A Simple Hope: A Lancaster Crossroads Novel (31 page)

“Ya. At this rate, I’ll be walking when I’m ninety.”

He tossed back the quilt and pulled himself up to a seated position. “Don’t think I’m not grateful, Father. I’m glad to be alive. But if you could just bring my legs to life, too?”

After breakfast James spent two hours in his room doing his exercises, which couldn’t be neglected any day of the week. Then he headed outside into the pale spring sunshine and started wheeling himself toward the barn.

Hannah and Lovina looked up from the lawn, where they were tossing a Frisbee. “Mamm says you’re not to go to the orchard, in case you forgot that it’s Sunday,” Lovina called after him.

“I know my days of the week. And I would never work on a Sunday.” Now more than ever, he needed a day of rest. The physical therapy was taxing, and the buggy ride back and forth to Paradise made his days long. He rolled past the Doddy house, where he needed to chase some of the chickens back toward their coops, then on to the barn, where the cool shadows alternated with blocks of sunlight streaming in from above.

“There you go, boy,” came Mark’s voice from one of the stalls. “All combed down. That’s got to feel good. Now … your hooves.”

“Mark?” James wheeled over to the stall where his younger brother stood behind Rowdy, holding one of the horse’s rear hooves between his legs. “I thought I’d find you here.” It was hard to separate Mark from the horses, especially the unpopular, unreliable ones like Rowdy, who Mark insisted were misunderstood. “Didn’t you brush this horse down yesterday?”

“He likes it,” Mark said defensively, “and I do, too. See, it’s not all about grooming. With a horse like Rowdy, you need to build trust, or else he’ll never learn to pull the plow with the team. And the way to build trust is to spend time with a horse and teach him things. Start with the small lessons and slowly you start to challenge him.”

James rubbed his knuckles against his clean-shaven jaw as he listened to the process that sounded similar to the physical therapy the doctors were putting him through. Well, lessons were lessons.

“I came to see if you wanted to come out for a walk with me in the orchard.” The Sunday orchard walk was a tradition Doddy Elmo had started with James when he was just a toddler. For various reasons, James’s brothers Luke, Peter, and Matt never quite took to it, but Mark had begun to tag along with James and Elmo just as soon as his little legs could carry him.

“I’m not finished with Rowdy, but I guess I can pick out his hooves later.”

James knew the horse didn’t need much attention on dry days like this. “Rowdy will be here when we get back, but the apricot trees won’t wait. They’re thick with bud. Some even starting to bloom.”

Mark lowered Rowdy’s hoof to the ground and went around to pat the horse’s withers. “I’ll be back, boy.”

Reaching up, Mark took his hat from a post in the stable and pulled it on over the dark hair most members of the Lapp family had in common. As they headed down the wide path that bordered the orchard, James recalled coming this way with his grandfather every Sunday, talking about everything and anything that popped into his head. Now the same easy rapport existed between Mark and him as they talked about the family members that would be visiting today, about the end of the school year, which Mark was looking forward to, and about the new manager, Orchard Al, who was due to arrive today before supper.

“Look over there.” James pointed his chin toward the apricot orchard. “Amazing, isn’t it? You think you’d get sick of it, but every year, come springtime, the new blossoms look better and better.”

Mark ran ahead a little and skipped down the row between the pink blossoms. “Why are the apricots always the first?”

James shrugged. “It’s the way Gott planned it. We’ll see the peaches start to bloom in another week or two. Then the pears, cherries, and apples won’t be far behind.”

With pale blossoms overhead, he paused in the center of the row to take in the sweet, floral fragrance. The buds had just begun opening, but within a week, these rows would be covered with flowers thick as popcorn balls covering each branch.

“Spring is the best time.” Hands on his hips, Mark looked around with a bright smile. “Do you smell that?”

“I do.” James was glad his younger brother was growing to love the orchard as he did.

“Remember when Doddy used to slide his feet along in the carpet of petals, stirring all the white dots into the air?”

James grinned. “Walking in heaven, that’s what he called it.”

“Ya.” Mark held his arms wide. “So next week, after all the petals come down, we’ll be walking in heaven.”

One can only hope
, James thought. At this rate, he would settle for walking on earth. Leaning back in his chair, he followed the line of blossoms to the sky, a vibrant blue overhead. He could hear Doddy’s voice in his ear.
Nothing like the first blossoms of spring
.

He was lost in the memory of his grandfather’s advice, jokes, and riddles when Mark interrupted.

“Who in the world is that with Dat?” Mark asked.

James turned his chair to face the wide path, where Dat was walking with a short, graying man with silver glasses. “I reckon that’s Orchard Al,” he said under his breath.

Mark’s brown eyes opened wide as he took in the new foreman. “He’s not as big as I expected, and he looks old.”

“He’s old Jacob’s friend. Sure he’s gonna be old.”

“James! Mark! Come meet Orchard Al.”

Setting his jaw, James wheeled his chair around and started up the lane. From up close, Orchard Al seemed younger than Jacob. Instead of the wrinkles of age, he had round cheeks that were shiny and ruddy like a sun-ripened peach.

Dat introduced the man, who set his hat back and fixed his steely gray eyes on James. “Please, call me Albee. Everyone does. And I understand you’re the one I should be going around with. You’ve been in charge of these orchards for the past year or so. You’ve done a right good job.”

Although pleasure swelled in his chest at the compliment, James kept his expression grim. This was the man who was taking his job away.

Dat had an easy smile for the stranger. “Albee and his wife, Judy,
are here for dinner, all the way from Lebanon Valley. They’re going to stay with Jacob tonight, then head home and pack up.”

Because the Miller orchard was some twenty miles northwest of Halfway, Albee and Judy would live in the Doddy house till the harvest was over. His sons, in their twenties, would manage the Lebanon Valley orchard while he was gone. “You won’t even know we’re here.”

“Ya, good.” This Albee was a friendly fellow, but James would not open that door. The sooner Orchard Al was finished here, the better. “We’d best get back for supper.”

“We’ll go together,” Dat said. “Albee has seen enough of the orchard, ya?”

“A fine patch of Gott’s earth you got here. Well maintained,” Albee said. “Last year’s pruning was spot on. Makes the growing season that much easier.”

James waited for Dat to agree that his oldest son had managed the orchard well, but the words were not spoken.

Noon dinner was one of James’s favorites—baked chicken coated with cornflakes, along with baked potatoes, buttered peas, corn, salad, peaches, and applesauce. James’s aunt Fanny Lapp was visiting with her family, and James was glad for the help that Fanny and cousins Emma and Elsie brought to Mamm in the kitchen. It seemed that Mamm never got a moment’s rest these days, but this afternoon, her eyes were bright as she cooed and rocked Fanny’s baby, little Tom. And Edna beamed when Judy Miller asked for her recipe for “that wonderful good chicken.”

Looking around the dinner table, James still had trouble taking in the changes in their family since that highway accident in January.
James’s uncle Tom, Fanny’s husband, had been killed in the collision that had injured James. Tom was still missed by so many. But just weeks later, little Tom had been born—a boy who would never know his father. There had been such joy and sadness at the same time. Trapped in the hospital, James had listened to reports from his family in a daze of pain and medication.

Fortunately, most of the twelve passengers in the van had survived without injury. Rachel was untouched, as was James’s cousin Elsie, who had a special place in his heart for her kindness and constant smile.

During the meal, Elsie talked about Haley Donovan. “Have you noticed the way Haley and Dylan spend so much time together?” Elsie asked. “Don’t they always come together, in the same car, when they visit?”

Before James could answer, Jimmy piped up. “They’re not coming around here anymore. We had too many Englishers in and out of here. I had to put an end to that.”

Elsie’s eyes grew wide as she nibbled on a piece of chicken.

The topic would have dropped, but Fanny’s son Will seemed interested. “Why don’t you like the English?” the five-year-old asked Jimmy.

A good question
, James thought, turning toward his father.

Jimmy swallowed as he dropped a bone onto his plate. “I like the English just fine, but the Bible says that Plain folk must live on this earth but not be part of it, the way Englishers are. We need to live in peace with them, but separate. Too many times, Plain folk cross over that line and they lose the old ways.”

Although Dat’s words made sense, they didn’t match what James knew about him. There was no denying that his father disliked Englishers, and that disdain was deep-rooted in a terrible incident from Jimmy’s childhood. Unfortunately, James had never heard the
whole story. Neither had his brothers or sisters. Every now and then the Lapp children asked Jimmy about that childhood tragedy, and their father shook his head, telling them that it was all long ago and far away.

It may have been long ago, but James sensed that it was never far from his father’s mind. Jimmy was carrying the burden of that grief around every day, like a hay bale on his shoulder. James had always known that, though he’d never been brave enough to press his father about it.

After supper, James went out to the yard with the men and children, who decided it was warm enough to play badminton.

“Can I play?” Fanny’s three-year-old daughter, Beth, pressed a racket to her face. “Beth a bad mitten!”

That brought a chuckle from the older ones. When Elsie came out a few minutes later, James smiled and nodded at a lawn chair beside Caleb. “Have a seat, Els. Take a load off. It’s not often that you get to escape kitchen duty.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. There’s a lot of laughing and yodeling that goes on in a kitchen. And if you have a worry, there’s always someone to share your load in the kitchen.” She eased back onto a chair and propped herself up with strong arms. Elsie was a little person, born with a medical condition that made her short in stature, with widely spaced teeth. Little people were widely accepted by the Amish because Gott certainly intended to create them as such. Gott did not make mistakes. And whenever James spent time with Elsie, he thanked the Almighty that she was born so special. This was a young person who knew how to let Gott’s light shine. “You know, James, maybe you should spend a little more time in the kitchen,” she teased. “We need to get you smiling more.”

“That is a good plan, Elsie,” Caleb agreed.

“It might crack my face,” James insisted.

“Well, you probably don’t realize it, but you’re very lucky to
have Judy and Albee moving into the Doddy house. Judy loves to bake, and I hear Albee spent most of his life as a nurseryman.”

“Mmm.” James turned toward the badminton game.

“Don’t growl now. Tell me about your treatment. I heard they plug an electric cord right into your back.”

James snorted. “Is that the gossip out there?”

“How does electricity feel?” Caleb asked. “Does it get hot?”

James described the process from start to finish, including the hours of physical therapy.

“Gott’s wonders never cease.” Elsie clapped her small hands together. “Do the doctors think this will cure you?”

James rubbed his palms against the armrests of his chair. “The doctors think it’s going well, but me, I want to be out there climbing trees. It’s all too slow. I don’t want to wait weeks or months or years to be managing the orchard again.”