by Leisha Kelly
She nodded. “Mama showed me how.”
“It’s wonderful. You’re an amazing family.”
Josiah’s friends introduced themselves as Mel and Dotty Reiner. They had a basket of Marigold’s apples with them. Hilda insisted that I take a pumpkin back with me, and I obliged, thinking of the fun Eliza would have making pumpkin pies with me and Marigold.
She offered a pumpkin to Josiah too, but he turned her down.
“Sell mine,” he told her with the hint of a smile. “I’ll make sure Leah gets a big pumpkin and maybe she’ll see fit to spare enough for a pie for Mr. Abraham and me.”
Mrs. Kurcher smiled back at him. I’m sure she thought there must be some sort of relationship between Josiah and me, and he certainly did nothing to dissuade such an idea. But for me to protest aloud would be quite awkward and might produce an opposite effect, so I kept quiet.
I’d hoped Mrs. Reiner would sit in the backseat with me and let the men ride in the front. It would have been more proper, especially for the eyes of any of the Kurcher children who might see us depart. But she merrily plunked herself in the front seat with her husband, leaving me no choice but to share the only seat left with Josiah. For a moment I was extra grateful for that pumpkin, thinking I’d set it conveniently between us, but to my dismay, there was no room for that. We were forced to ride nearly touching, me with my bag on my lap, and he with the pumpkin on his.
“Glad to be going home?” Mr. Reiner asked as we turned onto the main road.
Josiah’s answer was strange. “Not sure where home is right now.”
Did that mean he was planning to move back into Marigold’s? Or somewhere else? I wanted to know, but I was afraid to ask.
“How did you manage things over here?” Mel asked on.
“All right,” Josiah answered simply. He looked away across the fields to our left, and it seemed obvious that he wanted to retreat from us somehow, even in these close quarters, and not have to say anything. He seemed to barely tolerate making a response.
“Seems all wrong,” Mr. Reiner talked on, loudly, over his engine’s roar. “One woman having so many children to see to. And not all of ’em born to her. Don’t the state have an orphan home? Seems like they’d be better off if about half of ’em was trucked over there. Wouldn’t need to be calling on charity that way.”
I’d seen Josiah in various states of emotion. Several times. But not with the fire of anger that flashed in his eyes now. “That’s stupid, Mel. They’re family. Even the ones that’ve been taken in. Love’s stronger than blood, and they belong together.”
I was looking his way, strangely interested in the depth of feeling so plain on his face. But he turned his head toward the field again.
“Didn’t mean to spark nothing, Joe,” Reiner went on. “Just thinking practical.”
“Kids belong where somebody cares,” Josiah answered bitterly. “That’s better than practical.”
“You don’t think nobody cares at the state home?” his friend persisted, and then laughed a little. “They really got to you, didn’t they? You gotta be thinking about finding you a woman again, Joe. Maybe you need a son or two running around.”
“Shut up.”
“Leave him alone, Mel,” his wife agreed. “It’s bound to have been a trying couple of days.”
Everyone was quiet for a few miles after that and I was glad. I couldn’t quite picture why these people were Josiah’s friends at all. The man didn’t seem to be very considerate. And Josiah hadn’t volunteered a word to them on his own. But maybe he was just out of sorts and didn’t feel like talking to anybody. Maybe it was somehow because of me.
But then it dawned on me what was much more likely to be the problem. Here we were in an automobile when he hadn’t been a passenger in one since before the accident. He must be having a terrible struggle with this today. Maybe having to drive yesterday had only made it worse.
I tried to imagine the swirling emotion that facing a car again might be bringing him. Was he afraid? Or plagued with his burden of guilt? Either way seemed completely plausible to me. I was willing to give him plenty of space. But Mel and Dotty were soon trying to make conversation again, and it seemed to irritate him terribly. Why didn’t they know him well enough to understand?
29
Josiah
I was being rude to Mel and Dotty, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to talk in front of Leah. Not about anything, no matter how they pushed. She’d invaded my dreams, sounding like Marigold: “We’ve got to help these children . . .”
I’d tried to tell her that we already were, but she didn’t seem to hear me. And now I wondered what business I had dreaming of her anyway.
But that really wasn’t all. Maybe Mel was right about the Kurcher kids getting to me. Maybe I was envious. Not that they’d been sick, of course. Or that they’d gone weeks without store-bought groceries. They wouldn’t be hurt in the long run by either of those things. But what I envied was the very thing that Mel didn’t seem to see. They accepted life the way it was. They accepted each other, and didn’t seem to want things any other way. Mrs. Kurcher loved all the kids enough that there’d been no way I could tell which ones were her birth kids and which ones weren’t. They all belonged.
No wonder she was Marigold’s friend. In some ways they were much alike. In the accepting of waifs, at least.
When I was a child, I’d wished Marigold was my mother because she didn’t seem to mind my presence. My own mother’d always had things to do and would rather have not been bothered by me. And my father’d been downright hostile till the day he wanted nothing more to do with us, and then he was just gone. I was only one child. But for them, I’d been too many. Mrs. Kurcher could love a houseful.
I sat with Leah’s pumpkin on my lap, wishing I could disappear. I was no good to be around when I felt morose like this. My lows weren’t nearly as low as they’d been before I got saved, but when I struggled I’m sure it wasn’t pretty, and I only wanted to withdraw.
Marigold had pulled me out of such depressive pits more than once, got me joking with her and feeling all right again. Now I questioned if it’d really been right to move out. If I went back to Mr. Abraham’s house, it might be too easy to close off for days.
Leah seemed to be watching me, and I hated having to sit in a car with her. In some ways this was worse than driving with Bobby. The day of the accident, Rosemary’d been sitting beside me, watching me, afraid I’d drunk too much. Now it was Leah watching. I didn’t know what she was thinking, but she seemed a little afraid too. And the sound, the feel, of the car under me was giving me a headache.
Finally, I crossed my arms over the top of the pumpkin and lay my head to rest on them. If anyone asked if I was sick, I’d tell them yes.
And then maybe they’d leave me alone.
Mel and Dotty might be angry. They’d never understand. I’d probably never even try to explain all this to them. And like so many times before, they’d eventually dismiss my behavior as another of my “loony spells” and leave it at that. But I wouldn’t talk, couldn’t talk, for the rest of this ride. Leah seemed too much like Rosemary, this car too much like my own. Everything seemed to be swirling at me at once. The wreck. The Kurchers. Marigold’s expectations. I needed to close off from it all or risk falling to pieces.
30
Leah
I’d never been so glad to get anywhere. Eliza must have been watching for us, because she ran out of the house before the car even stopped and bounced up and down waiting for me to get where she could grab me in a hug.
Josiah seemed annoyed by her exuberant welcome. He gave his friends one word of thanks, turned his back, and then carried my pumpkin into the house.
“Thank you very much for the ride,” I told the Reiners then, hoping they wouldn’t be dismayed by any perceived lack of gratitude. “I wish I could ask you in for tea, but I’ll have to check with Marigold first.”
“No, that’s all right,” Dotty told me. “We
’ve got other plans. Tell Josiah to come over again when he settles down. He’s not a bad fella, you know, if you can get past all the crazy briars.”
They drove away and I turned to the house.
“What’s that mean?” Ellie asked me.
“What?”
“’Bout Mr. Josiah havin’ briars?”
“Oh. Maybe she meant that he seems a little rough or unpleasant on the outside sometimes. But not bad on the inside.”
“So he’s got a good heart?”
I sighed. “I guess so.”
She smiled and took my hand. “I already knew that. And you got a good heart too, Mommy. You went to help those people. I sure am glad you’re back, but I wanted to help too, so me an’ Marigold’s been prayin’.”
“Good. Thank you so much.” I hugged her again, petted her wonderful curls. “Mommy missed her good girl.”
“I missed you too.”
It was a great relief to walk back into Marigold’s house and know that the Kurchers still had capable hands to help them. And it was joyous to be holding my daughter’s hand. I looked forward to sitting with her and Marigold over tea, relaxing a moment and talking over the things that had happened.
I’d expected Josiah to lay the pumpkin on the porch and be gone almost as quickly as he’d come in. After that ride, I couldn’t imagine that he’d linger, but he was talking to Marigold in the kitchen when we entered. And they were not pleasant words.
“Forget it! I don’t want to hear your fancy explanations.”
“Now, Josiah, it was an accident, a simple lack of communication – ”
“Working exactly for your ends. Fine.”
“Josiah – ”
He glanced suddenly at me but then turned back to her. “Don’t talk to me right now. Please. Just let me leave.”
If I were Marigold, I wouldn’t have said a thing. I would have let him go and been glad to have him gone when he was being so difficult again. But Marigold reached for his arm before he could pull away and stepped close enough to embrace him.
He stood stiff for a moment but then slowly put his arms around her and seemed to tremble a little. “You are loved,” she whispered. “Don’t ever forget that. You can get mad at me all you want, but that’ll never change.”
“I’m not mad,” he managed to say, and then pulled away abruptly and walked out.
Marigold sat at a kitchen chair. “God love him.”
“What’s wrong?”
She sighed. “There’s probably more to it. But I guess he thought I put the two of you there together on purpose. Saul and I just failed to communicate, that’s all. We didn’t tell him when we invited Rosie to breakfast that we were going to ask a ride for you. And he thought I already knew Josiah was leaving. He just realized later that he was supposed to tell me.”
She reached her hand in my direction, and I took it. “I hope you’re not dismayed with me too. I really didn’t mean for it to happen that way.”
“It’s all right,” I assured her. “They really did need two sets of hands.”
She smiled. “Thank you so much for being gracious. I’ve appreciated your willingness, and I’ve worried that things might have been pretty sour, finding yourself together there when you most clearly don’t like to be.”
Eliza looked up at me.
“It wasn’t so bad. We were both very busy.”
“Sit down. Please,” Marigold said. “Tell me all about it. How is Hilda? What all happened? Maybe you can answer better than I can what’s wrong with Josiah today.”
I couldn’t, not really. But I told her everything I knew about the Kurchers, their illness, their farm, and the doctor. I even went so far as telling her about Josiah driving Bobby’s pumpkins to market after what he’d admitted to me, and the uncomfortable ride home.
“He’s hurting.” She bowed her head a moment. “Sometimes it seems that a strong man should just be strong. But it’s not as easy as that. A big heart takes a lot of time at healing when it’s been ripped in pieces.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Sometimes a woman can put things back together more quickly . . .”
She glanced at Eliza and continued. “Especially for the sake of her child. You’ve done well, Leah, having the peace you do. He struggles terribly, but it doesn’t mean he’s weak. Do you understand? He thinks he is, but he’d never have sacrificed to go there this weekend if that were the case.”
Once again Marigold seemed to be telling me she thought me strong. Maybe stronger than Josiah, and she seemed to be asking me not to look down on him. It was a little much, knowing that I still hid my own debilitating doubts, fears, and even anger under a busy and proper façade. Maybe Josiah was simply not so good at hiding, which meant that of the two of us he was the more honest.
“Oh, Marigold – ”
“Please just pray for him. Put your feet up. You must be exhausted. Let me get you some tea.”
She wouldn’t let me lend a hand at anything that night, insisting that I rest. But I felt like crying and could barely keep myself from it. Eliza stayed at my side, and I wouldn’t have wanted it otherwise. I was so very glad to be back with her again. But the house seemed empty, as though it were a sad lack that there were not children enough to fill the place. I found my heart aching again for the baby I’d lost.
And wondering over Josiah. Again. Why couldn’t I just stop thinking about him? His volatile ways were grievous to deal with, to say the least, yet I could deeply respect the spark of anger I’d seen in him on behalf of the Kurcher children. Not a bad fellow if you can get past the crazy briars, as Mrs. Reiner had said.
The next day was unexpectedly cool, and I dressed Eliza in double layers the best I could against the chill.
“Could Eliza use more stockings?” Dorothy Humphrey asked me as we were walking together to the school. “I’ve a sister who has a daughter a year older than Betty. They’re rather well off, and they buy more than any child needs. She keeps giving me hand-me-downs, and it’s a blessing, but we haven’t room for it all. A little girl only needs so much.”
Such a timely, unexpected blessing! Eliza only owned three pairs of stockings. One was full of runs and the other two were so thin, I’d had her wear them both. “We could sure use them. Thank you so much.”
“What about a paisley blouse and a little brown coat? Would you take them too?”
I almost hugged her. “Yes, thank you.”
“There’ll be more, I’m sure. Especially since your Eliza’s a little slimmer than Betty. We could probably give you plenty more that are a little too tight on her. If you only had boys, we could give you all the clothes you need. She’s got two sons, and they have as many clothes as their sister.”
I had a sudden idea. “I know who’d take them! And I’m sure they’d be so grateful.”
Mrs. Kurcher had told me that lack of good clothes was one of the reasons they seldom made it to church. Surely if Josiah would carry biscuits, apples, or eggs, he wouldn’t mind taking a bundle of clothes sometime as well. They had boys in multiple sizes. And even if some of the things didn’t fit anyone, maybe Mrs. Kurcher or her daughters could alter them or use the fabric for something else. I was so pleased to have found a way to help again, and Mrs. Humphrey was just as pleased when I explained to her about it. Eliza’s faith had been answered yet again. And instead of feeling resentful, this time I felt jubilant. It was amazing.
But the joy of having a need provided, for me and for the Kurcher children, was short-lived as thoughts of my father began to wear at my mind that day. Would I hear from him again? And if I didn’t, would it mean he’d become well? Or died? Or was simply too stubborn to write again if I didn’t jump in response to his first letter?
I’d managed one night away. Eliza had been all right with me gone. She told me about Marigold playing games with her and singing songs. It had all come out very well, but going to see Father was another matter. That was farther. With no guarantee of how long I’d be gone.
I tried to p
ush the thought away, telling myself there was no use considering it. I must simply write him back and explain that I had no money for the trip. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. My heart seemed to think that if I were only willing, somehow there would be a way.
So I told myself I was unwilling. I didn’t wish to consider it further. I couldn’t leave Eliza again, nor take her along when he’d told me not to. I certainly didn’t want to have to face his tumultuous ways. Why should I? In all these years, he’d never showed me that he cared. He’d never chosen to receive the love I’d tried to give. So what did he want from me now?
Despite such attempts at logic, thoughts of my father would not leave me alone. I didn’t expect to get a second letter. He might have gotten better. He might be too stubborn to make his request a second time. But if he died, would I ever even know? Was there someone there that would know to contact me? Or care to do that much?
I was having such a struggle in my heart that I finally decided to explain it all to Marigold and ask her to pray about it for me. I should have known how she might react.
“Oh, dear, Leah, of course there’s a reason this won’t let you alone. He needs you. You really should go to him.”
“But I can’t leave Eliza again.”
“Nonsense. We were fine. You can consider the first time to be practice. Like trying out a new recipe before sharing it with company. Now you know it works. Eliza was fine, and she’ll be fine again, so you needn’t worry.”
“But it’s silly even to think about. Even if I had no concerns for Eliza, I couldn’t go. I’ve no money for the train, and no way to get any money.”
“The Lord will provide, Leah dear,” she said confidently. “You go next door and ask Mr. Abraham to send Josiah when he gets home from work.”
“No. I don’t want to concern anyone else with this. I certainly don’t want to ask him for money.”
“I just want him to find out for me what the ticket would cost. That way I can pray on the exact amount. I’ll tell him it’s for a friend and that’ll be the end of it.”
