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

homesick, that’s all.”
    “Best get over it.”
    If only it were that simple.
    Onkel John cocked one long finger at her. “You’d do better to stop mooning over some boy you most likely won’t see again and start settling in here. We got some good young men who need fraas. We need new blood, more kinner, to keep this district going and make it stronger.”
    Deborah managed a nod.
    John stared at her a second longer, his mouth pursed in afrown that made him look like her mudder when Deborah burned the beans. “And don’t you be filling my girls’ heads up with stuff and nonsense about how great it is in Tennessee. Ain’t no better than it is here.”
    Deborah nodded a second time, afraid if she opened her mouth to speak, she’d blurt out all the words whirling in her head. It was better there. Greener. Prettier. Cooler. The colors were brighter and the air fresher and cleaner. Flowers bloomed in purple and pink and orange and yellow. A riot of colors that made her heart squeeze for the sheer joy of it. Here the drabness weighted her down like a heavy, thick, humid fog until she could barely pick up her feet and move. She wanted to settle in a corner and turn into a big lump of clay.
    She didn’t care what Onkel John thought. She would go home. She would see Aaron again. She would wrap herself in the beauty of a day in Tennessee. Maybe in the fall when the leaves turned orange and red and yellow and the breeze held a hint of winter. They’d have a fire in the fireplace and make fried pies and tell stories.
    Soon.
    “Ain’t you got work to do?” John’s frown had deepened. He jerked his head. “Standing there daydreaming won’t get the cucumbers and squash picked or the tomatoes and beets canned.”
    “I came in to get the water jug.”
    “Tell Eve I’m headed into town to buy lumber.”
    Deborah wanted to know what the lumber was for, but she didn’t ask. Maybe they would build an addition to this house and she’d be able to breathe again. Maybe Frannie was wrong about them moving. Maybe they were expanding this house. It looked like Eve might be expecting again. ’Course, no one had said thatand no one would. No need to speak of those things. Only to make more room in a house already full to the rafters.
    Deborah waited until John stomped through the front room and disappeared out the door, letting the screen door slam behind him. She slid into the hickory rocking chair and turned the envelope over in her hands. Aaron’s familiar block print was so neat and tidy, just like him. She wanted to rip open the envelope; yet she waited, savoring the moment.
    Lifting it to her face, she inhaled, imagining she could smell the mouthwatering aroma of Elizabeth Gringrich’s cinnamon rolls. Knowing Aaron, he’d written this letter sitting at the kitchen table after everyone turned in the for the night, the pole lamp casting shadows around him, a cinnamon roll on a plate in front of him next to a tall glass of tea. He’d waited until everyone had been asleep and then picked up his pencil and paper to write to her.
    Slowly, savoring the moment, her heart fluttering in her chest and her breathing light and fast, she opened the envelope, taking care not to tear it.
    Deborah,
    I hope things are going better for you now that you’ve had a few weeks to get used to your new home. It sounds different. I would like to see the armadillo. I wouldn’t mind tasting some of that wild grape jelly. Especially if you made your rolls and some peanut butter and marshmallow cream to go with it. I’m writing now to tell you my news. You know my family moved to Carroll County from Ohio many years ago, but I don’t think I told you most of Mudder’s family still lives there. My Aenti Ruth’s husband died a few months ago and she needs help on her farm. Daed has asked me to go work her fields for herand take care of the livestock, her sons all being married and moved to Missouri with their families now.
    I leave on the bus