by Ginny Aiken
Debbie stepped away from the door and waited for Scott’s return. She noticed that the music was lowered to a more moderate level.
When Scott returned he was not alone. At least six teenage bodies followed in his wake, eyes wide with curiosity. Debbie picked at her wet clothes and wanted to shrink away from embarrassment.
“So what do I need to see?” Scott asked, calm and controlled.
Debbie glanced at the heads behind his shoulders. “Uh … the garden … backyard …” was all she could manage to say with her tongue tied in a fool’s knot.
“Give me a minute, guys. I’ll be right back,” Scott said, pulling the door closed behind him. “Sorry about that. I’m a youth volunteer at my church and this week it was my turn to hold the youth outing at my house.” He shrugged and glanced at her.
Scott couldn’t stop shaking with silent laughter. She looked like a sodden feline, indignant toward the bathing. Ruffled and brittle around the edges, but helpless to change the circumstances.
He followed her around the side of the house to the garden area. Then he noticed abnormally large pools of water. His head swung back around toward Debbie for an explanation. She simply pointed to the tiller that sat at an angle on the edge of the garden plot.
Looking closer at the rotors, Scott saw a piece of broken white PVC pipe. Realization dawned. The pipe he had had laid a month ago was cut and in desperate need of repair. The end of her garden had come right up along the pipeline. Six inches off course and she had hit the buried line.
“How?” He gestured at the mess.
“Well, I didn’t know you had a sprinkler system,” she rushed, stopped, and started again. “The sprinklers came on. I was getting drenched and frustrated, and I guess that is when I got out of my row, hitting the pipe.” Her shoulders sagged. “I’ll have it repaired right away.”
Scott breathed deep. How could he be mad when she looked so distraught? He reached out and cupped her shoulder. The heat of her skin through the wet cotton shirt seared his hand. He reconsidered the action and pulled away, wiggling his fingers in surprise.
“Why don’t we just wait to discuss the problem tomorrow afternoon? If you don’t dig any more and the sprinkler stays off, there won’t be any further damage.”
She arched a questioning brow at him and he spun away on a direct path back to the house. “I have company,” he threw over his shoulder.
Debbie sat on the back porch swing Sunday afternoon. She had chosen to wear a light blue flowery skirt with a lightweight sweater top for a day of church and relaxation. She sat with her eyes closed, one leg tucked up under her, drifting with the sway of the swing.
Grandma was on the front porch visiting with Myrna Yoder and talking to other neighbors who strolled by. It was a beautiful, warm spring day that begged a body to be outdoors. The small new leaves on the trees were bright green and the tulips were opened to catch every ray of sunshine. Debbie loved the clean air and the clear blue sky that was dotted by an occasional puffy white cloud.
After the workout the tiller had given her, her body protested the slightest of moves. She opened her eyes slowly to find herself under inspection. From the foot of the porch steps a small black squirrel gazed back at her. Having grown up outside town, Debbie still found the black squirrels a novelty. They had their origins in Canada, but had drifted south after being released on the Kent State University campus. Their numbers were now quite thick in Dover.
And they could be greedy little snoops. This one tilted his head from side to side, obviously searching for a dropping or handout. Debbie laughed at it, then stomped her foot to shoo it away. The squirrel stayed still a moment and glared at her, then bounded into the shrubbery.
Scott approached the Julian house with a little sense of dread. He knew he would do himself a favor to stay away from Miss Debbie Julian. She confused him, and his reactions to her mere presence were clear signs that this woman could quickly and easily get under his skin— into his soul. But he wasn’t looking for a complicated relationship with an equally complicated individual. He was looking for comfortable friendship, mutual love and respect, a mother of his children, and a partner in Christ. He was willing to wait as long as it took for that woman to come around. He was really in no hurry.
But the vision Debbie created in the white wicker swing with her skirt flowing around her bare ankle and her hair softly framing her relaxed face was enough to stir his desire to know her much better.
He approached the porch quietly. Her eyes were closed and she may have been napping. The only seat available was next to her on the swing. The only other chair held a tablecloth that Maxine was airing. He chose the top step to rest his frame on.
Debbie opened her eyes and didn’t show surprise at seeing him. She watched as he took his seat on the step. He observed that she braided a small section of her long, free-flowing hair in a natural—almost involuntary—motion. Perhaps it was a nervous habit. Did he make her nervous?
“How was your church service?” she asked suddenly.
“Uh … great,” Scott stammered. “Pastor Jim had a wonderful lesson on witnessing. How about yours?”
“Oh, the sermon was something broad about world peace. I didn’t follow it very well,” Debbie confessed, still twining her hair. “Gran’s pastor is a friendly older gentleman, but his tone of voice can really drag on and on.”
“Are there other programs you are involved in like young adults’ or children’s work?” Scott leaned into the conversation. He liked to talk about churches and the work of God’s people.
“No … it is rather small.” She stopped swinging. “I guess … really … if I had the time to look, I would like to find a little larger church with more life … well, you know, activities and excited people.” Debbie leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, a completed braid brushing her left cheek.
“You’re welcomed to visit my church.” Thata way to keep your distance, Robillard. “It’s not huge, but we have lots of young families and programs. I work with the men’s group, the youth, and the Sunday school. I even volunteer with visitation every other Wednesday on my day off.” Scott wasn’t bragging. He really enjoyed his church work.
“Oh, I’d never have time for all that.” Debbie leaned back in the swing with a stunned look on her face.
Scott didn’t want it to sound like he was comparing himself to her. “Now is the best time for me to be active. I don’t have a family, my career is rather predictable, and I still have the energy of youth.” Scott patted his knee. “The joints only creak a bit.”
Debbie smiled. “Sounds easy for you, but I have found working with the school system can be pretty draining on the body and emotions. I don’t need to add that to my free time.”
Scott had seen it before—Christians who gave so much to other things that they didn’t have enough left over for the Lord. He wouldn’t make a case of it. Maybe it was just a sign that her goals weren’t the same as his.
“I want to be involved in Christian work, just maybe not every week,” Debbie said. “I think I am more of a behind-the-scenes kind of person, like with bookkeeping or cooking. And, I’d like to work on praying more.”
Okay, maybe our goals aren’t so different. “Well, anytime you want to visit, the church sits on Glen Street, right where the hill peaks. Maxie had talked about visiting my church, too, but she is worried about leaving her church after so many years of dedication to it.”
“Leave the church? She never told me that,” Debbie said quietly with a sigh.
They sat in silence for several minutes. Debbie had set the swing in motion again. Scott shifted on the hard wooden porch step. He could picture himself introducing Debbie to his church friends. There were a couple of gals he thought she would really fit in with.
“After I pay for the broken pipe, can we call the garden quits?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“No,” he said too loud and too fast. “I mean, why give up on the garden before we even plant the fir
st seed?” Robillard, this is not the way to give each other space. Why has this garden become so important?
“Because,” she drew out the word, “you should realize that it has already caused more trouble than it’s worth.” Scott smiled at her flushed face that so appealed to him, and she looked away. “Besides, planting seeds is like making a commitment to seeing them through to harvest. We are both busy people. Do we really have time to nurse a garden?”
Commitment is an interesting word choice, Scott thought.
Chapter 4
Scott mulled over Debbie’s words as he leaned back against the porch post. “I have been thinking that it is really unfair of me to expect you to do all the work while I benefit from the produce. What do you say to me purchasing some tomato plants and other things for the garden? I’ll even help you set them.” I’m willing to commit myself to seeing where this goes.
Debbie frowned. “You really don’t have to. I can explain to Gran that a garden isn’t a good idea this year.”
“No way. The ground is broken and we are already committed.” Scott rose to leave. “By the way, I’ll be paying for my own piping.”
Debbie couldn’t find her voice. She watched his every move as he crossed her backyard to his own back door. Before entering, he shot her a brief wave. She knew she had been caught watching him.
He was full of surprises and she couldn’t figure him out. Lord, I need serious counseling here. I am sorry I don’t seem to consult with You until I am in a hard spot, but You know this man’s mind and You know I don’t have time to play games. Each time I try to remove myself from him, circumstances bring us back together. Please take away this giddy girlish feeling I get every time I see him and help me make it through the growing season like an adult.
Debbie shoved the swing harder as her thoughts were in turmoil, and she talked to her Lord. Really, his concern for the garden, and me, must be for Gran’s benefit, seeing how they seem to share so much. And now, he has turned the tables so that the garden sounds like his project.
It was time to prepare for a carried-in dinner at Gran’s church. You know, Lord, he would be a lot easier to ignore if he weren’t a single, Christian man. Debbie trudged to the kitchen to pull out her baking pans.
Two weeks later, after the fear of frost had passed, Debbie spent her Saturday morning planting two rows of green beans, two hills of cucumbers, a hill of zucchini, and a row of leaf lettuce. It didn’t take long, and soon she was sitting in the grass planning her next row. She would buy some beet seeds. There would still be plenty of room for six rows of sweet corn. She would put the tall growing vegetable on Scott’s end of the garden—probably on purpose.
“Going to have room in there for some tomatoes?”
Debbie jumped. “Oh, hi, Scott. I didn’t know you were out here.” If I still had that crush, I would be attuned to his every move. She was feeling that she had made emotional progress after only seeing glimpses of him for the past two weeks. He did look good, though, standing there holding a tray of young plants.
She hurried to her feet and stepped into the dirt. “Why don’t I put them along here?” She pointed out a couple rows in the middle of the plot.
“Good. I’ll get a bucket of water and be right back to help.” He set down the tray and was off to his garage before she could voice an objection.
She counted out twelve plants. The help would sure make the job go faster. She hoed a hole to set each plant in. Scott returned and started pouring water in each hole.
“Let me put some bone meal around those plants before we pull the dirt up to them,” Debbie said, retrieving her box of fertilizer.
In no time they were packing dirt around the last little plant. Debbie swiped the hair away from her face with the back of her hand and leaned back on her heels.
“Uh …” Scott tilted his head and pointed to her face. “You have a dirt smudge on your cheek.”
Debbie brushed her right cheek.
“No, the other cheek.”
She tried again.
Scott gave a deep chuckle. “It’s worse now. Here …” He gently dusted her cheek with his lean fingers.
Debbie froze, enjoying the contact. Her eyes met his dark gaze. The sun seemed to glow warmer and radiated from his hair. The moment between them felt so natural … so right.
Scott’s fingers traced down her jaw line. Her gaze was drawn to the thin line of his lips. The air between them was heavy when the screen door on the Julian house slammed, and they both jumped apart at the sudden sound. Debbie found herself unexpectedly sitting in the dirt.
“I think I just rubbed the dirt in.” Scott gave a nervous laugh, then he rose and offered her a hand up.
She hesitated, but allowed his long fingers to wrap around her own. He tugged her to her feet. She quickly pulled away and turned to meet her grandma, her complexion warmed by more than the bright sun.
Maxine Julian called, “Come to dinner tonight, Scott. It has been such a long time since I had you over. I’ll make your favorite.”
“Which would be …?” Debbie asked.
“Why Scott just loves my fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy. Add a side of green beans and top it off with apple pie,” Grandma said, rubbing her bony fingers together.
The meal was also one of Debbie’s favorites. Did Grandma remember? Debbie avoided it, though, in fear of increasing her waistline, but it would be a great treat.
“I can’t wait until we have fresh beans from the garden,” Grandma was saying. “There is nothing that compares to fresh vegetables.”
Debbie cocked an eyebrow toward the tall man. “So will you be joining us?”
“How could I possibly refuse?”
Scott had helped her plant corn that afternoon. They worked well together, and he had let her make decisions regarding the garden. Debbie was starting to allow feelings that this was the kind of relationship that could turn into something permanent. It scared her. Was she letting her desires get the best of her, or was she looking at things rationally? Was Scott really the type of man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with?
Debbie was quiet during dinner that evening. She had placed walls around her emotions again. She felt better that way. There really was no reasonable hope for a future with her neighbor, and she couldn’t afford to be hurt.
She watched Scott devour six pieces of the succulent chicken, observed his easy comradery with Grandma, and felt out of place. She couldn’t blame Grandma for enjoying Scott’s warm charm. Debbie figured that Grandma missed her own son, Debbie’s father, who was still out in Arizona.
She pushed her pie around her plate. It had lost its temptation.
By the end of the meal, Debbie was confident that an intimate future with Scott was a stretch of her imagination. He was Gran’s friend, a neighbor, and not someone Debbie should set her hopes and dreams on. If the Lord were her shepherd, she could trust Him to lead her to the right man, though a better man might be hard to find.
Debbie sorted the pile of college applications and student records on her desk. She had been helping several senior students all Wednesday morning with last minute decisions about continued education. She stretched, feeling her stomach rumble in anticipation of lunch.
Her phone rang and she picked it up using her practiced greeting.
“Hey, Debbie, this is Scott.” His voice sounded rushed.
“Scott?” Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her hair, twisting nervously.
“You know, your neighbor.”
She laughed. “I know. This is just … a surprise.”
“Well … this is my day off and I noticed some trouble in the garden.” He slowed his voice and sounded more thoughtful.
“Trouble? What kind?”
“Just some dogs. They were attracted to your bone meal and, between the two, dug up all of the tomato plants.”
“Oh dear.” Her mind spun. She could hurry home on her lunch break and replant them before the sun scorched their roots,
but she really didn’t have time to leave the office and risk getting dirty. A movement at her door caught her attention.
“I really don’t know why I’m calling. I already righted the plants.” Scott sighed.
The PE coach, Jesse Conner, had stopped at Debbie’s door. He held his lunch bag and a can of pop. He pointed toward the teacher’s lounge and motioned for Debbie to hang up. His antics were comical.
“I guess I wanted to tell you in case I forgot to call you tonight.” Scott’s tone sounded dejected. Debbie shooed the coach away and gave Scott her full attention.
“Thanks. Really, I’d much rather be working in the garden today than in this mound of paperwork.” Debbie wanted to say more, but didn’t know what it should be.
“You know I recently had a memory come back to me. When I was fixing the chain on Maxie’s tiller I was remembering the summer I stayed here with my grandparents,” Scott said. “I remember now that I worked on a bicycle chain that summer on a girl’s bike.”
Debbie’s breath caught in her throat.
“That was your bike. Wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” she breathed. He remembered! Her most precious memory of that summer and he remembered it. He may not recall her silly plays for his attention, but he did remember the ten short minutes that he made her feel like she and her broken bike chain were the most important use of his time.
A delightful chill tickled her arms. “You have a way of rescuing me from my troubles.”
He chuckled. “Well, it’s all in a day’s work. Now I should let you get back to those paper mounds. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, and thanks again.”
Now just where went my determination not to get carried away by this man? He has never given me any indication that he is any more than a friend.
Coach Conner was back in Debbie’s doorway. He had probably never left the hallway. “Sounded like a boyfriend.”
“That? Oh, not at all.” Debbie laughed, though inside she wished things could have been different.
