A Simple Hope

by Rosalind Lauer

  Gently he pressed the purple area. “And you’re painting with grape juice?”

  She laughed aloud. “That’s the James I fell for. Always a joke and a spark in your eyes.”

  “I’m glad you’re painting again. How long until you finish and sell it so that Shandell can go home?”

  “It’s already sold. But it will take me two weeks at least to finish. You can’t rush art.”

  “Most things that matter can’t be rushed.” He linked his fingers between hers and squeezed her hand. “I’m learning that’s true about healing, too.”

  Her heart sank. “Oh, James, is the treatment not working?”

  “Not as quickly as I want it to.” He kissed her hand again. “And I want it to work so that we can be together again. I do want to marry you, Rachel. But I stand by what I said before. You deserve a whole man. I won’t let you be saddled with anything less.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “So … so you do think we belong together? You didn’t mean it when you said those things?”

  “We belong together,” he said. “That’s why I pray to Gott that I can be healed so that you can have the husband you deserve.”

  Rachel swallowed over the knot in her throat. “You are so hard on yourself. And that makes things hard on me, too.”

  “I’m doing what’s best for you.”

  “Let me be the judge of that, James Lapp.”

  “Better if we let Gott be the judge of all of us. His will shall be done.”

  “Amen to that,” she said. This short conversation had lifted a cloak of worry from her shoulders. James still loved her. Oh, her heart was glad! As long as they loved each other, they could weather any storm.

  “Knock-knock,” he said.

  This was a game they used to play often before the accident. “Who’s there?”

  “You are.”

  “You are, who?” she asked.

  “You are the one for me,” he said, pulling her hand close to his lips and kissing her knuckles.

  Rachel melted against him as joy seeped through her, warm and sweet as drizzled honey. She would have liked to nestle in his arms and kiss him, but she needed to drive, and it wouldn’t do for any other travelers to see them kissing in broad daylight.

  “I am a lucky girl.”

  He squeezed her hand, then returned it to the reins. “Like the joke says, you are.”

  “What did the little tree say to the big tree?” James asked as Shandell dumped a shovelful of manure onto the soil at the base of a pear tree.

  “Um …” Shandell swallowed, nearly choking on a breath. “Maybe he said I’m about to wither from the smell of that poop they’re dumping over my feet.”

  Rachel and James laughed.

  “It’s a strong smell, but you get used to it,” Rachel said. She was raking manure, spreading it so that it covered the area under the tree. James had explained that the roots of a tree usually spread out as wide as the farthest branches, so that was a good guide for fertilization.

  “I could get used to the work,” Shandell said. “But the smell? Not so sure about that.”

  “Anyway,” James said, “the little tree told the big one, leaf me alone.”

  Shandell laughed out loud. Not that the joke was that funny, but she was giddy, having been up before dawn to shovel manure in the back rows of the orchard. James had worried that she might be seen out and about, but Shandell had been eager to get off her butt and help. Her time alone had been valuable for thought and introspection, but it was beginning to wear on her. She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d become until she had dinner with Rachel and James on Thursday, as if they were friends hanging out together. When the opportunity came to help in the orchard, she had jumped at the chance.

  Of course, that was before she knew about the smell, which seemed to ooze in through her nose, mouth, and pores. Totally intense. Still, she didn’t regret coming out to pitch in. She had been glad to hear Rachel’s knock on the door at five-thirty.

  Bleary-eyed, Shandell had been impressed to see Rachel standing before her, looking neat as a pin in her dress, apron, and sweater. “Good morning,” Shandell said cheerfully. “Do you want to come in?”

  “No. I’m going back behind the barn to load fertilizer into the cart.”

  Shandell raked her hair back out of her eyes. “All alone?”

  “James’s brothers will help me with it. Peter and Luke can be good workers when there’s someone watching. I’ll bring the cart over and meet you by the woods there, just at the edge of the orchard.”

  “Got it.”

  “And this is for you to use.” Rachel handed her an Amish dress in a pretty shade of dark green. “It’s mine, so it’ll be big on you. I just thought you might want to wear it in the orchard. It’s dirty work. Afterward, I can take it home and put it in with the washing.”

  “That’s so sweet. Thank you.” Shandell felt a rush of tenderness at the thoughtful gesture. Although Rachel came off as a little distant and methodical at times, inside she had a good heart. Shandell had seen proof of that in many ways. One of the sweetest was when Rachel had tried to warn her once she started to see what a bad dude Gary was.

  “This Gary, I think he’s hanging around Lancaster County,” Rachel had told her yesterday afternoon when she and James had dropped by with food and news. “Someone stole gas from the Shell station today—right in broad daylight. They say there are photos on the security cameras, and the witnesses recall a young man with Maryland license plates on his car.” Rachel described how the police car came rushing to the gas station with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Although the gas thief had already fled the scene, they caught the car make and model, and it matched Gary’s big boat of a car.

  “That has to be him. I have to see those photos from the security camera. I bet they’ll be in tomorrow’s newspaper.”

  “Not in The Budget,” said James. The Amish newspaper did not publish photographs. “But maybe in the Paradise Ledger.”

  “I can’t believe he came back here. I told Phil not to send him.”

  “There are other crimes, too.” James had heard about a string of petty burglaries in Halfway, Paradise, and Strasburg. Sheriff Hank was stepping up security in Halfway, adding more personnel on the night shift.

  As the details of the crimes became clear, Shandell saw Gary’s signature written all over them. She explained that when she’d been traveling with him he had made a game of destroying jars of jam, selling flowers to someone else down the road, and stealing one-of-a-kind items like a baby cradle and a Coke sign.

  “I have a very strong feeling that Gary is behind these thefts,” Shandell said.

  “I don’t think you can trust this man,” Rachel said. She seemed so motherly, with her head cocked to one side and her blue eyes concerned and penetrating. “Was this Gary your boyfriend?”

  “No! Never. He was just a friend. I think he wanted to be more, but after the road trip we took together, that’s not going to happen. I will never trust him again. Don’t you worry about that.”

  Rachel let out a breath. “Good.” With that, she rose and set out Shandell’s dinner—two pork chops, rice, peas, and pickled beets on a paper plate.

  “Wow … thank you,” Shandell said.

  “You’re welcome.” Rachel handed her a fork and knife. “I’ll need these utensils back when you’re done with them. Don’t forget to eat your vegetables.”

  “You know, sometimes you sound like a mother.” Shandell cut into a corner of one chop that had obviously been cooked in a thick gravy. “And you’re only a year older than I am.”

  “Older and wiser. Now eat.” Rachel sat with her while James went out to fetch some wood.

  Although the bad news about Gary made Shandell sick at heart, it didn’t diminish her appetite. As she ate, she was relieved that her Amish friends knew just how bad Gary could be. At least, now they truly understood why she could not accept another ride from him, even if he promised to take her home. But Gar
y’s new crime spree worried Shandell on a deeper level. What was wrong with him? Was he stalking her? Or had he come back here just to take advantage of some more Plain People? Any way you looked at it, the guy was sick.

  When James returned, Shandell thought about all the news these two had gathered. “How do you know all this about the thefts? I mean, without cell phones or Internet, how did you find out all this stuff?”

  “News travels through an Amish community like seeds in the wind,” Rachel said as she’d poured Shandell a cup of milk from a thermos. “James and I heard a lot in town, but my mamm got news from a friend who stopped by for a visit.”

  “And my father got an earful while he was at the feed store,” James added.

  “Now we have to go,” Rachel had said, “but drink that milk. I don’t think you’re getting enough to eat. Such a wisp of a thing.”

  Shandell smiled up at Rachel. “I know I’m petite, but I am eighteen.”

  “Ya, but you still need milk for strong bones and good teeth. And you’re going to need your strength for working in the orchard tomorrow,” Rachel had said definitively, pleased to have the last word.

  Although she teased her friend, Shandell didn’t really mind Rachel’s mothering. It was nice to know that someone cared about her safety and health. In some ways, a substitute mother was just what she needed.

  Now, as Shandell raked the chicken manure into a wide circle around a tree, she swallowed back the pungent smell. “Strength isn’t what you need out here,” she muttered to herself. “What you really need is a gas mask.”

  “Did you say something?” Rachel asked, peering around the horse’s head. She had led him up to move the cart forward.

  “Um … I’m just thinking that taking care of an orchard is no small task.” She traded her rake for a shovel and moved to the back of the cart. “I guess I thought you kept the trees trimmed and they just grew.”

  “Pruning is important. So are fertilizing and insect control.” James moved his chair back so that he could pull the rake farther. “But the best part of an orchard is watching the seasons take hold of the trees. In winter, when the world is asleep under a big snow, the dormant trees still reach their branches to the sky. The spring bloom—we’re coming up on that—it’s nature’s celebration. The fat green crowns of summer when trees are thick with fruit. And harvest time … that has to be my favorite. As kids, we would stuff our pockets with yellow apples on the way to school.”

  “You love this orchard,” Shandell said.

  James balanced the rake on his lap and moved to the next tree. “It’s where I belong.”

  “His grandfather—his doddy, we call it—used to tend the orchard, and he taught James everything he knew about gardening,” Rachel said. “James has four brothers, but he’s the only one who took to tending trees.”

  “So far,” James said. “We don’t know about Matt and Mark yet.” He spoke fondly about his grandfather and the importance of keeping the orchard in the family. “There’s been talk of hiring someone on to manage. My father thinks it’s too much for me, but I know I can do it.”

  “Well, it must be a huge responsibility.” Shandell’s shovel scraped the wood bed of the cart. Thank goodness, they had used up most of the chicken poop. James had explained that the animal manure had been composted so that it was no longer raw poop, but from the smell, she had her doubts.

  As they made their way down the second row, Shandell asked James questions about running an orchard, and he told her some of the tricks of the trade. She learned that the birdhouses on Amish farms served a dual purpose. The Amish liked to protect nature’s creatures, and here in the orchard, birds fed their babies on thousands of larvae that were eager to eat the trees’ leaves and fruit. James explained that the trees between the orchard and the sugar shack acted as a windbreak, and they provided more nesting places for the birds.

  “That’s pretty amazing. You’ve got the birds working for you, free of charge,” she teased.

  “Until harvest time, and then we have to wrap some of the trees in netting or hang up scare-eye balloons to ward them off. Especially in the cherry trees. Birds go for the cherries.”

  “Who doesn’t love ripe cherries?” Shandell stood at the back of the cart, shoveling out manure, when a voice called from the path.

  “James? Hallo! Is that you?”

  Rachel shot up straight, and James’s face went white as snow.

  “It’s my dat!” There was a gasp of desperation in James’s voice. “He can’t find you here.” His powerful arms wheeled the wheelchair away from the cart and down the row, toward his father. “It’s me, Dat!” he shouted.

  “I thought his father never came out to the orchards,” Shandell whispered.

  “He doesn’t, usually.” Rachel moved in front of Shandell, dragging the rake behind her. “He’s coming this way. You’d better hide.”

  “Where?” There was nothing out here but trees, and they were too narrow to conceal her. The tree line was about thirty yards away, but if she made a mad dash for it, Jimmy would spot her right away.

  Wheeling around, she saw the cart, its nearly empty wooden bed gaping at her. Oh, please, no! There had to be somewhere else to hide.

  “Where can I go?”

  “I don’t know, but get there quick as a bunny. He’s getting closer.”

  “This is not going to be good.” Gritting her teeth, Shandell braced herself against the rear of the cart and hopped up. Manure crumbs smashed under her hands, turning into a slimy clay as she kept her body low and crawled into the cart. As she reached ahead, the borrowed green dress got stuck under one knee, causing her to slip down onto her belly.

  Oh, yuck.

  “Are you okay?” came Rachel’s tense voice.

  Lifting her head, Shandell closed her eyes and tried not to breathe. “Happy as a pig in poop.”

  In his black pants, jacket, and hat, Jimmy’s silhouette was big and bold against the morning sky with its streaks of peach and gold.

  “What are you doing way out here?” Jimmy called, closing the distance between them in long strides.

  The same question I have for you, James thought, though he was in no position to confront his father. He turned the wheels of his chair as fast as he could, hoping to head his father off and stop him from approaching the wagon. Dat could not run into Shandell; if Dat found out about her, there was no telling what he would do.

  “We’re spreading fertilizer,” James answered. “Rachel and I figured we’d work the rows at the back of the orchard. No need to be tripping over Luke and Peter and the others out there.”

  Dat slowed as he reached James. “Mmm.” His lips pursed as his gaze moved beyond James to the cart.

  Did he see Shandell?

  Glancing back, James saw Rachel pause in her raking to give a wave. No sign of Shandell. Where had she hidden? The pear trees were young; none of them had trunks wide enough to hide a person, even a small woman like Shandell.

  “That’s a lot of hard work to put on a young girl,” Jimmy said. “Lots of heavy lifting and such. You could bring along one of your brothers to help.”

  “Rachel’s a hard worker. She doesn’t mind.” James knew his father would pick up on what he wasn’t saying: that the two of them wanted time alone—a rare thing for Amish folk.

  Dat tipped the brim of his straw hat, revealing his dark eyes, soft and weary. Gone was the usual ramrod-straight poke of his demeanor. And when had those deep creases formed at the outer edges of Jimmy’s eyes? The dark half-moons smudging the top of Dat’s cheeks were a recent change, too. “I see you’ve got two rows done.”

  “Ya. We just started this morning. We’ll empty this cart, but then we’ve got to get on the road to the clinic.”

  “Two rows is good work for a morning, but it’s not good enough.” Jimmy squinted against the sun as he scanned the rows of trees behind him, and then pulled the brim of his hat down again. Now his eyes were shadowed and hidden, impossible to read. “
The last hour, I’ve walked the orchard from end to end. I took a quick inventory. There’s been a lot of hard work here this week, everyone pulling together. That’s a good thing, but May is upon us, and with only half the orchard fertilized, we can’t put this off any longer. I’m going to hire the nurseryman old Jacob recommended. The sooner the better.”

  The news knocked James back like a gust of wind. “Dat … no.”

  “The good care of the orchard cannot be neglected any longer.”

  “We can handle it, Dat.”

  “We’re too far behind, James. I know you’re out here every day, inspecting and telling your brothers what to do, but they slack off when there’s no one on them, and you’ve got your treatment taking you away for most of the day. We need a foreman, now.”

  “But it’s the Lapp orchard. Your father managed it, and his father before him, too. Don’t bring in an outsider. I’ll talk to Luke about taking on more responsibility.”

  “I’ve made my choice. Consider it done. I’m going into town to meet with Orchard Al. He’ll get us back on track.”

  Although James knew it would be disrespectful to argue any more, he could not stop shaking his head. This would not be a good thing for their orchard. Doddy would not want a stranger here, taking shortcuts and throwing down store-bought pesticides to make his job easier.

  “You’ve done a good job here.” Dat’s voice sounded different; kinder, without the barbs of judgment. “It’s time to let it go, James. Time to accept a helping hand.” Dat remained for a moment, as if waiting for James to agree.

  That will never happen, James thought, digging his fingernails into the rubber armrests of his wheelchair.

  With a small grunt, Jimmy turned back toward the path and walked away.

  Such a busy day! Rachel had risen early to work in the Lapp orchard, and then, after a quick breakfast with James’s family, off to Paradise they went. Usually, Rachel cherished her time alone with James, but there was no laughing or hand-holding today. Today he tested her patience with his concern over Jimmy’s decision to hire on a new ranch foreman.