that.
“I can get you some gigs around here. Some coffeehouse things, private parties. Won’t make as much as a venue in Frisco or Vegas . . .”
“Yeah, I know.”
Roy set down his beer on a side table and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “In that case, it must be a girl you’re sticking around for.”
Ben nodded and chuckled. He pressed his hand to his forehead. If Roy only knew. Roy wasn’t the kind that had a new woman every weekend, but . . . well, Ben was sure Roy would be surprised to discovered an Amish girl had captured Ben’s heart.
“That’s too bad, Carrie will be disappointed. Me too. I always thought you’d get together.”
Ben tried to remember the last time he’d seen his former girlfriend—Roy’s youngest daughter. It had been three years at least. She’d been sweet and pretty enough, but once he’d given his life to God . . . well, sweet and pretty weren’t his main priorities.
“Yeah, I know. Things change, but it would be nice to see Carrie again some time.”
Roy grinned and glanced at his watch. “Sometime may be sooner than you think. She went to a movie with a friend. A girlfriend, that is. She’s still not dating anyone.”
“She’s here? In Kalispell?” The calm Ben had about coming exploded like a sleeping volcano, stirring to life in his gut. This was one thing he hadn’t thought about—planned for. He doubted he’d fall for Carrie, like he’d done then. He doubted she’d even compare to Marianna in his eyes. Still, they had a history. She reminded him of how things used to be.
Stirring within was a passion he’d held at bay. Even though he’d recommitted his life and his body to God, the memories were still there. Memories that made his heartbeat quicken and his chest grow warm even now.
“She’s been here a few months, but that’s not why you came. Why don’t you get your guitar and bring it into the studio? I wanna see if you still got what it takes, kid.” Roy rose and rubbed his hands together. “And more than that, I always like a new project to dig my hands into.”
Dear June-Sevenies,
It seems the older we get, the longer it takes for our letters to get around. We used to think we were busy with school and chores but tending to homes and families—and jobs like I have—seem to be more work, don’t they?
Maybe we’ll get back into schedule once the corn is harvested, the silos are filled, and the fieldwork has come to a close for all of you. Of course, here in Montana they run by a different schedule. Outdoor logging has slowed, but this just means the men have moved inside to their workshops. Dat and Uncle Ike have been building log homes. They took a break from that to make crutches for Aaron.
Ja, ja, by now I’m sure all of you have heard of Aaron’s accident. Dat said it was published in The Budget. He’s mending on our sofa, and I do enjoy having him around. I won’t say no more than that. A lady never confesses the secrets of her heart.
I wish I could describe what Montana is like. My words fail greatly. Enclosed with my letter is a postcard from the West Kootenai store. It’s a good shot of the mountains with snow, but the photo doesn’t do the area justice. Maybe next time ’round I’ll ask Aaron to sketch an image of the sky. I truly understand what this Scripture means, “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge” (Psalm 19:1–2 NIV). The air is crisp and bright. Some days when I walk to work I’m sure I could reach out and tap it then watch it splinter into a thousand pieces like fragile glass.
As for work, I like it greatly. There’s another Amish girl who’s a friend and an Englischer, but I don’t know her too well. Jenny is not much older than me and has a daughter of age four. She seems to have many needs, like a good winter’s coat, and I hope I can be of service. Did the Lord not say to
“I can get you some gigs around here. Some coffeehouse things, private parties. Won’t make as much as a venue in Frisco or Vegas . . .”
“Yeah, I know.”
Roy set down his beer on a side table and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “In that case, it must be a girl you’re sticking around for.”
Ben nodded and chuckled. He pressed his hand to his forehead. If Roy only knew. Roy wasn’t the kind that had a new woman every weekend, but . . . well, Ben was sure Roy would be surprised to discovered an Amish girl had captured Ben’s heart.
“That’s too bad, Carrie will be disappointed. Me too. I always thought you’d get together.”
Ben tried to remember the last time he’d seen his former girlfriend—Roy’s youngest daughter. It had been three years at least. She’d been sweet and pretty enough, but once he’d given his life to God . . . well, sweet and pretty weren’t his main priorities.
“Yeah, I know. Things change, but it would be nice to see Carrie again some time.”
Roy grinned and glanced at his watch. “Sometime may be sooner than you think. She went to a movie with a friend. A girlfriend, that is. She’s still not dating anyone.”
“She’s here? In Kalispell?” The calm Ben had about coming exploded like a sleeping volcano, stirring to life in his gut. This was one thing he hadn’t thought about—planned for. He doubted he’d fall for Carrie, like he’d done then. He doubted she’d even compare to Marianna in his eyes. Still, they had a history. She reminded him of how things used to be.
Stirring within was a passion he’d held at bay. Even though he’d recommitted his life and his body to God, the memories were still there. Memories that made his heartbeat quicken and his chest grow warm even now.
“She’s been here a few months, but that’s not why you came. Why don’t you get your guitar and bring it into the studio? I wanna see if you still got what it takes, kid.” Roy rose and rubbed his hands together. “And more than that, I always like a new project to dig my hands into.”
Dear June-Sevenies,
It seems the older we get, the longer it takes for our letters to get around. We used to think we were busy with school and chores but tending to homes and families—and jobs like I have—seem to be more work, don’t they?
Maybe we’ll get back into schedule once the corn is harvested, the silos are filled, and the fieldwork has come to a close for all of you. Of course, here in Montana they run by a different schedule. Outdoor logging has slowed, but this just means the men have moved inside to their workshops. Dat and Uncle Ike have been building log homes. They took a break from that to make crutches for Aaron.
Ja, ja, by now I’m sure all of you have heard of Aaron’s accident. Dat said it was published in The Budget. He’s mending on our sofa, and I do enjoy having him around. I won’t say no more than that. A lady never confesses the secrets of her heart.
I wish I could describe what Montana is like. My words fail greatly. Enclosed with my letter is a postcard from the West Kootenai store. It’s a good shot of the mountains with snow, but the photo doesn’t do the area justice. Maybe next time ’round I’ll ask Aaron to sketch an image of the sky. I truly understand what this Scripture means, “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge” (Psalm 19:1–2 NIV). The air is crisp and bright. Some days when I walk to work I’m sure I could reach out and tap it then watch it splinter into a thousand pieces like fragile glass.
As for work, I like it greatly. There’s another Amish girl who’s a friend and an Englischer, but I don’t know her too well. Jenny is not much older than me and has a daughter of age four. She seems to have many needs, like a good winter’s coat, and I hope I can be of service. Did the Lord not say to
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