by Beth Wiseman
CHAPTER SIX
And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch’d by the thorns.
—THOMAS MOORE
For the next two mornings, Rachael rose early and waited to see if she could catch whoever was leaving her the flowers. And each morning, she never saw who dropped them off. In her mailbox on Thursday she found a stem of pink Stock sitting on top of the mail, a lovely flower with multiple rosy-pink buds that bloomed along its thick green stem. Lasting Beauty. That one made her blush, and for the first time, she really believed that these weren’t just sweet sentiments, but romantic ones.
Friday’s flower appeared on her grandfather’s hickory rocking chair on the front porch. A stunning sunflower. Not like the companion plant that she had planted in her garden. Those were giant sunflowers, their sturdy stems acting as trellises for the climbing pole beans.
But this sunflower was a small, delicate blossom, similar to ones she’d seen in some fancy flower arrangements in a floral shop back in Indiana, usually in the fall. Dedication, the card said. Her secret flower deliverer certainly was dedicated.
That afternoon she added the sunflower to the rest of the bouquet. Then she started on an early supper—fresh green peas and baked chicken breast. Her grandfather walked in just as she was putting the chicken in the oven.
“More flowers.” He sat down at the table and picked up the card, which Rachael had left near the vase. He held it closer to his eyes, then farther away. “Don’t have my glasses on, but it looks like it says dedication.”
“It does.” Rachael measured out two cups of peas and poured them into a pot.
“Did all the flowers come with a card?”
“Ya.” She added water to the pot and turned the burner on. “All of them just one word or phrase.” She paused, a thought coming to mind. “I think I know why.”
Grossdaadi put the card down. “You do?”
She sat down by her grandfather and picked up the card. “I knew roses had meanings,” she said. “But it just dawned on me that other flowers probably do too.”
“That’s nice. What’s for dessert?”
“Applesauce.” She studied the card. “I should have figured this out before now.”
“Don’t suppose we could have some peach cobbler on the side?”
She glanced at him. “Nee.”
“You’re as stubborn as your—”
“Mei daed. I know.” She peered at him. “I also know where he gets it.”
“Funny. You should respect your elders, Rachael.”
But she could see the teasing in his eyes, their hue the same as her own. “Believe me, I’m trying.”
A knock sounded on the back door. Rachael rose and answered it. Her heart flipped with surprise—and something much deeper—when she saw it was Gideon. After all this time, why was he here?
“Hi, Rachael.” He glanced down at his feet, as he usually did when he was around her.
She followed his gaze. His boots were encased in mud and dirt. He smelled like a farm, and she didn’t mind it one bit.
He looked at her again. “Do you have a minute?”
Rachael tilted her head to the side and twisted the end of one of the ribbons dangling from her kapp. “Sure. Come on in.”
“I . . .” He looked down at his boots again. “Okay.” He took off his boots and left them on the back porch. “I won’t stay long,” he said as he walked into the kitchen.
Her grandfather was already getting up. “Gideon,” he said with a nod.
“Herr Bontrager. Nice to see you’re feeling better.”
“I am, now that I’ve been sprung from my cage.”
“Grossdaadi,” Rachael said, dismayed. She glanced at Gideon. He probably thought she was some kind of tyrant.
“I’m teasing.” He picked up his cane and limped toward the kitchen door. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Gideon took a step forward. “You don’t have to geh.”
Grossdaadi looked at Gideon. Then at Rachael. “Oh, I think I do.”
Rachael wanted to shrink into the kitchen floorboards as her grandfather disappeared. She glanced at Gideon and tried to chuckle. She sounded like a squawking bird instead. “I have nee idea what he’s talking about.”
But Gideon didn’t seem to be listening. Instead he was looking at the flowers. “Nice.” He dipped his head toward the vase. “Your gaarde must be doing well.”
“They’re not from my gaarde.” She looked up at him, threading her fingers together. This was it. She’d left him an open opportunity to tell her he’d given her the flowers.
“Oh.” He shifted on his feet. “They’re nice, anyway.”
Her heart skipped. The flowers weren’t from him. At least now she had confirmation. And now that she knew the truth, suddenly she didn’t care who gave her the flowers. Because if they weren’t from Gideon . . . then they meant nothing to her.
She gulped down her disappointment. “What did you want to talk about?” she asked, her voice flat.
“Monday morning. I have a few things to do in town. I thought if it was okay with you . . . I could . . . give you a ride? When you were finished at the flea market, I’d pick you up and bring you home.” He glanced at the flowers again before looking at her. “I didn’t see the sense in both of us taking a buggy when we’re going to the same place.”
“Oh.” She pursed her lips to the side. “Well, that’s . . . practical.”
He nodded. “So . . .” He rocked back on his heels. Looked around the kitchen. Anything, it seemed, to keep from making direct eye contact with her.
Inwardly she sighed. She might as well face it—Gideon wasn’t interested in her. He was acting the same around her as he always had—shy, a bit awkward, but in an endearing way. Nothing had changed. His offer came from being neighborly, not because he had feelings for her.
She felt so foolish. All this time, when she thought there might be something between them, he was being hospitable. Embarrassment rolled around within her. For the first time, she felt uncomfortable around him. And she didn’t think that sensation would change by Monday.
“I wouldn’t want you to geh to any trouble.” She backed away from him.
“Nee trouble,” he said, finally meeting her gaze.
“Still, I don’t think it’s a gut idea.” She looked up at him. Paused at the furrow in his brow.
“You don’t?” he asked, his eyes widening.
“Don’t what?”
She turned to see her grandfather come into the room again. She groaned inwardly. All she needed was for him to say something humiliating again. She looked at Gideon, expecting to see him paying attention to her grandfather.
But Gideon’s eyes were still on Rachael.
She frowned. He seemed almost . . . upset.
“Thought I left my glasses in here.” He walked to the table.
Rachael knew that wasn’t true. Sure enough, her grandfather sat back down at the table. She guessed he figured they’d had enough time alone. He looked around the table for a second, then patted the pockets of his pants. “Well, imagine that.” He pulled out his reading glasses and put them on, peering at her and Gideon over the rims. “I had them on me all along.”
“Amazing,” Rachael muttered.
Grossdaadi leaned back in the chair. “Don’t mind me. You just keep talking.”
“We’re finished. I was just about to leave.” Gideon looked at Rachael one more time, his eyes confused behind the lenses of his glasses.
“So soon?” Grossdaadi said. “Stay, Gideon. Join us for a cup of kaffee. It won’t take long for Rachael to perk some.” He turned to her. “Right?”
“Right,” she said, her voice tight.
Gideon paused, looking at Grossdaadi.
“You wouldn’t turn down an old mann, would you?”
“Nee,” Gideon said.
“Gut. Rachael, two cups of kaffee, if you don’t mind.”
Gideon moved from th
e door and sat across from Grossdaadi. Rachael moved to start the coffee. She glanced at Gideon, who was sitting on the edge of the chair, his broad shoulders a little hunched. He didn’t look too happy to be there.
She filled the coffeepot with water and hid a sigh. He wasn’t the only one.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Flowers grow out of dark moments.
—CORITA KENT
This was the last time Gideon was listening to Hannah Lynn. It was her idea to come over and offer to give Rachael a ride. “Then you can give her a whole bouquet of roses,” she’d said. “And declare your love.”
“Love?” he’d asked, frowning. “I want to ask her out, not scare her away.”
“Just trust me, Gideon. I’ve been right so far.”
And he had trusted her. He’d even followed her advice and mentioned the flowers without giving away his secret. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t even give her a ride to the flea market, and that could hardly be considered a date.
Obviously she thought the flowers were from someone else. All he wanted to do was leave at that point. But he couldn’t be rude to Herr Bontrager, especially after what he’d been through.
Gideon glanced at Rachael standing at the stove. Instead of joining them, she stared at the coffeepot, like she was willing it to boil. It felt like his insides were curdling. He’d purposely stayed away from her this week, like Hannah Lynn suggested, concerned that he would slip up and “ruin the secret.” Made all the effort to get the flowers she told him to, write the cards, and sneak over to her house. And that had been fine with him, when he thought Rachael appreciated it.
But now that he could see she thought the flowers were from someone else . . . he felt sick inside.
“How’s the farm doing?”
Gideon hadn’t realized he’d been staring at Rachael until her grandfather spoke. He turned to him.
“Gut, Herr Bontrager.”
“Call me Eli.”
“Eli. Just waiting for two of the cows to birth. They still have a few weeks to geh.”
“Then you’ll have lots of fresh milk.” Eli looked at Rachael. “You know what milk makes me think of?”
She didn’t look at him. “What?”
Gideon had never seen Rachael like this—her tone as flat as a flapjack, her back completely straight, her hands gripping the edge of the counter as the percolator began to bubble.
“Ice cream.”
She turned off the burner. “You can’t have ice cream.”
“I can dream about it.” He laughed, but it died away quickly when Rachael gave him a hard look.
Silence filled the room for a moment, broken only by the sound of Rachael pouring the coffee into the mugs. She set one in front of each of them without a word and returned to the stove where she had left the third. She picked up a spoon and stirred the contents of the pot. Peas, he guessed from the smell.
His heart ached at the awkward tension between them. He’d gulp down the coffee, go home, and tell Hannah Lynn her flower idea was a complete failure.
“So, what isn’t a gut idea?” Eli took a sip of his coffee.
“What?” Gideon and Rachael said at the same time.
“You said something wasn’t a gut idea, Rachael.” Her grandfather met her gaze squarely. “What is it?”
Gideon sipped the hot coffee, almost burning his mouth. He glanced at Rachael. Her eyes were as round as pie plates. But she looked at her grandfather and spoke.
“Gideon offered to take me to the flea market on Monday. I told him I didn’t want to be a bother. Besides, you offered to take me, remember? That’s why it wasn’t a gut idea.” She quickly took a drink of her coffee, only to suck in a breath and nearly drop it on the counter.
“Are you all right, Rachael?” Eli asked.
“Fine.” She gasped. She folded her hands tightly together. “Kaffee is a little hot.”
Her voice sounded like it had gone through a cheese grater. He shouldn’t have stayed. “I better get going. Told Daed I wouldn’t be gone long.”
“All right.” Eli sipped his coffee again. Slowly. “We’ll see you Monday.”
Gideon cocked his head. “Monday?”
“Ya. To pick up Rachael.”
Gideon paused. “But what about you?”
“I can geh with her anytime.”
“But—” Rachael said.
“She’ll be ready.” Eli looked at her. “Ya?”
Rachael nodded. What else could she do? He hadn’t had much interaction with Eli before Rachael had moved in, but just from this conversation, Gideon could see that he was a force to be reckoned with.
Gideon dragged his fingertips across his forehead, ready to refuse, not liking the idea that Rachael was being cornered into catching a ride with him. But he didn’t want to embarrass either one of them further. “All right. See you Monday, Rachael.”
“Right. Monday.”
Gideon slipped on his boots and walked home, wishing he’d never started all this in the first place. At least before, he could imagine Rachael liked him. Now he knew for sure . . . and maybe he knew this all along. That had to have been what kept him from asking her out before. He knew, deep down, he wasn’t what she wanted.
Hannah Lynn met him just as he crossed over into their yard. “Well?” she asked, her eyes bright with anticipation.
“She said nee.” He blew past her, ignoring her shocked expression. He wanted to forget everything that had happened . . . at least until Monday.
Monday morning, Rachael paced the length of her garden. She had wakened early, unable to sleep, dreading the ride to the flea market. After Gideon had left Friday, she wanted to give her grandfather a piece of her mind for meddling in her business. But he had calmly finished his cup of coffee, giving her a satisfied look. She didn’t know what he was up to, and at that point she’d been too stressed to care. They didn’t speak for the rest of the night.
Since there was no church on Sunday, she had managed to avoid seeing Gideon. For the first time since she could remember, she didn’t go to her garden, not even to sit and pray, as she had done when she first arrived and her grandfather was so sick. She wanted to hide, to find a way to get out of the nearly half-hour drive to the flea market.
But she was being stupid. Nothing had changed between them. They were still friends. Just because he didn’t feel the same way about her that she felt for him didn’t mean that she couldn’t accept a ride from him.
Yet that didn’t stop her mouth from going dry when he pulled into the driveway with his buggy.
She swallowed as she stood outside the fence of her garden. She had everything ready—her table, the plants and flowers and hanging baskets she planned to sell, plus a couple of container planters she’d prepared on Saturday night. She touched the back edge of her kapp as he pulled the four-seater buggy to a stop.
He climbed down from the buggy. She looked up and met his eyes, but he averted them quickly. He seemed as uncomfortable as she felt.
Suddenly she realized she didn’t like this. She didn’t want to lose Gideon as a friend, or the comfortable feeling they’d had with each other before the flowers started appearing. She forced a smile, then, finding out it wasn’t that difficult, gave him a genuine one. “Danki for taking me to the market,” she said.
He looked at her. She thought she heard him let out a breath before he smiled back. “Glad I can help.”
And with those two sentences, everything was right between them again.
“Do you think you’ll have enough room for all of this?” She peeked into the back of the buggy.
“Ya. You might have to hold a couple of plants in your lap, though.”
“That’ll be all right.”
He came up beside her and slid the square fold-up table in the back. “We can put as many plants as possible on the seat. The table will keep them from falling on the floor.”
He turned, but she hadn’t moved away yet. They bumped into each other, his hand brushing again
st her arm.
Rachael held her breath. He’d never stood so near to her. All feelings of friendship flew out of her head and her heart.
Gideon’s pulse raced as he gazed down at Rachael. Being this close to her, he could almost count every freckle on her cute little nose. He’d nearly sent Hannah Lynn over to tell Rachael that he couldn’t take her to the flea market, but he wouldn’t go back on his word. He and Rachael were still friends. He’d have to find a way to accept that.
But now, with only inches between them and neither one moving away, he wondered how he could. Would it be possible to tuck his emotions so deep inside his heart that they’d never resurface? If this moment was any indication, he knew he couldn’t. But he didn’t want to lose her friendship, either.
“Gideon.” Rachael leaned toward him.
Mesmerized by her soft voice, he asked, “What?”
“Hold still.” She brushed her hand against his shoulder. “You had a little dirt there.” Her eyes remained locked with his.
“Oh. Danki.” He couldn’t look away. Suddenly he didn’t care about rejection. He had to let Rachael know how he felt—even if it meant risking their friendship. “Rachael.” Without thinking he touched the end of one of the white ribbons of her kapp.
“Ya?” If his gesture bothered her, she didn’t let on.
“I . . .” He licked his lips, the words stuck in his throat. He pushed past it. “It was me—”
“Rachael!”
They both turned at the frantic, garbled sound of her grandfather’s voice. He held out his hand and collapsed on the porch.
“Grossdaadi!” Rachael rushed toward him.
Gideon followed. They both crouched by the old man. His eyes were closed, his face pale as paper.
“Dear Lord!” She leaned over him, tears sliding down her face. “Is he . . . ?”
Gideon held his hand above Eli’s nose and mouth. Seconds turned into hours as he waited to feel the exhalation of air. Finally, a faint rush of air brushed his palm. “He’s breathing.”
“Thank God.” She grabbed his hand. “Grossdaadi . . . Grossdaadi!”