Johanna's Bridegroom. Emma Miller

those silly thoughts about Roland and what they’d once meant to each other could be forgotten. They could go on as they had, neighbors, members of the same church family, friends—nothing more.

      A shout from the direction of the barnyard and the rattle of buggy wheels bumping over the field announced Irwin’s arrival. “If you don’t mind, Roland, I’ll set up a catch-trap on the bench there. The water is what drew the swarm here in the first place. And if I can lure them into the nuc box, I can move the whole colony back to our place.”

      When he didn’t answer, she glanced at him. No wonder he hadn’t heard her. Roland’s full attention was on his child. He was still hugging J.J. so hard that the boy could hardly catch his breath.

      “Unless you’d like to keep the bees,” Johanna added. “I’ve got an extra eight-frame hive that I’m not using. I could bring it over and teach you how to—”

      “You take the heathen beasts and are welcome to them,” Roland replied.

      “If you’re sure, I’ll be glad to have them. But it’ll take a few weeks for the colony to settle in to a new hive, before I can move them. Of course I have to lure them into it first.”

      “Whatever you want, Johanna.” His dashed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Thank you. What you did was...was brave. For a woman. For anyone, I mean. You saved J.J. and I won’t forget it.”

      Johanna ruffled the boy’s hair. “I think he would have been just fine,” she said. “The bees like him.”

      J.J. grinned.

      “But you’ll keep well away from them in the future,” Roland admonished.

      “Obey your father,” Johanna said.

      “But I don’t want to stay away from them,” the child said. “I want to see the queen.”

      Roland gave him a stern look. “You go near them again and—”

      “Mam! Mam!”

      Johanna looked back to see Jonah, wearing his bee hat and protective veil netting, leaping out of their buggy. “I remembered the lemongrass oil, Mam,” he shouted. “Irwin forgot, but I remembered.”

      J.J. wiggled out of his father’s grasp and stared in awe at Jonah’s white helmet. Jonah saw the younger boy and positively strutted toward the tree.

      It was all Johanna could do not to laugh at the two of them. She raised a palm in warning. “Thank you for the lemongrass oil, Jonah, but you won’t need the hat. These bees have had enough excitement for one day.” She gave her son the look, and his posturing came to a quick end.

      “Hi, J.J.,” Jonah said as he removed the helmet and tucked it under his arm. “Did you get stung? Where’s the swarm?”

      J.J. pointed, and the two children were drawn together as if they were magnets. Immediately, J.J., younger by nearly two years, switched from English to Pennsylvania Dutch and excitedly began relating his adventure with the bees to Jonah in hushed whispers.

      “Both of you stay away from the swarm,” Johanna warned as she directed Irwin and Roland to carry the wooden hive to the bench beside the water. Irwin lifted off the top and she used the scented oil liberally on the floor of the box. “Hopefully, this will draw the bees,” she explained to Roland as they all backed away. “Now we wait to see if they’ll decide to move in. We’ll know in a day or two.”

      “I brought your suit and the smoker stuff,” Irwin said.

      “Danke, but I don’t think I’ll need it,” Johanna answered. “I didn’t know what I’d find.” She looked around and saw that Jonah and J.J. had caught the loose horse. “You can take Blackie for me, Irwin. Jonah and I can drive the buggy home.”

      She watched as the teenager used the buggy wheel to climb up on the horse’s back and slowly rode toward the barnyard.

      “Can I drive the buggy home, Mam?” Jonah asked.

      Johanna laughed. “Down the busy road? I don’t think so.” Jonah’s face fell. “But you can drive back to Roland’s house, if you like.” Nodding, Jonah scrambled back up into the buggy, followed closely by J.J.

      “Don’t worry,” Johanna said to Roland. “They’re perfectly safe with our mare Molly.” It was easier now that the crisis had passed, easier to act as if she was just a neighbor who’d come to help...easier to be alone with Roland and act as if they had never been more than friends.

      “Dat, I’m hungry,” J.J. called from the buggy seat.

      Jonah nodded. “Me, too.”

      “I guess you are,” Roland said to J.J. as he and Johanna walked beside the buggy that was rolling slowly toward the barnyard. “We missed dinner, didn’t we? I think we have bologna and cheese in the refrigerator. You boys go up to the house. Tie the mare to the hitching rail and you can make yourselves a sandwich.”

      J.J. made a face. “We’re out of bread, Dat. Remember? The old bread got hard and you threw it to the chickens last night.”

      Roland’s face flushed. “I’ll find you something.”

      “How about some biscuits?” Johanna asked, walking beside Roland. “If you have flour, I could make you some.”

      “Ya! Biscuits!” J.J. cried.

      Roland tugged at the brim of his hat. “I wouldn’t want to put you out. You’ve already—”

      “Don’t be silly, Roland. What are neighbors for? I can’t imagine how you and J.J. manage the house and the farm, plus your farrier work, just the two of you.”

      “Mary helps with the cleaning sometimes. I’ll admit that I don’t keep the house the way Pauline did.”

      “It won’t be the first messy kitchen I’ve ever seen. Let me bake the biscuits,” Johanna said, eager now to treat Roland as she would any neighbor in need of assistance. “And whatever else I can find to make a meal. If it makes you feel any better, Jonah and I will share it with you. It’s the least I can do for your gift of a hive of bees.”

      “A gift you’re more than welcome to.” He offered her a shy smile, and the sight of it made a shiver pass down her spine. Roland Byler had always had a smile that would melt ice in a January snowstorm.

      “The thought of homemade biscuits is tempting,” he said. “There’s a chicken, too, but it’s not cooked.”

      She forced herself to return his smile. “You and the boys do your chores and give me a little time to tend to the meal,” she said briskly.

      “Don’t say I didn’t warn you about the kitchen. I left dirty dishes from breakfast and—”

      “Hush, Roland Byler. I think I can manage.” Chuckling, she left him at the barn and walked toward the house.

      * * *

      An hour later, the smell of frying chicken, hot biscuits, green beans cooked with bacon and new potatoes drew Roland to the house like a crow to newly sprouting corn plants. The boys followed close on his heels as he stopped to wash his hands and splash cold pump water over his face at the sink on the back porch. Straw hat in hand, Roland stepped into the kitchen and was so shocked by its transformation that he nearly backed out the door.

      This couldn’t be the same kitchen he and J.J. had left only a few hours ago! Light streamed in through the windows, spilling across a still-damp and newly scrubbed floor. The round oak pedestal table that had belonged to his father’s grandmother was no longer piled high with mail, paperwork, newspapers and breakfast dishes. Instead, the wood had been shined and set for dinner. In the center stood a blue pitcher filled with flowers and by each plate a spotless white cloth napkin. Where had Johanna found the napkins? In the year since Pauline’s death, he hadn’t seen them. But it wasn’t flowers and pretty chinaware that drew him to the table.

      “Biscuits!”