Like a Bee to Honey Read Free Page B

as a Band-Aid. She owned a shotgun, and she wasn’t afraid to point it at people.
    Bitsy wasn’t old. She couldn’t have been more than fifty or so, but she seemed to have a permanent frown on her face and it looked as if the worry line between her eyebrows had been ironed into place. Even though she wasn’t elderly, she had salt-and-pepper gray hair that she often tinted pastel colors. Today, her hair was a light shade of green. With her kelly-green dress, she looked a little like a houseplant.
    Bitsy narrowed her eyes when Josiah followed Rose into the house. “Josiah Yoder,” she said. His name sounded like a grunt when she said it. “I’m glad you’re here.”
    Josiah nearly choked on his surprise. “You are?”
    â€œWell, not really glad. I don’t want you to get the notion that I’m happy to see you. But I need this bottle opened, and you’re just in time to do it. Then you can leave.”
    Bitsy was the door Josiah would have to go through to get to Rose. He would do a backflip off the roof if it would win Bitsy’s approval. He strode to the island and took the jar from her. “I’m honored you would ask for my help.” The jar opened with one easy twist of his wrist. He smiled and handed it back.
    â€œDon’t get cocky,” Bitsy said, setting the jar on the counter. “I loosened it for you.”
    Josiah wasn’t offended by her brusque manner. Everybody knew what a gute and charitable woman Bitsy was, always the first to a sickbed, always baking or sewing for someone who needed a hand. She was a tough nut to crack. That was all. “I’m glad I could help.”
    Bitsy eyed him unapologetically, as if trying to figure out why he was standing in her kitchen. “Well. I always say denki , so denki . You can go now.”
    Rose smiled at her aendi before pulling the ointment and bandages out of the drawer and setting them on the table. “Leonard Nimoy gave Josiah a bad scratch, Aendi Bitsy. I told him I’d give him a Band-Aid.”
    Bitsy propped her hands on her hips. “Leonard Nimoy? We haven’t even had her a week, and she’s already scratching people. I’ve half a mind to send those cats to obedience school.”
    Josiah followed behind Rose as she slipped a towel from the drawer, got it wet, and squirted a little soap on it. She turned before he had the chance to back away, and he found himself face-to-face with her, with only inches between them.
    She caught her breath. He cleared his throat and backed away a bit. Oy , anyhow. He wanted to kick himself. How could he gain Rose’s trust if he kept startling her?
    But he liked being close, for sure and certain.
    She didn’t relax. “Do you want to sit down?”
    â€œWhere do you want me to sit?” He wanted to sit next to her, wherever she was going to sit.
    She pointed to a chair at the table.
    He knew how uncomfortable she was, and he wished he knew how to make everything all better. He’d have to settle for a reassuring smile. Would she see the concern behind it? He sat down, rested his injured arm on the table, and stretched it out so Rose could reach it easily. She hesitated for only a moment before sitting next to him and dabbing at the scratches with her wet towel.
    â€œDoes it hurt? I don’t want to hurt you.”
    He would rather let Leonard Nimoy scratch him again than let Rose think that she was causing him any pain. “You’re very gentle. I can barely feel it.”
    â€œJosiah is a farmer,” Bitsy said, still standing at the island. She skewered a pickle with her fork. “His life is pain.”
    Josiah chuckled. “It’s not as bad as all that.”
    â€œYou’re at the mercy of the weather,” Bitsy said.
    â€œNot so much the weather as the grace of Gotte ,” Josiah said. “Farming is hard work, but it’s taught me to trust in the Lord. He might send rain