The Beekeeper's Son (The Amish of Bee County Book 1) (31 page)

“You’re moving into Leroy’s house?”

“She is.” Stephen stepped into the gap between them. “Just until—”

“For now.” Abigail cut him off. His face darkened another shade. He didn’t like to be interrupted. Stephen should not speak for her. His thoughts and opinions would not govern her actions. She’d tried to fit herself into his mold and found it impossible. “Thank you for letting us stay with you. For sharing your home and your food.”

“No need for thanks. Neighbors help neighbors. You more than made up for it with all the work you did around the house and the garden.” Mordecai spoke as if Stephen didn’t stand between them. “We enjoyed the company.”

Deborah poked her head from the hallway. “Is everything—?”

“Go back to the room.”

“But—”

“Now. I’ll come get you girls when I’m ready to load the rest of our things. Go.”

Her face set in disapproving lines that reminded Abigail of her own mother, Deborah whirled and disappeared down the hall.

“I need a word with Abigail.” Stephen took a step toward her, but his gaze stayed on Mordecai. “You can get back to work. I’ll take care of any help she needs.”

“Jah. I’m sure you will.” Mordecai’s gaze stayed on Abigail. She could feel it boring into her, as if he wanted to discern what was in her head and in her heart. “Why not stay for supper? You too, Stephen. Susan has promised buttered noodles and baked squash. I smelled oatmeal cinnamon cookies baking earlier.”

Abigail marched around Stephen. She didn’t need him to speak for her, but the last thing she wanted was to eat while sitting at the table with these two men. “It’s a long time until supper
and we have unpacking to do. Naomi is expecting me. I told her I’d help her pickle the last of the okra and cucumbers this afternoon.”

“Everyone has expectations that don’t get met.” His blue-green eyes full of a sadness that engulfed Abigail, Mordecai touched the brim of his hat. “See you when we see you, then. Come on, Butch. That honey isn’t going to harvest itself.”

“Mordecai, I—” The screen door slammed on her whispered response.

Stephen’s gaze whipped from the door to Abigail. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing.”

Not a thing. Not unless she stepped up and made it something. The sadness in Mordecai’s face ate at her. She saw there a reflection of her own aching heart. Tomorrow morning she would get up and help Naomi make breakfast. Mordecai would not sit across the table and entertain her with little-known facts about the life cycle of mosquitoes or weather patterns in the tropics.

He wouldn’t slather a piece of bread with honey and hand it to her as if it were a slice of the best cake in the world.

His voice wouldn’t call to her from the swing in the backyard, reminding her to come out and enjoy the beauty of the setting sun before bidding her good night.

“See you when we see you.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing to me.” Stephen crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you standing there looking mournful?”

Stephen was better at reading faces than she had imagined. Abigail remembered to shut her mouth. She cleared her throat. “Stephen, I can’t do this.”

“You can’t move to Leroy’s? You’re the one who said you wanted
to do it, without even talking to me first. Now you’ve made a commitment. He’s the bishop.”

“Nee, we’ll move into Leroy’s house now. But then I’m going to look for a place of my own. For my family.”

Time to stand on her own two feet. Time to figure out what she wanted from life on her terms. She would care for her family. She would do this right, one step at a time.

“You’ll buy a house? By yourself? Why would you do that? You’ll marry and have to sell it again. That makes no sense.”

“I need to have my own place to raise my family. I have what’s left of the money from the sale of my farm.”

“What’s left of our nest egg.”

He refused to admit defeat. He refused to see what was right in front of him. Abigail couldn’t marry him because she didn’t love him. “My nest egg. When you have an income from the expanded orchards, you can pay me back. There’s no hurry.”

“Pay you back? I thought we were sharing in an expense for our future.”

“So did I. But I no longer can see a future that we share.”

“I don’t understand. Is it you or all women?” Stephen put his hands up as if surrendering to unseen forces. Anger gave way to pain. The same heartbreaking pain Abigail had seen in his face all those years ago. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been more than patient. I’ve put up with more than any man would. No Plain woman buys her own farm. It’s not done. It’s not proper.”

“I’m so sorry, so very sorry. I know I’m hurting you, but it’s better to do it now before it’s too late. I know you can’t understand, but it’s for the best. I’ll talk to Leroy. I’ll explain.”

Her heart pounded at the thought. Surely the bishop would not have her marry for security. Marriage between a man and
woman was more than that. It was a commitment between two people that bound them for life. Not for a farm.

“It’s not me, is it?” Stephen lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s you, surely. It has to be. I did everything I could, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. You’re right, it’s me.” No doubt about that. But it didn’t make her a bad person. She knew that now. It made her . . . vigilant over her family and her heart. “I thought I knew what I wanted, but now I know I have to do what’s best for my kinner, and being yoked to a man I don’t love isn’t best for them or me.”

“There’s someone else, isn’t there? Just like last time.” Stephen loomed over her. His pulse jumped in his temple. “It’s happening again. You’re in love with someone else. You led me on.”

“That wasn’t my intent.”

He slapped his hat back on his head, his expression hard. “So there’s no hope?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll drop Caleb at Leroy’s later.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “He’s helping me pick cantaloupe this afternoon.”

“That’s fine.”

“It’ll have to be. It’s not the boy’s fault.” Stephen stomped through the screen door and let it slam. If this kept up, the poor screen door would be in shambles on the floor. He glanced back, his face blurred in the gray mesh netting of the screen. “It’s your loss, not mine. I’ll not waste another moment thinking of you.”

His bellow likely was heard all the way to the barn. Mordecai might even hear it and know she no longer had obligations to another.

Abigail hoped not. She wasn’t ready for what Mordecai offered her. She needed time and she intended to take it.

THIRTY-TWO

Deborah padded around the wagon, the withered, yellow grass cracking under her sneakers. The early September heat burned the back of her neck. Despite the bank of dark, rolling clouds glowering on the southern horizon, not a breath of wind stirred. The leaves hung listless in the live oak trees that dotted a yard more dirt than grass. The heat burned her nostrils when she inhaled. Her parched throat hurt with the effort to swallow.

She tugged a box loaded with the last of the grape jam from the wagon and marched toward the Combination Store. They needed rain. Soon. They still had some produce, thanks to the irrigation, but the chickens had stopped producing, and Naomi had resorted to butchering the older hens for frying. Some crops could be planted late into winter in this climate, much to Deborah’s amazement, but putting meat on the table was another story. Talk at the supper table the previous night informed her that deer-hunting season didn’t begin until early November. Same with turkey.

Maybe they’d have turkey in time for Thanksgiving. In the meantime, canned venison would do.

She needed to find a way to earn money to help with buying what they couldn’t grow, raise, or hunt. If she managed to find a job in Beeville, how would she get there? Horseback? Her family didn’t own its own horses or buggy. Mother had sold those too. Her mind running in four directions, she stuck her knee up to steady the box and tugged open the door with her free hand. Sultry air no cooler than what bathed her outside wafted in her face.

“Can I help you with that?” Mordecai appeared in the door, arms outstretched. “Looks heavy.”

“Nee. I’ve got it.” She wrapped her arms tighter around the box. She hadn’t seen Mordecai since they moved from his house two weeks earlier. She hadn’t expected to see him here. “It’s the last of the grape jam.”

Holding the door open for her, Mordecai backed away so she could enter. Butch, who lolled in the middle of the aisle in front of a display of straw hats, rose and barked as if announcing her arrival. His wide snout made it look as if he were smiling his welcome.

“Jah, Butch, we know.” Mordecai wagged a finger at the dog. “You’re glad to see her. We all are.”

The dog flopped back on the floor, tongue hanging from his panting mouth.

“Hey, Butch.” She settled the box on the floor next to the dog and gave him a pet, trying to hide her surprise at Mordecai’s statement. “I figured you were pleased to get your house back.”

“It’s been mighty quiet without the gaggle of Lantz girls.” He shrugged, but something in his expression told her the words were an understatement. He swept a hand toward the display of jellies and jams. “The shelf is a mite crowded still.”

“The last batch hasn’t sold?” She peered around him. Yep.
The dozen jars she’d delivered the previous week sat untouched next to Mordecai’s honey. “I guess Leroy didn’t tell Naomi her jars were still on the shelf.”

“Probably not, right next to the honey.” He leaned down and picked up a jar of strawberry jam, holding it as if it were precious and fragile in his big hand. “I’m not worried about the honey. It’s good to have a supply. The bees will stop producing when it turns cold and then demand will exceed supply.”

“It gets cold here?” Leave it to Mordecai to slip a bee fact into idle conversation. Deborah tried to imagine a crisp, cold fall day in this place. She simply couldn’t. “When?”

He chuckled and settled the jar on the shelf. “Cooler, let’s put it that way. Sometime around Thanksgiving. Maybe. Definitely by Christmas. In the forties sometimes. Doesn’t last long, though.”

“I can’t wait. It’s hot enough to fry an egg on the porch.” And make toast too.

“Yep, doesn’t help sales either. The hotter it gets and the less produce we have, the fewer folks make the trip out here from town. Broccoli isn’t a big seller for some reason.” Smiling, Mordecai picked up two more jars from her box and squeezed them onto the shelf. “Folks are spoiled by air-conditioning. They don’t want to come out in the heat. Especially when the good stuff like the tomatoes and cantaloupe is all gone.”

“Where’re Leroy and Jesse?” The Glicks generally ran the store, started by Leroy’s daed when he moved to Bee County from Tennessee twenty years earlier. They shared the proceeds, but everyone knew the store belonged to the Glick family. “They left the house this morning headed this way. Leastways, I thought they did.”

“I came in to drop off some candles and lip balm. Leroy asked
me to stay a spell while they went to look at a horse. Gilbert Berkley wants Leroy to break him to a saddle.” Mordecai scooted the box under the shelf, straightened, and dusted his hands off. “And he got another order for a custom-made buggy today. Some lady down south who thinks she needs an
authentic
Amish buggy in her yard. Only she wants it to have orange trim.”

Deborah giggled. Mordecai’s gift of gab hadn’t changed. He made her feel grown-up and an equal. Not like Stephen, who wanted her to be a daughter he could discipline and advise and boss around. “What did Leroy say to that?”

“He said she had to pay in full up front because no one else would buy it. Not in these parts.”

They both laughed. Deborah ducked her head and busied herself arranging the rest of the jars. “How’s—?”

“How’s—?”

They both stopped. Deborah sneaked a glance at Mordecai. A red flush darkened his tanned face. She took pity on him. “Mudder is doing all right, if that is what you were planning to ask me.”

“It was just an idle question.”

“It’s polite to ask about folks.”

Mordecai’s smile lit up the store. Phineas looked so like him. “And I’m always so polite. Almost as polite as the Englisch folks who come in here.”

“I know when I get home, Mudder will ask me if anything interesting happened at the store.”

“What will you tell her?”

“That you have a new job tending store and you do a fairly good job at it.”

He chuckled again, a deep, rich sound. Phineas should do
more of that. Mordecai turned his back and sauntered behind the counter. “So, ask me your question.”

Mordecai had eyes in his head. He knew what was going on between his son and her. Or not going on. He’d made that clear the night she’d stumbled upon him in the kitchen before dawn. “How is Phineas?”

“Pining away.”

“Pining away?”

“Living alone and pretending he likes it, but all the while, pining away.”

“I never would’ve expected such a flight of fancy from a grown man such as yourself.”

Mordecai shrugged. “Looks can be deceiving. As we all know.”

All Deborah knew was that she hadn’t seen Phineas since their last conversation outside the van in Weslaco. No bumping into each other in the middle of the road. It had been an off week for services so no sneaking a peek at him during the sermon. Nothing. He’d said he needed time, and it was evident he meant it. She worked to keep her face neutral. She didn’t need Mordecai telling Phineas she was doing her own pining.

“I hear your mudder is thinking about buying your onkel’s property.”

Mordecai had his own reason to pine, apparently. Deborah felt for him. She knew exactly how that felt. Despite the age difference and the fact that he was a widow with children, they were fellow sojourners on a road that seemed full of potholes and unexpected detours.

“She went to the bank yesterday, but last night she said she didn’t want to talk about it.” A woman owning a farm here and working it without a husband, that was a path not to be walked
lightly. Deborah rearranged the jars, grape on one side, strawberry on the other. “Onkel John would feel mighty strange selling it to his own sister. He’d want to give it to her, but he can’t afford it, I’m sure. I was thinking . . .”