stored.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Do you need an umbrella?”

  “Hallo.” Jacob swung open the screen door and stepped inside.

  “Guder Marye, Jacob.” Rhoda bowed her head, almost giving a curtsey, and Samuel saw her eyes welcome his brother.

  Guilt nibbled at him. The feelings between Jacob and Rhoda appeared to be strong and growing stronger. But their relationship was on hold because he had asked his brother to keep a professional distance.

  Were they doing that? If so, he needed to remove that barrier between them. Rhoda was not the type of woman who’d get out of sorts with Jacob and expect Samuel to fix things or she’d leave. That wasn’t her way. She might ban Jacob from coming to the summer kitchen more than absolutely necessary, but that would be it. He’d talk to Jacob about it as soon as they were alone.

  “I was just leaving to check the field.” He pulled his hat tighter onto his head. “We don’t want anything to get ruined by the rain.”

  He stepped onto the porch. After years of feeling pressure concerning the orchard and not knowing how to make the business more solvent, he now felt confident and hopeful. He’d finally found a solution for Kings’ Orchard, but he wouldn’t have if Leah hadn’t gone to an Englisch party. He drew a deep breath.

  God used the oddest situations to line people up and get them involved in each other’s lives. He’d even used Leah’s sinful ways to find an answer Samuel had been looking for. And from now on, he would be patient with the frustrating events, believing that God would use them to get His children to walk a new path.

  FORTY-TWO

  Rhoda opened the ledger Samuel had been writing in moments earlier and read the figures. “I’m trying not to argue with Samuel since he and Catherine aren’t seeing each other, but he doesn’t make it easy.”

  “About hiring another worker?” Jacob poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Ya.”

  “My vote is with Samuel on this one. Maybe then you’ll have time for something besides work.”

  “You’re both good men, but I’ll be the one to make that decision.”

  Jacob studied her with his deep green eyes. But whatever came out of his mouth wouldn’t necessarily
be related to what he was thinking. “I know we’re not supposed to be dating, but I’d really like to see you this weekend, even if it’s at a group gathering.”

  She closed the ledger. “I’d think you would be tired of seeing me. I’m here from sunup Monday mornings to almost dinnertime on Saturday nights.”

  He rested his chin in the palm of his hand, his elbow on the table, and gazed up at her. “Nope. Not tired of seeing you yet.”

  “Gut.” She playfully pinched his chin between her thumb and forefinger. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Truth was, she wanted time with him too. No matter how much they were together, she always wanted more. She got out the largest boiler and began filling it with water. “Actually, Samuel wants to have a gathering here Sunday evening.” She explained the plan, aware of anxiety building in her stomach.

  Jacob hauled in several crates of apples from the front porch. Wind whipped through the stone house, rattling the shutters. As she began setting empty jars on the table, goose bumps ran the length of her body, making all the tiny hairs on her arms, face, and neck stand on end. She swallowed hard, determined to settle down whatever was niggling at her.

  Emma’s innocent face flashed before her. Save them.

  “Don’t start this.” Rhoda squeezed her eyes tight and braced herself against the counter.

  “Start what?” Jacob’s voice sounded distant.

  She turned to face him, hoping to be drawn back to the workday in front of her.

  He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You okay?”

  “Ya. Of course. Probably too much coffee and too little sleep.” She walked back to the sink and turned off the water before moving clean jars to the work station.

  A gunshot echoed inside her head, and she dropped a jar.

  “I’ll get that.” Jacob grabbed a broom and dustpan.

  What was happening? This was how she felt right before Emma was killed, but her intuition told her that more than one loved one hung in the balance this time.