A Mending at the Edge by Kirkpatrick Jane

Author:Kirkpatrick, Jane [Kirkpatrick, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Doubleday Religious Publishing Group
Published: 2009-09-21T06:00:00+00:00

It was Almira who insisted. “You told me you’d written to a friend, inviting her to meet you at the fair, remember? It’s what you were doing when you found me. What if she came and you weren’t there?”

Brita would understand; I was certain of that. Besides, I had no way of knowing whether she’d even gotten my letter, and she’d told me she didn’t like fairs anyway.

“And there’s the class. Doesn’t it start soon?” Almira said. “Have you already missed a session?”

“That’s a dream,” I said.

She sighed. “I guess we aren’t supposed to wish for things. Once I remember saying, after all that happened, that if I could just have a good night’s sleep, I’d be happy. Now I have that, and I feel guilty that I have that little gift of sleep.”

“Even the apostle Paul said, ‘I think myself happy,’ and that must mean that we’re meant to be happy,” I replied. “Pursuing something that matters is a part of our nature. I’m glad you’re sleeping better, and now that you are, you can wish for new things. But I don’t know if I wish to go to the fair. Too many reminders of when the boys were with me there.”

“Walk about it,” she said, a phrase I knew meant to walk that puzzle, to see what answers might come from my time there.

Instead I walked to talk with Keil. I kept my eyes alert for Andy and Christian. School was in session, but one never knew when the children would be studying botany beneath the trees. Music floated up from the grassy area near the Keil and Company Store. Henry C led the music class. Chris Wolff brought his lectures out under the trees as well, and I could see my Christian sitting there, his face scrunched in concentration. Chris read from the classics. Apparently, I walked too close, for Chris Wolff looked up at me and smiled, and when he did, my son looked up too.

“Mama!” He ran to me. “Where have you been?”

I squatted down to his level. “Working, as always,” I said.

“Martin lets me help with the bottles, not just Andy,” he told me proudly. “I’m working too.”

“That’s a good boy,” I told him.

“Martin says we can come for supper soon. Can we?” I brushed his reddish hair away from his eyes. “Please? I’m sorry for whatever I did. I won’t do it again.”

I tried to keep from crying. Seeing them was so difficult for me, yet not finding ways to be with them was breaking Christian’s heart. “Anytime you want,” I said.

“Ja, by goodness,” he said, reminding me of Karl. “I’ll tell Martin and Andy we can come soon.”

He hugged me quickly, ran back, and sat down. He waved at me once, then returned his eyes to his teacher.

Maybe the boys expected our family to be as my mother had said, sometimes with me, sometimes with their grandparents, sometimes with an uncle. Maybe that’s all our family had ever been, this hodgepodge of people separated by our desires to serve.

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