For Every Season

by Cindy Woodsmall

  “You’re free, Jacob. You went home for all the wrong reasons. Now you’ve set everything right, and you can do whatever you want—as long as the courts and I have a way to reach you.”

  He nodded, but as he stood inside the elevator, he continued to fight a suffocating feeling as the walls seemed to close in on him. The doors opened, and the two men left the elevator and walked through the echoing halls until they stepped onto the sidewalk.

  A banging sound reverberated through the air, and Jacob paused, a smile embracing his lips as the word freedom rang inside him. He couldn’t see anyone, but somewhere nearby construction workers were hammering away—building or remodeling something far more lasting than any work he did when farming.

  Could he do some of both?

  TWENTY-TWO

  Brisk air filled Samuel’s lungs as he chucked another piece of wood into the back of the wagon. It’d be dark again in a few hours, and then the temperature would drop quickly. Around lunchtime they’d banked the embers and taken a much-needed break while the sun warmed the earth to thirty-four degrees.

  Now they were stoking the embers and adding fuel to the fires again.

  “Samuel!”

  He looked up to find Rhoda holding a lunchpail.

  Speaking of stoking embers and adding fuel to the fire …

  “Ya?”

  Considering the way he’d pulled her into his arms that day, she probably thought he lusted after her. But it wasn’t that at all. That had been a moment of temporary insanity, a moment of weakness after months of being near her night and day.

  He was sane now, and he’d accept being ignored or tossed aside as need be, as long as he didn’t interfere with her happiness. That was not lust. Still, he had more than a fair share of desire for her—desire to marry and have children with her, to cherish her and grow old with her. Instead, he would, by sheer force of will, wrestle desire into silence, leaving only prayers and friendship.

  But it would take a while.

  “Feels odd not to have at least one dog at my heels.” She came to a halt near him.

  He knew she’d put them inside to rest. With people working in the field around the clock last night and hauling wood in the wagons, the dogs never stood still. They stayed right beside the workers.

  She glanced at the dwindling stack of wood. “Sorry to disrupt your work, but I have news, good and bad. Which do you prefer first?”

  He scowled as he grabbed a split log in each hand and tossed them into the wagon. “What I’d prefer is for you not to have any bad news.”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just doing my job.”

  “Job?” He stopped and stared at her. “If bringing bad news is your job, please vacate Kings’ Orchard Maine … right after you spend all night helping fight the frost.”

  “We need a better name for this farm, something more befitting.”

  “Is that the good news?”

  “No, that’s a long-overdue observation.”

  He tossed more wood into the wagon. “Ever heard the phrase ‘one thing at a time’? You should try it. I believe it’d keep you from dragging me down that meandering path inside your head.”

  She studied him, a gentle smile drawing him like a moth to the flame. “This”—she held up the lunchpail—“is the bad news. Camilla had hoped to bring by a pot of lobster stew on her way to somewhere. She said she’d pass right by here.” Rhoda shrugged. “Maybe she’s just running late, but since we’re about to be in the fields for the night, this is what’s for dinner.”

  Ideally one didn’t stay up around the clock working in the cold without being fed really well, so in that sense it was bad news. “I don’t mind even a little. How’s Phoebe?”

  The sadness in Rhoda’s eyes tightened his heart. Should he have asked, trying to ease her grief, or said nothing and helped her not think about it? That seemed to be the age-old question when it came to sorrow, and he didn’t know the answer.

  Rhoda put her hands in her coat pockets. “It’ll take a little time.”

  “Sure. I told Steven as much. But when you can, assure him that he should stay in with her tonight as much as she needs him.”

  “I will. Denki.” She set his lunch on the back of the wagon. “You have mail from someone in my old hometown.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter.

  “Ah, the real bad news, eh?” He took it from her, half expecting it to be from her church leaders. He’d caused quite a stir when he’d accused that wretch Rueben Glick of tearing up Rhoda’s fruit garden. Samuel had wanted justice for her, but he’d made only a little headway that night. At least many within her district saw her in a better light, and he’d managed to make it clear that Rueben had probably engaged in acts of vandalism against at least one other girl in Rhoda’s district.

  The letter was a thank-you note from the girl Rueben had harassed. It’d been six months since then. Why had she waited so long? He folded it and put it back into its envelope.

  “You don’t look as if it was bad news.”

  He wanted to tease her by dangling the letter just out of her reach. If she tried to grab it, he’d pull it away. The temptation to be too friendly often reared its head when least expected.

  Instead, he passed her the letter and sat on the back of the wagon and opened the lunchpail.

  “This is a thank-you note.” She continued reading. “A really nice one. You probably skimmed too much. I think Iva may have some competition, because this young woman sounds positively smitten.”

  “Six months after the fact?” Samuel took a bite of a roast beef sandwich.

  “Maybe she’s just now getting up the courage. She’s really shy, and I’m sure it took her quite a while to put Rueben’s harassment into perspective before writing you.”

  He pulled a thermos out of the pail. “That’s two women down. Ninety-eight more to hire.”

  “That’s still the plan? We’ll have to make a lot of money before we can do that, which leads us to the good news.” She pulled a crumpled newspaper section out of her coat pocket. “The cold front should be gone by noon tomorrow.”

  He kept a straight face. “I looked for that paper hours ago.” The desire to call her a thief and hear her laugh was appealing, but he stayed true to his course.

  She remained standing, keeping her distance. “I think one of the children must have picked it up. I found it scattered across the kitchen floor.”

  Oh, how he wanted to tease her that she was blaming the children. “I’m glad you found it and took the time to bring it to me.” Samuel poured some coffee into the thermos lid.

  She shoved the paper and letter back into her coat. “Do you have the honeybee man lined up to bring out the hives?”

  “Since the day we closed on the farm.”

  “What about—”

  A horrific blast vibrated the air around them.

  Rhoda spun. “What was that?”

  Samuel tossed the food and coffee to the ground. Where were the children? Had someone left gasoline or lighters near one of the barrels? “Did it come from the road or the orchard?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  The dogs howled from inside the house.

  Samuel headed for the house. “Get a couple of the bridled horses from the barn.” When he opened the front door to let out the dogs, he spotted both children playing in the floor. Relief washed over him.

  Ziggy and Zara dashed out the door, ran in circles, and then took off down the road.

  Rhoda hurried out of the barn, leading both horses. “Orchard?”

  “Nee, and Arie and Isaac are inside. It may’ve been a wreck.” He interlaced his fingers and gave her a hand up before pulling himself onto the other horse. “The dogs are heading that way.”

  Rhoda spurred the horse. Since he was a better horseman, he could have overtaken her, but he stayed behind as the horses galloped down the road. After about a half mile he could see a car in a ditch.

  She turned, alarm etched on her
face. “It’s Camilla! And a utility pole is down.” She dug her heels into the horse, slapping the reins against its side.

  “Whoa! Rhoda, stop!” There were live wires on Camilla’s car. If Rhoda ran to the car, she could be electrocuted. He urged his horse to go faster. “Rhoda! Stop!”

  But she didn’t seem to hear him.

  He maneuvered his horse in front of hers and braced himself for the collision. “Stop!”

  She brought her horse to a halt. “What is wrong with you?” She slid off her horse and ran toward the car. Samuel jumped down and grabbed her while she was in midstride, picking her up off her feet. He hauled her several feet back from the accident.

  “Let go of me!”

  Her emotions had the better of her, and he wasn’t surprised that she fought so hard to rush to her friend’s side.

  “For Pete’s sake, woman, stay!” He held her with both arms. A wildcat would be easier to wrestle with. He had no idea she had such physical strength. “Rhodes, it’s too dangerous.”

  “She needs our help.”

  “You can’t help. Not yet. We’ll get help for her!” He grabbed her face. “Look at me!” He shouted it again and again. Finally her eyes moved from the scene of the wreck to him. “That’s it.” He pointed to his eyes. “Right here. Look right here.”

  She nodded. Her eyes focused on his.

  “Do you have your two-way?”

  “A what?”

  His words weren’t registering. He put his forehead against hers. “Breathe.”

  She relaxed a bit. “Camilla.” Tears welled, and she tried again to head for the car.

  He held her firm. “I know. But, Rhoda, those are live wires. We could be injured if we aren’t careful, and that will help no one.”

  As if she were roused by smelling salts, he saw her come to herself.

  “Can I let go of you now?”

  She took a step back. “I’m sorry. What do you need me to do?”

  “Use the two-way. Get someone at the farm to call for help.” He pulled himself back up on the horse. He needed the extra height to see into the car without going down into the ditch. “I’m going to stay away from the wires and do my best to talk to Camilla.”

  He thought about sending Rhoda to Camilla’s house to get Bob, but he feared she was too dazed to think about safety and precautions.

  As he nudged the horse to move in closer, he saw Camilla trying to open her eyes. He knew nothing about electricity and utility poles other than what he’d read in the newspapers—that going up to a car or getting out of one where there were live wires could result in serious injury or death.

  As Camilla became more conscious, her movements increased.

  He prayed she would be easier to reason with than Rhoda had been. “Camilla, just stay where you are. Help is on the way.”

  She screamed and pushed against the car door even as he told her to stay put. He had to do something, but what?

  Rhoda.

  He spurred the horse and went back to her. “Kumm.” He hooked his foot, and she used it like a stirrup. Between that and pulling her by the hand, she was soon situated behind him on the horse. They stayed on the road, well out of range of the wires.

  Rhoda grabbed the back of his shirt for balance. “Camilla.”

  “Get me out of here!” She slammed her body against the door of the car.

  “Camilla, it’s Rhoda. I’m here with Samuel. Listen to me. You have to stay away from the car door. There are live electrical wires touching the car. You have to stay still. Please. Help is on the way. Until they get here, we’ll talk. You can ask anything, and I’ll answer. It’s your dream come true. Right?”

  Camilla brushed her gray hair out of her face and laid her head against the headrest. “Yeah, okay.” She rubbed her forehead. “But I can’t think.”

  “What happened? Do you remember?”

  “A driver broadsided me, knocked me into this pole, and then just kept right on going.”

  Samuel turned, needing a glimpse of Rhoda’s face. The pain and confusion in her eyes made him ache for her as much as for Camilla, and he realized this was her Achilles heel—others being hurt. As strong as she was in the battles life dished out—church leaders who were against her, hateful people like Rueben, liars who accused her falsely, and even mother nature threatening to ruin her crops—she could get her feet under her quickly and cope. But illness, injury, or the death of her loved ones shook the foundation under her.

  Oh, dear God, how much I love this woman.

  Her attention was glued to Camilla, but her eyes silently begged for answers as to how someone, anyone, could do such damage to another person and then abandon them.

  “Samuel, I’m seeing images.” Her voice trembled.

  “Of what?”

  “Hello?” Camilla called.

  “We’re right here.” Samuel answered. “Rhoda?”

  “I’m fine. We’ll talk later.” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Watch out for your ears.”

  He leaned a little to his left, and Rhoda leaned a tad to her right. “Do you have a question for me, Camilla?”

  “I want to know …” Camilla angled her mouth toward the half-opened window. “I see things in the Amish community I don’t agree with. I want to know if you really want to be Amish or if you’re doing so to please your parents or Samuel or your boyfriend.”

  Samuel could see Rhoda only in his peripheral vision, but he thought she smiled.

  “I believe in the Old Ways, and I’ve never wanted to live any other way. It has its problems—I know that. I’m faithful, not blind. But life has its troubles no matter what beliefs or culture a person embraces.”

  Camilla relaxed, appearing to think about what Rhoda had said. The horse shuffled sideways, and Samuel tried to steady it.

  Rhoda grabbed the back of his shirt again. “I see three people on a sidewalk outside a medical building of some sort—a young man and woman and Camilla. The man is crying. The young woman doesn’t look it, but she’s pregnant. Arguments are flying between Camilla and the man. The woman is screaming at Camilla to leave them alone.” Rhoda paused. “Samuel, she knows. Camilla knows the girl is pregnant. But they go into the building and leave Camilla on the sidewalk, crying.”

  Samuel tried to shift in order to see Rhoda. He barely glimpsed her before the horse moved and he had to regain control. He had no way of guessing what their next steps concerning these images should be. Maybe he should get her to wait until Jacob was home.

  Sirens could be heard in the distance. Camilla’s car had all sorts of airbags, and Samuel imagined that, with good medical help, her injuries would heal fairly quickly. But what’d happened here would take him and Rhoda a while to work through emotionally.

  Why did so much have to happen whenever Jacob was gone?

  TWENTY-THREE

  A cold blanket of air closed in with the night. Rhoda drove the wagon between the rows of trees, stopping at every barrel. Her mind and heart remained with Camilla. It’d been terrifying to see her friend in that wreck, trapped by downed wires.

  Rhoda shuddered, running her fingers over the old quilt on her lap, which kept her reasonably warm. Phoebe’s grandmother had made it, and Rhoda was sure at one time it’d been beautiful, but it was worn and frayed now. She noticed the stitching that held each patchwork piece in place was precise in detail. But even an intricately sewn quilt made in love didn’t look all that special unless one cared about its history or took the time to really study the fabric and stitches. Did a new perspective make everything appear different?

  She was certainly seeing Camilla differently right now—more vulnerable than the guarded woman who issued warnings like a wise owl. More of a fighter than the abused housewife depicted in the police reports Landon had found on the Internet.

  Nothing seemed to be as it had first appeared.

  Zara walked beside the wagon, looking up at her every minute. Steven stood in the back of the wagon, pitching wood into the barr
els or onto the ground beside them as Rhoda paused at each one.

  Her hands still shook a bit, and she couldn’t block out the image of Camilla’s car in the ditch. But the police, fire department, and ambulance had arrived within twenty minutes.

  Once Camilla was in the ambulance, Samuel had escorted Rhoda back to the farm, because they wouldn’t allow her to ride in the ambulance, and then he had ridden to Camilla’s house to find Bob. Samuel had said if he ended up not returning to the farm right away, he’d call the office and leave a message.

  When he’d called, Rhoda had been in the barn, getting a fresh horse. She managed to grab it before the answering machine picked up. Bob had been at home when Samuel arrived, and he was understandably upset, so he asked Samuel to accompany him to the hospital. Samuel didn’t say what he was feeling, but she heard it in his voice—people, not the crop, were the top priority—and he couldn’t say no to Bob.

  That was the last she’d heard from anyone—five hours ago.

  Maybe someone had called the office with an update, but no one could spare the time to check, not with the scant night crew of Landon, Leah, Steven, and her.

  She glanced into the back of the wagon. It was almost empty. Soon they’d head for the barn to reload—if there was any wood left to fill it. But either way she could check the messages.

  “Rhoda?”

  She unclipped the two-way to answer Leah. “Ya?”

  “What quadrant?”

  “Lower east. You?”

  “At the barn. There’s less than half a cord of wood left. Is your wagon full?”

  “Almost empty. But the fires and woodpiles next to them are in good shape for now. We’ll have enough to last through the night.” She hoped. “Take half of it.”

  “Okay.”

  What if they had done all this work only to run out of wood in the last few hours of the cold snap? She clicked her tongue, and the horse moved forward. “You hanging in there?” she called over her shoulder to her brother.

  “Ya. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” For all his assurances, Steven sounded exhausted.