A Bee in Her Bonnet (3 page)

The surprise was evident in his expression before he flashed Rose a tentative smile. “You're welcome,” he said. Taking the cookies as if Rose were handing over her most prized possessions, he made his voice low and sweet. “Your cookies are the most delicious thing I've ever tasted.”

Men, in general, made Rose extremely nervous. She only seemed completely at ease with Lily's fiancé, Dan. Any boy who was sensitive to Rose's feelings melted Poppy's heart into a puddle of mush.

She bit down hard on her tongue. She wouldn't let Luke make up for past sins with one soft word to Rose. He'd painted their barn and said something nice. That didn't compensate for his many faults, like his inclination to call girls ugly, his arrogant confidence, or his belief that girls were helpless.

He glanced at Poppy, and his expression hardened like mud on a hot day. “I hope your hand feels better, Poppy. If I were you, I'd stay away from strange cars and suspicious-looking people. I'm next door. Fetch me, and I'll investigate for you.”

Probably knowing exactly what she'd think of that, he didn't stick around long enough for her to reply. He stomped out of the kitchen, shut the front door, and left them in blessed peace. Was it too much to hope that he'd never cross their threshold again?

Aunt B propped her hands on her hips. “Rose, you have a kind heart, but I wish you hadn't given him those cookies. Boys are like stray cats. You feed them once, and they'll keep coming around.”

Lily laughed. “I don't think Luke will ever want to set foot on the farm again. Poppy put him down right
gute
.”

Aunt B shook her head. “Mark my words. He'll be back. We made the mistake of feeding Dan Kanagy, and look how that turned out.”

“It turned out wonderful-
gute
,” Lily said, her eyes dancing with a thousand lovely possibilities. “I got a fiancé out of it.”

Aunt B growled. “See what I mean? A complete disaster.”

All three sisters giggled. Aunt Bitsy's sour disposition often scared fainthearted boys away, but she only wanted the best for her girls. On the day Lily and Dan got engaged, she had cracked a smile and put on her long, green earrings in celebration. She had been ecstatic.

Aunt B went to the window and peeked out between the curtains. “Luke Bontrager is too big for his britches. I'm tempted to toilet-paper his house.”

“He only wanted to make sure Poppy was okay,” Rose said.

“He wonders how we've managed without him for so long,” Poppy said.

Aunt B shrugged. “Let him think what he wants to think. He's young. He'll learn—and probably the hard way.”

Rose went back to her bread dough. “He saved Poppy, and I'll always like him just for that. What if that car had driven away? Poppy might have been run over.”

Aunt B examined Poppy's hand. “Rose is right. And it won't be said of me that I don't give credit where credit is due. You might not have been able to get a good look at those boys in the car, but you still have your fingers. Luke is no coward. We should probably give him some token of our gratitude.”

“Rose already gave him some cookies,” Poppy said. She sounded sullen and pouty, even to herself. Wouldn't Luke Bontrager just
love
to gloat over her.

“You could write him a thank-you note,” Rose said.

Gute
idea. She could shove it in his mailbox and never even have to talk to him.

Lily's smile grew gradually, like a flower opening to the sun. “Make him a honey apple pie. It's one of your best recipes.”

“Nae,”
Aunt B said. “We mustn't feed him.”

“But, Aunt Bitsy,” Rose said, glancing at Lily, “he saved her life. It's got to be big.”

Aunt B tapped her finger against her cheek. “What about a bouquet of flowers? He can't eat flowers.”

“The way to a man's heart is through his stomach,” Rose said.

Lily nodded while B shook her head. “We don't want to get anywhere near his heart, so you can just forget about that idea.”

Lily looked sideways at Rose. “Let Poppy decide.”

Poppy stifled a frustrated groan. Conceited Luke Bontrager had saved her hand with his frightening crowbar. Rose was right. The thank-you would have to be big. She'd have to make him a honey apple pie, but she wouldn't have to be happy about it.

Aunt B took out one of her earrings and set it on the table. “Now,” she said, starting on the other earring, “we're going to the hospital. I think your hand is broken.”

Ach!
She'd never hear the end of this from Luke.

She wanted to smack herself upside the head.

With her good hand, of course.

Chapter Three

The sun hadn't yet peeked over the horizon as Poppy and Rose went outside to gather eggs in the dim morning light. During the day the chickens wandered about the yard, pecking at feed or scratching for juicy worms and snails. At night they roosted in the small coop behind the barn. There were only eight chickens, but they supplied enough eggs that the Honeybee Sisters never needed to buy extra, even when they made cookies and a cake on the same day.

Poppy linked arms with Rose, and they skipped down the porch steps together. “I think Tilly has stopped laying,” Rose said. “But don't tell Aunt Bitsy. She'll want to cook her for dinner.”

“That's where she'll end up eventually,” Poppy said.

Rose sighed. “I know, but I hate thinking about it.”

“It's too bad it's not Big Bertha who's quit laying. She pecks my hands something wonderful every time I reach for her eggs.”

Rose used to collect the eggs by herself every morning, but ever since the first time their beehive had been upended, over a month ago, no one had felt completely comfortable letting Rose go by herself. They were all a little spooked by the mischief making.

Rose carried the egg basket because Poppy's hand still felt sore. At least it wasn't broken. Poppy smiled to herself through the pain. She loved that Luke Bontrager had been wrong about her hand. On her way home from the hospital two days ago, Poppy had been tempted to stop by Luke's house, flex her fingers in his face, and gloat. But then he probably would have taken great pleasure in the fact that she had followed his advice and gone to the doctor in the first place, so she couldn't see much of a victory in an unbroken hand. She hadn't made Luke a thank-you pie. It hurt too much to even think of rolling out a crust yet.

When they strolled around to the south side of the barn, Rose caught her breath and pulled up short, almost yanking Poppy's arm out of its socket. “Look, Poppy.”

Instead of being nestled safely in the coop, their eight chickens were on the ground huddled against the side of the barn, fast asleep. At the sound of Rose's voice, Big Bertha stirred and squawked and flapped her wings as if the cat were chasing her. She made such a fuss that the other chickens awoke and disintegrated into a skirmish of feathers.

“What is this all about?” Poppy said. “Did Billy Idol scare you out of your coop?”

Billy Idol was their new cat. He was fierce enough to rid the farm of mice, but he also made the chickens quake in their boots—if chickens had boots. Lily's fiancé, Dan, had brought Billy Idol last week as a gift to Aunt B, but Aunt B had never appreciated a gift less. She wasn't all that fond of the cat they already had.

“Aendi Bitsy is going to get rid of Billy Idol for sure this time,” Rose said, furrowing her brow at the possibility of losing their new cat.

Poppy couldn't share Rose's concern. Billy Idol might have been a good mouser, but he was the orneriest cat alive, and he left his victims on the porch almost every day. Poppy could just as well do without the sight of a dead mouse greeting her first thing in the morning.

“Let's go see,” Poppy said.

Tiptoeing around the agitated chickens, they went behind the barn. If Billy Idol had cleared out the chicken coop for a place to sleep, he'd be in big trouble.

“Oh no,” Rose whispered as they came around the corner.

Poppy took in a sharp breath.

The chicken coop was gone.

Well, not exactly gone. Nothing remained of it but a tangled heap of straw, wire, and splintered lumber. It looked as if a tiny tornado had blown by and reduced it to a pile of kindling in the middle of the night.

The troublemaker had returned.

Fear and anger tightened in Poppy's chest. Could someone truly hate them this much? What had any of the Honeybee Schwesters ever done to warrant chopping down their chicken coop or painting threatening messages on their barn? Aunt Bitsy wore earrings occasionally and hid money between the pages of their Bible, but surely no one could be this angered by her eccentric behavior. Lily read books to the schoolchildren once a week, and Rose was so timid and sweet that people were afraid of offending
her
, not the other way around.

Poppy nibbled on her bottom lip. She had socked more than her fair share of boys in primary school. Could one of them still be angry after all these years? At the moment, it was the only explanation that made sense. This whole mess could very well be her fault.

Tears slowly trickled down Rose's cheeks. “Why would he chop up our chicken coop? What did the chickens ever do to him?”

Poppy put her arm around her sister. After this, they'd be fortunate if they could convince Rose to leave the house. “The important thing is that he didn't hurt our chickens. That means he has a little kindness inside him.”

To Poppy's surprise, Rose's expression brightened considerably. She wiped her eyes and sniffed back new tears. “That's true. He cared about the chickens. He must not be all bad. Jesus can still touch his heart.”

Well, maybe. The best Poppy dared hope was that he'd get arrested for sneaking around people's houses and quit bothering them.

“Let's go break the bad news to B and Lily,” Poppy said. “We'll have to buy some eggs at the market today.”

“
Nae
, look,” Rose said, gazing at the side of the barn where the chickens had been roosting.

Six eggs lay on the ground in a nice little row against the barn wall. Rose quickly snatched them up and put them in her basket. “It's a chicken coop miracle,” she said, with an unexpected smile.

Maybe she wouldn't shut herself in her room today.

Billy Idol strolled around the corner of the barn and mewed loudly. His voice was gravelly and deep, as if he'd been a smoker all his life. At the sight of the chickens milling near what used to be their coop, he crouched and crept closer, no doubt preparing for an attack.

Poppy folded her arms and gave him the stink eye. “Don't even think about it, Billy Idol.”

Rose handed Poppy her basket of eggs and scooped Billy Idol into her arms. “Oh, you sweet little kitty. Did that man scare you too?”

Poppy's lips curled into a reluctant grin. Only someone as pure-hearted as Rose could love a cat like Billy Idol. He had unruly black-and-white fur, lopsided whiskers, and one ear split right down the middle. One eye only opened halfway, and part of his tail was missing. But it wasn't his looks that made him so unlovable. Billy Idol regularly hissed and spit at the members of his new family, as if he would have rather taken a bath than be picked up and snuggled.

Even in Rose's loving embrace, he struggled and swiped at her as if she was choking him. Rose patiently ran her hand along his back and scratched what was left of his ears, until he gave up the struggle and sat quietly in her arms. He looked like a five-year-old enduring a haircut, but at least he kept still.

Rose nuzzled her cheek against Billy Idol's fur. “There, there, kitty. It's all right. You're safe now.” Billy Idol frowned at the indignity of being babied, but Rose didn't notice. “Maybe he saw our intruder last night.”

“I hope Billy Idol gave him a good scratching.”

Rose held the cat up so she could look him in the eye. “Did you scratch that mean man?” she said, in her most precious baby voice. “That's naughty. No scratching or Aunt Bitsy will banish you from the house.”

It was a
gute
sign that Rose could talk about the incident, even with the cat.

Poppy couldn't even think about it without the bile rising in her throat. She bit her lip. How dare someone leave their chickens homeless and scare everyone half to death? Who was the young man behind that rolled-up car window, with his shifty gaze and his face swollen with bee stings? If only she'd gotten a good look.

If Luke Bontrager hadn't interfered, their chickens would still have a coop.

She pressed her lips together. Then again, maybe she wouldn't still be in possession of her fingers. She gingerly flexed her hand. If the vandalism incidents were retaliation for something she'd done, she'd face twenty car windows to find out the truth, no matter what Luke Bontrager said.

He would surely scold her if he ever found out.

Well, he could try.

She'd give him as good as she got.

* * *

Luke, Dan Kanagy, and their friend Josiah Yoder stood behind the Christners' barn regarding the woodpile that used to be the chicken coop. Dan had come by the Honeybee Farm earlier to see Lily. Lily had told him about the coop, and Dan had fetched Josiah and Luke after supper to survey the damage.

Luke was doing a valiant job of keeping his blood from boiling over.
Whosoever was angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment.
Well, a destroyed chicken coop seemed to be a pretty
gute
cause for anger. Why would someone spend several good sleeping hours reducing a chicken coop to rubble?

“Lily's pretty upset about it,” Dan said, picking up a jagged piece of wood and turning it over in his hand.

“What about Rose?” Josiah said. “Is Rose okay?”

“They're all shaken up,” Dan said. “Even Poppy, and her confidence isn't easily rattled.”

“You're telling me,” Luke muttered. She didn't even bat an eye at a broken hand.

Josiah poked his foot around the splintered wood. “They didn't hear anything in the middle of the night?”

Dan shook his head. “There was some wind last night. Those big trees blowing in the breeze would have covered up the sound. I wish I knew a way to stop him from destroying their entire farm piece by piece.”

“Maybe we should call the sheriff,” Josiah said. “I don't like the idea of the four of them being here alone.”

Josiah must have been really worried. It wasn't the Amish way to involve the police in anything.

Luke tended to agree with him. Four women living alone on a country farm needed more protection than a shotgun could provide—even if the community frowned on calling the police. Bitsy used to be
Englisch
. She colored her hair and wore tattoos. Surely she wouldn't mind calling the police.

Dan nodded as his brows inched closer and closer together. “Bitsy's already talked to the sheriff, but there's not much he can do except keep a closer eye on the place. I'm here almost every day, but that doesn't keep things from happening in the middle of the night. All we can do is keep fixing what's broken.” He poked a piece of wood with his foot and glanced at Luke. “Could you help me rebuild it?”

“I'll help,” Josiah said, “but I'm no carpenter.”

“I'm a dairy farmer,” Dan said. “I can hammer nails, but it won't be done right unless you're the one in charge, Luke. I know it's a lot to ask.”

Luke folded his arms across his chest and grunted his displeasure. “I'm insulted you even think you have to ask. Of course I'll rebuild it.”

“And we'll do whatever we can to help,” Josiah said.

Luke raised an eyebrow. Josiah couldn't hammer a nail straight even if someone drew a line for him. “You can hold my lunch box.”

Josiah's lips twitched sheepishly. “
Ach
, I'm better than I used to be.”

Luke glanced sideways at him but didn't argue. “Monday is the Fourth of July. The Johnsons don't want me working on their floor anyway. And I can't lay their floor until I get those planks. I can take Monday and Tuesday to build a new coop.”

It was certain Dan hadn't expected anything less, but relief flooded his expression. “I'll come as soon as I finish milking on Monday.”

Josiah cupped his hand around the back of his neck. “I can come after nine o'clock.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “At night?”

“
Jah
. I feel really bad about not being more help, but I've got to make hay while the sun shines.”

“Literally,” Luke said. He thumped a hand on Joe's shoulder. “I know how laden you are right now with the farm. Don't worry about coming. Dan and I can manage without you.”

Josiah narrowed his eyes in mock indignation. Luke had never seen him truly angry in his life. “You just don't want me touching your tools.”

“That too,” Luke said.

“I want to come, just in case I catch a glimpse of . . .” Josiah turned bright red and lowered his eyes. “Well . . . you know.”

Luke smirked. “You're pathetic, Joe. Just go knock on the door and talk to her. She won't bite you.”

Josiah gave Luke a friendly shove. “I've got a plan,” he said. “And it can't be rushed. Unlike you, I don't knock girls over like a freight train.”

Luke shrugged and flashed a smile. “It's not my fault I knock girls over with my good looks.”

“Don't fool yourself,” Dan said. “You haven't knocked Poppy Christner over yet.”

“And thank the
gute
Lord for that. I like my nose just the way it is.”

Dan stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the barn. “Poppy isn't prone to hit people anymore.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “So she told me.”

“She's wonderful pretty,” Josiah said. “Don't you think she's pretty?”

“Who cares if she's pretty? If you haven't noticed, she's a little hard to get along with.” A lot hard to get along with. “And stubborn. And contrary.”

Dan rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “Sounds like someone we know, doesn't it, Joe?”

Josiah's lips curled upward. “Except for the part about being pretty.”