The Keeper by Suzanne Woods Fisher Page A

summer.”
    Rome gazed around the farm. “Whenever you can pay is good enough for me.”
    “It’s just that . . . ,” Amos started, “with this drought going into its third year, I’m counting on those orchards. We need as much fruit as we can get out of them.”
    “I understand, Amos.”
    “I was thinking that maybe this next winter, you could leave your bees at Windmill Farm and we’ll look after them. While you’re off adventuring.”
    Rome thrust his hand out toward Amos. “Sounds like a deal.”
    Amos shook Rome’s hand and stood a little taller, relieved. “Well then . . . cherries are in full bloom. And apricot and peach buds are swelling.” He pointed to the north, beyond the cornfields with their small shoots of green. Amos sighed. The corn planting was over a month late. And what could he do about that? Julia, Sadie, and Menno had done what they could and finally, a few neighbors pitched in to help finish it up. If only Menno were able—
    He stopped himself, midsentence, and shook that thought off. What kind of thinking is that, Amos Lapp? The Lord God knew what he was doing when he made Menno. A wave of deep weariness rolled over Amos. A nap sounded pretty good about now. He gave Rome a pat on the shoulder and slowly walked toward the house.
    “Amos, before you go . . .”
    Amos turned around.
    “Have you heard about this brown bear?”
    “The one with the cub? I’ve heard she’s been poking around, looking for food.”
    “The carcass of Ira Smucker’s old dog was found last night. Looked like it was mauled by something.”
    “Old Pete?” Amos looked disturbed. “Something got old Pete? Aw, that’s a shame. He was a fine dog.”
    “You haven’t seen any sign of bears in your orchards?”
    “No, but . . . I haven’t been out there too much this spring.” He turned to head to the house.
    “Uh, Amos?”
    Amos stopped and swiveled around again.
    “Amos . . . you might have heard a thing or two about me . . .”
    Ah, so that’s why the Bee Man seemed to be stalling. He walked back to Rome. “In fact, I did.”
    “Is Julia mad at me?”
    “Frying like bacon.”
    “I didn’t really mean to talk Paul into canceling the wedding. We just got to talking and one thing led to another—”
    “I know, I know. You never do mean it, Rome, but you’re starting to get a reputation. Some folks are calling you ‘The Unmatchmaker.’”
    Rome paled. “Paul and a few other fellows asked me what I liked about being unattached. On the move. About visiting places. That’s all.” He looked miserable. “And then I said that I sure did admire those fellas for knowing, at such young ages, that they had found the one woman they were going to spend the rest of their lives with. The one woman they would grow old with. Day in and day out, year after year, decade after decade. I told them I admired their commitment and resolve.”
    “Did you happen to stress the ‘day in and day out’ part?”
    “I might have.” Rome blew out a puff of air. “You must admit, Amos, that it is impressive. These boys are only twenty or twenty-one.”
    Amos felt his spirits lighten, talking to this young man. “Rome, I’m a man who believes that things have a way of working out the way they’re meant to be.” He patted Rome on his shoulder. “But I daresay you’ve always had a knack for getting Julia’s dander up.”
    “Who’s that with you, Amos?” Fern’s voice shot through the air like a cannon from the window above the kitchen sink. “What’s he got on that cart?”
    Amos looked up at her. “It’s the Bee Man. Those are beehives.”
    Out of the window came, “Beekeepers make a lot of money for doing nothing.”
    “Pretty much,” Rome said agreeably.
    “And just where does he think he’s putting those hives?”
    “Out in the orchards, Fern,” Amos said in a longsuffering voice.
    “Looks like he hasn’t eaten a good meal in a fortnight.”
    Amos looked at Rome and raised his