Today's Reading

CHAPTER ONE

Ada Yoder stood alone in the field, her hand clutching a copy of A Guide to Your New Pivot Irrigation System, her bonnet ties flapping in the wind, and big, fat tears rolling down her face. She wasn't crying because the pivot irrigation system owner's manual was incredibly boring or because the weather was chilly or because she'd just sliced her finger trying to tighten a bolt on one of the gear boxes. Ada almost never cried. Her tears were as rare as whiskers on a newborn baby. The last time she remembered crying was when Mamm died, almost five years ago, and she'd barely let herself cry even then because there had been sisters to comfort and bed linens to wash and burial arrangements to make. That had been an appropriate time to cry. It certainly wasn't appropriate or sensible to cry now.

She wasn't even crying that the farm needed a new irrigation system and the cost was more than a whole year's worth of income. The tears weren't because of the heavy weight of being in charge of the household or carrying the load of the farm. But would it kill her schwester Beth to milk the goats just once without being asked? Was it too much to expect Dat to open his mail instead of throwing all the bills in a heap on his nightstand? Nae, Ada never cried over such trivial things. She liked being useful to her family, and Beth's laziness made Ada feel all that much better about herself.

Ada scanned the opening paragraph of her owner's manual and found the sentence that had made the tears spring to her eyes in the first place.

Congratulations, it said, you have just purchased the most exciting and innovative pivot irrigation system in the world.

A stiff wind had caught her upside the head and made her realize that her life was even less exciting than a thirty-year-old pivot irrigation system owner's manual. The owner's manual had colored pictures, diagrams, lists, and bold fonts. Ada had clean toilets, three pairs of shoes, and a shotgun she'd never fired. She had a fater who was rarely home, a sister who took her for granted, and a farm that demanded every hour of her life and gave back nothing in return. The land certainly didn't love her or appreciate what she did for it.

Feeling wildly ungrateful, Ada sniffed back more tears. Gotte had been good to her, even though He'd taken Mamm and left Ada to care for her schwesteren. She had a kind, if scatterbrained fater, four adorable goats, and a tidy house. It was a wonderful life.

It was also a wonderfully boring life, no more exciting or interesting than a dog-eared owner's manual. Even more pathetic was that she was crying about it. Who cried over an owner's manual?

Pepper, Dat's border collie, ran past Ada, chasing some sort of critter that eventually disappeared down a hole, yipping all the way. Pepper sniffed at the hole for a few seconds, perked up his ears, and barked twice before loping in the opposite direction on the hunt for another prairie dog or bushy-tailed rat. Pepper seemed never to tire, and he certainly didn't complain or whine about his life. Then again, Pepper's life was much more exciting than Ada's. He routinely chased coyotes and protected small children from danger. Of course he didn't complain.

Ada slapped the tears from her face and refused to indulge in more self-pity. She didn't believe in self-pity. She believed in hard work, sparkling white sheets, and common sense. Ada Yoder did not cry over things like owner's manuals and her dull existence. Last night her schwesteren Mary and Joanna had both announced that they were expecting babies, and surely, thinking about the gute news had moved Ada to tears. For sure and certain that was the reason she'd suddenly disintegrated into a puddle in the middle of the field.

She stuffed the more-exciting-than-her-life owner's manual into a compartment in the tool belt she wore around her waist and gingerly climbed the last leg of the irrigation system like a ladder. Balanced on the pole and holding tight, she pulled a tube of grease from her tool belt and applied it to the bolts that connected the linkage arms. Greasing all the moving parts was maintenance Ada had been in charge of for years. Dat didn't like heights, and Ada was agile and fast and didn't mind climbing things. She hooked her arm around the pole, put the lid back on the tube, and slid it into her tool belt.

Down on the ground, Pepper suddenly broke into a run, barking and carrying on as if he sensed a threat lurking nearby. Ada's gaze traveled toward the weathered wood fence that separated the Yoder property from the neighbor's. A tall Amish man stood on the other side of the fence looking her way. How long had he been there, and why was he staring at her?

Ada wasn't one to spook easily, but her heart lurched, her foot slipped, and she lost her hold. She heard a loud rip as she fell backward, and for one fleeting moment, her only thought was irritation that she'd have to mend her dress. Thank Derr Herr she had quick reflexes. She shot out her hand and caught hold of the vertical pole. Her left shin met the pole she'd been standing on, sending a stabbing pain up her leg, but at least she hadn't fallen clear to the ground. A bruise was better than a broken arm or severed artery.
...

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Today's Reading

CHAPTER ONE

Ada Yoder stood alone in the field, her hand clutching a copy of A Guide to Your New Pivot Irrigation System, her bonnet ties flapping in the wind, and big, fat tears rolling down her face. She wasn't crying because the pivot irrigation system owner's manual was incredibly boring or because the weather was chilly or because she'd just sliced her finger trying to tighten a bolt on one of the gear boxes. Ada almost never cried. Her tears were as rare as whiskers on a newborn baby. The last time she remembered crying was when Mamm died, almost five years ago, and she'd barely let herself cry even then because there had been sisters to comfort and bed linens to wash and burial arrangements to make. That had been an appropriate time to cry. It certainly wasn't appropriate or sensible to cry now.

She wasn't even crying that the farm needed a new irrigation system and the cost was more than a whole year's worth of income. The tears weren't because of the heavy weight of being in charge of the household or carrying the load of the farm. But would it kill her schwester Beth to milk the goats just once without being asked? Was it too much to expect Dat to open his mail instead of throwing all the bills in a heap on his nightstand? Nae, Ada never cried over such trivial things. She liked being useful to her family, and Beth's laziness made Ada feel all that much better about herself.

Ada scanned the opening paragraph of her owner's manual and found the sentence that had made the tears spring to her eyes in the first place.

Congratulations, it said, you have just purchased the most exciting and innovative pivot irrigation system in the world.

A stiff wind had caught her upside the head and made her realize that her life was even less exciting than a thirty-year-old pivot irrigation system owner's manual. The owner's manual had colored pictures, diagrams, lists, and bold fonts. Ada had clean toilets, three pairs of shoes, and a shotgun she'd never fired. She had a fater who was rarely home, a sister who took her for granted, and a farm that demanded every hour of her life and gave back nothing in return. The land certainly didn't love her or appreciate what she did for it.

Feeling wildly ungrateful, Ada sniffed back more tears. Gotte had been good to her, even though He'd taken Mamm and left Ada to care for her schwesteren. She had a kind, if scatterbrained fater, four adorable goats, and a tidy house. It was a wonderful life.

It was also a wonderfully boring life, no more exciting or interesting than a dog-eared owner's manual. Even more pathetic was that she was crying about it. Who cried over an owner's manual?

Pepper, Dat's border collie, ran past Ada, chasing some sort of critter that eventually disappeared down a hole, yipping all the way. Pepper sniffed at the hole for a few seconds, perked up his ears, and barked twice before loping in the opposite direction on the hunt for another prairie dog or bushy-tailed rat. Pepper seemed never to tire, and he certainly didn't complain or whine about his life. Then again, Pepper's life was much more exciting than Ada's. He routinely chased coyotes and protected small children from danger. Of course he didn't complain.

Ada slapped the tears from her face and refused to indulge in more self-pity. She didn't believe in self-pity. She believed in hard work, sparkling white sheets, and common sense. Ada Yoder did not cry over things like owner's manuals and her dull existence. Last night her schwesteren Mary and Joanna had both announced that they were expecting babies, and surely, thinking about the gute news had moved Ada to tears. For sure and certain that was the reason she'd suddenly disintegrated into a puddle in the middle of the field.

She stuffed the more-exciting-than-her-life owner's manual into a compartment in the tool belt she wore around her waist and gingerly climbed the last leg of the irrigation system like a ladder. Balanced on the pole and holding tight, she pulled a tube of grease from her tool belt and applied it to the bolts that connected the linkage arms. Greasing all the moving parts was maintenance Ada had been in charge of for years. Dat didn't like heights, and Ada was agile and fast and didn't mind climbing things. She hooked her arm around the pole, put the lid back on the tube, and slid it into her tool belt.

Down on the ground, Pepper suddenly broke into a run, barking and carrying on as if he sensed a threat lurking nearby. Ada's gaze traveled toward the weathered wood fence that separated the Yoder property from the neighbor's. A tall Amish man stood on the other side of the fence looking her way. How long had he been there, and why was he staring at her?

Ada wasn't one to spook easily, but her heart lurched, her foot slipped, and she lost her hold. She heard a loud rip as she fell backward, and for one fleeting moment, her only thought was irritation that she'd have to mend her dress. Thank Derr Herr she had quick reflexes. She shot out her hand and caught hold of the vertical pole. Her left shin met the pole she'd been standing on, sending a stabbing pain up her leg, but at least she hadn't fallen clear to the ground. A bruise was better than a broken arm or severed artery.
...

Join the Library's Online Book Clubs and start receiving chapters from popular books in your daily email. Every day, Monday through Friday, we'll send you a portion of a book that takes only five minutes to read. Each Monday we begin a new book and by Friday you will have the chance to read 2 or 3 chapters, enough to know if it's a book you want to finish. You can read a wide variety of books including fiction, nonfiction, romance, business, teen and mystery books. Just give us your email address and five minutes a day, and we'll give you an exciting world of reading.

What our readers think...