I’m sorry, but a bat!”
“It’s just a baby one,” Sarah said, cradling it in her hands. “You must have a colony living in your attic.”
“What?! Bustle! Mr. Bustle!” Mrs. Bustle let out a delicate roar, and Mamm and Sarah looked at each other in fascination.
Mr. Bustle hurried into the kitchen. “What is it, my dear?”
She pointed a shaking finger. “Do you know anything about a bat living in this house?”
Mr. Bustle had the grace to flush. “Not a single one, no.”
“A colony, then? In the attic?”
Sarah had to hide a smile at the interchange between the couple. Mr. Bustle was doing his best to appear calm in the face of his wife ’s near hysteria.
“Maybe a bit of a colony . . . ahem, not a colony, a group rather . . .”
“A group of bats in our attic? And you’ve known about this for how long?”
“Ah, well, that’s difficult to say . . .”
They bantered on while Mamm went back to dusting and Sarah found a warm rag to wrap the baby bat in. She found it amazing how the Englisch displayed their emotions in front of others. She couldn’t recall Mamm and Father ever having such a loud discussion in front of neighbors. She slipped out of the kitchen and found her way upstairs to the attic, taking the gray little mite with her. She entered the darkness without preamble or any thought of turning on the light and gently reattached the baby to the wall near some sleeping adults. She was back downstairs within minutes.
“What did you do with it?” Mrs. Bustle asked, still quivering on the tabletop.
“I put it back with the others; it’ll be fine.”
Mrs. Bustle rolled her eyes, but Mr. Bustle regarded Sarah with a respect that she found hard to fathom but appreciated nonetheless.
CHAPTER 8
S arah squinted against the sun as she tried to concentrate on her stitches for Chelsea’s baby quilt. She ’d come to more greatly realize and appreciate beautiful things, like quilts, among the plainness of her culture. And now, although she still struggled with her precision, the quilt’s small details seemed intensified against the vivid darkness of her skirt. Just like life, she considered, or a flower bloom against the dirt. Quilting was becoming an art for her, one that touched her soul in a place that only growing things had up until now.
She had just bundled her work away and sold her last half-moon pie when she saw the doctor walk down the high road and cut across to the stand. He was visibly upset about something, and she clasped her hands in her lap as she sat back down in her chair, waiting for him to speak. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Tell me, Miss King, are you familiar with a place called Becker’s Beasts and Birds?”
Sarah thought for a moment. “ Jah , about eight miles away up the road, on the left.”
“Have you been there?”
“No—it’s a tourist attraction for the Englisch , I believe.”
He dropped angrily down on the top step of the stand. “That’s right and Englisch owned. It’s a pig sty.”
“I thought it had all different kinds of animals.”
Dr. Williams tilted his head back to look at her and rolled his blue eyes. “A figurative pig sty.”
“ Ach .”
“Yes— ach . They’ve got a sun bear in there. Do you know what that is?”
Sarah shook her head and he glanced back to the high road.
“It’s a very rare and beautiful animal. I did a project on them in high school. It’s the smallest of the bear family . . . reaches only four feet in height. It’s got sleek brown or black fur and it comes from Malaysia, but the coolest thing about it is this horseshoe-shaped marking around its neck, muzzle, and eyes; it looks like it’s been touched by the sun with bright yellow or sometimes tan markings. It eats honey . . . doesn’t hurt anyone . . .” His voice lowered. “Come to think of it, that report . . . the sun bear is probably why I decided to become a veterinarian. To find out about the strange and wonderful creatures God
“It’s just a baby one,” Sarah said, cradling it in her hands. “You must have a colony living in your attic.”
“What?! Bustle! Mr. Bustle!” Mrs. Bustle let out a delicate roar, and Mamm and Sarah looked at each other in fascination.
Mr. Bustle hurried into the kitchen. “What is it, my dear?”
She pointed a shaking finger. “Do you know anything about a bat living in this house?”
Mr. Bustle had the grace to flush. “Not a single one, no.”
“A colony, then? In the attic?”
Sarah had to hide a smile at the interchange between the couple. Mr. Bustle was doing his best to appear calm in the face of his wife ’s near hysteria.
“Maybe a bit of a colony . . . ahem, not a colony, a group rather . . .”
“A group of bats in our attic? And you’ve known about this for how long?”
“Ah, well, that’s difficult to say . . .”
They bantered on while Mamm went back to dusting and Sarah found a warm rag to wrap the baby bat in. She found it amazing how the Englisch displayed their emotions in front of others. She couldn’t recall Mamm and Father ever having such a loud discussion in front of neighbors. She slipped out of the kitchen and found her way upstairs to the attic, taking the gray little mite with her. She entered the darkness without preamble or any thought of turning on the light and gently reattached the baby to the wall near some sleeping adults. She was back downstairs within minutes.
“What did you do with it?” Mrs. Bustle asked, still quivering on the tabletop.
“I put it back with the others; it’ll be fine.”
Mrs. Bustle rolled her eyes, but Mr. Bustle regarded Sarah with a respect that she found hard to fathom but appreciated nonetheless.
CHAPTER 8
S arah squinted against the sun as she tried to concentrate on her stitches for Chelsea’s baby quilt. She ’d come to more greatly realize and appreciate beautiful things, like quilts, among the plainness of her culture. And now, although she still struggled with her precision, the quilt’s small details seemed intensified against the vivid darkness of her skirt. Just like life, she considered, or a flower bloom against the dirt. Quilting was becoming an art for her, one that touched her soul in a place that only growing things had up until now.
She had just bundled her work away and sold her last half-moon pie when she saw the doctor walk down the high road and cut across to the stand. He was visibly upset about something, and she clasped her hands in her lap as she sat back down in her chair, waiting for him to speak. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Tell me, Miss King, are you familiar with a place called Becker’s Beasts and Birds?”
Sarah thought for a moment. “ Jah , about eight miles away up the road, on the left.”
“Have you been there?”
“No—it’s a tourist attraction for the Englisch , I believe.”
He dropped angrily down on the top step of the stand. “That’s right and Englisch owned. It’s a pig sty.”
“I thought it had all different kinds of animals.”
Dr. Williams tilted his head back to look at her and rolled his blue eyes. “A figurative pig sty.”
“ Ach .”
“Yes— ach . They’ve got a sun bear in there. Do you know what that is?”
Sarah shook her head and he glanced back to the high road.
“It’s a very rare and beautiful animal. I did a project on them in high school. It’s the smallest of the bear family . . . reaches only four feet in height. It’s got sleek brown or black fur and it comes from Malaysia, but the coolest thing about it is this horseshoe-shaped marking around its neck, muzzle, and eyes; it looks like it’s been touched by the sun with bright yellow or sometimes tan markings. It eats honey . . . doesn’t hurt anyone . . .” His voice lowered. “Come to think of it, that report . . . the sun bear is probably why I decided to become a veterinarian. To find out about the strange and wonderful creatures God
Similar Books
