Like a Bee to Honey Read Online Free PDF

overeager boys or overbearing grandparents?
    Rose outlined a few individual leaves poking out from the tree. Painting was one of the only times Rose felt truly at peace, even with the cats fussing at her feet. When she painted, she could forget about smoke and fire and laundry sitting in the mud. She could forget about her sins and her sorrows and not have to put on a brave face for her sisters or her aunt or the rest of the world. She liked not having to be anyone but herself, not having to meet anyone’s expectations, not having to pretend to be brave.
    The kitten gave up trying to coax Farrah Fawcett and sat right on her head. “Leonard Nimoy,” Rose scolded. “Farrah Fawcett won’t want to be your friend if you sit on her.” She didn’t want to dash Leonard Nimoy’s hopes by telling her that Farrah Fawcett wouldn’t want to be her friend no matter what. Rose got up from her stool, lifted Leonard Nimoy from Farrah Fawcett’s head, and took her to the scratching post. Luke Bontrager had made the scratching post because he felt guilty for foisting Leonard Nimoy on them in the first place. Aunt Bitsy had adamantly resisted another cat.
    â€œPlay over here, Leonard Nimoy.” Maybe if she scratched the post, Leonard Nimoy wouldn’t scratch poor young men who came to the house—young men like Josiah Yoder who didn’t deserve to be scratched, no matter how much of a worry he was.
    And Josiah Yoder was definitely a worry.
    He wanted something from her. She could sense it in the way he looked at her, as if she were the only girl in the world—as if something he needed very badly were hidden upstairs under her bed. She hated feeling like she owed him something or that she was somehow responsible for his happiness. She would only disappoint him in the end, like she always did.
    Rose couldn’t be confident like Poppy. Poppy wasn’t scared of anything, and Rose was scared of everything. Boys tended to grow impatient with how mousy she was. Lily was clever and fun, a girl everyone wanted to be around, someone who wasn’t afraid to go to gatherings and talk to boys. She was never a disappointment to her sisters.
    Rose was a disappointment to everyone, even herself. She hated how frightened and weak she was, how she couldn’t push past her nightmares to find peace.
    Josiah either wanted something from her, or he wanted to do something for her—make poor, orphaned Rose Christner his project. She knew she had a reputation for being weak and timid. People in the community tried to prove what gute Christians they were by feeling sorry for Rose and doing acts of Christian charity for her.
    Rose didn’t want anyone to feel sorry or make any sort of sacrifice for her. People tended to get hurt when they tried to please Rose. She didn’t want to be a burden, she didn’t want to be a project, and she certainly didn’t want to feel obligated to anyone.
    Jah. Josiah Yoder was a worry.
    She sketched an outline of a horse running past the tree. She’d paint it chestnut brown, like their horse, Queenie, and she would paint the barn red and might even paint the barn door pink.
    Rose’s heart skipped a beat as she heard the gravel crunch outside the open window. It skipped another beat as she saw someone pass by the window. She only caught a glimpse, but whoever it was wore a blue baseball cap and a white T-shirt, and he passed within a few feet of the honey house.
    Rose’s pencil slipped from her fingers as she jumped to her feet and scooped Leonard Nimoy and then Farrah Fawcett into her arms. She pressed her back against the wall and listened. What would she do if the stranger came into the honey house? Would he attack her? Would he try to burn the honey house down around her?
    Panic wrapped an icy hand around her throat as she squeezed the two cats as if they were life preservers. Farrah Fawcett meowed and stuck her nose in the air as if she