Read Online The Beekeeper's Son (The Amish of Bee County Book 1) by Kelly Irvin - Free Book Online
Authors: Kelly Irvin
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Family Life, Fire, Religious, Christian, Inspirational, small town, Amish, Future, God, sorrow, Faith, Tennessee, &NEW, country, joy, accident, Beekeeper, Creation, Scarred, Tragic, Bee's, Letter, God's Plan, Excuse, Arrival, Uncover, Barren
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said what she really meant. She hadn’t written down the words that so often did somersaults in her head and made her stomach hurt. How could Gott’s plan include taking Daed from this earth so soon? What purpose did it serve? What plan involved moving her family to this dirty, barren, brown place?
She waved away a fly the size of her big toe and squinted against an evening sun dipping toward the horizon. If her old bishop were here, he would say she was full of hubris and needed a good dose of humility. He’d say she had no right to question. That Gott should strike her down with a big bolt of lightning for having a head too big for her kapp, and he’d be right.
What she couldn’t figure out was how to make her thoughts behave. They barricaded themselves behind her heart and showed up when she closed her eyes at night and tried to sleep. They pestered her while she picked tomatoes and dug up beets in the garden. They tried to burst from her lips when she saw Mudder serving yet another piece of pecan pie to Stephen, who seemed to have a hollow leg and no use for napkins.
Deborah wiped a drop of sweat from the end of her nose. It might be a tear, but she preferred the idea that it was sweat. She was no crybaby. She took a big swallow of lukewarm, tart lemonade from a Mason jar to ease the lump in her throat. Sniffing hard, she applied pencil to paper, determined to finish this letter so she could walk it out to the mailbox in the morning before the mailman came by.
I’m sitting on the back step at Onkel John’s house, smelling the smell of garbage in a rusted trash can. I’m staring out ata broken-down buggy that looks like it hasn’t moved in years. Grass is growing up around it and pretty soon it’ll be hidden. Maybe I can use it as a hidey-hole place to go and write my letters where no one can see or know what I’m thinking. ’Course, there might be a rattlesnake in there or one of those armadillos I told you about in my first letter.
Mudder has gone on a buggy ride with Stephen. I’m not supposed to know. She thinks I’ve gone to bed already, but it was so hot I couldn’t sleep. I saw them ride away. Mudder says Stephen is a smart farmer who took lemons and made lemonade.
The thing about Stephen is he keeps looking at me funny, like he’s trying to figure something out. Like I’m a bug he wants to study or squish under his boot—one or the other, I’m not sure which. He’s never been married and if he’s been around kinner, it’s been a very long time. The first night here, he made Hazel cry because she spilled her water.
Mudder says we have to give it time. That he’s trying. I’m trying too. I think I might need to try harder.
When I walk down the road, dirt floats in the air. When the wind blows, grit gets in my mouth and my teeth grind on it.
I keep thinking I’ll get used to it. When I wake up in the morning and smell eggs frying and pancakes and kaffi, I can almost imagine I’m back home again. Then I open my eyes and see the sagging roof over my head and hear my cousin Frannie snoring and smell her morning breath and I remember.
Write me. I want to know everything I’m missing. I’m coming home just as soon as Mudder gets settled with Stephen. They’ll get married in November and I’ll come back. I can get a job cleaning houses or as a teacher, earn my keep on my own. I’ll be home soon, you’ll see.
Write me back as soon as you can. I’m crazy to know what’s going on there. With you-know-who. I should stop now so I can write to him too. I haven’t received a letter from him. Yet.
Tickle your little sister for me and eat my share of the ice cream.
Deborah
She hadn’t mentioned this plan to her mother. Or her sisters. She tried to imagine getting on a bus and going home without them. She’d never been anywhere in this world without her family. They’d get by without her. They had each other.
She would spend time with Aaron. It’d only been two weeks. Yet his image
She waved away a fly the size of her big toe and squinted against an evening sun dipping toward the horizon. If her old bishop were here, he would say she was full of hubris and needed a good dose of humility. He’d say she had no right to question. That Gott should strike her down with a big bolt of lightning for having a head too big for her kapp, and he’d be right.
What she couldn’t figure out was how to make her thoughts behave. They barricaded themselves behind her heart and showed up when she closed her eyes at night and tried to sleep. They pestered her while she picked tomatoes and dug up beets in the garden. They tried to burst from her lips when she saw Mudder serving yet another piece of pecan pie to Stephen, who seemed to have a hollow leg and no use for napkins.
Deborah wiped a drop of sweat from the end of her nose. It might be a tear, but she preferred the idea that it was sweat. She was no crybaby. She took a big swallow of lukewarm, tart lemonade from a Mason jar to ease the lump in her throat. Sniffing hard, she applied pencil to paper, determined to finish this letter so she could walk it out to the mailbox in the morning before the mailman came by.
I’m sitting on the back step at Onkel John’s house, smelling the smell of garbage in a rusted trash can. I’m staring out ata broken-down buggy that looks like it hasn’t moved in years. Grass is growing up around it and pretty soon it’ll be hidden. Maybe I can use it as a hidey-hole place to go and write my letters where no one can see or know what I’m thinking. ’Course, there might be a rattlesnake in there or one of those armadillos I told you about in my first letter.
Mudder has gone on a buggy ride with Stephen. I’m not supposed to know. She thinks I’ve gone to bed already, but it was so hot I couldn’t sleep. I saw them ride away. Mudder says Stephen is a smart farmer who took lemons and made lemonade.
The thing about Stephen is he keeps looking at me funny, like he’s trying to figure something out. Like I’m a bug he wants to study or squish under his boot—one or the other, I’m not sure which. He’s never been married and if he’s been around kinner, it’s been a very long time. The first night here, he made Hazel cry because she spilled her water.
Mudder says we have to give it time. That he’s trying. I’m trying too. I think I might need to try harder.
When I walk down the road, dirt floats in the air. When the wind blows, grit gets in my mouth and my teeth grind on it.
I keep thinking I’ll get used to it. When I wake up in the morning and smell eggs frying and pancakes and kaffi, I can almost imagine I’m back home again. Then I open my eyes and see the sagging roof over my head and hear my cousin Frannie snoring and smell her morning breath and I remember.
Write me. I want to know everything I’m missing. I’m coming home just as soon as Mudder gets settled with Stephen. They’ll get married in November and I’ll come back. I can get a job cleaning houses or as a teacher, earn my keep on my own. I’ll be home soon, you’ll see.
Write me back as soon as you can. I’m crazy to know what’s going on there. With you-know-who. I should stop now so I can write to him too. I haven’t received a letter from him. Yet.
Tickle your little sister for me and eat my share of the ice cream.
Deborah
She hadn’t mentioned this plan to her mother. Or her sisters. She tried to imagine getting on a bus and going home without them. She’d never been anywhere in this world without her family. They’d get by without her. They had each other.
She would spend time with Aaron. It’d only been two weeks. Yet his image
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