The Harvest of Grace (13 page)

Nine

The warm, sudsy water slid over Cara’s hands while she scrubbed the pots and pans as if they’d offended her. The worst of the heat was gone for the day as the sun began to set, but she couldn’t find any solace in the pink hues outside the kitchen window or the clip-clop of rigs passing by.

Thoughts of the way she’d exploded at Trevor plagued her. If the church leaders caught wind of how she’d treated him—and they could if Trevor chose to go see Emma and Levi and ask why they hadn’t picked Cara up at the bus station all those years ago—her plans to marry Ephraim could be jeopardized.

But she doubted Trevor could follow through on anything, so she didn’t need to worry about him telling community members about her outburst. And she’d confirmed that Ada and Deborah wouldn’t tell. So why couldn’t she just forget about the incident? The man certainly had no problems forgetting about her … until recently.

Squeals and giggles from outside drew Cara to the back screen door. The fenced yard was a wonderland to her daughter, who’d been raised in some of the poorest sections of New York City.

Lori tugged on one end of a towel while Better Days pulled on the other. “Look, Mom. I’m winning.”

Cara stepped outside, noticing that several items had been jerked off the clotheslines. “Lori Moore! Stop right this instant! What are you thinking?”

Lori froze in place.

Cara clenched her fists, trying to calm herself. This wasn’t like her. She wasn’t a yeller. They were the mom-and-daughter team that fought against the odds, not with each other. But fury assaulted her just as it had yesterday when Trevor showed up. She swallowed, trying to gain perspective. “Clothes on the line are not toys for you and that dog to rip up.”

Her daughter nodded, and Cara wondered what she must sound and look like from Lori’s perspective. She hadn’t meant for her tone to be so rough, but she burned with offense.

She’d always loved her daughter’s silly ways; even the careless or thoughtless ones were a beautiful reminder of childhood innocence. Had Cara let Trevor steal that part of her too? She’d groused her way through last night and all of today, and her anger continued to grow.

She picked up the towel that Lori and Better Days had been playing tug of war with. It was an old one that Cara had given them weeks ago. Deborah had washed it, and Lori had removed it from the line. Cara picked up the other pieces, realizing those belonged to Better Days too.

She turned to her daughter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lori broke into tears and ran into the house.

Cara eased into a nearby lawn chair.
God, help me. I’m so angry I can’t stand myself or enjoy my daughter or think clearly
.

A few minutes later Deborah eased out the back door and sat in a lawn chair next to Cara. She put her hand gently over Cara’s, reminding Cara of the months she’d spent comforting Deborah after her fiancé dumped her and ran off. Deborah had struggled for a long time, but in the end she was glad to be free of him and had slowly fallen in love again—this time with a man worthy of her.

“What am I going to do?” Cara asked.

“Maybe you need to talk to your dad.”

“His name is Trevor. Please don’t refer to him as anything else.”

Ada stepped outside, holding Lori’s hand. “It’s time for all little girls to get a bath, but I think she needs to see you first.”

Cara opened her arms. Lori ran to her, climbed into her lap, and snuggled.

After brushing wisps of hair off her daughter’s forehead, Cara kissed it. “I’m sorry, Lori.”

“What’s wrong, Mama?”

“I think I ate Oscar the Grouch.”

Lori’s brown eyes stared up at her, but she didn’t smile. “I can’t remember you ever yelling before. You wag your finger sometimes or count to five, but you don’t yell.”

Cara had never seen any benefit to yelling. Besides, Lori wasn’t the kind of child who required a raised voice in order to listen. But after facing off with Trevor, Cara couldn’t imagine taming the beast she’d freed from its cage. Even as she held her daughter, she felt enough pent-up hostility to rip something apart.

She pulled Lori close. “I love you, Lorabean. And moms yell sometimes, just like you get sassy once in a while. It doesn’t mean you don’t love me, does it?”

“No way!”

Squeezing Lori tight, Cara kissed all over her face and neck until her daughter giggled wildly. “Go on inside with Ada. I need to talk to Deborah.”

Lori hugged Deborah good night and skipped up the back steps with Better Days ahead of her. “Ada, you gonna tuck me in and read to me tonight?”

“I’d like that. What are we reading?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

Their voices faded as they went deeper into the house.

Cara searched for a way to explain to Deborah the depth of her rage but came up empty. “No one’s supposed to join the faith harboring obvious unforgiveness. And this isn’t going to fade away.”

Deborah played with one string of her prayer Kapp. “I thought you were ready to deal with seeing him.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. Until he showed up. Why should we have to forgive people for doing wrong if they’d do the same thing again if given the chance? If the church leaders learn about our situation and believe I should treat Trevor with respect and forgiveness, it’ll cause nothing but trouble for me and Ephraim. It’ll look like I’m the problem, but I’m the one trying, and I wasn’t doing bad until Trevor stepped in.”

“I know you’re trying, and so do they.”

“God revealed Himself to me when I didn’t believe in Him at all. If He saved me in this condition, why can’t I stay the way I am?”

“Is that what you want—to stay like you are right now?”

Cara moaned. “Oh, dear God, no.” She rose from her chair and stared into the evening sky. Was He listening to her right now? “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t, and I won’t pretend to. But you do.”

Cara turned. “What does that mean?”

“You understand the emotions stirred in you and whether you want to embrace them as gifts from God or refuse them because they’re not something you want.”

“I don’t get that choice, Deb. Can’t you see? They’re already inside me—days and weeks and months and years and decades of anger and heartbreak! And I was able to box that up and tuck it away until the source showed up on the front porch.”

“But he’s here now. And the box has been taken out of its hiding place.”

“Your patience and insight are really annoying, you know.”

Deborah smiled. “I’m trying my best not to be. Does that count?”

Cara plunked down in her chair, sighing. More than anything she longed to be perfect for Ephraim, but so many obstacles stood in her way. “Can you imagine what he’ll think?”

“Who?”

“Your brother. He’s such an upstanding member in the church, and he’s engaged to me, a holy terror.”

Deborah chuckled. “And if you hadn’t returned, he’d be single his whole life, dating different women, searching for his one true mate who never showed up.”

Cara squeezed her eyes shut, a storm of anxiety raging through her. Forgiving Trevor wasn’t possible. But letting Ephraim know of her weakness and anger was.

“Think he’s still in his shop?”

“Probably. If not, with all the windows open, he can hear the office phone ring from inside his house.”

Cara stood. “You know, for an annoyingly patient person, you can be pretty helpful.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t get mad at me.” Deborah raised an eyebrow, teasing her.

Cara took a deep breath. It was just Tuesday, and Ephraim usually visited only on the weekends, but she longed to see him. Maybe he’d hire Robbie to bring him to Hope Crossing tonight.

Ten

Darkness surrounded Sylvia as she slid into a pair of pants and a shirt. She breathed in the early morning air, trying to ignore the concern that weighed on her. The possibility of Michael losing or selling the farm felt like another personal failure.

After putting on her shoes and prayer Kapp, she left the cabin and walked the narrow path toward the main driveway. Only a few stars peeked through the summer haze, and the waning moon gave very little light. A few cows were moseying toward the barn and mooing softly. Before she had the milking parlor ready, the herd would be bellowing at her, ready to be let in, fed, and milked.

When the barn and farmhouse came into sight, tears pricked her eyes. The buildings stood firm against the dark morning, looking like a dream—one she longed to protect.

The Amish who’d come to America hundreds of years ago wanted two things—religious freedom and land to farm. She felt a kinship with her ancestors but understood that farming was a continuous battle that would never be truly won. Was Michael so weary of the fight that Aaron could talk him into selling?

She went into the barn and lit several kerosene lanterns before climbing into the haymow. She counted out ten bales of straw and began tossing them to the ground. Michael would arrive in a few minutes, bringing her a cup of coffee and a kind word before he helped milk the herd.

She dropped another bale to the ground.

“Whoa!” a male voice hollered.

She looked through the hay chute. “Michael?”

A man stepped into view through the rectangular hole. In the dim light she saw Aaron dusting straw off himself.

She grabbed the strings to another bale. “Why would anyone stand under a hay chute while someone is lobbing bales?”

“I wasn’t
under
it. I was getting close enough for you to hear me. The bale broke in midair and scattered.” He held up a travel mug. “Truce?” He glanced down. “I’m afraid the lid has straw and dust particles all over it now.”

“Please step back so I can finish this task.”

He did so without argument, which surprised her. She tossed the last few bales, then climbed down the ladder.

Her cup of coffee sat on a ledge. Aaron was using a pitchfork to spread the straw in the stalls. Apparently he hadn’t taken seriously her command to stay out of the barn.

“Daed hurt his back last night,” he said.

“Ach, no!”

Aaron shrugged as if there were nothing else to say on the topic. He’d explained his presence with a brief sentence, without even making eye contact. She liked that. But she was worried about Michael.

“Is he in a lot of pain?”

Aaron paused. “I didn’t ask.”

“How badly did he hurt it?”

He went back to spreading straw. “Hard to tell, and I doubt he’s got the money to see a doctor.”

“What caused it this time?”

“Just bending over to take off his socks.”

She cleaned straw off the lid of the mug and took a swig of her coffee. “I can milk the herd by myself.”

“Ya, I know. But I can’t cut the fields without someone following the mower to keep it free of buildup. If I have to get off the mower every ten minutes to clean it myself, the crops will ruin in the field before I’m finished mowing it.”

“So you figured you’d help me in exchange for me helping you?”

“Trust me, I tried to work something else out.”

She giggled. “I bet you did.”

“Then let’s get to work.” He forked a mound of straw and tossed it into a stall, then spread it around.

She’d never seen anyone move as quickly as he did. But they both knew if the hay wasn’t cut, dried, baled, and put away before rain moved in, they wouldn’t get a good price for it.

“You’re sure now is the best time to start cutting?” she asked. “I mean, you checked the forecast?”

“Ya. They’re predicting seven days of hot, dry weather.”

He seemed as determined as she was to get full price for those acres of hay. But he wanted it for a different reason—so his parents could pay off their debts and sell the farm.

She grabbed a pitchfork. “Once we get out from under some of these bills, we’ll be fine. You can go run your appliance store, and we’ll handle the farm.”

Aaron moved from one stall to the next. “You are definitely underestimating the issues here. My Daed has health problems, and the two of you cannot make this farm profitable.” He paused, looking sorry about something. “Why is it so important to you?”

“Lots of reasons.”

“Like?”

She considered whether to answer or not, but he understood making mistakes, didn’t he? “My Daadi Fisher planted the desire in me to be a good dairy farmer. If he were alive, he’d be disappointed in how I handled his farm—slowly giving up and letting someone less qualified take it over. He’d be even more disappointed in how I handled some decisions. The Blank farm is my second chance.”

“Well, maybe the answer is in looking elsewhere for a third chance.”

“This is your Daed’s dream. And I seem to be
his
second chance.”

“Daed has to find a dream that fits his limited mobility. And you can find another farm to work.”

“No. You could. I can only go where my Daed allows. He’s not thrilled I’m here, and he’s made that really clear, but if I went somewhere without his permission, I’d have to be willing to walk away from my whole family and never see them again.” She began dumping feed into the line of troughs. “The biggest reason we’re not doing better is because all I know is the herd, breeding, and milk production. I’ve never planted or harvested crops or dealt with bills or filled silos or handled dozens of other things that are part of running a farm.”