Seeds of Hope

by Barbara Cameron

  “Everything allrecht?” she asked Mark as they rode along. “You’ve been quiet since you got that phone call.”

  He shrugged. “I was hoping I’d hear some good news by now.”

  “About your job?”

  “Yeah. My paralegal stays in touch.” He pulled closer to the shoulder of the road so a car could pass. “I haven’t heard anything from the private investigator I hired. Something just doesn’t feel right about my former client getting arrested a second time.”

  He stopped, glanced over his shoulder at his back-seat passengers. “Anyway, we’ll talk later.”

  She nodded. “Little pitchers have big ears.”

  “Pitchers?” Sadie spoke up. Where’s a little pitcher?”

  “She means you, big ears,” David said with derision dripping from his voice.

  “I do not!” she cried. “Miriam, tell him I don’t have big ears.”

  Miriam turned in her seat. “David, say you’re sorry.”

  “Sorry.”

  She looked over at Mark and mouthed “Sorry.”

  “It’s no problem.” He pulled into the driveway.

  “Danki, Mark!” the children chimed as they climbed out and ran to the house.

  Mark laughed and she turned. “Your chin is on the ground. Why are you so shocked? You taught them well.”

  “I—” she fumbled. “They’ve never been that polite without prompting.”

  “Then they deserve ice cream again sometime. With sprinkles.”

  She laughed. “Ya. With sprinkles. Danki, Mark.”

  Mark listened to the clip-clop of Whitey’s hooves on the road as the horse slowly took him home.

  No, not home. To the farm. Home was back in Philadelphia. The farm was great, and he was enjoying helping his grandfather and connecting with old friends like Miriam and Samuel, and it had been a welcome respite from job problems. He was glad he’d come here instead of sitting back in his condo.

  Summers helping on the farm, spending time with Miriam and the men, had been fun. Sure, there were a lot of differences between them—clothing and language and religion and rules. Oh my, all the rules.

  But during those summers, he’d learned how much alike they were under all those differences. Turned out Mark wasn’t the only guy who felt shy around girls. Turned out he wasn’t the only guy who wondered if he’d ever get good enough at something to make a living. Turned out he wasn’t the only one who wondered if he was in the right place in the world.

  Some of those summer friends had been gone a few summers when he came—off finding out if they wanted to try the Englisch life they asked him about. Most of them found it lacking and returned to their community.

  As much as Mark liked it here and was curious about the life, he hadn’t ever considered becoming part of it. His father had spoken negatively often enough about why he’d left and besides, Mark liked his life and had a passion for law.

  But at times like this—late summer, when the long day had challenged him with hard physical work, when he’d shared supper with his grandfather and enjoyed a peaceful evening like this—he felt the tug of the half of him that was Amish.

  His family had farmed this land for generations. Had he learned to love working in the fields because of his grandfather’s influence, or had he inherited the memory of it in his very cells? He remembered studying cellular memory in a science class in college. The science textbook had made a case for it, but Mark, always pragmatic, would have liked to see hard evidence for himself.

  He glanced down at his hands. They weren’t city boy hands now, but were tanned and bore a few calluses.

  If his friends could see him now.

  Was his Amish heritage one of the reasons he sometimes felt a little distanced from his friends back home? He straddled two worlds in some way, Englisch attorney most of the year, Amish grosssohn and farmer for a time during harvest.

  He passed Samuel’s farm and saw his friend sitting on the front porch with his son. They waved to each other as he passed. He thought briefly about stopping for a visit. There was nothing the Amish liked better than visiting or being visited. They weren’t stand-offish as some Englisch thought, just reserved and more comfortable with their own kind.

  And while the Lancaster County Amish mixed with their Englisch neighbors more than some of their counterparts in other areas of the country because of business—particularly tourism—there was still a desire to remain separate from the non-Amish. His grandfather had explained why that first summer, quoting the Bible: Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness.

  Funny how that memory came back to him now. Mark pulled into the drive and waved to his grandfather sitting on the porch. After he unharnessed Whitey, led him to his stall, and watered him, he joined his grandfather, settling into a rocking chair with a sigh.

  “Found your way home, eh?”

  Mark laughed. “Like you said, Whitey knows his way.”

  John patted his knee. “You, too. Did you have a gut drive?”

  He nodded. “Took Miriam and her brothers and sisters for ice cream.”

  “All of them?”

  Mark chuckled. “Yes, all of them.”

  “Something came for you in the mail.”

  “Really?”

  “A package. I had to sign for it. I put it on the kitchen table.”

  “Maybe it’s paperwork from the office.” He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad. A lassitude swept over him, making him reluctant to see what the package contained.

  “Too small for that.”

  Now his curiosity was aroused. He got up, went inside, and found a padded envelope that had come registered mail. When he opened it, he found a small velvet box and a folded note.

  He sank into a chair at the table. No need to open the box. He knew what it contained.

  His grandfather walked into the kitchen, saw the box, and laid his hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  Mark lifted his gaze and stared into his grandfather’s faded blue eyes. “I’m not surprised. She wouldn’t return my calls or see me before I came here.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Mark finally picked up the box and opened it. The diamond—quite a sizeable one—sparkled up at him. He’d spent a lot of time choosing it based on many, many hints from Tiffany about what she wanted. Two carats, Asscher cut, platinum band. He’d spent the recommended portion of his yearly salary on it. She’d acted delighted with it and showed it off at every opportunity when they were out at social events.

  He set the box down and picked up the note. Vaguely he registered the sound of his grandfather rummaging in the refrigerator while he scanned Tiffany’s neat, precise handwriting.

  “Sorry things didn’t work out with us,” she wrote. “I’m returning the ring. Don’t know if you can return it or if you’ll want to give it to someone else in the future. Best of luck. Tiffany.”

  John cleared his throat. “Let’s go back out on the porch. Cooler out there.”

  Mark nodded. “In a minute.” Well, it might be lousy to get the news this way, but he had a friend whose girlfriend had texted him that she didn’t want to see him anymore. Mark pulled out his cell phone, went into contacts, and deleted Tiffany’s name.

  Then he followed his grandfather outside.

  They sat, rocking, the only sound the creaking of the chairs on the wooden floorboards of the porch. A bird called out from a nearby tree and another answered it. Dusk began falling and stars winked to life.

  “My life’s a mess,” Mark said. “Lost my job. Lost my girl. Geez, it’s a country-western song in the making.” He blinked, startled when he realized he’d spoken aloud.

  John continued to rock in his chair. Mark knew he’d heard him, but when serious matters were involved, his grandfather always gave his words a lot of thought.

  “You haven’t lost your job, if I understand the word sa
bbatical correctly,” he said at last. “You said that’s what your boss told you that you were taking. I know you didn’t want to, but you weren’t fired.”

  “Feels like it,” Mark grumbled. “Then to get dumped.”

  “Another choice you didn’t get to make for schur,” John agreed slowly. “Do you feel bad because you love her and don’t want to lose her? Or because of the way she did it?”

  Mark stopped rocking. “You have a way of getting to the heart of it, don’t you?”

  “It’s easy to say God has a plan for you and always has. Maybe you’ve always thought what was happening in your life was your plan. But it wasn’t. Can you trust that He’s working on a plan for you now?”

  “I don’t know,” Mark said honestly. “It’s not that I don’t believe in God.”

  “Nee, just that you don’t trust Him?” With that his grandfather got awkwardly to his feet. “Been a long day. I’m turning in.” He touched Mark’s shoulder. “Get some rest.”

  With a sigh, Mark followed him inside. He locked the front door—city habits died hard—and made his way to the back of the house to climb the stairs to his bedroom. The day had been long and the work hard, but he was still used to staying up later. He felt restless, his thoughts swirling. He bypassed the stairs, went out the back door, and sat on the steps.

  Could he trust that God was working on a plan for him? He stared up at the stars. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you,” he said. The times he’d talked to God, he’d always instinctively looked up to the heavens. “It isn’t. Really.”

  The only sound he heard was the relentless chirp of crickets in the distance.

  Time really slowed down here. Buggy rides instead of car rides. Long seasons of planting and nurturing followed by a long, hot season of harvesting. It wouldn’t be long before the fields would lie fallow and then be covered with snow.

  Would he still be here then?

  He sat for a long time, listening to the silence.

  Thirteen

  Miriam was the first of the women to arrive at John’s to help with the harvesting. She set the insulated carrier and two tote bags on the kitchen table.

  That was when she saw the small velvet ring box. She’d never seen one in person before, but she knew what it was. Amish couples didn’t seal an engagement with a ring or wear wedding bands. An Amish man grew a beard after his marriage. That was the enduring sign to all that he was married.

  What a strange thing to find on the table. It had to belong to Mark. But why would he leave it on the table?

  She unpacked the food she’d brought and busied herself. But she couldn’t help looking at the box. It drew her attention like some forbidden thing. She looked around and then, even though she felt guilty, she reached for it and opened it. Light sparkled off the diamond inside, exploding in a rainbow of color. She’d seen engagement rings on Englisch women, but never anything this big, this beautiful.

  There was a commotion at the front door. “Miriam?”

  She nearly dropped the box. “In the kitchen!”

  She shoved the box into her apron pocket and tried to look normal as Naomi walked into the room.

  Naomi frowned. “Are you allrecht? You look flushed.”

  “Just a little warm. Let me help you with that,” she said, rushing to take a big plastic container from her.

  “I’m getting tired of summer for schur,” Naomi agreed mournfully.

  They were busy getting lunch together for the men working in the fields when Mark came in the back door. He greeted them before walking to the sink to fill a glass with water. He turned and leaned against the counter as he drank, and his gaze drifted to the kitchen table.

  “We’ll be bringing lunch out soon” Miriam said quickly. “Tell the men fifteen minutes.”

  He nodded. “Okay.” He set the glass in the sink and left.

  Had he noticed the box wasn’t on the table? If he had, wouldn’t he have asked where it was? But she couldn’t pull it out of her pocket and put it back there without Naomi asking questions.

  “I’ll be right back. Have to use the bathroom.”

  Naomi just nodded as she finished placing sandwiches on a platter.

  Miriam escaped to the bathroom and splashed some cool water on her burning face. She patted it dry with a hand towel and stared at herself in the mirror. Naomi was right. She did look flushed.

  And guilty. The box was burning a hole in her pocket. She pulled it out, opened it, and stared at the ring. Why did Mark have it here if he was still engaged to his fiancée? Why wasn’t it on her finger?

  She lifted it from its velvet bed and slipped it on her finger. It was snug but oh, so pretty on her hand. She told herself she should feel guilty for putting something that didn’t belong to her on her finger.

  But just once, she could dream that it was hers . . . that Mark was hers. Couldn’t she?

  Nee! She had to get it off and get back into the kitchen before Naomi wondered why she was taking so long.

  She tugged at the ring but it wouldn’t come off. Panicked, she reached for the soap and worked at the ring, but her finger must have swollen or something. She worked at it and worked at it until finally, after several minutes, it slid off.

  And fell with a clink into the sink. Her heart pounded as she picked it up, dropped it, and watched it roll toward the drain. She bit back a scream and quickly slapped her hand on it before it could slide down. Then she scooped it up, dried it with the hand towel and pushed it into the box.

  With the box safely tucked into her pocket, she unlocked the door and returned to the kitchen.

  “Everything’s ready,” Naomi said. “I’ve already taken the drinks out. Give me a hand with the sandwiches?”

  “Schur.”

  The men began walking over as soon as they saw the women bringing out the cold drinks and food. Today it was so hot, each of the men drank two glasses of cold water before they began helping themselves to sandwiches and cold salads.

  There weren’t many of these harvest days left. Miriam would miss them even if she wouldn’t miss the heat and the hard work. She glanced over at the table where the men sat and talked about whether it would rain before they finished that afternoon. She watched Mark and thought how much more relaxed he looked than when he’d first come here weeks ago.

  Her attention was caught by Amos, who sat by Mark. She and Amos had attended schul together. He grinned at her and she realized he’d thought she was staring at him, not Mark.

  Why shouldn’t he, when no one knew about her secret crush on Mark?

  She smiled at him, then quickly looked away. It wouldn’t do to give him any ideas. Just last month he’d asked if he could give her a ride home after a singing. She wished she felt something for him. He was a nice man, hardworking and considerate. But now she realized her heart belonged to Mark even if he’d never want it.

  Evidently Tiffany didn’t want Mark. She could think of no other reason why he’d have her engagement ring.

  “Pass this to Lovina, would you, Miriam?”

  She shifted to hand the platter of sandwiches to her friend sitting on her left and then rested her hand in her lap. She could feel the ring box tucked in her apron pocket, and a flush crept into her cheeks.

  Against her will, she found herself glancing again at Mark. What would he think if he found out she was carrying the ring box in her pocket? Maybe she could slip inside and put the box on the kitchen table without anyone seeing her.

  “Miriam, you’re not eating. Are you schur you’re allrecht? You look flushed again.”

  Naomi was just too observant. Miriam felt the flush deepen. “I’m not very hungry. I had a big breakfast. Listen, I think I’ll go get some more cold water and iced tea for the men.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “Nee, I can manage. You finish your lunch. I’ll be right back.” She rose, picked up two empty plastic pitchers, and started for the house. As she passed the men’s table, she caught Amos watching her again. S
he gave him a brief smile and nodded, but quickly broke eye contact. Her glance fell on Mark, but he was busy scooping up a bite of potato salad and didn’t see her looking at him.

  She set the pitchers on the counter, pulled the ring box from her pocket, and set it on the kitchen table. The door squeaked. She spun and found herself staring up into Mark’s face.

  “I wondered where that went to,” he said, his blue eyes studying her. “Trying it on for size?”

  Mark watched Miriam drop the ring box as if it were a hot potato.

  “That’s not nice sneaking up on me!” she cried, her hand flying to her throat.

  He chuckled. “You’re just annoyed because I caught you.”

  “You didn’t catch me doing anything wrong,” she told him primly.

  “It wasn’t on the table earlier. I looked. You have something to do with its disappearance?”

  “I saw it and put it someplace safe.”

  “Yeah?” He studied the twin bright flags of color on her cheeks. She was genuinely embarrassed. He shouldn’t tease her.

  Aw, why not? If you couldn’t tease a friend, who could you tease? And they were friends. Good friends. Family. Practically brother and sister. And what brother didn’t tease his sister?

  “Guess you can see I’m in the market for a new fiancée,” he said as he sauntered into the room. “You interested?” He plucked up the box, snapped it open, and showed her the ring. “Two carats, Asscher cut, platinum band. Want to try it on, see how it looks?”

  She put her hands behind her back. “Nee!” she cried. “How can you joke about such a thing?”

  Mark snapped the lid shut and stuffed the box in his pocket. “You’re right. It’s not funny. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. “Does this mean that Tiffany returned it to you?”

  “That’s what it means.”

  “I’m sorry. Really.”

  Mark pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “Thanks. I was sort of expecting it when she wasn’t returning my phone calls, but it was a surprise that she sent it in the mail.”