Read Online Little Amish Matchmaker by Linda Byler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda Byler
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she’d loosen up?”
Catherine nodded.
Isaac pushed himself home, flinging his leg energetically, happy with this bit of information. Teacher Catherine was the best, most beautiful, sweetest person he had ever met. She treated him as her best buddy, letting him in on that secret, doing it in a way that didn’t make Ruthie’s mother appear mean, just pitiful. Now he believed Ruthie might be able to overcome her crippling stutter, if he did this right.
At home, he grabbed two chocolate chip cookies and ran out the door to find Sim. It was very important that Sim knew about this, especially about Catherine being so wise and pretty, and if he didn’t get around to asking her for a date soon, it would be forever too late, the opportunity evaporated like mist from the pond. It was time Sim straightened himself up.
He found Sim loading manure in the heifer barn. The acrid odor met his nostrils before he saw Sim, but he was used to the raw stench of fresh manure, so he climbed the gate and walked over to him.
Hatless, his everyday shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbow and his shoulders bulging beneath the seams of his shirt, Sim was forking great quantities of the sodden stuff with each forkful. He stopped, ran the back of his hand along his forehead, stuck his pitchfork into the remaining manure and smiled at Isaac. “What’s up?”
“Hey, you know Lloyd’s Ruthie? The girl that stutters? She can’t talk one tiny bit. And you know what?” He related the entire afternoon’s visit with his teacher, watching Sim’s face, emphasizing Catherine’s part.
Sim didn’t show any emotion, just scratched a forearm and looked out the door at the snowy landscape.
“And, you know, Sim, if you don’t make yourself do it, she’s not going to wait around much longer. You need to ask her for a date. Get going once!”
Isaac was surprised at Sim’s reaction. Sim looked as if he was going to cry. When he spoke, it was quietly, seriously, almost like a preacher in church.
“All right, little brother. I hear you. And I wish I could tell you okay, I’ll ask her. At your age I probably would have. A schoolboy hasn’t seen much of life, of love or loss. It’s not as simple as you think. And, Isaac, a lot of children your age would not talk the way you do. You’re too smart. You see, God comes first. If I pray to him first, ask him for his blessing in my life, then maybe, just maybe, someday, he will allow me to have her. But I have to wait. Wait on his answer.”
Isaac snorted loudly, scaring the heifers in the corner watching the pair of Belgians hitched to the manure spreader with frightened eyes.
“Well, and just how does God go about speaking to you? You a prophet, or what? Catherine likes you. You’re too dumb to see it.”
With that, Isaac climbed back over the fence, popping the last of the chocolate chip cookies into his mouth, and let Sim finish cleaning the heifer barn by himself. If he got out of there fast enough, Sim might not remember the chicken house needed to be cleaned.
Just his luck, he ran into Dat.
“Hi, Isaac! Home from school so soon? How was your day?”
“School.”
“That’s not much of an answer,” Dat said, smiling broadly.
“Same thing. It was just school.”
“Christmas program ready yet?”
“Yup.”
“Good! I’m looking forward to it.”
Isaac smiled at Dat and was rewarded by the warm kindness in his eyes, the same as always.
Dat was like a rock-solid house you could go into and never be afraid of anything or anyone. He was always the same, sometimes busier than others, more preoccupied, but never angry or hateful or rude.
Now he looked at Isaac with a shrewd expression.
“So, do you think a boy like you should be getting a pony spring wagon if he forgets to scrape the chicken house?”
He looked up sharply and found Dat’s smile.
“How would you like to drive Ginger to school every day?”
A new spring wagon for ponies! It was hard to grasp.
“You better
Catherine nodded.
Isaac pushed himself home, flinging his leg energetically, happy with this bit of information. Teacher Catherine was the best, most beautiful, sweetest person he had ever met. She treated him as her best buddy, letting him in on that secret, doing it in a way that didn’t make Ruthie’s mother appear mean, just pitiful. Now he believed Ruthie might be able to overcome her crippling stutter, if he did this right.
At home, he grabbed two chocolate chip cookies and ran out the door to find Sim. It was very important that Sim knew about this, especially about Catherine being so wise and pretty, and if he didn’t get around to asking her for a date soon, it would be forever too late, the opportunity evaporated like mist from the pond. It was time Sim straightened himself up.
He found Sim loading manure in the heifer barn. The acrid odor met his nostrils before he saw Sim, but he was used to the raw stench of fresh manure, so he climbed the gate and walked over to him.
Hatless, his everyday shirt sleeves rolled up above the elbow and his shoulders bulging beneath the seams of his shirt, Sim was forking great quantities of the sodden stuff with each forkful. He stopped, ran the back of his hand along his forehead, stuck his pitchfork into the remaining manure and smiled at Isaac. “What’s up?”
“Hey, you know Lloyd’s Ruthie? The girl that stutters? She can’t talk one tiny bit. And you know what?” He related the entire afternoon’s visit with his teacher, watching Sim’s face, emphasizing Catherine’s part.
Sim didn’t show any emotion, just scratched a forearm and looked out the door at the snowy landscape.
“And, you know, Sim, if you don’t make yourself do it, she’s not going to wait around much longer. You need to ask her for a date. Get going once!”
Isaac was surprised at Sim’s reaction. Sim looked as if he was going to cry. When he spoke, it was quietly, seriously, almost like a preacher in church.
“All right, little brother. I hear you. And I wish I could tell you okay, I’ll ask her. At your age I probably would have. A schoolboy hasn’t seen much of life, of love or loss. It’s not as simple as you think. And, Isaac, a lot of children your age would not talk the way you do. You’re too smart. You see, God comes first. If I pray to him first, ask him for his blessing in my life, then maybe, just maybe, someday, he will allow me to have her. But I have to wait. Wait on his answer.”
Isaac snorted loudly, scaring the heifers in the corner watching the pair of Belgians hitched to the manure spreader with frightened eyes.
“Well, and just how does God go about speaking to you? You a prophet, or what? Catherine likes you. You’re too dumb to see it.”
With that, Isaac climbed back over the fence, popping the last of the chocolate chip cookies into his mouth, and let Sim finish cleaning the heifer barn by himself. If he got out of there fast enough, Sim might not remember the chicken house needed to be cleaned.
Just his luck, he ran into Dat.
“Hi, Isaac! Home from school so soon? How was your day?”
“School.”
“That’s not much of an answer,” Dat said, smiling broadly.
“Same thing. It was just school.”
“Christmas program ready yet?”
“Yup.”
“Good! I’m looking forward to it.”
Isaac smiled at Dat and was rewarded by the warm kindness in his eyes, the same as always.
Dat was like a rock-solid house you could go into and never be afraid of anything or anyone. He was always the same, sometimes busier than others, more preoccupied, but never angry or hateful or rude.
Now he looked at Isaac with a shrewd expression.
“So, do you think a boy like you should be getting a pony spring wagon if he forgets to scrape the chicken house?”
He looked up sharply and found Dat’s smile.
“How would you like to drive Ginger to school every day?”
A new spring wagon for ponies! It was hard to grasp.
“You better
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