hands and exchanged pleasantries. Both Silas and Amy watched as the doctor moved into Grant’sbedroom with easy familiarity, shutting the door behind him. Amy headed back into the kitchen and Silas went outside.
The weather was warm, surprisingly so for this early in the year, but the ground was still too wet to even start thinking about the crops. Silas’ mind turned to the painting of the house.
Grant must have worked quickly because the front and sides of the house were done, leaving just the back and the trim. Standing at the back of the house, Silas could see where Grant had started to paint at the apex of the gabled roof. His eye measured the distance from the spot near the roof to the ground. No wonder Grant was in pain. Silas winced at the thought of Grant’s fall.
“When do you plan to start?” Amy spoke as she came around the corner of the house.
“Monday morning, pending the weather.”
Amy nodded and looked to the small section her father had already painted, far above the ground. She didn’t say anything to Silas but she was determined: Come Monday she would be out here holding the ladder when he climbed it.
The couple began moving toward the front of the house. “I’ve asked Doc to stay for supper, it’s nearly ready.”
“I thought I smelled pie,” Silas said with a pleased grin.
“That you did—last year’s peaches.” Silas held the door for Amy and, as they entered the house, the aromas that assailed Silas told him Amy had been hard at work.
Doc Schaefer was an easy man to talk with or rather to listen to. He knew everyone within miles and loved to give the latest news to any willing ear. Silas learned that Carrie Nelson had just given birth to a large, healthy girl and that he suspected Maria Southern was carrying twins.
The doctor’s diagnosis on Grant had been a little less than encouraging. The healing process was slow and Grant would be off his feet for an indefinite period of time. Grant had notjoined them at the supper table this night, and Silas strongly suspected his spirits were low. Both he and Amy had been in to check on him before retiring for the night and, even though Grant was talkative, Silas knew he was discouraged over his bedridden state.
Amy went to bed with much the same thought as Silas. She reached for the Bible she kept on the table by her bed and turned to the Book of Isaiah. In the fifty-fifth chapter, verses eight and nine she read, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Reading these words helped restore some of Amy’s peace and calm her questions about why so many painful things had entered their lives.
Suddenly Amy remembered something. She jumped out of bed to look for a poem she had written after her mother died. It was in the bottom of the chest which sat at the foot of her bed. After reading it over again, Amy thought of how good it would sound put to music.
Amy got back into bed with a purpose in her heart. She would try not to dwell on her dad’s accident or on the answer she must give to her uncle and she would give special attention to putting some notes to the words of her poem.
When Amy finally did drift off to sleep, it was with a more peaceful heart and with joy that tomorrow was Sunday, a day set aside for fellowship and learning about her Lord.
15
Silas stood fingering his beard before the mirror that hung over his washstand. The words ending his grandmother’s letter came back to him: “You are such a peaceful, consistent part of our lives, Silas. You never seem to change as the years go on, and sometimes I think this is what makes you so special.”
He knew very well that his grandmother had meant this in only the kindest terms, but somehow the words bothered him. Silas did not believe for a moment that a man’s physical appearance altered his
The weather was warm, surprisingly so for this early in the year, but the ground was still too wet to even start thinking about the crops. Silas’ mind turned to the painting of the house.
Grant must have worked quickly because the front and sides of the house were done, leaving just the back and the trim. Standing at the back of the house, Silas could see where Grant had started to paint at the apex of the gabled roof. His eye measured the distance from the spot near the roof to the ground. No wonder Grant was in pain. Silas winced at the thought of Grant’s fall.
“When do you plan to start?” Amy spoke as she came around the corner of the house.
“Monday morning, pending the weather.”
Amy nodded and looked to the small section her father had already painted, far above the ground. She didn’t say anything to Silas but she was determined: Come Monday she would be out here holding the ladder when he climbed it.
The couple began moving toward the front of the house. “I’ve asked Doc to stay for supper, it’s nearly ready.”
“I thought I smelled pie,” Silas said with a pleased grin.
“That you did—last year’s peaches.” Silas held the door for Amy and, as they entered the house, the aromas that assailed Silas told him Amy had been hard at work.
Doc Schaefer was an easy man to talk with or rather to listen to. He knew everyone within miles and loved to give the latest news to any willing ear. Silas learned that Carrie Nelson had just given birth to a large, healthy girl and that he suspected Maria Southern was carrying twins.
The doctor’s diagnosis on Grant had been a little less than encouraging. The healing process was slow and Grant would be off his feet for an indefinite period of time. Grant had notjoined them at the supper table this night, and Silas strongly suspected his spirits were low. Both he and Amy had been in to check on him before retiring for the night and, even though Grant was talkative, Silas knew he was discouraged over his bedridden state.
Amy went to bed with much the same thought as Silas. She reached for the Bible she kept on the table by her bed and turned to the Book of Isaiah. In the fifty-fifth chapter, verses eight and nine she read, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.” Reading these words helped restore some of Amy’s peace and calm her questions about why so many painful things had entered their lives.
Suddenly Amy remembered something. She jumped out of bed to look for a poem she had written after her mother died. It was in the bottom of the chest which sat at the foot of her bed. After reading it over again, Amy thought of how good it would sound put to music.
Amy got back into bed with a purpose in her heart. She would try not to dwell on her dad’s accident or on the answer she must give to her uncle and she would give special attention to putting some notes to the words of her poem.
When Amy finally did drift off to sleep, it was with a more peaceful heart and with joy that tomorrow was Sunday, a day set aside for fellowship and learning about her Lord.
15
Silas stood fingering his beard before the mirror that hung over his washstand. The words ending his grandmother’s letter came back to him: “You are such a peaceful, consistent part of our lives, Silas. You never seem to change as the years go on, and sometimes I think this is what makes you so special.”
He knew very well that his grandmother had meant this in only the kindest terms, but somehow the words bothered him. Silas did not believe for a moment that a man’s physical appearance altered his
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