Sarah's Garden by Kelly Long Read Free Book Online Page A

hummingbird to me, Miss King . . . like this material here. Tiny, curious, always darting busily around and hiding your bright colors . . . except when you smile with your eyes.”
    She blushed and shook her head, thrusting the shiny material beneath a stack of others.
    Grant laughed. “Too worldly, right? Just think about it.”
    “I can’t. It’s vain . . . almost.”
    “No, it’s a compliment, given truly and without device. You can choose to accept it or not.”
    She swallowed, not wanting to hurt his feelings, but not wanting to believe words of the world, words that rung with intimacy as well as friendship. She decided to put aside her indecision and awkwardly said the first thing that came to mind.
    “I know that hummingbirds like to perch . . . they have weak feet.”
    He looked into her eyes.
    “Knowing that you are probably not being ironic, thank you, Miss King. I think you just made my day.”
    She thought for a moment, then slid the lid closed on the box. “I can’t take these from you.”
    “But you said that you could accept . . .”
    “No,” she interrupted. “It’s not that.” She sighed. “You asked me to tell you the truth. Well, the truth is that I’m not a quilter, not like other Amish women.” She reached past his knees to pull a handful of squares out of her basket. “I’m struggling just to make a baby quilt for my sister.” She glanced at him and offered the box back.
    He smiled at her. “I suppose quilting was somewhere in the back of my mind when I saw the material, but the truth is what I told you. The squares are beautiful just as they are.”
    Sarah let the box rest on her lap and realized that he didn’t care whether she quilted or not. It was a liberating thought. “Thank you, then. I’ll keep them.”
    “Great.” He got to his feet and started to pack the remaining peanut brittle in a basket.
    “Come on. I’ll walk back with you to your father’s farm for lunch and tell him of your visitors. I don’t want him to be alarmed.”
    Sarah stood, holding the wooden box of fabrics. For a few minutes, he ’d made her forget all about Matthew Fisher and his friend, but now she shivered.
    If the doctor noticed, he didn’t say anything; he merely slung up the basket of peanut brittle and waited until she ’d gotten the money box and gone down the steps.
    “By the way . . .” His deep voice made her peer up at him in the bright sunlight. “I’m buying this lot of peanut brittle. Mrs. Bustle, and don’t repeat this, can create a meal out of two sticks, but she is not a candy maker.”
    “You’ll make yourself sick,” Sarah cautioned, eyeing the bags in the basket.
    “I’ll take my chances.”
    S arah dreaded going into the house, knowing that her grandmother was there, but there was no help for it. She sensed the tension immediately when she walked in with Dr. Williams at her heels. Mamm smiled politely, but the corners of her mouth were tight, and Father rose from the table with a furrowed brow, while her brothers paused in eating their lunches. Aunt Ruth and Grossmudder King were in bentwood chairs by the woodstove, drinking tea, and suddenly stopped their rocking. It was one thing to have the doctor over for supper, but it was quite another to bring him unannounced into the intimacy of the family kitchen, when Father and her brothers were taking a break from the fields to eat lunch.
    “Sarah, why are you home from the stand so early?” Mamm questioned.
    “I had a little problem,” Sarah said lamely, sliding the wooden box of fabric squares out of sight behind the counter.
    “I suggested that we walk back together,” the doctor interceded, putting down the basket of peanut brittle. “Miss King had a bit of trouble at the stand with some teenagers, and I happened to come along.”
    Mamm came to Sarah’s side. “Are you all right?”
    “ Jah , Mamm , thanks to the doctor.”
    “What happened exactly?” Father asked.
    “It was Matthew Fisher, Father,