by Kelly Long
“Yep, just saw him walking down toward the creek not long ago. Probably headed to the swing.”
“Thanks, Daed.” Seth headed off toward the creek with the letter still in his hand.
The creek—and more specifically, an old tire swing that had been put up near the creek long ago—was one of Abel’s favorite places. Seth was already planning to build a swing in the yard for the boy—one that would go in all different directions.
Seth made his way through a little patch of woods down a worn path that eventually led to the creek. The sunlight filtered through the trees, and a light breeze brought the smell of pine and a hint of something sweet, almost mint-like. The creek came into view, and then Abel, making the old tire swing as fast as he could.
“Hiya,” Abel said. “Swinging.”
“I see that,” said Seth. “Want a push?”
“Nope.”
“You about ready to head home? Don’t want to miss Mamm’s lunch, do we?”
“Nope,” said Abel. “Let’s go.”
Abel leaped off the swing in mid-arc and tumbled head over heels into the weeds by the creek bed. But he got up quickly and seemed unharmed.
“That was quite a tumble,” Seth said. He brushed the dirt from Abel’s pants. “Before we go, I have something to tell you.” Abel remained silent, so Seth forged ahead. “You know I love your mamm, and I love you too.”
As Seth spoke he unconsciously reached out to Abel and put his hands on each of Abel’s shoulders, drawing in close. “This letter came in the mail today. It says that I’m your daed now. You’re my sohn, Abel, and—”
“Lemme go!” Abel cried out. He wrenched himself from Seth’s grasp and ran as fast as he could up the path toward home.
“Abel, come back, I—” Seth ran after him, calling, but he tripped over the root of a tree and fell forward, hitting his chin hard on the ground. When he regained most of his senses, he sat up and took inventory of his aches and pains. His ankle felt twisted and his chin was pulsing with pain. The pages of the letter were crumpled and caked with dirt from the impact of the fall.
“Ach,” he muttered. “That could not have gone worse.”
Seth picked himself and the letter off the ground and limped toward home.
CHAPTER 50
I want to see the bishop,” Abel declared to Seth. They were in the barn together, doing chores and not talking, after the incident at the tire swing.
Seth wasn’t sure if he’d heard right. “What was that?”
“The bishop—you know, the old man who makes the rules. I want to talk to him.”
“Okaaaay.” Seth wondered how in the world a conversation between the unpredictable old man and the child would go.
“Can you take me now, in the buggy?”
Seth glanced at the barn door. “Should we tell your mother first?”
Abel shook his head. “No. Maybe it won’t take long.”
So Seth harnessed up and set off with Abel in the middle of the workday. He waved to Jacob, who stopped to stare at them going by, then refocused on the road and the brief trip to the Loftus house.
“Okay.” Abel hopped out. “You stay here. I’ll be back.”
Seth set the brake and waited, watching Abel bravely march up to the front door. Fraa Loftus answered, let Abel in, and waved to Seth. In a few minutes, Abel popped back out of the house and clambered into the buggy.
“Okay. We can go home now.”
“Well, what did you do or say?”
“Nothing.” Abel shrugged. “Just something I was supposed to.”
Two days later Jacob and Lilly were hosting Meeting. Seth had gone over to help set up the benches the day before, and Grace had come to help with the food preparation.
It was a normal Meeting until the end. Then the bishop stood up to speak to the community. As soon as the bishop got up, Seth felt a premonition, a gripping in his stomach. His fears were realized when the bishop began to speak.
“It has come to my attention, through a young but very wise member of our community, that we need to have a discussion about arts and crafts.” He cleared his throat. “You all know that there is no beauty without purpose. Now, some among our community make quilts that are representative of our lives; some weave baskets to show our togetherness. And some, I have come to learn”—he cleared his throat—“paint.”
There was a faint rustling from the congregation and Seth held his breath. Then the bishop started to unroll a large paper. For one wild moment Seth thought he had gotten hold of one of his paintings. But what the old man held up to the crowd was an ancient cracked parchment.
“Do you recognize it?” the bishop asked. “It’s a marriage certificate from the early 1900s. I want you all to pay particular attention to the detailed art that frames the words. We call it fraktur. It was done primarily with pen and colored ink, but some fine-lined painting was also involved. It is an old art, one that has faded away. One from the time when we as Amisch were one group, not divided into Old Order and New Order and such doings. But it is art.” He rolled the parchment back up and set it aside.
“Seth Wyse, will you come forward, sei so gut?”
Seth’s feet propelled him to the front as if by automation. He looked out at the crowd and caught Grace’s worried eyes and Abel’s calm expression.
“The only thing that requires confessing here is the secret, sohn,” the bishop murmured to him. And then Seth realized what he meant. He straightened his spine.
“I have to tell you all that I paint. I’ve done it for some time—in secret, hiding it from all but my family. I don’t paint for vanity, or simply for aesthetic reasons. I paint because Gott put it in my heart, and I guess the bishop is making the point that my secretiveness is what is graven about the art. In truth, I have always felt it a gift from the Lord that might be used to benefit the community, to draw us closer as one, to represent our ways and doings so that we have a pictorial legacy to pass on to our children.” He looked straight at Abel.
Bishop Loftus reached up and clapped him on the shoulder. “Is it the will of the community that Seth Wyse be forgiven for his secretiveness, and that he may paint with joy before the Lord?”
There was a rousing affirmation. Seth felt his eyes fill with tears.
Afterward, he stood at the front with the bishop and received greetings and blessings from the community. When Abel got to him, he reached down and swung the boy up in his arms. “So you told the bishop?”
“Yeah,” he said, being still for only a moment, then squirming. Seth put him down and the boy looked up at him soberly. “I love . . . Fater.”
Seth swallowed hard and felt there could be no more joy in his heart. “I love . . . sohn.”
CHAPTER 51
The honeybee quilt was finished. Grace spread its ample folds over the master bed with calm purpose. It was a beautiful moonlit night, and the mellow evening poured in through the open window. Lightning bugs flickered outside the screen, and the crickets chirruped in sweet chorus.
Seth came in damp, disheveled, and shirtless, obviously fresh from a bath in the creek. He took one end of the towel around his neck and rubbed at his wet hair.
“So it’s finished?” He ran an appreciative hand over one of the squares.
“Jah, and truly, Seth, it’s for you. I made it with you in mind the whole time—since, well, the bee-stinging day and all.”
“Why the bee-stinging day, Grace?”
She sighed. Here was the sticky part, but she’d determined it must be said.
“That was the day I think I fell in love with you.”
She closed her eyes and took a breath, trying to still the trembling inside. She had never said those words to anyone, and it felt like an enormous risk. In saying them, she made herself vulnerable to him—and she knew all too well how much damage could be done when you were vulnerable to another human being.
For a moment or two, silence stretched between them. Then she opened her eyes to find him gazing at h
er. “Grace—ah, Grace, I have waited so long to hear you say those words. I never thought you would. I thought you would always think of me as some immature kid who took advantage of the situation and stole your life while I was able.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ve never thought that. I’ve learned so much about God from you, and so much about myself. But that day, with the bees, you drew out the poison stingers with your mouth. I’ve begun to realize that you’ve always been willing to do that—take the poison of the past from me and turn it into something renewed and beautiful.”
He laid his head on her shoulder. “Just as the Lord does, my beautiful wife.” Then he broke from her suddenly. “Stay here,” he whispered. “I’ve got to run upstairs and get something, all right?”
Soon he came pounding back down the steps.
“I told you once that I wasn’t painting you the way that I wanted,” he said. “This—this is what I truly see.”
He held out the canvas.
It was a pond of perfectly still water, deep and green and shaded, a bottomless pool in the midst of a rushing river. Upstream the water cascaded down over the rocks in a torrent so realistic that she could almost hear it. Beyond the still place, the river went on downstream in a gentle, peaceful current. Behind, on the other side of the river, rose up layer after layer of majestic, mist-clad mountains. And in the foreground, on a large boulder, sat three figures with their backs to her. A golden-haired man, a dark-haired woman, and a child, all wrapped together in a beautiful quilt.
She sank down onto the bed, overcome by the wonder and awe of it.
“It’s a portrait of grace,” she said in a whisper. “Grace like the mountains, strong and solid and eternal. Grace like the rushing river, and like the deep, quiet pool. Grace like the rocks, a firm foundation.”
“And grace like the quilt,” he said. “Pieced together from all the different experiences of our lives into something warm and beautiful.”
“And what of the loose threads?” Grace asked, pointing to a few random strings that straggled from a frayed edge of the quilt.
“Those,” he said, “are the threads of grace that bind us all together.”
She took a breath and swallowed back the tears. “Thank you.”
“For painting the picture?”
Grace shook her head. “For that, jah, of course. It’s incredibly beautiful. But thank you even more for the vision of it. For seeing me that way. For loving me.”
He sank down on the bed next to her. “Loving you,” he said, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever done.”
Seth looked at her, and his eyes held more than she ever thought possible. More love. More promise. More hope.
The fear was gone.
And all that was left was the love.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
for Sarah’s Garden
1. In what ways does Sarah know that God is speaking to her and helping her make decisions in her life? How does God guide you in your own life?
2. John 5:16-18a says: “So, because Jesus was doing these things on the Sabbath, the Jews persecuted him. Jesus said to them, ‘My Father is always at his work to this very day, and I, too, am working.’ For this reason the Jews tried all the harder to kill him;” Do you think Sarah broke the law of not working on the Sabbath when she helped Grant learn to set up his own garden? Was it perhaps an act of service?
3. What vulnerabilities does Grant experience due to the loss of his parents at a young age? How can personal loss ultimately produce strength in an individual?
4. How do cultural differences, like those between Sarah and Grant, make it difficult at times to form relationships or friendships?
5. How is Sarah’s quilting cathartic for her during this uncertain period in her life? Do you think being creative can help you solve difficult problems?
6. What keeps the Bustles “young at heart” despite their age? What are their secrets for living a happy and abundant life?
7. What is the meaning of community in this story? How does community extend beyond the boundaries of where people live or what they believe?
8. Why does Grant become Amish? Why does his conversion have to depend on more than just his love for Sarah?
9. How are the seasons of the gardens in the story reflective of the character’s lives? Why are the gardens, both Sarah’s and Grant’s, symbolic of their love?
10. What are the hidden meanings of the various deer in the story—the one at the creek, the one on the road, and the one in Grant’s past?
11. Why does Grossmuder King get away with her attitude? How would you respond to someone like her?
12. Describe the relationship between Sarah and Luke. How do they function as both siblings and friends?
13. How does Sarah grow up and change throughout the story? How do these changes reflect in what she says and does?
for Lilly’s Wedding Quilt
1. How does Jacob’s idea of focusing on the moment of “now” both help and hinder his life?
2. Jealousy often flares up in Lilly’s life. What is a jealousy that you have struggled with personally? How can God help you handle jealousy when it happens?
3. Jacob prays about “choosing” to love his wife. What is the difference between the “feeling” of love and choosing to love?
4. Lilly’s mother battles clinical depression. Have you or a loved one ever had to face this disease? How did you go through it? How did God help?
5. The bishop points out a difference between joy and happiness. What difference do you see in these two in your own life?
6. How does fear often keep Lilly from experiencing abundant life? What do you fear the most?
7. How did Abel’s reaction to Kate’s destruction at the schoolhouse change the moment in the story?
8. How does Seth and Jacob’s relationship add to the development of the story?
9. Why is a quilting important to Lilly? What symbol is important in your own life?
10. How does the truth play a role throughout the story?
for Threads of Grace
1. How does God use new beginnings in our lives to renew our faith like He does for Grace and Seth?
2. Abel is a unique child. How do you deal with people who seem very different to you and your way of doing things?
3. How does Grace’s relationship with her mother-in-law show us that we can be mothered in a multitude of ways? How are you mothered?
4. How do animals play a role in this story? How do animals affect your own life?
5. Grace faces many difficult and enormous decisions in her life. How do you feel God’s leading when you have a decision to make?
6. How does Seth’s relationship with his brother aid his life? Do you have a friend like this?
7. How does evil become “used for good” in this story?
8. How does God love us unconditionally, in much the same way that Seth loves Grace, even when we feel lacking in beauty on the inside?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
for Sarah’s Garden
First and always, for Scott, my rose and the one true love of my life—you’re my best friend.
For Scott II and Dutch Wolfe, Grant, Gracie, Grace, and Joy—I love you all.
For Sara, who gave up home and hearth and exercise to give me peace and security and a safe place to write. I look forward to spending eternity with you.
For Dad and Mom, who believed in me and actively worked to make this book a possibility.
For my mother-in-law and father-in-law, who are always praying.
For Ruth and Faith, who were here from the start and who gave up their vacation to help.
For Noelle and her wonderful photography skills—you’re walking sunshine!
For Gramp and Grambo who pray.
For Tamela Hancock Murray, my agent, who makes me feel like I’m her only client.
For Mrs. Ring and Marti—thanks for the day in the pool and on the farm.
For Anna, my friend.
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sp; For Donna and Mobile Masterpieces, who made the kids happy while I wrote.
For Dr. Kelly, vet to the Amish and the source of all veterinarian knowledge herein.
For Dan Miller, who told the truth.
For Julie, who believed and cheered.
For Berkley, who gave good feedback.
Especially for Gaye Orsini, who edited, gave me stories of love, and who knows how to quilt.
For Natalie Hanemann, my editor and “internal cheerleader.”
For Dottie at the Bookmark and Mr. and Mrs. Massey, who prayed.
For the Amish people of North Central Pennsylvania, of Rote and Beech Creek—thank you.
For all of you, friends, family, and anyone I’ve neglected to mention—thank you for helping me on this wonderful journey of faith.
for Lilly’s Wedding Quilt
I would like to acknowledge the following special people who aided in the creation of this story:
For my husband and family, especially my mother-in-law, who constantly supports my writing efforts.
For my editor, Natalie Hannemann, who constantly encourages, strengthens, and helps me to grow in my work.
For the praying staff at Thomas Nelson.
For Lissa Halls Johnson, my line editor—a master at what she does.
For Brenda Lott, as always, my friend, brainstorming partner, and part of my heart.
For Natasha Kern and her encouragement of my reading The Moral Premise.
For Scott II and his words to keep me going.
For Donna Boudakian, who gave me precious laughter.
For Judy Murphy, who supported my efforts to write.
For the Prayer Room at JFBC.
And for the Amish people of the North Central Pennsylvania mountains.
for Threads of Grace
I would like to honor God, our Father, for the personal grace that He extends to me. I would like to bless Penny Stokes, without whom there would truly be no book here. Thanks in abundance also to Natalie Hanemann, Daisy Hutton, and my friend Brenda Lott. Thank you also to my agent, Natasha Kern, and to the staff at Thomas Nelson. I’d like to thank Beth Wiseman for her witness to me and also my family who prayed. Thank you to the Amish people of this world—long may they prosper.
