Christie switched off the engine. They sat there for a moment without saying anything. Peter was looking straight ahead at the tranquil scene.
“Oh, Peter, How I wish I knew what you were thinking.” She turned her head toward the meadow in front of them and whispered, “Listen.”
The birds were chirping high up in the huge old oaks, and the wind played through the leaves. The creek gurgled nosily over the rocks, cows mooed, and a horse whinnied somewhere distant.
“Umm! Don’t you just love it?” She crossed her arms and squeezed herself. “It would be so much worse if you couldn’t see or hear any of this.”
Peter nodded agreement. It was like she could read his thoughts, like she knew what he was thinking.
The smile left her face suddenly. She reached out and lightly touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. They looked into each other’s eyes, and for a moment seemed to share the same thoughts.
Christie laughed, breaking the spell. “That was really weird, wasn’t it?” she said. “You get the blanket. I’ll get the books, drinks and sandwiches.”
She spread the blanket near the water. They sat close to each other. She opened the Apricot book to the first page. Her bare arm touched his, and he smiled.
She began to read;
“An apricot tree grew knobby and tall.
Beside a rickety garden wall.
A yellow-ripe apricot fell from the tree.
Swift as an arrow,
Just missing a sparrow,
It startled a
Bee. The bee buzzed busily, ‘Come and see
The beautiful fruit of the apricot tree.”
Christie turned the page and looked at Peter before continuing. Peter followed the movement of her finger beneath every word.
Oh, Peter. How I wish you could read and write. Then I might know what’s going on behind that handsome face.
Barely above a whisper, she said aloud, “If only I could know you feel the same as I do. I love you, Peter Reynolds. I truly do.”
A new idea suddenly came to her. She was so proud of herself for thinking of it. After she taught him to read, she would teach Peter to sign. They would learn together.
5
Christie
Joshua Ford banged his coffee cup against the table and stared at his daughter across the breakfast table. Christie’s mother, Martha, at the kitchen sink, jerked around at the sound. Joshua wasn’t saying anything, but his eyes were shooting darts at Christie. His anger was obvious.
“Christie? You mother has something she wants to say to you,” Joshua said. “Martha?”
“What is it, Mom? Did I do something wrong?” Christie tried to think what it could be. Surely not about school. Her grades were better than they had ever been.
“It’s the speeding ticket. Sheriff Ferguson told you about the ticket, didn’t he?”
“No, dear,” Martha said and hesitated.
“What ticket?” Joshua demanded.
“Uh oh,” Christie said under her breath.
“We’ll discuss that later. This is about that dumb boy that you’ve been spending so much time—”
“Dad, that boy’s name is Peter.” Christie cut him off. “Peter Reynolds, and he’s not ‘dumb.’”
