Flowers are happy things.
—P. G. WODEHOUSE
Three hours later, the sun blasted its heat straight above them. Gideon took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. They’d made good progress. Rachael had picked over the plants she thought she could save or at least attempt to nurse back and pointed out which ones needed to be thrown away. She even managed to find a bright side. “They’ll make gut compost,” she’d said shortly after they set to work.
Now he was raking a bare patch of soil where a group of green and white Hostas used to be. He couldn’t believe how much damage the hail had done. He was also learning more about plants and flowers than he’d ever known before.
“Thirsty?” Rachael came up behind him.
He turned. The pain so evident in her eyes earlier that morning was gone, replaced by determination. Without thinking, he brushed her cheek with his thumb. There was nothing there, but he couldn’t help himself. “You had some, uh, dirt . . .”
She brushed at her cheek, which turned a rosy shade. “I’m going inside to get some cold tea. Do you want some?”
“Ya. The sun is brutal today.”
“I’ll be right back.” She looked up at him and smiled before she went into the house.
For such a rotten start to the day, it was turning out to be a pretty good afternoon.
“Gideon!”
He heard Hannah Lynn’s voice in the distance. He leaned the rake against the fence and went to the gate.
“Daed sent me to find out what’s taking you so long.” She looked at the garden. “Wow. What happened?”
“Hail. Tell Daed I’m helping Rachael. I’ll be home when we’re finished here.”
“All right.” Hannah Lynn hesitated. “So . . . are you two . . .”
“Friends. We’re friends.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “I thought for sure the flowers would work.”
“I can’t get mad at you for trying.” He leaned forward. “But from now on, I’m doing things mei way.”
“Got it.” She held up her hands and backed away. “I’m done meddling in other people’s business.”
“I doubt that,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nix.” He turned and grabbed the rake, returning to work.
A few minutes later, Rachael appeared. “Fresh brewed,” she said, handing it to him. “I only had a few ice cubes in the cooler. It’s not very cold.”
“It will do.” He took a long swig of the drink. Then he looked around the garden. “Do you have a piece of paper and a pencil?”
“In my shed. Why?”
“Thought it would be a gut idea to make a list of what you need to get this garden back in shape.” He set aside the rake and headed for the shed. She followed. “Where’s the paper?”
“Here.” She pulled out a small notepad and short pencil from a little yellow pail hanging on a nail on the shed wall. He wasn’t surprised she was that organized.
“How about we walk around the garden and you tell me what you need? Then I’ll geh to town tomorrow and pick it up.” When she opened her mouth, he held up his hand. “Don’t even try.”
“Try what?”
“To tell me nee. Or talk me out of it. Or say that you can do it yourself.” He leaned over her. “I’m doing this whether you like it or not.”
“Okay.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “First thing I need is five hundred pounds of potting soil.”
He held the pencil over the pad, his eyes widening. “How much?”
She grinned. “Gotcha.”
By suppertime, Rachael was exhausted. Gideon had left an hour ago, saying he had to put in a couple of hours at the farm before sundown. Before she could say she was sorry, he told her not to be. It was as if he had sensed her guilt before she’d spoken it.
But it had been like that all day with him. She stood at the edge of the garden. They had accomplished so much together. This morning she was devastated by what had happened. Now she had hope that her garden wasn’t a complete disaster. She still wouldn’t have as many vegetables as she’d planned for, but they would have enough.
She heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw her grandfather coming toward her. He stood next to her and whistled.
“I know,” she said. “The hail really hit the gaarde hard.”
“Ya. I saw the mess earlier. I’m impressed by what you and Gideon did today.” He looked at her. “You make a gut team.”
Rachael looked at the garden again. It was stripped down and there was still a lot of work to do. But instead of seeing everything she lost, she focused on what she and Gideon had accomplished. It had been nice to work alongside someone, especially him. Her grandfather was right. They did make a good team.
Peace entered her soul, a peace she hadn’t felt since coming to Middlefield. She’d faced two of her biggest fears—her grandfather getting sick again and her garden being destroyed. In spite of everything, she could still count the blessings. Danki, Lord.
“Well, I’m hungry.” Her grandfather tapped the ground with his cane. “How about I cook supper tonight?”
She grimaced. “Nee.”
He frowned. “What about our deal?”
“Oh, we still have a deal.” She put her arm around his shoulder. “But you’re a terrible cook.”
“True. How about I check on the horse and you make supper?”
“That sounds better.”
As her grandfather made his way to the barn, Rachael looked at the garden one more time. She’d done enough work for the day. Tonight she would relax. Maybe even read a book, something she hadn’t had the energy or the patience to do in a long time. She took one last look at her garden and smiled.
She walked to the shed and was about to shut and lock the door when she noticed a piece of paper on the floor. She picked it up. Gideon’s list. He must have dropped it when he left. She’d go to the Beilers’ tomorrow and give it to him. She stepped out of the shed and closed the door, then snapped the padlock in place.
She decided to double-check the list to make sure she didn’t forget anything. She didn’t want Gideon making multiple trips to town on her account.
Then she stopped reading. She brought the list closer to her eyes, studying the handwriting. Plain, neat, square letters. Handwriting she’d seen before.
Her pulse thrummed as she ran into the house and to her room, opened up the drawer on the side table, and pulled out the note cards that had been attached to the flowers. Rachael laid them on the bed and placed the note next to them.
The handwriting was identical.
She smiled. It widened as she reread the flower cards. My Compliments. Admiration. Sincerity. Lasting Beauty. Dedication. All written in Gideon’s unique hand.
Her heart warmed. Hadn’t he proven all of these to her? His admiration of her garden. His sincerity when he spoke. The lasting beauty of his friendship. His dedication to being there when she needed him most.
Not only did the flowers speak what was on his heart, his actions did too.
She stacked the cards together. She would see Gideon tomorrow, and this time he was the one in for a surprise.