Free Reclaimed by Jennifer Rodewald Page B

and Lodis.
    Their blossoms would hold promise in the spring. When the flowers dropped, tiny pommes would emerge and grow. She would check them weekly, tend them, thin them, and finally, when the temperatures cooled and fall ushered in the glorious culmination of spring’s promise, she would harvest them.
    Visions of her orchard faded, and the rows of trees dwindled to only two specimens in her mind. Daddy had worked faithfully with them, using the space he’d been allotted by the church. He loved anything green, but he’d been especially fond of the apple trees.
    She’d worked beside him, and together they schemed of someday planning a mixed orchard. Cherries and peaches for late July and all through August. And apples. Fall harvest would bring the highlight of their hopes.
    A fanciful dream. Someday never happened—would never happen. Daddy was gone. In truth, she’d smothered their vision long before he’d left the earth. Everything came unraveled after her mother had come clean, and dreams only fueled Suzanna’s resentment.
    There was a whole lot of humbling that had to happen before I made peace with life .
    Peace. Oh, how she longed for it.
    Hope deferred makes the heart sick .
    The proverb rang true. Almost. Was anger a sickness?
     

     
    Paul rubbed the oil from his hand with a smudged rag. His Deere had been due for service. So had the four-wheeler. And the mower. He usually did them all in one shot, but he’d only had about two hours of daylight left by the time he rode home from Suzanna’s. Not that his shop wasn’t lit, but the rest would keep.
    It’d been a day. A good day, but a day. He hadn’t planned on being so open with Suzanna, but her eyes begged for connection. Had she many friends back home? She seemed so isolated.
    There’s something tragic in her eyes .
    Dre was dead on. A wound of great depth lurked beneath her pretty smile.
    Replacing the oil plug, Paul rolled out from beneath his tractor and sat up. He wrung his hands in the old rag while his thoughts drifted to earlier in the afternoon.
    “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He’d resaddled Bronco and was ready to mount up and head home.
    Suzanna’s brow furrowed.
    “Church?” he prompted. “Are you going?”
    Uncertainty crossed her expression before she brushed the hair from her eyes. “Yes.”
    Her answer had been less than enthusiastic. If he asked about it, would she open up?
    “Good.” He opted for the safe side. It’d been a good day. It should end on a good note. “I’ll see you then.”
    Sitting between farm equipment with work surrounding him, he rummaged through their day together. Suzanna’s hesitation still weighed on his mind. She’d started as a lighthearted, attractive woman. Funny, even. What had happened when she’d stepped into the tack room?
    She was mystifying. Horse lessons, but she’d never ridden outside a ring. Her father rode, but never with them. And her mother… There. Right there. Suzanna had ducked after mentioning her mother, and she’d retreated from that moment on.
    Suzanna was like a kaleidoscope—she seemed to change as the light and angles shifted. Rude, kind. Timid, fierce. Happy, heartbroken. Who was this neighbor of his? And why did he feel compelled to know her?
     

     
    “Will you join us this afternoon?” Andrea’s hand rested on Suzanna’s elbow.
    Suzanna glanced at Paul, who was engaged in another conversation across the church’s entryway. Had he asked Andrea to invite her? She felt a little bit like a charity case, but he didn’t treat her like one. Neither did Andrea. She seemed to accept her on a whim, embracing her almost as a sister.
    Strange. Suzanna’s own sister wasn’t much more than a relative. Their relationship was bound by blood, but that was all. Could be because there was such an age difference between them. With seven years between them, they hardly shared a common interest growing up.
    Sasha had an aversion to dirt and an affinity for glitz. Suzanna hated