stranger, so showing Rachel a little of what he felt shouldn’t be making him sweat.
He dragged a sleeve across his perspiring forehead. How could he not try? Did Jesus not say one should seek in order to find, knock so the door would be opened? He’d pined after Rachel from afar, as if she were a palace door unworthy of being knocked upon by a lowly beggar. But isn’t that what God asked everyone to do? Knock, and knock constantly on the Creator and Ruler of the World’s door, though man was sinful and unworthy to touch it?
And those who delighted themselves in the Lord got the desire of their heart.
He would be happy with however God blessed him, and he had been content in the past, but he shouldn’t just wait for things to fall in his lap, right? Not if being ashamed of how God made him caused his hesitation.
God, I’ve never asked, because I’ve been afraid You’d give me that snake instead of a fish when the Bible clearly states You’re a Good Father and would never do that. But even if You don’t help me win Rachel, I know it’s not that You’re giving me a snake, You’re just . . . Well, I don’t know what, but You obviously can’t give me anything if I don’t hold out my hand.
All right then. He cleared his throat and strode toward the door Neil hadn’t quite shut. He wasn’t doing anything drastic, not really, only letting Rachel know he cared and asking if she’d write to him from school. He wouldn’t even demand she think of him as often as he would her—since that would be thirty times an hour. Or more.
Without knocking, Dex let himself in. He took a look around the foyer and glanced into the sitting room. No one. He let out his breath, shuffled to the parlor, leaned against the door jamb, and took his fill of her. The weight of those dark brown curls piled upon her head didn’t bend her creamy, long neck a fraction. Her tongue moved about her lips as they formed half-spoken words as she read, the pages turning faster than should be humanly possible.
At the turn of her sixth page, she stretched and startled. “Dex!” She folded the book in her lap. “How long have you been there?”
“A bit.”
“Spying’s not very gentlemanlike.”
“No, but I’m all right with that.”
Her forehead scrunched, and she glanced at the things in his hands. “What do you have?” Her eyes roamed, taking in the length of him. “And what are you wearing?”
“I’m dressed for the Founder’s Day activities this evening. And I’ve got candy and a book.” He took a glass bowl with a bit of ribbon candy left in the bottom off the shelf and dumped his assortment on top, then shrugged. “I didn’t know what kind you liked though.”
“So you bought several pieces of everything?” She pulled the bowl toward her and sifted through the candy with her fingers.
“Yep.” He twirled a chair across the floor and parked next to her. Sitting astride, he set down the book, crossed his arms atop the chair’s back, and gave her the smile that’d made her blush yesterday.
She dropped her eyes from his and flipped the book to look at the spine. “ Sonnets from the Portuguese ?”
“I like number six. Let’s read that one.”
“If you thought Robinson Crusoe was difficult, why would you attempt poetry?”
“Well, Lily said they’d be good.” And she’d read countless poems to him until number six caught his attention. But he wasn’t going to admit his sister-in-law read to him like a boy unless he had to.
“Good for what?”
“You’ll have to teach me to read number six and see for yourself.”
She took her hand off the book and backed away from the table. “But these are love sonnets.”
“Yep.”
She swallowed hard and took a butterscotch from his bowl.
“So butterscotches are your favorite?”
She pointed at her mouth as if the obstruction of one bright yellow disk was reason enough not to attempt speaking. “Read,” she slurred around her candy.
He pulled the slim
He dragged a sleeve across his perspiring forehead. How could he not try? Did Jesus not say one should seek in order to find, knock so the door would be opened? He’d pined after Rachel from afar, as if she were a palace door unworthy of being knocked upon by a lowly beggar. But isn’t that what God asked everyone to do? Knock, and knock constantly on the Creator and Ruler of the World’s door, though man was sinful and unworthy to touch it?
And those who delighted themselves in the Lord got the desire of their heart.
He would be happy with however God blessed him, and he had been content in the past, but he shouldn’t just wait for things to fall in his lap, right? Not if being ashamed of how God made him caused his hesitation.
God, I’ve never asked, because I’ve been afraid You’d give me that snake instead of a fish when the Bible clearly states You’re a Good Father and would never do that. But even if You don’t help me win Rachel, I know it’s not that You’re giving me a snake, You’re just . . . Well, I don’t know what, but You obviously can’t give me anything if I don’t hold out my hand.
All right then. He cleared his throat and strode toward the door Neil hadn’t quite shut. He wasn’t doing anything drastic, not really, only letting Rachel know he cared and asking if she’d write to him from school. He wouldn’t even demand she think of him as often as he would her—since that would be thirty times an hour. Or more.
Without knocking, Dex let himself in. He took a look around the foyer and glanced into the sitting room. No one. He let out his breath, shuffled to the parlor, leaned against the door jamb, and took his fill of her. The weight of those dark brown curls piled upon her head didn’t bend her creamy, long neck a fraction. Her tongue moved about her lips as they formed half-spoken words as she read, the pages turning faster than should be humanly possible.
At the turn of her sixth page, she stretched and startled. “Dex!” She folded the book in her lap. “How long have you been there?”
“A bit.”
“Spying’s not very gentlemanlike.”
“No, but I’m all right with that.”
Her forehead scrunched, and she glanced at the things in his hands. “What do you have?” Her eyes roamed, taking in the length of him. “And what are you wearing?”
“I’m dressed for the Founder’s Day activities this evening. And I’ve got candy and a book.” He took a glass bowl with a bit of ribbon candy left in the bottom off the shelf and dumped his assortment on top, then shrugged. “I didn’t know what kind you liked though.”
“So you bought several pieces of everything?” She pulled the bowl toward her and sifted through the candy with her fingers.
“Yep.” He twirled a chair across the floor and parked next to her. Sitting astride, he set down the book, crossed his arms atop the chair’s back, and gave her the smile that’d made her blush yesterday.
She dropped her eyes from his and flipped the book to look at the spine. “ Sonnets from the Portuguese ?”
“I like number six. Let’s read that one.”
“If you thought Robinson Crusoe was difficult, why would you attempt poetry?”
“Well, Lily said they’d be good.” And she’d read countless poems to him until number six caught his attention. But he wasn’t going to admit his sister-in-law read to him like a boy unless he had to.
“Good for what?”
“You’ll have to teach me to read number six and see for yourself.”
She took her hand off the book and backed away from the table. “But these are love sonnets.”
“Yep.”
She swallowed hard and took a butterscotch from his bowl.
“So butterscotches are your favorite?”
She pointed at her mouth as if the obstruction of one bright yellow disk was reason enough not to attempt speaking. “Read,” she slurred around her candy.
He pulled the slim
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