Scrappy Summer Read Online Free PDF Page B

strawberries
     on them, as did her everyday dishes. Red was her favorite color, and she loved strawberries.
     Why not decorate her favorite room in the house with bright, cheery strawberries?
     Paige could laugh all she wanted. As if she were one to talk, with all that dark and
     flowery Victorian decor in her home.
    DeeAnn switched the station to NPR and listened to Fresh Air. Martin Scorsese spoke about the language of cinema. He was talking about his obsession
     with it, about light and movement. Pieces of time. The need to capture movement.
    She sat back and looked over her scrapbooking pages, and it struck her that the same
     held true for scrapbooking. It was an attempt to capture memories, yes, but also to
     capture who we were. Our essence. The essence of those whom we loved.
    Well, the new scrapbook was coming right along. She was pleased that she’d gotten
     so many pages done, until she saw what time it was. Eleven o’clock! She needed to
     get to bed. Bakery hours started at four.
     
     
    The next day Sheila spotted Rachel Burkholder at the merry-go-round.
    “Good afternoon, Rachel. How are you?”
    “Fine,” she said. “Just listening to the music and watching the kids. You?”
    It was one of those August days that were so humid that walking felt like swimming.
    “I’m just waiting on Steve. He’s over at the tractor pull again. Will you be at the
     church tonight?”
    “Yes. I’m there every Wednesday night,” Rachel said. “I’m in charge of the food bank,
     and we collect on Wednesday nights. If you have a donation, we’d be mighty grateful.”
    “I might have something. I’ll see you later.”
    Some of Sheila’s favorite people were Old Order Mennonites. But some of her least
     favorite people were also Old Order Mennonites. And Rachel was one of them. She had
     argued publicly with Sheila once about the sin of photography.
    “The Lord says to be humble in all things,” she’d said to Sheila, who was at a craft
     fair, trying to sell some scrapbooking supplies.
    “What does that have to do with scrapbooking?” Sheila had asked.
    “It has to do with the photos,” she’d said. “You know how we feel about them. ’Tis
     a sin.”
    “Well, I think you can believe whatever you want,” Sheila said, trying to be as polite
     as possible, since a crowd of people was mulling around, looking over her scrapbooking
     materials. And Rachel was loud.
    “Has nothing to do with what I believe. The Bible says you shall not make for yourself
     an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the
     waters below.”
    “I’m sorry, Rachel. I disagree with your interpretation. Capturing my family’s memories
     on film and paper doesn’t feel at all like a sin to me. In fact, it feels quite the
     opposite. It has a lot of meaning to me,” she said, feeling her face heat.
    “Humph. What do you know?” She had then turned and said something in German, waving
     Sheila off and scaring off a few of her customers.
    And now what did she have against DeeAnn? Why would she put cumin in DeeAnn’s pie?
     Of course, she still wasn’t certain that Macy was innocent. But if she was, why would
     Rachel do it, other than she really wanted to win that competition this year—even
     though she’d won it for the past three years? Talk about mean!
    Sheila dialed Vera’s number.
    “It’s me,” she said.
    “And?”
    “She’s going to be at the church tonight.”
    “Okay,” Vera said. “Project Food Bank is on. I’ll alert the others.”
     
     
    That evening Sheila, Paige, Vera, and Annie gathered in front of the Cumberland Creek
     First Mennonite Church, all of them with donations for the food bank.
    “It’s probably just about ready to close,” Vera said.
    “Yes. Let’s go,” Sheila said, picking up her bag of canned goods.
    They went into the church by way of the side door, which entered into a hallway leading
     to the kitchen, where the donations were taken. A