Silvia's Rose Read online

  Silvia had taught him all he knew about roses and had opened up the secrets of a world he would never have known if not for her. Yah, Silvia was not from his people. She had come from the other world, showing up out of the blue to rent the little cabin in the woods. He was convinced she had come from God as a gift to him. For that he would be ever thankful.

  Silvia had been Englisha. She had arrived from where he never dreamed of going. He was a man of the community, and rumspringa had been only a word, a time spent without real temptations. There had never been a question as to whether he would remain in the community or jump the fence as some did.

  When Silvia appeared, he dared not gaze upon her beauty. That she had noticed him was too much. That she had spoken to him took his breath away. That the Lord had allowed such a woman to stand at his side and say the sacred wedding vows was something he would never understand. It was as if it had all been a dream. That she had been taken from him in death was not the surprise. That she had existed at all was the amazement of his life.

  And now this rose, a new hybrid grown with Silvia’s counsel and instructions, had been taken by her father to the Pageant of Roses Garden, where the seeds would be grown and studied. For three years Joseph had waited. This October was the date for the final testing. Silvia’s father would be there, and he would send the news on whether the rose had won an All-American Rose Selection award. There was no money involved, but that was okay. The award would bear record to the greatness of the woman who had been its inspiration. If the brilliance of Silvia’s Rose in the faraway Englisha rose gardens of California was half of what his own plants displayed, then winning the contest was no problem.

  Silvia would be rememembered properly. He was sure of that, as in deep down certain. The woman he had married had been educated in Englisha schools, but she had left her world shortly after she received her cancer diagnosis. She had moved to an Amish community to find peace before her illness took her. They had fallen in love and married. To the end, Silvia was the one who had given the most. She had argued this was not true, that he had loved her the best, but he had known better. Even at the end, he had taken his beloved wife in his arms on her deathbed, and she was the one who held him close.

  Joseph bent low over the rose blossoms and closed his eyes. He jerked his head up when Arlene yelped behind him, “Joseph! There you are!”

  His lame foot slammed against the greenhouse wall, and for a moment the pain stole his breath. He bent over to rub his leg with both hands.

  “What were you doing?” Arlene demanded. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “I was here,” he said. “With my rose, this…” He stopped.

  Her laugh was loud. “Your rose? What’s so special about it?”

  A ghost of a smile crept past his pain. “Can’t you tell? Can’t you see the difference?”

  Arlene bent close. “I don’t know. It looks like a rose, smells like a rose, and it’s pretty. But then, all roses are pretty.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Yes, but by crossing one species of rose with others, a new species can be created.”

  Arlene’s face flamed for a second. “Roses are roses. They’re not like cows and horses, which are alive.”

  “A rose is very much alive,” Joseph told her. “That’s a new hybrid you’re looking at, and, therefore, since I was the one who did the cross-pollination, I got to name the rose, and—”

  “What’s cross-pollination?”

  “That’s when you cross two different plant varieties. In this case, roses.”

  She had a blank look on her face.

  “You don’t understand,” he said with a sigh.

  Arlene’s face turned into a pout. “I don’t know why you always have to run me down, Joseph. It’s not as if you’re so high and mighty with your lame foot. There’s no need for you to put on airs.”

  “I was trying to explain, Arlene,” he protested. “I’m not putting on airs.”

  “Yes, you are,” she insisted. “You probably even named this rose that you claim is your own.”

  He hesitated.

  “See? That’s what I mean. How would someone like you know how to come up with a brand-new rose? If there even is such a thing, which I doubt. A rose is a rose, yet here you are claiming you have made a new one, daring to give it a name.”

  When he remained silent, Arlene hesitated for a moment. “So what did you name this supposedly new rose?”

  His gaze was fixed on her face.

  “Don’t stare at me, Joseph, as if you don’t know me. I’m here for you when no one else is. Can’t you see that?”

  “The name is Silvia’s Rose.”

  She gasped. “That was your frau’s name.”

  “Yah, so what’s surprising about that?”

  “Why would you name a rose after your frau?”

  “Just forget it, Arlene. I will say no more about this.”

  “But you’re thinking it,” she retorted. She followed his halting steps as he turned and walked away. “That’s not goot for you, Joseph. Imaginations are the devil’s workshop. You know that. What would be practical is if you grew things that would sell well at the produce market on Saturdays. You are goot at growing things, and I’m goot at knowing what will sell. You know you grew way too many tomatoes this season. Why don’t you let me decide what we plant, and then you can grow them? Your obsession with this rose ought to show you how much help you really need.”

  “Yah, I do need help,” he allowed. “And this is why I keep you around. And yah, you are goot at planning…but you’re wrong about the rose. Silvia’s Rose will make more money than any of my produce ever will.”

  She said nothing, her face filled with disbelief.

  Joseph shrugged. “So what do you suggest we do about the produce, then?”

  “That’s better,” she said, pulling a pencil and tablet from her apron. “I’ve kept careful track these past two Saturdays of what sold at the market. I took stock of everyone’s stands and how much they sold.”

  “You did all that?”

  Her face reproached him. “I care about you, Joseph, and about Ben and the business. You could double your income with a little planning. And you shouldn’t have offered ground in the greenhouse for Esther’s garden. We need all of that space.”

  “You don’t want Esther down here, do you?”

  “No, I don’t. For one thing, we really do need the space. For another, Esther is promised to Isaiah, and you shouldn’t be tempted by her.”

  He laughed heartily. “I think we can spare the space for Esther’s garden. As for her tempting me, that’s not going to happen.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He hung his head for a moment. “I’ve been in love once, Arlene. I don’t expect the same gift from the Lord twice.”

  Arlene rolled her eyes. “Such talk is foolishness. You must not mourn for what has been. I didn’t know Silvia, and certainly you must have loved her, but don’t let her death continue to turn that love into bitterness. You need to get past your sense of loss so you can see what God has provided for your future.”

  Joseph sighed. “Enough. We had best get to work,” he said with a forced smile.

  “Joseph, please don’t turn your heart away from me. Don’t be angry. I want only what is best for you and Ben. Can’t you believe that, or at least give me a chance? Neither of us is getting any younger. Please let me help you.”

  “You are helping me. Draw up your list of what we should plant this week, and I’ll start laying out the new beds.”

  She brightened considerably at his words.

  “Oh,” he continued, “I’m going to try another kind of rose this year. Would you like to help me with that?”

  Her face flushed red. “That’s a most awful thing to ask me! No, I won’t be entertaining your fantasies. We don’t have time or energy for that.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it myself.” He turned and limped away.

  She caught up
to him. “I didn’t mean anything by that, Joseph. I wasn’t trying to be cruel, just honest with you.”

  He paused. “Write up your list of what we need to plant and then bring it to the back greenhouse. We really must get started, Arlene.”

  “Fine. I can do that,” she said, hurrying away.

  Joseph sighed. He backtracked and lowered his head over the rose again. This was where he had been interrupted.

  “You will win, Silvia,” he whispered. “You will charm all of them.”

  SEVEN

  The late Wednesday evening sun had dipped below the horizon as Esther and Diana walked hand in hand down Fords Bush Road. A hush had fallen over the valley, broken only by the call of distant ravens and the occasional Englisha automobile on Highway 5. Diana was unusually silent and subdued, the skip in her step gone.

  Esther reached down to tickle her daughter’s chin. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You’re not yourself tonight. Don’t you want to eat supper with the Kings?”

  “I’d rather be going to Joseph’s house. And I’m tired.”

  Esther paused to bend down and gather Diana in her arms. “Are you homesick for Lancaster County? Is that the problem?”

  Diana buried her face in Esther’s shoulder.

  “I know it’s hard for you. I miss some things about Lancaster County too, but this is our home now. We’ll have a nice dinner with our new friends. Joseph will be there, and then on Friday evening Isaiah is coming to our house for supper. That will be a happy time, don’t you think?”

  “He doesn’t like my roses,” Diana muttered. “He wouldn’t even smell them.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Esther told her. “Maybe Isaiah just doesn’t know you that well yet.”

  Diana didn’t appear convinced.

  Esther released her, and they continued down the road. Moments later Esther’s arm jerked as Diana came to a halt. “What now, sweetheart?”

  “I’m going back for a rose since Joseph will be there. I want him to smell how wunderbah they are. The first one bloomed this morning.”

  “But if we cut the bloom, the smell won’t be as goot for Joseph. Let’s just leave the rose there, and you can show Isaiah on Friday.”

  Diana pouted but gave in, and the walk resumed. Perhaps she really shouldn’t be this jumpy about Joseph. He meant no harm with his talk of roses and praying mantises. So what if Diana was fascinated with him? Esther was not a jealous person, and neither was Isaiah.

  She stopped and let go of Diana’s hand. “I’ve changed my mind, dear. Go pick your rose for Joseph. There will more by Friday evening that you can show to Isaiah.”

  Diana squealed and raced up the road, her bonnet strings flying behind her. Esther watched the girl go, a smile playing on her face. She had made the right decision, the kind she should have made earlier in the day by going down to see Joseph about beginning a garden. She had blamed the delay on her busyness, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Isaiah would be able to hold his own with Joseph when it came to Diana’s affections. Joseph would be wounded deeply if he even knew of her fears. She must leave them behind and comfort Joseph this evening if she could. They did, after all, share similar losses of the heart.

  Esther bent on her knee to meet Diana, who came back on the run with a rose stem held between her fingers.

  “Let me smell it first,” Esther said once Diana came to a panting halt.

  Her daughter held the bloom close, and Esther took a long sniff. “That is a wunderbah smell.”

  Diana beamed. “I broke the stem off long enough to have a place to hold it.”

  “You are a wise girl.” Esther smiled and stood.

  Diana danced a few steps. “Joseph will love my blossom.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Esther agreed. “And I hope you and Joseph have a goot time, but other people will be there too. Remember that it’s not goot manners to pay more attention to the guests than one does to the hostess.”

  “Who’s the hostess?”

  “Dorrine. Her husband, their children, and their cousin Arlene will also eat with us.”

  “That’s a lot of people. I’ll talk to all of them after I talk to Joseph.”

  “It’s too bad Dorrine doesn’t have little girls.” Esther brushed Diana’s cheek with her fingertips. “You could play with them.”

  “Will Betty and Mary be there?”

  “Not tonight, sweetheart. You can see them on Sunday at the service. Maybe you can play in the house with Dorrine’s dolls. She’s sure to have some.”

  Diana appeared skeptical and clutched the rose stem in her hand. As they turned into the Kings’ driveway, Dorrine threw open the front door and greeted them with a hearty, “Goot evening, you two!”

  “Goot evening!” Esther returned the greeting and nudged Diana, who echoed her mamm’s words.

  Once they were inside the house, Dorrine knelt to hug Diana. “What have you here?”

  “A rose for Joseph.” Diana held the stem aloft in triumph.

  “She had to do a little begging before I let her bring the rose along,” Esther explained. “Joseph had a chat with Diana last week and predicted the blooming. This is proof he was right.”

  Dorrine flashed a frown to Esther. “Joseph is quite taken with roses. Arlene came home in tears on Monday after an argument with him. Poor girl. It seems that she can’t do anything right with that man, and she tries so hard.”

  “That’s too bad,” Esther said sympathetically.

  Dorrine grimaced. “I do agree that Joseph is impossible. Arlene is so ready to step in and mother that poor boy of his, but Joseph is lost in his own world and can’t see a thing beyond his flowers. I despair at times.”

  “Maybe Arlene should move on to greener pastures, as you’ve suggested.”

  Dorrine’s frown grew. “That’s part of the problem. According to her, there aren’t any.”

  “What are greener pastures?” Diana asked.

  Esther patted her daughter on the head. “Run outside and play a little while, dear. This is adult talk.”

  “Do you have any dolls?” Diana asked, peering up at Dorrine.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t. Maybe I can find—”

  Dorrine stopped when Joseph and Ben appeared in the living room window, making their way across the road. Diana noticed them and ran outside to race across the lawn.

  Esther, watching through the window, held her breath until Diana stopped short of the road and waited in the Kings’ yard.

  “Kinner, they are a burden and a joy.” Dorrine smiled. “But come, have a seat while Arlene and I put the final touches on supper. We have corn and mashed potatoes tonight with the best gravy recipe we could dig out of our family history. Joseph showed a real interest in that menu the last time we had him here, so we have redoubled our efforts. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Perhaps the problem is a matter of finding the right recipe?”

  Esther waited before she turned away from the window. Joseph was taking the rose Diana handed to him. He seemed to sniff the flower deeply as the little girl leaped around in front of him. Ben stood by with a grin on his face.

  “She’s quite taken with him, isn’t she?” Dorrine murmured.

  “And he with her,” Esther added.

  “Maybe we ought to have Diana give Arlene lessons in what charms the man’s heart?”

  Esther chuckled. “Like what? Bringing him roses?”

  “Men,” Dorrine grumbled. “They’re impossible sometimes.”

  Esther didn’t protest. Dorrine turned to lead the way into the kitchen, where Arlene was standing at the stove, stirring the contents of a large pot.

  “Well, there you are,” Arlene said. “I wondered what had happened to you.”

  “We were keeping an eye on Diana,” Esther told her. “Can I help with something?”

  “You can take a chair and sit,” Dorrine ordered. “We’re almost done.”

  “Did you bring any Lancaster County recipes with you?” Arlen
e asked, her face hopeful. “I might need some to try and win some attention from Joseph.”

  Esther hid her smile. “I didn’t, but it looks like Diana uses only roses. Have you tried those?”

  Arlene frowned. “You wouldn’t believe the horrible discussion I had with Joseph on Monday. I even told him that if you keep a garden in the greenhouse…well, he might be tempted to…something more than a friendship.”

  “Arlene!” Dorrine chided. “How could you?”

  Arlene fanned her face with a dish towel. “I know. I feel awful about it. I know there’s nothing romantic between the two of you, Esther, but the idea must have come from the outrageous things the man was saying. Joseph believes he brought a new rose into existence, which everyone knows only the Lord can do. I never dreamed how full of himself he is.”

  “People come up with different hybrids,” Esther told her. “I don’t know how it’s done, though. Maybe that’s what Joseph was trying to say.”

  Arlene turned back to her pot. “I hope you’re not supporting Joseph in his fantasy. The point is, no one can make new roses. A rose is a rose. I know there are different colors, but it’s still a rose.”

  Esther cleared her throat. “Maybe part of the problem is getting into arguments with him. Can you avoid exchanging harsh words?”

  Arlene opened her mouth to speak, but just then the front door slammed, and voices drifted in from the living room.

  Arlene whispered, “I trust he’ll like my supper—and I’ll keep my mouth shut about roses.”

  “I think that’s probably a good idea,” Esther agreed.

  Dorrine excused herself and hurried into the living room.

  “On another matter,” Arlene began, “I see that you have Isaiah’s attention sewn up. How did you do that so quickly?”