Year of Jubilee

by Peggy Trotter

  Her eyes lifted and witnessed what seemed like reluctance cross Rafe’s face.

  He nodded, but kept his eyes on Jubilee. “All right.”

  Jubilee turned toward the back door and walked into the shadows of the house. The silence stretched.

  “Rafe?” Ivan’s voice was quiet with a touch of concern.

  “Yeah…let me get my tools from the barn.”

  Jubilee stood with her back to the door until she heard the latch click. New tears spilled from her eyes. She didn’t have Rafe. Or a child. But she held a document that proved she had been part of a loving family. And at this point, that was all she had.

  * * *

  Rafe pounded the nail into the shake just a bit too hard and split it right down the middle. His frustration at having to leave Jubilee in such a vulnerable state ate at him. Franz Schlater jumped from his rickety chair beneath the scraggy cherry tree and stalked his bent-over form to the edge of the roof.

  “Ya done ruined another one. Don’t you boys know nothin?” The old man swore. “I’d do better than that with this one broken arm.”

  Rafe settled back on his haunches on the slant of the gable and gritted his teeth while the four other men continued to pound the new shakes in, one by one. Ivan, perched at the top of the ladder, turned a toothy smile on him as he launched a heavy load of shingles from his shoulder to the roof.

  “This was a great idea, Ivan. Old man Franz is eating up our help.”

  “Eating up? No, no. No eating. He go church next Sunday. He promise.”

  Rafe grunted. He’d better, or Rafe would prod him there with the pointed end of a broken shingle. He set his fists on his thighs and turned his eyes toward home. What was Jubilee doing? Had he finally shattered her wall of silence? Was she lonely? Could she still be crying over her records from the Society?

  “You come to work, Tanner? Or daydream?” Odie McFarlen ribbed with a streak of humor as he tossed a bent nail at him.

  The men sniggered and Rafe took a deep breath, swiping his brow before he grabbed another shake. “Well, if we all worked as hard as you, McFarlen, we’d be here till spring.”

  More laughter danced across the rooftop. Everyone knew Odie was right fond of keeping the water bucket company. Ivan reared back and started a tune, his English improving greatly as he followed a familiar church hymn. Several of them joined in, but Rafe settled into his sour mood that increased the speed of his hammer.

  ’Twas nigh on ten o’clock by the time Rafe urged Horse into the clearing in front his homestead. The cabin was dark, which put him in an even blacker mood. The porch swing hung neglected and silent in the moonlight. He supposed Jubilee sat in it from time to time to snap beans or cut apples for applesauce, but there sure wasn’t any romancing going on in that seat.

  In front of the barn, he swung down from the saddle, groaning at the ache in his knees. The crickets chirruped through the soft, dark night and a gentle breeze caressed his skin, but the glory of the evening was lost to him, for all he could think of was a delicate, dark-haired beauty.

  He closed his eyes and remembered the sweet lilac scent of her neck, the vibrancy of her small body that fit so well against his. The ache in his heart far surpassed the pain in his knees. Rafe lifted his head and ran his gaze across the spattering of stars. In a whisper, he sent a prayer heavenward.

  * * *

  She dried the last of the onions and garlic from the beams of the cabin and plucked the remaining apples and peaches from the trees. With Rafe helping Ivan over at the Schlater place, she’d begun leaving food for him in his room in the barn.

  He’d be in late again tonight, so Jubilee prepared some jerky, leftover fried chicken, a couple of apples, and some bread and cheese. As she swung through the door that separated Rafe’s private room from the rest of the huge barn, toting her food basket covered with cheesecloth, she noticed his Bible on his bed. He often left it there, yet today a folded paper with an envelope lay across the cover of his Bible.

  Rafe hadn’t mentioned receiving any mail but, then again, they really hadn’t been talking. As if she were drawn by a string, she moved toward the bed and picked up the page. Her heart nearly died when she saw the author of the letter. Rosemary.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  With a strangled cry, Jubilee plunked on the bed, her eyes scanning the words. The letter was dated a few weeks back. Rafe’s basket of food thumped to the floor.

  My Dearest Rafe,

  It was so refreshing to see you this summer, and I won’t deny my life has become a bit gray without your presence. The thought has brought me, many times, to a place of solitude to ponder a number of things. Although I’m aware this letter is so very improper, I can’t bear the thought of not penning a few lines to you.

  I won’t chatter incessantly about the small affairs, such as the weather and the neighbors’ comings and goings, or discuss your family, as I’m sure they’re in constant communication. I will, instead, get right to the point which, I must add, is quite unlike me.

  My marriage to Dale is not at all what I dreamed it would be. Oh, it’s not that he’s unkind or boorish, but rather stuffy and a tad dull. I might add he has a bit of greediness about him, too, which, without a doubt, you are already familiar with, you both having spent a great deal of time together.

  Things have gotten much more difficult since we began this building project. Even Father, who has the patience of Job, has mentioned Dale had fallen short of his expectations.

  Perhaps, you are wondering why I’d alert you to such goings on. Well, I blush to tell you, as this letter is already quite scandalous, so I beseech you to keep this an utmost secret. I noticed you married rather below your station in life. Oh, please don’t despise me for the words I’ve just written. I beg of you to instead finish reading what I have to say. Rafe, I made a huge miscalculation in breaking off our relationship, and I know by your marriage that you, indeed, seemed to regret the way our lives have turned.

  But perhaps this can all be mended. I urge you to write to me as soon as you’re able. I need to know, my treasure, your thoughts on this matter. Please send your response by means of the name and the box I’ve left you below as you realize this must only be kept between my heart and yours. The days will stretch into cold eons until I can turn my eyes upon your letter. Please don’t delay, my dear.

  Always yours,

  Rosemary Marie

  Jubilee wasn’t sure how long she sat on Rafe’s bed, thoughts swirling in wicked patterns of anguish and pain. She only knew that, when she looked up, the window was dark. Rafe would soon be home from Old Man Franz’s. Like a sleep-walker she rose, refolded the letter, and walked stiffly from the room, through the barn, and out into the darkness. For the next twenty-four hours she barricaded herself inside the cabin.

  The first snap of cold weather showed itself on Sunday morning after a good, hard rain. Jubilee wrapped herself in her heavy black cape as Rafe guided the horse and wagon amid the mud to church. The peach dress hung loose, the result of some weight loss since the discovery of the horrid letter. There was little conversation between them, which had become the standard for the last several weeks. Jubilee supposed silence made everything easier. She could barely speak with the ever-present lump in her throat, and the rock permanently residing in her stomach.

  She was relieved when they arrived at church and she could converse with Elsa and coo over Britta. Jubilee kept the child on her lap during the service, her little hands eager for every new prize Jubilee pulled from her hankie. She brought several trinkets each week. Holding Britta gave her the chance to separate herself from the anguish gnawing on her heart. Yet Elsa’s sympathetic glances were difficult to endure.

  It pained her that she and Elsa hadn’t talked privately since the last confusing conversation at the Larsson’s home. Jubilee desired to ask her friend to pray for the awful situation, but they were seldom alone. Even with the complication of Rosemary’s letter, Jubilee still yearned for a baby of her own.


  Her thoughts turned to Elsa’s promise of prayer. Was this the answer she needed? A child would be a blessing, but without Rafe, a child would be an added burden. She’d never want a child of hers to experience the hunger she’d suffered last spring. Tears sprang to her eyes as a great sadness washed over her, even as little Britta beamed at her. God, I’m so confused as to how to pray. I don’t know what’s best. I love Rafe, yet his heart yearns for another. God, tell me what to do.

  To hand Britta over to Elsa at the end of the service seemed pure torture. Britta pitched a fit when her mother pried her from Jubilee’s arms. Elsa laughed and shushed the child.

  “Jubie, Jubie,” Britta called in a pitiful voice.

  It was all Jubilee could do not to burst into tears. Instead, she put her head down and marched for the doors. Her arms seemed weighted and empty as they rolled home in the wagon. The constant silence between her and Rafe only accentuated her loneliness.

  Rafe withdrew, his eyes heavy with so much work and not enough sleep. Obviously, he was eaten up with remorse at having married her now that Rosemary had declared her desire to take him back. She yearned to reach up and caress his handsome face and tell him how much she loved him. To bury her hand in his darkening blond hair, revel in the feel of those locks, and lose herself in his burning green eyes. She averted her head and squeezed her hands together to resist the urge as the wagon seat lurched.

  Esther was wrong. She could never initiate such a display of her deep love. If Rafe rejected her feeble offer, she’d be devastated. Besides, men like Rafe wanted women like Rosemary, not some small, skinny, orphan girl with eyes too big for her face. Rosemary, despite her arrogance, was gorgeous and bore the carriage of a true lady who understood how to move in social circles. But she was a wicked woman, nonetheless.

  Once home, Jubilee threaded the needle to work on the blue baby quilt she’d started. She’d long since finished Elsa’s yellow creation for their anticipated new arrival. This one was for the next newborn of the church, whoever that might be. She caressed its softness and visualized her own child resting in its folds. Her tears dripped onto the fabric.

  Any day now, Rafe would reveal his plans to go back home to be with Rosemary, the one he loved. Then he’d sell the farm, send her packing, and be done with her. She groaned and swept her hand across the intricate pattern of the blanket. She’d be divorced and alone without a child to comfort her. Then she’d have nothing.

  She wiped the tears from her eyes. He was taking his time, distancing himself. Her stomach clenched. Why? Why had he married her only to reject her for another?

  She threw the quilt on her bed and stood to pace. There had to be something to do to stop him from pining for this woman. She bit her lip as she stomped back and forth across the wooden floor. What would detain Rafe from returning to Rosemary? She froze in the middle of the room. Did she want to keep him as her husband if he hungered only to be with her?

  She gave a quivering sigh and crossed her arms. More than anything, she wanted Rafe to love and desire her as a real wife. She closed her eyes in anguish while fresh, hot tears spilled down her chapped face. She wandered toward the window and pressed her forehead on the cold pane. This would never happen. Not with Rosemary so blatantly offering herself back to him.

  So if her marriage—or rather business association—was over, perhaps the matter of having a child was not completely out of the question. Even as the thought whipped through her mind, she flung her hands to her mouth. She couldn’t express her desire to conceive with him. Suddenly there was a tug-of-war in her mind. They hadn’t been unable to have a child. They’d never tried to have a child.

  She spun from the window. No, she could never actually voice her need for a baby, could she? No. No, no. Nothing more than business. Furthermore, would she be willing to commit that physical act to become a mother?

  She jumped as a knock sounded. Wiping her eyes and waving cool air across her hot cheeks, she took a deep breath. She stepped to the door to whip it open. There stood Rafe with an empty supper basket.

  “I’m caught up with the harvest and we’ve finished over at Franz’s. You won’t need to leave a meal for me anymore.” He handed her the basket. “Thought I’d start coming back here for dinner, if that’s okay?”

  She stared at him with her mouth open as cold air swirled about her skirts. Heat raced up her neck.

  “Uh…sure.” She started to close the door, but he put his hand up. She glanced at his eyes and found them searching her face. His brows drew together.

  “You want to take a break and sit on the swing?”

  That swing. Tilting her chin up, she shook her head before shifting her gaze to the crisp leaves rustling on the pin oak near the driveway. “No.”

  He nodded a couple of times before looking down. “Probably too cold, anyway.”

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned and shuffled off the porch. Despite being angry with him earlier, her heart ached as he walked away. She quickly shut the door, reminding herself of that awful letter. Her pity evaporated with the knowledge he’d soon leave her completely alone and abandoned.

  * * *

  Rafe bellied up to the woodpile. He was mad as a hornet at himself and had to work a bit of his frustration off. He grabbed the axe out of the tree trunk he used to split timber on and snatched a huge log, placing it on the stump. He’d worked like anybody’s business to wrap up the harvest, helped at that ungrateful Old Man Franz’s place, and now it was too late. He’d done ruined his chance to get close to Jubilee.

  The woman seemed to be hiding from him. Every time he’d have a few minutes to stroll to the cabin, she worked in the garden or hauled jars to the cooking pot in the yard. If she wasn’t working, she was barricading herself inside the house. What was going on in that woman’s head? Vimen. Ivan’s dialect bled into his brain.

  He swung the axe, bringing it down with a satisfying chunk, which split the large log clean in two with one swipe. His mistake cost him plenty. Putting my arm around her on the swing. Why, he was nothing but a plain dunce. Then she burnt her fingers and didn’t talk to him for weeks. He wasn’t sure what that was about.

  However, the coldness he’d experienced from her the last week or two would freeze a lake in a hurry. What in the world he’d done of late to keep her so isolated had him befuddled. He thought the letter from Philadelphia would’ve softened her attitude toward him. And it had, for a few minutes. If only Ivan hadn’t chosen that moment to pound on the door.

  He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city. Proverbs 16:32 had become his mantra since Pastor Barnett had preached on it a couple weeks back. He mumbled it to himself as he brought the axe up in a mighty swing.

  Church. The word sent another thought ricocheting thought his brain. Yesterday Elsa had leaned toward Jubilee to whisper something about praying for her. Maybe Elsa knew the root of Jubilee’s stony silence. All he knew was Jubilee’s face had flamed a charming shade of pink, but she’d clammed up even tighter.

  He whipped the axe over his head and two pieces jumped away from his blade. And then this mess with Rosemary. What was the woman thinking? He hadn’t dared to write her back for fear it’d be misinterpreted. He’d quickly sent off a brief note to Dale about her letter, which outright stated she wasn’t happy.

  He hoped Dale took his advice kindly. Not sure why he even bothered. Dale hadn’t afforded him the same courtesy when he’d stolen Rosemary away. Rafe grunted as the axe rose again. He ought to thank Dale. His friend had saved him from certain heartache, which was why he’d been so eager to tip him off. He paused. Or, rather, God had saved him. Rosemary had certainly proved to be a changeable and difficult woman. He was glad he didn’t have to deal with her anymore. Thank you, Lord, for your perfect plan.

  His mind flipped back to Jubilee, with her haunting brown eyes and thick hair. Sometimes he dreamed of the night at his parent’s house, with his arms wrappe
d around her slight, trembling body and her tresses brushing his skin. His motions came to a stop, and he propped his hand on the worn wooden handle. His gaze wandered to the horizon as he continued the dream sequence.

  He always stared into her fathomless dark eyes, the moonlight filtering through the sheer white curtain, his hands in her thick curls. And she’d whisper his name. He’d groan and bend over to touch his lips to hers, feeling her arch against him, her breath hot on his cheek, and then she’d vanish. He’d wake up in a sweat of desire.

  Blast. With a growl he grabbed the axe and arced another swing. He scowled at the stack building on either side of the stump. What a romantic fool he was turning into.

  Elsa. He could talk to Elsa and see what had gotten into Jubilee. He paused a moment in his task and wiped the perspiration collecting in tiny beads on his forehead. Yeah. That’s what he’d do. He’d ride over in the early morning after breakfast and put it on the line with Elsa. Surely she’d know something.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Rafe stood with his mouth open. Jubilee wanted a baby?

  Elsa, a bit pink at the subject matter, shrugged once more, glancing at Ivan next to her in the doorway.

  “That what she say. She ask first if I happy. If I marry Ivan again. I say yes. But she not happy, but she say yes when I ask her. Then, I say not happy because no baby. She say yes.”

  Rafe closed his mouth and swallowed. “Did she say anything else?”

  Elsa tilted her head, her lips twisted in a thoughtful pose. “Yes, she say first husband bad.”

  Rafe nodded, his mind occupied by the previous topic.

  She huffed. “Maybe I no say these things. Maybe Jubilee be angry.”

  Rafe rubbed his hand down his bristled cheeks he’d declined to shave this morning in his haste to visit the Larssons.

  “No,” he said, “I appreciate your help. She does seem very cross with me lately. I thought you might understand why.”