Chapter 1.
Florence Baker released her foot from the pedal of her sewing machine and looked out the window with longing. Today, her fresh-air wander through the apple trees would have to wait.
“Florence! Why are you staring out the window?” Mercy looked over her shoulder. “My dress is nowhere near done. Can’t you sew faster?”
Mercy's voice grated on Florence’s nerves. She turned away from the half-made dress and glared at Mercy. “Nee. Leave me be. Dat always said children shouldn’t see things half done.”
“I’m not a child. I’m eighteen.” Mercy put her hands on her hips.
“Numbers don't always tell the story. You act like a child.” Florence turned back to her machine. “I don’t know why Mamm thinks you’re mature enough to marry.”
“I am mature. You’re only being mean to me because Mamm’s in the kitchen and can’t hear you.”
Florence huffed and looked back at Mercy. “If Gott wants you to marry, the man will appear from wherever he is and find you. He'll bring the two of you together somehow.”
“He won’t have to because Mamm’s helping me.” A smirk hinted around Mercy’s perfect bow-shaped lips. She always had an answer for everything.
“I don’t like all this deception surrounding this man coming to dinner. I’d say he doesn’t know people have conspired against him.”
“The Bergers said their nephew could help with the harvest this season and they would’ve told him about me too, I’m sure.” Mercy poked out her tongue. “So there.”
Florence shook her head in complete disgust and knew this nonsense wouldn’t be happening if their father were alive. “You expect to fall in love and live happily ever after and never have any problems because your love will be sufficient? Is that right?”
“Jah.” Mercy laughed. “You’ll see. I’ll be happy and have three bopplis before you even think about getting married. Oh, wait. You’ll still be here at home with Mamm, doing the same old thing.”
“Someone has to keep everything running.” Florence turned back to her machine and put her foot down, hoping the hum would put a stop to Mercy's talking or drown out her whining. Florence wasn’t sure how it had all come about that Ada Berger was convinced her sister’s son was the perfect man for Mercy. All she knew was that Mamm and Ada had gotten their heads together and now Mercy believed Ada’s nephew was her husband-to-be.
Mercy had moved right next to her and when Florence caught sight of her out of the corner of her eye, she jumped. Her sister looked annoyed. “What?” asked Florence, thoroughly exasperated.
“I’m goin’ to marry Stephen Wilkes and I don’t care what you say.”
“You can’t say that for certain. What if you don’t like him when you meet him?”
“I’m still going to marry him just to get away from here.” She lowered her head and moved closer to Florence. “And to get away from you.”
Florence gasped, more than a little hurt by the comment. “Why would you say that? Haven’t I looked after you well enough? I’ve done the best I could to make you and your sisters happy.”
“That was my job as the eldest, but I’ve never been able to be the eldest because of you.” Mercy planted her fists on her hips. “I want to be in charge of something and when I’m married, I’ll be boss of my own haus.” She stomped away.
Since nobody was around, Florence allowed her tears to flow. Nothing had been the same since her father had died. Her stepmother was good to her, kind and loving, but still there was a gaping hole in her heart.
Mercy wasn’t grateful for all Florence had given up for the family. She could’ve gone to the young people’s events looking for a husband. Instead, she’d worked hard in the orchard while delaying any plans of having a family of her own.
Mamm came hurrying out of the kitchen with a dust rag in her hands. “Were you two squabbling?”
“Not really.” Florence wiped her eyes and moved the fabric slightly so it would sit tighter under the needle.
“You’re upset.”
“I’m okay.” Florence didn’t want to bother her stepmother with anything that would worry her, so she did what she always did when she was upset; she kept working.
When Mamm was dusting the mantle over the fireplace, Mercy came back into the room. “My dress should be finished by now, Mamm. I want it perfect for tomorrow night and she’s not finished it.”
“If Florence says it’ll be done, then it’ll be done,” Mamm said.
“Jah, but I want it done today and not tomorrow. What if I want to make some changes? She always makes them too long.”
“That’s easily solved.” Florence swung around to face her. “You can do the hem once I’ve finished.”
“Be grateful she’s sewing your dress at all, Mercy,” Mamm said. “It’s a special treat and I’ve taken money out of our savings for it.”
“Denke, Mamm. I do appreciate it, I do, but she’s always sewing and won’t let me have a go.”
Florence had taught all her sisters to sew, but she ignored that comment not wanting to get into an argument. “It will be ready.” Florence didn’t even look up when she added, “Now go away and leave me to concentrate!”
“Humph. Rude!” Mercy said. “Did you hear how she spoke to me, Mamm?”
Mamm had moved on to dusting the wide wooden arm rests of the couch. She always went into a cleaning frenzy when they were having special guests for dinner. There was one guest in particular she was hoping to impress, on behalf of Mercy.
“Mamm, will you answer me?” Mercy asked.
Mamm reacted to the frequent arguments of her daughters by ignoring them completely. It was often up to Florence to step in, but this time Florence was involved. While Florence turned her attention to the sewing, Mamm finally spoke. “She’s the best seamstress out of the lot of you. Do you want to look pretty tomorrow night or not?”
Mercy pouted. “I do but … Hey, wait. Did you just say I’m not as good at sewing as Florence?”
When Mamm hesitated, Florence said, “I’m better only because I’ve been doing it longer.”
“Only because you’re always on the sewing machine and I don’t get a chance.”
“Keep cleaning, Mercy. Do you want Stephen to think we have a dirty haus? He’ll think you’ll make a dreadful fraa.”
“It’s fine. It’s good enough already.”
“Help me clean. Get a rag from the kitchen.”
When Mercy was out of the room, Florence stopped the machine. “Does Stephen even want to get married, Mamm?”
“He would. Why wouldn’t he? I also know he hasn’t got a girlfriend. Ada told me so much about him. He’s her older shweschder’s middle son. She has three and none of them is married.”
“Why aren’t they trying to marry off the oldest one?” Right now, Florence wasn’t the least bit concerned about Ada’s nephews. What she’d asked was meant as a big hint to Mamm, since Mamm wasn’t the least concerned about finding a husband for her. It also made it worse because she, not Mercy, was the eldest of the girls.
“She didn’t say why. She recommended Stephen instead. I guess she likes him better.”
Florence frowned, not liking the hurtful implications of that answer. Mamm kept dusting, unaware of what she’d just said and how it related to Florence and Mercy. Adding to Florence’s upset was the fact that the conversations she’d overheard between Wilma and Ada were all about finding a nice man for Mercy, whom Mamm had referred to as ‘my eldest.’
At first, Florence had tried not to think about it, but it had festered in her mind like a forgotten piece of bread left in the back of a cupboard. She’d always thought of Wilma as her mother and had called her Mamm since she was four. Didn’t Wilma see her as one of her daughters? Florence turned away from the machine and said, “So is the older bruder a stepson?”
There was no chance for her stepmother to even hear her question, much less to answer it, because loud screams rang from outside. It was Florence’s two youngest half-sisters hollering at the top of their lungs. “Florence! Florence, the Graingers’ cows are out again!” she heard Cherish yelling.
“Ach nee! Not again. Florence, will you see about that?” Mamm asked.
Florence was always the one sent to talk with people, whether it was the Graingers from next door or people who came to the door of their home. The cows had gotten out just weeks ago, and Doug Grainger had promised to fix the fence and make it stronger.
Florence bounded to her feet. “Okay.” She left the dress draped over the sewing table and headed out of the house. She was glad her stepmother hadn’t heard that last question. She'd regretted the words as quickly as they'd flown off her tongue. Of course, Mamm preferred her own children to her stepdaughter, but she shouldn’t make it so obvious.
When Florence stepped outside onto the porch, she was faced with her two youngest half-sisters. Each carried a bucket of windfall apples. It was one of their chores to pick up the apples that fell before the harvest.
Florence walked closer and looked in the buckets to see they hadn’t gathered many. They had hundreds of apple trees and picking up those apples from the floor of the orchard was an important job. “Is that all you got?”
Favor held up the bucket as she shook her head. “There are more.”
“We haven’t finished yet,” Cherish added.
“Sort those and then get the rest while I talk to Mr. Grainger,” she told the girls.
The apples they’d collected were to be divided into three groups—eating apples, apples suitable for cooking or making into cider, and apples that were good for nothing but to be thrown into the compost heap.
“Can I come too?” Cherish, the youngest called out. “I want to hear what you say to him.”
Florence turned around. “Nee. You do your chores and then see what Mamm wants you to do in the haus. We’ve guests coming tomorrow for dinner.” They all knew that meant everything had to be spotless.
“We wanna come too,” Favor said in a whine much like Mercy’s.
“Nee. Stay here.” Florence glared at them, almost daring them to defy her. She had to be stern with all the girls or they’d do whatever they liked. They’d already stopped listening to Mamm because she wasn’t firm enough.
When Florence was a distance from the house, she heard Favor call out, “Say hello to old Mr. Grainger.” Then she heard Cherish giggling along with Favor. Mr. Grainger was gruff and they knew Florence didn’t like speaking with him.
She yelled back, “Just get the rest of those windfalls picked up. On my way back, I’m going to check you’ve gotten them all.” Florence kept walking. Each day she tried to get away and be alone amongst the trees. It was where she felt close to her father. He’d loved his apple trees and perhaps that was why she loved being amongst them. Out here in the fresh air, the breeze blew her troubles away, and the trees smelled like happiness and comfort.
She stopped and touched a ripe red Fuji apple, and memories of her father introducing that variety to the orchard jumped into her mind. He’d told her it was a variety developed in Japan—a cross between the Red Delicious and the Ralls Janet apples. They had a reputation for being good for both eating and baking, along with the added bonus that they stored well.
There was another reason Florence felt good in the orchard. She was surrounded by history. Not only the history of her own family, but the early American settlers who had grown their apples from seeds after traveling from their home countries. Her father’s passion had been collecting those early varieties, the ones that still had the same properties and lineage as those from the early days. They were dying out as the more popular hybrid varieties took over. When she got some spare time, she intended to search out some of those rare varieties herself.
With her fingers still wrapped around the Fuji apple, she twisted it off the branch. She held it in the air and admired how perfect it was with the tiny stem still attached.
Her mouth watered. It’d been ages since breakfast and there was nothing like a fresh apple plucked from the tree. She polished it on her apron and then sank her teeth into it as she started walking again. The Graingers didn’t have too many cows, and hopefully Doug Grainger had heard the girls screaming and was already moving the cows back to his own property.
Still worried about her sister rushing into marriage, she dragged her feet. There was nothing she could do. Mamm approved of it and Mercy had her mind made up. What upset her most was she herself was twenty-four, a good six years older than Mercy. Did her stepmother hope to keep her around to run the place? Is that why Mamm wasn’t bothering to find her a husband? Actually, she could think of nothing worse than being set up. Love would happen if it was meant to be. That was what she’d told Mercy, and that was what she believed.
Once she’d finished the apple, she placed the core at the base of a tree so she could collect it on her way home.
When she came to the border of the two properties, she walked past three cows happily eating the fallen Red Delicious apples. As she got closer to the Grainger’s house, her foot caught on a rock and it caused her to trip. Instinctively, her hands flew up in front to save her face from smacking into the dirt. The day was getting worse by the second.
She picked herself up, looked at her grazed and stinging palms, and then dusted the dirt from her white apron with her fingertips. It was then she noticed her kapp on the ground. Embarrassed, and afraid someone might see her without it, she snatched it up and popped it back on her head. As she tied the long strings under her chin to prevent it coming off again, she noticed someone walking toward her. Someone far too handsome to be Mr. Grainger.
