Seasons of Sugarcreek 02. Spring's Renewal

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  He imagined, though, that concern for safety was far different for a woman. No matter what the surroundings, it wasn’t safe for a woman to walk along the road at night. For a moment, he wished their circumstances were different. He wished he could offer her his protection all the time.

  But of course, he was in no position to make such a promise.

  So he stuck to safer topics. “Thank you for agreeing to walk with me. I was anxious for a break.”

  “From what?”

  He thought for a moment, wondering if he’d be able to pinpoint exactly what he’d been eager to leave behind. “The noise,” he finally said, though that didn’t really explain much.

  “It’s not what you’re used to, is it?”

  “No. My life at home is far different. My parents and I each follow our own pursuits. It’s a much quieter existence.”

  “Things with my mother are quiet, too. Sometimes too much so. But noise never has bothered me much.”

  “That’s probably a good thing, yes?”

  “Jah,” she replied with a smile. “Being a schoolteacher would be terribly difficult if I only ever demanded peace.”

  “Difficult for the children.” Tim remembered how rambunctious they’d been at the program.

  “And difficult for me! I enjoy getting to know my scholars. I have high hopes for them.”

  “Some outside our way of life would find that view a little strange. After all, most of your schoolchildren will adopt lives just like our parents and grandparents. They don’t need to know much.”

  “Is that how you think?”

  “I’m not sure.” After a moment’s reflection, he shook his head. “No. Though we may all have much in common, I know we are all individuals. And there’s much we need to know both inside and outside of the classroom. Is that what you’re trying to accomplish?”

  “Yes,” she replied with a happy smile. “To my mind, there is nothing ‘simple’ with wanting to be a wife and mother. Or a farmer. Or a factory worker. All of those jobs take many skills, some more than others!”

  “Your words sound almost revolutionary. Some might find them challenging to our way of life.”

  “Perhaps. But, you know what I think, Timothy? I think each of us is going to follow God’s plans for us, anyway. Therefore, we might as well make the best of our days.” As if she was embarrassed by her enthusiasm, she looked down at her feet. “I mean, that’s the kind of thing I tell my students.”

  Her enthusiasm for her career—and for their way of life—was infectious. “I would think it would be a wonderful thing, to be a student in your classroom.”

  “It’s where I’m happiest. I truly do enjoy teaching.”

  They stopped for a moment at the Millers’ stand. It was closed, of course, but the tables and striped awning gave promise that new produce was just around the corner.

  In agreement, they started the walk back. “I’m…enjoying our conversation, Clara. You make the time fly by.”

  “I feel the same way. I’m sorry if I sounded too excited about my teaching philosophy. It’s just a rare thing that anyone ever asks me about it.”

  “What do people ask you about?”

  “Their students. How my sisters and mother are.” In the dim twilight, Tim saw a tiny bit of remorse mixed in with her matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t mean to sound sorry for myself, but sometimes it seems as if these scars act as a boundary. Some people can never overlook them.”

  “You’re right,” Tim said, surprising himself with his blunt honesty. “I mean, they’re hard not to notice.”

  But instead of looking hurt, she grinned. “You, Tim Graber, are exactly right. They are quite noticeable.”

  “But they’re not all of you.”

  She blinked. “No, they are not,” she said quietly. “I can’t help the ugliness of these scars any more than Gretta can help her beauty. For better or worse, they’re a part of me. But there’s so much more.”

  “Like your views on teaching.”

  “Jah.” She cleared her throat. “Please tell me something about yourself. I don’t want to go home tonight thinking that all I did with you was talk, talk, talk about myself.”

  “There would be nothing wrong with that. I’ve enjoyed hearing about you.”

  “I would enjoy learning as much about you,” she said shyly. “That is, if talking about such things wouldn’t upset you.”

  Upset him? His first instinct was to tell her that nothing personal like that would ever upset him. After all, he was a man. Men didn’t become flustered or bothered quite so easily.

  But as he formed the words, he cut them off just as quickly. Perhaps talking about himself, so honestly, so unguardedly, would upset him.

  Because it would let her into a part of him that he’d kept hidden for so long.

  But he had enjoyed listening to her. And it seemed wrong to pry into her life without sharing anything about his own.

  Her words had made him feel both proud of who he was yet also question everything he’d ever wanted to be.

  As they walked along, their footsteps slowly fading in the dim light, the sounds of the night became louder. In the thicket of trees next to them, a sudden blink of a firefly brought a spark of magical light. Tim found himself looking at Clara quickly, just to see if she’d caught the sight.

  She smiled but remained quiet. Obviously waiting for him to share something.

  “Clara, there’s not much to tell. I’m a simple man.”

  “Even simple men have stories to tell,” she prodded.

  “Well…here’s something—I like to farm.”

  “Because?”

  “Because it’s me and the Lord and the ground and the elements. I can work hard and see the fruits of my labor. It’s good, honest work, too. I like that. There’s nothing sketchy involved. No number crunching. No tricks. Only sweat and muscles and prayers.”

  “And the rewards when you see a full crop in its glory?”

  “Yes. And, of course, the rewards when we go to market and receive a healthy price for our harvest. That is a good feeling, too. The money earned helps us in many ways. And helps to give us a cushion when times are tough.”

  “And you farm with your father?”

  “Yes. With my daed and a few of his neighbors. A few years ago they joined together to form a cooperative. That relationship helped us all work together. Toward our common good.”

  She smiled.

  That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed to keep blabbering away. “I also enjoy the quiet in the fields. I like animals. I like time to think about things…I hate to be rushed. Perhaps that comes from being an only child. I’m a selfish man in that way.”

  “I can’t imagine that you are always alone. Do you have a large circle of friends in Indiana?”

  Her question gave him a small sense of foreboding. “I do. There’s a large Amish population where we live, as I’m sure you know. From the time I started school to most recently, I’ve been blessed with a good number of close friends. We get together often.”

  “Is there someone special to you?”

  Ruby Lee was. Ruby Lee was someone who he’d always singled out as special to him. Her parents’ farm was next to his. Everyone had always assumed that they would one day marry.

  Except for his parents, though. They were the ones who had said he needed to get a taste of someplace else. Just to be sure.

  And now, as he looked at Clara…Clara, who wore her imperfections well, who had so much to give from inside of her that she appeared to shine—so brightly that he was fairly stunned by the beauty. If Uncle Frank hadn’t written him, Tim would have never met Clara. Timothy started to believe that his parents had been right to send him to Sugarcreek.

  And so, he lied. “No. There is no one special to me.”

  They were almost to the house. Out front, Tim could see little Maggie chasing Carrie and Anson.

  On the front porch swing sat Joshua and Gretta.

  To his su
rprise, a lump of happiness sprung inside of him as he saw their familiar faces. In spite of his protestations, all of them had found their way into his heart.

  But Clara didn’t look to be concerned with anyone but him. Her gaze on his face hadn’t strayed. “Timothy, are you sure there is no one special to you? No girl who is your sweetheart? You act as if there might be.”

  Before he could reply to that, she held up a hand, looking crestfallen. “Please forget I even asked. Of course your friendships back home are none of my business.”

  She was right, of course. His relationship with Ruby wasn’t her business. Especially since it was so puzzling, anyway.

  “We’re back,” he said instead. “Thank you for walking with me. I enjoyed it.”

  She blinked. “I…I enjoyed it as well,” she murmured as they crossed the large grassy area and approached the others. Very properly, she walked by his side. Her hands were clasped in front of her. Some of the light that had shone in her eyes dimmed. “I thank you for it, Timothy.”

  “We didn’t know when you were ever coming back,” Anson called out as he ran to meet them halfway. Behind him, Caleb followed at a more sedate pace. “Where did you go?”

  “Not very far,” Tim answered.

  “Just down to the Millers’ stand,” Clara added.

  “Your mother said to tell you that she’s anxious to leave,” Anson said.

  “She’s told all of us several times,” Caleb added wryly.

  Clara sighed. “Yes, I imagine she probably has. It’s getting dark out.”

  As the four of them slowly climbed up the last of the hill before reaching the front porch, Caleb thrust out a letter. “I’ve been meaning to give you this, too,” he said. “I’m sorry I forgot earlier.”

  Tim stared at the envelope in surprise but made no move to take it. “Danke.”

  Clara looked at him strangely. “Is that a letter from home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, it’s more than that,” Caleb said with a too-knowing look. “It’s from—”

  “My parents, most likely,” Tim interrupted. Clara looked confused. Tim didn’t blame her, he was acting mighty peculiar about a simple letter. “We best get inside. Your mother’s waiting.”

  She tucked her chin. “Yes. Yes, of course,” she said before leaving his side and walking to the front door.

  Grabbing the letter from Caleb, Tim glared at him.

  “What?”

  “Sometimes you need to stay out of other people’s business.”

  “But you always like to receive Ruby’s letters. What did I do wrong?”

  Tim brushed by Caleb’s side without answering and hurried to the kitchen. Perhaps he could talk to Clara some? Try to explain things even he didn’t know the answer to?

  “Good evening, Timothy,” Mrs. Slabaugh said without a smile. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Sugarcreek.”

  Clara held her mother’s elbow as they brushed passed him.

  “Clara?”

  “I’m sorry. I must go.”

  “But perhaps we could talk some more later?”

  “Maybe we could.”

  “Clara, let’s leave.”

  “All right, Mamm. Yes. We will go now.”

  As soon as the door closed he clenched his hands. What had he done?

  “Careful with your letter, Timothy!” Elsa exclaimed. “You’re about to crush it!”

  With dismay, he looked at his right hand. There, in his hand, was the crumpled envelope.

  He’d completely forgotten he held it.

  Chapter 8

  Two weeks had passed. Fourteen terrible, emotional, painful days.

  Every time Lilly thought about those hours spent in the emergency room, she relived the pain. Whenever she recalled waking up to the doctor’s announcement, tears pricked her eyes. Lilly hadn’t known if she’d ever stop crying.

  But then, just yesterday, she’d woken and felt a little better. Almost like herself before everything had happened. It was both a blessing and a curse. She was so grateful for the feelings of relief, but also troubled. Somehow, some way, God was enabling her to return to normalcy. It didn’t seem right.

  Now, in the early morning, as a golden house finch chirped outside her window and called to attention the glory of spring, Lilly sat in bed in the quiet of her room, wondering how much longer she would be able to stay in her retreat, away from the rest of the family.

  So far, they’d let her have a lot of time to herself, but last night, when she’d refused to come downstairs to dinner, Lilly had heard a strand of impatience that was new in her mother’s voice.

  Lilly understood their feelings. After all, the rest of her family had moved on. She heard Ty talking about school projects and his need for a new pair of cleats for soccer. Charlie had met a girl and was now constantly on his cell phone or going to class.

  Her parents went to work each morning, seemingly more determined than the day before to accomplish as much as possible in twenty-four hours. Her father had even taken up running.

  Only she had been unable to do anything but mourn.

  After a quick knock, her mom opened the door and peeked inside. Within seconds, Lilly saw her gaze dart from the pile of clothes and towels on the floor, to the stack of dishes littering her desk, to the partly pulled-down shades, to her daughter.

  “Good. You’re up,” she said as she walked right in.

  Lilly pulled up the sheets around her shoulders like a shield. “Not really. I was about to go back to sleep.”

  With a new look of determination, her mother shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s Monday morning. A new week. The sun is shining. Ty left for school three hours ago. It’s past time for you to start your day.”

  Lilly had purposely hid her clock. Watching the numbers change had been her sole activity the day she’d come home. It had just about driven her crazy. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I told them I’d be coming in late today because I had a few things to do around here.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like get you out of bed, dear. Honey, I know it’s hard, but take it from me. Things won’t get better if you only sit and stew and cry.”

  With a start, Lilly remembered that her mother had had a miscarriage years ago. In her haze of depression, she’d forgotten all about that.

  But still…she just wasn’t ready. Slumping back against her pillows, she made a feeble call for more time. “I’ll get up tomorrow. I don’t feel well,” she said, though to her surprise, it wasn’t really true. The pain that had taken hold of her midsection had lessened considerably. Many of her other aches and pains had vanished, too. Now all that remained was a numbness that seemed to constantly float over her mood and her spirit.

  A look of concern flashed in her mother’s eyes as she approached the bed. “Still sore?”

  Lilly shrugged. “Some.”

  “The doctors said your body should be healed by now.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “Perhaps we should go in for a checkup? I could take off the whole day.”

  The last thing Lilly wanted was to be poked and pulled and inspected again. “I’ll be fine. I’m getting better. Like I said, tomorrow’s probably the right time to start doing things.”

  “You know, I don’t think so.” After pausing for a moment, her mother went to her dresser. After pushing a few bottles of water and a container of painkillers to one side, she uncovered a brush and a hair clip. “As soon as you get cleaned up and take care of yourself, you’ll feel like leaving this room.”

  Before Lilly could defiantly tell her that, no, brushed hair was not going to help a thing, her mom sat right back down beside her, gently turned Lilly so her back faced her, and, with a little sigh, pulled the brush through Lilly’s maze of knots and tangles.

  “Ouch,” she said, though even to her ears she sounded incredibly whiny.

  Immediately the brush stilled. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

&nbs
p; “I know. It didn’t hurt that badly. I’m sorry.” Gosh, how many times had she said “sorry” over the last two weeks? She’d felt like she’d been apologizing to everyone. Her family. To Alec. To herself. To God.

  She must have done something incredibly wrong to have miscarried.

  Gently, her mother continued brushing again. When the worst of the tangles were combed out, the rhythmic motions soothed her. Over and over the brush went, massaging her scalp, skating through her curls. Taming them.

  Little by little, Lilly felt her neck muscles relax. Her shoulders loosen. She hated to admit it, but perhaps her mother was exactly right. Taking care of herself and moving around a bit could only help.

  “Thank you,” she said as her mom gently clipped her hair back into a ponytail. “I do feel better.”

  “Brushing your hair brought back some nice memories,” her mother mused. “Remember when you were six and your hair was halfway down your back?”

  “I do. You’d have to help me brush it every morning. And I’d fuss.”

  Behind her, Lilly heard her mom’s soft chuckle. “How many times do you think I threatened to cut off that hair?”

  “At least once a day.”

  “At least.” Squeezing her daughter’s shoulders, she said, “Lilly, you have some things you need to do today. You need to call the Sugarcreek Inn and let them know when you’re returning to work. They need you.”

  “But I don’t know…”

  “Maybe after you take a shower and do a load of laundry, you’ll have a better sense of when you can help out. When she called yesterday, Mrs. Kent said you could return part-time. But that she definitely does need you…or someone else.”

  “She’d fire me?”

  “Don’t make this into something it’s not. She’s given you two weeks off. She’s willing to give you a couple of more days. But the other girls have been taking your shifts and, frankly, they’re tired.”

  “I’ll call.” After she made the pronouncement, Lilly felt like boulders had been placed on her shoulders. Responsibilities threatened to engulf her. Make her weak with it all. She slumped against the bed.

  But her mom didn’t even notice.

  “Good,” she said, looking pleased. “As soon as you make that call, I have a project for you.”