The Weaving of Life by Linda Byler

Author:Linda Byler
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781680998757
Publisher: Good Books
Published: 2023-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

WHEN SHE WENT to Look’s Dry Goods in Intercourse and purchased a new roll of fabric the color of a robin’s egg and quickly sewed a dress, she told herself it was for market. And when she bought a new covering, she told herself the market covering had been washed far too many times and was becoming quite limp. She agonized about wearing a sweater, knowing the black would hide too much of the robin’s egg blue, and in the end, with favorable warm weather, she left her sweater at home on the hanger in the closet.

When a prancing Dutch harness, Friesian mix horse appeared in the drive at five o’clock, an hour after she arrived home from market, she was waiting eagerly, her blue dress highlighting the tan on her face, her hair glistening with a fresh application of a new hair polishing balm she had bought.

She knew Levi now, knew him well enough to keep her heart from fluttering, and for this, she was grateful. Poise and maturity. A woman of substance, she told herself.

She smiled. He smiled back, widely, easily.

He climbed down, went around to slide the door back, then watched as she stepped up and settled herself on the blue upholstered buggy seat, before coming back to step in on his side, taking up the reins and saying, “Come on.”

“Your horse is beautiful.”

“His name is Dutch. Can’t get more common than that, huh?”

He had on a sky blue polo shirt, with neatly pressed black trousers, so they looked exactly like a dating couple who had planned to wear matching colors.

“Sorry,” he said, pointing to his shirt. “Wasn’t intentional.”

“It’s fine. New buggy?”

“Yeah. Just got it. You’re my first passenger.”

“Very nice.”

“I didn’t really need it, but my brother Jonas has a bit of a financial struggle right now, and his buggy was in bad shape. So I gave him the old one.”

“Gave?”

“He can’t afford much right now.”

She said nothing but wondered.

“We have a good way to go. You mind? Maybe I should have hired a driver.”

“No, no. I love long buggy rides. I always have. And it’s a beautiful evening.”

It was one of those achingly beautiful spring evenings, when the air seems infused with sweet smells, the trees and blooming flowers almost unnaturally brilliant with colors enhanced by the golden light. They passed women in their gardens, raking driveways, washing buggies, children playing spike ball, men on scooters, cars moving slowly.

“Before we decided to be friends only, I probably would have told you you’re beautiful, but now I won’t do that.”

“Friends can compliment each other.”

“Well then, you are beautiful.”

“I don’t feel like a particularly pretty girl.”

“Your face is more mature. More character. There’s a certain degree of thought about you.”

“Well, that’s a nice spin on being old.”

They laughed easily, happily.

Then, “Do you find that unsettling, the fact that I find you to be beautiful?”

“No.”

“So I didn’t overstep my boundaries?”

“No.”

After that, the close confines of the buggy seemed too intimate, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Involuntarily, she moved closer to the side, and he to his, as a silence taut with unspoken words settled between them.

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