“My daet wants a woman who will raise me,” Violet said, turning toward Delia. “He’s considering you for that job. He wants a cook, too. And a woman who will make a home comfortable. And you are getting to know him. I understand that. But I want more than that for myself, and I won’t pretend otherwise.”
If Delia ever did marry again, she wanted more than that, too. The girl made a good argument. Every woman wanted to be more than the jobs she did in the home. More than mother and cook and seamstress and caregiver. Every woman wanted to open up that part of a man’s heart that glowed just for her.
“Can I go work in the greenhouse now?” Violet asked.
“Yah, go ahead. Thank you for helping me,” Delia said. “This will count as your work hours, of course.”
Violet nodded and headed for the door. Then she turned with her hand on the knob.
“Delia?” she said, her voice suddenly softer.
“Yah?”
“You don’t have to pay me for dishes. That was because your hand is hurt,” Violet said. “Just start paying me for the work when I get out there.”
“Oh...” Delia looked at the girl in surprise. “Are you sure?”
“Yah. I hope your hand gets better soon,” Violet said, and then she disappeared out the door.
A lump rose in Delia’s throat. Just a girl trying to be strong, and deep in Violet’s heart, she knew she was worth more than her housework. And she was! But how to explain to a girl that we can be worth more than our skills and our abilities, but we still need to bring those skills and abilities to the table all the same?
But Violet was afraid of the very same things that Delia was—not truly holding a man’s heart. And under it all, Violet really was a sweet girl, but a sweet girl who was leaning in a very dangerous direction.
Elias spent the morning helping his parents pack, and it seemed that for everything he put into a box, his daet would take out two items he needed for some project or other. He refused to leave the house in bad repair for Elias’s sister Mary and her husband, who’d be moving in. So half the time, Elias was helping his daet fix hinges or repair creaking steps or the running toilet.
And when his daet went to “rest his eyes” in the rocking chair, and his mamm disappeared into the garden to putter, Elias heaved a quiet sigh. He was happy to help his parents. It was nice to spend time with them again, but it was exhausting, too. His father was an old man now, and he acted like one. He wasn’t the strong, quick-thinking head of the family anymore, and that was both the natural progression of things and sad, too. Because now, Elias was the one making the plans and organizing things. He was the one telling his daet when it was enough, and they had to pack those tools away. And yet, he didn’t want to make his father feel bad, either, so this process had become incredibly slow, and tiring for Elias, too.
With his parents otherwise occupied, Elias decided to take a little break of his own, and he headed out across the scrub grass toward the Swarey Flower Farm. He wanted to see how his daughter was faring, and he had to admit that he was looking forward to seeing Delia, too. If the timing were different and the kinner were ready for a stepparent, he might be looking a little more seriously at Delia. She was...oddly comforting. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything but caution in a single woman’s presence.
He passed the fields of flowers spread out in neat rows—rows of pink, white, red and purple. The scent of blooms permeated the air, and he inhaled deeply. The smell of flowers was becoming entangled in his mind with Delia these days, and he wondered if the scent of a bloom was going to bring back memories of the Swarey family when he was back home again.
He spotted Violet carrying a black bucket filled with flowers, and behind her came one of the boys—that would be Thomas—a good head and shoulders taller than Violet was. Ezekiel stood next to several buckets of blooms with a clipboard in one hand, and Delia peered around his shoulder, pointing at something on the page.
Then Delia looked up and spotted Elias. She waved, said something else to her son, who nodded, and then Delia headed in his direction. They looked busy this morning—he didn’t want to get in the way, but he was interested to hear how Delia’s talk with his daughter went. He had a feeling Violet wouldn’t mention it.
“Elias!” Delia said as she reached him. “How is the packing going?”
“Slowly,” he replied. “You look busy here.”
“We have a truck coming this afternoon to pick up a large flower shipment,” she replied. “So we’re getting ready for it.”
“I should probably let you get back to it, then,” Elias said.
“Actually, Elias—” She glanced over her shoulder toward Ezekiel and the flowers. “Do you want to walk with me just a little bit? There was something I should tell you.”
“Oh.” This sounded serious.
Elias fell into step beside her and they ambled across the grass and toward the drive that led up to the road. Delia walked slowly, leaving a proper eighteen inches between them.
“How did your talk with Violet go?” he asked.
“I fear that I may have caused trouble.”
That didn’t sound likely, but he trusted Delia’s instincts, too. “How?”
“Well, I had mentioned the youth volleyball night to Willa Speicher, and they sent their grandson, Liam—the Englisher boy we saw at their place—to the youth night.” She shot him a cautious look, and suddenly, he knew what was coming. A rebellious but moderately good-looking young Englisher. His daughter who wanted nothing more than to marry an Englisher and escape her Amish life...
“And Violet took a shine to him?” he asked.
“Yah, I’m afraid so. My boys told me about it last night, and I made sure to talk to her, myself. I told you I’d help.”
“I appreciate it...” he murmured.
“She didn’t tell me much about Liam,” Delia went on. “I tried to give her a few things to think about, but she wouldn’t admit much. It was my boys who told me that she and Liam were together most of the evening.”
Elias rubbed his hands over his face. Just great! Now, his daughter had a boy, just the right age to intrigue her, but too old for her all the same, to put her attention into. That was not a reassuring thought!
“We won’t be here too much longer, at least,” he said finally.
“This morning she was telling me about her plans to marry an Englisher and run a pottery shop in the middle of a busy town or something like that. Girlish dreams, really. Nothing realistic.”
“What does she want from that life?” he asked helplessly. “I give her everything! I work hard to provide for her, I bring her to service, help her visit her friends and aunts and uncles... I do everything I can to make sure her life is full and content. What does she want so badly?”
“She says...” Delia licked her lips and her gaze flickered up toward him uncertainly. “She says she wants to be worth more than her housework. As a woman.”
“Of course women are worth more than housework!” he barked out, and Delia startled. He lowered his voice—he hadn’t meant to scare her. “Sorry. But obviously, she is. Every woman is worth more than cooking and cleaning.”
Delia shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Elias. That’s her worry. That all people see is how good she can sew or bake or jar pickles. And she wants someone to see deeper—to see her as a person.”
