The Winnowing Season (25 page)

Camilla exchanged looks with Bob. “No.” She brushed silvery hair from her face. “We don’t have …” She shook her head.

Bob shifted. “There are no children.”

Clearly Rhoda had upset both of them.

Bob shifted. “We’d heard Amish had moved into the area.”

Rhoda tried to shake free of the eerie feeling. “Ya, we’ve heard the same thing.”

Bob and Camilla laughed.

“Welcome,” Bob said.

His wife nodded her head and lifted her bow. “Would you like to hear more of the song that drew you here?”

“I should go.” Even as she said the words, Rhoda moved in closer.

“Are you sure? A skilled musician never minds having an audience.” Bob touched a chair, inviting Rhoda to sit. “The song she keeps practicing night and day is called ‘Tell Them.’ ”

Rhoda wondered if she had subconsciously recognized the song. Maybe one of her Morgansville neighbors had played it with the accompanying words. When she heard the melody, her mind filled in the words of the song. Maybe she had heard a child singing the song, and that’s why she heard a child’s voice saying, “Tell them.” When Rhoda worked long hours in her garden every day during spring and summer, her neighbors opened their windows and played music. It seemed like a reasonable explanation, although her physical reaction was unusual.

Was God trying to tell her something? The word
Dumont
rolled through her mind. It had to be a last name.

Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. “The title is ‘Tell Them,’ but tell who what?”

TWENTY-TWO

Jacob moved from the window at the back of the house to one at the front. Again. Still nothing except clouds and trees on the horizon. He checked the grandfather clock in the living room. Maybe the move to Maine had affected the mechanism. Was that the right time? It had to be later than four o’clock.

Where
was
she?

Now that they were in Maine, he and Rhoda were supposed to enjoy their Sunday afternoons together. When she lived in Morgansville and was helping with Kings’ Orchard, she stayed in the summer kitchen throughout the week and went home to her family on Saturday evenings. They’d had precious little time together there. It was supposed to be different now.

He let out a long sigh, fighting the urge to panic. He’d hoped that confessing everything to Rhoda would set him free. But he felt more trapped than ever, stuck between the man he was and the man he—and Rhoda—wished him to be.

Jacob stepped onto the front porch and found Samuel reading his beloved newspaper.

“She’s fine.” Samuel didn’t even look up. “Just clearing her head, like Steven said. I actually would feel sorry for any woodsy creature who thought
she
was prey.”

Jacob didn’t reply. Was Samuel really that relaxed? Maybe so. It wasn’t his loved one who had been gone since before daylight. Or his girl who had been burdened with crushing news. Rhoda had been so shaken last night when they parted. Just how upset was she that she didn’t sleep and clearly didn’t want to see him this morning? Was she ready to end their relationship? If someone
Samuel really cared about was a part of this group, he’d already have those walkie-talkies he’d said they would get once they arrived in Maine.

“I was thinking.” Jacob wasn’t exactly certain where he would go from there. He had a lot of things on his mind, little of which was worthy of dumping on Samuel.

“Ya? About what?” Samuel folded his paper and looked at him.

Normally he and his brother talked easily about lots of things or nothing at all, in part because each respected the other’s privacy. Now their conversations felt strained.

“We still don’t have any walkie-talkies. I thought you were going to pick up some.”

“Oh.” Samuel shrugged, but his face grew taut. “I’ll get some this week, or you can ask Landon to pick some up next time he’s in town.”

“We should have had them by now.” Jacob knew he was hinting that Samuel was lax in his duties, and that fact made Jacob’s face flush.

Samuel raised an eyebrow. “Even if we had walkie-talkies, do you honestly believe she would have taken one with her?”

Jacob said nothing. He knew the answer. What kept churning inside him was the lack of other answers. Concerning himself, his past, his future. He had always treated his years away from home like a separate piece of his life, free from the remainder of his life. He had done his best to keep the two apart, always denying that the Jacob of the Englisch was the same man as the Jacob of the Amish. But just like cream and coffee, once mixed, they were impossible to separate.

Concern for all Rhoda was sorting through niggled at him, but she’d been clear. She wanted no one searching for her.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m going for a walk.”

Rhoda could be anywhere on the farm or beyond. Even if he came across her, he had no idea what to say to her. Had he told her too much last night? Of course he had. She had skipped church to avoid seeing him.

Screams echoed inside his head and visions of seeing the news the next day rattled him. A deck he had designed and helped build had been filled with people at a gathering—innocent families who were having an enjoyable time one moment and were plunged into a nightmare the next. Two people had died, a girl about Leah’s age and a single mom with a preschool daughter. A dozen were injured, some seriously. He hadn’t known the supplies were so low-grade they were unsafe. If he’d had more experience with that aspect of carpentry—with structural screws and securing decks—he would have realized the poor quality of the materials. But framing, roofing, and drying in homes had been his area of expertise.

Although he’d been on that job site when they started to anchor the deck, he’d been pulled from it to go to a different site. The carpenters left to do the job had put the bolts into the ledger plate from the outside of the deck into the home, but they hadn’t tightened them properly or gone into the home to secure the nuts and washers.

Greed purchased inferior-grade products. Negligence allowed the decks to be improperly assembled and secured to the homes. But if Jacob had taken a stand when he had learned that his rerouting of funds from one site to pay for another was illegal, that deck would never have been erected by Jones’ Construction. Pure and simple. As much as he tried to convince himself it wasn’t his fault, he felt responsible for it.

What would Rhoda think of him when she knew the rest of his secrets?

He sighed, stopping beside an apple tree that had no fruit. Its branches were strong. Its structure was sturdy. But there wasn’t any fruit.

There was a Bible story about Jesus approaching a fig tree, but when He found it had no fruit, He cursed the tree, and it withered and died.

From a distance, had Jacob looked strong and healthy to Rhoda? Did she now see him as barren and worthless? Was everything that had happened the result of Jesus cursing him, allowing his life to wither and die like the fruit tree?

Jacob pushed the dark thoughts aside and trudged on. He had to keep moving.

From inside Camilla’s kitchen, Rhoda glanced out the window, realizing storm clouds had grown thick overhead. Rhoda had left Bob and Camilla within an hour of meeting them and had gone back to her rock to spend time reading her Bible and praying. Camilla and Bob had invited her to join them for lunch, and she was just as surprised as they were when she returned.

There was something genuine about these two. They considered themselves former hippies. Rhoda wasn’t sure what that meant, but it seemed the now-retired couple felt it said plenty. All she knew for sure was she wanted their opinion about some of the things weighing on her. The people at the seminar had plenty of good, solid answers to her farming questions. Part of her hoped these people could help her in another area—confusion over Jacob’s past.

Tell them
.

Her mind was still as hazy as the skies, her thoughts coming faster than the mounting wind, but her heart felt at peace while near Camilla.

Rhoda slid their three plates into the sink of sudsy water. Their conversation meandered, and thus far neither had seemed to mind her offbeat questions. “So if people break the law without realizing it was a law at the time, what do you think they should do about it?”

“We’ve all done that, I think.” Camilla poured clam chowder from the pot into a plastic container. “I drove for miles one night without my lights on. I didn’t turn myself in.”

Rhoda rinsed a plate, but she didn’t get the connection. “It’s illegal to drive without headlights on?”

“Past dusk, before dawn, and when it’s foggy, snowing, or raining.” Camilla clicked her tongue. “Don’t even get me started on how many times I’ve forgotten to turn my lights on when it’s sunny yet snowing.”

“If it were me”—Bob folded his arms and leaned against the counter—“I’d ask whose laws? The bureaucrats who make the laws or the lobbyists who influence the governing bodies’ decisions? Some, perhaps many of them have an eye to twist the laws they’ve created so they can line their pockets?” He smacked his hands together. “But if a commoner dares to break one of those laws, the higher-ups want to send them to jail. For what? Encroaching on their right to be the only ones to twist and break the law? Don’t get me wrong. We need some laws. The ones that everyone knows exists from the time they’re a child—not to steal or do violence.”

Trying to filter his bold opinion through her more reserved understanding of God’s law, Rhoda scrubbed the flatware, rinsed it, and set it in the dish drainer.

“I’ll even go one better,” Bob proclaimed. “Do you have any idea how many good men have spent years in jail for doing things that later became legal? Women were sent to jail because they demanded the right to vote. Blacks were sent to jail because they demanded to be treated as equals. Men, black and white, went to jail because they brewed liquor during Prohibition. Even today you’ll find the lawbooks riddled with hypocrisy and inconsistencies. Here in Maine it’s illegal to have Christmas decorations up past January fourteenth.” He chuckled. “Just you Amish remember that now that you’re living here.”

She turned to look at him, and the gleam in his eye told her he knew that Amish didn’t put up decorations for Christmas. He seemed really smart, despite his rebellious attitude, and she found comfort in some of his words.

“I will.” Rhoda rinsed her hands and dried them. Thunder clapped and rumbled in the distance, startling her. “I’d better go.”

Camilla held up a recipe card. “This is how to make clam chowder.” She shook it, a sweet grin on her face. “I’m giving it to you on the honor system. You will return with some goods you’ve canned using your grandmother’s recipes, right?”

Rhoda nodded and tucked the card into the hidden pocket of her apron.
“Thank you.” She grabbed her backpack, they said their good-byes, and she scurried toward the woods.

She had no clue why or how she’d heard the title to the music Camilla was playing, or why she kept hearing a child talking to her. But when Camilla played the song for her, Rhoda knew who she needed to tell and what she needed to tell them.

At least for now.

Ready to see Jacob, Rhoda picked up her pace. But finding her way back wasn’t quite as easy as she’d expected. Still, soon enough, she was near the orchard and saw the King brothers walking. They were going away from her, but it seemed perfect that both were here, rather than with everyone else, so she could talk to them. She hurried toward them.

Jacob must’ve have heard her coming, because he turned. “Rhoda.” Relief marked his tone.

She waved, but he remained in place. Was he afraid to draw closer, thinking she’d back away from him?

His eyes held such concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m better.” She closed the gap between them and rested her hand on his heart. “I let what I hadn’t known about you rattle me. But now it seems that what I do know is far more important. You have a good and gentle heart. I know your sense of humor is a gift to me, and your gift of kindness touches every person you meet.” She took a cleansing breath. “I know you walked into that mess because you wanted to help, and even now you’re not sure what’s right or how to fix it. But you’ll figure it out eventually. And the peace I got today is that I don’t have to figure it out or fix it. It’s yours, and all I have to do is pray for you and be your friend.”

Relief and understanding radiated from Jacob’s green eyes.

She smiled. “When you know what you’re supposed to do about everything, you can let me know. Okay?”

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

She looked in Samuel’s direction, but he was now walking toward the house. “And you, Samuel King …”

He turned, pointing at himself, disbelief on his face.

“I know a few things about you too.”

He seemed uncomfortable, and she went to him. “I know you’re loyal and caring and true. I know your first response is an unchecked emotional one and that you struggle with the depth of all you feel. But mostly, after a day of praying, I know that I don’t understand you, and I feel at peace that I’m not supposed to.” She put her hands on Samuel’s shoulders. “I know I aggravate you and shake your confidence at times, but you have a vision for this place that is even stronger than my own. You have a passion for life that eats at you, and maybe I shouldn’t challenge you as often as I do. But I also think you need at least some of it.” She reached for Jacob, and he took her by the hand.