A Wedding for Julia

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Noreen is a nurse,” Jeanette added, rising to fill the girls’ glasses with more milk.

  “We were worried about her hair.” Wess’s hand traveled the length of his ponytail. “She took us to the children’s ward to see the kids. Some had lost their hair from burns, trauma, and even genetic problems. There were all sorts of reasons.”

  “Aunt Noreen wears a wig! She has different ones and some are different colors.” Victoria pulled her red braid to the front and stared at it, as if she were trying to imagine it being a different color.

  “So that’s why you’re growing your hair.” Sharon stared at him, no longer pretending to stir her food.

  “Sure is. It has to be ten inches from where you cut it. Mine should be ready by spring.”

  Silence settled around the table, broken by Tim rubbing the top of his bald head. “I’m thinking about growing mine, but it will probably take longer than six months.”

  Zoey slid down in her chair laughing, followed by Victoria. Soon they all had joined in, even Tim…and even Sharon.

  The conversation made her feel comfortable, but eating was somewhat trickier. Sharon did what she always did. She took the three bites she allowed herself, carefully taken at the beginning, middle, and end of the meal. For the rest of the time, she scooted her food around on her plate and hoped no one would notice. It seemed she had been successful, until Wess was walking her home.

  The night was cool enough that she was glad she’d brought her wrap, but not so cold that they hurried. A light breeze stirred the bare branches of the trees. Stars shone brightly above them. If she listened closely, she could hear Pebble Creek behind them, carrying on oblivious to the darkness.

  “When did you stop eating?” Wess walked beside her, close enough that their shoulders were touching. His voice held no accusation, but behind the question was a statement, or perhaps several statements.

  I care.

  You matter to me.

  I’m worried.

  He had noticed.

  Maybe he had noticed long ago, as they worked together every day. She should have known she couldn’t fool him by using her fork to stir Jeanette’s spaghetti around on her plate. Parents were busy and often didn’t notice things, but Wess? He was someone who paid attention.

  “Before I came here, I guess. When…when it happened.”

  She had told him there had been trouble at home, but she’d never gone into the details.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Sharon shrugged her shoulders, and then she realized he probably couldn’t see that. Maybe he felt it, though. They were walking that close. “There’s not a lot to tell. I messed up.”

  “All alone? By yourself?”

  “It only takes one person to foul up a thing. One person not thinking.” Her voice was so low he had to bend closer to her in order to hear.

  “Sometimes,” Wess agreed. “Other times it takes a group not thinking, or it takes one person not thinking and another person being purposely hurtful.”

  “I don’t know.”

  The story slipped out of her as they walked between the two homes. Maybe it was the cold, crisp air, which reminded her of winter’s coming and that summer and fall were behind her now. Maybe it was the darkness that allowed her to speak of those days without Wess seeing the expression on her face. Whatever the reason, she told him about James and how she had been foolish enough to believe he was “the one.” She spoke about his old truck, his blue eyes, and how he always managed to say the right thing—the thing that would convince her to disobey her parents one more time.

  She didn’t notice she was shaking until Wess put his arm around her and pulled her toward the far side of Caleb’s barn. “Let’s move out of the breeze.”

  They sat on the ground, their backs against the barn, and she told him about that night and James’s drinking. She described the convenience store and the clerk who had looked at her with such a blank expression. Her throat felt thick as she talked about walking for hours, the intensity of the storm, and how she finally broke down and called her friend. When she reached the part about the car that stopped and the man with the scar on the left side of his face—the man who had chased her through the field—Wess picked up her hand and held it gently between both of his.

  He didn’t interrupt her, though. He let her keep talking.

  So she told him about her dad finding her—finally. How ashamed she’d felt, standing in the rain, soaked to the skin and wearing Englisch clothes. She had been exhausted and terrified from running. Her dad had asked the driver to take them home, where her mother had wrapped her in a quilt, helped her upstairs, and run a hot bath for her. She’d talked to her mother the entire time, crying and trying to explain. After her brothers had left for school, both of her parents had sat with her at the table, given her a meal, and insisted she tell the full story again, this time with the bishop in attendance.

  “I couldn’t swallow a thing. We were sitting there, in our kitchen, and my mamm had put a late breakfast on the table. Our bishop, he’s a gut man, but I wasn’t ready to talk about it again. I definitely couldn’t eat, though my mamm kept pushing dishes toward me, even spooning food onto my plate.”

  Sharon stared out into the darkness, but she could only see stars—a million stars twinkling in the night. “Suddenly, I realized I couldn’t control any of it. I couldn’t control what the bishop would say or do, or if he would decide I deserved punishment for my part in what happened. I couldn’t control what James would say, and I was sure he would deny my story. I couldn’t even control what my parents thought. The disappointment in their eyes—it was worse than any reprimand.”

  Sharon stopped talking, her mind reliving that time in their home in Indiana. The memory was broken when she heard the horses in the barn behind them. Missy called out in her stall. She heard Red answer. The familiar sounds brought her back. They helped her to finish what she needed to say.

  “I knew then that there was only one thing I could control.”

  “What you ate.”

  “It sounds silly now, but it’s important…” The words stuck in her throat. She licked her lips, stared out at the darkness, and finally looked down at her hand in Wess’s, though it was too dark to actually see. “It’s important to have control over something in your life, ya?”

  Instead of answering that question, he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “So what happened? With your parents and the bishop and James?”

  “The bishop said no formal confession was necessary because I wasn’t a member of our church yet. But he needed to meet with James’s parents, and he was concerned about the man who…who chased…who chased me.”

  “You had to go to the police station and give a statement.”

  Sharon nodded her head. “The police were quite polite. There had been two other instances, and they were able to show me photographs. I could pick out the one, the one with the scar, but not the driver. I don’t know if they have caught them yet.”

  “And James?”

  “He denied it all to his parents. To our freinden, he planted the rumor that I was jealous over one of the other girls. He claimed that was why I had turned him in to the store clerk and refused to ride home. He said the beer was for a freind and he hadn’t had any of it.”

  “Your word against his.”

  “And his was backed up by several other boys.” Sharon’s mind ran over the days that followed that night, like a tongue seeking out a sore spot on the gum. She’d replayed it in her mind so often. Revisited James’s hurtful lies too many times. To her surprise she found she didn’t feel any real pain thinking on it all now.

  It seemed like another lifetime. That girl, who had run and stumbled and run some more, seemed like another person.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “There was a scene with one of the girls when we met for church. Rumspringa is a time of freedom, and we’re not supposed to—”

  “Rat on each other?
”

  Sharon laughed softly. “An odd expression, but ya, I suppose so.”

  “But you didn’t rat on James. You tried to keep him safe, and then you tried to keep yourself safe, and finally you only answered questions you had to answer.”

  “You and I see it that way.”

  “Because we’re right.” Wess stood, reached for both of her hands, and pulled her to her feet. “You did the smart thing that night and the nights that followed. You were really brave, Sharon.”

  “I don’t know. A brave person wouldn’t be haunted by what happened. A brave person would be able to move past it, to sleep and function normally. I couldn’t do any of those things. It’s part of the reason my parents sent me away.”

  “There was something more?”

  “The fight at church.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I believe they were also worried I might be persuaded by James again.”

  “That wouldn’t have happened.”

  “And I’d begun having terrible nightmares. I’d wake screaming, and I shared a room with my little schweschder. They wanted me to see a doctor, but I refused. My solution was easier…to stay awake.”

  “Do you still have them? The nightmares?”

  “Nein.” Sharon couldn’t have stopped the smile spreading across her face. “Ada and her prayers and her Psalms seem to have taken care of them.”

  “That’s good.” Wess started to speak, stopped himself, and then pushed on. “I can imagine how scared your mom was. She had to know about your not eating.”

  “She did.”

  “Moms always notice. Sometimes they don’t speak up about it, at least not right away, but they always notice.”

  He walked her to the back door of Julia’s house. A gaslight softly lit the kitchen. Julia and Caleb and Ada had already moved upstairs. Maybe they were in the sitting room, reading and growing drowsy, or maybe they had already gone to bed. It had been a long week for everyone.

  “You were right about James and what you did, but you’re wrong about the other thing.” Wess stopped at the back porch.

  Sharon had already moved up onto the bottom step. When she turned around, they were exactly the same height—standing eye to eye. She could just make out his expression in the dim light offered by the lantern in the kitchen.

  “I’m wrong?”

  “About the control thing.”

  “I—”

  He put a finger to her lips and then kissed her. “You’re one of the smartest, hardest working people I know. You control your present and your future, Sharon, not just what you eat.”

  “Yes, but—”

  He kissed her again. “You control your thoughts and what you choose to believe about yourself and others. I’d be happy to give you an opinion about that loser James, but you control how you see that situation. No one else does.”

  She wanted to argue, but she knew if she spoke he would kiss her once more. Did she want him to kiss her again?

  “And you control what happens next in your life.”

  “But Gotte has set a path—”

  “Yeah. Maybe He’s set several paths.” She must have looked surprised because he laughed and touched her face. “I listen at church too.”

  “You go to church?”

  “Sure. It might not last three hours like your Amish services, but I think it still counts.”

  She smiled and stared down at the porch. His teasing helped. He didn’t treat her as if she were made of glass, as if she might break at any second. Standing there with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his words helped her to believe in herself and believe everything could be all right.

  “Remember, you are the one who decides what happens next in your life.” His voice was softer now, nearly a caress.

  When she remained silent, he pulled her arm away from her waist, ran his hand down the length of it and circled her wrist with his thumb and forefinger. She had lost so much weight since that night. She’d stopped checking her reflection in the mirror long ago, not wanting to see the dark circles and haunted eyes of the girl in the reflection.

  “You also decide when it’s time to start taking care of yourself again, because what you put in your mouth goes a long way to deciding how you feel each day.” He kissed her once more, just a brush of his lips, before he turned and walked out into the night.

  Chapter 30

  Julia stood in Elizabeth Troyer’s kitchen, holding a plate of sliced ham and unsure what to do. The morning service had gone well, though there was an air of tenseness. She hadn’t been able to put her finger on what was wrong. She’d been focused on her mother, who wasn’t having her best day. Ada woke thinking she was back in Pennsylvania, and no amount of conversation could convince her otherwise.

  It looked as if they would need to see Doc Hanson the next day. Julia’s heart twisted. Her mother had been doing so well, but now it was as if they had taken two giant steps backward. Maybe she should have picked up earlier on something being wrong. Perhaps Ada’s going to bed early the last few nights had been a sign. Julia had been too preoccupied with her own problems, her and Caleb’s relationship. She should have paid more attention to her mother.

  At the end of the service, Bishop Atlee had asked for special prayers and support for Nathan Glick’s sister, Frannie. He didn’t say anything else. Julia knew the Drakes. She’d gone to church with Nathan and Susan all her life, though they were a good ten years older than her. She had never met Frannie, who now stood at the back of the kitchen crying.

  “I’ll help you with that plate,” Elizabeth said. “Could you bring the macaroni casseroles out?”

  They were eating outside again, which was odd for the first Sunday in November. The day had dawned unseasonably warm.

  “Why is she crying?” Julia walked close and kept her voice low. She wasn’t gossiping. She was genuinely concerned.

  “I guess you haven’t heard.”

  “Nein.”

  “Her husband left.”

  “Left? Left where?”

  “Just left. They live in the northern part of the state, and she’s been trying to make it on her own the last few months. Her district has been helping, but with the children it’s been hard. Last week she allowed the deed to their farm to default to the bank.”

  They set the dishes on the picnic table and walked back to the kitchen.

  “But her district would help with the payments.”

  “Seems her husband didn’t tell anyone how far behind they were. Her bishop offered to hold an auction to help with expenses, but Frannie says she can’t run the farm alone. She has four children to raise, so they’ve come to stay with Nathan and Susan.”

  Julia picked up a plate of cold chicken, and Elizabeth grabbed two baskets of rolls. They headed back outside again. Frannie was no longer in the kitchen. One of the other women said she was lying down in a back bedroom.

  “Why did he leave?”

  “She hasn’t said. Maybe financial pressure. Maybe something else.”

  “He could come back.”

  “It’s possible.” Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders.

  Julia realized Elizabeth probably understood Frannie’s predicament better than most. She’d been a widow for two years now. Options for Amish widows were few. They could remarry or they could depend on the charity of the church. It was rare that they had the means to be financially independent. Frannie’s options would be even less. She would not be allowed to remarry.

  The meal continued as normal, but everything seemed a little off to Julia. The women took turns sitting with Frannie. Lydia hadn’t attended church because the midwife had put her on bed rest. Aaron had come to church but left as soon as the service was over. The men continued to talk about the weather. Julia didn’t pay much attention to their conversation, though she heard “setting records,” “nineteen eleven,” and “extremes.”

  Those things meant nothing to her. Perhaps they were worried about the livestock.

 
She needed to think about Ada, who was still somewhat dazed and was only picking at her food. How could she have gone downhill so quickly?

  When she asked Caleb if they could go home early, he readily agreed. Sharon helped to gather their things, and Julia guided Ada to the buggy. But even as Red trotted down the two-lane road, her mind was traveling in circles—from Elizabeth to Frannie to her mother.

  Why was life so difficult? She suddenly felt vulnerable, more than she ever had.

  Glancing left, she peeked at Caleb. He was studying the road, probably still worried about the weather.

  What would she do if he died? Wouldn’t she be in the same situation she’d been in before she married him? She’d be able to keep her home, but only if she could afford to pay the taxes and upkeep. And what if he left—not that he would do such a thing—but what if he did? How would she cope? She didn’t have a brother to live with. She didn’t want to go anywhere.

  She remained distracted the rest of the day. If Caleb noticed, he didn’t say anything. Ada seemed to grow worse, her fever rising by the time they readied for bed.

  “What do you think it is?” Sharon asked.

  “I’m not sure. Would you mind sleeping on the couch in the sitting room? I’d like to stay in here with her.”

  “I’ll sit up with her.” Sharon chewed on her thumbnail. They were both standing beside Ada’s bed. She was asleep, though her hand moved restlessly on top of the quilt.

  “Nein. You rest, and if I need a break I’ll come and wake you.”

  But she didn’t wake Sharon, and she barely spoke to Caleb when he came in to tell her good night.

  The next morning Ada’s fever had vanished, but she was still disoriented. Julia took her to see Doc Hanson.

  “It’s normal with a urinary tract infection, Julia. She has mild dementia anyway, and the infection makes that worse.”

  “Should I have done something different?”

  “No. You did exactly the right thing by bringing her in to see me. I’m giving her a strong antibiotic, and you should see improvement in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”