Hidden Hearts
Автор
Lenora Worth
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Chapter One
“April showers bring May flowers.”
Rebecca Eicher smiled at her seven-year-old niece’s solemn statement. “And who told you that, wise little Katie?”
“Daed,” Katie said with a snaggle-toothed grin. “He’s always telling me things.”
“That’s what makes daeds so special,” Rebecca replied. She sure missed her parents, especially during spring. Glancing at the old clock on the kitchen wall, she said, “And it’s time for you to run home. Your mamm will be wondering if Aunt Becca hid you under a honeysuckle bush.”
“I won’t fit under a bush,” Katie said with her elbows out and her hands on her blue dress. “I’m getting taller every day.”
“You for certain sure are,” Rebecca replied as she took Katie’s hand and guided her and the bag of snickerdoodle cookies they’d just finished baking toward the front door. “Now, don’t run or you’ll break all the cookies and then the chickens will peck at them.”
“I’ll walk really slow,” Katie retorted, walking like a creature from the forest, her steps wide and exaggerated.
“Perfect,” Rebecca said. “I’ll watch you across the road.”
“And I’ll watch for cars or buggies,” Katie said, knowing the rules. “I promise.”
Rebecca walked out to the end of the lane with Katie and gave her a kiss. “Okay, run along now, liebling.”
She loved her freckle-faced golden-haired niece as well as Katie’s three older brothers, Michael, Elijah and Adam. Blessed that her own older brother, Noah, and his wife, Franny, lived across from her place, Rebecca turned back to her yard, the sign Noah had made for her a few years ago now showing a fresh coat of paint:
The Lily Lady.
The sign stated that in big black letters, with a variety of painted daylilies underneath and an arrow pointing to her home and the colorful fields beyond.
Ja, she was the lily lady all right. And right now, she needed what the other sign by her driveway asked for:
Help Wanted.
Dear Lord, send someone soon. Rebecca was having a hard time finding a permanent handyman to help her with not only the lilies but also everything else her parents’ small farm required. Her helper of the last few years, Moses Yoder, had decided to move to a community in Ohio to be near his ailing sister. He’d left a month ago and she still hadn’t found anyone to replace him.
Most men around here had to work their own land or had a regular job. And the young folks didn’t want to work in a hot field most of the summer. They found summer work elsewhere or had to help their own families get through the crops.
She looked toward the sky, expecting more dark clouds full of rain, but the sun shone brightly in the midmorning sky. What a wet week it had been. Hoping her bulbs wouldn’t rot away instead of blooming, she made it back to the front porch and turned to see Katie waving to her from Noah’s porch.
Rebecca waved back. Then she noticed something else.
A man walking along the road.
People walked by here all the time. Rebecca loved to walk and often did that since she didn’t like horses.
But this man looked different.
When he turned toward her house, she gasped and went inside. She had a phone she used for business. She’d use it to call the police, too, if need be.
The man kept walking, his dark hair shaggy around his face, his jeans worn and tattered. He carried an aged olive-colored pack on his back. He wasn’t Amish.
Rebecca watched from the kitchen window. He came up onto the porch and stood at the unlocked screen door. One knock. Then another.
“Hello, anyone home? I came about the help-wanted ad.” He stopped and Rebecca heard a distinctive sigh. “I need a job.”
Rebecca had hoped someone Amish would take the job. She needed a handyman who liked working with the earth, someone who understood the art of growing lilies.
This man didn’t look like that type.
More like a beggar wanting a gut meal.
“Hello? I have references. Mr. Hartford from the general store showed me your ad,” he called again.
References. She’d verify that. And Mr. Hartford wouldn’t send someone he didn’t trust.
Yet, Rebecca hesitated. She wasn’t sure what to do. She needed help now, and here he stood, asking for a job. She watched him turn, his shoulders hunched in dejection, his head down as he eased off the porch.
Her spring season was here. She needed someone, had just prayed about it, and so far, this was the only person who’d shown any real interest. Well, the only person who looked strong enough for what the work demanded. She’d turned down two scrawny teens because she knew them to be troublemakers, and a grossdaddi who only wanted to get out of his rocking chair. But he could barely get up the porch steps. No one else had even tried to apply.
What should she do?
Rebecca stilled for two heartbeats, then hurried to the door.
“Wait.”
The man turned around and looked up at her, his expression raw and edgy, dangerous. But his eyes—they held a world of hurt and pain. He looked broken. Completely broken.
She let out a little breath. He reminded her of someone—her deceased fiancé, John Kemp. Her heartbeat lifting to a new height, she blinked back tears. John had died when he was eighteen. Fifteen years ago. This stranger looked Englisch. He also looked lost.
“What’s your name?” Rebecca asked, motioning him onto the porch while she gathered her composure. His features only reminded her of John, but then she thought every day of the man she’d loved and planned to marry. She had to be imagining things. No amount of longing could bring John back.
Jebediah,” he said, his voice like splintered wood. “Jebediah Martin.”
That name didn’t ring a bell with her, so she tried to relax. Pointing him to a rocking chair, she sat down on a nearby bench. “And why do you need this job?”
He glanced out at the yard and then back to her. “Because I need work. I need...money. I’ve been traveling and I wound up here.”
“You have references?”
“Yes, a couple from other jobs.”
“Do you know anyone here?”
“No.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t know, but you can trust me. I need a job.”
“What can you tell me that would make me trust you?”
“Nothing. You can trust me.”
Rebecca tried again. “Do you like working outside, with flowers and gardens? Do you know how to plow—with a horse pulling the plows?”
“I know horses, but as for gardening, I’ve never done it before, but I can learn.” He looked down at his old boots. “I know the earth, the seasons, the crops.”
Rebecca lifted her hands, palms up, and let out an aggravated breath. “You’re not impressing me.”
The man finally looked directly into her eyes. “I told you I need a job. It’s that simple.”
Then he reached into the battered backpack and pulled out an envelope filled with folded papers. “Here.”
He handed her two references—one from a restaurant owner in Indiana and one from a hotel where he’d cleaned rooms in Kentucky.
“These folks seem to think you’re a gut worker.”
“I am.”
Trying hard to ignore the deep blue of his gaze, she said, “I grow lilies, you understand? I need someone with a strong back who can work long hours. I need someone to look after the horses—two of them. Red is the roan mare, and Silver is the draft horse. I have a small barn and stable. I have greenhouses and a vegetable garden and soon, my backyard and the lily field and the plant nursery will all be full of people buying lilies, other plants, and fresh vegetables. A lot of them Englisch.”
“I can handle that.”
“Horses?”
“I said I can handle horses. I grew up around horses.”
She wondered if he could truly handle anything. With each question she asked, his eyes went dull and then lit up as if he’d just thought of that idea.
“What other jobs have you had besides the restaurant and cleaning hotels?”
He rubbed the dark stubble on his chin. “Let’s see. Janitor. Bartender. Dog walker. Apartment cleaner. Trash man. Lumber company. Painter. Construction. Rented beach chairs to tourists in Florida.”
Disbelief warred with curiosity. He’d been all around, it seemed. “But never gardening?”
“No. But... I like flowers. My mom used to grow a lot of flowers.”
The way he said that coupled with the longing in his blue eyes told her what she needed to know. He was a black sheep, an outsider, a wayfarer. A man in need of something to cling to—in need of the earth and the wind, the sun and the rain. What should she do?
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes. And thirsty.”
Rebecca made her decision, based on entertaining angels unaware. This man did not look like an angel, but he sure needed one. “Meet me around back and I’ll bring you some lemonade and a sandwich. Do you like cookies?”
His eyes stayed bright on that question. “Yes.”
Jeb walked around the neat, compact white farmhouse, noticing all the colorful flowers in the yard. This place was so pretty and prim, it almost hurt his eyes to take it all in.
But then, he’d seen the ugly side of life for so long now, he’d forgotten that the earth was still beautiful.
He’d wound up here by sheer fate. Or God’s will. After not finding work in another Pennsylvania community, Jeb had worked a few weeks with a building crew. But the whole operation got shut down due to outstanding permits. One night in his hotel room, he’d remembered some letters he’d kept through the years. Letters from his cousin who used to live here.
Campton Creek, Pennsylvania. He hopped on the next bus out and planned to find kinfolk here. Only, no one related to him still lived here. He’d gone into the local general store to buy some supplies, and while there he’d heard someone mention a local Amish woman was looking for help. Mr. Hartford had immediately told Jeb he should find out more.
The Lily Lady, they’d called her.
This little bit of earth was nice. This woman was nice, too, despite her many questions. Legitimate questions, but pushy, all the same. She had pretty freckles and sun-streaked dark blond hair covered with a white kapp—a prayer bonnet. That kapp reminded him of his mamm.
He was a long way from home, but this town had sounded so peaceful and serene in his cousin’s letters.
This place—the Lily Lady’s place—certainly brought that feeling to his soul. But he wasn’t sure she’d hire him, and he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t.
He came around the house and stopped to take it all in. Daylilies, rows and rows, some with hardy blossoms ready to pop open, some just about ready to grow and bloom. He could smell the mixtures of a thousand scents. Lilies of the field.
He did not want to leave.
“Here you go.”
He turned to find her with a wooden tray full of food and a tall glass of lemonade, the condensation on the side of the glass shimmering like teardrops.
Jeb hurried to take the tray.
“Denke,” she said, pointing to a table on the porch. “Sit and eat and I’ll talk.”
He smiled at that, his brain rattled at finding something to smile about. “Thank you for the food.”
She nodded and tugged at a rebel strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I live here alone, so I have plenty of leftovers.”
After she said that, a wary glaze darkened her eyes. “My bruder and his family live across the road.”
“So you’re not too alone,” he replied, hoping to reassure her. Then he decided to be honest. “I don’t bite, and I’m not going to rob you or hurt you. As I said—”
“—you need a job,” she interrupted, a soft smile on her face. “Let me see a few more reference letters.”
Handing her the whole pack, he said, “Read whatever you want.”
Jeb bit into the roast beef sandwich with fresh tomatoes. Then he took a swig of the freshly squeezed lemonade. “This is good,” he said between mouthfuls.
She leafed through the references. “Don’t forget the cookie.”
He nodded and finished off the sandwich. “We can walk and talk if you’d like. I’ll take the cookie with me.”
“Bring your lemonade, too, then.”
He got up and followed her. “This is all yours.”
“Yes. I inherited it after my mamm passed on. We lost my daed five years ago, and Mamm and I lived here together until she had a heart attack two years ago. She loved helping me with the lilies.”
“How did this come about?”
She laughed at that. “I love daylilies. I started planting ditch lilies, and then I planted more and learned how to cultivate them since they like to spread. At first, we gave them away but after Daed died, we needed money—an income—so we planted different varieties and put a sign on the road. People started coming to buy them. I added different varieties and learned which worked best. With my bruder’s help, we planted a small field and he put up the sign. And now, this is my life.” She stopped and took a breath. “I’m known as the alte maidal lily lady.”
“You are not old,” he said. And regretted it when her eyes went wide.
“You can interpret Deutsch?”
He had to think quickly. “Only a few terms. I’ve worked with Amish on construction sites.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and started back walking. “The creek is back there.” She pointed to the right. “We use irrigation from the creek on a limited basis.”
“Pretty spot, there by the creek.”
“Yes, it is.” Her green eyes seemed to lose some of their shimmer. “You’d need to plow—that’s where the horses come in. I don’t like horses, so I usually have someone else handle them.”
“I can do that. Me and Silver will get to know each other. And Red sounds like a nice lady.”
“You’d also need to weed, fertilize with natural materials.”
“You mean manure?”
“Ja.” She laughed and it seemed the sun got brighter.
“I don’t mind manure. Been in it a few times here and there.”
She shook her head. “You do have a sense of humor.”
“Yes.” He rarely smiled this much in one day.
“We plant seedlings, we dig up bulbs and fans—the stems. We pamper the lilies, and we are open Monday to Thursday from nine to four. Friday is maintenance day. We open until noon on Saturday and never on Sunday.”
“I don’t mind the work,” he said. “I like it here.”
“You might change your mind during peak season when cars are parked all over the yard and children are running through the fields.” She lifted her hand. “There are also the spring mud sales and festivals. I have a booth at all festivals, and we bring in a lot of income that way.”
“I won’t mind that either,” he replied. “I’ll do any work and I’ll find solutions.”
She stopped their stroll between the field and the barn. “Well, then, Jebediah Martin, I’m going to go on faith and trust you.” She named his salary. “Is that fair?”
“More than fair,” he replied, relief and gratitude moving through his frazzled system. “I can start Monday. I just need to find a place to live.”
“I might be able to help with that, too,” she said. “My bruder has an empty grossdaddi haus. He rents it out.”
Surprised yet again, Jeb was beginning to think God had brought him to this place. “That might work.”
“We can walk over to see him now if you’d like.”
“Sure.”
He put down his empty lemonade glass and hurried with her around the house. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I never got your name.”
“Oh, that’s my fault. You surprised me and I forgot. I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Eicher.”
Jeb’s heart dropped to his feet.
Rebecca.
Could this be possible? Was this the woman his cousin John Kemp had planned on marrying so long ago?
