springs give. “That never entered my mind. I just wanted
tell you something. While you were resting I visited the
cemetery.”
“I know. I watched you from my
bedroom window. Find anything interesting?” Henie asked,
straightening in the chair as she livened up.
“Yes, that family tree you talked
about is a little clearer to me now,” Karen told her, watching for
a reaction.
“That's good to know, dear,” Henie
said, giving away nothing. Instead, she sighed.
“What are you thinking about?”
Karen hoped Henie would have shared something
enlightening.
Henie smoothed the wrinkles out of
her apron. “This would have been a perfect night to sit on the
porch if we had rockers to sit in.”
Anywhere had to
be more comfortable to sit than this old couch. “I forgot to do that, didn't I? All right, I'll bring the
rockers down right now. You hold the door open for me when I get
back.” Karen rushed upstairs to the attic and hurried back with the
rocker Henie sat in by the trunk. “I didn't see any other rocker.
Is there another one?”
“Look in the far west corner.
There are some of Clell's boxes on it and around it so the rocker
is hard to see,” Henie recalled.
When Karen made it to the door with
the second rocker, Henie was waiting with a rag in her hand. In a
few minutes, she had the rockers dusted. “Now we can try them out.
Have a seat, dear.”
They rocked as they watched the sun
sink and turn the field across the road as red as the
horizon.
“You have good ideas,” Karen
complimented.
Henie chuckled. “Sure I do. It's
another app Amy programmed in me. Karen, do you ever take the time
to see what is around you when you relax?” Henie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I think your mind swirls with
thoughts about your writing. You never take the time to see nature.
When you have the opportunity to live in the country you should
take advantage of it. Life shouldn't be all work.
Have you noticed the sparrows
flitting from fence post to fence post? See how busy they are? They
dart down and pick up a piece of dead grass to put in their nest.”
Henie pointed across the road. “Hear the trill of the redwing
blackbirds while they balance on those electric wires.
A wren has been warbling up a storm
in that elm tree by the road ever since we sat down. I'll bet a
noisy as that tiny bird has been, you haven't heard it.
The robins are hopping about,
looking for a bug in the grass to feed their babies. A couple of
squirrels have darted down in the road ditch and back up the
tree.
That's just a few of the things
going on around here that make this place a nice house to live in,”
Henie declared. “Plenty of action going on.”
Her attention changed from nature
to traffic as she watched a white pickup with a tool box in the
back slow down.
The pickup pulled in the driveway
and stopped. A handsome man climbed out. Definitely, a farmer from
the way he was dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans.
“Who is he?” Henie whispered
behind her hand.
“I have no way of knowing,” Karen
replied softly.
The man, with sun browned skin,
approached and took off his feed store cap to reveal his disorderly
brown hair. He gave them a friendly smile. “Evening, ladies. I'm
Chris Sorensen. My farm is on the far side the cemetery. I noticed
someone had moved into the Crane house. Thought I'd just say
welcome to the neighborhood.” He climbed the steps and sat on the
floor with his back against the post.
“I'm Karen Warwick, and this is
Henie,” Karen introduced as she noted the scent of dust on him.
Clearly, he had been doing field work.
Chris shook his hat toward them.
“I'm glad to see you're living in this old house. It was meant to
be lived in. Is it just you two?”
“Yes, just the two of us,” Karen
answered.
“Not always easy for two women
living alone in the country. If you ever need help with anything,
just give me a call. I'm not always in the house, but I have an
answering machine. I'm sort of
tell you something. While you were resting I visited the
cemetery.”
“I know. I watched you from my
bedroom window. Find anything interesting?” Henie asked,
straightening in the chair as she livened up.
“Yes, that family tree you talked
about is a little clearer to me now,” Karen told her, watching for
a reaction.
“That's good to know, dear,” Henie
said, giving away nothing. Instead, she sighed.
“What are you thinking about?”
Karen hoped Henie would have shared something
enlightening.
Henie smoothed the wrinkles out of
her apron. “This would have been a perfect night to sit on the
porch if we had rockers to sit in.”
Anywhere had to
be more comfortable to sit than this old couch. “I forgot to do that, didn't I? All right, I'll bring the
rockers down right now. You hold the door open for me when I get
back.” Karen rushed upstairs to the attic and hurried back with the
rocker Henie sat in by the trunk. “I didn't see any other rocker.
Is there another one?”
“Look in the far west corner.
There are some of Clell's boxes on it and around it so the rocker
is hard to see,” Henie recalled.
When Karen made it to the door with
the second rocker, Henie was waiting with a rag in her hand. In a
few minutes, she had the rockers dusted. “Now we can try them out.
Have a seat, dear.”
They rocked as they watched the sun
sink and turn the field across the road as red as the
horizon.
“You have good ideas,” Karen
complimented.
Henie chuckled. “Sure I do. It's
another app Amy programmed in me. Karen, do you ever take the time
to see what is around you when you relax?” Henie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I think your mind swirls with
thoughts about your writing. You never take the time to see nature.
When you have the opportunity to live in the country you should
take advantage of it. Life shouldn't be all work.
Have you noticed the sparrows
flitting from fence post to fence post? See how busy they are? They
dart down and pick up a piece of dead grass to put in their nest.”
Henie pointed across the road. “Hear the trill of the redwing
blackbirds while they balance on those electric wires.
A wren has been warbling up a storm
in that elm tree by the road ever since we sat down. I'll bet a
noisy as that tiny bird has been, you haven't heard it.
The robins are hopping about,
looking for a bug in the grass to feed their babies. A couple of
squirrels have darted down in the road ditch and back up the
tree.
That's just a few of the things
going on around here that make this place a nice house to live in,”
Henie declared. “Plenty of action going on.”
Her attention changed from nature
to traffic as she watched a white pickup with a tool box in the
back slow down.
The pickup pulled in the driveway
and stopped. A handsome man climbed out. Definitely, a farmer from
the way he was dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans.
“Who is he?” Henie whispered
behind her hand.
“I have no way of knowing,” Karen
replied softly.
The man, with sun browned skin,
approached and took off his feed store cap to reveal his disorderly
brown hair. He gave them a friendly smile. “Evening, ladies. I'm
Chris Sorensen. My farm is on the far side the cemetery. I noticed
someone had moved into the Crane house. Thought I'd just say
welcome to the neighborhood.” He climbed the steps and sat on the
floor with his back against the post.
“I'm Karen Warwick, and this is
Henie,” Karen introduced as she noted the scent of dust on him.
Clearly, he had been doing field work.
Chris shook his hat toward them.
“I'm glad to see you're living in this old house. It was meant to
be lived in. Is it just you two?”
“Yes, just the two of us,” Karen
answered.
“Not always easy for two women
living alone in the country. If you ever need help with anything,
just give me a call. I'm not always in the house, but I have an
answering machine. I'm sort of
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