"jiih, Dat's said as much . . . but we all have mules these Hjm, ain't? So what do you make of that?" H: "Sure beats trying to get the field horses to go into steep ^Ct'S or some of the more narrow spots in the field," GidHi led.
H They talked slowly as they walked, both seemingly hesiHit to call it a night now that they were getting on so well. H)W that they were alone with only the moon, the stars, and Hi blackness of the sky.
H I cah's impression of the last full hour with Gid had grown Hit liltle garden in her heart. Never in the most secret landHk|H' of her soul could she have foreseen the joy she felt as ^m walked with Gid Peachey, picking her way through the Hick grazing land, her hand snugly in his. H "What would you say if I told you this is the happiest hlghl- of my life?" he came right out and said. , .,. '':' , ;.
67
t68id e IP e r I y d~- e w i s , . :
A lump crept into her throat, and she was afraid she might cry again. She dared not try to answer.
He must have understood and squeezed her hand, turning to face her. His wavy light brown hair seemed almost colorless in the glow of the moon. "I hope it's not too forward of me. . . ."
She wondered what he might say and, composing herself, she asked, "What is it, Gid?"
He paused but for a moment. "I'd like to court you, if you . . . well, if you might agree."
She didn't once glance sheepishly at the Ebersol Cottage as she often did when talking with Gid here lately. No, she kept her gaze on him, studying the rugged lines of his face, the unabashed attraction he displayed for her as he leaned slightly forward.
She knew she'd traversed the gamut of feelings, from reluctance at the outset of the evening to this strange yet wonderful sincerity, the way she felt at this moment surely it wasn't the moonlight and gentle sweet breeze of the wee hours, was it?
Smithy Gid's invitation was hard to resist. "Jah, I'll go for steady with you," she replied.
Then and there, he picked her up and swung her around and around. Her joy knew no bounds, because she had been so sure in that most secret room of her heart she would never, ever feel this way again. Yet here she was . . . and she did.69vn->
e>-v
e,t* e^yp
June's fair weather swept into the soaring temperatures of midsummer, and Mamma's lilies flourished, amassed in a solid I icil of eye-catching pink.
On her way to the outhouse, Mary Ruth happened to lirush past them, deep in thought, not paying any mind that her for-good purple dress had gotten some of the golden red pollen smeared on it. When she did notice it, she tried to Inuish it off with her hand, setting the stain but good. Realizing what she'd do*ie, she hurried back to the house and told Mamma.
"Ach, you must always use adhesive tape to get lily pollen nil," Mamma said.
"That or wipe it off with an old rag . . . anything but your hands," Aunt Lizzie said, explaining the natural oils from the kin set the stain.
Mamma continued. "If the stain stays put after using the i.ig, let the sun bleach it out."
Mary Ruth sighed and looked down at the smudged mess. "Well, now I have nothing to wear to the singing. My other
70J^ e
good dress is too snug through the middle."
Aunt Lizzie shook her head. "Then you may just have to stay home and sew a new one tomorrow."
"What?" Mary Ruth didn't catch on to Aunt Lizzie's kidding at first.
Lizzie's face broke into a smile. "Come, let me see what I can do."
Mamma left the kitchen to tend to Lydiann, who was wailing upstairs, and while Aunt Lizzie scrubbed with an old rag, Mary Ruth bemoaned the fact that Hannah was refusing to double court with her. "My twin's not herself," she confided.
Lizzie seemed to perk up her ears. "Why would that be?"
Mary Ruth wouldn't go so far as to say more than "Hannah's persnickety these days . . . been so all summer, really."
"Well, in some cases, that's not such a bad thing," Lizzie said, still scrubbing. "All depends on what a person's bein' particular about, ain't so?"
Good
H They talked slowly as they walked, both seemingly hesiHit to call it a night now that they were getting on so well. H)W that they were alone with only the moon, the stars, and Hi blackness of the sky.
H I cah's impression of the last full hour with Gid had grown Hit liltle garden in her heart. Never in the most secret landHk|H' of her soul could she have foreseen the joy she felt as ^m walked with Gid Peachey, picking her way through the Hick grazing land, her hand snugly in his. H "What would you say if I told you this is the happiest hlghl- of my life?" he came right out and said. , .,. '':' , ;.
67
t68id e IP e r I y d~- e w i s , . :
A lump crept into her throat, and she was afraid she might cry again. She dared not try to answer.
He must have understood and squeezed her hand, turning to face her. His wavy light brown hair seemed almost colorless in the glow of the moon. "I hope it's not too forward of me. . . ."
She wondered what he might say and, composing herself, she asked, "What is it, Gid?"
He paused but for a moment. "I'd like to court you, if you . . . well, if you might agree."
She didn't once glance sheepishly at the Ebersol Cottage as she often did when talking with Gid here lately. No, she kept her gaze on him, studying the rugged lines of his face, the unabashed attraction he displayed for her as he leaned slightly forward.
She knew she'd traversed the gamut of feelings, from reluctance at the outset of the evening to this strange yet wonderful sincerity, the way she felt at this moment surely it wasn't the moonlight and gentle sweet breeze of the wee hours, was it?
Smithy Gid's invitation was hard to resist. "Jah, I'll go for steady with you," she replied.
Then and there, he picked her up and swung her around and around. Her joy knew no bounds, because she had been so sure in that most secret room of her heart she would never, ever feel this way again. Yet here she was . . . and she did.69vn->
e>-v
e,t* e^yp
June's fair weather swept into the soaring temperatures of midsummer, and Mamma's lilies flourished, amassed in a solid I icil of eye-catching pink.
On her way to the outhouse, Mary Ruth happened to lirush past them, deep in thought, not paying any mind that her for-good purple dress had gotten some of the golden red pollen smeared on it. When she did notice it, she tried to Inuish it off with her hand, setting the stain but good. Realizing what she'd do*ie, she hurried back to the house and told Mamma.
"Ach, you must always use adhesive tape to get lily pollen nil," Mamma said.
"That or wipe it off with an old rag . . . anything but your hands," Aunt Lizzie said, explaining the natural oils from the kin set the stain.
Mamma continued. "If the stain stays put after using the i.ig, let the sun bleach it out."
Mary Ruth sighed and looked down at the smudged mess. "Well, now I have nothing to wear to the singing. My other
70J^ e
good dress is too snug through the middle."
Aunt Lizzie shook her head. "Then you may just have to stay home and sew a new one tomorrow."
"What?" Mary Ruth didn't catch on to Aunt Lizzie's kidding at first.
Lizzie's face broke into a smile. "Come, let me see what I can do."
Mamma left the kitchen to tend to Lydiann, who was wailing upstairs, and while Aunt Lizzie scrubbed with an old rag, Mary Ruth bemoaned the fact that Hannah was refusing to double court with her. "My twin's not herself," she confided.
Lizzie seemed to perk up her ears. "Why would that be?"
Mary Ruth wouldn't go so far as to say more than "Hannah's persnickety these days . . . been so all summer, really."
"Well, in some cases, that's not such a bad thing," Lizzie said, still scrubbing. "All depends on what a person's bein' particular about, ain't so?"
Good
Similar Books
