Seasons of Tomorrow

by Cindy Woodsmall

  He had to admit, though, that Steven didn’t seem to be fazed by the reality of paying on this bill for the rest of his life. He somehow managed to tune out that pressure, and after he visited his wife, every day he went home and played with his children as if he felt good and rested.

  Landon stood. He’d sat for too long. He needed to find some place out of the way where he could pace. On his off days, when it was his rotation to stay with Phoebe, he paced the room, talking to her, playing the recordings, or reading aloud.

  Landon eased into the hallway. Steven was at the end of it, leaning against a wall, talking with several Amish. Landon went the other direction.

  “Landon.”

  At Steven’s loud whisper, Landon turned.

  Steven motioned for him. “Where are you going?”

  “Looking for a place to pace,” Landon explained as he reached the group.

  “Ah.” Steven clutched Landon’s shoulder. “I’m just making sure you aren’t skipping out on us. I appreciate that you chauffeured most everyone who’s here today.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “You won’t go far, right? The nurses said it would be just a few minutes before we get a report.”

  “I’ll be here for whatever you need.”

  “The surgeon said that women in Phoebe’s condition have an almost-miraculous turnabout once the baby is delivered.”

  Landon had overheard the doctor say that, but he’d also heard too many conflicting reports to put much stock in what one doctor said. “I hope it works that way for Phoebe too.”

  “Ya.” Steven nodded, scratching his cheek. “I told Samuel to have everyone stay at the orchard. Do you think that was the right decision?”

  If Phoebe survived, it was the right decision. She’d remain in a medically induced coma for at least a few more days, and when they did bring her out, she’d be under heavy sedation as they spent a day or more weaning her from the ventilator. “Yeah, it was the right decision.”

  Landon’s phone vibrated, and he dug it out of his pocket. His granny. “I should take this.”

  “Sure. I need to get back anyway.” Steven went down the hallway.

  Landon slid his finger across the screen and held the phone to his ear. “Hey, Granny, what’s up?”

  “How is everything there?”

  “I was going to call you in a bit. Phoebe’s in surgery. They’re taking the baby today.”

  “Oh, okay. My stuff will keep. Call me with an update later.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Someone wants to rent my old store, and I don’t want to give an answer you might not agree with.”

  “Rent it for what? It’s a run-down eyesore that isn’t even wired for electricity.”

  “It has good bones.”

  Her retort reminded him once again what she’d said many times—she’d loved running her store back in its day. “Yeah, I guess it does at that. What do they want to do with it?”

  “To fix it up, live in it, turn it into a store for the Amish. We’re talking long-term, I think, and since my house and property will be yours one day, I just want to be sure it’s okay with you.”

  His? He hadn’t ever thought that far ahead. “Let’s not talk like that. I want you around, but it sounds like someone’s thinking right about that spot. It’s in a good location for that kind of store.” He knew a group of Amish were keenly interested in moving to Maine, where good farming land was affordable. “You’d make some money off the rent, and I see no reason not to give them a fifty-year lease.”

  “Landon, it’s Leah who’s asking. She and a man named Crist came by here.”

  His heart skipped a beat, and he tried to find his voice. When he couldn’t, he focused on breathing. He hadn’t even gone on a date. Was Leah already making plans with Crist?

  But he wanted her to be happy, and with some tender, loving care, his grandmother’s store could be a great place to live and work. Leah had never intended to work the orchard long-term, so maybe this would be her escape—a way to make good money and yet have store hours and not have to toil in the cold. “Yeah, Granny, work out a deal with them, a good one for Leah, and I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

  “You know this means you’ll have to see her regularly, especially if you choose to move back here.”

  Landon paced, shaking his free hand to release some of his pent-up emotions. “I’m hundreds of miles away, and I see her all the time, whether awake or asleep. Just do it, and don’t tell her you asked me. Let this be between you and her … I mean, them. Actually, I would rather not hear anything else about it, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Steven’s Daed hurried toward Landon, gesturing. “Steven is asking for you. The baby’s been rushed to NICU. But while the doctor was delivering the baby, Phoebe’s oxygen levels bottomed out.”

  Landon hung up on Granny and hurried down the hall. Had they gone through all this angst, prayer, and expensive medical treatments for Steven to lose Phoebe?

  God … please … don’t let that happen!

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Jacob pushed the air-gun hammer against the roof and squeezed the trigger, putting another round of nails into place. He stood, removed his hat, and wiped the sweat from his brow. The water in the in-ground pool below lapped against the sides, creating an oasis and releasing the faint smell of chlorine into the muggy air. Being on a roof in July was a world away from being in an orchard in Maine.

  Bailey and Althea were inside with the windows and doors shut and the air conditioner running. They’d helped him earlier, but Althea had started feeling bad, and Bailey told her they were taking an afternoon siesta. Esther had gone in for a bit to check Althea’s blood pressure and make sure she’d taken her heart meds.

  Esther …

  Jacob put his straw hat back on and looked through the thick foliage of an oak tree, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. But all he saw were the sawhorses they’d set up hours ago, which held an antique door she’d scraped and shellacked to use as a countertop for the outdoor kitchen.

  The metal ladder rattled, and he peered down. Esther was climbing it. This is why he’d boarded a train and made the trek here from Maine as often as he could—time with Esther. They’d spent days together on four separate occasions since he’d returned to patch up their relationship. And they’d spent untold hours on the phone. He’d even increased his monthly coverage to unlimited time.

  She shook a red Solo cup. “Thirsty?” She climbed to the third or fourth rung from the top and held out the drink. He knew better than to invite her up. After almost falling off a roof as a child, she didn’t get on them. So what had happened in her past that made her so leery of romantic relationships? There had to be more to it than the jaded views that came from helping pregnant girls who’d been abandoned by their boyfriends.

  “You didn’t drink out of it, did you?” He took the cup and tried to keep a serious face.

  She raised one eyebrow. “Maybe.”

  He took a long drink, and sat, ready to chat for as long as she was willing to stand on the ladder.

  After he finished roofing, he and Esther would spend the rest of the day side by side—some work, some play, all of it fun. They shared such camaraderie. He’d never known that with anyone before. Love, yes. But his relationship with Esther was different in ways he knew in his heart yet couldn’t define.

  How long before she could make herself admit they were more than friends? What held her prisoner from letting a relationship blaze its own path?

  She propped her elbows on the top rung. “I got a call while you were up here. Remember the house I told you about, not the one we gutted before they tore it down, but the one that’s supposed to be remodeled in a few weeks?”

  “I do. Did they accept your offer?”

  “It was actually your offer since it was your idea, but ya. They’ve flagged certain items to be salvaged, and I get to do the work and keep the items. You’re a genius to come up with the idea o
f letting people know that all profits go toward running a home for unwed mothers. I’ve always tried to hide that part, thinking that it should be kept private and that if people knew, they’d be less likely to help, not more.”

  He took a long drink, enjoying the cold water. “If you set up the home as a nonprofit and people knew the old crown molding, windows, or flooring they want hauled away could be taken off their taxes as a donation, you’d get even more items and could make a bigger profit.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about making the home a nonprofit, and I doubt the church would back going through the government for such a thing. But that aside, would you care to ride to that house later today? It’d be just for fun because we can’t do any work on it.”

  It sounded like another date to him. Plenty of their outings fell into that category, but she didn’t see it that way, and he’d keep that viewpoint to himself for now. “Sure.”

  Working like this—doing his favorite thing, which was carpentry, while Esther did hers, which was adding character through repurposed goods—felt more right than anything in his life ever had.

  Their friendship seemed destined somehow.

  When he came right after he and the others received good news about Phoebe, he and Esther spent his first two days ripping up pine floors, taking out entire window units, and removing crown molding from a 150-year-old home. As they’d meandered up and down the staircases, their voices had echoed throughout that old place as so many others had before them. Esther’s excitement over what she could salvage with his help had made it a weekend to remember. He wouldn’t mind finding another project like that to work on with her.

  A couple of weeks after that, he had returned again, and they’d worked in the shop, making sellable items from what they’d gleaned. When time allowed, he and Esther worked on this summer kitchen, which he was in no hurry to finish. Jacob knew that Bailey wasn’t in a rush either. The man had what he’d wanted, an excuse for Jacob to be around.

  He held the cup toward her and shook it. “I saved some for you.”

  She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Although determined and organized, she was actually pretty laid back about most of life, taking it as it came. But she had a few pet peeves. One was she hated to drink out of a cup someone else had drunk from. He’d figured that out by accidentally drinking from her cup while they were gutting a house. After that, if he could get hold of her cup, he’d get her attention, and then he’d take a drink. She wouldn’t drink out of that cup again. They’d shared laughs about that … and she’d given dozens of idle threats.

  “Do you want to drink the rest or wear it?”

  “Maybe both.” He continued to offer the cup. “I think that pool is calling my name.”

  “Then get off the roof and have at it. There are extra swim trunks in the pool house.”

  He wouldn’t. She’d have to leave, and that would undermine his whole point of being here. “You ever swim?”

  “Definitely, and I bring the girls here regularly. Bailey doesn’t mind, and the church looks the other way as long as we never do it in mixed company.”

  “Back home in Pennsylvania, some of the girls would clean an Englisch home practically for free if there was a pool they could swim in when the work was done.”

  “I don’t blame them.” She took the cup, met his eyes with a daring look, and then drank from it.

  He couldn’t move. Was she flirting with him? Since he was on a roof, he was glad he’d been sitting down when she pulled that little antic.

  Wow. That was really bold for her. What did it mean?

  After a teasing smirk, she started down the ladder. Was she ready to admit that their relationship was deeper, richer than what she wanted it to be?

  “You leaving already?”

  “I’m sticking my feet in the water. Kumm.”

  He didn’t need to be asked twice. If he really wanted to, he could finish the kitchen today, or he could drag it out for one more visit. He made his way down the ladder and peeled off his shoes and socks. Esther used his arm to keep her balance while removing her laced-up black tennis shoes. She smiled, her light-brown eyes looking golden in the afternoon light. She sat on the edge, with the water covering most of her calves, and tucked her dress a bit above her knees.

  He rolled up his pants legs and sat beside her. The water rippled across the pool, catching sunlight that sparkled off the top and swayed shadows through the depths. Sitting there with her, chatting, he felt a sense of peace that burrowed into his soul. It was perfect.

  The funny thing about Esther was that, in her own way, she was every bit as private as he’d been before he met her. So he paced his multitude of questions, asking only a couple of important ones each time he came. Some he’d asked a few times but she’d gently refused to answer or had changed the subject. “So, why house pregnant girls?”

  “Because they need it.”

  “Ya, I get that, but it puts you and your life under a microscope. So you’ve added to the challenges of the Old Ways by making yourself the object of suspicion and prejudice in your own community.”

  She watched the water, swishing her legs through it, then shrugged. Obviously, she wasn’t ready to talk about her reasons.

  He cupped a handful of water and dumped it back into the pool. She seemed lost in thought. Even though they engaged in plenty of lively banter and laughter and talked about lots of serious topics, this subject seemed off limits.

  She turned to him. “You know …”

  He chuckled. “I know that tone. You have an idea.”

  She grinned. “Late this afternoon we could use the outdoor kitchen and cook dinner. Doesn’t eating by the pool in the cool of the evening sound perfect?”

  “It sounds nice. Perfect would be that meal at the ocean.”

  Her eyes grew large. “You’re right.” She raised her eyebrows. “After the kitchen is done, let’s set up a weekend to get Bailey to take us there as a celebration.”

  Jacob started to get up.

  She looked at him. “Where are you going?”

  “If that’s the deal on finishing the kitchen, I’m getting back to work.”

  She laughed. “Sit.”

  “But I need to work.”

  “Sit.” She patted the concrete. “I know Bailey’s schedule, and he can’t take us to the beach for at least two weeks.”

  Jacob sat and plunked his feet into the water, splashing her. Without so much as a flinch, she propped her hands on the cement behind her.

  Jacob did the same thing, settling his hand near hers. “I’ve been thinking, Shark Bait.”

  She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun, soaking in a few rays. “Ya? What about?”

  His brushed his fingers over hers. “Maybe we should … think about dating.”

  She sat upright, eyes wide with disbelief. Was she that surprised? Seemed to him she should be shocked if he wasn’t leaning in that direction.

  He waved his hand away from himself. “I’m talking a long, long way down the road.”

  “Jacob …” She shook her head. “Don’t do this. Don’t ask it. Please.”

  “You’ve never had that thought?”

  “Well, I … I have, but thoughts don’t matter. Actions do, and we talked about this.”

  “That was months ago—hours of phone conversations ago, many trips and working side by side ago. Just admit what you feel, what we feel, and say it’s a possibility in a year or so.”

  “But it’s not.”

  He scoffed, a bitter laugh that he immediately regretted. “You can’t be serious. Why is it so hard for you to own up to your feelings?”

  She started to stand, and he grabbed her wrist. “Come on, Esther. Don’t get all skittish.”

  She pulled free and grabbed her shoes, knocking the soles of them together, probably to release some of the angst inside her. “I told you men aren’t good at being just friends.”

  Her words slapped across his soul, and anger r
ushed to the surface. He stood. “And how many men have been where I am now, Esther? How many have navigated over the line of friendship and landed square in the middle of a budding romance, and then you blamed them for crossing the line because you couldn’t admit how you felt?”

  “You should go.” True to form, her words were softly spoken, but he knew she meant them. Why had he started this conversation?

  She started walking away. “Esther, wait.”

  She paused and turned to face him. He studied her, seeing a dozen emotions mirrored in her eyes, and even though she stood right here, he knew she was running from him. Jacob closed the gap. “If it helps you, then let’s agree to forget everything I said. You can count it as a moment of insanity brought on by daydreaming.”

  “It’s too late. I can’t pretend like that.”

  “But you could pretend to be married. Doesn’t that tell you how mixed-up you are when it comes to admitting who you really are and how you really feel?”

  The sliding glass door whooshed open, and Dora stepped outside, carrying a cardboard box about half the width of a shoebox. Squinting against the sun, she angled her head and looked at him. “Jacob?”

  His heart sank. “Hi, Dora.”

  Dora glanced from Jacob to Esther, looking dismayed and offended. “What are you doing here?”

  “He’s building an outdoor kitchen for Bailey and Althea.” Esther took a few steps back, motioning at the kitchen.

  “Esther,” Jacob whispered. Was she really going to continue the cover-up?

  Esther turned her back to Dora, faced him, and whispered, “Leave it alone, Jacob.”

  Dora walked toward the kitchen, looking at the set foundation, timber framing, and almost-finished roof. Her eyes moved to Jacob.

  He’d told her that he wasn’t dating her anymore. If she’d accepted that, she wouldn’t feel betrayed right now. But how could he remind her of that as they stood in front of her sister? The situation was ridiculous.