Free The Winnowing Season by Cindy Woodsmall Page B

timing for this to happen now.
    He shifted in the saddle. If only he could ignore the leftover mess from his time among the Englisch. Sure, it would be selfish and unfair to Sandra, but this time his desire to be left alone centered on someone far more important than himself: Rhoda.
    Her coming into his life had to be more than happenstance or coincidence. Maybe it was even ordained by God. That thought gave him hope. Maybe God hadn’t given up on him yet.
    The first time Jacob saw Rhoda, she was standing in the road beside Landon’s truck, which had run out of gas, arguing with Landon. It was clear she was no ordinary Amish woman, slamming the truck door time and again, teasing and venting.
    If she’d been in his life years ago, maybe he wouldn’t have left home. Everything he had ever wanted—challenges, intrigue, insight, heart-pounding hope, and a deep sense of camaraderie and kinship—he had now that he had Rhoda.
    The only concern was if—or maybe when —she learned all his secrets.
    Would she still look at him the same way? As if she trusted him? cared for him? Would she look at him at all?
    He’d told Samuel enough to satisfy him, and he’d explained it in a way to make himself sound more innocent than he was. Even Jacob couldn’t tolerate thinking about the fullness of what he’d done.
    As unfair as it sounded, he hoped to marry Rhoda before she found out everything. At least then she couldn’t simply shut him out, especially if they had a child. She would be forced to help him shovel the manure he’d created during his rebellion. Knowing her, she would use the manure as fertilizer for their relationship. Wouldn’t she?
    He sighed. The depth of his selfishness amazed him. Despite how tempting it was, he couldn’t ask Rhoda to marry him without telling her his secrets—all of them. If he kept putting it off, she might end up reading about it in a newspaper.
    The horse whinnied, pulling him from his thoughts, as it continued to trot toward Jacob’s destination without needing any direction. Trips into town were almost a weekly occurrence since Jacob had returned from living among the Englisch. He usually went to the post office to mail money to Sandra and sometimes to a pay phone to call her. This time he would go to the old inn at the edge of town.
    It was a shame that all his secrecy began with a simple error in judgment—a desire to help out Blaine, someone he’d considered a friend. The start was clear-cut—a straightforward agreement to help Blaine borrow from Peter to pay Paul—but the fallout seemed never ending. So if his involvement with the construction company landed in the national news rather than just the local papers in Virginia, who would find him first—the police or the loan sharks?
    Historic downtown Harvest Mills came into view with its various shades of red brick buildings standing two to four stories high. When he came to the inn, he went down a narrow, graveled back alley that paralleled Main Street.
    Whatever else came of this mess, he had to protect Rhoda. Right now that meant keeping her in the dark about all of it. Maybe that’s what it would always mean. He closed his eyes. God, please … He wanted to pray for Rhoda in everyway she needed it, but could a man so mired in sin pray for anything? Even if Jacob could get the words out, which he hadn’t been able to since—
    He shook his head. No, he wouldn’t let himself think of the nightmare that accompanied the rest of that thought. Instead, he went back to his question: Did God hear men like him? Desperate men who realized the error of their ways, who had fallen in love? Men who wanted to do right but couldn’t reveal the past because the price would be too high?
    He stopped at a hitching post behind the inn, tethered his horse, and headed for the back door.
    His being a mess had an upside, like the fact that he didn’t judge others for their wrongs, not even his brother, who lost his temper too easily.
    He went