11
On the day of the work frolic, Jimmy Fisher came to Eagle Hill just after breakfast to pick up Bethany. She was waiting on the porch step, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight that bleached the blue right out of the sky. “Looks like another scorcher.”
“Not hardly,” he said, drawing out the words teasing and lazy. “Won’t be truly hot until the water in the creek gets to boiling.” He handed her some drawings. “Last night, I figured out how much lumber we had and drew up some plans for the garden plots. See what you think.”
She looked over his detailed sketches. “Why . . . they’re excellent. Jimmy, you did a fine job.”
He shrugged, as if it was nothing, but she knew it wasn’t. He must have spent hours laboring over those plans. And then there was the recruiting he had done to talk dozens of people into volunteering a few hours for the community garden, despite the week’s record heat. She handed the sketches back to Jimmy. “Why are you doing all this?”
He looked at her as if she might be sun-touched, then shook his head. “How could anyone in their right mind refuse an opportunity to spend a day slaving like a dog in ninety-five-degree weather with one hundred percent humidity?”
She lifted her chin and tried not to grin. “Excellent point.”
By eight o’clock, dozens of Amish had arrived and stood in a large clump, under the shade of the Grange Hall roof, listening to Jimmy Fisher explain how the garden plots would be laid out. By midday they would all be sweltering beneath a blanket of gummy, heavy air. And yet, the heat hadn’t stopped anyone from coming.
As Jimmy spoke, Galen stood with his arms folded, until Bethany saw him gesture to someone in the crowd. Then she spied her two brothers, sneaking through the rows of people, tiptoeing with exaggerated silence toward the platter of day-old pastries from the Sweet Tooth Bakery. Galen shook his head. They halted, making gestures of protest. He pulled his brows together and pointed to the edge of the crowd, far from the table of snacks. Deflated, they slunk away.
Jimmy had organized the day quite efficiently. Within minutes he started a group of men measuring and building raised wooden beds. Young boys were given the task of wheeling in barrows of topsoil and dumping them into the beds. Clumps of girls and women planted the vegetable starts that Amos Lapp had donated. Hank Lapp pounded in small wooden placards in front of each one, to identify whose garden plot was whose.
Allen Turner, the SEC lawyer who was investigating Tobe, worked alongside the Schrock family. For a lawyer, he was surprisingly capable with a saw and hammer. But he was never far from Tobe who was never far from Naomi. Bethany knew Allen Turner didn’t want to let Tobe out of his sight—the man was sleeping on the lumpy couch in their living room, which made Mammi Vera furious. But he didn’t let Mammi Vera’s cold stares bother him. He seemed to Bethany like a man on a mission and that mission was Tobe. Or maybe, in the end, it was Jake Hertzler.
But it was Geena who impressed Bethany the most. She had a pleasant way of getting everyone involved in a task. No one was left out, especially children.
Despite everything that weighed at the back of her mind, Bethany felt it was quite an astonishingly wonderful morning.
After a simple lunch of ham-and-cheese sandwiches had been served by the sisters of the Sisters’ House, most of the Amish families went home. The bulk of the work had been done. All who remained were those who wanted to grow and manage a garden plot. Geena had heard about the community of the Amish, but seeing it up close and personal—it was something to behold. They arrived early and slipped seamlessly into a role, as if they all knew where they fit best.
To Geena, it felt like watching Paul’s words in action from his letter to the Romans: “We have different gifts, according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift is prophesying, then prophesy in accordance with your faith; if it is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously; if it is to lead, do it diligently; if it is to show mercy, do it cheerfully.” Watching Bethany, Jimmy Fisher, Galen King, Amos Lapp, Hank Lapp, Rose Schrock, and Naomi King spread out among the newly built plots and teach people how to care for the gardens . . . Geena went suddenly all soft inside with choking that was so close to tears. Every church in the world, she supposed, had a little knot at its solid center. The goodness, the simple honest goodness in some people!
Geena knelt by the Grange Hall garden plot, gloves on her hands, looking at the soft open space with fierce intent. She picked up a handful of dirt, smelling the heady dampness of it. With her spade, she made a row and tucked some pea starts into the dirt every few inches, then patted the earth around each little start. Sammy and his dog Chase appeared at her side.
She held up a handful for him to examine. “This is good earth,” she told Sammy. “See how dark it is?”
He nodded seriously, and smelled it when she did, his big eyes always taking everything in. The sun sparkled over the top of his head. “I still don’t like peas, though.”
“Maybe you’ll like them better when they’re fresh and you pick them yourself.”
Sammy looked unconvinced, then heard Luke call to him, and he ran off, his dog loping at his heels.
“How are you doing?”
Geena had to squint to look up at Allen, and he noticed and moved around to the other side. “Sorry about that.”
“Doing fine, thank you. Getting the peas in on this end. That end will be tomatoes. Maybe pumpkins in the middle, where their vines can sprawl over the edges.” She picked up a packet of pumpkin seeds and shook it. The big seeds rattled inside. “Might be a little late to plant these, but we’ll give them a try.”
“You’ve done this before, I think.” His blue eyes had the gleam of a blue pearly marble she’d had as a child. Such clear eyes seemed as if they could see too much. “Are you going to go back? To the ministry?”
“Of course. I . . . just have to figure some things out.” How could he possibly understand how deep her calling to ministry went? To her very marrow.
“It must be hard to be a person of God. When you were trying to eat lunch, I saw that you kept getting interrupted by people who wanted a word with you.”
Just one or two. Maybe three. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t had a chance to finish her lunch. No wonder she was still hungry.
“It brought up memories,” Allen said. “I remember how mothers always wanted to talk to you, anytime they were worried about something. Doesn’t it drive you crazy, people needing you constantly like that?”
Geena thought, with longing, of the way children, teens, even parents from her church would look in her direction when she arrived at their home, or to the waiting room of a hospital, or once at a county jail. When they realized she had come to help them, their upturned faces were expectant, hopeful, grateful. “No.” She took a breath. “I love it. I love being needed.”
“I guess that’s the nature of your job, isn’t it?”
Geena didn’t know how to answer him.
“You seem happy, Geena. Really happy.”
“I am.” And she was. Even if, at the moment, she was a youth pastor without a church, she was happy. She knew who she was and what her purpose was.
“You’re very lucky.” He strolled off before she could say another word.
Geena watched him walk through the middle of the lot, looking at all of the garden plots, smiling at the other gardeners, who smiled back. The sound of happy voices and laughter filled the air. Children chased one another through the pathways between plots, and a few dogs trotted along behind them, the Schrocks’ golden retriever Chase among them. He spied Geena and came loping toward her, tongue lolling.
“You look thirsty, ol’ boy. C’mon, let’s find some water for you, shall we?”
In the kitchen, she found a dented, old stainless steel bowl and carried it outside. She filled the bowl and put it down in the shade and whistled for Chase, who came racing and dove into the water with eager slurping.
Geena went back inside the Grange Hall to wash her hands. A little sunburn gave her cheekbones some color. She took a moment to try to tame her hair and wash the dirt streaks off her face. Even with a big garden hat on, the sun had kissed her. She looked rested and healthy.
Thinking of how lovely Bethany looked even after hours of hard work, she peered into the mirror, wishing she had fuller lips or a bit more chest, or darker eyelashes, or some extraordinary feature, but she was honest with herself. Her eyes were an ordinary brown, her mousy brown hair too frizzy, her cheekbones too broad to ever be considered pretty.
She plucked a few more curls from her ponytail, let them frame her face a little, fall down her neck. Better.
In the mid-afternoon, Bethany sank down at the picnic table under the shade of the Grange Hall roof, took off her gloves, and slapped the dirt from them. Her hands were shaking and she realized she hadn’t stopped to eat since breakfast. Geena walked over and brought her a sandwich and a glass of sweet, cool lemonade—just what she needed.
“Look at this,” Bethany said, satisfied. “Look what you started, Geena. It was your idea to turn a crummy old vacant lot into a garden.” Each plot had small vegetables growing in it: tomatoes, carrots, radishes, lettuce, zucchinis, cucumbers, beans, peas, onions, eggplants, corn shoots. It wouldn’t be long at all before those plants started to sprawl, covering up the entire beds with thick green vines and leaves.
“It is beautiful,” Geena said, gazing around the garden. “But an idea is one thing. Doing it is something else. This community garden was everyone’s doing.”
“Mostly Jimmy Fisher, I think. He’s spent a lot of time on this.” Bethany’s eyes had often sought Jimmy out and her chest tightened with a sweet longing. He seemed to be everywhere at once, handing people tools, wheeling in a barrow full of dirt, carrying boxes of Amos’s plant starts, scooping up the leftover messes.
Her gaze followed Jimmy as he attached a hose to a spigot at the back of the Grange. Luke and Sammy sneaked up from behind to jump on him, but he must have heard or sensed the imminent attack. He spun around, hosing them down with water. The boys screamed and laughed. They adored Jimmy. He was always surprising people, Jimmy was. Bethany, mostly.
Speaking of surprises, Bethany’s little sister seemed to be filled with them. She watched Mim walk slowly along the garden path with Ella, holding the old woman’s elbow to keep her from falling. Mim had become Ella’s keeper. She shadowed her, helping her along, answering questions, making sure she stayed safe. Ella’s safety was a growing concern. But who would have thought Mim would become someone’s caregiver? She had to be asked to spend time with Mammi Vera.
There was more to Mim than Bethany had thought—or maybe she just hadn’t noticed. Mim didn’t know this, but Bethany had started to read the Mrs. Miracle letters that were published in the Stoney Ridge Times. Not always, but often, Mrs. Miracle revealed a surprising depth, a startling wisdom. Of course, Bethany wouldn’t share that thought with Mim, but she was impressed.
Then Bethany’s gaze traveled to a group of wayward girls from the Group Home, clumped together, watching everyone else work. “What do you think those girls are thinking about?”
Geena turned to see. She sighed. “They probably haven’t seen people work together like this before. And I think they’re watching families work together and feeling great self-pity. Their version of family is nothing like this.”
“We’re doing this for them, but they won’t help.” They were invited to pitch in—Bethany had overheard as Geena asked them. And a few seemed willing, until that red-haired girl said no and the rest of them followed her lead. They wouldn’t lift a finger to help today, though they did eat lunch when offered.
The red-haired girl was the obvious ringleader. There was something about her that irritated Bethany. She had a permanent look of contempt on her face. Under her breath, Bethany muttered, “That red-haired girl shouldn’t be allowed to intimidate the other girls.”
“True, but more importantly, why does she feel the need to?” Geena turned around to face Bethany. “Until we walk in someone’s shoes, we really can’t judge what makes them do the things they do.” She patted Bethany’s hand. “The garden is the first step toward making a difference in those girls’ lives. But the garden needs time to grow and we need to allow God time to work in the girls’ hearts.”
Time. Bethany had never been one for patience. “Do you know anything about that girl?”
“Her name is Rusty but I don’t know anything else about her.” Geena slapped her hands on her thighs. “I’m going to find out.” She walked over and sat on the ground next to the clump of girls.
Bethany’s curiosity about Geena Spencer continued to grow and grow. She was easy to talk to and didn’t seem anything like a lady preacher, not that Bethany knew what a lady preacher should be like.
“Anything left that’s sweet to eat?”
Bethany turned to see Jimmy Fisher leaning against a support post that held up the Grange Hall roof, one booted foot crossed over the other, his hat dangling from his fingers, gazing at her with an inscrutable look. Flustered, she spied a dish at the end of the row. “One piece of Rose’s famous blueberry buckle is left. You want it?”
“Split it with me?”
“I’m already full,” she said, leaning over to scoop up the lone square of cake. She put it on his plate. He’d just washed up, for the ends of his hair dripped water and he smelled of Ivory soap. “You’ve worked hard on this project. Everyone appreciates it.”
“Everyone?”
She blushed. “I appreciate it.” She looked from his eyes up to the sky, then back to his eyes again, judging which were bluer. His eyes were definitely bluer than the sky.
He leaned toward her, though he was careful not to touch her, cautious about who might be watching them. “So, what do you say about tomorrow night? Will you let me take you home from the singing?”
For one little moment, that vine twined around them again, binding them together as he looked at her. His blue, blue eyes twinkled, but there was also something solid and real there.
He whirled his head around. And there was Katie Zook, waving to him to come help her carry a tray of seedlings.
Bethany shook her head in disbelief. That girl surely needed a copy of A Young Woman’s Guide to Virtue.
“Be there in a minute.” He turned back to Bethany, but it was too late. She’d had enough and was already brushing past him to head into the Grange Hall to help Sylvia with lunch dishes.
Sunday morning was quiet at Eagle Hill. Geena had watched the Schrock family pile into a buggy and head off to church. Last evening, Rose had brought fresh sun-dried towels down to Geena and said that another inn reservation had been canceled due to the heat wave, so she would be able to stay two more nights in the guest flat. She was thrilled. She had no reason to return home. Not yet.
Geena planned to go to church in town later in the morning, after a hike. As she stepped out into the light from the coolness of the guest flat, the sun fell on her skin like a skillet, heavy and hot. She paused for a moment, closing her eyes, letting the early morning heat sink deep into her bones. Unlike most people, she loved warm weather. Maybe she should look for a youth pastor position in Florida or Arizona. Or Texas?
She spotted Allen, leaning against a fence, sipping coffee, and walked over to join him. “You’re up early.”
“They’re early risers, these Amish folk.” In the freshness of the morning, the weariness in his face was erased, and she saw only the kindness. He had always been kind.
“I’m a little surprised you let Tobe out of your sight for the morning. I figured you’d accompany him to church.”
“Three hours in a sweltering barn, listening to preachers in a foreign tongue—I figured Tobe was pretty safe for the time being.”
Geena grinned. “Well, then, want to go hiking? Then we can go to church.”
“Hike? Church?” He looked at her as if she’d suggested bird watching. “I suppose so.” He tossed the rest of the coffee on the ground and set the mug on a fence post. He unfolded the stems of his sunglasses, the motion deliberate, and slipped them on. They walked side by side for a few hundred yards until they reached a part of the trail that required single file. He let her take the lead. “I was watching you yesterday. You have a real gift for ministry.”
“I miss it,” she said honestly.
“So why aren’t you . . . ,” he paused, searching for the right word, “ministering?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
She picked up her pace. “From what I remember, you were always too busy with work to listen.”
“From what I remember, you were always talking to other people, not to me.”
She spun around, facing him off. “That’s not fair. That’s what being a good minister is all about. Being available to others.”
His face became gentle. “I know that. And you were—you are a good minister.”
The fight drained out of her. “And you were—are a good attorney.”
“Truce?” He held out his hand to her.
She looked down at it, remembering how big and strong his hands were. Not the kind of hands that belonged to a pencil pusher. It was a hand she had loved once, a hand she had trusted. She reached out and shook it. “Truce.”
They started up the hill again, Allen trailing behind Geena. “So you never married.”
She shook her head. “I guess I’m married to my work.” She glanced back. “I think I heard that you married.”
“My wife’s name was Alyssa. We were very happy.”
Geena felt a strange swirl of jealousy. Where did that come from?
“Until she left me.”
She stopped and made a sharp about-face. “I’m sorry, Allen.” She truly was. Divorce was a terrible thing. “Do you have children?”
“One. A son. He’s thirteen now.”
“Do you see much of him?”
“I do. We share custody.” He was huffing and puffing and his face was turning red. Clearly, the man didn’t exercise much. “So why aren’t you ministering right now?”
She went ahead of him to reach the top. “I told you. I have a few things to figure out right now,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“So you’re adrift? That doesn’t sound like the Geena I remember.”
At the top of the hill now, she ignored him and looked down over Eagle Hill. The pastoral scene took her breath away. She sat down on a rock and he fell beside her, breathing heavily. Slowly, she tipped her head back and let herself be drawn up, up, up into the bright morning sky, the endless and empty sky.
“A body could get lost up there if she isn’t careful.”
She ducked her head, suddenly shy, aware he was watching her. Down below, the sheep were grazing, milled in a bunch. Just then one of them startled at something, jumping stiff-legged and sideways, and landing with a loud bleat. It spooked the rest of them so they scattered in the pasture.
Geena and Allen laughed at the sight of the silly sheep, and their laughter—his mellow and deep, hers light and airy—wove together. A killdeer trilled sweetly and a chickadee burbled as the wind gently swayed the tops of the trees. “Isn’t it lovely?” She turned to face him and caught the look on his face. He stared at her with such intensity that she could almost feel it, like a warm gust of breath on her face.
“You didn’t answer my question, Geena. Why are you drifting?”
Hmmm . . . she thought. Only you would ask that question. “Allen, are you ever not a lawyer?”
He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Funny you should ask. I’m giving some thought to leaving the SEC. My son needs more of my time. He’s a good kid, but when you’re thirteen . . .”
“The world revolves around your friends.”
“That’s true. Exactly right. You always did have a knack for understanding kids.”
“You get a lot of experience when you’re in youth ministry.” She stretched her legs out and put one ankle on top of the other. “So what will you do if you’re not an SEC lawyer?”
“Not sure yet. I need to finish up this last case involving Schrock Investments.”
“This case seems awfully important to you.”
“It is.” His gaze shifted down to the quiet farmhouse. “A number of innocent people have been hurt. I’m going to see this through.”
She stared at his profile, a face that she had once memorized. “It seems more than that. It seems . . . like there’s something personal for you in this case.”
He kept his gaze on the sheep, far below them, as if watching them eat was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Anything personal would be a conflict of interest.”
Now that sounded like the Allen she knew. He loved the law like she loved the church. But something about the determination in his voice seemed a little unusual to her. “Unless the SEC wasn’t aware of why it was so personal to you.”
He turned abruptly back to her, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. “So, Geena . . . you never answered a question I have tried to ask you several times and still am waiting for the answer. Why are you hiding on an Amish farm?”
Ah, changing the subject. A diversion tactic. “I’m not . . . hiding. I’m just taking a breather.”
“Yesterday, you were really in your element.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were just tireless, and everybody looked to you for help and advice.”
“It’s funny how a day like yesterday just”—she made a circle in front of her heart—“pulls me in. Everybody working together for a common good. A day like yesterday makes me feel like I’m a much better version of myself.” Before she could stop them, words came pouring out of her mouth. “But I love being a youth pastor. I love working for a church, being part of a whole.” Below, the wooly sheep had moved under the canopy of a weeping willow. “I love church, period.”
“So why aren’t you working?”
She sighed. He wasn’t going to let this go. So like the Allen she remembered. “My church fired me. They felt I didn’t have the preaching skills, not enough charisma, to match their plans for growth and development. They hired me with expectations to triple the size of the youth group within a year’s time.” She tossed a pebble against a tree. “Obviously, it didn’t.”
He wiped his forehead and neck with his handkerchief. “Sounds more like a business plan.”
She laughed softly. “Sometimes, it did seem that way.”
“So you’re ‘in between’ youth pastoring.”
“I miss my work,” she said. “I don’t know who I am without it.”
“Do you have any plans?”
“Not yet.” She spoke her own truth. “I have absolutely no idea of where I’ll go next. Or what I’ll do.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Well, it is. And please don’t give me any platitudes. You know it’s a difficult question.”
“It is that and I don’t have the answer for you.”
She closed her eyes. “I have to figure this out.”
“Yup, you do.”
“It’s just that . . . I do feel called to be a youth minister.”
“Yeah, sure, I understand that. But not called to be perfect.”