Her fingers traced her name on the envelope—Julia Zook.
Unable to resist, she pulled out the single sheet and sat in the rocker beside her bed. She remembered well enough what was written on the plain paper. She had read it twice already—once while Caleb stepped into the bathroom to give her a few moments alone and then again, while he sat beside her on the bed.
He’d described his parents to her then. Jebediah, his father, had recently turned sixty-five but still worked in the fields a portion of each day. Caleb’s brothers—three older, two younger—took care of the bulk of the farm work, but Jebediah enjoyed the time outside and claimed it kept him youthful.
“Do you look like your dat?” Julia had asked.
“Ya. I suppose I do—same height and same build. Though his hair is much whiter.”
He’d touched at the place on his scalp that was graying. She’d wondered if he was aware of it. Apparently he was, and it didn’t matter to him at all.
“And your mamm?”
“Betsy.” Caleb’s smile said more than his words possibly could. “She’s a gut cook, Julia. You two will have a lot to talk about. All that cooking, though, for us boys…it’s taken its toll. Mamm, she never was tall, and she’s put on a few pounds over the years.”
“Is she…is she healthy?”
His laughter eased the worry that tried to creep into her heart.
“Ya. Doc says she’ll outlive him, and he’s fifteen years younger than she is. Mamm is what we call sturdy. It came in handy over the years.” Caleb hesitated before adding, “She didn’t have any girls of her own. Maybe that’s why she tends to take special interest in her sons’ wives. You’ll probably receive a letter each week.”
It was with that image in mind that she reread the words this morning. Dawn’s light was a bare tinge on the eastern horizon. The first full day of her married life had hardly begun, but it seemed appropriate that she should pause and take the time to feel Caleb’s mother’s blessing upon their life.
Dearest Julia,
Since Caleb left Indiana, I have prayed each day for him. Prayed for his safety. Prayed our Lord would guide him. And prayed that Gotte would care for you in every way. Yes, I prayed for you even before I knew your name, Julia.
I have never doubted that Gotte had someone special intended for my son. Caleb has a generous heart, and you will soon learn that he is a hard worker. His faults are no worse than any others. (Does he still fish every chance he gets? Well, at least it provides dinner.) I will pray you have a full measure of patience to help you deal with his shortcomings. And I will pray that your marriage grows in love, is sprinkled with laughter, and always travels the path our Lord has given. Each day is an opportunity to extend Gotte’s love and grace to each other.
Julia glanced up and across the room, out toward the barn where even now Caleb was working, caring for Missy and Red. He had laughed when they had reached the line about his faults. “Just like mamm to warn you,” he’d said as he put his arm around her.
Julia turned the page over and continued reading.
Caleb has explained enough of your situation so that we will know how to pray. Until you can come for a visit, I would love to hear from you. Please know that each morning and each evening I will lift you, Caleb, Ada, and your home there on the banks of Pebble Creek up to our Lord. I will also remember your new café and ask that the Lord will bless the work you and Caleb attempt together.
This is a time of great change for you both, but also of great joy. Remember, Julia, courage is fear that has said its prayers. Have courage. Pray without ceasing, and write to me as often as you are able.
Lovingly yours,
Betsy
Julia carefully folded the single sheet of paper and slipped it back into the envelope. She walked over to the large oak dresser in the room, which now held both her clothing and Caleb’s. Opening the bottom drawer, she tucked the letter between her winter dresses and the old aprons she used while cleaning or canning.
She would write back this evening, after dinner.
As far as praying, that she could do while she worked. Though it occurred to her, as light spilled over the horizon, that perhaps God wanted a moment or two of her undivided attention. So she stood by the window, forced her mind away from all there was to do, and gave her worries to the Lord.
The rest of the week went remarkably well, considering.
They were able to move the downstairs furniture upstairs. Julia had envisioned turning the third bedroom into a sitting room, and Caleb had agreed it would be a good idea. This left all of the downstairs open for dining areas.
It worked unless they had a child, but Julia pushed that thought from her mind. Even if she did become pregnant, they would figure out something before the baby arrived. Besides, she didn’t need to spend her time worrying about what might happen. They had their hands full with all that was happening.
The extra upstairs room wasn’t big enough to hold all of the furniture from the downstairs sitting room and their sewing room. Some of it would need to be stored in the barn.
“You lap quilt, so we don’t need the quilt stand. We only use the treadle machine for clothes, and Caleb can fetch it when we need it.” Ada patted her on the arm. “It’s not a problem.”
But Julia nearly wept to see her old black sewing machine carried toward the barn by Seth and Caleb. The barn! With the horses and hay and manure! Caleb stopped, said something to Seth, and a moment later they were walking back to her. “It will fit in the basement,” he said.
She nodded, relief surging through her heart. The basement would be a good place for it, and much easier to reach if she had sewing to do.
Crossing the item off her list, she marched back into the house and focused on arranging the tables and chairs David had delivered. Everything fit—barely.
They kept the breakfast area the same and decided this was where they would take their meals as a family. Caleb also set up a rocker and reading table in a corner for Ada.
“She’ll need a place to rest, and she won’t want to always be upstairs.”
He was right. She should have thought of it herself.
What had been their downstairs sitting room held five tables that seated four people each. The front room, the old sewing room, held another three, plus two small tables which sat two and were placed near the front windows. All told, they could feed thirty-six at full capacity.
Things were looking good.
The real problem came with the licensing, which she never would have been able to maneuver through without the help of Jeanette. Caleb had found out about the food handling class from his supervisor at the grocery. Julia had taken and passed it the week before her wedding. And that was just the beginning.
They also had to apply for a business license and tax, zoning, and alarm permits. She had no idea what most of those things were.
“We have a problem,” Jeanette declared. She’d paused to knock on the front door, but Julia had waved her inside.
“This place looks amazing!”
“Danki.” Julia sank onto a chair at the nearest table and pulled out her list. “A new problem or an old one?”
“A new twist on an old problem.” She went on to explain that all of the permits had been approved except for the signage permit.
“What is a signage permit?”
“The sign outside your property has to be approved.”
“We don’t have a sign yet.”
“Exactly. That’s part of our problem.” Jeanette twisted one of the short red strands of her hair. “You have to be granted a signage permit before your final application can be evaluated. I’ve found a person in the permit office who says he’ll be there until four p.m.”
“It’s one o’clock now.”
Jeanette gave up on the hair twisting and pulled off her purple glasses. After she’d cleaned them with the hem of her blouse, she pushed them back on and stared at Julia. “We’re too close to give up now. Where are the gu
ys?”
“Barn. I believe they’re hiding. I’ve had them working since daybreak.”
“Let’s find them. If they can knock together a sign, I’ll take a picture of it with my phone and text it over to the permit office.”
“But Grace’s drawing isn’t finished yet, and then we were going to have it blown up and—”
“Doesn’t matter. This is a temporary sign. You can always change it later.”
Somehow they did it. Together they found material to create a five foot by five foot board. Mounting it on the fence near the road wasn’t easy, but Tim’s engineering skills came in handy, and they were able to safely build a support.
It was the Elliotts’ teenaged son, Wess, who came up with the idea of using left-over paint from the front porch for the actual words. He also was better at painting letters than they were.
Standing back, they all studied the finished project.
The words “Plain Café” were centered on the board, and he’d painted a white border around it.
“That definitely won’t win any art awards,” Wess said.
Caleb slapped him on the back. “Maybe not, but anyone who is hungry will know where to stop.”
“One more task completed.” Julia ticked café sign off her list—an item that hadn’t been on the list at the beginning of the day. It was amazing what they had been able to accomplish in one day, thanks to their friends.
“I was happy with it even before Wess put on the border.” Jeanette snapped a picture with her phone and then began pushing buttons.
“Are you sending it now?” Julia asked.
“I am. The man in the permit office said he would e-mail back your permit in the next thirty minutes.” Jeanette slipped her phone into the pocket of her jeans, high-fived Tim, and then turned to Julia and pulled her into a hug.
Caleb, Wess, and Tim let out a cheer. Zoey and Victoria danced in a circle before stopping suddenly, turning to their father, and asking, “What’s a permit?”
Ada pushed up her glasses and hooked her arm through Julia’s as they turned to walk back to the house. “Oh, the joys of those who trust the Lord.”
“Indeed, mamm. Indeed.” Julia couldn’t help thinking the psalmist was correct, but he probably didn’t have to deal with obtaining permits in order to serve a meal to a hungry traveler.
They were halfway back up the lane, headed toward home and relieved to have the day’s work behind them, when they heard a horse and buggy turn into their lane.
It was Aaron, and the expression on his face was enough to alert Julia that something was wrong. Her first thought was of Lydia and the baby.
“We need to build that bridge,” he said as he stopped the horse and buggy beside them. “Then I could get here faster.”
“Ya. If the weather remains good, we’re starting it next week.” Caleb glanced at Julia and then at Tim. “What’s wrong, Aaron?”
“I’m not sure, but your mamm called. She needs to speak with you right away.”
Chapter 17
Sharon stared at her mother and dad. They were sitting around the kitchen table, though it was well past dinnertime. Marion had called her in from the sitting room, where she was watching her little sister, Ruthie, color on a blank page. At her mother’s voice, she’d been surprised to glance outside and see the sky was growing dark already.
How long had she been sitting there? Where were all the boys?
“How late is it, Ruthie?”
Her sister only shrugged and went back to her coloring sheet—a scene that included grass and a four-legged animal that was colored purple.
Remembering that plum-colored animal, Sharon wondered if the entire world had gone crazy. She also wondered if the boys were hiding in the barn. No doubt they had all known what her parents were about to say. Everyone had known except her.
“Did you say Wisconsin?”
“Ya.” Her father didn’t blink. “That’s where Caleb and Julia live.”
“Who?”
“Caleb, your Aunt Betsy’s middle son. You remember him.” Marion spoke quietly, gently, as if she were afraid Sharon would bolt from the table.
“It doesn’t matter if you remember him or not, Sharon. He’s your cousin, and you’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow to stay with him and his wife.”
“Why?” Panic clawed at Sharon’s chest, reminding her of that night, of waiting in the field, of the car that had stopped before her father’s driver found her. She pushed the thought away, closed her eyes, and tried to swallow. “What…what have I done wrong?”
“What haven’t you done wrong?” Her father’s voice wasn’t harsh, exactly, but neither was it kind.
There had been a wall between them since that night three weeks ago, since he’d gone down the road to their Englisch neighbors and asked for a ride in the middle of the night.
“It’s not what you’ve done, Sharon.” Marion reached out across the table, but Sharon jerked her hand into her lap. “We have spoken with the bishop.”
“Again?”
“And we think this is best for everyone.”
“To send me away?” Sharon stood abruptly, the chair skidding against the kitchen floor.
Her father stared at a spot to the left of her shoulder, his face devoid of emotion. Her mother shut her eyes, as if she were praying or trying to wish the entire thing away. Maybe trying to wish her away.
“I hate you,” Sharon whispered. “I hate you both.”
Sharon had twenty minutes of privacy before her mother followed her to her bedroom. She could hear her five brothers downstairs now. It sounded as though a pack of pups had been let loose in the house. Laughter, footsteps, someone losing a game of checkers and daring a rematch, and someone else complaining he was trying to finish his homework.
Normal sounds for people who had normal lives.
“Crying won’t change anything.” Marion pressed a fresh handkerchief into her hand. “You had better accept what is to be and make the best of it.”
Sharon pushed her face deeper into her pillow. The last thing she wanted was to speak with her mother. She understood nothing!
“Why is she crying, mamm?” Ruthie lifted up Sharon’s arm and pushed her doll under the pillow, down near her face. “Take my boppli, Sharon. She’ll make you feel better.”
Ruthie’s voice, concerned and close, was the only thing that could have broken through Sharon’s wall of despair. Sitting up, she rubbed at the tears still running down her face.
“Don’t cry.” Ruthie crawled onto the bed and put her chubby hands on both sides of her sister’s face and squeezed. “Okay?”
Sharon laughed, which made her hiccup, and then more tears escaped.
“A cold wet rag will help.” Marion stood.
“I’ll get it.” Ruthie hopped off the bed and ran out of the room.
“Wring it out,” Marion called after her.
They studied each other for a heartbeat before Sharon broke the silence. “I don’t want to go.”
“Ya.”
“I barely remember Caleb.”
“He’s been gone only a little over a year.”
“But he’s old and…” another sob escaped. “Why do I have to go?”
Ruthie returned with a washcloth dripping water across the bedroom floor.
“Take it back, sweetie. Squeeze the water into the sink.” Marion made wringing motions with her hand.
“Ohhhh…” Ruthie dashed back out of the room.
Marion scooted farther onto the bed, until her back was resting against the wall. “It’s been three weeks since—”
When Sharon didn’t speak but only stared down at Ruthie’s doll, her mother pushed forward. “Since you called your dat. You’re still not eating.”
“Is that what this is about? I’ll start. I promise—”
“You said that last week and the week before.” Marion shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong, Sharon. I don’t believe I know everything that happened to you
that night. What could have frightened you so? What are you still struggling with? These are questions that worry both your dat and me. What we do know is when one of our kinner has changed—and you’ve changed.”
“Everyone changes.” The words slipped out from a secret place in her heart. Speaking them hurt so much she thought she might be having a heart attack. Could seventeen-year-old girls have heart attacks? Was that medically possible?
Ruthie returned with the cloth, climbed onto the bed, and began patting Sharon’s face—forehead to chin, left ear to right.
“Ya. That is true. People change, but the changes we’ve seen in you are worrisome. You’ve lost nearly fifteen pounds—weight you didn’t have to lose.”
Sharon began shaking her head, but Ruthie put a hand to her forehead and said, “Hold still!”
“You don’t sleep at night.”
“How—”
“Do you think anything happens in this house I’m not aware of?” Her mother reached out, touched the top of her head, and let her hand linger there a moment before continuing. “After what happened at church on Sunday—”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“Did I say it was?”
Deciding the baby doll needed washing as much as Sharon did, Ruthie pulled it into her hands and sat in Sharon’s lap. Singing softly to herself, she cradled the faceless doll and focused on using the washcloth to clean her.
“Change can be healthy. We met with your Uncle Jebediah and Aunt Betsy yesterday. They were the ones who suggested you go to Wisconsin and stay with Caleb and Julia. They have a large home and are opening a café where you can work. Perhaps work, in a new place, is the answer.”
“But it’s in Wisconsin.”
“Ya. It is.” Marion stood and kissed both Ruthie and Sharon on top of their heads. “Betsy spoke with them today. They’re happy to have you.”
Sharon closed her eyes. Surely this was a nightmare, like all the others she had been suffering through. Maybe she would wake soon, wake to her old life—the one she hadn’t yet ruined.
A Wedding for Julia Page 12
