because of me?” Richard had often wished that he had a mother and sister to teach him about women. Though his occasional confusion didn’t diminish his interest.
“Every time I think about what you did for me . . . the gratitude I feel overwhelms me. I owe you so much.”
Now it was Richard’s turn to be embarrassed. He had always found it difficult to take praise. He never knew what to say. “I’m glad the Lord put me there to help.” As Richard said that, he wondered if Melissa would understand what he meant. The words came out before he realized Melissa might not be a fellow believer.
“I’m glad He did, too.” She continued, “My parents would like to meet you, Richard. I believe they want to thank you for saving their only child. I promise they won’t get emotional—and I promise not to also—but it would mean a lot to them if you would let them invite you over for dinner. Of course, I’d be there, too.”
“Well, sure, that would be nice.” Melissa’s last words prompted a quick response of agreement from Richard. Seeing the attractive runner again in better circumstances was a pleasant prospect.
Richard and Melissa agreed on a date and time, and said their good-byes.
During the phone conversation, Mac had gone to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. When he walked back to the living room, he found Richard smiling to himself and humming a little tune.
“A bonny lass?” asked Mac.
“A bonny lass, Uncle. My damsel in distress.”
The Scot patted his nephew on the shoulder.
“Well, I’m off to my bed, Richard. I’m feelin’ a bit tired.”
As Mac headed for his room, Richard heard him quoting lines from Robert Burns. His uncle often found occasion to share lines from his favorite poet.
“Ay waukin, O,/Waukin still and weary:/Sleep Ah can get nane,/Fur thinkin’ o’ my Dearie.”
4
Dividing of Time
Ouch!” Richard bellowed as he danced around on one foot. Clad only in a sock, his other foot had come down hard on a nailhead protruding from one of the old porch floorboards.
“I guess city boys are supposed to wear shoes,” he muttered to himself.
As the pain subsided, Richard eased himself into the Adirondack chair that stood guard, and planted his feet on the railing, and sipped the coffee from the mug he’d placed on the chair arm. He watched a gray squirrel dig at the base of the 40-foot slippery elm that dominated the front yard. The early-morning sunshine—making amends for yesterday’s rain—promised a beautiful day.
“It’s gude to see ye relaxin’ and takin’ time to appreciate God’s creatures, laddie,” said Mac, making an appearance on the porch.
Richard glanced up, smiling, “Uncle, do you have squirrels in Scotland?”
Richard didn’t see the mischievous smile flicker across his uncle’s face. “No, no squirrels in Scotland are awaitin’ my return. But the countryside has plenty o’ them.”
Richard, used to Mac’s teasing, chuckled at the thought of his uncle keeping squirrels in Scotland. “I thought the Scots raised squirrels to save money on food.” In spite of Mac’s innate generosity, Richard liked to kid his uncle about Scots being thrifty.
“What a scunner!” snorted Mac in a tone of pretended disgust. “I’ll have ye know that Scots make better use o’ squirrels than that. We train them to go up in trees and gather nuts by the bushel. It’s an amazin’ sight to watch these creatures puttin’ choice nuts into a sack tied to their necks. And when they get too old to climb, the Scots teach them to sweep porches and walkways with their tails.”
Richard laughed and shook his head in acknowledgement of Mac’s superior “gift o’ the gab.” When Mac failed to embroider his story, as he customarily did, Richard turned in his chair to look at him. He saw that his uncle was staring at the neighbor’s yard across the street.
“Those poor roses over there,” said Mac sadly. “Mr. Galiger simply doesn’t know the first thing aboot roses. He prunes them as if he’s prunin’ a mulberry bush.”
“How should he prune them, Uncle?”
“With roses, ye must prune from the inside out, so that the plant grows up and out.” Mac extended his arms outward above his head to describe this desirable growth. “He prunes from the outside in, and cuts branches too far above the joint; he leaves stumps where disease and bugs can attack the plant.”
“Why don’t you tell Mr. Galiger how to prune? He can see how good your roses look.”
“Di’ ye think my head buttons up at the back, laddie?” Mac patted the back of his head. “I canna think o’ a better way o’ upsettin’ a neighbor than to tell him how to grow his roses. No. I must be patient and wait ‘til he asks my help, which I would gladly give.”
“When do you think Mr. Galiger will come to you for help?” Richard couldn’t picture their neighbor, who was always in a hurry, taking time to learn how to tend his roses.
“Well, my boy, when the time is right. Remember, ‘To everythin’ there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven,’ includin’, ‘a time to keep silent and a time to speak.’ It’s natural when ye’re young, laddie, to want to hurry time; waitin’ becomes painful. And when ye’re older, ye want to slow time doon, and waitin’ then has a meanin’ o’ its own.”
“Well, yes, it’s true, Uncle. I hate waiting to do something. I mean if it’s something that needs doing, I want to do it now. Speaking about time reminds me, I need to start looking for a summer job. After all, I’m not independently wealthy.”
“Ye may not be ‘independently wealthy,’ but your folks’ estate has enough left to pay your way through graduate school. In the meantime, ye don’t have to worry aboot expenses. I’ve enough money for both o’ us. Say, why don’t ye do somethin’ for fun today and maybe later we can watch a video or play some draughts.”
“Draughts? Oh, you mean checkers. Sure. Maybe if we played more often I’d remember. Why don’t Scottish people just say checkers?”
“I can tell ye, the Scots wonder why Americans don’t just say draughts.”
“Touché! My old professor Hans Leitner would call my comment ethnocentric. But he doesn’t need to learn to say draughts.”
Further inactivity encouraged by his uncle, Richard followed the Scot back into the house, careful to avoid the offending nail. Going to his room, Richard selected a book from the well-filled bookcase. He’d purchased The Eternal Path a month ago for a time of leisure like the present. The book gave a fictional account of the fight to return prayer to public schools. On the way back to the porch, he grabbed a sofa pillow to make the wooden patio chair more comfortable.
Later, Mac insisted that Richard continue reading while he prepared lunch—coffee and sandwiches, with ice cream for dessert—which they ate together on the porch.
“Thanks for the lunch, Uncle. You can’t
