An Amish Harvest. Patricia Davids

Her voice was pleasant when she wasn’t ordering him around or poking fun at him. Companionship wasn’t something he’d needed before. He worked best alone. He preferred it to having to watch others who couldn’t do a task as well or as quickly as he could. People frustrated him. His brothers frustrated him. Rebecca frustrated him. He didn’t like that he wanted her around.

      “I’m fine. Peace and quiet, that’s all I ask,” he snapped.

      “I’ll be downstairs if you need me, Samuel,” she said gently. It was an unspoken rebuke for his churlish attitude. And deserved.

      “I know. Call or fall on the floor to get your attention, whichever I prefer.”

      She laughed. “Something along those lines.”

      After she left his room, the sound of her laughter stayed in his mind. She had a pretty laugh. Not horsey or simpering. Rebecca Miller laughed like someone who enjoyed life. His grudging smile pulled at the bandages on his face and made him wince.

      His grin faded. Rebecca had faced great sorrow. How did she find the strength to be happy? He shared the same Amish faith she did. Was her faith stronger than his was? Or was she a stronger person? Was it true that she didn’t question God’s plan for her life? He had a hard time believing that. How could she not? No husband, no children. Her future must look bleak at times. As did his when he found the courage to think about it.

      Samuel listened for her throughout the next hour or so. He had no way of telling time. The days and nights tended to crawl by with nothing to do but feel pain. Rebecca kept humming or singing softly so he knew where she was. When he heard the washing machine running in the basement, he sat up gingerly on the side of his bed. His mother had an ancient wringer washer that his father had adapted to run off propane. Samuel knew Rebecca would be down there feeding the clothes through the wringer for a while. Standing slowly, he moved up the bed until his elbow touched the wall by his headboard.

      Although he was still unsure of his balance, he discovered he wasn’t afraid of falling on his face as long as he had the wall to lean on. He made one slow circuit of the room. He remembered the chest beneath the window in time to avoid stubbing his toe on it, but knocked his shin against the leg of his desk. It was a minor discomfort compared to his previous fall. How much damage had he inflicted on his burned hands?

      Rebecca had marked the bloodstains. Were they getting worse? Should he call her to check? He made his way back to bed first. He didn’t want her to know he had taken her suggestion for getting around.

      He lay down with a sigh of relief just as he heard her coming up the stairs. She came quietly to his side. After several minutes of silence, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Has the bleeding stopped?”

      “It has. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

      “I wasn’t asleep.”

      “There isn’t any way for me to know that unless you speak, Samuel.”

      “I did speak.”

      “After I stood here in awkward silence for ages. Are you worn out after your stroll?”

      He almost denied that he had been up, but thought better of it. “How did you know?”

      “I noticed the papers on your desk had been disturbed and one was on the floor. The window isn’t open, so I knew they couldn’t have blown around.”

      “I bumped into it.”

      “I thought so.”

      He grudgingly gave her credit for her good idea. “Leaning against the wall makes it easier.”

      “I’m glad my suggestion was helpful.”

      He heard the front door open. “Samuel, I’m back. I’m sorry I was gone for so long. How are you?”

      His mother came charging up the stairs, breathless by the time she reached his bedside.

      “I’m fine, Mamm.”

      “So many people have stopped by to ask about you. I must’ve told the same story about your injury ten times already today. I thought I would never get free.”

      “Samuel and I have gotten along fabulously. I changed his sheets. He was up in the chair and even took a short walk. I’m very pleased with him.”

      His mother laid her hand on his cheek. “You haven’t overdone it, have you, Samuel? The doctor warned against that. I would feel dreadful if you suffered a setback. Is the pain worse? I don’t know why she thought you needed to be up.”

      He’d forgotten the pain in his hands and his face for a short time while he was talking with Rebecca. They came roaring back to life now although the pain pill was taking the edge off. “I might have overdone it.”

      “Is that blood on your bandages?”

      “It’s nothing to worry about. He bumped it, but the bleeding has stopped,” Rebecca said calmly.

      “You shouldn’t have let him get up.”

      “Maybe we should let him rest for a while and discuss this downstairs,” Rebecca suggested.

      “An excellent idea. You and I need to have a talk.”

      Samuel knew that tone. His mother wasn’t happy. He felt a stab of pity for Rebecca, but quickly smothered it. She would be on her way home shortly.

      He was glad about that, wasn’t he?

      * * *

      Anna Bowman was upset.

      Rebecca followed her to the kitchen and prepared to receive a scolding. She didn’t have long to wait.

      Anna spun to face her with her arms clasped across her chest. “I’m grateful you came to help, Rebecca, but my husband made a mistake in bringing you here. You have overtired Samuel, and I won’t have that.”

      “He is tired, but he can do more than you think. He needs to do more.”

      “I know how to take care of my own son better than anyone. If you had children, you would realize the truth of that.”

      Rebecca kept her face carefully blank, but she cringed inwardly. She would never have children of her own unless she married again, and she couldn’t see herself with anyone other than Walter. She stiffened her spine, determined not to let Anna drive her away. “Your son isn’t a child. He shouldn’t be treated like one.”

      “I know you mean well, but I won’t be dictated to by you. Now, I’ve got to get supper started. The men will be in soon.”

      Before Rebecca could reply, the outside door opened. Isaac Bowman and his three sons filed in. They all nodded toward her and bid her welcome.

      “Smells goot!” Noah said with a broad grin. The youngest of the Bowman siblings, Noah was nineteen and still in his rumspringa—the years when Amish youth were allowed to sample things normally forbidden to baptized Amish members. He wore blue jeans and a red plaid shirt. His curly brown hair was cut short beneath a black ball cap. He whipped it off at his mother’s frown and hung it on the pegs by the door where his father and brothers had placed their identical straw hats.

      Anna glanced with surprise at the stove where Rebecca’s chicken and noodles were simmering. Apparently she had been so intent on returning to Samuel that she hadn’t noticed the enticing smell.

      Isaac looked around in satisfaction. “The house looks wunderbarr. The floor is spotless. The counters are clean and neat. It’s goot to have my industrious wife back. I knew bringing Rebecca to look after Samuel was exactly what you needed. You have always kept our home as neat as a pin until Samuel’s accident.”

      Anna glanced around the room. “Well, I try.”

      Rebecca took pity on the woman. “I wasn’t able to get the biscuits started, Anna. Would you like me to do that, or would you like me to sit with Samuel?”

      “Well,