Free Sarah's Garden by Kelly Long

coolness restoring her calm, until the doctor placed his hand over hers, following her movements in the ground.
    “Like this?”
    “ Jah ,” she murmured.
    He threaded his fingers through hers, and she could feel the weight of his large hand. “And then the seed?”
    “Yes . . . point down, if it has one.”
    “All right.” He still held her hand in the cover of the dirt and used his other to push the seed into the small opening.
    “And then we . . . you just cover it.” She swallowed as she watched their twined fingers moving through the rich earth. She let her hand relax against the pressure of his own and felt her breath come out in a rush when the hole was filled and he still held her hand against the ground. She looked over at him and felt like she might drown in the intensity of his eyes. She dropped her gaze to his firm mouth and wet her lips.
    “Water,” she managed.
    “Hmm?” His voice was a deep, timbered rumble.
    “You need to wet the ground.” Luke declared, pouring water from a tin watering can over the clasp of their hands. They both jumped, pulling apart.
    “ Danki .” Sarah looked up at her brother, who regarded her with a frown. She rose and the doctor did the same, clearing his throat.
    “If you would allow me, Miss King, I’d consider it a privilege to see your own garden sometime.”
    She nodded and was about to speak when her brother James came around the back of the house.
    “Dr. Williams, if you could come, please—the bishop’s favorite cow is down; he’d appreciate you making a call.”
    Grant nodded, then turned to grin at Sarah. “My first house call here,” he murmured. “Pray for me. I’ll get my bag.” He hurried off and she avoided looking at Luke, who’d come to stand beside her.
    “You’re playing dangerous games, Sarah,” Luke announced, shouldering his shovel. And when she would have protested, he shook his head. “And no, I’m not telling Father and Mamm . I like the doctor too, but you—you’d better stick to a good Amish man.” He started to walk away.
    “Where are you going?” Sarah found her voice at last.
    “To ride with the Englischer to the bishop’s.” He grinned back at her. “He ’ll need directions.”
    P ray for him. Pray for me , she thought. She could not be trusted, even though her parents had told her that they believed in her. And then Jacob’s mocking words and Luke ’s warning . . . it was all too much. She was just being neighborly, she rationalized. Yet she found the doctor so unlike anyone she ’d ever met in the community. Yes, he was worldly, with his electricity and casual talk, but he was also kind and sincere.
    She rubbed her shoe in a patch of the earth and thought of how to pray for him. Then she began to walk around the perimeter of the unplanted garden, moving and praying at the same time. She asked for blessings on the doctor’s home and on his work. And she prayed unbidden words from her soul that he would be healthy and happy, and greater still, accepted by the Amish community around him.

C HAPTER 6
    W hen the red sports car swung onto the bishop’s lane, Ezekiel Loftus, Grant was amazed to see more than a dozen buggies assembled outside the large farmhouse and barns.
    “Church meeting?” he asked Luke.
    “New vet.”
    “Ah.”
    He grabbed his bag and a box of generalized “downed cow” equipment and headed for the largest barn. It was stuffed to capacity with Amish folk, a few onlooker animals from side stalls, and one hapless ill cow, proclaimed as Tweet, lying bloated in despair in the middle of the barn floor.
    Milk fever; stage three , Grant thought with a silent groan, and he had no idea of what steps had already been taken to “help” the cow. He’d discovered early in his studies that finding out what a client had already attempted was not always easy. He’d pried information out of self-prescribing, helpful owners that ranged from dandruff shampoo to garlic bologna and everything in