Julia's Last Hope

by Janette Oke

  Hettie nodded. She too knew that Julia had just checked the rooms.

  “Why do I feel so nervous?” Julia asked. “It’s not as if this is our first experience with guests.”

  “They’re likely the last guests of the season,” Hettie answered. “We need the money badly.”

  Hettie was right. It seemed reason enough for a case of the jitters.

  Hettie set the tea cup in front of Julia and asked, “You want cake or cookies?”

  “Yes, please,” Julia surprised Hettie by saying. Julia never took sweets with her tea, saying it was not good to have too much sugar.

  “Which?” asked Hettie, and Julia looked puzzled by the question.

  “Cookies or cake?” repeated Hettie.

  Julia shrugged her shoulders, and Hettie placed some sugar cookies on a plate.

  “I will need to be at the door to greet them,” Julia murmured.

  “No hurry. We’ll hear the whistle long before they arrive.”

  Julia took a cookie from the plate. “There seems to be so much to think about all the time that my head fairly swims,” she admitted.

  “Like?” prompted Hettie.

  “The girls mostly, I guess,” answered Julia. “Some days I wonder if this is fair to them. I said to John once that learning household chores would be good for them—and it is. But shouldn’t they have a chance to learn other things too?

  “I think of my own youth,” Julia continued. “It was so different. I took lessons in piano, tennis, riding, French. I went to a fine finishing school. My girls won’t know much more than how to scrub floors, make beds, bake cookies, and hoe gardens. Is that enough, Hettie?”

  “They still have time,” Hettie comforted.

  “Do you think—?”

  The train whistle blew before Julia finished her sentence, and she forgot her question, her tea, and her half-eaten cookie.

  “They’re here!” she said excitedly. She rose quickly from her chair.

  “No. No, it’ll take Tom a bit of time to get them here. The train is just pulling in.”

  Julia brushed her skirts, lifted trembling hands to her hair, and sat down again. But she couldn’t stay still for long. After one more sip of tea she left the kitchen for a final check of the house.

  “Is this all there is to your town?” Mr. Blakeney asked Tom as the horses trotted along Main Street.

  Tom hardly knew how to answer. If the Blakeneys expected a hustling, bustling town, they had not read the brochure carefully.

  Tom cleared his throat to answer, but Mrs. Blakeney cut in. “It is just what we wanted, isn’t it, Thaddeus?” Her shrill voice made the words into a command rather than an observation.

  The man only sniffed.

  The two younger women stared directly ahead, no questions on their lips or in their eyes, no apparent interest in the town at all.

  They passed the yard where the Shannon children played. As the team approached, the game stopped and four pairs of curious eyes looked at the passengers in the buggy. One lifted a pudgy hand to wave, and Tom dipped his head in reply.

  “I do hope we won’t be harassed by curious neighbors,” said the older woman.

  Tom noted all of the boarded-up houses. It was obvious they were empty. Not much harassment from neighbors there.

  Julia was waiting at the door, Hettie close behind her. Mr. Blakeney bowed stiffly, but his wife was too busy looking around to notice Julia’s welcome. She studied all she saw.

  “It should do just fine,” Julia heard her say to her husband. When at last she turned to Julia, she gave an order. “Show us to our rooms.” Then to Hettie she said, “You will draw a bath for Miss Priscilla at once. She is very weary from the journey.”

  She turned then to Tom. “The suitcases will be needed immediately. I will point out to you which ones go in which rooms.”

  Julia, who normally sent Hettie up with the guests, led the party up the stairs herself. She indicated the three available rooms with the shared bath in the hallway. Hettie was already in the bathroom filling the tub.

  “Priscilla, you may choose,” the older woman said to one of her daughters.

  The girl surveyed each room, then looked them over a second time, studied them more closely a third time, and finally settled on the room that overlooked the valley.

  “Your father and I will take the room across the hall,” Mrs. Blakeney informed the young woman. The third room was thus assigned to the second daughter, who moved into it without a word.

  “Tea will be served in the main parlor in half an hour,” Julia told her guests.

  “So long?” asked the woman.

  “I—I thought we must allow your daughter time to properly enjoy her bath,” Julia explained.

  “She will have tea in her room,” Mrs. Blakeney replied. “The rest of us will be ready in ten minutes.”

  “As you wish,” Julia answered. No wonder I have been nervous about these guests, she thought. They are going to be more than demanding.

  “In ten,” she repeated and went to help prepare tea.

  Felicity and Jennifer were in the kitchen putting away the items they had brought from the store. Hettie had not returned from drawing the bath for Miss Priscilla.

  “Come,” said Julia to the girls, “give me a hand with the tea things. Hettie has been waylaid running a bath for our guest.”

  “I thought you said they had grown children,” said Felicity.

  “They are. At least twenty, I think.”

  “Then why—?” began Felicity, but she was stopped short by one look at her mother.

  “Because, it seems the dears are used to being waited on hand and foot,” Julia replied. “I’m afraid we are in for some trying days.”

  The girls exchanged nervous glances, then busied themselves arranging the tea tray and preparing the plate of sweets.

  “And I think it might be wise if you said ‘ma’am’ and ‘sir’ when addressing them,” advised Julia. She had never before asked her children to act as servants—only as equals—caring for the needs of others.

  Both girls showed their surprise.

  “Well,” Julia apologized, “we do need the money, and the longer they stay the more money we will make. You both need new dresses badly.”

  It was the first time Julia had mentioned to the girls their need of clothes.

  “We’ll try to remember,” said Jennifer.

  Hettie puffed into the kitchen, her face red.

  “Dear little Miss Priscilla,” she scoffed. “Miss Prissy, if you ask me!”

  Julia had never seen her housekeeper so upset.

  “First it’s too cold—then it’s too hot. Huh! Goldilocks herself had nothing on that one.”

  Julia tried to suppress a smile, and Felicity had a hard time stifling her giggle.

  The sharp ring of a bell startled them all.

  “What’s that?” asked Julia.

  “I’ll go see,” said Felicity, hurrying off to find the source of the noise.

  It was not hard to do, for the bell rang persistently. Felicity found the answer in the parlor. Mrs. Blakeney, sitting in Julia’s favorite chair, was shaking the daylights out of a copper bell.

  “Is something wrong?” asked Felicity.

  “We are ready for our tea,” said the woman.

  Fearing she would burst into laughter, Felicity did not dare answer. She turned and headed back to the kitchen. At the parlor door she remembered her mother’s instructions and turned to say, as evenly as she could, “Yes, ma’am.” Then she closed the door carefully, remembering to not let it slam, and hastened to the kitchen.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” she said, her eyes big. “There Mrs. Blakeney sits, like a queen or something, ringing that noisy bell. There it goes again.”

  Julia picked up the tea tray and left the kitchen. Jennifer went to help her serve. The days ahead might indeed be trying.

  “Miss Constance will let you know when Miss Priscilla is ready for her tea. She l
ikes it weak—with both cream and sugar. And she prefers cake to cookies,” said the woman as she accepted her cup of tea.

  Julia nodded.

  “We like to dine at seven,” the woman went on. “And we will have breakfast served in our rooms when—”

  “No,” Julia interrupted, firmly but softly. “Breakfast is served in the dining room at seven-thirty or eight, whichever you prefer.”

  Though taken aback, the woman recovered quickly. “Eight will be fine,” she said a bit sharply.

  Julia turned to leave, and Jennifer followed. Perhaps I should have humored her, Julia thought. We do need the money, and she is a paying guest. But no. It has gone quite far enough. We simply can’t cater to them all day long.

  As soon as the door separating the parlor from the dining room closed behind them, Jennifer whispered, “Good for you, Mama.”

  Julia allowed herself a weak smile. She hoped she hadn’t done the wrong thing.

  When they reached the kitchen, Felicity was waiting for a report. Jennifer was happy to fill her in.

  “She just sits there and gives orders,” she concluded.

  “Oh, to have Mrs. Williams back again,” breathed Felicity, and the others laughed.

  “She was strange but sweet,” admitted Jennifer.

  “I wonder where they are—and how they are,” said Julia, setting the tea tray on the kitchen table and taking the cups to the sink. “Jennifer, get the smaller tray and set it up for Miss Priscilla. Felicity, get the flowered sugar and creamer from the sideboard. She might be calling any minute.”

  “I wonder what kind of a bell she has,” Jennifer commented as she completed her task.

  “Likely a gong,” replied Felicity, and the two girls laughed together.

  It was some time before Miss Constance rapped on the kitchen door to say that Miss Priscilla was ready for tea. Apparently she liked a long, leisurely soak.

  “I’ll send it right up,” Julia promised.

  “No need for you to run up with it. I’ll take it.”

  Looking up in surprise, Julia looked into eyes full of deep sorrow. Her heart went out to Miss Constance. She wanted to step forward and pull the young woman into her arms. But the moment quickly passed, and Julia turned her attention to the task at hand. She added steaming water to the teapot, set it on the tray, and passed the tray to the young woman.

  Miss Constance left the kitchen, her back straight, her chin up.

  “My,” remarked Julia, when the door had closed, “have you ever seen a sadder looking face?”

  “Is she the maid?” asked Felicity.

  “No,” answered Julia. “The letter said the Blakeneys have two grown daughters.”

  “So, why do they pamper one and work the other?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Julia, shaking her head. “Of course, it may not be that they work her. Perhaps she just offered to carry the tray, this once, to save us the steps.”

  “Sure different from the rest of the family,” observed Jennifer.

  “She’s awfully quiet,” said Felicity.

  “She was quiet in the parlor too,” Jennifer added. “I never heard her say one thing over tea. Did you, Mama?”

  “No, I guess I didn’t,” admitted Julia.

  “The mother—now, she prattled the whole time,” Jennifer explained to Felicity. “I don’t know who she was talking to. No one was listening. But she talked without stopping.”

  “They are even more strange than poor Mrs. Williams,” said Felicity. “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Remember, girls,” cautioned Julia. “Don’t judge too soon—or too harshly. We really don’t know anything about them yet.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Getting Acquainted

  As the week passed, Julia discovered that the twins had accurately summed up the Blakeney family on the day of their arrival. Mrs. Blakeney did talk all the time, and no one listened. In fact, Mr. Blakeney paid little attention to any of the women. He was stiff, bored, and not very courteous. Miss Priscilla whined or primped, and Miss Constance ran all errands not assigned to the “servants.”

  Julia wondered at the strange family arrangement but never mentioned her thoughts to her daughters. The girls openly discussed the situation, however, concocting stories to explain the circumstances.

  “I’ll bet she’s a stepdaughter,” said Felicity.

  “But whose? His or hers?” asked Jennifer.

  “She must be his daughter. He doesn’t talk to anyone, but Mrs. Blakeney would talk to Constance if she were her daughter.”

  “She does talk to her—Constance just doesn’t listen,” Jennifer reminded Felicity.

  “You’re right. Mrs. Blakeney does talk.”

  “Maybe Constance was adopted.”

  “She looks too much like Priscilla.”

  “She does, doesn’t she? Though I am sure Priscilla would die if you told her that.”

  Felicity mimicked the airs of Priscilla. “You’re right. Priscilla sees herself as much prettier.”

  “She is a little prettier,” admitted Jennifer, “though I think Constance might be just as pretty—maybe even prettier because she isn’t as pouty—if she weren’t so stern.”

  “And wore her hair a little softer.”

  “And chose prettier dresses.”

  “That’s enough,” Julia cut in. “This is none of our business. Let’s be kind,” she reminded her offspring.

  The girls washed the remaining dishes with fewer comments.

  “It is strange,” Hettie remarked after the girls slipped off to the porch swing with glasses of lemonade.

  “It certainly is, but you know how some families are. For one reason or another they favor one child over the others.”

  Hettie too had seen it happen.

  The back door opened, and the twins entered the kitchen, their glasses still full.

  “Is it windy out?” asked Julia.

  “No,” grouched Felicity. “Miss Prissy has the swing.” The girls often called the young woman by the name Hettie had used on the day she arrived.

  “She wants some lemonade too. With cookies,” Felicity continued.

  Jennifer placed two glasses and some cookies on a tray and left with it.

  Julia turned to Felicity. “Was her mother with her?”

  “No.”

  “Constance?”

  “Constance was there, but she had to run back to the room for Miss Prissy’s shawl.”

  Julia was glad Jennifer had included lemonade for Miss Constance too. She felt sorry for her.

  “Is Miss Prissy all settled?” Felicity asked when Jennifer returned.

  Jennifer nodded. “She even said, ‘Thank you kindly.’ ”

  “Miss Prissy?”

  “No. Not her. Miss Constance. ‘Thank you kindly,’ just like that. I’ve hardly heard her speak before.”

  “Mama,” said Felicity, “how old do you think she is?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” responded Julia, rolling another circle of pie crust dough. “Perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two.”

  “And Miss Prissy?”

  “A couple years younger maybe.”

  “Miss Prissy looks bored to death,” observed Jennifer.

  “I suppose Miss Constance would be bored too if she didn’t have all those books to read,” Felicity stated. “But she is bound to run out soon. I wonder what she will do then?”

  “We have a fine library. She is welcome to read any of our books,” said Julia.

  “She sure is different from her sister,” Jennifer said as she stirred the lemon slice in her drink. “She doesn’t say much, but she always makes her own bed, hangs up her clothes, and opens her window to air the room. Miss Prissy would never do that.”

  “But Miss Prissy talks more,” said Felicity.

  “If you call giving orders talking,” Jennifer stated.

  “Or whining,” added Felicity.

  “Now, girls. We have talked about this before,” scolded Julia
. “I don’t want you saying nasty things about people.”

  “Even if they are true?” asked Felicity.

  “Even if they are true,” replied Julia.

  The next day Jennifer and Felicity left the kitchen carrying pails. They found Miss Constance alone on the porch swing reading. She looked up when she heard them approach. Her eyes rested on the buckets.

  “Do you milk cows?” she asked.

  “Oh no,” laughed Felicity. “We buy our milk from the Shannons.”

  “Do you carry it home like that?” she continued her probing.

  “No, Tom gets it,” answered Jennifer. “We are going to pick berries.”

  “Berries? Here?”

  “No. Not in our garden. Wild berries.”

  “Where?” asked Miss Constance.

  “It’s a ways from here. In the woods. We know almost every patch around, I guess. Mama sends us out for berries, and she makes jams and jellies.”

  “Would you like to come?” asked Felicity.

  Jennifer gave her a nervous look. Millicent was going along, and Jennifer had hoped to talk with her about the questions she had been asking.

  “Oh, could I?” Miss Constance asked. “I have never picked berries before.”

  Felicity and Jennifer exchanged glances. “I’ll get another pail,” said Jennifer.

  “I’ll get it,” said Felicity. “You go with Millicent. We’ll meet you at the patch.”

  Jennifer gave her twin a grateful look.

  “Do you have some walking shoes?” Felicity asked Miss Constance.

  “I’ll get them. And leave a note for Mother.”

  Felicity returned to the kitchen for another bucket. “I can’t believe it,” she told her mother. “Miss Constance wants to go with us. She has never picked berries before.”

  “Perhaps she will enjoy the outing,” said Julia, who always found a quiet stroll through the trees relaxing.

  Felicity took the pail and waited on the porch for Constance. She didn’t have to wait long. The young woman hurried toward her a few minutes later, her cheeks pink with anticipation. Felicity had never seen her show any excitement before.