how to rid herself of his company.
She sighed heavily. “My aunt and I work together. We decide on a pattern, she picks the fabrics. You may have noticed that her hands are crippled. The women from our churchdistrict do the cutting for us. My aunt separates the pieces by color and I stitch them together. When the piecing is done, the quilt goes into a frame and I quilt the front and back together.”
“I figured it had to be something like that. Don’t you prick your fingers while you’re trying to sew?”
She stopped in frustration. “Very rarely. What are you doing?”
“I’m going back to the inn like you told me to do. Is there somewhere else you’d like me to go? You can tell me.”
She struggled not to smile and lost the battle. “I’m not going to the inn. It’s the other way.”
“Then I’m lost. I’ll have to stick with you until you can lead me home. Can we get moving? This cold wind is very bad for my throat.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you left the warm, cozy inn,” she countered, but started walking anyway.
“I hate being cooped up inside. I’m not used to it. I needed to get out for a while. I’ve been grounded for days now.”
“What does that mean?”
“I haven’t been able to fly.”
It clearly bothered him. “Flying is important to you?”
“Very. It’s my job.”
Gideon had talked endlessly about wanting to fly. Some part of her needed to understand why. They turned a corner. The building blocked the wind giving them shelter and a sense of elusive warmth. Rebecca stopped. “What’s it like to fly?”
There was a long moment of silence, then he said, “How can I describe it? It’s freedom. I’ve been inside the clouds. I’ve looked down on mountaintops. Fields and farms below look like one of your quilts. I’ve seen the backs of birds flying beneath me, and I understand what makes them sing.To be suspended between heaven and earth is like no other feeling. It’s…freedom.”
“Walking upon the earth God has made is not joy enough?”
“It never has been for me.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I understand.”
He stepped closer. “I think you do. Because even though you can hear the birds sing you would give anything to see them winging their way across an expanse of bright blue sky. We can’t control what we feel. Some things make us happy. Other things make us sad. You’re sad right now.”
How could this stranger see so deeply into her heart? “Maybe I am.”
“You said you learned you were going blind when you were twenty. What caused it?”
“A simple, innocent thing.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Someone threw a snowball that had a sliver of a pine needle in it. It struck me in the eye.”
She heard Booker suck in his breath and rushed to reassure him it was an accident. “My friend had no intention of hurting me. We were having fun. He took me straight to the doctor as soon as he realized what had happened. The doctor removed the sliver from my eye and we thought everything was fine.”
“But you weren’t fine.”
“No. A few months later, I noticed the color of things starting to fade away. I went back to the doctor. His nurse drove me to see a specialist. There, I learned that I had a rare form of a disease called uveitis. There was little that could be done for me. I was told I would go completely blind within a year or two.”
After a long pause of silence, Booker said, “Your friend, he must have felt terrible.”
“I never told him.”
“Why not?”
“My blindness is God’s will, Booker. Why should I burden the heart of a friend with the knowledge that he was the instrument God chose?”
“Maybe because he had the right to know.”
She struggled against the lump forming at the back of her throat. “He gave up that right.”
“Why do you say that?
“He left the Amish. If his faith had been stronger, I might have told him, but he was gone before I could gather my courage.”
“If
She sighed heavily. “My aunt and I work together. We decide on a pattern, she picks the fabrics. You may have noticed that her hands are crippled. The women from our churchdistrict do the cutting for us. My aunt separates the pieces by color and I stitch them together. When the piecing is done, the quilt goes into a frame and I quilt the front and back together.”
“I figured it had to be something like that. Don’t you prick your fingers while you’re trying to sew?”
She stopped in frustration. “Very rarely. What are you doing?”
“I’m going back to the inn like you told me to do. Is there somewhere else you’d like me to go? You can tell me.”
She struggled not to smile and lost the battle. “I’m not going to the inn. It’s the other way.”
“Then I’m lost. I’ll have to stick with you until you can lead me home. Can we get moving? This cold wind is very bad for my throat.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you left the warm, cozy inn,” she countered, but started walking anyway.
“I hate being cooped up inside. I’m not used to it. I needed to get out for a while. I’ve been grounded for days now.”
“What does that mean?”
“I haven’t been able to fly.”
It clearly bothered him. “Flying is important to you?”
“Very. It’s my job.”
Gideon had talked endlessly about wanting to fly. Some part of her needed to understand why. They turned a corner. The building blocked the wind giving them shelter and a sense of elusive warmth. Rebecca stopped. “What’s it like to fly?”
There was a long moment of silence, then he said, “How can I describe it? It’s freedom. I’ve been inside the clouds. I’ve looked down on mountaintops. Fields and farms below look like one of your quilts. I’ve seen the backs of birds flying beneath me, and I understand what makes them sing.To be suspended between heaven and earth is like no other feeling. It’s…freedom.”
“Walking upon the earth God has made is not joy enough?”
“It never has been for me.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I understand.”
He stepped closer. “I think you do. Because even though you can hear the birds sing you would give anything to see them winging their way across an expanse of bright blue sky. We can’t control what we feel. Some things make us happy. Other things make us sad. You’re sad right now.”
How could this stranger see so deeply into her heart? “Maybe I am.”
“You said you learned you were going blind when you were twenty. What caused it?”
“A simple, innocent thing.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Someone threw a snowball that had a sliver of a pine needle in it. It struck me in the eye.”
She heard Booker suck in his breath and rushed to reassure him it was an accident. “My friend had no intention of hurting me. We were having fun. He took me straight to the doctor as soon as he realized what had happened. The doctor removed the sliver from my eye and we thought everything was fine.”
“But you weren’t fine.”
“No. A few months later, I noticed the color of things starting to fade away. I went back to the doctor. His nurse drove me to see a specialist. There, I learned that I had a rare form of a disease called uveitis. There was little that could be done for me. I was told I would go completely blind within a year or two.”
After a long pause of silence, Booker said, “Your friend, he must have felt terrible.”
“I never told him.”
“Why not?”
“My blindness is God’s will, Booker. Why should I burden the heart of a friend with the knowledge that he was the instrument God chose?”
“Maybe because he had the right to know.”
She struggled against the lump forming at the back of her throat. “He gave up that right.”
“Why do you say that?
“He left the Amish. If his faith had been stronger, I might have told him, but he was gone before I could gather my courage.”
“If
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