A Wedding for Julia (39 page)

“You did very well, Mattie.” Julia slipped piping hot cornbread on a plate along with a bowl of potato soup and handed it to Sharon. “Table four, Sharon. Glad to have you back.”

“I’ll say. I’m ready for a nap after this morning!” Mattie sank onto a stool and reached for her glass of water.

“You should have seen me the first day. I—”

“You were tired?” Wess arrived with a tray of dirty dishes. “Hmm. I thought you were the Energizer Bunny.”

Mattie, Julia, and Sharon all stared at him, but Mattie was the one to ask, “Who?”

Sharon liked the laughter that followed as she carried table four’s food into the next room. It was as if they were a team, and they worked together pretty well.

On her break later that afternoon, she ran up to her room, picked up one of her packages, sat in the chair by the window, opened the journal, and began to write.

The idea to use a journal had come to her the evening Wess had kissed her, after he had reminded her she was in control of her choices.

But it was easy to forget that late at night when she was trying to fall asleep. Or early in the morning when she didn’t think she had the energy to begin the day’s work. She had been puzzling over it as she’d carried dishes in to wash the day before when Julia had pulled out her list and added another item to it. Julia and her lists. They all teased her about them, but everyone had also admitted that her lists and her organization kept the café running.

If lists could work for Julia, maybe they could also work for her. And wasn’t the book of Psalms, which Ada was so fond of, simply a list? A list of what God had done in the psalmists’ lives.

Sharon ran her hand over the front of the journal. It was a soft green, which reminded her of spring. The thought of spring always lifted her heart. It gave her hope, as if the horrors of this fall would not last forever. Perhaps they would die with winter, and she could begin again.

The journal was fastened shut by an elastic band sewn into the back cover and looped over the front. Sharon slipped her hand under the elastic, opened the cover, and turned to the front page—lined and blank.

But she couldn’t write on it. The first page seemed too vulnerable, too exposed. What if someone found it? What if they read her thoughts?

She settled for penning her name on the third line. Then she turned to the next page, put the date at the top, and began to write. She listed all the choices she had made that day. The decisions she had made.

All were small things—which dress to wear, to surprise Julia by rising early and having their breakfast on the table, to ride with Caleb into town. Nothing earth shattering. When she was finished, her words hadn’t filled even half of the page.

You control your thoughts and what you choose to believe about yourself and others
.

She skipped a line and began writing again.

When she had reached the bottom, she placed the cap back on the pen and read what she’d written, what was below the skipped line, what she chose to believe about others and herself.

Julia and Caleb love me
.

Ada is a gift from Gotte
.

Zoey and Victoria are a joy
.

Bandit makes me smile
.

Wess is special
.

Gotte has taken care of me
.

Closing the journal, she pulled the elastic band around the top and across the front and tucked her pen into the spiral binding.

Maybe it was a small step, but it was a step. She sensed that as surely as she sensed a storm was coming soon, one that would relieve them of the heat and return the winter weather they should be having.

Maybe writing her list each day would help her step onto the path she should be traveling down. Tucking the journal in her drawer, she hurried downstairs. Her lunch break was over, and she hadn’t eaten, which wasn’t a problem. She could sneak in a snack between customers. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that Julia was always happy to see her eat.

Later that night she helped with the dinner dishes. It had been a long day, and she was looking forward to sitting upstairs. Maybe she would even go to bed early. Her stomach felt uncomfortably full, which was probably why she was so tired. For the first time since that night in Indiana, she hadn’t counted her bites. She wouldn’t allow herself to, though it was going to be a difficult habit to break. Not that she had exactly cleaned her plate, but she had eaten more than usual. Caleb and Julia had certainly been smiling about something. Though it might have nothing to do with her, Caleb had said, “Maybe Sharon wants dessert tonight.”

But she couldn’t have fit dessert into her stomach no matter how hard she might have tried. Small steps, she reminded herself. Keep moving in the right direction, and small steps were fine.

They did the dishes and were upstairs within an hour, each taking their turn in the bathroom.

Things seemed almost normal. Ada thumbed through the Psalms. Caleb read the
Budget
. Julia worked on her lists. She still seemed worried. Preoccupied, really. She kept chewing on the end of her pen before scratching something off and writing another thing down on the paper. Sharon pulled her book off the shelf, the same one she’d been pretending to read since the day she’d arrived. Staring at the page, she kept thinking of the teal-and-purple yarn. She could probably finish the shawl in a few weeks, and then she could go back and buy the blue-and-yellow—a nice blend that Ruthie would love.

Excusing herself, she went to her room and retrieved a skein. Julia kept her crochet hooks and knitting needles in a basket on the same shelf as the books. When she walked back into the room with the yarn, Julia smiled and nodded toward the basket. Sharon selected a size
J
hook, which would work nicely for the pattern she had in mind.

She was surprised when Julia put down her list, walked over to a sewing basket, and picked up a quilt top. She’d never seen Julia sew except to darn a few things. Moving back to the couch, she sat beside Caleb, threaded the needle, and began to stitch a border strip around the top.

Sharon watched Julia and thought of her mother. She’d received a letter each week from her. Julia always wrote back to her. She knew this because Julia would read the return letters out loud to her and asked if she wanted to add anything. Sharon didn’t know what to say to her mother, though.

The lavender paper sat in her room, waiting for her to use, but she didn’t know how to begin the conversation she needed to have with her parents. So instead she began to crochet. She allowed the hook and the yarn to sooth the worries in her heart. She allowed the rhythm of the crocheting to calm her anxiousness.

When Ada tapped her Bible and began to read, Sharon found herself listening, really listening, rather than merely tolerating her.

“‘I will both lie down in peace, and sleep…’”

Caleb folded his paper and placed his arm around Julia.

“‘For You alone, O Lord…’”

Julia lowered her sewing and smiled over the top of it at Sharon.

“‘You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.’”

At the last words, Julia glanced down and something crossed her face—a shadow maybe or it could have been she was having a stomachache.

Soon after that Ada said good night. Julia sewed another ten minutes and excused herself. Caleb folded his paper and followed.

But Sharon wasn’t ready for bed. She wanted to crochet just one more row. She wanted to think about the things she had to say to her mother and how she would ask for her forgiveness.

Chapter 32

J
ulia pulled away from Caleb, stood, and walked to the window. The night was so warm they had opened it, but no breeze stirred her gown as she stared out into the darkness.

The week had been exhausting, beginning on Sunday by learning about Frannie’s tragic situation. The woman had even come into the restaurant yesterday, brought in by Susan while the children were in school. Seeing her had driven the panic deeper into Julia’s heart. Seeing her had been like holding a mirror up to what might be her future.

She’d tried to talk to Ada about it yesterday. Her mother was on the mend but noticeably weaker than before. She had again joined the family downstairs, but she was no longer able to sit in the front hall and greet visitors.

“Were you ever afraid?” Julia asked
.

“Of what?”

“That
dat
might leave or die?”

“He did die.”

“But—”

“Julia, be strong and take heart. Hope in the Lord.”

When Julia had only stared down at the floor, her mother had added, “And talk to Caleb. Tell him what has frightened you.”

Now Caleb was waiting, wanting to know why she’d become so silent and why she pulled away from him when he tried to hold her.

How could she find the words to explain her deepest fears? And even if she had the words, the right words, did she have the courage to share them?

“Tell me what’s wrong, Julia. Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t!” The statement leapt from her—too harsh, too absolute.

“How do you know that? You haven’t even given me a chance.”

He was beside her now, standing so close she could smell the soap he’d used earlier when bathing. It was all she could do not to turn and bury herself in his arms. Would that make things better or worse?

“Julia, what are you afraid of?”

“What am I not afraid of? That
mamm
will die. That the café will be a failure. That it will be such a success I won’t be able to rise to the challenge. That we won’t have children. That you will leave!” She pressed her fingers to her lips, wishing with all her heart she could pull the confessions back, especially the last one.

Why hadn’t he simply let it go? Why did he always have to push? Always need to talk things out? Why couldn’t he let her carry her fears and burdens alone?

“Why would I leave?” He hadn’t moved, but she could feel the tenseness in his body. How was it that she knew him so well after so short a time?

“Some men do—”

“We’re Amish, Julia. Our commitment is sacred and for life. Together we—”

“Some Amish men do.” She turned on him now, though she couldn’t see him clearly in the darkness of their room. “Some Amish men do, Caleb. They leave. They just disappear. Do you realize what has happened to Frannie? What happens to women who are abandoned? We are left in limbo—unable to marry, no longer single. We’re left to provide for ourselves or depend on the charity of others.”

“I am
not
one of those men.” His voice was almost a growl.

She knew she had pushed too far, understood that these fears, the ones that woke her in the middle of the night, were things she should wrestle with alone. She shouldn’t have admitted them to anyone, especially not her husband.

“How do I know that?”

“How can you not?” He reached for her then, but she stepped away.

“I don’t even know you.”

“You do.” He turned, walked to his side of the bed, and picked up his pillow. “You do know me. Maybe what frightens you is that you know you can depend on me. You know how much I care.”