the spread of food before him—all that mattered.
As for Grace, she had two birthday wishes: She wished that the evening might last long past the supper hour. And she wished that Mamma might remain as happy as she seemingly was this very moment.
The sky hung low in the trees bordering the side yard and the pastureland where Judah’s sheep grazed all day. Now that the rain had passed, a dark blue band lined the horizon to the east.
Lettie forced her gaze away from the window as she helped Mandy clear the table. Grace’s friends had left for home, and Lettie wanted to give her birthday girl some time to do as she pleased.
Mamm and Dat had surprised Lettie by staying around longer than usual following such a big gathering. Lettie felt both appreciative and perturbed. Glad, because her mother had an uncanny way of drawing any attention away from Lettie, and fairly annoyed because more than a full hour ago she’d hoped to write another letter.
She assumed Grace’s supper had been everything her daughter had hoped for. Grace had been so cordial, accepting the tatted hankie from her grandmother with a pleasing smile, and later, offering plenty of ooh s and ah s when the Spangler sisters each presented a gift—a floral-covered book of blank pages and a long, thin case of colored pencils. The latter was something Lettie could not imagine Grace using, or even wanting.
Becky had held to tradition, giving Grace a simple homemade card, just as Judah and the boys and Mandy had—except their card had been store-bought. Regrettably Lettie had failed to sign it, thanks to her ill-timed phone call. She hoped Grace hadn’t noticed . . . but then, Grace noticed nearly everything. That was precisely why Lettie felt so anxious now as she inspected the kitchen and went to the next room to pull out a writing tablet, one of three she stored in the corner hutch drawer. She’d always kept stationery there, as well as a few nicer pens.
The pretty yellow lined paper would help to keep her hand straight. Truth be told, she had much to make up for with dear Grace. With all of them, really.
Grace and Mandy were curled up on the floor in the front room, playing checkers. Judah and the boys had naturally been in a big hurry to return to the barn, what with more lambs on the way. It was something of a rarity to have the kitchen table all to herself.
Sighing, Lettie thought again of Cousin Hallie and the appealing way she described her loving marriage in her weekly letters. Was it truly possible for anyone to be so happy?
Heather carried her laptop out to the deck and settled into her mother’s comfy chaise. She yearned to be close to nature, already anticipating the upcoming Pennsylvania trip. Opening her laptop, she began to write.
Seven days have passed since my diagnosis, and I still feel perfectly fine. The whites of my eyes haven’t turned yellow, no fever yet, and I have zero pain.
Hard to believe I’m supposed to be dying.
Well, we’re ALL dying, aren’t we, from the second we’re born. But only some of us get to actually live a full life. . . .
She glanced up and watched a bird in flight, its wings seemingly so fragile. Yet the delicate creature managed to fly using the wind current and its own strength.
“Flying strong . . . just like me,” she whispered, although that wasn’t even remotely true.
Her stuporlike cloud of denial had finally lifted that morning, and Heather wanted to know what she was up against. If she procrastinated on getting her treatment started, what symptoms had the doctor warned might develop?
She typed in the address for WebMD, a credible online resource, and soon discovered her symptoms might someday include weight loss—up to ten percent of her total body weight—heavy night sweats, fevers with no apparent cause, itching, and a cough or breathlessness.
She was confused because she had none of these symptoms, even though the oncologist had told her she was in stage IIIA. That meant the
As for Grace, she had two birthday wishes: She wished that the evening might last long past the supper hour. And she wished that Mamma might remain as happy as she seemingly was this very moment.
The sky hung low in the trees bordering the side yard and the pastureland where Judah’s sheep grazed all day. Now that the rain had passed, a dark blue band lined the horizon to the east.
Lettie forced her gaze away from the window as she helped Mandy clear the table. Grace’s friends had left for home, and Lettie wanted to give her birthday girl some time to do as she pleased.
Mamm and Dat had surprised Lettie by staying around longer than usual following such a big gathering. Lettie felt both appreciative and perturbed. Glad, because her mother had an uncanny way of drawing any attention away from Lettie, and fairly annoyed because more than a full hour ago she’d hoped to write another letter.
She assumed Grace’s supper had been everything her daughter had hoped for. Grace had been so cordial, accepting the tatted hankie from her grandmother with a pleasing smile, and later, offering plenty of ooh s and ah s when the Spangler sisters each presented a gift—a floral-covered book of blank pages and a long, thin case of colored pencils. The latter was something Lettie could not imagine Grace using, or even wanting.
Becky had held to tradition, giving Grace a simple homemade card, just as Judah and the boys and Mandy had—except their card had been store-bought. Regrettably Lettie had failed to sign it, thanks to her ill-timed phone call. She hoped Grace hadn’t noticed . . . but then, Grace noticed nearly everything. That was precisely why Lettie felt so anxious now as she inspected the kitchen and went to the next room to pull out a writing tablet, one of three she stored in the corner hutch drawer. She’d always kept stationery there, as well as a few nicer pens.
The pretty yellow lined paper would help to keep her hand straight. Truth be told, she had much to make up for with dear Grace. With all of them, really.
Grace and Mandy were curled up on the floor in the front room, playing checkers. Judah and the boys had naturally been in a big hurry to return to the barn, what with more lambs on the way. It was something of a rarity to have the kitchen table all to herself.
Sighing, Lettie thought again of Cousin Hallie and the appealing way she described her loving marriage in her weekly letters. Was it truly possible for anyone to be so happy?
Heather carried her laptop out to the deck and settled into her mother’s comfy chaise. She yearned to be close to nature, already anticipating the upcoming Pennsylvania trip. Opening her laptop, she began to write.
Seven days have passed since my diagnosis, and I still feel perfectly fine. The whites of my eyes haven’t turned yellow, no fever yet, and I have zero pain.
Hard to believe I’m supposed to be dying.
Well, we’re ALL dying, aren’t we, from the second we’re born. But only some of us get to actually live a full life. . . .
She glanced up and watched a bird in flight, its wings seemingly so fragile. Yet the delicate creature managed to fly using the wind current and its own strength.
“Flying strong . . . just like me,” she whispered, although that wasn’t even remotely true.
Her stuporlike cloud of denial had finally lifted that morning, and Heather wanted to know what she was up against. If she procrastinated on getting her treatment started, what symptoms had the doctor warned might develop?
She typed in the address for WebMD, a credible online resource, and soon discovered her symptoms might someday include weight loss—up to ten percent of her total body weight—heavy night sweats, fevers with no apparent cause, itching, and a cough or breathlessness.
She was confused because she had none of these symptoms, even though the oncologist had told her she was in stage IIIA. That meant the
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