With measured movements, she walked around her desk. Once again he noticed how very proper she was. Though all women wore basically the same things, on Clara everything seemed a little bit neater.
Perhaps it was her slim figure? Or the fluid way in which she moved? All he knew was that time and again, his eyes followed her.
And were unable to look away.
She gazed out the window. Tim knew it was up to him to say something next. Say anything to encourage her to talk. To encourage her to tell him what she thought about him.
But his tongue felt tied. “I mean, I think you’re nice.”
She blinked. And as her eyes focused, he noticed some of the light fell from them and shielded her emotions once again. “Ah.”
“I mean, I don’t know what I mean anymore. See, Clara, I came here against my will.”
Her eyes widened. “To my schoolhouse?”
She looked so disturbed that he’d been dragged to the classroom that he almost smiled. Almost. “No. I’m speaking of Sugarcreek,” he corrected gently. “See, Clara, I was happy in my own town. With the way things were. Honestly, it never occurred to me that things could be different. Or that I’d ever enjoy things being different. But now that I’m here—now that I’m becoming part of the town, part of the community, I find myself not wanting to leave. And I hardly understand how that could be.”
He waited for her to nod in understanding. But instead of doing that, she merely looked worried. “Tim, I feel foolish to say this, but I’ve never been part of a conversation like this before. I…I’m afraid I don’t know how to reply to your words.”
He couldn’t help it, he felt let down. “I see.”
“Do you? I don’t. I don’t know how to react when you say that you like me—but you’re writing to a woman at home. When you say that you want to stay here…but all of your obligations are back in Indiana.”
When she put things that way, Tim did realize that his words all seemed to contradict each other. “I don’t mean to be confusing.”
“And I don’t mean to brush off your words like they aren’t important. They are.” Her lips tilted up. “I would like to be your friend. And I would like to get to know you better.”
Tim felt like pumping his fist in the air. Success! She was going to give him a chance. “I’ll take that. So, may I walk you home?”
The most beautiful smile lit her face. “I suppose. As long as you promise to walk slowly,” she cautioned, merriment lighting her eyes. “I’m so tired I don’t think my body can handle a brisk walk.”
“I’ll walk as slow as you want.”
“That may be far too slow for you, I’m afraid.”
“Haven’t you heard? The Lord doesn’t give you any task He doesn’t think you can handle.”
She chuckled. “Part of me doubts the Lord has ever sat in a classroom with food and parents and postcards!”
“Let’s clean up, then. Together we can make this place shine.”
“I’ll settle for a semblance of order.”
Tim chuckled as he pulled open a plastic garbage sack and began to throw paper plates, cups, and napkins inside it. When he started stacking chairs so he could sweep, Clara tackled the piles of papers littering different corners of the room.
Tim was sweeping the dust and litter into the dust-pan when she began wiping down the chalkboard. Then she wrote two sentences on the board for the following morning’s lesson, and he gathered her things and set them neatly in her basket.
Twenty minutes later, they were done. Clara looked around in surprise. “I would have never guessed this room would have gotten set to rights so quickly. We work together well.”
Tim looked at her in appreciation. Her voice had held a hint of a question. Almost as if she was daring him to disagree. But he didn’t at all. “I think so, too,” he murmured. “Now let’s head toward home.”
“I’ll be happy to.” Clara led the way out. After carefully locking the door, she breathed deep and exhaled. They left the covered front porch of the school and stood on the front lawn.
He smiled when he watched her tilt her face up slightly, obviously enjoying the last lingering rays of sunlight caressing her face. He so enjoyed her habit. So enjoyed that she received so much pleasure from a simple gift like the sun. Holding out his hand, he murmured, “Clara, let me carry your basket.”
To his surprise, she handed it to him without hesitation. “Thank you.”
Their fingers brushed each other’s. For a moment, he was tempted to curve his hand around hers. To keep her hand captured under his own. Keep her close.
But of course, that wouldn’t be proper. He let his fingers slide an inch to the left so her hand could go free. “I’m happy to help,” he said lightly.
She simply smiled as they began the descent down the sloped hill toward the main road.
Around them, the trees rustled, reminding Tim that spring was arriving at a feverish pace. Daily, the trees were sprouting leaves, flowers poked through dark ground, and bushes filled out. Birds and deer and all other sorts of animals were having their babies. New life was beginning.
Even the days were lengthening. The sun that Clara seemed to love so much was a little higher in the sky at five o’clock than it was when he’d first arrived.
All of it made him thankful.
She looked at him for a moment before tilting her face up to the sun again, a look of pure contentment shining on it.
For a moment, he couldn’t look away. She looked so happy.
He also realized he was also getting used to seeing her do it. It was a habit he was becoming familiar with.
“You do enjoy the outdoors, don’t you?”
“I do. Yes. Very much. I enjoy the fresh air on my face and the sun, too.”
Only half teasing, he murmured, “I have a feeling you even like winter’s snow and frost.”
“You would be right. Being outside is such a blessing. I like to take time to notice everything around me—to give thanks for the feel of warm rays on my cheeks.”
He was tempted to tell her that he wanted to give thanks for the chance to witness that. He was tempted to ask her why she did it, though. What it meant to her.
But he didn’t. They weren’t that close.
Not yet. Perhaps they never would be.
A feeling of doom settled in as that reality hit him. Perhaps this would be the closest they ever got to each other. Perhaps this time was the only true private time they would have.
They walked for a bit on the side of the road. Their steps were slow and far more contemplative than the same journey he’d taken with Elsa and his cousins after the spring program.
As different as night and day, he imagined.
“I never take the feeling of the breeze on my skin for granted,” she blurted, bringing him back to the present.
After a moment’s pause, when a minivan sped by, she said, “I imagine you know that I had many operations for my scars.”
He looked at her in surprise. Never would he have guessed that she would bring up her scars without prompting. “Jah. I mean, I assumed you did. But I don’t know much about what happened.”
“Well, when I was six a pan caught on fire. My mother panicked and put water on the fire instead of flour or baking soda.”
“So it spread?”
“It did. It jumped and scalded everything in reach.”
“Including you.”
“Jah. Even me.” She frowned, but it wasn’t an expression of self-pity. Instead, it leant itself more toward acceptance. Acceptance but not complete happiness. “Somehow…I have forgotten what happened exactly—somehow a lot of the oil sprayed on me. I was rushed to the hospital and contracted an infection.”
Though she claimed speaking of the accident didn’t bother her, Tim knew it must be otherwise. Every word seemed to be forced through her mouth, almost grudgingly said. But with pure determination. “It must have been a scary time. And painful.”
Tim felt his c
heeks heat. His words sounded so simple. So small compared to the enormity of what she’d gone through.
She blinked. “Yes. It was terribly painful. Those were dark days. I spent much of my time alone and covered in thick bandages. Inside.”
“Which is why you like being outside so much.”
“Exactly. That is exactly why.”
They were near the creek now. The creek where they’d met and he’d been unable to look at anything but her. The creek where he’d asked her if she was married.
And she’d thought he had been teasing her.
As the hills surrounded them, and the trickling water echoed their voices, he turned to her. “But you made it through okay?”
“Oh, yes,” she said without a trace of embarrassment. “I mean, I made it through.” Pushing up her sleeve, she held out her right arm. The skin was different colors. Shades of bright red and white, and blotches that looked almost like bruises. In the waning sunlight, it looked painful.
Even after all this time.
“And so, you see, I look like this.”
“You look all right.” Tim was surprised to realize that he meant it. Now, to him, she did look just fine. The scars were part of who she was. For a moment, he was tempted to stop. Tempted to toss that basket of hers down and push up the rest of her sleeve. He was tempted to run his fingers down her arm. Just so she could feel his touch.
So she’d know that instead of being repelled by her scars, he found them very much the opposite. They made her stronger in his eyes. They made him want to protect her. To hold her. To kiss away any doubts she’d ever had about her beauty.
But of course those were fanciful thoughts.
Of course that could never happen.
Unaware of his wayward thoughts…she squared her shoulders and started walking again. A wry, sad smile lit her face. “Oh, Tim. We know I don’t look in any way ‘all right.’ But I’m here in one piece. The doctors did the best they could.”
“How long were you in the hospital?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe one month? Perhaps six weeks.”
“But then you came home?”
“For a time. But I wasn’t done, you know. A person’s skin, especially when she is small, it grows and stretches. Burned skin doesn’t do those things as well. Over the years I’ve needed three more surgeries to try to help the damage. They took skin from other parts of my body to help.”
“But you’re done now?” Tim wanted to give her a hug. She was speaking so matter-of-factly, but it was also so very evident that she was keeping much of what had happened to herself.
“I suppose I’m done.” She looked at him sideways. “They—I mean the doctors in Columbus—they suggested I go to a plastic surgeon to help minimize the scarring. As bad as it is on my face, and as mottled as my skin is on my arm…I’m afraid it’s worse on my shoulder.”
For a flash, he imagined pulling away her dress. Examining the skin for himself. Reassuring her that to him, she would always be lovely. Then her words hit home.
“So you’ll have another surgery to repair the damage? When are you going to do that?”
“Not ever.”
Confused, he stopped and looked directly at her. “But you just said the doctors recommended it.”
“We can’t afford it.”
“Not ever?” His mind raced. He’d heard of charitable institutions that helped people who needed treatments. Perhaps if they wrote to one of them, explained her situation, told everyone about how she lived so bravely, but yearned for more…
“It’s almost too late now,” she murmured. “And, well, I suppose my mother was right. It is unnecessary.”
“To refuse you help seems harsh.”
“Perhaps. But I saw her point. Already my surgeries cost the community a lot of money.”
Tim could only imagine. Once his mother had been put in the hospital with pneumonia. That one week stay had been terribly expensive. But then he recalled another bit of information. “But I thought your father had insurance?”
“Oh, yes. He did, thank the Lord. I was lucky, indeed. Yes, but even so, it was thousands of dollars. Then he passed away and money became very tight. My mother was worried that the expense of the surgery for something like vanity wasn’t a good idea.”
“Vanity? Clara, I don’t want to sound mean, but there’s a big difference between helping your skin look healed and a fancy lady’s need for a perfect nose or something.” As soon as he said the words, he regretted them. “I’m sorry. All of this is none of my business.”
“There’s no need to apologize. I don’t mind speaking about the surgeries as much as other people do. They’re part of who I am.”
“I think you should go to the doctor now, just to see. If you want.”
“I used to think about it,” she murmured. “Sometimes I’ve sat and wondered what things would be like if that accident had never happened. Now, though, I think my scars let me see the world a little bit clearer than most others see it. I know people can be harsh. I know that bad things can’t always be wished away. It helps to teach the children that, too.”
It was in his nature to want to fix things. “Maybe one day you can still get the surgery.”
“I don’t think so. I’m almost at peace with it.”
Tim felt humbled. He’d heard her use of “almost” and knew she was being completely honest with him. She knew what she looked like, and she wished things were different.
But she was doing her best.
“I think you’re pretty great.”
“Don’t think that, Timothy. All of us are scarred by life. By things that happen. Mine just happen to be on the outside. Bold enough for anyone to see.”
“But the way you deal with things. You are such a giving person.”
“Some would say the same of you. Here you are, living with your aunt and uncle and helping around their farm. All because they asked.”
“It wasn’t that easy, I’m afraid. I didn’t want to come here at first,” he said again. He didn’t know why he cared, but he wanted her to see all of his faults. To know that he, too, wasn’t near perfect.
“That’s okay. Things are more meaningful when they’re more difficult, jah?”
“Yes.” Tim saw her house in the distance. “What will you do now?”
“I’m going to work in my garden. And you?”
“I’ll do some chores. It was nice to walk with you, Clara. Thank you.”
“And thank you, Tim. Goodbye.”
When she walked away, he felt like part of his heart went with her.
Even though they were only friends and could never be sweethearts.
Chapter 14
Lilly was kneeling in the middle of her mother’s new garden, trying to figure out which were weeds and which were cucumber plants when Ty and Anson came rushing through the hedge that separated their land from the Grabers’.
As they raced in front of her—almost stepping on something she knew was a tomato plant—she called out to them. “Hey, you two, settle down.”
Both boys stopped. “Lilly? What are you doing?”
“Trying to garden. What are you two running in such a hurry for?”
“We get to have a sleepover tonight!” Ty replied. “Mrs. Graber said I could spend the night.”
“We’re going to sleep in the barn,” Anson added with a cheeky grin. “It’s going to be scary.”
Just to tease, Lilly frowned. “Are you sure you want to do that? You might not be able to sleep…”
“Oh, we’re gonna get scared in a good way,” Ty explained. “So I need my sleeping bag.”
Lilly looked from one boy to the other and tried to imagine what her mother would say. “Boys, are you sure it’s okay? You’ve gotten your signals crossed with our parents before.” As she thought of the many times they’d “accidentally” come home late from each other’s homes or “forgot” to tell both parents that they were going fishing, she figured a little clarific
ation wouldn’t hurt.
Ty impatiently kicked a clump of dirt. “Yes.”
She was just about to tell her brother to watch where he was kicking when Anson stepped in front of her. “It really is okay this time, Lilly. My mamm said since it’s Friday night, sleeping out in the barn won’t hurt anything. Plus she said she heard the rains are going to start coming. If we don’t camp out now, we won’t get to for some time.”
She couldn’t help but smile at that. Every moment seemed to be laced with special anticipation with these two. “I suppose not. Well, good luck finding a sleeping bag, Ty. I haven’t seen one in forever.”
“That’s because I put it in my room.”
“Oh. Of course. Well, have fun,” she said as she scooted around to the next row of vegetables and flicked away a grasshopper that had landed on something that looked important.
When it chirped and darted off, she jumped a bit herself. So far, gardening was so not for her.
Anson looked intrigued by her antics. Leaning closer, he said, “What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out which green things are weeds and which ones are not. Of course, they all look the same to me.”
Anson looked at her homemade sign, then reached down and pulled up a sprig of green. “This ain’t a green bean. It’s a dandelion. You growing those, too?”
Lilly wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. Taking the plant from him, she shook her head. “No. Hey, how did you know this wasn’t a green bean seedling?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just do.”
When they scampered off into the house, Lilly leaned back on her knees and sighed. The weed in her hand looked green. So did the other little hundred shoots springing from the rows and rows in front of her. “This is hopeless,” she said with a moan.
“Maybe not,” Caleb Graber said as he walked out of the bushes. When she looked at him in surprise, he chuckled. “Mamm sent me over to tell you that she really did give them permission to sleep in the barn. You know how Anson and Ty get with their plans. They aren’t above fibbing a bit to get their way.”
Seasons of Sugarcreek 02. Spring's Renewal Page 10
