proceed home. "After all, it's arrogant to do so when God knows what He's doing. He has a plan for you."
"I sure wish He'd reveal it," Jenny said with a sigh. "And soon."
"You always did want to know something, do something, right away," Phoebe told her with a smile.
Jenny looked at her grandmother. Neither her words nor her tone held rebuke. Indeed, Phoebe was smiling indulgently.
"I wonder sometimes if I wasn't grateful enough for what I had before the accident," Jenny said as she stared out at the road. "I had this dream last night where I was running barefoot in the grass in the summertime here."
"You've never struck me as an ungrateful person, Jenny."
"But it was something I took for granted. Walking, running, being without pain." She sighed. "How did you know I was at Matthew's?" she asked, changing the subject.
"It seemed logical," Phoebe told her. "I knew you couldn't have gone far. But I noticed something as I drove this way."
With a jerk of the reins and a quiet word to the horse, she brought the buggy to a stop. "Look there, in the snow by the road."
Jenny saw the place where she'd fallen, the snow that had been disturbed as she'd tried to get to her feet. Just beyond it, for a few steps there were two sets of footprints, then one set leading to Matthew's farm.
"Does that remind you of anything?"
Yes, it does, thought Jenny. She remembered how she'd felt incredibly frustrated, incredibly cold . . . but her grandmother's intent stare seemed to require a better answer. She thought harder—
A single line of footsteps, deeply printed in the snow, because the walker was carrying her.
Jenny nodded slowly. "I know that God's been with me, lifting me, carrying me. He sent Matthew to help me this time, but there have been so many people who've done it in so many ways since I was hurt." Starting with the soldiers who'd stabilized her after the bombing, the medics on the trip to the field hospital. Those who'd kept her going on the long flight back home.
She smiled. "I remember how I felt when I woke up in the hospital stateside and realized I was wrapped in the quilt you sent. I've been like Linus with it ever since."
" Linus?"
"Little boy in a newspaper comic strip. Carries his blanket everywhere."
When they got home, her grandmother insisted that Jenny go inside while she took care of the horse and buggy. It didn't seem right to let the older woman do it, but Jenny knew she really wasn't physically up to it yet. Today had proven that.
So while Jenny moved about in the kitchen making tea for them she resolved that she would work harder to be of more help. Maybe she could cook their meal one night. Something easy. Maybe I won't give my grandmother food poisoning, she thought with a grin. Could there be a takeout place anywhere close? That might be better.
Later, when she'd retired for the night, Jenny found her body was tired from the day's exertion but her mind was still whirling. Being with the children and talking about books had made her think about her work and how much she missed it.
She reached for her journal and pen on the nightstand and then sat up, propped against the headboard. But instead of words, she found herself exchanging the pen for a pencil and sketching the face of Annie, then Mary, then Joshua. She'd been told she had some talent for art as a child and particularly enjoyed catching the expression on faces. Now she became absorbed in doing so.
There, that was Annie, with the longing in her eyes for love, for a mother, and the soft, sweet nature of a wildflower—yes, a buttercup, she thought, and drew some in her hands.
Mary. Now there was a solemn quality about her, a quiet introspection. She had the same look in her eyes that Annie had, but she was more reserved about it, watching and waiting but not rushing to Jenny the way Annie did.
And Joshua. He was so curious; his eyes seemed to bore through her, they were so intense. Much like Matthew's. She remembered how proud
"I sure wish He'd reveal it," Jenny said with a sigh. "And soon."
"You always did want to know something, do something, right away," Phoebe told her with a smile.
Jenny looked at her grandmother. Neither her words nor her tone held rebuke. Indeed, Phoebe was smiling indulgently.
"I wonder sometimes if I wasn't grateful enough for what I had before the accident," Jenny said as she stared out at the road. "I had this dream last night where I was running barefoot in the grass in the summertime here."
"You've never struck me as an ungrateful person, Jenny."
"But it was something I took for granted. Walking, running, being without pain." She sighed. "How did you know I was at Matthew's?" she asked, changing the subject.
"It seemed logical," Phoebe told her. "I knew you couldn't have gone far. But I noticed something as I drove this way."
With a jerk of the reins and a quiet word to the horse, she brought the buggy to a stop. "Look there, in the snow by the road."
Jenny saw the place where she'd fallen, the snow that had been disturbed as she'd tried to get to her feet. Just beyond it, for a few steps there were two sets of footprints, then one set leading to Matthew's farm.
"Does that remind you of anything?"
Yes, it does, thought Jenny. She remembered how she'd felt incredibly frustrated, incredibly cold . . . but her grandmother's intent stare seemed to require a better answer. She thought harder—
A single line of footsteps, deeply printed in the snow, because the walker was carrying her.
Jenny nodded slowly. "I know that God's been with me, lifting me, carrying me. He sent Matthew to help me this time, but there have been so many people who've done it in so many ways since I was hurt." Starting with the soldiers who'd stabilized her after the bombing, the medics on the trip to the field hospital. Those who'd kept her going on the long flight back home.
She smiled. "I remember how I felt when I woke up in the hospital stateside and realized I was wrapped in the quilt you sent. I've been like Linus with it ever since."
" Linus?"
"Little boy in a newspaper comic strip. Carries his blanket everywhere."
When they got home, her grandmother insisted that Jenny go inside while she took care of the horse and buggy. It didn't seem right to let the older woman do it, but Jenny knew she really wasn't physically up to it yet. Today had proven that.
So while Jenny moved about in the kitchen making tea for them she resolved that she would work harder to be of more help. Maybe she could cook their meal one night. Something easy. Maybe I won't give my grandmother food poisoning, she thought with a grin. Could there be a takeout place anywhere close? That might be better.
Later, when she'd retired for the night, Jenny found her body was tired from the day's exertion but her mind was still whirling. Being with the children and talking about books had made her think about her work and how much she missed it.
She reached for her journal and pen on the nightstand and then sat up, propped against the headboard. But instead of words, she found herself exchanging the pen for a pencil and sketching the face of Annie, then Mary, then Joshua. She'd been told she had some talent for art as a child and particularly enjoyed catching the expression on faces. Now she became absorbed in doing so.
There, that was Annie, with the longing in her eyes for love, for a mother, and the soft, sweet nature of a wildflower—yes, a buttercup, she thought, and drew some in her hands.
Mary. Now there was a solemn quality about her, a quiet introspection. She had the same look in her eyes that Annie had, but she was more reserved about it, watching and waiting but not rushing to Jenny the way Annie did.
And Joshua. He was so curious; his eyes seemed to bore through her, they were so intense. Much like Matthew's. She remembered how proud
Similar Books
