She threw both hands upward as if under arrest, her eyes wide. “I can’t allow you to pay for my Web page.”
Tim frowned. “Not indefinitely—just to get it started. You can go to the bank tomorrow and request a debit card. When you have it in hand, come over and we’ll switch the payments to your account instead.”
She shook her head. “I just can’t.”
Bekah leaned close to her mother and whispered, “Mom . . .”
“Not now, Bekah,” Mrs. Knackstedt said. She looked at Tim. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but using your credit card . . .” She pursed her lips for a moment. “ ‘The borrower is servant to the lender.’ ”
It took Tim a moment to realize she’d quoted from Proverbs. He couldn’t recall the chapter and verse, but he’d heard the warning many times in his childhood. Did she see him as some kind of Old World feudal lord, trying to gain control of her? Resting his weight on one hip, he continued to hold the Visa out between two fingers. “I think you misinterpret my intentions.” With effort, he maintained an even tone. “Around here, neighbors look out for each other. All I’m trying to do is help you get that Web page running so people looking for your kind of service can find you. I thought that’s what you wanted.”
She stared at the silver card caught in his fingers. “It is. But I can’t be a party to creating indebtedness for you.”
Suddenly he understood her hesitation. She was opposed to having him incur a debt. A voice—deep, harsh, critical—from his past slammed through his brain: “Only a fool relies on credit. You might as well sell your soul.” Heat filled his face. He jammed the card back into its slot in his billfold.
“Please, it isn’t that I don’t appreciate—”
“I understand.” He tried not to be curt, but he heard his own voice and realized he’d failed. Drawing in a deep breath, he counted to ten and brought his irritation under control. It wasn’t her fault. She’d probably been given the same reprimands from her father at some point in time. He withdrew a different card. His debit card. “Would you like to use this one instead? It will come directly from my checking account, and you can give me cash to pay me back.”
Bekah poked her mother’s shoulder. “Mom?”
Mrs. Knackstedt turned to her daughter. “Bekah, Mr. Roper and I are talking.”
“I know, but I have an idea.”
The woman sighed. “What is it?”
Bekah’s brown-eyed gaze flicked to Tim and then back to her mother. She clasped her hands in a prayerful position. “What if you let Mr. Roper pay to get your Web site started, and I’ll pay him back?”
“Pay him back . . . how?”
The girl lifted a hopeful face in Tim’s direction. “By doing housekeeping for him.”
Mrs. Knackstedt’s face flooded with color. She turned a flustered look on Tim. “I am so sorry. I’m sure Bekah didn’t intend to infer that—”
An amused snort escaped his nose before Tim could control it. Then he doubled over, laughing harder than he could remember laughing in years. Here he’d washed up some dishes, hidden more of them away, and even tried to turn his carpet inside out with the zealous use of a vacuum, and the girl saw through it all. Yes, as he’d suspected, she didn’t miss a thing. He waved one hand at the mortified mother, struggling to end his noisy bout of amusement.
“Don’t apologize.” His voice trembled with suppressed laughter. He gave a tug on one of Bekah’s trailing ribbons, the way he used to do to tease his sisters. “Bekah knows need when she sees it. But it only costs twelve dollars to get that Web page going.” He grinned at the girl. “Just how much cleaning could I get for twelve dollars?”
Bekah’s face lit. “I would dust, and vacuum, and mop floors, and clean your kitchen and bathroom, and wash your sheets and towels, and—”
“And that would be way too much for one little girl.” Tim softened his protest with another smile. Even though she tended to push her way in, he admired her desire to help her mom. She wasn’t a bad kid at all. “Worth lots more than twelve dollars.”
Bekah hung her head for a moment, then jerked her gaze to his again. “Would it be worth, maybe, a bushel of apples in the fall? We could barter—housecleaning for fruit!”
Mrs. Knackstedt shook her head, her expression flabbergasted. “Honestly, Bekah, I do not know what has gotten into you.” She gave Tim another apologetic look. Rising, she took hold of Bekah’s elbow. “Go help your brother and sister put their game back in the box. Then we’re going to get out of Mr. Roper’s way.” She waited until Bekah scuffed off and then turned to Tim again. “I sincerely appreciate all you’ve done. But now that I know what to do to make the Web site go . . . go live, I’ll wait until I have my own debit card to share with the Web site company. It won’t mean much more of a delay. I can wait long enough to take care of the financial side of things myself. I’m very sorry I placed you in such an awkward position. I should have realized I’d need some way to pay for this page.”
Tim chuckled again, still amused by Bekah’s scheming. “This is all new. It takes time to get familiar with everything that’s required.”
An appreciative smile graced her face. “Thank you for understanding. And thank you for being so kind to Bekah.” She frowned slightly, her gaze shifting to the children. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately. She’s never been so blatantly forceful. I fear she’s—” She stopped midsentence. Tim waited for her to continue, but she remained silent.
He cleared his throat. “You know, Bekah’s suggestion wasn’t all bad.”
The woman zinged her attention back to Tim.
“About bartering, I mean.” He held out his hands to indicate his surroundings. “I don’t have time to keep up with cleaning like I should—especially not in the summer and fall. But I don’t really have money to pay for a steady housekeeper. If Bekah’s willing to come over here, say, once or twice a week during the summer and then once, maybe, on Saturdays after school starts, and give the place a going-over, we could work out a trade for apples in the fall.”
“Really?” came a voice from behind him. Bekah dashed across the floor and stopped beside her mother, her hands clasped beneath her chin. “Can I do it, Mom? Huh? Please?”
Tim watched indecision play across Mrs. Knackstedt’s face. He supposed having a young girl in his house—he being a single man and all—might give cause for concern. He should’ve thought of that before making the suggestion. He amended his request, his heart thudding as he considered what changes might come into his life if she agreed. “Parker could work, too. I bet he could cart off broken limbs or do some grass cutting.”
He angled his head and cocked one hip, assuming a nonchalance he really didn’t feel. “You’ve got a long summer ahead with three kids underfoot and a business to get off the ground. Who knows—you might get more done with them away from the house now and then. So whaddaya say, Mrs. Knackstedt? Can we barter?”
15
Early Friday morning, just as the sun peeked over the horizon and chased the pink from the sky, Tim poured a bowl of cereal, sat at the kitchen bar, and ate. In silence. His gaze roved to the living room and the smashed spot on the carpet where Adrianna, Parker, and Bekah had sat to play their game. Their voices, their laughter had brought life into the house again. No doubt that was what had compelled him to make his ridiculous agreement with Mrs. Knackstedt. He chomped down on a spoonful of Shredded Wheat, the crunch loud in his ears. Just how much help would two children be? He’d probably end up babysitting them and paying them for the privilege.
He tried to summon up indignation, but none rose. Using his spoon, he submerged a ragged square of cereal and watched it bob back to the surface of the milk. Truth was, deep down, he looked forward to the company. He just hoped the kids’ presence wouldn’t prove to be more hindrance than help. He had more than enough work without going behind and cleaning up mistakes. Even so, having company, somebody to talk to while he worked—that’d be nice.
And that
Parker . . . A grin tugged at Tim’s cheek. No doubt about it, Tim liked Parker. The boy’s open heart and ever-seeking expression reminded Tim of Charlie. Not the bad memories—the painful loss—but the good ones: the hugs, the smiles, the innocence. Tim scooped the last two bites of cereal, then lifted the bowl two-handed and drank the milk. Lowering the empty bowl, he gave himself a stern warning about not transferring his feelings for his dead son to this Mennonite boy. It wouldn’t be healthy for him or for Parker. But time with Parker, teaching him, watching him view the world through ingenuous eyes might ease some of the sting of missing Charlie.
A person could hope, anyway.
Tim dropped the cereal bowl and spoon in the sink with his coffee cup, then snatched his billed cap from the peg by the front door. The beehives were due to arrive midmorning—he needed to stay within shouting distance of the house until the county extension officer showed up with the colorful boxes of buzzing insects. But he had plenty of work in the barn to keep him busy until then. He strode out into the sunbathed morning.
“But I wanna go to Mr. Roper’s house, too!”
Bekah resisted pushing her fingers into her ears to block her little sister’s whiny voice, which rose higher with every word. But then Adri would just holler louder. So she shrugged and assumed a reasonable tone. “I’m going to be working, not playing over there. It won’t be any fun for you at all.”
Adri’s lower lip poked out. “I can work, too.”
Bekah snorted. Adri might think she worked when it came time for household chores, but Bekah knew better. Somebody usually had to redo whatever she did. Five-year-olds could be such an annoyance. Bekah lifted her mesh cap and slipped it over her heavy bun, tucking stray wisps of hair beneath the cap’s brim. Adri stood beside the dresser, watching, her face set in a fierce scowl. The little girl would beg until she got her way if Bekah didn’t come up with a good argument.
Propping her hands on her knees, she looked directly into Adri’s snapping eyes. “With Parker and me away, Mom’ll be here all alone. What if she needs a cup of water or wants somebody to run out to the mailbox and get the letters? Who’ll do that if all three of us are gone?”
Adri nibbled her lower lip, her brow puckered with indecision. Bekah held her breath. Would her ploy work? Suddenly Adri stomped her foot and pointed at Bekah. “You’re tricking me! Momma won’t let me walk to the mailbox all by myself. You’re mean, Bekah!” She raced out of the room. Her bare feet pounded on the stairs, and her voice drifted back to Bekah’s ears. “Momma! Bekah’s being mean!”
Bekah sighed and finished securing her cap. She’d learned long ago she needed at least four pins if she was going to be out in the wind. She gave the cap a tug, then, satisfied it would hold, sank down onto the edge of the bed and wriggled her tennis shoes over her bare feet. Mom didn’t like her going sockless, but as soon as she and Parker got over to Mr. Roper’s she intended to take her shoes off and go barefooted. It was too hot to keep her feet locked up in the sneakers. She whisked a quick look out the window. Maybe if the sky would rain, things would cool down a bit. But all through May and the start of June, the sky had remained the same—cloudless. Just like today. As Daddy used to say, it’d be another scorcher.
With her shoes in place, she bounced up and headed for the door. Before she could leave the room, though, Mom stepped into the doorway. Bekah could tell from the look on Mom’s face she was going to get a lecture. She braced herself, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Honey, would you mind letting Adrianna go with you this one time?” Mom held up her hand, staving off Bekah’s argument. She lowered her voice. “You and I both know she’ll quickly grow bored if all you’re doing is housecleaning. After today, she’ll probably never ask again. But if you leave her here, she’ll pester you each time you go to Mr. Roper’s.”
Bekah blew out a breath. As much as she hated to admit it, Mom was probably right. She hated caving in to Adri—it seemed like her little sister always got her way—but she could put up with her one time if it meant never having to argue with her about going to Mr. Roper’s again. “All right. I’ll take her.”
Mom smiled, her shoulders slumping in relief. “Thank you.” Her gaze roved over Bekah’s dress, and she nodded in approval. “Good. You chose a work dress rather than one of your nicer ones. Be sure to grab an apron or two from the clean ones in the pantry.”
Bekah had already planned to take aprons, cleaning rags, a bucket, and sponges just in case Mr. Roper didn’t have cleaning supplies available for her use, but she stayed silent and let Mom do her mom-thing and give directions.
“Remember, ‘And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus—’ ”
Bekah knew Colossians 3:17 by heart, so she finished reciting it with her mother. “—‘giving thanks to God and the Father by him.’” She nodded rapidly, her ribbons tickling her cheeks. “I know, Mom.”
Mom sighed, her expression turning tender. “It’s hard to imagine you being grown up enough to take on your first job. It seems like just yesterday you were Adrianna’s age. . . .”
Bekah swallowed. Sometimes she wished she could go backward in time—be little again and have a daddy who picked her up and bounced her in the air or held her on his lap when she was scared. But those days were so long ago, even the memories were fuzzy.
Mom went on. “But you’re a good worker, Bekah, and I know you’ll do your very best for Mr. Roper so God might be glorified through your efforts.”
Guilt stung the fringes of Bekah’s heart. If Mom knew why Bekah wanted to hang around Mr. Roper’s house, she’d be so disappointed. Before Mom could read the guilt in Bekah’s eyes, she lurched forward and captured her mother in a hug. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”
Mom squeezed her tight and then set her aside. “I trust you. Now hurry down and eat your breakfast. Parker has already finished his toast and is raring to go.”
Bekah rushed through her breakfast, then led her brother and sister to the garage to retrieve their bicycles. She considered taking Mom’s so she could put Adri in the child seat, but given the short distance to Mr. Roper’s, she decided to let Adri ride her own little bike. The ride might tire her enough that she’d sit quietly and not be a pest while Bekah cleaned.
Wedging the bucket full of supplies into the basket attached to her handlebars, she gave Parker and Adri a stern look. “All right, now. Stay behind me.” She hopped on the bike and took off, trusting them to do as she said. Ten minutes after climbing onto their bikes—they had to go slow for Adri’s sake—they pulled into Mr. Roper’s long lane. “Park by the barn,” Bekah called over her shoulder, and both Parker and Adri followed her directions.
Adri let her bike drop onto its side in the dirt, but Parker painstakingly pushed down the kickstand with his hand, balanced his bicycle, then brushed his palms together. He smiled so big his whole face lit up. “Let’s go knock on the door and tell Mr. Roper we’re here.” He and Adri started for the house at a gallop, but a voice carried from the barn—“Hey! Kids! In here!” Adri spun with hardly a pause, but Parker had to stop himself, turn, and then break into his clumsy run again.
Adri raced past Bekah, but Bekah waited for Parker, and they entered the barn together. It was a lot darker inside the barn than out in the sunshine, and it took a minute or two before she spotted Mr. Roper. Then she waved, swinging her bucket. “Hi. We’re here to work.”
He wiped his hands on a grimy rag and tossed it aside. His gaze dropped to Adri, who stood grinning up at him with her hands locked behind her back and her round tummy poking out. “Just what kind of work do you do, madam?”
Adri giggled. “I’m not madam. I’m Adri.”
Mr. Roper snickered, then turned to Bekah. He pointed to her bucket. “I see you brought some supplies. That’s good. You’ll find all kinds of cleaning solutions under the sink in the kitchen. Help yourself. See how much you can get done, starting in the kitchen, then the bathroom, and then whatever you think nee
ds doing—dusting and so forth—in the living room.” His brows pinched, and his tone changed slightly, losing its lightheartedness as he finished. “But don’t worry about the bedrooms. I’ve got those doors closed so you know you don’t need to go in there.”
Bekah tipped her head. “You don’t want me washing bed sheets or anything?”
He chuckled, but Bekah thought it sounded forced. “I figure you’ll have plenty else to do in the rest of the house. So no, don’t worry about sheets. Just the main part of the house is fine.” He swung his smile on Parker. “And how about you? Ready to work?”
Parker bobbed his head. “Yes, sir!”
Mr. Roper laughed—a more genuine laugh. “All right, then. Get hold of that wheelbarrow over there and we’ll get busy.” He flapped his hands at Bekah and Adri. “Well, go on, now—we men don’t need supervision.”
With a giggle, Adri grabbed Bekah’s hand and dragged her toward the house. Bekah felt a little uncomfortable opening Mr. Roper’s door and going in without him, but once inside she turned her attention to working. She kicked off her tennis shoes and left them by the front door. “Sit on the couch and be good,” she told Adri, then she set to work in the kitchen first, as Mr. Roper had instructed. She started by washing the few dishes in the sink and putting them away. Then she scrubbed all the countertops, organizing the containers of food stores and small appliances scattered across the tan counter.
Satisfied the top half of the kitchen was clean, she turned her attention to the floor. “Blech! I wonder how long it’s been since someone scrubbed this linoleum?” She hadn’t intended to speak aloud, but Adri dashed into the kitchen at her sister’s voice. Bekah pointed to the tall stools on the other side of the counter. “Climb up there and stay out of my way. I gotta find a broom and sweep before I can start scrubbing.” She’d make good use of her bucket and sponge.
Bekah looked around for a pantry—Mom kept her broom and dustpan in the pantry at home. But the funny folding door beside the fridge hid a water heater and a box of trash bags, no broom. Bekah closed the door again and moved to the main room. A short hallway on the left of the living room invited her entrance. She stepped into the paneled hall and counted four doors—two on each side. The closest one to the living room, on the right-hand side of the hall, stood open, revealing the bathroom. But the other doors were all closed. Were they all bedrooms, or was one of them a closet?
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