Year of Jubilee

by Peggy Trotter

  “Is she tired again?” Jubilee brought her head up and drew her brows together.

  Elsa laughed, a cheerful sound. “No, she like bread with butter. Her favorite. Here, sweet.”

  Britta slid from Jubilee’s grasp. Her lap felt bereft without the comfort of the child’s soft body snuggled against hers. But she smiled at the toddler’s joy as she grabbed the bread and made a beeline back to Jubilee.

  “You are so blessed, Elsa.” Jubilee dropped her head to hide the longing in her eyes.

  Elsa passed her a plate with a slice of bread. “Yes, da Lord is good.”

  Britta finished her bread in a flurry of crumbs and slid off Jubilee’s lap. The child tottered across the room, cooing and swinging the wooden spoon her mother had given her. The women finished their tea and started a simple breakfast of muffins and bacon. An hour later, the ladies delivered the breakfast basket to the barn.

  Outside, they set about pouring the berries into different pots, and gathering spoons and crates to sort the finished products. About mid-morning, Elsa excused herself and took the yawning child to the cabin for a nap. Jubilee busied herself with the dishes, and Elsa returned a few minutes later.

  “Let us boil berries now while little one rests.” Her voice was low.

  “All right.”

  The ladies soon had part of the berries in a large kettle hanging from a spit over the fire. Jubilee stirred the liquid while Elsa set out the jars. While contemplating her purple hands, she searched for a way broach the delicate subject that plagued her mind. Elsa unwrapped the brown paper from the wax squares and placed them in a smaller pot.

  “Are you happy, Elsa?”

  Elsa’s head came up for a moment and a confused expression crossed her fair face.

  “Happy?” She glanced down as she adjusted the wax chunks with a long spoon. “Why you ask?”

  Jubilee bit her lip as she stirred the hot liquid, already regretting her question. She shrugged one shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Forget it.”

  Elsa finished her task, brought the wax pot to the fire, and set it amongst the glowing coals at the edge of the fire. Jubilee could feel her eyes on her.

  “No, I wish to answer for you. I very happy.”

  Jubilee glanced up, and her friend searched her eyes.

  “You not happy?” Elsa brows puckered.

  “I…uh, well, yes,” Jubilee stammered.

  Elsa flicked her eyes to the pot of wax, but glanced at Jubilee from time to time, a concerned pucker on her face. Finally, her friend pulled the spoon out to set it on a large rock, wiped her hands on her apron and stood.

  She laid her hand on Jubilee’s upper arm. “You tell me the wrong you have.”

  “There’s no wrong, I mean, there’s nothing wrong.” Jubilee sighed. She was so flustered she sounded like a Swedish immigrant. “What I mean is, are you happy being married?”

  “Yah, Ivan good man,” she said.

  Jubilee shifted her weight, wishing Elsa would go back to stirring the wax instead of pinning her with a pitying stare.

  “Uh-huh. I mean, would you wish to not be married? I mean, if you were able?” That was about as delicate as Jubilee could think to phrase it.

  “Oh, no, no, I love Ivan. He good man. Rafe no good?”

  “Uh.” She closed her eyes for a second, and shook her head. How to be clear? “Of course he is, I…didn’t mean that, I…oh.”

  Jubilee looked down and realized she’d forgotten to stir and the blackened raspberry juice had bubbled over the side of the pan, causing the campfire to hiss and sizzle. Quickly she grabbed a towel, spread it out to grab both handles, and pulled the pan from the hook suspended over the fire. Only the cloth failed to completely cover one handle. She literally threw the pot with her bare hands onto the table and sloshed the burnt mixture across the rough wood as she cried out.

  “Oh, my.” One look at the white weals across her palm had Elsa dashing to the cabin to bring butter.

  After hurrying back, Elsa smoothed the yellow lard over the burns on the underside of Jubilee’s left hand as tears brimmed her eyes, her face scrunched in pain.

  “Oh, Jubilee. Hold still. I help.”

  Jubilee dragged in a few calming breaths and forced herself to immobilize her hand long enough to allow her friend to smear the cooling butter across the red skin and the raised white stripes. Elsa dipped a thin towel in cool water and wrapped it around Jubilee’s hand.

  “Now, you rest. I finish,” Elsa murmured.

  Jubilee watched with tears on her cheeks as Elsa cleaned off the table and dumped the ruined batch of juice. Jubilee’s palm throbbed. Finally, Elsa sat across from Jubilee and, from the look in Elsa’s sincere blue eyes, Jubilee knew what subject was about to come back up.

  “Please, Jubilee, I must know. Rafe, he good?”

  Jubliee nodded. “Yes, truly,” she whispered.

  Elsa nodded but still looked confused. Jubilee swallowed. She had to tell her something.

  “My first husband,” Jubilee took a calming breath, astonished she was about to share this information, “he was not…good.”

  Elsa’s mouth parted, her eyes wide with understanding. “He die?”

  Jubilee nodded.

  “You love Rafe?”

  Jubilee caught her breath. To tell another human, to dare whisper the truth. Jubilee’s throat clogged. “Yes.”

  Elsa gave a small smile. “Then what is wrong? No baby?”

  Jubilee’s eyes shot open.

  Elsa continued. “You must wait. Sometimes take long time. God send baby when day is right. You see. I pray for you.”

  “But, I…”

  As Jubilee opened her mouth, she heard Britta’s faint cry as she awoke from her nap inside the cabin. Elsa quickly patted her arm and jumped up to scurry after her little one, leaving Jubilee in a confused heap. Oh, her hand hurt. But her heart ached worse.

  She pressed her cheek to the table and felt tears push through her lids while a sob rose in her throat. How in the world had this conversation swung around to having children? But, as Jubilee lay there against the wooden table, she realized she did want children. And she wanted them with the man she loved.

  Rafe was achingly sympathetic when he saw the angry red marks across the tender underside of Jubilee’s fingers. Her misery increased as she watched Elsa following Rafe around with a bit of suspicion in her eyes, constantly trying to figure out the situation. It was a tremendous relief to bid them goodbye and to kiss Britta’s sweet blonde head before they climbed into the wagon.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She shrugged.

  “Hurts, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She wished they were home so she could soak the towel around her hand in fresh, cool water.

  “You and Elsa have a good visit?”

  Jubilee shrugged again. If only he knew.

  He glanced at her twice and the second time, he dipped his head to capture her glance. “Something go wrong?”

  Jubilee wanted to cry. His compassion made her grief intensify. Hoping he wouldn’t ask any more questions, she answered, “No, I just hurt.”

  She tensed when his arm crept around her shoulders and pulled her to him. “Relax. Rest your head on my shoulder.”

  Her eyes pulsated with tears, but she tried to do what he asked. She sniffed to try to keep them at bay and only succeeded in letting a sob escape. Rafe stopped the buggy and put the brake on, and gathered her into his arms as another snuffle broke from Jubilee.

  “Shhh…” he whispered into her ear. “It’s all right. We’re almost home.”

  Home? Her whole situation rose up and mocked her. What kind of home was he talking about? A home where a person just married the next stranger that happened to buy a plot a land? Where two strangers just lived together, coexisting on the same farm, but never really becoming a family? Two business partners working only to make each of their single lives slightly better? Her heart tore. A home where she was
hopelessly in love with a man who wanted nothing more than a dinner in the evening and clean clothes in the morning?

  Yes, her fingers hurt, but her heart writhed in agony. While keeping her head down, she pulled away from him. After a couple of moments, he took the reins back in hand. He clucked to the horses and they continued down the road. When they arrived, she scrambled from the wagon without waiting for Rafe to help her and hurried into the house. Her last glance revealed Rafe, mouth open, looking from the basket of raspberry jelly, still in the back of the wagon, to the cabin door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Enough of this business arrangement. I think we should have a real marriage,” Rafe said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I want to move into the cabin tonight.”

  Rafe stood in the middle of the creek, soaking wet, talking to air. He’d finally taken a break from harvesting the corn and, feeling filthy dirty, he’d dunked himself. The wheat was finished, and the straw cut and stored in the huge barn loft. But his mind wasn’t on work at that current moment. His thoughts dwelled on a certain delicate brunette who kept him at arm’s length.

  Ever since the visit with the Larsson’s last week, Jubilee had closed up like a corn plant in a drought. He’d suggested taking a walk, sitting in the swing, going for a wagon ride, but nothing seemed to penetrate the fortress she’d built. She shooed him out of the cabin or made some excuse to hurry to the garden to finish the harvesting and the canning. And if he dared to suggest his assistance, she turned all red and puffed up like an old hen.

  “I just don’t get it,” Rafe muttered to himself.

  “Yah, Rafe. You talk to birds now?”

  He swung around and there sat a smirking Ivan, up on his big bay. “They give answerings to yourself too, my friend?”

  Rafe shook his head, a half-smile crossing his face as he waded to the edge of the creek and scaled the bank. “Little good those blackbirds do. They never have helpful advice.”

  Ivan chuckled before his eyes grew serious. “You have problem?”

  Rafe snorted. “Yes and no.”

  “Ah.” Ivan tilted his head back in understanding. “Dat sound like vimen trouble, no?”

  Rafe ran a hand through his damp hair. The man may have a limited grasp of the English language, but he certainly understood the universal confusion over a woman’s behavior.

  “Sorry—fix things. You say ‘sorry.’” Ivan encouraged him with a gentle smile.

  “I wish it were that simple.” Rafe walked over, untied his horse from the yellow poplar sapling, and led him back to the travois he’d made to carry his tools.

  “I help?” Ivan swung down from his horse, and the two of them collected the scattered implements. “I mean, with wife.”

  Rafe let one side of his mouth curl up in an attempt to smile. “Naw. I gotta settle this on my own. You could pray, though.”

  “Oh, yah. I and Elsa pray. Talk good to God in Svedish.”

  Once the tools were loaded, Rafe turned to his friend. “What brings you this way?”

  “Franz Schlater got trouble. It rain like dogs. Roof cry. Franz climb roof to fix. He fall. He break arm. Need help. You help?”

  Rafe tipped his head back and shifted his weight to his right foot. “Is that old coot your neighbor on the east side of you?”

  Ivan nodded his blond head. “Yah, yah. He old…what you say? Coot. He need da Lord. We help him and he see. Okay?”

  “Sure, why not?” Rafe wouldn’t miss anything at the cabin with Jubilee avoiding him like a cholera epidemic. He gave a chuckle as he pulled himself aboard Horse. “It’s the least I can do. Can’t have Old Coot Franz with a crying roof.”

  * * *

  Jubilee paced, twiddling the sapphire ring around her finger on her left hand as she waited for the beef stew to boil. She paused to gaze up at Sarah’s sampler. Being restored to a family seemed farther away than ever. She reached up to remove the offending verse but hesitated. With her eyes closed, she summoned the memory of Sarah’s happy face, her eyes moist with tears as she presented the handmade craft to her. Jubilee brought her hands to her sides and formed them into fists. Elsa once told her God never broke his promises. Could she be right?

  The sound of the bubbling stew startled her thoughts to the present. She hurried back to the stove and snatched up the spoon. Burning dinner certainly wouldn’t benefit anyone. Rafe could arrive at any minute. Right now she had to concentrate on getting through a meal with him.

  * * *

  Jubilee could barely swallow the last bite of stew. Rafe’s eyes hardly left her face during the entire dinner. She was as jumpy as a grasshopper on school grounds full of insect-loving children. The apology she’d intended to give him long ago hung in the air and became a huge cloud that filled the room. She pressed her hand to her stomach and closed her eyes for a moment. But the weight of her unspoken apology was nothing compared to her longing for a child, for a real family.

  “I…ah, agreed to help Ivan work on old man Franz Schlater’s house tonight.” Rafe said.

  Jubilee nodded and kept her gaze focused on her empty bowl.

  “He fell off the roof and broke his arm. Ivan’s got several men lined up to hammer down some shingles and to help him get the rest of his harvest in over the next week or two. That is—unless you need something.”

  Jubilee chewed her lip, glad he’d be away in the evenings. No, not glad—relieved. She sighed. If his absence were so liberating, why did she feel so gloomy at the thought of his absence?

  “Uh…no. That’s fine.” Did he notice she hadn’t mentioned going back to Philadelphia to fulfill her obligation? Had he realized she hadn’t stepped into the woods since the day he’d commanded her not to? Maybe no apology was needed.

  Rafe rose and Jubilee flinched. He strolled to the dry sink, already filled with sudsy water, and washed his plate. When he’d finished, he turned to her. “There’s something else. I wanted to wait and give this to you after we ate. One matter or another has come up to interrupt our meals. Hope you don’t mind I waited.”

  He approached and pulled a white envelope from his pocket and extended it to her.

  Puzzled, she put her hand out as if accepting a poisonous viper. After shifting her gaze from his unreadable one to the address on the envelope, she gave a gasp. It was from the Orphan’s Society.

  “How?” was all she could mutter.

  He shrugged, his eyes warming. “My brother. Go ahead, open it.”

  She swallowed a lump of emotion and held the letter in midair and stared at it. Suddenly it seemed hard to breathe. “I can’t. Would you?”

  He blinked at her a few moments before reaching for the envelope. Wasting no time, he pulled his pocketknife out and made a quick slicing motion across the top. He removed two white pages and flicked his gaze to her before settling on the first page. His eyes moved back and forth a moment then looked at her. He cleared his throat. “It says,

  Dear Mrs. Jubilee Tanner,

  With much gratitude to your brother-in-law, Loyal Tanner, the matter concerning your indenture to Mrs. Galston has been resolved. We apologize for any inconvenience this might have caused you. We also thank you for the large donation in your and your husband’s name.

  Unfortunately, we possess few details about your family, but the standard form filled out by a friend of your birth mother reveals basic family information. We, of course, would encourage and appreciate any further monetary gifts to assist in our mission as we strive to undertake the duty of providing for the orphans of Philadelphia. May this find you in good health.

  Cordially,

  The Orphan Society of Philadelphia.”

  Rafe pulled a separate sheet of paper from behind the letter. He scanned the document before handing it to her. “You need to see this.”

  She puckered her brow, while her mind raced. “Rafe, how much do I owe your brother?”

  “Later.” He motioned for her to take the paper.

  “I must know. I’m going to pa
y him.” Though by what means was beyond her.

  “Jubilee, Loyal took care of the problem as our wedding gift. Now would you please look at this form?”

  Pursing her lips in disapproval, she fixed her gaze on the document. A quiver shot through her. There, in front of her, were her father’s and mother’s names. And a sibling.

  She shot up, her voice in awe. “My mother’s name was Margaret.”

  Jubilee began to pace from front door to back, her eyes eagerly devouring the information. “Margaret Charlotte Dupree.”

  Stopping short, she looked up at Rafe. “That’s my middle name. I was named for my mother.”

  She glanced down again and resumed pacing. “My father’s name was Latham Lee Dupree, and I had a brother who died at delivery. My mother…” her throat closed and tears wet her cheeks, “…died giving birth. My father died several months before, of tuberculosis.”

  Rafe shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry, Jubilee.”

  She gave him a weak smile and whispered, “I’m not. I knew they were gone. But this proves my parents were real live people. I really had a family. And now I know their names.”

  Without a word he moved towards her and she flung her arms around him. Rafe held her close and stroked her hair. Joy soared in her breast. “Thank you so much.”

  His warmth spread through her like an aloe salve on a burn, weakening her resolve not let him get near. A knock sounded on the door and she sprang from him. His gaze clung to hers, and she took a slow breath to ease the trembling in her body. She couldn’t pull her eyes from the intenseness of his green ones. The knock came again.

  “You should answer it.” She kept her voice even as her emotions heaved.

  Rafe turned with a quiet growl and strode to the door.

  Ivan stood at the door, a huge grin on his face that faded a bit as he glanced from Jubilee to Rafe. “You no come?”

  Rafe cleared his throat and looked at her. “I’m not sure.”

  She wanted to beg him to stay, to share this discovery with him and lean on his strength. But Jubilee pulled her gaze from his and shook her head with haste. “No. You go right ahead with your plans. I’m fine, really.”