by Marta Perry
“Ja, that’s right.” Elias, Leah’s father, caught young Jonah and put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “We will wait a moment.”
Elizabeth came to Rachel as soon as her grossmutter disappeared, seeming to need the security of another woman. “The boppli is all right? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Rachel hugged her. “A little sister for you.”
“A girl?” Elizabeth’s face lit, the anxiety vanishing from her eyes. “I’m glad. I mean, a boy would have been nice, too,” she added, always eager to do and say the right thing. “But I already have a little brother.”
“Becky is going to be jealous of you, I’m afraid. She would love to have another baby around to help with and to hold.”
Rachel’s heart seemed to wince as she said the words. She would love that, too, but it was unlikely ever to happen now.
The paramedics came out, ready to leave after failing to convince Leah to go to the hospital. She would stay at home, she insisted, just as they had planned.
People started arriving, worried and eager to help. Some were satisfied with a brief explanation and headed off home to prepare food to bring. Others started for the barn to take over Daniel’s chores, needing no explanation of what had to be done. One of Leah’s brothers went to contact the midwife. It was her community at its best, but Rachel could have done with a little more quiet.
Probably Leah, in the room adjoining the kitchen, felt the same. When she’d planned to stay downstairs for a few days with the new boppli, maybe she hadn’t anticipated the noise problem.
When the rush finally died down, Rachel tiptoed to the doorway to take a peek inside. Leah slept, the babe dozing in her arms. Daniel sat on the edge of the bed, one hand over hers, the other touching his new child.
Blinking back tears, Rachel beckoned to the children. They slipped out quietly. “We should let your mamm sleep now, ain’t so?”
They nodded, maybe a little reluctant. Then Matthew clapped Jonah on the shoulder. “We’ll go do our chores. No sense letting other folks do what we should do.”
The boys went out, and Elizabeth tugged at Rachel’s sleeve. “About what you said before—about Becky, I mean.” Her small face was very serious. “Tell her that she can love my new baby sister, too. All right?”
“Ja. Ser gut.” Rachel hugged the child, touched by her thoughtfulness. “I think your grossmutter went upstairs to get some blankets and diapers for the boppli. Maybe you can help her.”
Elizabeth nodded and scurried off toward the steps, skipping a little in her happiness.
Everyone was happy, it seemed. Everyone but Gideon.
Rachel’s heart ached so much that she put her hand on her chest. Gideon was a prisoner of his own guilt, and he wasn’t the only person who hurt as a result.
She loved him. The feeling had crept up so gradually that she hadn’t even noticed it until it was too late to stop it. Not like she’d loved Ezra—not more or less. Just different. This love wasn’t the same, but it still could be full and complete. They could have been happy together.
Gideon had helped her in so many ways, even with things they hadn’t spoken of. He’d helped her heal from her grief. He’d helped her gain the confidence that she could manage on her own. And now, with God’s help, she’d do exactly that.
But they could have been happy.
Daniel came into the kitchen, a contented smile still lurking in his eyes. “I know you must be getting back to your own family, but Leah is awake and wants to see you before you go.”
“Gut. Then I can see that sweet babe again.”
She started into the room, and as she passed him, he touched her arm lightly.
“Denke, Rachel,” he whispered. “Denke.”
She nodded, heart full, and went to Leah.
Leah leaned back on pillows propped against the headboard, still cradling her sleeping daughter in her arms. Rachel sat down gingerly on the bed, careful not to jostle them.
“You know, you really can put her down in her bassinet.”
Leah’s lips curved. “No, I can’t. Not yet.” She traced her finger along the baby’s soft cheek. “I’m too busy marveling at her.”
“I know.” Rachel said the words softly, content just to watch Leah with her babe.
Their friendship had lasted for her entire life, but it wasn’t the same as it had been. That was gut. With each new challenge met, with each grief they endured, they grew, and so did their bond.
She didn’t have to say that to Leah. Some things went too deep for words.
“Daniel and I have been talking for months about the name for the boppli. Funny, but we could never decide on a girl’s name.” Leah dropped a feather-light kiss on the baby’s head. “Now that we have seen her, we know exactly what it should be.”
“And what is it?” A family name, most likely.
Leah smiled, but it was tinged with just a little sorrow. “I want you to meet Rachel Anna Glick. Named for the sister I lost, and for the friend who is closer than a sister.”
Tears filled Rachel’s eyes again. For a moment she couldn’t speak. Then she managed a whisper.
“Denke, Leah.” She touched her friend’s hand. “Perhaps one day Anna will return.”
“I never stop praying for that. I never will.”
“I, too,” she whispered, her heart full.
• • •
Gideon tightened the screw and stood back to study his handiwork. It was odd. This idea had been in his mind for a long time. Today, he felt driven to turn it into reality.
The model windmill was an exact copy of the real thing, but it stood only five feet high. Just the right size, he’d think, to go into someone’s garden.
He picked up the next crosspiece. Maybe he’d been figuring that working on something new would keep his mind off Rachel. If so, he’d been wrong. She drifted through his thoughts, distracting him, making him feel things he’d put away long ago.
“What do you have there, Gideon? Something new to sell?”
The voice startled him. He turned to see Bishop Mose pausing in the doorway as if waiting for an invitation to enter.
“Komm in.” He put down his tools. “What brings you out our way today?”
“Ach, if I’d use my head, I wouldn’t have to put so many miles on my buggy.” The bishop rounded the worktable and stood surveying the miniature windmill. “I had to speak to Aaron about trading his date for the worship schedule. So I thought I’d step out here to see what you are working on.”
“Something new. You’re right about that.” An object that was just “for pretty” as the people said. Would the bishop question that? “As for selling—well, I haven’t got that far yet.”
Mose walked all around the windmill. “Just like a real one, ain’t so?”
Gideon nodded, waiting.
Mose stroked his beard, seeming to consider. “A gut idea, I’d say. Englischers will want one of those to put in their gardens. Some of our own people, too, I don’t doubt. You should put one on display.”
“Maybe.”
He’d said once, half-joking, that he’d make them for Rachel to sell alongside her plants. But going into partnership with Rachel suddenly seemed a dangerous business—dangerous to both his heart and his peace of mind.
Mose didn’t prompt him for more of an answer. That wasn’t his way. He just looked at him for a long moment, wise eyes seeming to see further into a person’s heart than was comfortable.
“I stopped by the Glick farm on my way here. Baby and Mammi are both doing fine. Thanks to you.”
Gideon picked up the crosspiece and began fitting it into place. “Not me. I did nothing but make a phone call. Rachel is the one who did the hard part.”
“Ja. Leah and Daniel are mighty thankful that she was there. But you arrived at just the right time, I hear. The gut
Lord’s doing, no doubt. Rachel and Leah both would have been frightened if they hadn’t known they could count on you to get help.”
“It was only what anyone would do.” He tapped the screw to start it and began to screw it in. “I’m thankful Leah and the boppli are both doing well.”
And he’d be even more thankful if he could stop talking about it. Thinking about it. Remembering Rachel’s courage and her confidence in him.
Bishop Mose showed no inclination to leave. He propped himself against the workbench as if he had all day to talk. “Did you hear what they named the boppli?”
“No.”
“Rachel Anna.”
Gideon had to swallow the lump in his throat. “That’s fitting, isn’t it? Since Rachel brought her into this world.”
“Ja. She’s a fine woman, Rachel is.”
“Nobody knows that better than I do.” Where was this going?
“I guess that’s true enough. You’ve spent plenty of time over at Rachel’s place this spring. I don’t know how she’d have gotten along without you.”
Bishop Mose was clearly hinting, and maybe he’d best deflect him from his matchmaking.
“Just doing the work I promised is all. Guess I won’t be seeing as much of her and the kinder now that it’s done. I’ll be starting on a new job next week.”
“I see.” Bishop Mose blew out a long breath. “So you made gut on your promise to Ezra and that’s an end of it, is it?”
Gideon focused on the work so he didn’t have to look at the bishop’s face. “I’ll still help as they need me. I’m not going to leave Ezra’s family on their own.”
Mose took a step forward, so that he stood next to Gideon. He touched the blade of the model. “I’ll be honest with you. I had hoped for more than friendship for you and Rachel.”
Gideon’s fingers tightened on the crosspiece. If he gripped it any harder, he’d probably break it right off.
“I know what you’re saying, but I’m not the man for her. She deserves more than I can give.”
“Ach, that’s nonsense, that is. You’d be a fine husband to her, and a fine father to those children. Why does everyone see it but you?”
He swung to face the bishop, feeling the dark emotions roil like thunderclouds. “You’re wrong. They’re wrong. I can’t.”
“Gideon, Gideon.” Mose’s voice was gently chiding. “What happened to Naomi and the babe was tragic, but it was a long time ago. You can’t mourn forever.”
“I can feel guilty forever.” His voice cracked. “I can’t forgive myself.”
“That is wrong, Gideon, and I speak as your bishop as well as your friend.” The old man’s eyes turned to steel, and the steel filled his voice, too. “Failing to forgive yourself is failing to accept God’s forgiveness. You’re saying you know more than your Creator. You’re wrong, and it’s time you faced the truth. You are turning away from God’s plan for your life, and that’s the most tragic thing anyone can do.”
He turned and walked out of the workshop, leaving Gideon stunned and speechless.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She was always up early, even on Saturday, but Rachel didn’t remember a time when she’d felt so nervous about what the day would bring. The eastern sky had begun to brighten when she heard the clop-clop of horse’s hooves in the lane. She peeked out the kitchen window to see Daad helping Mamm down from the buggy seat. Her mother started toward the house, while he drove the buggy on toward the barn.
She hurried to open the door. Her mother’s hug dispelled some of the jitters.
“I’m happy to see you. I didn’t expect you to be here this early.”
Mamm set a pan of still-warm sticky buns on the counter next to the coffeepot and hung up her bonnet. “Ach, you know how your daadi is. He’s not happy unless he gets places before everyone else.”
“That’s if anyone else comes.” Rachel poured a mug of coffee for her mother.
“Of course folks will come. Your ad looked real nice in the paper. Georgia Randall from down the road brought it to us. She’ll be coming by, I know. Said she wanted to get some snapdragons in. I told her you’d put some back for her.”
“I’ll be glad to.” Rachel didn’t expect that much of a rush on any of her flowers, but Mamm would worry she’d run out before her English neighbor arrived. “I’ll be glad to sell even a few things today. Hopefully then folks will tell others, and I’ll get some steady business from it.”
Her father appeared at the door just then, stomping his feet on the mat.
“Ready for some coffee, Daad?”
“Ready for you to tell me what needs doing,” he answered. “Got to be set for business when the customers get here.”
She couldn’t help it—her eyes filled with tears. “Denke. It means so much that you came.”
Her father brushed that away with a sweep of his hand. The thunder of children’s feet on the stairs said that the young ones had heard their grandparents’ voices, and Rachel banished the emotional response. This was her day to behave like a businesswoman, and that didn’t include any crying.
“I’ll see to the children’s breakfast,” Mamm said. “You go on out with your daad and get organized.”
“Ja, I will.” She gave the children a smile. “You be wonderful gut for your grossmutter, now. It will be a busy day.”
She hoped.
“What first?” Daad said the moment they were outside. “You’re wanting to put some tables up so you can have plants outside the greenhouse, aren’t you?”
“Ja.” But she didn’t want her father to be doing any heavy lifting. “Let’s check on the number of seedlings I have potted, first. See if you think it’s enough to start with.” She headed for the greenhouse. “Komm.”
If she waited until the children came out, she could enlist them to help carry the planks for the tables. Daad would insist he could do it, as he always did. He hated admitting that the doctor had cautioned him to slow down.
By the time they emerged from the greenhouse, the sun had struggled above the trees, and a wagon came lumbering down the lane. Rachel stared, holding her breath. It wasn’t—ja, it was. Isaac and William sat side by side on the wagon seat.
Isaac drew to a stop near her, inclining his head to her and to her father. Daad nodded in return, not speaking. Was he holding on to a grudge against Isaac? She prayed not. It would be far better to let go. Whether or not Isaac had done wrong in going to the elders about her was of less importance than restoring family relationships.
“We brought some sawhorses and planks to set up tables for your plants. Just tell us where you want them.”
“That’s wonderful gut of you both.” She smiled at William, but he was carefully avoiding her gaze. “Right here near the drive will be perfect. Denke.”
“About the farm—” Isaac looked as if he were shoving the words out. “We’ll keep going the way we have been. No need to make any changes that I can see, ain’t so?”
It was as close to an apology as Isaac was ever likely to come. She nodded, thankful. “Ser gut.”
Isaac slid down, and in a moment William followed suit. They began unloading the materials for tables. Daad watched, frowning a bit. Finally his face eased, and he caught the end of a plank as Isaac slid it off the wagon.
Now, if only she could get William to speak to her, perhaps one of the thorns would be removed from her heart.
The tables began to take shape. She carried a flat of snapdragons out, veering so that her path led her close to William.
“William, will you put these on the table for me?”
He started like a deer at the sound of her voice. Nodding, his eyes still not meeting hers, he reached for the flat.
She seized the moment to pat his hand. “Denke, William. It’s kind of you.”
Color flooded his face. “I—I’m sorry. I�
��m s-s-so ashamed.”
“It’s over,” she said quietly. “You’ll confess. God and the people will forgive.”
“But I—”
“No, William.” Her fingers tightened on his. “Forgiveness is a precious gift. Don’t push it away with your guilt.” Pain gripped her heart at the reminder of Gideon. “That hurts too many people. Promise me.”
His eyes were dark with questions, but he nodded. “I promise.”
“Gut.” She turned away, trying to quell the memories of Gideon that flooded her. For today, at least, she must keep reminders of him at bay so that she could do the work that was before her. She’d have plenty of time to think of him. To regret.
Another buggy appeared in the lane. She started toward it. Surely everyone she’d expect to help was here already.
The buggy pulled to a halt. She could not, after all, keep away from reminders of Gideon, since it was Lovina, his sister-in-law, who smiled at her a little uncertainly.
“Lovina, it’s so gut of you to come.” She would not let Lovina feel that anything that happened between her and Gideon affected their friendship.
“I wouldn’t miss your opening. I brought some things.” She gestured to the floor of the buggy, stacked with trays. Several gallon jugs of lemonade nestled against the seat.
“What is all this? You didn’t need to bring food.”
Lovina slid down from the seat and began pulling trays out, handing them to Rachel. They were filled with dozens of cookies. “I noticed that whenever stores have their grand openings, they always have refreshments for folks. So I thought you could, too.”
Rachel’s throat tightened. Lovina’s expression suggested that she was trying to make up for something. It could only be that she knew or guessed what had happened between Rachel and Gideon and was trying, in her own way, to express sympathy.
“You are so kind. If Gideon—” She stopped. That sentence couldn’t go anywhere happy. “Denke.”
“Gideon is an idiot, and I’d like to tell him so.” Lovina snorted, grabbing a jug of lemonade. “But Aaron says we must be patient. Patient! What do men know about it anyway?”