All my love to you both,
Betsy
Julia stared toward the barn before rereading the last paragraph again. Hadn’t Caleb told them her age? Hadn’t he warned them that children probably wouldn’t be in their future? Or had he left it for her to do so?
There is no joy like that of carrying an infant, of holding it in your arms…
Julia understood what Betsy was saying. She had never thought such a future was for her. It had been years since she had dared to hope. Images from the last few weeks flipped through her mind. Lydia placing her hands on her stomach. Ella holding Anna’s baby. Miriam handing Rachel to Gabe.
She knew. She understood what she had missed. Did Caleb? How important was it to him that they have children?
Slowly she folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. She placed the letter into her pocket, stood, and went back to work.
Caleb looked down at his dinner and tried not to grimace—chicken casserole again. Julia was a wonderful cook, and she was also careful with their money. She threw everything that was left from the week into Friday’s chicken casserole, and it was tasty. Probably he was only tired, and that was why he was wishing for a piece of fish. He’d actually caught sight of a few fish swimming downstream while he’d worked on the roof of the barn.
As he reached for fresh bread and slathered it with butter, he reminded himself that less than a month ago he’d been living in a barn, mostly eating things out of a can or whatever Lydia brought him from her family meals.
There were those afternoons, though, when he’d finished early at the grocery and headed straight to the creek. One or two fish had been plenty, and often he’d cooked them outside over the little pit fire Aaron had set up near the picnic tables.
“Something wrong with the casserole?” Julia asked.
“Nein. It’s gut.” Caleb shoveled a big forkful into his mouth and followed it with a large bite of bread. She had worked all day too. He was being ungrateful to wish for the old days—to wish for something different than what everyone else who had walked into their house—correction, their café—had been served.
“The customers certainly liked it,” Ada said, scooping some into her spoon. Forks had become too difficult for her to handle.
“Ya, well, they probably don’t have it every Friday.” Caleb’s voice was quiet and low, and he meant his response as a sort of joke. He’d spent very little time around women, not counting the last three weeks. Men tended to say what was on their mind and laugh about it later. One look at Julia’s face told him there wouldn’t be any laughing.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“Of course you did. That’s why you said it.”
“Nein. I was trying to be funny because I’m tired. Your cooking is gut, Julia.”
“The best cooking can grow old when you eat it time and again.” She stood, pushing away the plate she’d barely touched.
Sharon glanced from one to the other, not saying a word.
Ada piped up with, “Think before you speak, but don’t speak all you think.”
It was the first time Caleb had heard her spout a proverb, at least he thought that was what it was. Best to keep eating. That would show Julia he hadn’t meant what he said.
But she didn’t return to the table. Instead, she worked in the kitchen, and when he carried his empty plate in and tried to help with the dishes, she only shook her head and turned away.
So he went upstairs. He tried to read the paper, but he couldn’t focus on the printed words. What he needed was a hot bath to help with the aches, and why was he so sore? It wasn’t as if he were an old man. Somehow the roof work had been harder than he’d expected, even without the fall. It still embarrassed him to think of how foolish he’d been. He knew how to properly set a ladder so it was safe.
He soaked in the bath, practically dozing, until the water became cold. When he walked out into the hall, he was surprised to see the light out in the sitting room.
Maybe everyone was as tired as he was.
And they all had a long day ahead of them beginning early the next morning. Caleb was certainly looking forward to Sunday, a day of rest.
He was relieved to see a light on in his bedroom. Perhaps Julia was still awake. He wanted to apologize for his earlier remark. Plainly he’d hurt her feelings, and that had not been his intention.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to have the opportunity to clear his conscience. His wife was in bed with her eyes closed and the covers pulled up to her chin. At least she’d left the bedside lamp on for him—a small gas lantern that sent shadows leaping across the ceiling. As quietly as possible, he pulled back the covers and climbed into bed.
“What happened?” Julia’s voice landed somewhere between disbelief and accusation.
For a split-second Caleb thought she was still referring to his ill-timed dinner comment, but then he saw her staring at his left arm, which was already turning purple and blue.
“Oh, ya. That.” He ran his right hand over the bruise. “I fell off the roof of the barn.”
“You what?” She popped up in bed, the covers falling forward and her long brown hair spilling around her shoulders.
He realized again how much he’d grown to care for her, how fortunate he was to be married to this amazing, beautiful woman. He reached up to touch her, but she pushed his hand away.
“Caleb, what do you mean you fell off the barn? Your arm. It’s hurt. Weren’t you going to tell me?”
“What’s to tell?” He shrugged and lay back against the pillow. “I was climbing on the ladder and didn’t have it positioned securely. It tossed me on the ground like a horse will toss a rider.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Why didn’t you call for me?”
Caleb used the thumb and middle finger of his right hand to rub his temples. “What could you have done? I would still be on the ground and the roof would still need patching.”
“Did you ever think that maybe you should go to the doctor?”
Caleb studied the pattern of light on the ceiling. “Ya, when I first landed, but then I stood up and nothing seemed broken. So I went back to work.”
“Your arm is purple.”
Holding it out in front of him, he flexed his forearm back and forth. “True, but it’s not broken.”
“Maybe something else is wrong. Maybe you have a blood clot or…or…I don’t know what. That’s what the doctor is for. I know Doc Hanson would have fit you into his schedule if you—”
“There was no need, Julia. I appreciate your concern, but it’s only a bruise.” Caleb reached for the lantern and turned it off. Darkness blanketed the room, effectively ending their conversation.
He could feel her staring at him, and he was aware she was still sitting up in bed.
One part of him wished he could think of something to say to her, something to settle her emotions, but his batting average wasn’t so great in that area tonight. Probably best if he let her rest.
So he rolled on to his right, away from her, so as not to lie on the bruised side. It was better that she didn’t know the bruises continued down his hip and leg. They would fade soon enough. Like a spat at dinner, most things took care of themselves given a little time.
At least, that was his reasoning as he drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 27
The day had gone very well, or perhaps Sharon had discovered a pace that wasn’t too hurried but still met the needs of their customers.
Which was one thing they had plenty of—customers in every size, age, and color. The weekday morning customers were regulars now. Folks who worked outside an office, started early, and were able to take a break around ten. They chose to stop at the Plain Café for a bite to eat and to work on their computers. Sharon grew used to seeing lone customers sitting at tables with food and coffee to the side and laptop computers at the ready.
She didn’t actually understand how th
e computers could work on the Internet in their home, but then a customer explained to her that he had 3G, which allowed him to go online. Computers still made no sense to her, but she assumed they worked off the same principle as a cell phone. Because she didn’t need either one, it didn’t really matter as long as the food orders came out quickly and the coffee stayed hot.
It did surprise a few of their computer customers the first time they asked where the electrical outlets were so they could charge one of their devices. When Sharon explained they had no electricity, they would glance around and then blink once or twice as if seeing the room, the furnishings, and her for the first time. Then they would nod and mumble, “Of course. Thank you anyway.”
Weekends they tended to have guests she’d never met before.
Not all of their customers were pleasant, but those few who were rude had always been in the lunch crowd.
One middle-aged woman Sharon had served a few hours earlier had earned the ribbon for least reasonable. She wanted the Cinnamon Flop cake for dessert, which they had sold out of. Thin, pale, and dressed in a business suit even though it was Saturday, she pursed her red lips, tapped a brightly painted red nail on the menu, and said, “Cinnamon Flop cake. It’s listed right here.”
“Yes, but we’ve sold our last piece.”
“Unacceptable.”
“We have oatmeal cake or caramel pudding.”
“I didn’t ask for oatmeal cake or caramel pudding.” The woman lowered her chin and stared at Sharon as if she were daft. “There’s no use talking to you is there? Where is the owner?”
At that point all of the other customers in the front dining room were staring and listening. Sharon didn’t want to bother Julia, but she also wanted everyone else to go back to enjoying their meal. She was willing to bet her only pair of knitting needles that the woman didn’t even want the cinnamon cake. She’d probably heard Sharon tell the family at table three that they were out and then decided to make a scene.
Keeping her tone polite but firm, Sharon explained, “The owner makes all of our desserts fresh, including the Cinnamon Flop cake. She couldn’t have more available before Tuesday at the very—”
“Did I hear my name?” Julia appeared at her side, smelling of chicken and dumplings and fresh bread.
Sharon didn’t know how she managed, but somehow the work in the kitchen only made her look more beautiful. It must be because she was so happy doing what she’d always dreamed of. At least, that’s what Julia had said earlier in the week as they had all sat upstairs and read.
“I want Cinnamon Flop cake.” The woman stabbed the menu with her nail. “And this girl won’t bring it to me.”
Julia turned to Sharon, rewarding her with a smile and a touch on the shoulder. “Could you check on the trays of cornbread I have baking? I believe they might be ready.”
Sharon nodded and turned to go, but as she walked away she heard Julia explain that they weren’t a fast-food chain; that cakes weren’t lined up in the freezer; and that, in fact, they didn’t own a freezer, though they did have an icehouse.
“We value every customer’s business, but if you’d rather dine at one of those other fast-food establishments, your meal with us today will be free and I can provide directions to town.”
Sharon couldn’t help peeking out through the kitchen doorway. The thin woman’s face had taken on a pink tinge, and she’d pulled her hands into her lap. Finally she said, “I don’t think I want dessert today. I’ll just have more coffee.”
“Excellent. Sharon will be happy to bring you some. She’s a very gut waitress, ya?”
The woman nodded once, a curt move of her head.
Julia turned to speak to the couple at the next table, and Sharon ducked back into the kitchen.
She couldn’t believe what she’d just witnessed. Julia had stood up for her. She had praised her work and the other customers in the room had all nodded in agreement.
Some of the shame she had been carrying fell away in that moment as she stood near the big black oven, opened the door, and pulled out the cornbread. She placed the trays on the cooling rack, breathing in the scent of cornmeal and the rich goodness of the butter Julia had brushed on top. When she turned to go back into the front dining room, she nearly bumped into Ada, who stopped in front of her, put both hands on her cheeks, and patted them once, twice, and then three times. After that she toddled off to her chair in the corner of their dining room.
Wess tried to catch her attention from the hall, holding up his hands in a “What?” gesture. Sharon shook her head and turned back to care for the customers at her tables. She and Julia and Wess and Ada were an odd group, a family almost, but they had learned how to cover for one another in a very short time.
Maybe that was why Sharon agreed to go to the Elliott home for dinner that evening. Possibly her resolve to remain distant weakened when Zoey and Victoria began to beg.
“Please, Sharon. You haven’t even seen our room yet.”
How could she say no to those faces? They were scrunched up in such concern, as if she might disappear tomorrow without first walking the five minutes across the field to their house.
Wess was amused by the entire thing.
“Hard to say no to, aren’t they?”
“I imagine you find a way.”
“Sure, but I’ve had time to grow used to the pleading look.”
Sharon laughed as they all made their way past Julia’s garden and down the path that led around the backside of the Elliotts’ horse pasture.
“All of this was once Julia’s?” she asked.
“That’s what I hear. She sold it to my folks. The house we live in was already built.”
Sharon could see it now, a one-story frame home. They were approaching the side of the house and headed toward the back door, but she could just make out the corner of a wraparound porch stretching across the front and no doubt continuing around the far side. “It’s a grossdaddi house.”
“What did you call it?”
“A grossdaddi house.”
“What is that?”
“Where our grossdaddi—”
Wess gave her the look.
“Where our grandparents live when the child who has stayed home marries and has children.”
“Gramps and Grandma get pushed out?”
“Not pushed out.” Sharon shook her head, causing her kapp strings to twirl. “A grossdaddi house is smaller with less upkeep. It’s close enough to the son so that the daadi and mammi can have help if they need it, but far enough away to allow for privacy.”
“Like an on-site nursing home.”
“Yes. Sort of like that. Very few Amish go to nursing homes. Because of our large families, it’s rarely necessary.”
Both girls had run ahead and stood waiting impatiently at the back door. Wess tugged on Sharon’s hand as they climbed the wooden porch steps. “Welcome to the grossdaddi house, then.”
It was an Amish home, and it wasn’t.
She would have known if she’d walked in blindfolded and then had the blindfold removed that she was standing in what had once been an Amish house. She could see the giant black stove that sat between the sitting room and kitchen to keep the family areas warm. One look at the cabinetry, and she knew the woodwork was done by an Amish person—no veneer, solid wood.
She wasn’t sure how she knew such things, but she did.
There also hadn’t been any electricity in the house. This was a problem when Englischers purchased Amish homes. They hired someone to come in and wire the house, but it never looked quite the same. For instance, the Elliott’s didn’t have lights on the ceilings. They had opted for lamps instead. Little things, but Sharon could tell. Not that she’d been in a lot of Englisch homes, but she’d helped to clean a few back in Monroe when she’d needed extra money for Christmas.
This was not an Englisch home, at least not naturally. It was a grossdaddi house. But it was no longer Amish, either. There were definite changes other tha
n the electricity.
For one thing, Bandit met them at the back door, full of energy and wanting attention. Sharon had never known an Amish family who kept pets inside the house, though she knew plenty that had barn cats and dogs for hunting and to help with the livestock such as sheep. She’d heard Englischers say Amish weren’t attached to their pets, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Her youngest bruder had hidden in the hayloft and cried for hours when their dog Gus had died of old age. Her mamm still hadn’t been ready to get a new one a year later when Sharon had left. They had all loved that dog, even though he was only a mutt.
“What kind of dog is Bandit?” She asked Wess as he picked up the little dog and scratched it behind the ears.
“Half Jack Russell terrier, half poodle.”
“That explains the curly hair.”
“Yup. He’s smart, has lots of energy, and looks a little crazy. Plus he’s the prince of the family.” Wess set Bandit on the floor, and the pooch took off in search of the girls.
Music played in the living room. It was set on a low volume but seemed to carry through the different rooms of the house.
“My dad installed remote speakers,” Wess explained. “Mom loves jazz, especially if she is working or cooking or cleaning.”
There was no doubt Jeanette was happy to see her. “Sharon, I’m so glad you came. You must need a rest after a long day of working.”
“You never tell me I need a rest.” Wess held out his hands, palms up. Sharon was learning he liked to express himself with his body language.
“You don’t need rest. You have boundless energy and probably sleep in three hours later than Sharon does.”
Sharon glanced from son to mother and back to son again. She’d never noticed the resemblance because Jeanette had red hair and Wess had sandy hair like his father’s must have been at one time. When Wess and Jeanette stood next to each other, though, she saw the resemblance in their noses, their eyes, and even the way their mouths seemed to laugh with what they were about to say.
A Wedding for Julia Page 20
