The Harvest of Grace

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Deborah set the lemons and hand juicer on the island. “But not for long.” She sang the words.

  Ephraim grinned, and although he’d not said much on this topic, Cara knew that he really looked forward to having children. She did too. Still, it was strange being around men who looked at marriage as an honor and a multitude of children as a gift. Unlike newly married Englischer couples, Amish ones hoped to conceive as soon as possible—just another way that the ideology still felt foreign to her.

  When Cara had found out she was pregnant with Lori, she feared her husband would be angry with her. He wasn’t, but he hadn’t wanted children until that moment. And after Lori was born, he didn’t intend for them to have a repeat performance. She understood and had embraced that line of thinking herself, but here, where family wove itself together like a huge safety net, her view on conceiving was completely different.

  Deborah cut a lemon in half and nudged it and the juicer in front of her brother. “If you want me out of here, get busy helping.”

  Ephraim made quick work of his job, and soon the two-gallon jar of sweetened lemonade was ready. Deborah left it on the counter and headed for the swinging door.

  Trevor walked in as Deborah walked out, and Cara’s eyes met Ephraim’s. Maybe they’d have to move the refrigerator to block the door.

  “Nice work, Cara.” Trevor pointed at the cake. “I left the Blank farm about fifteen minutes ago. Everything is calm and quiet. The cows and calves are tended to and the barn scrubbed, and Sylvia went to her cabin for the night rather than working on a puzzle or playing a game with Michael.”

  Cara put the cake into a dessert box. “Good. She’ll be surprised when we show up.”

  Ephraim and Cara walked onto the porch with their hands full. The cloud-covered daylight had little power behind it, but it wouldn’t be dark for another two hours. Ephraim held a large umbrella over Cara, and streams of water ran off it as they huddled by Trevor’s trunk, loading the birthday items.

  Cara caressed Ephraim’s face. “I feel sort of bad about messing up your plans.”

  “Don’t. I like what you’re doing.”

  “But you had a driver bring you and made arrangements for him to pick you up four hours from now.”

  “I’ll cancel with Robbie. He’ll be more than glad not to come get me. And Trevor can drop me off on his way to taking you and Deborah to Sylvia’s.”

  “We’re going by Lena’s to get her too.”

  “You’re enjoying yourself with your girlfriends. How could I possibly mind that?”

  She leaned in and stole a kiss. “I like you, Ephraim Mast.”

  “I was hoping for more than liking me.”

  She rested her head on his chest, wanting to tell him how she really felt, but saying the words I love you seemed impossible. Not all that long ago, she’d recalled as a child telling her dad that she loved him. Maybe that was her hang-up—she and her dad had openly said they loved each other, and then he’d abandoned her. In truth, she didn’t know what her real problem was, but unless she was talking to Lori, those words turned to ash inside her throat. Telling Lori she loved her was easy. That was what moms did, and she had told Lori the first time she held her. But that was different. Cara wasn’t vulnerable in that relationship. In other relationships she always skirted actually saying those words.

  Always.

  Even when she and Ephraim first spoke of marriage, she didn’t tell him that she loved him. When he said it to her, she said things like “Well, duh” or “Of course you do.” He knew she loved him, but she’d like to be able to say it.

  The front door to Ada’s House slammed, causing them both to glance that way. Trevor and Deborah stood on the porch, wrestling with an umbrella. Her dad wasn’t anything like she’d expected. He seemed to have an understanding of commitment and love.

  Cara walked Ephraim to the front passenger side door and then took the umbrella. “I’ll be right back.”

  After going inside and giving Lori a hug and extracting a pledge that she’d be good for Ada, Cara piled into the car with the others, and they headed out. Ephraim was dropped off first. Then Trevor stopped at Lena’s house.

  Lena hopped into the front seat where Ephraim had been minutes earlier. “I’m so glad you thought of this, Cara. Is it an all-girls night, or will Aaron be there too?”

  “He might drop by. I see him for a few minutes fairly regularly when Sylvia’s teaching me songs in your language. But he won’t stay long. He never does.”

  “Is there anything between him and Sylvia?” Deborah raised her eyebrows quickly several times, obviously hopeful of Cara’s answer.

  “Sometimes I think there is,” Cara said. “Other times I don’t.”

  One thing Cara had learned about riding in a car with the Amish was that they seemed to forget the driver was listening.

  Trevor glanced at her in the rearview mirror and smiled before focusing on the road. He looked at her and treated her differently than any other man she’d ever known. Then it dawned on her. He responded to her like a dad.

  His daughter. The words churned inside her brain. It wasn’t such a horrid thing to think of him as Dad, was it?

  He stopped a couple of hundred feet from Sylvia’s cabin and turned off his lights. The rain had quit, and Cara got out of the car quickly. They took the items out of the trunk as quietly as they could and sloshed along the muddy path. Before they reached the porch steps, Cara unboxed the cake, and Deborah lit the candles. They stood at the bottom of the porch like Christmas carolers, singing “Happy Birthday.”

  Sylvia walked outside, took one look, and broke into a huge grin. “Cara Moore, what have you done?” She hurried down the steps.

  “Make a wish.”

  Sylvia closed her eyes before blowing out all the candles. “You’re the best student I’ve ever had.” She hugged Cara.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m the only student you’ve ever had.”

  Sylvia hugged Deborah and Lena. “Is she always this sassy?”

  “No,” Deborah said. “Sometimes she sleeps.”

  Her friends chortled, and Cara stuck out her tongue.

  The idea of Trevor driving off without even a “thanks” from her bore down heavy. They were making progress, and she should show her gratitude.

  “You guys go on inside.” Cara passed Deborah the cake. “I’ll get the lemonade and join you in a minute.”

  The three women went up the porch steps, chatting feverishly as they peeled out of their muddy shoes. She couldn’t hear all of what was said amid the laughter, but she caught bits about cutting huge slices of cake.

  By the time Cara returned to the car, Trevor had already lifted the jug out of the trunk. “Here you go. I’ll pick you up around nine?”

  “Perfect. Sylvia turns in early.”

  “You would too if you got up at four. Ephraim would probably still be up then. You want to stop by and see him?”

  “Yeah, uh … thanks.” There, she said it.

  “Be here then.” He climbed into his car.

  He treated her like a beloved daughter, and she treated him like a servant. What was she, fourteen? Yet she still hated the idea of really thanking him.

  He started to pull away.

  “Trevor.”

  He stopped the car and got out. “Did you need something else out of the trunk?”

  He had the track record of a drunk and the heart of a father. What did he really want? If she fully forgave and embraced him, would his work be done and he’d leave?

  No longer able to justify withholding love, she set the jug of lemonade on the hood of his car. “I forgive you.” As the words left her mouth, her chest felt weird and prickly. “Do you think maybe you could forgive me too?”

  “You’re my Carabean. I’ll always forgive you.”

  “You scare me.” Her voice cracked, a lifetime of longing trying to force its way free from where she’d locked it up years ago.

  “You’re the only good thing I’ve ever do
ne.”

  For a moment she saw an image of what had to be his life—a barren wasteland, miles and miles of parched, dried earth. Then she saw herself, not as an oasis, but as this man’s one lost pearl.

  Words failed her, but she put her arms around him. He held her.

  She backed away. “You’ll pick us up at nine?”

  “I’ll be here, Carabean. Whenever you need me, for as long as I’m able, I’ll be here.”

  She swallowed hard. “Thanks, Dad.”

  Thirty-Three

  With the morning and early afternoon chores done, Sylvia made her way to the cabin. Birds sang, and the wind rustled the thick canopy overhead. After the heavy machinery the EPA had brought in had droned on and on for two weeks, they’d finished earlier today and were finally gone. Now only gentle sounds echoed in her ears.

  While the laborers ran various types of equipment, she’d put up with the noise and odors of modern-day progress, though it had taxed her nerves until she barely recognized herself. But now that the work was done, she hoped to feel more like herself within a day or two.

  The job had taken much longer than expected, mostly because the list of necessary improvements kept growing as the men worked. New fences were built on each side of the creek, a huge open drainpipe that ran from one side of the creek to the other was set in place, and concrete had been poured to secure the pipe. The rains forced the men to run double rows of silt fences on both sides of the creek as well. When the fields dried and the freshly seeded earth yielded grass, the cows would use the newly constructed concrete-and-earthen bridge to get from one part of the pasture to the other. For now a temporary barrier was in place to keep the cows off the fresh seeding.

  She went inside the cabin and spotted a sink full of dishes. She never could figure out how that happened when she ate most of her meals in the Blanks’ kitchen. It’d be nice if Cara came by for another language lesson. Sylvia needed the distraction and the friendship. But no one—not Cara, Aaron, or Michael and Dora—could fill the void that missing her sisters left inside her. Some days she felt their absence more acutely than others, and she was having that kind of day.

  She shuddered and bit back tears. Busyness was the answer, so she went into the wash house at the far end of the cabin. Since it had been raining so much, she had mounds of laundry that needed to be washed and hung out to dry.

  While sorting clothes, she heard the familiar sound of a rig—either going up the Blanks’ driveway toward their farmhouse or coming down the much smaller path to the cabin. For a brief moment she imagined it was Aaron coming for a visit, but she knew better. He didn’t drive a rig to her place except on church Sundays and sometimes on a weekend night when asking her to go for a ride. Besides that, she’d not seen much of him in the last couple of weeks. He’d been spending long days with the EPA workers.

  It could be Cara.

  A pounding on her front door made her stop sorting laundry and leave the wash house. She entered her kitchen, craning her neck to see who stood at her screen door.

  Beckie!

  Sylvia’s heart stopped, and she was rooted to the floor. Her sister’s face was somber. Did she know what had happened with Elam?

  Beckie spotted her and broke into a smile. “Sylvia.” She flung open the door and ran to her. “Oh, I did find the right place, and I made it all on my own. Can you believe it?” Beckie swamped her in a hug.

  Sylvia breathed in the aroma of her little sister, wanting to wrap her arms around her, but her body wouldn’t budge. “How …”

  “I’m fine.” Beckie took a step back. “Let’s look at you.” She brushed a few stray hairs from Sylvia’s face. “Still the same, aren’t you? Your hair always needs a fresh combing and pinning midway through your workday, but do you ever redo it?”

  Sylvia pulled away from her. “Would you care for something to drink? A glass of water?”

  “What’s going on? You don’t seem the least bit happy to see me.”

  Sylvia put her hands on her sister’s shoulders, trying to look pleased. “I … I’m just surprised.”

  “You should be. I mean, me taking on something like this by myself? You always told me I could do whatever I set my mind to. I never believed you until today.”

  Sylvia managed an encouraging smile, but hypocrisy stuck in her throat. “How about that drink now?”

  “Ach, ya. Denki. It’s so hot today.”

  They went into the kitchen. Sylvia grabbed a glass and moved to the refrigerator.

  “Looks like you’ve had lots of rain of late,” Beckie said.

  “Ya.” Sylvia handed her the cold water.

  “Kumm.” Beckie took her hand and led her to the living room. “Tell me about this place and what’s so great about it that caused you to leave your sisters.”

  Sylvia’s palms sweated. “It was time for me to go.”

  “Well, I’m sure we wore you out. Everyone down with whooping cough except you and Elam.” Beckie took several long sips of her drink. “But surely you’re ready to come home by now.”

  Plagued with guilt, Sylvia rose. “You had a long drive. I should water and feed your horse.” She headed for the door.

  “Oh, Shady can wait.” Beckie followed her outside.

  The horse frothed, and sweat soaked his body. “Oh, Beckie. Look at him. He’s been in this August heat on black pavement for hours.”

  Beckie growled. “You drive me nuts, always thinking of the animals first.”

  Sylvia chafed. If Beckie had any good sense, she’d have waited a month for cooler weather or made arrangements to get a fresh horse at a midway point. There were Amish folks along the way who’d have gladly met that need. “Beckie, I’ll just be a few minutes taking care of Shady. I’m sure you need a little time to freshen up and rest.”

  “I guess … but I made this trip to visit with you.”

  Sylvia could barely think. How was she supposed to have a conversation with her sister? She envisioned her guilt being tattooed across her face. “What about?”

  Beckie frowned, looking confused and amused. “Have you been here so long that you’ve forgotten we need no subject to talk on? We just get started, and it stops when one of us falls asleep. But I do want to talk about your coming back home.”

  “Falls asleep? Are you … staying?”

  “Of course, silly. I brought my overnight bag. Remember when we used to pack our bags to spend the night in a homemade tent in the kitchen?”

  Overnight bag? Sylvia jerked open the door to the carriage.

  “Are you just going to stare at it?” Beckie giggled.

  As if Sylvia’s world had slowed to the pace of cold molasses, she removed the bag from the carriage and passed it to Beckie. Her sister had a set of very active twins at home, and she intended to spend the night away? Sylvia looked at the bulging sides of the bag, wondering how long Beckie intended to stay.

  Her eyes flashed with excitement. “I’m so proud of myself for making it here. I kept asking Elam to bring me, but you know what he’s like. When he wants something, there’s no stopping him, and when he’s not interested, there’s no motivating him. He simply tuned me out. When I said I’d go by myself, he kept coming up with reasons I shouldn’t make the trip. But here I am.”

  A dozen memories of Beckie as a little blond-haired, blue-eyed girl all excited about birthdays or having tea with their dolls ran through Sylvia’s mind. No one lit up a room like Beckie.

  Sweat spattered when Sylvia patted Shady. “The barn is a little ways from here, so I’ll be a few minutes. The rest room is in the hallway to your right, and there’s stuff for sandwiches in the pantry and refrigerator.”

  Beckie smoothed her hands down the front of her dress, revealing a bulge. She smiled radiantly. “I might doze off. The little one and I have had quite an amazing day.”

  Without another word Sylvia took the horse by the reins and began walking. She wished Aaron was there to talk soothingly to her and to keep her company until she felt her str
ength return, just as he had that day she fell in the field. But he was somewhere along the fence line, double-checking things, taking notes, and looking for any scraps of barbed wire.

  Beckie waved. “Hurry back. We have so much to talk about.”

  Sylvia wanted to beg God to help her keep the awful secret. Beckie was a long way from home and expecting. Sylvia had to make the visit pleasant. Her inability to lie, even through silence, was poor and part of the reason she’d fled the Fisher farm as quickly as she could after the incident with Elam.

  Her mind racing, she led the horse into the equine section of the calving barn. Hoping she’d catch a glimpse of Aaron, she watched for him while removing the rigging, walking Shady some more, and wiping him down. But what could Aaron say other than she had to get through the visit?

  The horse’s rib cage continued to expand and contract in quick succession. Sylvia feared she might walk into the barn tomorrow and find the poor creature dead from heart failure. After giving him small portions of feed and water, she promised she’d return to give him more within the hour. She had no choice but to go back to the cabin.

  Walking down the main driveway, she saw Trevor driving toward the farmhouse. He must have come early for the afternoon feeding. They exchanged waves.

  The lane back to the cabin had never been so short. When she walked inside, Beckie was stretched out on the couch. She moved her arm from resting over her eyes. “This cabin sits off all by itself, surrounded by a patch of woods. I could never get any sleep in a place like this. Do you share it with someone?” Her sister sounded relaxed, as if maybe she’d dozed off.

  “No.”

  Beckie sat upright.

  Sylvia tried to steady her nerves. Maybe she needed to stay busy. She went to the kitchen sink.

  Beckie followed her and leaned against the counter mere inches away. “Are you okay? You don’t seem like yourself.”

  Sylvia poured dish detergent into the sink and turned on the faucet, wishing she could drown out her guilt. “I’m fine.”

  “Elam said I shouldn’t come.” Beckie reached over and turned off the water. “I was so mad at you when you left. I know you came to help a man hold on to his farm, but how could you leave us like we didn’t matter? And why didn’t you write? I don’t care if Daed was angry that you left and forbade you to write the girls. I have my own mailbox. He would have never known.”