Free The Harvest of Grace by Cindy Woodsmall Page A

off, yet she spoke softly and seemed determined to be nice.
    “Tell me about yourself. I’ve never heard of a woman running part of a farm on her own.”

    “Me either.”
    “But.” He elongated the word.
    “Your Daed needed help, and I needed the work.”
    “I see.”
    “If you insist on staying in the barn against my wishes, I’d appreciate it if we could work without talking.”
    “Oh, come on. I’m not asking about your love life.”
    She bristled. He’d obviously hit a nerve. His conscience kicked him. He shouldn’t be prying into her personal life. But goading people into disliking him came easy. He’d used it for years to keep up his defenses.
    “Just explain to me why a young, single woman is handling a dairy herd.”
    Her hand moved gently down the cow’s side. “Amish wives and daughters help run farms all the time. Is it that much of a stretch for me to work on one that doesn’t belong to my parents or husband?”
    “An Amish feminist. I bet that goes over well with the menfolk.”
    Her brows furrowed, and he saw innocence reflected in her eyes. “An Amish what?”
    “Never mind. So where’s your family?”
    “Path Valley.”
    “Where’s that?”
    “Two hours northwest of here by carriage.”
    “That’s quite a ways.”
    “I … I think it’s far enough.”
    Was that fear in her voice? The girl he met last night didn’t seem prone to being afraid. “So what’s his name?”
    After a sigh she picked up one of the buckets and headed for the milk house.
    Instead of badgering her with questions, he should’ve been emptying those heavy buckets. He moved toward her, reaching for the sealed bucket.

    “I’m fine.”
    “Please.”
    She stopped and let the bucket thud onto the ground.
    Aaron tried to suppress his smile.
    Her face flushed. “Please just get out. What is wrong with men your age? Is it impossible to respect the wishes of a female?”
    “Maybe your wishes lack good sense.”
    She closed her eyes for several long seconds. When she opened them, she picked up a half-empty bucket and its claw milker, went to the next cow, and began humming.
    He knew he was acting like a jerk, and he couldn’t explain why he was putting so much effort into irritating her. This wasn’t who he was. Not really, and certainly not when sober. That question circled his mind as he took two full buckets into the milk house, removed the lids, and dumped the contents into the bulk tank.
    With empty buckets in hand, he reentered the milking parlor. Although he didn’t spot her immediately, he followed the sound of her humming and found her on a milking stool in the tenth stall.
    He started to apologize several times, but he wasn’t able to say the words. He sighed and picked up another full bucket to take to the milk house.
    “It’s obvious that you don’t want to be here.” She glanced up at him from her milking stool. “Perhaps next time you can follow that instinct and avoid coming into my barn.”
    Her barn?
    He paused, thinking of what he knew about her and had seen in her eyes and actions since the moment he’d found her in the cabin. Last night he’d thought his father had hired only a girl when this place needed a team. There was just one of her, but she had fearless grit and determination, both of which would make his task harder.

    But he’d succeed. He had no choice.
    No single individual had enough strength to make this place profitable. She’d grow weary of trying or fall in love at some point, marry, and move off. It was inevitable. But he didn’t have time to wait for either of those scenarios.
    He needed his parents to open their eyes about the farm’s condition—and the changes to his character. And his best chance of getting them to agree to his plan was to get Sylvia to quit and go back home.
    But how?

    Sylvia walked to the creek behind her cabin. Loneliness weighed heavier on Sundays. Only work that was absolutely necessary was allowed on a Sabbath, which meant she