Seeds of Hope Read online

  Mark glanced at the clock on the wall and decided to quit for the day. For once he didn’t have anything to take home and review, due mostly to Lani’s usual good work of keeping his calendar clear for a day or so after a case expected to wrap. He’d been careful not to plan anything with Tiffany so he could go home, find something to eat, have a glass of wine if he wanted, and relax.

  His condo was blessedly quiet and spotless. The cleaning service had been there that day. When he looked in his Sub-Zero refrigerator, he found a couple takeout containers that looked like they were growing science experiments. The inside of the freezer was an arctic wasteland. He sighed. It looked like he was ordering in one more night. Tomorrow he’d make himself shop for groceries. But tonight it wasn’t going to happen.

  He rooted through the takeout menus in a kitchen drawer and ordered his favorite baked spaghetti and Greek salad, then changed into sweats while he waited for delivery.

  Later, he sat eating his solitary dinner on the coffee table in the elegantly decorated living room—done with the help of an expensive interior decorator—and watched ESPN.

  Such was the life of a successful big city attorney, he thought wryly.

  Reaching into his briefcase, he pulled out the letter from his grandfather and ripped it open. “Dear Mark,” he read. “I need to see you to talk about an important matter. Can you come to the farm?”

  That was it. Two sentences. Well, one sentence and one question. His grandfather was a man of few words, but this was very terse even for him.

  He frowned. Was his grandfather ill? He pulled out his cell phone and dialed, then frowned again when the call went to voicemail. The call was being recorded out in the phone shanty, but who knew when his grandfather would check the answering machine. Phone calls weren’t a high priority in his grandfather’s world, unlike Mark’s own smartphone-driven life.

  A couple hours later, Mark lay awake in bed, unable to sleep. He’d been in his line of work too long. His imagination ran wild with worry about the reason his grandfather wanted to see him.

  He needed to go visit him right away.

  Two

  For the next three days, Miriam found herself experiencing a tingle of excitement every time she thought Mark receiving John’s letter.

  Mark hadn’t come home for the last harvest, but maybe he’d come now since John had written him.

  She was no teenage Amish maedel, but she’d never gotten over the crush she’d had on Mark. It probably had to do with him being Englisch and therefore different from the men she’d known since they were kinner together at schul. While it was nice to know someone so well that there were no surprises, somehow she couldn’t help thinking it must be nice to discover your mate when you were both adults.

  Her dat was in the barn feeding the stock. He came out to help her unhitch the buggy when she arrived home after dropping supper off at John’s farm.

  “How is John?”

  “He’s well. He hasn’t heard from his grosssohn yet. I told you he wants him to come help with the harvest.”

  “John knows he can depend on all of us in the community to help him.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “John is worried about the future of the farm. He talked about how there’s no one to take over the farm from him. His sohn left the community, and Mark has his job in Philadelphia. John doesn’t want the farm to go out of the family after so many generations.”

  Daniel nodded. “I understand.”

  Miriam led Bessie to her stall and fetched her water and feed. “I hope Mark will at least come for harvest and talk to him. He’s been so busy, he hasn’t made it here in some time.”

  “Well, if it’s God’s will, it’ll work out.”

  She nodded. “I’m going in to help Mamm unless there’s something you need me to do.”

  “Nee, go help her.”

  The kitchen was a hive of activity. Miriam had three schweschders and five bruders, and if they weren’t working in the fields this time of year, they were in the kitchen where the work was almost as hot and almost as hard. Jar upon jar of corn and green beans and fruit jams and jellies lined the counters.

  Her mudder looked up from stirring a huge pot on the stove. She fanned her face with her hand. “How was John?”

  “Gut. He thanked both of us for the food. Especially the baked chicken. You know he loves baked chicken.” Miriam went to the sink and washed her hands. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Supper’s almost ready,” Sarah said, unflappable despite the flurry of activity in the room.

  Miriam’s schweschders were everywhere, setting the table, pouring glasses of water, carrying jars downstairs to store them for the winter months. Her bruders were still helping their dat with chores in the barn.

  Her youngest sister, Katie, sat in her high chair banging the tray with a wooden spoon. “How are you doing, sweet boppli?” Miriam asked, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

  Katie grinned, exposing a mouthful of cracker crumbs.

  Like many Amish households, there was a big gap between the ages of the oldest and youngest kinner in the house. Miriam was the oldest and she loved taking care of her siblings as they came along.

  She stepped out onto the back porch and rang the bell several times, alerting those working in the fields. They began streaming toward the house looking tired and sweaty.

  Supper was a noisy affair as Miriam’s big, boisterous family gathered at the wooden kitchen table. Well, until the blessing was said and all the bowls and platters were passed around the table. Then silence descended as everyone ate.

  Her mudder often said the kitchen was the heart of the home, and mealtime was schur the family’s favorite time.

  Miriam’s thoughts wandered to Mark as she ate. What he was doing right now? Was he sharing a meal with the woman he’d become engaged to? Her name was something fancy. Tiffany, she remembered. She took a bite of chicken and wondered if Mark was enjoying a fancy supper with Tiffany.

  As appetites became satisfied, there was more talk. Her bruders discussed the weather—all-important at this time of the year as the crops were being harvested—and her schweschders gossiped about who might be getting married after the harvest.

  Katie babbled and clutched a green bean in one chubby hand.

  After the plates were cleared, Sarah presided over the scooping of warm peach cobbler into bowls. She handed them to Miriam who topped each with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

  Her brother Jacob smiled and sighed when Miriam handed him his dish. “What a nice ending on a long, hot day.”

  Katie used her hands to put some of the ice cream in her mouth and smear the rest of it on her face. She grinned, delighted with herself.

  “She schur loves ice cream,” Miriam said, leaning over to wipe her face with her paper napkin. “You have a birthday in a few months, big girl.”

  Miriam finished her own dessert, then lifted Katie from her high chair. “I’ll give her a bath.”

  She carried her upstairs, ran a bath, and after pulling off her ice-cream-

  smeared clothes, dunked her in it. Katie laughed and splashed as Miriam used a washcloth to scrub her face and hair. “Messy boppli.”

  Katie chuckled and patted the water with pudgy hands, splashing Miriam in the face. When she screeched in surprise, Katie laughed even harder.

  Miriam wrapped her in a towel and hugged her. It was nice to have a boppli to cuddle since she didn’t have one of her own yet. She was just twenty-four—which wasn’t considered an old maedel by any means—but there were moments when she couldn’t help thinking how many friends she’d gone to schul with who had married and started families already.

  Would she ever have her own family, her own boppli?

  Dressing Katie in a diaper and a cotton T-shirt—all that was needed on a warm summer night—she took her downstairs. It was too early for Katie to go to bed and she was too wound up to go to sleep just yet.

  Emma and Mary were finishing up the dishes. Th
eir mudder sat at the table sipping a glass of iced tea and looking tired.

  Miriam joined her and held Katie in her lap. “I was telling Daed that John hasn’t heard from his grosssohn yet. I’m worried that Mark might not be able to come visit him.”

  “Family’s important,” she said quietly. “I’m schur Mark will at least come to help with harvest. I hate to see John disappointed. He’s such a nice man.”

  “Well, it’s God’s will what happens.” She smiled. “Someone’s trying very hard not to fall asleep.”

  Miriam glanced down, surprised to see Katie’s eyelids were drooping. “I’ll go put her in her crib and see if everyone’s taking their baths.”

  “Danki.”

  She carried Katie upstairs, laid her in her crib, and tucked her favorite stuffed animal under her arm. Katie snuggled it in her sleep, smiled her angel smile, and drifted off.

  Moments like this were so sweet. It was easy to forget what a handful Katie always was.

  Miriam walked out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her. As she headed down the hall to the bathroom, she heard shrieks and splashing. Her six-year-old zwillingbopplin sisters sounded like they were in the bath tub, but the racket they were making worried her.

  When she walked into the room, her mouth dropped open. The girls had evidently found the bottle of bubble bath that Miriam used occasionally. They must have dumped the entire bottle into the tub and were enthusiastically tossing handfuls of suds at each other. Water had slopped over the sides of the tub.

  “What have you done?” she cried. But she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

  Hadn’t she done such a thing once as a kind?

  “Finish washing off and when you get out, you’re mopping up the water in here,” she said sternly. “Mamm and I aren’t doing it. And be quick about it before it leaks downstairs and Daed gets mad.”

  They stopped and stared at her, their eyes huge. “We’re sorry!” they chimed at the same time. “We were just having fun. We’ll clean it up right away.”

  “Be schur that you do. Then it’s bedtime for the two of you.”

  She went out and closed the door. And as she headed down the hall to check on her bruders, she couldn’t help thinking it was just another night in the crazy Troyer haus.

  Mark didn’t have court the next day and that was just fine with him.

  Lani breezed in and took a seat in front of his desk. “What’s wrong, boss?”

  He looked up. “What makes you think something’s wrong? And don’t call me boss.”

  “Okay, boss. I’ve known you for years. You’re on edge.”

  “It’s my grandfather. I left a voicemail, but he hates anything to do with phones and rarely goes to the phone shanty.”

  “You think he might be ill? You can call the local police and ask for a wellness check. I did that once when my grandmother didn’t answer her phone for two days.”

  He glanced at his cell phone, then shook his head. “I’m going to drive there to see for myself.”

  Lani frowned. “You are worried.”

  “Yeah. Listen, about my schedule.”

  “I’ll work on the Epps interrogatories, schedule depositions for the Reynolds case for next week, and file your motion for the Carrington trial. Anything else?”

  “No, smart aleck. I’ll be back in a couple of days. You have my number if you need me.”

  “I won’t. Take a week.”

  Mark tried to look stern, but chuckled as she got up and left the room. It took a few minutes to toss a few files in his briefcase and stop to let his boss’s assistant know he was going out of town.

  An hour later, an overnight case packed and tucked in the trunk, he was heading out of Philadelphia toward Paradise.

  He’d been cooped up inside too much lately. It felt good to be out taking a drive on such a beautiful day. He put the top down, slid his sunglasses on, and turned the music up loud.

  It would have been more enjoyable if he wasn’t concerned about his grandfather. He couldn’t help worrying about the man until he saw him in person.

  He drove past fields with crops of corn, wheat, every kind of vegetable being harvested. Huge machines worked the fields of Englisch farmers. As he approached the Amish farms he saw horses pulling equipment. He remembered the summers when he’d helped harvest and would wonder why the Amish had to do things the backward way. His grandfather had been patient in explaining the Amish faith and their way of doing things, and Mark learned to accept, even appreciate, this different way of life.

  He still liked his world very much. Especially this car that purred like a big jungle cat and tempted him to cut it loose and see what it could do.

  His better judgment kicked in before he could and soon he took the turn to his grandfather’s farm.

  He pulled into the drive and shut off the engine. Getting out, he scanned the fields surrounding his grandfather’s farmhouse. There were men out there, but he couldn’t see if one of them was his grandfather. He took the front porch stairs two at a time and knocked on the front door. When he got no answer and found it unlocked, he stuck his head inside and called out, but there was only silence.

  He stepped inside, went from room to room, and felt relieved when he didn’t find his grandfather lying on the floor. Of course, he hadn’t really believed he’d find such a situation, or he’d have done as Lani suggested and made a call to the local authorities to ask for a wellness check. But still, he was concerned.

  He heard the front door open. “John? It’s Miriam.”

  A young Amish woman carrying an enormous basket hurried into the room. She stopped and stared at him. “Mark!” she cried. “You came!”

  “Yes. Where’s my grandfather?”

  “Oh, he’s probably out in the fields.” She set the basket on the table.

  He stared. Miriam Troyer had always been pretty, with her creamy skin and corn silk blonde hair beneath her kapp. But if it were possible, she’d gotten even prettier since the last time he’d seen her. “Good to see you.”

  “You, too.”

  The back door opened and his grandfather walked in. “You came!”

  Mark frowned at him and put his hands on his hips. “Granddad, I called and left you several voicemails on your answering machine.”

  “Did you?” John filled a glass of water from the tap and drank thirstily. “Haven’t had time to check my messages. Busy time of the year. But you’re here now.”

  “I was worried.”

  John swiped his hand over his mouth. “No need to worry. God’s always in charge.”

  Exasperated, Mark crossed the room and gathered his grandfather in a hug. “You can’t tell a person not to worry.”

  It seemed his grandfather had lost weight since he’d last hugged him. He felt . . . frail. And it seemed the older man’s movements were slower, awkward, as if he were in pain. His arthritis must be getting worse.

  “So why did you ask me to come?” Mark asked as John sat down at the table, took off his wide-brimmed straw hat, and wiped his face with a bandanna.

  “We can talk later, after we’ve eaten,” John said. “Since you’re not dressed to help in the fields, why don’t you set up the tables for the food?”

  It wasn’t what he wanted, but what else could he do? “Sure.”

  John turned to Miriam. “It was so kind of you to bring the food today.”

  “The other women will be here soon to feed everyone helping you with the harvesting today.” She lifted her basket. “I’ll take this outside and start setting up.”

  Mark took the basket from her and wondered how a little slip of a thing like her had carried it in from her buggy. It weighed a ton.

  They walked outside. He set the basket down and glanced around. “So where are the tables?”

  “In the barn. I’ll show you.”

  The tables consisted of sawhorses with planks of plywood set atop them. Miriam took cloths from the basket and spread them on
the tables. Her mudder came out with several women and they set benches and some old chairs around them for seating.

  Several women came around the side of the house carrying baskets and tote bags. Mark and Miriam hurried to help them. Bowls of potato salad, corn on the cob, and sliced baked chicken were set out on the tables.

  “Miriam, look who’s here!” her friend, Fannie Mae, cried when she saw Mark. “Haven’t seen you in some time. Have we, Lovina?”

  “Nee. Gut to see you!”

  A boy about ten years old approached, pulling a little wagon with a cooler in it. “Is that your fancy car out front?” he asked Mark. “Does it go a hundred miles an hour?”

  Mark laughed. “Well, it might, but the police wouldn’t be too happy with me.”

  The women made quick work of setting out food and filling glasses with ice and tea from the cooler.

  “Johnnie, go ring the bell to call the men.”

  The boy ran to the back porch and tugged on the bell.

  Men streamed in from the fields, greeting Mark as if he hadn’t been gone any time at all. After they washed their hands at the pump, they sat around the table. A blessing was said for the meal, then everyone began filling their plates.

  The scene was familiar and yet felt a little surreal. Yesterday Mark had sat in the boardroom wearing an expensive suit and eating a catered lunch with his fellow attorneys. Today he sat among simply dressed farmers and their wives eating food that had been harvested just days before. He felt comfortable in both.

  He glanced at his grandfather at the head of the table. The old man was watching him with an inscrutable expression.

  Three

  Miriam had never felt more self-conscious.

  Here she sat at a table just a few feet from Mark—someone she hadn’t expected to show up today. He looked cool and immaculate in his Englisch polo shirt and khaki slacks, a pair of expensive sunglasses shading his eyes.

  No one wore their best on a work day, especially a hot summer harvest day. Although they’d tried to set up the tables under a shade tree, the temperature was in the nineties and there wasn’t much of a breeze today.