Christmas at Rose Hill Farm Read Online Free PDF Page A

a sharp, quelling glance. “You gonna show me this rose or what?” The question shot out like a challenge.
    Bess’s mouth dropped open. The nerve of Billy Lapp to treat her as if she were nothing to him but . . . a taxi driver! She squared her shoulders and turned toward Frieda, the patiently waiting buggy horse, leaving him to silently follow behind. When she reached the horse, she turned and saw his hesitance. “Are you coming?”
    His eyes flicked to the buggy, then back again. “You’re not supposed to be in a buggy with the likes of me.”
    A crack in his hard veneer. Maybe it was a sign—the old Billy was still there. “I’ll risk it.”
    But her hope extinguished and her disillusionment continued as she snapped the reins and clucked to Frieda. Billy didn’t look at her and she didn’t look at him. Not too often, anyway. Only when she couldn’t help herself. They drove a mile west, then turned south, and the land looked all the same: rolling fields of brown stubble lying silent under winter’s chill. There wasn’t much snow left from Sunday’s covering, only in the shade, and though the day was sunny, the mood in the buggy was dour.
    Bess wondered what thoughts were running through Billy’s mind. Her head buzzed with questions. She wanted to ask where he’d been these last few years, why he hadn’t tried to get in touch with her, what had happened to Betsy Mast, but she felt tongue-tied. Neither of them said a word.
    She found herself remembering what he’d looked like as a young man of eighteen, just before full maturity set in, before he had whiskers and muscles and the brittle aloofness he was displaying. He had changed dramatically. He was still every bit as gloriously handsome as he always was—man-sized, broad shoulders, with curly brown hair and blue eyes rimmed with dark eyebrows. But the roguish twinkle in his eyes was gone. His face was drawn tighter than the lids of Mammi’s rose petal jam jars. Those eyes were cold now. It seemed as if he could barely tolerate being here, as if she and all of Stoney Ridge were nothing but a great inconvenience to him.
    Then why was he here?
    The rose, of course, which gave her a small measure of comfort. The Billy Lapp she once knew would go to any lengths for a rose.
    He turned his head to look out the window, and she noticed his long hair curling over his coat collar. She remembered the day she first laid eyes on him—she had noticed his hair, even then.
    â€”——
    Mid-October 1969 , a bright sunny day. Bess was twelve years old and had come to Stoney Ridge for her grandfather’s funeral. Her grandmother had insisted Bess stay on at Rose Hill Farm for a while afterward to help her adjust to widowhood. That came as a surprise to Bess and her father, because most everyone, including her grandfather, had to do the adjusting for Mammi. Jonah tried to encourage his mother to come to Ohio to live with them, said they could make her very comfortable and there was plenty of room for one more, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Very set in her ways, Mammi was, and wouldn’t budge from her burrow.
    Bess’s father had to return to Ohio for work, and he relented to allow Bess to stay at Rose Hill Farm for another week. One week turned into two and there was no talk about sending Bess home. Finally, on a brisk afternoon when a cheery fire glowed in the stove, Bess broached the subject with her grandmother. “Mammi, when do you think you’ll be ready for me to head back to Ohio? Dad’s been asking.”
    â€œWell,” Mammi said, patting her chest, “I’ve been having some heart trouble.”
    Bess eyed her grandmother suspiciously. She was as sound as a coin.
    Mammi’s spectacles were on her nose. “I didn’t want to worry your father.”
    â€œHave you seen a doctor?”
    â€œDoctor,” she scoffed. “What do I