Read Online Seasons of Sugarcreek 02. Spring's Renewal by Shelley Shepard Gray - Free Book Online
Authors: Shelley Shepard Gray
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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
“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
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