he’d loved Ezra.
“Well, no. I mean, it’s not his farm.”
No, it wasn’t. And if anyone accused Isaac of taking advantage of his widowed sister-in-law, all he’d have to say was that she’d pay as much or more if she had to hire the work done.
And saying anything to Isaac would only cause trouble in the family and dissension in the church. It was better, much better, to keep his opinions of Isaac’s doings to himself and find some other way to help Rachel.
“I think your plans for the greenhouse are very sound. You might go a little further, if you wanted.”
“Further?”
“Fresh flowers for the farmer’s market, say. My brother Aaron and his wife go twice a week in the growing season. I’m sure he’d be willing to take them for you. And if you potted up some of the perennials you grow, that would be another thing to sell.”
His enthusiasm for the idea built as he talked. A fine gardener like Rachel had plenty to offer that folks, especially the English, would pay for.
“Those herbs of yours, too,” he added. “You might even go into growing some ornamental shrubs and raspberry or blackberry bushes and such-like for sale.”
Rachel’s eyes had widened, as if she could see all the possibilities. For a moment her face lit with enthusiasm, but then the light went out like a snuffed candle.
“There would be expenses. And besides, I don’t know anything about running a business.”
“I can help you with that.”
He saw in an instant that he should have stopped at offering the ideas. Those she might take. Actual assistance, at least from him—that she didn’t want. She was only accepting it with the greenhouse because she couldn’t find a way out.
She pulled away from the table. “That’s kind of you, Gideon. But I can’t let you do anything else for me.”
“Can’t?” If he didn’t do some plain speaking, this would always stand between them. “Or won’t, because you don’t forgive me for Isaac’s death?” There. It was out, though his heart hurt with it.
Her face blanched. “It was an accident. You’re not to blame. And even if you were, I would forgive.”
It was the Amish way. They both knew that. Forgive as you would be forgiven. God didn’t offer His forgiveness on any easier terms, no matter how much His children might want it.
“Forgiveness is more than words.” He paused, but maybe it was best to say the rest of it. “The truth is that you didn’t like my friendship with Ezra long before the accident. Every time he went off with me, I could see it in your face.”
“No.”
He ignored the denial, because they both knew what he said was true. “You resented our friendship. I never really understood why. And now you resent it that I’m still alive.” The face of his dead wife flickered through his mind. Ja, he was still alive, for a reason only God understood.
He took a harsh breath. “I loved him, too, Rachel. I mourn for him. And I am going to do everything I can to help you and his children, so I hope you can find a way to live with that.”
CHAPTER FOUR
F olks in the outside world probably had people they went to when they had a problem. Doctors and other advisors, Rachel shouldn’t wonder. When the Leit, the Amish of Pleasant Valley, needed someone to talk to, they went to Bishop Mose. So that was where she was headed today.
The weather had turned gray and chill again, as the end of March often did, and the wind had whipped at the brim of her bonnet as Brownie clip-clopped along the narrow blacktop road to town. If March was going to go out like a lamb, it had best start warming up. But she was here now, and Mose’s workshop would be warm.
She swung down from the buggy seat and fastened the lines to the hitching rail. She reached back under the buggy seat for the piece of harness with the loose buckle. That needed mending anyway, so it gave her a good reason for coming to Mose Yoder’s harness shop, just in case her courage failed her and she
“Well, no. I mean, it’s not his farm.”
No, it wasn’t. And if anyone accused Isaac of taking advantage of his widowed sister-in-law, all he’d have to say was that she’d pay as much or more if she had to hire the work done.
And saying anything to Isaac would only cause trouble in the family and dissension in the church. It was better, much better, to keep his opinions of Isaac’s doings to himself and find some other way to help Rachel.
“I think your plans for the greenhouse are very sound. You might go a little further, if you wanted.”
“Further?”
“Fresh flowers for the farmer’s market, say. My brother Aaron and his wife go twice a week in the growing season. I’m sure he’d be willing to take them for you. And if you potted up some of the perennials you grow, that would be another thing to sell.”
His enthusiasm for the idea built as he talked. A fine gardener like Rachel had plenty to offer that folks, especially the English, would pay for.
“Those herbs of yours, too,” he added. “You might even go into growing some ornamental shrubs and raspberry or blackberry bushes and such-like for sale.”
Rachel’s eyes had widened, as if she could see all the possibilities. For a moment her face lit with enthusiasm, but then the light went out like a snuffed candle.
“There would be expenses. And besides, I don’t know anything about running a business.”
“I can help you with that.”
He saw in an instant that he should have stopped at offering the ideas. Those she might take. Actual assistance, at least from him—that she didn’t want. She was only accepting it with the greenhouse because she couldn’t find a way out.
She pulled away from the table. “That’s kind of you, Gideon. But I can’t let you do anything else for me.”
“Can’t?” If he didn’t do some plain speaking, this would always stand between them. “Or won’t, because you don’t forgive me for Isaac’s death?” There. It was out, though his heart hurt with it.
Her face blanched. “It was an accident. You’re not to blame. And even if you were, I would forgive.”
It was the Amish way. They both knew that. Forgive as you would be forgiven. God didn’t offer His forgiveness on any easier terms, no matter how much His children might want it.
“Forgiveness is more than words.” He paused, but maybe it was best to say the rest of it. “The truth is that you didn’t like my friendship with Ezra long before the accident. Every time he went off with me, I could see it in your face.”
“No.”
He ignored the denial, because they both knew what he said was true. “You resented our friendship. I never really understood why. And now you resent it that I’m still alive.” The face of his dead wife flickered through his mind. Ja, he was still alive, for a reason only God understood.
He took a harsh breath. “I loved him, too, Rachel. I mourn for him. And I am going to do everything I can to help you and his children, so I hope you can find a way to live with that.”
CHAPTER FOUR
F olks in the outside world probably had people they went to when they had a problem. Doctors and other advisors, Rachel shouldn’t wonder. When the Leit, the Amish of Pleasant Valley, needed someone to talk to, they went to Bishop Mose. So that was where she was headed today.
The weather had turned gray and chill again, as the end of March often did, and the wind had whipped at the brim of her bonnet as Brownie clip-clopped along the narrow blacktop road to town. If March was going to go out like a lamb, it had best start warming up. But she was here now, and Mose’s workshop would be warm.
She swung down from the buggy seat and fastened the lines to the hitching rail. She reached back under the buggy seat for the piece of harness with the loose buckle. That needed mending anyway, so it gave her a good reason for coming to Mose Yoder’s harness shop, just in case her courage failed her and she
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