Seasons in Paradise Read online

  She couldn’t wait until supper was finished and she could talk to Sam.

  One way or another, she’d know what to do after this evening.

  2

  Sam didn’t want to run into Mary Elizabeth again, but there was no avoiding it.

  He opened the screen door and sure enough, there she was sitting at the kitchen table talking with Lavina.

  She glanced at the clock. “Finished for the day?”

  “No. I cut my hand, and David insisted I come in and take care of it.” He strode over to the kitchen sink and turned on the tap.

  She got up and came to stand beside him. “That looks deep.”

  “It’s not bad.”

  Lavina poked in a kitchen cupboard and brought over a first aid kit. “You don’t want to risk infection.” She set it down on the kitchen counter beside the sink. “See that he takes care of it,” she told Mary Elizabeth. “I’m going to go change.”

  “No need to fuss,” he told Mary Elizabeth. “I know to be careful. We get minor cuts on the construction job site all the time.”

  She snapped open the lid on the kit. “It’s not fussing.”

  He soaped the cut, wincing as it stung, then ran water over it until the suds ran down the sink and the cut stopped bleeding. She handed him a paper towel to dry his hand and then squirted a line of antibacterial ointment on the cut and wrapped it with gauze.

  “There,” she said, taping the gauze to hold it in place. “But how are you going to keep it clean and dry out in the fields?” she asked, tilting her head to one side to study his hand. “Hmmm.”

  Then her expression brightened. She reached into a cupboard and pulled out some plastic gloves. “Here, wear this over it while you’re working.”

  He started to object but she was right—no point in cleaning and bandaging the cut and then going out and exposing it to more dirt and manure in the fields.

  “Thanks,” he said, avoiding her eyes.

  “Wilkumm.” She busied herself putting the gauze and ointment back into the first aid kit and snapped it shut.

  The sound seemed loud in the quiet kitchen.

  Sam stood there awkwardly. He’d returned home for Christmas and had had to tell her that it was temporary, that he wasn’t back to stay like David.

  He’d never forget seeing the hurt he caused. Tears had welled up in her eyes, and she’d rushed from the room. He hadn’t seen her again until David asked for his help with the spring planting today.

  And he’d walked into the kitchen and there she sat talking with Lavina. The hurt was still there in her eyes . . . Mary Elizabeth had always been more assertive, more outspoken than her schweschders. So he wasn’t surprised when she’d stayed after Lavina left the room to change, obviously giving them some time alone.

  He turned to leave.

  “Sam?”

  “Ya?” He regarded her warily.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  He glanced out the window. David and John were still working in the fields, more quickly now. “Now’s not a gut time. We’re trying to finish before it rains.”

  A rumble of thunder sounded overhead as if to confirm what he said. Her gaze shifted to the view out the kitchen window. Clouds scudded overhead.

  “Allrecht,” she said. “After supper.”

  It was a statement not a question. Ordinarily he might not have liked that but he figured he owed her that.

  “After supper. I’ll give you a ride home.” He left and walked back to the fields. David agreed to give John a lift home when Sam explained he needed to talk to Mary Elizabeth.

  Farming was hard work. He didn’t mind hard work, but it was difficult to be here doing what he loved when he now had to work in town. And working on a Saturday wasn’t his idea of fun. A guy liked to have a weekend off once in a while. During the week he worked construction building new homes, so he was tired and ready to relax by Saturday.

  David hadn’t asked for his help. But Sam knew he needed the help and what were bruders for? He hadn’t looked forward to seeing his dat again even after David had said he’d changed a lot. He’d seen that he seemed different Christmas night but couldn’t help being cynical. Could any man change that much? And could it last?

  He and his dat were wary of each other. They’d barely spoken since he started helping David when spring planting began. It helped that Amos still tired easily after he’d been told he was in remission. He often had to go into the house to rest so they didn’t have to spend too much time in the fields together. The two of them hadn’t had a lot of opportunity to talk.

  Today, Amos hadn’t been out in the fields long and had done little more than supervise. And share his opinion about how things were being done.

  Over and over.

  David was taking it very well. He had a lot more patience with the old man than Sam did that was for schur.

  Rain began falling an hour later. Resigned, they led the horses back to the barn, unhitched the plow, and fed and watered the stock.

  The workday was shorter than usual, but Sam and his bruders had worked hard and the three of them headed in to supper, running when it began to pour. They pounded up the steps to the porch. John was the first.

  “You old men can’t keep up!” he teased and laughed and elbowed them as they tried to enter the house at the same time.

  “Here come the rowdy Stoltzfus bruders,” Lavina remarked dryly.

  David grinned and advanced on her, shaking raindrops on her. She swatted at him with a kitchen towel, her cheeks reddening as she warned him to behave.

  “Boys will be boys,” Waneta said, watching her sohns with a fond eye. “Go wash up.”

  They jostled each other a bit more just for form, but after they washed up, they settled into their chairs at the table and were on their best behavior. It might be David’s haus now, but Amos had walked into the room and sat there at the table, watching Sam with what he felt was a critical eye. If he looked at John that way Sam didn’t notice, but John looked unconcerned.

  As soon as the meal was blessed John busied himself filling his plate. He handed Sam the bowl of potato salad. Sam served himself several big spoons of it. As he passed the bowl to David he saw the pies sitting on the counter. Well, well . . . he was tired and sweaty and his muscles ached.

  But there was pie for dessert.

  Since there was a big bowl of ripe peaches sitting near them, he had a suspicion what kind his sister-in-law had made. And she had a fine hand with baking pies.

  There was little conversation as the men of the family ate hungrily.

  Sam polished off two helpings of the potato salad, a couple of rolls, and a piece of pie. Not to forget several glasses of iced tea that finally cooled him off.

  Once or twice, he caught Mary Elizabeth watching him, her expression unreadable. But as much as she guarded her expression he’d guessed from the way she’d told him she wanted to speak to him that it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

  So he had to admit to himself that he lingered over a second piece of pie and yet another glass of iced tea. He wasn’t in a hurry to talk to her.

  “Gut pie,” Amos said, and Lavina beamed at him.

  “Not as gut as Waneta’s, but I hope I’m getting better,” she told him modestly.

  “I don’t want to say how many years I’ve been baking pie.” Waneta smiled at her.

  “Didn’t take you long,” Amos said, giving his fraa a fond look.

  Sam couldn’t believe his eyes and ears.

  Supper done, he thanked the women and joined the men outside as they talked about what they’d do the following Saturday. A short time later, Mary Elizabeth came out of the haus and gave him a questioning look. He excused himself and pulled keys out of his pocket.

  The rain had stopped but storm clouds hung over the area.

  They walked without speaking to the pickup truck. He opened the passenger-side door and she slid inside.

  As he started the truck, he gave her a cautious look. Seemed
to him that when a woman said she wanted to talk, it usually wasn’t a good thing.

  * * *

  Mary Elizabeth glanced around the interior of the truck. “Looks familiar,” she said simply as she snapped her seatbelt into place.

  “Bought it from David,” he told her. “He’s letting me make payments.”

  He put the truck in gear and backed out onto the road. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

  Tension fairly radiated from her, as palpable as the storm clouds overhead. Her body was stiff in the seat, her chin thrust out. She cut her eyes at him, and the hurt and anger in them blazed at him.

  “Are you ever coming back?”

  “Well, that was blunt.”

  And cold. The rain had chilled the air, and now her tone seemed to make the interior of the truck even chillier. He switched on the heater.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “That’s me. Blunt Mary Elizabeth.”

  True, he wanted to say. But he didn’t. She wasn’t beating around the bush, so he knew he needed to hear her out.

  “I told you at Christmas I was just back for that night,” he said carefully. The roads were wet and slick, and he didn’t relish a confrontation driving her home.

  “You’ve been back since then. So I thought maybe . . .”

  “I’d want to come back to stay?” he finished for her. The meal he’d enjoyed felt like it was turning to lead in his stomach. Why couldn’t she let this be?

  “Ya.”

  He tried to think what to say. As the silence stretched between them she fidgeted.

  “Never mind. I guess I have my answer.”

  He looked for a place to pull over and after he found it, turned to face her.

  “Where would I go, Mary Elizabeth?” he asked, feeling pinned between a rock and a hard place. “If I moved back to the community, where would I live?”

  He heard the bitterness in his voice but he couldn’t hold it back.

  She stared at him, speechless.

  “Don’t say I could move in with David and Lavina. That wouldn’t be fair. And I don’t have the relationship with my dat that David does.”

  “But you could.”

  He shrugged and turned his gaze to look forward. “We talked about this months ago when you got David to drive you to talk to me. We didn’t get anywhere then and we’re not going to now.”

  “Because you’re too stubborn.”

  “Me? Not my dat?”

  “He’s changed.”

  “With David. Not with me.”

  “It’s not that you don’t want to come back,” she said quietly. “You don’t want me.”

  She opened the door and slipped from the truck before he could stop her.

  “Mary Elizabeth! Where are you going?”

  “What do you care?” she shot over her shoulder as she ran across the street and started walking back home. “Go home, Sam. Go home and have a happy life.”

  Frustrated, torn, he glanced back at the truck. He wanted to follow her, but he’d left his keys in the truck. He ran back to it, started it, and after checking for oncoming traffic, did a U-turn and followed her.

  “Get in. I’ll give you a ride,” he called through the open passenger window.

  “Nee, danki,” she said stonily, refusing to look at him.

  “Mary Elizabeth!”

  He slammed on the brakes, and the truck slid a little before gaining traction. Pulling over on the side of the road, he shut the engine off and yanked the keys out of the ignition. She had a head start on him, but his legs were longer and ate up the distance. He grasped her arm, and she spun around and tried to smack it away.

  “Listen, be reasonable.”

  Her mouth worked but no words came out. “I don’t want to be reasonable,” she said finally, glaring at him.

  “Like that’s news,” he blurted then was instantly sorry when he saw the shock on her face.

  Lightning flashed.

  “Look, be mad but be reasonable and get back in the truck,” he demanded. “It’s not safe out here for you.”

  The sky opened up then, pouring rain down on them.

  Her shoulders slumped. “Allrecht. But I’m not talking to you anymore.”

  She stomped back to the truck and climbed inside.

  Sam got back in and realized she was shivering. He reached into the back, found a blanket, and tossed it at her. “Use this so you don’t catch a cold.”

  “Danki,” she said between clenched teeth as she wrapped it around herself before fastening her seatbelt.

  And that was the last she said as he drove her the short distance to her home.

  He barely had a chance to stop before she was yanking free the seatbelt and sliding out of the truck.

  Sam watched her run up the walk, then the stairs to the front door of her house. She went inside without a backward glance.

  Furious with himself for the way things had gone, he slammed his hand against the steering wheel then yelped with pain. Of course he’d hit it with his injured hand. It started bleeding again. He grabbed a bandanna lying on the seat beside him and wrapped it around his hand and gingerly drove home.

  John sat in the recliner, dozing as the television blared. Two beer cans sat beside the chair. They’d talked about his drinking before.

  But as he stood there he realized he just didn’t have it in him to deal with another scene today. He walked on into the kitchen to take care of his hand.

  A few minutes later John wandered into the kitchen to poke his head into the refrigerator. He plucked out a beer and popped the top while he watched Sam running water over his hand.

  “So how’d it go talking to Mary Elizabeth?”

  “Not so great.”

  “How’s the hand?”

  “Fine.”

  John took a gulp of beer and peered at his hand. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  He shrugged. “I must have banged the cut open driving home.” He pulled a couple of paper towels from the roll and wrapped it around his hand. He opened a kitchen drawer with his uninjured hand and rooted around in it. “Have you seen the antibiotic ointment?”

  John shook his head. “Maybe in the bathroom? First aid kit?”

  Sam went into the tiny apartment bathroom and found the kit. Inside was a half-empty, old tube of ointment and a roll of gauze. He squirted it on the cut then bound it with the gauze and taped it.

  “Need any help?” John called from the other room.

  That was just like John . . . always asking if you needed help after the job was done. Oh well, at least he hadn’t had to have him breathing beer fumes all over him as he did first aid. “No, I got it. Thanks.”

  He wandered back into the living room and stretched out on the sofa. Maybe watching the rest of the game on television would take his mind off the disaster with Mary Elizabeth that afternoon. He considered the beer John sat sipping as he relaxed in the recliner.

  No, he wasn’t going to start drinking when he’d had a bad day. That was the way to an even bigger problem. Feeling a little depressed, he focused on the screen. “So who’s winning?”

  * * *

  Mary Elizabeth hurried into the house. “Got caught in the rain,” she said as she rushed past her parents sitting in the living room. “Going to change.”

  She raced up the steps to her room, grateful to see Rose Anna’s bedroom door was shut. Her youngest schweschder would be curious about what had happened at David and Lavina’s farm today, and she just didn’t want to talk.

  Tiptoeing past her door, she slipped inside her room and quietly shut the door. What a relief to be home, in her room, where she could regain her composure. Peeling off her sodden bonnet and kapp, she pulled off her dress and underclothes. She turned on the shower, stepped into the tub, and felt the tears start.

  She’d held them back during the drive home, determined not to let Sam see how much he’d hurt her. But now she let them fall. They were tears of hurt but of anger, too, and she never got angry. G
ut Amish maedels didn’t get angry, she chided herself. They were supposed to be above such behavior, to serve God and family and community and above all, forgive those who hurt and angered them.

  Even men like Sam who’d abandoned them so close to the time after harvest when they’d expected to marry.

  She swiped at the tears on her face. When would she feel less hurt? Less angry? When would she forgive?

  Feeling defeated, she stood under the spray until the water ran cool before she shut it off and stepped out to dry herself. She pulled on her nightgown then sat on her bed and drew a comb through her still-damp hair.

  There was a knock on her door. “Kumm,” she called and her mudder opened the door. “I thought you might like a cup of tea. You looked cold when you came in.”

  Mary Elizabeth smiled as her mudder slipped into the room. Sometimes she thought her mudder didn’t look old enough to be the parent of three grown dochders. She was still as slender as a maedel, her complexion smooth and creamy, her hair the same blonde without a strand of gray.

  She set the comb aside. “Danki, I was,” she said as she took the mug from her. “The shower helped me warm up some.”

  Linda sat down next to her on the bed, took the comb, and began drawing it through the long blonde tresses. “Did you have a gut day?”

  How could she answer that? She nodded. It had been gut until she had the quarrel with Sam. “The men got everything done they wanted to just before it began raining.”

  “Sam brought you home.”

  She must have heard his truck. “Ya.”

  Her mudder touched her cheek and made her look at her. “You’ve been crying.”

  Mary Elizabeth blinked rapidly. She didn’t want to cry again.

  “What kind of tears were they? Hurt or anger?”

  She found herself smiling wryly. “Both. I’m afraid I argued with him.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “You know me.”

  “He hurt you. I’m schur he wasn’t surprised that you were angry with him.”

  “He was, a little.”

  Amish couples didn’t often share with their parents that they were dating but after Sam left, her mudder had found her crying and Mary Elizabeth hadn’t been able to hold back why.