hated to admit it, Samuel had captured a piece of her heart that day, the way a friend does, extending grace and companionship when they are needed most.
But as it turned out, Jacob was the one who accepted her clumsy and peculiar ways. Unlike Samuel, he had no interest in making sure she ate all her vegetables, so to speak. It wasn’t in him to try to drag her into a situation she hoped to avoid. Instead, he liked making her life easier.
Maybe that’s why Jacob had entered her life—God knew she needed someone to shield her from herself and from people’s negative reactions to her.
Samuel King sure wasn’t going to do that. He would be more likely to incite folks, albeit unknowingly, to want to burn her at the stake.
The shed came into sight, and she longed to disappear inside. Its gray, weathered boards ran vertically, with gaping spaces between them. The tin roof had probably begun rusting before she was born. But she and Samuel had converted it from a storage shed no one had used in years to a building in which they could experiment on growing herbs in the colder Maine climate and ways to speed up the process of biotic decomposition for mulch and compost.
She lifted the wooden door latch and went inside. The outside of the building showed its age, but the inside was a grower’s delight: rows and rows of vibrant herbs with commercial-grade lights hovering above them. The lights were a new thing for her. They simulated sunlight on the vegetation, and while they weren’t as effective as natural light, they helped a great deal. Samuel had set up a car battery to power the lights, but the battery constantly needed recharging. So he had two batteries for swapping out, and he lugged them back and forth between here and the barn, where he’d hook up the drained one to the recharging wires that were connected to a solar panel in the barn. She didn’tknow who had originally put the solar panel in the barn years ago, but she knew the Kings had paid for the installation. Getting panels installed in Maine would be another hurdle they’d face once they arrived.
Samuel had also rigged a watering system by running numerous hoses from the barn spigot to the shed. She lifted the hose from its hook and watered the plants.
Samuel could be a lot of help if he’d just stick to what he knew best—plants, not people.
As Rhoda took care of the tender shoots, her heart grew ever heavier. She had let her anger fuel bold statements to Samuel, but she could no more back out of going than he could.
With the last plant watered, she put the nozzle on its nail and grabbed her dirty gardening gloves off a bench. She slid her damp hands into each one and picked up a trowel. Several of the plants were struggling. Could they survive in the moving van from here to Maine, or should she give up on them now?
The door opened, and Samuel stepped inside. Her shoulders tightened, and the ache set in again. She waited for him to say something, but he jammed his hands into his pockets and stared at the plants.
She plucked a half-withered plant from the soil, shook the dirt from its roots, and threw it toward him. He didn’t flinch as it whizzed past him and hit her target—the compost bin—a few inches away.
He shifted. “I know you don’t want to face an official meeting, but Glick needs to be held—”
She slammed the trowel onto the bench, stopping him cold. She kept her eyes on the bench, because if she looked at him, she might well be overcome with anger.
Her life was intertwined with Samuel’s like the roots of a cilantro plant, but did they strengthen each other, as cilantro did, or would he choke the life out of her before they were through?
She drew a deep breath. “What time is the meeting?”
“Seven.”
She uprooted another plant and winged it into the compost pile. The temptation to refuse to attend the meeting was strong, but it had been absurd of her to think she could back out of going to Maine, whether they’d
But as it turned out, Jacob was the one who accepted her clumsy and peculiar ways. Unlike Samuel, he had no interest in making sure she ate all her vegetables, so to speak. It wasn’t in him to try to drag her into a situation she hoped to avoid. Instead, he liked making her life easier.
Maybe that’s why Jacob had entered her life—God knew she needed someone to shield her from herself and from people’s negative reactions to her.
Samuel King sure wasn’t going to do that. He would be more likely to incite folks, albeit unknowingly, to want to burn her at the stake.
The shed came into sight, and she longed to disappear inside. Its gray, weathered boards ran vertically, with gaping spaces between them. The tin roof had probably begun rusting before she was born. But she and Samuel had converted it from a storage shed no one had used in years to a building in which they could experiment on growing herbs in the colder Maine climate and ways to speed up the process of biotic decomposition for mulch and compost.
She lifted the wooden door latch and went inside. The outside of the building showed its age, but the inside was a grower’s delight: rows and rows of vibrant herbs with commercial-grade lights hovering above them. The lights were a new thing for her. They simulated sunlight on the vegetation, and while they weren’t as effective as natural light, they helped a great deal. Samuel had set up a car battery to power the lights, but the battery constantly needed recharging. So he had two batteries for swapping out, and he lugged them back and forth between here and the barn, where he’d hook up the drained one to the recharging wires that were connected to a solar panel in the barn. She didn’tknow who had originally put the solar panel in the barn years ago, but she knew the Kings had paid for the installation. Getting panels installed in Maine would be another hurdle they’d face once they arrived.
Samuel had also rigged a watering system by running numerous hoses from the barn spigot to the shed. She lifted the hose from its hook and watered the plants.
Samuel could be a lot of help if he’d just stick to what he knew best—plants, not people.
As Rhoda took care of the tender shoots, her heart grew ever heavier. She had let her anger fuel bold statements to Samuel, but she could no more back out of going than he could.
With the last plant watered, she put the nozzle on its nail and grabbed her dirty gardening gloves off a bench. She slid her damp hands into each one and picked up a trowel. Several of the plants were struggling. Could they survive in the moving van from here to Maine, or should she give up on them now?
The door opened, and Samuel stepped inside. Her shoulders tightened, and the ache set in again. She waited for him to say something, but he jammed his hands into his pockets and stared at the plants.
She plucked a half-withered plant from the soil, shook the dirt from its roots, and threw it toward him. He didn’t flinch as it whizzed past him and hit her target—the compost bin—a few inches away.
He shifted. “I know you don’t want to face an official meeting, but Glick needs to be held—”
She slammed the trowel onto the bench, stopping him cold. She kept her eyes on the bench, because if she looked at him, she might well be overcome with anger.
Her life was intertwined with Samuel’s like the roots of a cilantro plant, but did they strengthen each other, as cilantro did, or would he choke the life out of her before they were through?
She drew a deep breath. “What time is the meeting?”
“Seven.”
She uprooted another plant and winged it into the compost pile. The temptation to refuse to attend the meeting was strong, but it had been absurd of her to think she could back out of going to Maine, whether they’d
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