by Janette Oke
“But what about Christmas?” whispered Jennifer.
“It—it will be difficult for us. But by then you will have made friends—and will be feeling at home with Papa. And we do have the mail. We can send our gifts,” said Julia, trying hard not to let her true feelings show.
“Well—it is exciting,” declared Felicity. “I mean, we have never been East—never been out of our town much. Are you sure we’ll know how to act?” She giggled at the thought of making some ridiculous social error.
“You are your mother’s daughter,” John assured her. “You would not be more of a lady had you been raised in a palace.” John meant every word. He had no fear that his daughters would embarrass themselves with bad manners.
Felicity knew he was right. Their mother had taught them to behave properly. The idea was becoming less frightening and more appealing.
“Oh, Jen—let’s!” she cried suddenly, and threw her arms around her twin.
Jennifer allowed a slow, crooked smile to curve her lips. “All right, let’s,” she finally agreed, and the girls rushed to embrace their mother and father.
A letter came for John from Mr. Small. He was pleased that John had at last agreed to seek employment with him again. “I have work for you as soon as you are available,” he wrote. “Just let me know the date of your arrival and the accommodation needed. If you need an advance for moving expenses, I will forward it immediately.”
Mr. Small apparently assumed the whole family would be moving.
The news relieved John’s tension somewhat, but he knew the solution was only temporary. He still needed to figure out a way to reunite his family.
Julia kept her mind off the coming separation by keeping herself busy. There was much to do to get the girls ready, and she had only a few days in which to do it.
John purchased the train tickets and got the luggage ready. Julia surveyed her closet and chose four gowns she could alter to fit her daughters. It left her short—it had been some time since she had been shopping for herself—but she had no place to go anyway, and the gowns were much too fancy to wear in the kitchen.
Julia sewed for two days, taking only a few hours for sleep. She remodeled, patched, made over, and made do. She had little to work with, but when she finished the girls had suitable garments to wear on the train. After that it would be up to Papa.
Julia had wired him, and his return message revealed that his excitement more than matched that of the girls.
In her previous letters, Julia had written nothing about their hardships. It would only worry him, she told herself. And he would surely send money—and that would nearly kill John.
Julia had told him the mill had moved. And he knew Julia was hoping to keep her lovely home by sharing it with guests, and was indeed striving to make their entire town attractive to tourists. But Julia provided no further details.
As Julia worked anxiously to prepare her daughters for a time with their grandfather, her tears often fell on the material. She hoped with all her heart that the three would fall in love. She hoped her father understood her great love for him as she sent to him her most precious possessions. She hoped too that her girls would see in him all of the goodness, kindness, and wisdom she had always found. Julia prayed and prayed as she stitched. Her papa, whom she loved dearly, had not yet made his peace with God.
The time is getting short, Julia often reminded herself as she had reminded him in the past. But whenever she wrote to him of her concern, his return letters responded to every part of her letter except the paragraphs about his spiritual condition.
Perhaps Jennifer… Julia thought. She shared her faith with Millicent. Perhaps she will be able to explain her faith to her grandfather—in her own simple way. The thought made Julia pray even more diligently.
The day of the girls’ departure came all too quickly for Julia. Felicity had thrown all fear and concern to the wind about five minutes after hearing of the plan. Jennifer accepted the idea more slowly. But by departure time, she too felt only excitement.
“You will write often?” Julia said as both a question and a statement. The girls had lost track of how many times she had reminded them.
“We promise,” they replied in chorus.
“And to me too?” John added. He would be leaving the next day for the lumber camp.
“We promise,” the girls repeated.
“I will miss you so,” Julia said, her voice catching in her throat.
“We will miss you both too,” they assured, but their attention had already turned to the train. They were eager to get aboard. The girls took turns embracing their mother and father.
“One more kiss,” said Julia, kissing the two soft cheeks, “and one for each of you to give Grandfather from me.”
And then in a flurry the girls were gone. It all happened too quickly for Julia. One minute she was holding her two daughters; the next minute the train was chugging away, leaving her empty and alone. She watched the white handkerchiefs waving from the windows until they were out of sight.
Then she turned to John and let the tears flow freely. He held her tightly, wishing with all his heart that he didn’t have to leave the next day.
Julia soon straightened and looked into his eyes.
“We have done the right thing?” She worded it as a statement, but she pronounced it as a question.
John patted her shoulder. “We have done the right thing,” he declared, and Julia found comfort in his reply.
The next morning it was even more difficult for Julia to let John go, but she tried not to cling to him. She did not want him to sense her great reluctance.
“I will try to get home for a weekend just as soon as I can,” he promised.
“I have Hettie and Tom,” Julia assured him. “I won’t be alone.”
“And the two guests,” John reminded her. “They will keep you busy.”
He was right about that. If Miss Priscilla had her way she would certainly keep Julia busy. Although the guests meant more work, Julia was grateful to have additional people in her house. It would not seem quite as empty.
“I will write,” John promised, “every day,” and he kissed her tenderly.
Julia could not answer.
“And you will be in my prayers—constantly,” he continued.
Julia blinked hard to keep tears from spilling. She nodded her head and hoped John understood the depth of meaning in her silent communication.
“And remember—if you need me you can send a wire.”
Julia nodded again, still unable to speak.
The train whistled, and Julia knew she had to let him go.
“I love you,” she managed to whisper as he kissed her one last time. Then he too was gone.
Julia walked home alone. She did not hurry. She wanted to be in control of her emotions by the time she reached her kitchen. Hettie would have a strong, hot cup of tea waiting. Although the tea wouldn’t do much for her emptiness, Hettie’s company would help some.
Chapter Twenty-three
Deceived
Julia burst into the kitchen, tray in hand, cheeks flushed and her eyes snapping. She stopped at the kitchen table and set down her tray, fearing she would drop it in her agitation. But even after setting it down, she still gripped its edges.
Hettie waited for Julia to say something, but she just stared at the wall, her lips tightly drawn.
“What is it?” Hettie finally asked.
Julia lowered herself into a chair as if her legs would not hold her a moment longer.
“Miss—Miss Prissy!” exclaimed Julia, using the unflattering name for the first time. “She’s—she’s with child,” said Julia, her eyes flashing.
Hettie nodded.
“You knew?” cried Julia.
“I suspected,” said Hettie as she continued to peel potatoes.
“Well—well, I never! Who would have thought of such—The very idea—using my house—my Christian home—as a—as a hideaway.”
Julia
put her head in her hands, her shoulders trembling.
Hettie went on removing potato peels.
“Well, I won’t have it!” Julia declared suddenly. “Not in my house. I will not hide a woman who—who lived immorally and came sneaking off to me to hide her sin.”
Hettie said nothing.
“She—she—oh, I’m so thankful the girls aren’t here to see this,” Julia wailed.
Hettie still made no reply.
“Why did she pick us? Why did she come here? There must be other places. But no. She had to choose us.” Julia waved a shaking hand to show her disdain.
Hettie shifted her position, easing her weight from one foot to the other. Without lifting her eyes from the task before her, and without raising her voice, she responded, “Maybe she didn’t choose us.”
Julia’s head came up. “Well—I mean—I know her mother chose us. Her mother runs everything in the family. If she spent more time training her daughters and less time being a—a social leader this—this—disgrace might not have beset her family.”
“I didn’t mean her mother,” said Hettie slowly.
Julia looked puzzled. “Well, it certainly wasn’t the father,” she said. “I doubt he’s ever made a family decision in his entire life.”
Silence hung about them for a minute. Julia’s face showed more and more impatience. “What are you trying to say, Hettie?” she asked at last.
“The woman is a sinner—just like you said,” Hettie answered softly.
Julia’s face flushed again. She was about to begin another discourse denouncing evil when she noticed a flicker in Hettie’s eyes. “So what are you trying to say,” Julia again demanded.
“How did our Lord feel about sinners?” asked Hettie, dropping the peeled potato in the pot. She picked up another and rinsed it in a pan of water.
Julia’s eyes grew big. Her head dropped. Her trembling hands fluttered to her breast. “Oh, Hettie,” she repented, “I just never thought…”
There was silence again while Julia did some soul searching. At last she lifted her head, her eyes tear-filled, her voice low.
“Do you think God sent her here for us to—to help—to love?” she asked.
“Could be.”
After another long silence Julia nodded. “Yes, Hettie. It could be. And I nearly failed. Miserably.”
“You would have gotten to it—sooner or later,” Hettie comforted.
“I was about to send her away,” Julia admitted.
“You might have thought of sending her away, but I doubt you could have done it.”
“Oh, Hettie. I’m ashamed. So ashamed of my—my quick response. I was so angry. I felt so—so used.”
“And so you were,” said Hettie.
“Well, if God sent her to us, then we must do our best not to let Him down. We must somehow—somehow convince her that God can forgive—even this.”
“It won’t be easy,” said Hettie, rinsing the pot of potatoes.
“You don’t think she will be able to understand that God can forgive such sin?”
“No. I think it won’t be easy to make her see that anything she takes a fancy to do, God would dare oppose,” said Hettie. “She’s a selfish, headstrong young woman if I ever saw one.”
Hettie’s thought was new to Julia. She paused to reflect on it. The assignment ahead would not be an easy one.
Chapter Twenty-four
Loving
“Are you still lonely?” Felicity asked Jennifer as they prepared for bed. When Jennifer failed to answer, Felicity responded to her own question with sisterly insight. “Me too.”
Then the room was quiet again.
“It is nice to—to make Grandfather so happy,” Felicity said.
Jennifer nodded and went on brushing her long hair.
The girls had settled into the new household quickly, at least by outward appearances. It hadn’t been much different from their own, though Grandfather’s larger house was more impressive and formal than their home in the mountains.
School was exciting. The girls were relieved to learn they were not far behind in their studies—and were every bit as refined and mannerly as their city peers.
But in spite of their doting grandfather’s warm welcome, the acceptance of the other girls, and the shopping trips and entertainment, the empty feeling remained. They missed their parents. They missed home.
Felicity picked up her brush and swept it casually through her hair. “You know what I’ve decided?” she asked Jennifer.
Jennifer shook her head, afraid to trust her voice.
“I’ve decided to get married.”
Jennifer’s hand stopped in mid-stroke. She gave her twin a quizzical look. “You’re not serious.”
“I am serious. The only way to solve Mama and Papa’s money problems is for one of us to marry a wealthy man. Since I don’t suppose you will—I will.”
“That’s foolish talk,” said Jennifer, no longer concerned. The idea was too preposterous to even consider.
“It’s not foolish,” Felicity shot back with a toss of her head.
“And where will you find this wealthy man?” asked Jennifer. “We go to a girls’ school. We go straight to church and home again. Grandfather entertains people his own age. Where do you expect to meet anyone?”
“I’ll manage it. Just wait.”
Jennifer was unconvinced. “By the time men are wealthy, they are also old—and already married.”
Felicity considered the comment. “There are young ones—who inherit,” she insisted.
“Well, you certainly don’t know any.”
“I will. You’ll see.”
Jennifer laid aside her brush and went to turn down her bed. “Well,” she flung at her twin, “if you find a young man—wealthy, a Christian, willing to marry you, and Mama and Papa decide you are old enough to marry—then you will have my blessing.”
Felicity flipped back her long hair. “What makes you think I need your blessing?” she snorted. “I am doing this to save Mama and Papa and you talk like—”
“Mama and Papa do not need ‘saving.’ ”
“Well, they need—need something—or we wouldn’t be here while they are there,” said Felicity, nearly in tears.
Jennifer felt like crying too. Loneliness crowded out her courage, making her feel deserted and desperate. “Let’s not fight,” she pleaded. She knew she could not stop her tears if she tried to say more.
Felicity turned her back. She did not want Jennifer to see how difficult it was to hold her own tears in check.
“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” Felicity finally managed to ask.
“No. And I don’t think Mama and Papa would either. You are much too young even to be thinking of marriage.”
“Other girls marry at our age.”
“Other girls have not given it proper consideration.”
“Then what can we do?” asked Felicity.
“Pray,” Jennifer replied. “Just pray. And while we are at it—we must pray for Grandfather. Even though he’s been taking us to church, I don’t think he is a—a real believer.”
Felicity had the same fear. “He’s sweet, though, isn’t he?”
Jennifer wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her white nightgown.
“He’s very sweet,” she agreed, then added, “and he must miss Mama something awful.”
John pushed his chair away from the table in the cook shack and turned to leave for his own sleeping quarters. He shared the stark, simple shack with five other men. It was not the kind of arrangement he enjoyed.
It was noisy, crowded, and often filled with smoke. Although he was determined to endure the inconvenience, to live with the simplicity, and to forego his need for privacy, he continually longed for Julia.
John slowly strolled the short distance from the eating area to the shack. He wanted time to think—to pray. It was nearly impossible to pray with the raucous laughter, coarse jokes, and smoke-filled air pressing in on him. He st
epped off the beaten path and lowered himself onto a fallen log. The night sky was clear, and stars were beginning to appear. John was weary. It had been a long, hard day of heavy work in the woods. He was a cutter now, not an overseer. Mr. Small had told him that would soon change, but for now John was working alongside the other men on the cutting crew. Actually, he figured the hard labor was good for him. The physical exhaustion kept him from thinking too many painful thoughts and made it easy for him to sleep at night despite his many concerns. And of course he was glad to have a paycheck coming regularly.
John turned his face toward heaven as his chest tightened with loneliness. Jule. The girls. Even the familiarity of his small town. He missed it all very much.
“God,” he whispered into the darkening night, “I’m glad I didn’t need to leave you behind too.”
He sat silently, unable to go on. Even his prayers were painful. He watched the moon rise over the nearby pines. A cloud covered it for a moment. Then it reappeared, bigger and brighter than before. In the forest a wolf howled and another responded. They were on the hunt. They needed to survive. John felt a kinship with the wolves. He too was fighting for survival. For himself—but mostly for Jule. For the girls. He had to survive—for them.
Julia placed a late summer rose in a small vase on the breakfast tray she had prepared for Miss Priscilla. Constance had gone for a walk down one of the numerous wooded paths. Julia had assured the girl that her sister would be fine. Julia was quite able and willing to care for Priscilla’s needs. Constance had looked relieved—anxious for a few moments alone. Priscilla was getting increasingly restless and difficult.
“I think a short walk would be good for Miss Priscilla too,” Julia suggested.
“So do I,” responded Constance with a weary sigh, “but she absolutely refuses.”
Julia said no more. She had tried everything she could think of to make Miss Priscilla feel more comfortable—more content—more loved. But Miss Prissy was not an easy person to love. Determined to show her love no matter how difficult the task, Julia prayed more fervently for the strength to do so.
