Sarah's Garden (24 page)
“A library.” She stopped in surprise. “Our library back at the schoolhouse didn’t look like this.”
“I bet not. Tell me about it.”
“It consisted of two shelves of books; one for the younger
kinner
, one for the older. I read them all—many times.” She smiled at the memory.
“Well, you can borrow a book from here while your father’s in the hospital. Do you like fiction?”
She stammered over an answer, not quite recollecting what fiction was. He must have noticed her discomfiture because he pulled her by the hand down a row and away from the eyes of the lady at the desk.
“I’m sorry, Sarah. Fiction is a type of writing . . . made up, if you will, to entertain readers.”
“You must think I’m stupid,” she sighed.
“Don’t say that again.” He pulled her close. “The world is full of educated derelicts, and you are one of the wisest people I know.”
“Derelicts?”
“Never mind.”
“Do they have a book on cooking desserts?”
“Sure, I bet they do, but you don’t need any lessons in that area.” He patted his lean stomach in appreciation. “You forget how many treats I’ve had at the stand.”
Ach
. . . I know, but I’d like to learn to make fancier things, “maybe some things for Christmas.”
“All righty, cookbooks it is.” He pulled her with him and inquired from the woman at the desk about the cookbook section.
“We ’ve only got a few,” she speculated.
“That’s fine,” he said. “Anything on desserts will do.”
Soon Sarah held a book with delightful pictures of elegant desserts on its cover, but better than that, she was able to walk out of the library with it with the simple information she ’d given and the pledge to return it.
“This is
wunderbarr
.” She pressed his hand. “
Danki
, Grant.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
H
e couldn’t help but be pleased at Sarah’s reaction to the library. He knew compulsory education for the Amish typically ended at the eighth grade, but he’d meant what he said to her, that he ’d seen far too many educated people fall by the wayside when it came to leading healthy, vibrant lives. From what he could tell as he observed Sarah’s community, the Amish culture had a way of meeting an individual’s needs without the bane of individualism obstructing the way. Talent could be expressed in many different skills, as he ’d learned from some savvy Amish men who understood things not taught in school.
And in Sarah herself, he found a resolute spirit and common sense that many girls he ’d known lacked. For example, her desire to expand her repertoire of cooking; a lot of women in his life clung to that one great recipe that they were known for and wowed others at parties with it. But life was too short for knowing only one thing well, he thought as he gazed down at the hint of light brown hair visible at the front of her
kapp
.
“You’ll make a good father,” she remarked and he almost tripped over his own feet.
“What? Why do you say that all of a sudden?”
“It’s a good sign in a man to have him care about books and learning new things. It shows that he ’s always willing to grow like one must when children come along.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He realized that she was studying the
Englisch
people they passed and wondered what she was thinking.
“The girls are so free in their movements,” she remarked as if she ’d read his thoughts.
Grant studied a passing pair of teenage girls and found them to be awkward and gawky. “I guess.” He shrugged.
“
Nee
—I mean their comfort within themselves. They walk outward, not inward. Do you know what I mean?”
“You mean self-confidence?”
“That and something more. They know their place in this huge world, or at least, they can find their place.”
“And don’t you know your place in the world?”
“Not always . . . not lately.”
Her words pulled at him. “Explain that some more to me. Here—let’s sit down for a minute.” He eased her onto a geometricshaped sofa and she sat upright until he gave her a yank and she relaxed back into the softness of the vinyl.
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I used to be just Sarah . . . with her garden.”
“And who are you now?”
“Well, I finally made a quilt, for Chelsea . . . that’s something new. And I run the stand, use the phone, ride on elevators, kiss people over brewing apple butter . . .”
He laughed. “Lots of people, or just one in particular?”
“Only one. There’s only one.” Her voice was low, serious, and he felt his chest burn at her words.
“Listen.” He lifted her small hand and squeezed. He tried to go on, and she looked at him. He leaned close to her ear and whispered what he wanted to shout. “There ’s only one.”
S
arah entered the hospital room with the doctor to find that her father was now well enough to have a roommate, it seemed. Father introduced a jovial old
Englisch
man named Mr. Geise. Mr. Geise’s wife and daughter were also crowded in the small room. Sarah couldn’t move a step without bumping into the doctor behind her. She saw the flower arrangements Grant had brought them on the windowsill in some pretty vases, and she met
Mamm
’s eye.
“One of the nurses said they keep a supply of vases under the sink.”
Sarah nodded, and Father hailed Dr. Williams with much of his strength back in his voice.
“
Ach
, it’s the good doctor who brings my wife flowers and leaves me to a lecture on my own lack of flower bringing.”
“Sorry, sir.” Grant smiled. “But I thought the ladies would like them better than you yourself. I can go down for some roses, if you’re feeling down in the heart . . .”
The room at large laughed at the quip, and Sarah was happy to see some more color back in her father’s cheeks. Dr. Caulder, the heart surgeon she ’d met earlier, stopped in then and laughed to see so many people in the room.
“Now, what’s the ruckus in here? I can hear you all halfway down the hall. These men need their rest,” he scolded, but his eyes twinkled. “Fifteen more minutes, all of you, and then I want this room cleared. Understood?” He smiled again and left, leaving everyone to make a general move toward the door.
“Come back soon, Letty; the hours seem much longer here than on the farm,” Father observed.
Mamm
bent to kiss him and Sarah looked away, only to encounter the doctor’s keen glance. She blushed and he squeezed her arm, then dropped his hand away. In a few minutes, Sarah and
Mamm
were walking toward the hospitality suite and Dr. Williams left with the promise to come back again soon.
“Did I make you sad, Sarah, today—when I spoke of the doctor as an
Englisch
man?”
Mamm
asked.
“Not at all.”
“I see that you have a book; you were gone quite awhile with Dr. Williams.”
“
Jah
, he showed me the library. I can return the book when Father leaves.”
“Which will not be soon enough, eh?”
Sarah agreed and opened the door to their room, thinking about her brief visit into the world with the doctor that afternoon.
L
ater that night, as Grant passed the hospital on return from a call, he decided to follow a sudden impulse and go and speak with Mr. King about his feelings for Sarah. He was probably cutting his own throat, he thought, but something needed to be said. He didn’t like the idea of skulking about. So he slipped into the dim hospital room and found Mr. King to be awake. The older man looked pale, but his eyes were steady, and the oxygen tubes were absent.
“Come in, Doctor. Please have a chair.”
Grant took the high-backed sleeper chair near the bed and moved the bedside tray so he could scoot the chair forward.
“It’s a bit late for visiting, Son. You must have something more than this old man on your mind. Don’t forget I get out tomorrow, and I feel right as rain.”
“Good—that’s good.” Grant stared into the wise old eyes and swallowed hard. “I guess I’m not sure how to begin.”
“We Amish have a saying:
Dummel dich net
. Take your time; don’t hurry.”
“You’re right . . . sometimes it’s the hard things that we have to say that we want to rush out the most; I don’t want to rush.”
“Go on, my friend.”
Grant listened to the steady beat of the heart monitor and closed his eyes.
Please, God, give me the words to say here. Please make this right
.
He opened his eyes and looked at Mr. King. “I’m not sure when . . . maybe it was the first moment at the stand, or a thousand moments after that, but I have come to love your Sarah, sir.”
Ach
. . .” Mr. King drew a deep, unsteady breath. “I see . . . “now, I must take my time with my words, because I don’t wish to hurt you.”
Grant felt his stomach fall and exhaled. “I know I’m
Englisch
, and that must be an affront to you. I–I haven’t spoken to Sarah, but I believe she knows. I just—”
Mr. King raised a gentle hand. “Please, Son. It is not all as you think. Yes, you are
Englisch
, but you’re a good man—a good friend to our family. I trust you; I like you. But for Sarah to marry an
Englischer
, she would have to give up all that she knows. All. Her community, her family, her faith. If you truly love her, then you won’t ask this from her; you will let her go in peace.”
“I know that she ’d have to give up so much, but why? Why would she have to? I live next door; I see you almost every day . . .”
“It’s true what you say: you are with us, but you are not one of us.”
“Then I could change; I could change for her, become part of your community.”
The old man shook his head. “I’ve heard of it tried in my lifetime—an
Englischer
falls for one of our daughters. A community votes and allows them in; they are baptized—they try. But it doesn’t work, and our daughters are left broken and alone. It’s too great a risk.”
Grant nodded, trying to blink back tears. There was truth in what Mr. King said, a truth he ’d wrestled with for a long time these past months himself. He bowed his head, then looked up in alarm when the heart monitor’s sensors increased. He gazed at the blood pressure machine and rose to his feet. He had no desire to force Mr. King into another heart attack. He would get over the girl; he ’d gotten over much worse.
“Mr. King, please excuse me—I’ll get your nurse. Thank you for your friendship; I hope that it continues. I will speak no more about Sarah.” He left before the old man could speak and strode out of the room, stopping at the nurse ’s station. When he walked out to his car, he felt a chill in the air that went deeper than his coat, and he recognized the familiar layer of ice take form on the vestiges of his heart.
F
ather was home and slowly taking up the reins about the farm again, doing more and more as the weeks passed. The family had a lovely Thanksgiving together and Sarah came back to the stand for the season of Christmas. She could not deny that the doctor had been more absent than she would have liked, but she tried to concentrate on her work and on her prayer life. Father told her that her last day at the stand would be December 23, until the following spring. This would give her extra time to help at home with the cooking and cleaning, for many family members came to visit at Christmas and at Second Christmas.
The weeks passed quickly and the snow-covered mountains with their confectionary sugar trees took away the bleakness of November, leaving a joyful expectancy in the air. Sarah found some glad time to clear out her garden one Sunday afternoon, hardly able to believe that she was so late in doing so. She was equally glad as the weeks ticked down at the stand, though she couldn’t help but notice that Grant seemed absent from his regular visits. She decided that he must be busy at this time of year with animal illnesses and tried not to worry over not seeing him.
On her last day at the stand, she sold her final holly wreath, and one
Englisch
woman paid her extra for an arrangement of berries and pinecones she ’d done in a mason jar. Luke came to pick her up and she was glad to leave the stand, at least for a few months. For now, Christmas was in two days, which meant extra visitors, extra family, and extra work.
But Sarah moved with a cheerful grace, appreciative of being able to help
Mamm
with the daily work. She was also happier in her prayer life, having come to a truce of sorts with her own thoughts about Grant. When she ’d finally poured out her heart to her heavenly Father, He gave her His peace. She certainly wasn’t to the point of understanding everything about why Grant had been allowed into her life, but instead of worrying and fretting over it, God’s Word made her feel as though things were clearer, and more stable, although she had to admit that thoughts of Grant permeated her day.
On Christmas Eve, Uncle Zebediah and Aunt Anna, Father’s older brother and wife, came the fifteen miles to stay through Second Christmas, which was on January 6. This was an extended visit, but not uncommon for those whose children had grown and married or moved away. Other cousins and aunts and uncles would also be coming from the surrounding area, and
Mamm
cleaned right up until the first buggy arrived.
Sarah had worked too, in a flurry of dusting, rearranging furniture, and prettying things up. She cut holly and ivy by the armful to fill vases here and about, and
Mamm
even allowed pine boughs to be laid across the many mantles of the fireplaces. The Amish of their community did not have Christmas trees, but they had a specially decorated round table that stood empty and waiting for presents to be laid upon it on Christmas Day. The family drew names from Father’s hat to select who they would get a gift for, and Sarah drew Luke, for the second year in a row.
Luke had made no secret of the fact that he wanted a new saddle for Shadow so that in the spring he could race the boys. Sarah had no idea how she might purchase such a gift, even with all of her earnings from the stand, and she was also torn with indecision about getting a gift for Grant. It would be easy to fix a basket of preserves and canned goods for the Bustles to enjoy, but the doctor was another story. She pondered over it as she swept, washed the china that was used only for holidays, and prepared guest rooms on the mostly unused wing of the second floor.