cardboard box containing a bottle of tincture, some packets of dried herbs, and several handfuls of cleavers and chickweed, Sarah waved farewell.
“See you in church tomorrow,” she called, and Linda waved through the buggy’s open door in acknowledgment.
Let these things help her, Lord. Even if it isn’t Your will that she be blessed with a baby, I pray that You would bless her with a return to health. You have given us these humble plants that contain so much that is good for us. You have given us water, as necessary to us as Your love. Help her to use them wisely, so that she can serve You with joy.
Because that, Sarah suddenly realized, was what had been missing in Linda’s eyes.
Joy.
There was resignation, and she had said she was content. But in someone who loved God and was loved in return, a person should be able to see more than those pale substitutes.
Give her back her joy, Lord.
And as You do, I’ll find mine.
Chapter 7
P riscilla had never been so thankful for a Sunday as she was today. Church was held that week at Bishop Dan Troyer’s home, on the other side of Willow Creek and down the county highway about four miles…so far away that the likelihood of running into Justin Parker was zero.
She was looking forward to a whole day where she’d be guaranteed a little peace.
Though why he should disturb her peace so much was not quite clear yet. He made her nervous. He wanted too much of her time. And yet there was something about him that was causing a little root of compassion to grow in her heart—though he would be the first to tell her that he felt sorry for her and not the other way around.
She and Katie and Saranne had breakfast on the table by the time Mamm and Dat got in from the milking, and once they’d cleaned up and changed into clean Kapps , their blue Sunday dresses with the white organdy capes and aprons, and their good black oxford shoes, Dat had led out the horse and harnessed him up to the family buggy.
The sun had barely lifted its face above the trees when they were on their way. Church began at eight thirty and lasted until eleven thirty—which was about the length of time it took for Priscilla’s behind to begin going numb from the hard wooden bench.
The sermon was on faith, from Hebrews 11 and 12, and Priscilla listened to the preacher tell the stories of those in the Old Testament who had been faithful no matter what their circumstances. Who had believed that faith was the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things they couldn’t see.
Some people might think that was a contradiction in terms—you had to be able to see evidence, didn’t you?—but to Priscilla there was no contradiction. Her faith in God, in her church, in the rightness of it, was a faith in something that was real and had form. Like the breeze in the trees outside, you might not be able to see it, but you could see what it did.
Nobody could argue that the wind didn’t exist.
God had allowed Justin to come here, the way He allowed mosquitoes and the burrs that formed in the forget-me-nots when they went to seed. Annoying and persistent though they were, they had their season, and their season always passed.
The Parkers would be gone on Wednesday, and she could stop looking over her shoulder. She wasn’t afraid of him—not at all. He was more like a newborn puppy or a baby, all noise and need, unable to look after itself without someone nearby to pay attention to it. Frankly, since he was neither puppy nor baby, she didn’t have the patience. Or the time. And maybe that was what made him so persistent.
Dat’s edict from the spring was still in effect, with no sign of relenting. To keep her out of trouble and from thinking about frivolous things like band hops and dates, none of her chores had been given to her sisters despite the fact that she worked three days a week at the Rose Arbor Inn. So Sundays were a relief in more ways than one. She could rest without the list of things
“See you in church tomorrow,” she called, and Linda waved through the buggy’s open door in acknowledgment.
Let these things help her, Lord. Even if it isn’t Your will that she be blessed with a baby, I pray that You would bless her with a return to health. You have given us these humble plants that contain so much that is good for us. You have given us water, as necessary to us as Your love. Help her to use them wisely, so that she can serve You with joy.
Because that, Sarah suddenly realized, was what had been missing in Linda’s eyes.
Joy.
There was resignation, and she had said she was content. But in someone who loved God and was loved in return, a person should be able to see more than those pale substitutes.
Give her back her joy, Lord.
And as You do, I’ll find mine.
Chapter 7
P riscilla had never been so thankful for a Sunday as she was today. Church was held that week at Bishop Dan Troyer’s home, on the other side of Willow Creek and down the county highway about four miles…so far away that the likelihood of running into Justin Parker was zero.
She was looking forward to a whole day where she’d be guaranteed a little peace.
Though why he should disturb her peace so much was not quite clear yet. He made her nervous. He wanted too much of her time. And yet there was something about him that was causing a little root of compassion to grow in her heart—though he would be the first to tell her that he felt sorry for her and not the other way around.
She and Katie and Saranne had breakfast on the table by the time Mamm and Dat got in from the milking, and once they’d cleaned up and changed into clean Kapps , their blue Sunday dresses with the white organdy capes and aprons, and their good black oxford shoes, Dat had led out the horse and harnessed him up to the family buggy.
The sun had barely lifted its face above the trees when they were on their way. Church began at eight thirty and lasted until eleven thirty—which was about the length of time it took for Priscilla’s behind to begin going numb from the hard wooden bench.
The sermon was on faith, from Hebrews 11 and 12, and Priscilla listened to the preacher tell the stories of those in the Old Testament who had been faithful no matter what their circumstances. Who had believed that faith was the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things they couldn’t see.
Some people might think that was a contradiction in terms—you had to be able to see evidence, didn’t you?—but to Priscilla there was no contradiction. Her faith in God, in her church, in the rightness of it, was a faith in something that was real and had form. Like the breeze in the trees outside, you might not be able to see it, but you could see what it did.
Nobody could argue that the wind didn’t exist.
God had allowed Justin to come here, the way He allowed mosquitoes and the burrs that formed in the forget-me-nots when they went to seed. Annoying and persistent though they were, they had their season, and their season always passed.
The Parkers would be gone on Wednesday, and she could stop looking over her shoulder. She wasn’t afraid of him—not at all. He was more like a newborn puppy or a baby, all noise and need, unable to look after itself without someone nearby to pay attention to it. Frankly, since he was neither puppy nor baby, she didn’t have the patience. Or the time. And maybe that was what made him so persistent.
Dat’s edict from the spring was still in effect, with no sign of relenting. To keep her out of trouble and from thinking about frivolous things like band hops and dates, none of her chores had been given to her sisters despite the fact that she worked three days a week at the Rose Arbor Inn. So Sundays were a relief in more ways than one. She could rest without the list of things
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