By cultivating the beautiful we scatter the seeds of heavenly flowers, as by doing good we cultivate those that belong to humanity.
—ROBERT A. HEINLEIN
Once he’d finished the day’s work, Gideon sat down with his parents and sister for their evening meal. After bowing his head in silent prayer, he picked up a dish of steaming mashed potatoes and plopped a large spoonful onto his plate. He passed them to his father.
“There’s a hanging basket on the front porch,” Maam said. “Beautiful pink Petunias. Hannah Lynn, do you know where they came from?”
His sister shrugged. “I saw them when I came home from Rebekah Yoder’s. I thought you bought them.”
“They’re from Rachael.” Gideon kept his eyes on his food as he swirled the potatoes in the creamy gravy.
“Rachael, hmm?”
Gideon looked up and glared at his sister. “She gave them to me when I took over the compost.”
“And she thanked you with flowers.” Hannah Lynn’s brown eyes danced with teasing behind her glasses. “How sweet.”
“They’re for Maam.” He glared at her. Hadn’t she pestered him enough for one day?
“That was nice of her.” His mother took a fried chicken breast from the platter in front of her. “She has such a gift for gardening. I’m amazed at how much work she’s accomplished in a year.” She looked at Gideon. “I baked some oatmeal cookies today. Maybe I’ll take a plate over to her tomorrow.”
“I’m sure Gideon wouldn’t mind taking them for you.” Hannah Lynn grinned.
He scowled at her.
“I’ll do it. I haven’t had a chance to visit with Rachael in a long while. Eli seems to be doing better, from what I’ve seen of him at church. Having Rachael there to help him is such a blessing.”
Gideon took a bite of his fried chicken, saying nothing. But he felt Hannah Lynn’s foot nudge him from across the table. He pushed back.
“Ow.”
“Not at the supper table, you two.” Their father didn’t look up. He didn’t have to. His tone said it all.
“She’s a nice maedel too,” his mother continued, as if nothing had happened. She piled her plate high with buttered green beans. Bits of bacon clung to a few of the shiny pods. What Rachael Bontrager was to gardening, his mother was to cooking. Gideon’s parents’ plump frames attested to that. Unlike him and Hannah Lynn, they were both on the short side. “But she does seem to keep to herself.”
“That’s what I said,” Hannah Lynn commented.
He ignored her and took the bowl of green beans from his mother. “Ya. I guess.” At least his mother seemed oblivious to his feelings for Rachael.
Mamm sprinkled a little salt on her chicken. “You should invite her to a singing, Gideon.”
Then again, maybe not.
“Ya, Gideon.” Hannah Lynn smirked. “Invite her to a singing.”
“We’ve got two heifers due to birth any day,” his father said, giving Hannah Lynn a stern look before turning to Gideon. “We need to make sure we’re prepared.”
“We are.” Gideon appreciated his father’s quick switch of topics. Discussing his love life—or lack of it—with his mother and sister was turning into a nightmare.
After supper, Gideon went outside to bring the cows into the barn from the pasture. He made sure the horses were comfortable for the night, filling their water troughs to the brim and adding a thin layer of extra hay over the trampled straw in their stalls. Chores done, he went inside, pausing at the edge of the backyard where their property abutted the Bontragers’. There were no trees or bushes to obscure his view of the house and Rachael’s garden, which was partly obscured by two tall, wide oak trees. He didn’t see her, only heard the echo of hammering.
She was probably working on the greenhouse. He should offer to help her build it. She shouldn’t have to work so hard. Or work alone.
Just as he started to step across the property line, she appeared, carrying an empty glass. He froze, watching as she paused to pull a few weeds from the square vegetable patch on the right side of her garden. Tiny shoots of tomato and pepper plants peeked through the soil. He squinted through his glasses. The sun hung low in the sky behind her, the muted colors of sunset providing the perfect backdrop. His heart thrummed. Her independence and work ethic appealed to him just as much as her beauty. With her grandfather being ill, he knew she was in charge of all the chores and keeping the Bontrager household running smoothly. He helped out when she let him, mostly with cutting wood for the stove in the living room. But more often she refused his offers. She was the most capable woman he knew, and he’d never heard her complain.
“You’re staring.”
He groaned at the sound of Hannah Lynn’s voice. “Back to pester me again?”
“I can’t help it.” She grinned, looking up at him. “You’re too easy to tease.”
How well he knew that. “I don’t appreciate it.” His private moment ruined, he turned and headed for the house. He heard Hannah Lynn coming up behind him.
“I’m sorry.” She stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “You’re right. I shouldn’t tease you about Rachael.”
He looked down at her. “Danki for finally realizing that.” He started to walk away from her.
“I should be helping you instead.”
He paused, turning. “What?”
“I know how you can tell Rachael how you feel.”
He took Hannah Lynn by the arm and led her toward the front porch. “Keep your voice down.”
“She can’t hear me.” Hannah Lynn shook him off. She moved to the top of the porch steps. She was now even with his line of sight.
Now he wished she’d go back to teasing him. He shook his head. “Nee. Absolutely not.”
“Won’t you at least hear me out? Do you want to court Rachael or not?”
Hannah Lynn could be relentless, like a dog guarding his bone. If he didn’t listen to her now, she’d never let it drop until he did. He looked over his shoulder. Rachael was gone. “You know I do. But that doesn’t mean she’ll agree to geh out with me.”
His sister’s grin widened. “By the end of next week, she will.”
The following Monday morning dawned cloudy, but it was the warmest day they’d had so far. Before Rachael left the house, she grabbed the last oatmeal cookie from the plate Gideon’s mother had dropped off last week. She would return it with some brownies, using her grossmutter’s popular recipe. Maybe she’d set aside one for herself before she took them over. She did miss sweet treats, and it had been difficult to keep her grandfather out of the oatmeal cookies. She’d relented and let him have one, which he savored.
She went to feed her grandfather’s horse, which had his own pocket of space in the barn along with Grossdaadi’s various collections. When she finished giving him his oats and fresh water, she patted the horse’s gray head and left the barn, glancing at the Beilers’ yard. No one was outside. Just the cows and goats.
She hadn’t seen much of Gideon since he’d brought over the compost. For the rest of the week she’d tried to catch a glimpse of him, but she never did. Yesterday he disappeared right after the church service. She even tried to think of an excuse to go over to his house, but everything she came up with seemed ridiculous. Her feelings for him had grown stronger over time—and more pointless. If he liked her, he would have let her know by now.
Rachael made her way to the garden. But when she opened the gate, she noticed the latch was a bit loose. Short on time, she made a mental note to tighten the screws when she returned from the flea market. She made sure the gate was securely shut behind her and went to the unfinished greenhouse. Nearby was her potting bench, along with several iron shepherd’s hooks holding her hanging baskets.
She decided to take four of them, two containing purple Petunias and two filled with multicolored Impatiens. They seemed to be the most popular flower for hanging baskets. She stood on a small stool and reached up to grab two of the baskets. When she stepped down and turned around, she noticed something lying on her potting bench.
She neared, peering at the single stemmed flower that hadn’t been there the night before. Rachael set the baskets on the ground and picked up the flower. A purple Iris. She touched the small, plain white card attached with a thin pale-blue ribbon.
My Compliments.
Rachael looked around the garden. Nothing else had been disturbed. She studied the Iris. It was a beauty, with the darkest purple petals she’d ever seen. A slash of lemon yellow peeked out from the interior of each petal. This wasn’t from her garden.
She fingered the card. My Compliments. What did that mean? The short sentiment was written in uniform print, the letters almost square in shape. Plain. Masculine.
Her hanging baskets forgotten, she went inside, carrying the flower. She walked into the kitchen, where her grandfather sat at the kitchen table, holding the newspaper in one hand. He peered up at her over his reading glasses. “Ready for me to drive you to the flea market?”
She sighed. They’d argued about this last night. “I’m driving myself. There’s nee sense in you hanging around for hours, waiting for me to sell flowers.”
“I refuse to be trapped in mei own haus.”
“I know.” Rachael rubbed her temple. “What if you come with me next week?”
He looked at her before focusing on the newspaper again. “I suppose that will be fine.”
She let out a breath. She’d deal with next Monday when it arrived. She started searching the cabinets. After the third one, her grandfather asked, “What are you looking for?”
“Grossmutter’s vase. I thought I put it in here.” She crouched down and opened the cabinet under the sink. “There it is.” She filled the glass cylinder with water, put the Iris in it, and placed it on the table.
“Nice flower,” he said. “I didn’t know you were growing Irises.”
“I didn’t know you knew what Irises were.”
“I do know a little about flowers. Your grossmutter kept a gaarde too. Not as big as yours. But enough for us.” He looked at the Iris. “She liked Tulips the best.”
Rachael nodded. Every spring dozens of yellow, red, and orange Tulips bloomed in the flower beds that edged the front porch. She untied the card from the Iris stem.
“Someone give that to you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It was left on my potting bench. There’s nee name on the card.” She glanced at the battery-operated clock on the wall. She didn’t have time to talk about this now. “I have to geh. I’ll be back this afternoon. Please don’t geh anywhere other than the barn while I’m gone.”
He sighed. “I promise. But I’m only doing this as a favor to you.”
“Understood.” Satisfied, Rachael started to leave.
“Secret admirer,” her grandfather mumbled.
“What?”
“Nix. You better hurry or you’ll be late.”
She went to the barn to hitch the horse to the buggy. Secret admirer. The fact that her grandfather had mentioned it was surprising. But the idea was silly. She had been invited to a couple of singings over the past year, but she’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested. Eventually the buwe stopped asking. The only man she wanted to go to a singing with had never asked her.
But he was also the only one who had easy access to her garden. Could he have left the Iris?
Rachael paused. Would he? Her pulse thrummed at the thought.
She frowned, dismissing the thought. If he were interested in her romantically, he wouldn’t go to this kind of trouble. He was shy, but also plainspoken, a quality she appreciated. He wouldn’t leave her a flower with a vague card. He would simply ask her out.
She put the mystery out of her mind as she loaded her plants and flowers into the back of the buggy. When she finished, she guided the horse down the driveway at a brisk pace. She needed to arrive as soon as she could, since business at the flea market was at its peak during the morning hours.
But as she drove to Nauvoo Road where the flea market was located, the fragrant scent of flowers and potting soil filling her buggy, she thought about the Iris again. Could it be from Gideon? Deep in her heart, she willed it to be true.