been ten; Granny Mae, ninety-one. Speaking in a whispery voice, the elderly lady shared stories of her youth, reminiscing about her own parents and grandparents, hardy Texas pioneers.
They came across a portrait taken soon after her marriage, and her great-grandmother’s eyes filled with a soft, distant light. Her thoughts far away, Granny Mae slowly told her of the man Andi had never known. Gazing beyond the colorful flowers that filled the corners of the yard, she took her back across time to the day they met, when Great-grandpa Buck spent half a month’s wages to out-bid five other men for her box supper and the pleasure of her company at the church social. Through those ancient eyes and cherished memories, Andi met the handsome cowboy, poor but proud and full of dreams, his heart captured the first time he saw the new school teacher.
They had more than their share of hardships. Four children came into the world, and two of them soon passed on into the next. They bought a little place and saw it grow, then times got bad, and they lost it all. But love endured. He went back to being a cowboy, working another man’s stock, living on another man’s land, earning his way and providing for his family. He never again possessed land of his own, but it didn’t matter. After he was gone, Granny Mae was still given a home on the ranch, a place secured by the sweat of his brow and the faithfulness of his heart.
Andi would never forget, how, even after twenty years without her man beside her, Granny Mae’s eyes glowed with a love undimmed by time. She confessed that not a day went by that she didn’t think of him, miss him, and long to be in his arms again. Less than a month later, she died quietly in her sleep, and her wish came true at last.
Andi swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. “I want a love like that, Lord,” she whispered. “A love that endures no matter what. A love to pass on.” Her voice broke as yearning filled her heart. “I want it more than anything in the world.”
CHAPTER 8
Early Friday afternoon, Wade pulled away from the tractor dealer’s, the box of parts sitting in the back of the Blazer. “It always amazes me how much a few puny parts can cost. I suppose when a twenty-year-old tractor sells for almost fifty thousand dollars, the parts are bound to be expensive, but it still seems excessive. No wonder so many farmers go under each year.”
He glanced in the outside mirror and changed lanes, then gave her an apologetic smile. “Excuse me for griping. Comes with the territory when you’re around a farmer or a rancher. If we’re not complaining about costs or low prices, we’ll bellyache about the weather.”
“That’s okay,” Andi said with a teasing smile. “I have a toy tractor you can borrow, if it will make you feel better. No spare parts needed.”
He laughed. “Actually, I have a couple of those myself. How many stuffed animals did you say you got this week?”
“Twenty-three, I think. And all kinds of other stuff, much of it homemade. Everything from a jar of ‘Elma’s special watermelon pickles’ to afghans. There are a handful of sketches and a couple of small oil paintings—nice peaceful country scenes to help me mend. A couple of folks wrote poems and hundreds shared scripture verses to encourage me. I’ve read cards and letters until my eyes crossed. It always amazes me when people take the time to write, but when they send gifts, especially the homemade ones, it blows me away.”
“There’s no way you can answer all those letters personally. How do you handle it?”“To most of them, I’ll send autographed pictures with a little printed note thanking them for their letter and telling them that I’m doing much better. I have a secretary in Nashville who takes care of addressing all the envelopes and actually mailing everything. In addition to the photos, I intend to write to the ones who sent gifts. I’ve typed a basic letter on
They came across a portrait taken soon after her marriage, and her great-grandmother’s eyes filled with a soft, distant light. Her thoughts far away, Granny Mae slowly told her of the man Andi had never known. Gazing beyond the colorful flowers that filled the corners of the yard, she took her back across time to the day they met, when Great-grandpa Buck spent half a month’s wages to out-bid five other men for her box supper and the pleasure of her company at the church social. Through those ancient eyes and cherished memories, Andi met the handsome cowboy, poor but proud and full of dreams, his heart captured the first time he saw the new school teacher.
They had more than their share of hardships. Four children came into the world, and two of them soon passed on into the next. They bought a little place and saw it grow, then times got bad, and they lost it all. But love endured. He went back to being a cowboy, working another man’s stock, living on another man’s land, earning his way and providing for his family. He never again possessed land of his own, but it didn’t matter. After he was gone, Granny Mae was still given a home on the ranch, a place secured by the sweat of his brow and the faithfulness of his heart.
Andi would never forget, how, even after twenty years without her man beside her, Granny Mae’s eyes glowed with a love undimmed by time. She confessed that not a day went by that she didn’t think of him, miss him, and long to be in his arms again. Less than a month later, she died quietly in her sleep, and her wish came true at last.
Andi swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. “I want a love like that, Lord,” she whispered. “A love that endures no matter what. A love to pass on.” Her voice broke as yearning filled her heart. “I want it more than anything in the world.”
CHAPTER 8
Early Friday afternoon, Wade pulled away from the tractor dealer’s, the box of parts sitting in the back of the Blazer. “It always amazes me how much a few puny parts can cost. I suppose when a twenty-year-old tractor sells for almost fifty thousand dollars, the parts are bound to be expensive, but it still seems excessive. No wonder so many farmers go under each year.”
He glanced in the outside mirror and changed lanes, then gave her an apologetic smile. “Excuse me for griping. Comes with the territory when you’re around a farmer or a rancher. If we’re not complaining about costs or low prices, we’ll bellyache about the weather.”
“That’s okay,” Andi said with a teasing smile. “I have a toy tractor you can borrow, if it will make you feel better. No spare parts needed.”
He laughed. “Actually, I have a couple of those myself. How many stuffed animals did you say you got this week?”
“Twenty-three, I think. And all kinds of other stuff, much of it homemade. Everything from a jar of ‘Elma’s special watermelon pickles’ to afghans. There are a handful of sketches and a couple of small oil paintings—nice peaceful country scenes to help me mend. A couple of folks wrote poems and hundreds shared scripture verses to encourage me. I’ve read cards and letters until my eyes crossed. It always amazes me when people take the time to write, but when they send gifts, especially the homemade ones, it blows me away.”
“There’s no way you can answer all those letters personally. How do you handle it?”“To most of them, I’ll send autographed pictures with a little printed note thanking them for their letter and telling them that I’m doing much better. I have a secretary in Nashville who takes care of addressing all the envelopes and actually mailing everything. In addition to the photos, I intend to write to the ones who sent gifts. I’ve typed a basic letter on
Similar Books
