Free The Beekeeper's Son (The Amish of Bee County Book 1) by Kelly Irvin Page B

hives. The bees calm right down for him. He hasn’t been stung in years.”
    Abigail touched a drop of honey that had landed on the table. That was what this was about. Mordecai saw an opportunity for Phineas, one the boy would never take for himself. She studied her three girls. Rebekah was still too young, at sixteen. Leila, at eighteen, had been running around for two years and had never given any indication she had a special friend back in Tennessee.
    Deborah, on the other hand, showed all the signs of missing someone special. She hadn’t said anything since the move, but the moping around and the surliness spoke volumes. Idle talk around the quilting frame back in Tennessee had suggested her daughter had been passing time with Aaron Gringrich for more than a bit, but Deborah had said nothing. How would she feel about a man like Phineas, scarred for life, not only physically, but on the inside?
    Her daughters were not shallow. They understood that physical beauty meant nothing. Only the heart counted. Phineas’s heart and soul seemed damaged, but there was no damage that couldn’t be mended by God Himself. Her bishop back home had told her that after Timothy’s death. She tried to live every dayas if it were true. Only God’s touch could mend her own broken heart, it seemed. She was blessed a man such as Stephen would want her as his fraa.
    Blessed.
    She sighed as the screen door slammed and Mordecai’s broad back disappeared. Only then did she let herself feel that slight, but still ugly, pinch of jealousy. Mordecai hadn’t come to sweeten her up with honey. He’d come for her daughters.
    Eve had nothing to worry about on Stephen’s behalf. Abigail had best get used to seeing herself as spoken for. Everyone else did.

NINE
    Deborah put out her hand. She could see the writing on the envelope Onkel John held, the curious look on his face—so like her mother’s in the blue eyes and high cheekbones—telling her he wanted to know who Aaron Gringrich was and why he would send a letter to his niece. John’s expression said he didn’t like her getting a letter from a man. John wasn’t her father, but he was the head of the house where she now lived.
    She didn’t need disciplining. Getting a letter from a friend didn’t violate any Ordnung rule as far as she knew. But then, she didn’t really know what the rules were in this district. Only the ones back home.
    John snatched the letter from her reach. “Does Abigail know of these letters?”
    “Jah.” Deborah struggled to keep her tone respectful. “She knows I’ve written to Aaron. We’re friends.”
    John grunted and slapped the letter onto her palm with a sharp crack. “I’ll mention it to her as well.”
    Deborah had nothing to hide. She slid her arms behind her, clasping the letter in both hands. Not to hide it, but becauseit was private. Between Aaron and her. Finally. His first letter despite the fact that she’d written him four times already. “I better get back to the garden.” She edged toward the door. “Danki for the letter.”
    “Didn’t do nothing but fetch it from the mailbox.” Onkel John frowned as he thumbed through the stack of mail in his hands. He dropped leaflets and flyers and a tool catalog on the scarred oak end table that served as a desk of sorts. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you moping around the house. It doesn’t do your mudder any good. She’s got a hard row to hoe without her kinner looking like their horse just died.”
    The words stung worse than a slap. Deborah swallowed a heated retort. “I know.”
    “You got a roof over your head and food in your belly. You might try appreciating that. Know that Gott has a plan for you and it’s prideful of you to question it.” His long nose wrinkled as if he smelled something rancid. “Your mudder is trying her best to do right by you and your bruder and schweschders.”
    “I know and I count my blessings.”
    “Don’t look that way.”
    “I’m . . .