by Loree Lough
“It’s what I want.” Her taut muscles relaxed, and her peaceful smile shimmered in her eyes. “Now say it.”
“What?”
“Out loud, in plain English, so I know you’re not just trying to humor me.”
To this day, he believed the miracle of that day came when he found the courage to say in a calm, sure voice, “I won’t turn away if love comes knocking.” And in a last-ditch effort to bring about a miracle of a different kind, he climbed onto her bed and lay beside her, cradling her in his arms and whispering, “How ’bout a little nap now? Who knows—maybe when you wake up, your doctor will come in here with good news about—”
She expelled a trembly, exhausted sigh. “Don’t, Simon. Please don’t.” She stiffened then added, “I can’t go until I know you’ll be all right.”
And she’d wanted to go. Everything from the edginess in her voice to the tension in her fragile body made that clear. Simon was beyond asking God for last-minute help. He’d dropped to his knees so many times that his trousers had all gone threadbare, yet Georgia continued to wither like a flower left too long in the sun. He hadn’t wanted to let her go, but Simon hadn’t wanted her to suffer, either. It killed him to say it, but he forced himself to speak the words she so desperately needed to hear. “All right…no more treatments. No more hospitals. No more pain. Let go, and don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine, just fine.”
She closed her eyes and sighed then reached out and smoothed a wrinkle in his shirt. “Wish I’d taken the time to teach you to use the steam iron.” One side of her mouth lifted in a wry grin as she tugged his wrinkled shirt collar. “Life just ain’t fair, is it?”
Then, wearing a mere whisper of a smile, she left him.
Simon had buried his face in the crook of her neck and tried to ignore the ear-piercing one-note of the monitor that had counted her heartbeats. “I’ll never love another woman as I loved you,” he’d sobbed. “Never.”
Time alone had eased his pain and dimmed the anger he’d harbored toward God for allowing Georgia to get sick, for allowing her to suffer—but time hadn’t cured his never-ending, aching loneliness. Every time kids came into the clinic, worried sick about one of their pets, Simon watched as parents doled out comfort and encouragement. He’d never have admitted it to another living soul, but he’d wanted the white-picket-fence life every bit as much as anyone who dreamed of “happily ever after” endings!
Though he’d tried hard to mask his feelings, some of that yearning must have shown. Why else would married friends and family members introduce him to a long line of available females? For a year or so, he’d given it the old college try, as the saying goes, in the hope Casey had been right when he’d said, “Who knows? Miss Right might just be the caboose of the Girl Train!”
Sadly, not one of the dozens of women he’d escorted to church socials, weddings, movies, and plays woke even a shred of interest in him. Some had been model-gorgeous, others downright brilliant, and a few funny enough to earn a living at stand-up comedy. But not one quickened his heartbeat. He’d never committed to memory the sound of their laughter or the touch of their hands. He’d begun thinking that Georgia, God love her, had been out of her ever-lovin’ mind when she’d insisted that new love would come knocking.
But he’d been wrong. It had come knocking. And on the other side of the door?
Julia.
Simon popped up the footrest of his recliner and toed off one shoe and then the other as Windy hopped into his lap. Wiley propped his chin on the chair’s armrest, waiting for a thorough head patting. “So, did you guys have a nice evening?”
A quiet woof and a soft purr answered his question.
“I sure did,” he said, grabbing the TV remote. “Sat by the fire sippin’ cocoa and chatting with the cutest little gal east of the Mississippi, while every other sane man was downing iced tea and fanning himself to stay cool.”
Windy snuggled down beside him and Wiley lay at his feet as Simon admitted that the thought wasn’t accurate or fair—why limit it to this side of the Mississippi?
He traded the remote for his Bible, let the book fall open on his lap, and then repeated the process that had long been part of his evening devotions by praying about whichever verse first caught his eye.
“‘He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the Lord,’” he read aloud. Heart soaring, Simon’s gaze moved deeper into Proverbs: “Listen to advice and accept instruction, and in the end you will be wise. Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”
Simon closed the Bible, marking the page with his forefinger, and said a silent prayer that the verses were signs from God telling him that it was okay to pursue something more than a friendship with Julia.
Chapter Nine
Of all the places she’d lived—an admittedly considerable list—Julia loved Paradise best. Clean and cozy, its welcome started at the border and spread across each street and every shop. One of her favorite spots in town was the Cackleberry Café. Cute and quaint, locals and tourists alike gathered for down-home meals, fresh-baked goods, and creamy ice cream…the special treat she gave herself whenever a difficult case produced a winning outcome.
Although a balmy early summer breeze blew as she left the courthouse and she had succeeded in keeping Michael Josephs out of jail, Julia didn’t feel much like celebrating. As she stood outside the café’s front door, she pictured the boy’s smug reaction to the outcome, and it left her with an eerie, unsettled feeling. Some might chalk up his cocky demeanor to immaturity, but Julia sensed that something malevolent lurked deep in the overweight, bespectacled teenager’s soul.
Thanks to a faulty surveillance camera and a blind cashier, the police and prosecutor hadn’t had a legal leg to stand on, making it frighteningly easy for Julia to get all charges against Michael dropped. But having the letter of the law on her side did nothing to ease her conscience. The boy was guilty. She’d known it the instant her eyes first met his. While packing up her briefcase, Julia quieted her guilt by rehashing all the times when her job helped bring about true justice.
And then Michael’s father stepped up, grinning as he grabbed her hands. “I knew you’d get the kid off,” he’d gloated, pumping as though he expected water to trickle from her fingertips. “I don’t know what the county pays you, but you’re well worth every penny and then some.” When he swaggered away, badgering his son for being stupid, for getting caught, she found herself wanting to wash imaginary slime from her hands.
Now, as she sat on the bench just outside the Cackleberry’s door, Julia tried her best to divert herself from imagining what Michael might do in a week, a month, a year, with this win shining in his head as some sort of proof that he was above the law. A shudder passed through her as she acknowledged that his next offense might not be filed under “petty crimes.”
“Hello, Miss Julia.”
“Levi,” she said, brightening. “How nice to see you!”
“You look so serious,” Hannah interjected. “Is everything all right?”
Standing, Julia smiled. “Everything’s just dandy. Just going over some stuff that happened in court this morning, that’s all.” Over Hannah’s shoulder, she saw William tying Matilda to the hitching post across the way. Stooping to make herself child-sized, she laid both hands on Levi’s shoulders. “And what brings the Gunden family to Paradise on this beautiful day?”
“Mama is here to deliver a quilt she made for a lady in town.”
Hannah beamed. “I must guard against false pride,” she said, hiding her grin behind a work-hardened hand. “My sewing grows more and more popular.”
“May I see it?” Julia asked, taking a step closer to the cloth bag dangling from Hannah’s wrist.
The woman opened her cloth satchel, and Julia peered inside. “Oh, it’s just lovely, Hannah.” With any seamstress this talented, she might have poured on the compliments. But to do such a thing with Hannah was to guarantee a t
hick, brightly colored patchwork quilt on her own bed…and her Amish friend would consider it an insult if Julia offered to pay for it. “Where are Seth and Rebekah?”
“At school, of course,” Levi answered. And with a playful grin, he added, “Where else would they be?”
“Mind your manners,” Hannah scolded gently. And to Julia, she said, “William must go to the hardware store for nails and things. Are you planning to stay in town awhile?” Julia hesitated just long enough for her to add, “Could I maybe leave Levi with you while I deliver the quilt?”
“I’d love that! Is it all right if he and I share some cookies from the café—or maybe an ice cream? The servings are always so huge, and I hate to waste food….”
Levi leaped into the air, clapping his hands. “Oh, may I, Mama? I will not dirty my shirt, I promise.”
Laughing, Hannah touched a finger to the tip of his nose. “I think that will be fine. Just be sure you leave something for Julia to eat.” Tucking the quilt back into the bag, she said to Julia, “I will be just down the street at the gift shop, in case you need to leave before I am back.” And, waving, she left them on the sidewalk.
“So what are you in the mood for, my little friend? Cookies? A slice of pie? Ice cream?”
“Oh, that is a very easy choice!” he exclaimed. “Mama makes cookies and pie every Sunday. But ice cream…” Eyes closed, he licked his lips and rubbed his tummy. “Ice cream would be a wonderful treat.”
She opened the door and held it as he entered the café. “Do you have a favorite flavor?”
“Chocolate chunk, I think.”
“You think?” Julia echoed, stepping up to the counter.
“Well, I got strawberry three times in a row, because it is Mama’s favorite. She likes it, I think, when she has someone to share her favorite things with. Seth and Rebekah like chocolate, and Papa always gets vanilla.” He shrugged. “So this time, I think I will have chocolate.”
“In a waffle cone or a bowl?”
“Oh, a cone. Definitely.” He leaned forward and, looking up into her face, whispered, “I think you get more that way, for the same price!”
Smiling at the thought that a boy of five had already accumulated such money sense, Julia put in their order. As the counter girl prepared their cones, Julia asked Levi if he’d rather eat inside or outside.
Winking one eye, he tucked in one corner of his mouth. “Inside, I think, because at our farm, except for when we sit down to eat, we are outside from the minute we open our eyes until it is time for bed. Besides,” he added, “not quite so many people will stare at me in here.” He rolled his eyes and pretended to be a tourist. “‘Oh, look, a little Amish boy…. Isn’t he cute!’”
Laughing, she let Levi choose a table.
“You have very pretty eyes,” Levi said when she sat across from him. “One of our barn cats has eyes that color.” He studied her face for a moment and then asked, “What is it called?”
“Hazel.”
Levi snickered. “Hazel. Do you know that, just last week, my cousins were all talking about how they got their names? The only one who didn’t know where hers came from was…”—he licked the cone and took a moment to properly dispose of a hunk of chocolate—“Hazel!” Another chuckle. “My cousin Hazel is what Papa calls a runt. Smaller than the others her age. Rebekah has told me that some of the older boys tease her at school. They call her Carrot.”
“Carrot! That’s a funny name!”
“Well,” he said haltingly, “she does have hair the color of a carrot.” Frowning, Levi said, “But I suppose that is no reason to call her such a name, ex-pish-illy when they know it hurts her feelings.”
Julia nodded in agreement. “You are a very smart and sensitive boy, Levi Gunden.”
“Yes,” he said matter-of-factly, taking his first bite of the cone, “I know. Mama says the same thing all the time.”
Oh, what a joy this child was! Julia found herself secretly hoping it would take Hannah an hour.
“You are quite pretty, you know.”
“Why, thank you, Levi.”
“So I do not understand it….”
Blinking, Julia grinned. “Don’t understand what?”
“Why you have no husband.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Is there something wrong with your teeth?”
“Why, no!” she said, laughing.
“Your feet, then?”
“My feet are just fine, little nut.”
“Then I truly am confused.” He ate the last bite of his cone then sat back in the chair. “Papa says people do not buy horses or cows that have bad teeth or feet. These are signs an animal is not healthy—but I am sure you know that—and no farmer needs that kind of expense.”
Julia had never been compared to livestock before. The notion tickled her so much that her laughter caught the attention of diners at nearby tables, but she couldn’t stop long enough to apologize.
“I made a joke?” Levi asked.
“It appears you did….”
The deep voice had come from directly behind her, and Julia would have recognized it anywhere. Blotting tears of laughter from her eyes, she turned toward him. “Simon,” she said, unable to quiet her enjoyment, “how long have you been standing there?”
He scooted out the extra chair at their table and spun it around. “Long enough to wonder if my veterinary degree would get me in to see your dentist. Or your podiatrist.” He straddled the chair’s seat and rested both forearms across its back. “So which is it?” he said to Julia.
She expelled a long end-of-giggles sigh. “Which is what?”
“Bad teeth? Or bad feet?”
“If you ask me,” Levi put in, “I would say it is the tall, skinny heels on those shoes she wears. They cannot be good for the toes.” He gave a serious nod. “You can easily see when she smiles that Miss Julia has very pretty teeth.”
Laughing, Simon said, “You’re a pretty smart kid.”
“Yes,” Levi sighed, feigning boredom with yet another compliment, “I know….”
When Simon’s brows rose in response, Julia explained. “His mother tells him that all the time.”
“Ahh, I see…”
My, she thought, but he looks handsome in this light.
But never more handsome than when he reached out and gently chucked Levi’s cheek. It all but broke her heart to admit it, because it was a bit more proof what a wonderful father he could be. No doubt he’d make a wonderful husband, too.
“Are you here for ice cream, too?” Levi asked.
Giving the boy’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze, Simon said, “No. I’ve been invited to dinner at my cousin’s house and promised to bring dessert. Trouble is, I can’t decide between cake and pie.” He shrugged. “Which do you recommend?”
Levi rubbed his chin, making Simon wonder what the boy would look like in twenty or so years, after he’d married and started his own traditional Amish beard. “Mama bakes all our desserts, you see.” He cut a quick glance at Julia. “But I have always liked cakes better than pies.”
“And why’s that?” Julia asked.
Hiding a giggle behind one hand, Levi said, “Because there is no icing on pie, and I love icing.”
Simon nodded. “So what’s your preference—chocolate?”
“Oh, it truly does not matter”—Levi slapped his thigh—“as long as there is plenty of it!”
Julia’s pleasant laughter rode a warm air current right into his ears. Just look at her, he thought, beaming like a proud mama at Levi’s ability to hold his own in a conversation with two full-grown adults. Wisps of her shoulder-length hair had escaped her ponytail and fluttered in the breeze of the ceiling fan. Every time she raised a hand to brush it from her eyes, Simon was reminded of the house call he’d made on his way into town. As he’d inoculated a prizewinning 4-H calf, its little-girl owner wished aloud for eyelashes even half as long and luxurious as her heifer’s. The notion made him chuckle as he wondered what Julia would say—afte
r questions about her feet and teeth—to being compared to a baby cow.
They’d been so tuned in to one another when Simon entered the café that neither had noticed his approach. A relief, he acknowledged, because surely it would have flustered her to know he’d overheard Levi, wondering aloud why a pretty young woman like Julia had never married. He’d asked himself the same thing a time or two since meeting her. But the question died a quick death as another idea percolated: twice in as many minutes, Levi and Simon had compared her to livestock.
Still grinning, Simon got up from the table and stepped up to the bakery case.
“Hey, Doctor Thomas,” said the girl behind the counter. “What can I do for you today?”
He’d helped Carrie adopt an orphaned calico several months back, and the overprotective “mama” had brought the cat into his clinic four times in the short while since. “I’ll take that one,” he said, pointing at a white-frosted cake. “Is it chocolate?”
“Yep,” she said. “With a raspberry filling that’s positively to die for.”
“Perfect,” he said, grinning. While he waited for Carrie to box it up, Simon turned and leaned on the counter’s thick, rounded glass, arms folded and one ankle crossed over the other. Isn’t she a sight to behold? he thought, watching Julia’s animated discussion with Levi. Either she’d deliberately deleted her name from the “eligible ladies” list, or every single guy in Lancaster County needed their eyes examined. And their heads.
“Here you go,” Carrie said, holding a pink cardboard box by crisscrossed twine. She rattled off the price, and Simon turned and reached into his back pocket, nearly losing his footing on the polished linoleum floor.
“What’sa matta, doc?” said an elderly man as Simon regained his balance. “You fallin’ for little Carrie back there?”
“He ain’t my type, Mr. Hobbs,” Carrie said, grinning. “I like my men old and rich, half-blind and hard of hearing.” She winked playfully. “Like you!”
Hobbs wiggled both bushy white eyebrows. “Don’t think the missus would approve, dearie. But you’ve made my day, for sure!”
