Julia's Last Hope (21 page)
The next morning it was even more difficult for Julia to let John go, but she tried not to cling to him. She did not want him to sense her great reluctance.
“I will try to get home for a weekend just as soon as I can,” he promised.
“I have Hettie and Tom,” Julia assured him. “I won’t be alone.”
“And the two guests,” John reminded her. “They will keep you busy.”
He was right about that. If Miss Priscilla had her way she would certainly keep Julia busy. Although the guests meant more work, Julia was grateful to have additional people in her house. It would not seem quite as empty.
“I will write,” John promised, “every day,” and he kissed her tenderly.
Julia could not answer.
“And you will be in my prayers—constantly,” he continued.
Julia blinked hard to keep tears from spilling. She nodded her head and hoped John understood the depth of meaning in her silent communication.
“And remember—if you need me you can send a wire.”
Julia nodded again, still unable to speak.
The train whistled, and Julia knew she had to let him go.
“I love you,” she managed to whisper as he kissed her one last time. Then he too was gone.
Julia walked home alone. She did not hurry. She wanted to be in control of her emotions by the time she reached her kitchen. Hettie would have a strong, hot cup of tea waiting. Although the tea wouldn’t do much for her emptiness, Hettie’s company would help some.
Julia burst into the kitchen, tray in hand, cheeks flushed and her eyes snapping. She stopped at the kitchen table and set down her tray, fearing she would drop it in her agitation. But even after setting it down, she still gripped its edges.
Hettie waited for Julia to say something, but she just stared at the wall, her lips tightly drawn.
“What is it?” Hettie finally asked.
Julia lowered herself into a chair as if her legs would not hold her a moment longer.
“Miss—Miss Prissy!” exclaimed Julia, using the unflattering name for the first time. “She’s—she’s with child,” said Julia, her eyes flashing.
Hettie nodded.
“You knew?” cried Julia.
“I suspected,” said Hettie as she continued to peel potatoes.
“Well—well, I never! Who would have thought of such—The very idea—using my house—my Christian home—as a—as a hideaway.”
Julia put her head in her hands, her shoulders trembling.
Hettie went on removing potato peels.
“Well, I won’t have it!” Julia declared suddenly. “Not in my house. I will not hide a woman who—who lived immorally and came sneaking off to me to hide her sin.”
Hettie said nothing.
“She—she—oh, I’m so thankful the girls aren’t here to see this,” Julia wailed.
Hettie still made no reply.
“Why did she pick us? Why did she come here? There must be other places. But no. She had to choose us.” Julia waved a shaking hand to show her disdain.
Hettie shifted her position, easing her weight from one foot to the other. Without lifting her eyes from the task before her, and without raising her voice, she responded, “Maybe she didn’t choose us.”
Julia’s head came up. “Well—I mean—I know her mother chose us. Her mother runs everything in the family. If she spent more time training her daughters and less time being a—a social leader this—this—disgrace might not have beset her family.”
“I didn’t mean her mother,” said Hettie slowly.
Julia looked puzzled. “Well, it certainly wasn’t the father,” she said. “I doubt he’s ever made a family decision in his entire life.”
Silence hung about them for a minute. Julia’s face showed more and more impatience. “What are you trying to say, Hettie?” she asked at last.
“The woman is a sinner—just like you said,” Hettie answered softly.
Julia’s face flushed again. She was about to begin another discourse denouncing evil when she noticed a flicker in Hettie’s eyes. “So what are you trying to say,” Julia again demanded.
“How did our Lord feel about sinners?” asked Hettie, dropping the peeled potato in the pot. She picked up another and rinsed it in a pan of water.
Julia’s eyes grew big. Her head dropped. Her trembling hands fluttered to her breast. “Oh, Hettie,” she repented, “I just never thought…”
There was silence again while Julia did some soul searching. At last she lifted her head, her eyes tear-filled, her voice low.
“Do you think God sent her here for us to—to help—to love?” she asked.
“Could be.”
After another long silence Julia nodded. “Yes, Hettie. It could be. And I nearly failed. Miserably.”
“You would have gotten to it—sooner or later,” Hettie comforted.
“I was about to send her away,” Julia admitted.
“You might have thought of sending her away, but I doubt you could have done it.”
“Oh, Hettie. I’m ashamed. So ashamed of my—my quick response. I was so angry. I felt so—so used.”
“And so you were,” said Hettie.
“Well, if God sent her to us, then we must do our best not to let Him down. We must somehow—somehow convince her that God can forgive—even this.”
“It won’t be easy,” said Hettie, rinsing the pot of potatoes.
“You don’t think she will be able to understand that God can forgive such sin?”
“No. I think it won’t be easy to make her see that anything she takes a fancy to do, God would dare oppose,” said Hettie. “She’s a selfish, headstrong young woman if I ever saw one.”
Hettie’s thought was new to Julia. She paused to reflect on it. The assignment ahead would not be an easy one.
“Are you still lonely?” Felicity asked Jennifer as they prepared for bed. When Jennifer failed to answer, Felicity responded to her own question with sisterly insight. “Me too.”
Then the room was quiet again.
“It
is
nice to—to make Grandfather so happy,” Felicity said.
Jennifer nodded and went on brushing her long hair.
The girls had settled into the new household quickly, at least by outward appearances. It hadn’t been much different from their own, though Grandfather’s larger house was more impressive and formal than their home in the mountains.
School was exciting. The girls were relieved to learn they were not far behind in their studies—and were every bit as refined and mannerly as their city peers.
But in spite of their doting grandfather’s warm welcome, the acceptance of the other girls, and the shopping trips and entertainment, the empty feeling remained. They missed their parents. They missed home.
Felicity picked up her brush and swept it casually through her hair. “You know what I’ve decided?” she asked Jennifer.
Jennifer shook her head, afraid to trust her voice.
“I’ve decided to get married.”
Jennifer’s hand stopped in mid-stroke. She gave her twin a quizzical look. “You’re
not
serious.”
“I
am
serious. The only way to solve Mama and Papa’s money problems is for one of us to marry a wealthy man. Since I don’t suppose you will—I will.”
“That’s foolish talk,” said Jennifer, no longer concerned. The idea was too preposterous to even consider.
“It’s not foolish,” Felicity shot back with a toss of her head.
“And where will you find this wealthy man?” asked Jennifer. “We go to a girls’ school. We go straight to church and home again. Grandfather entertains people his own age. Where do you expect to meet anyone?”
“I’ll manage it. Just wait.”
Jennifer was unconvinced. “By the time men are wealthy, they are also old—and already married.”
Felicity considered the comment. “There are young ones—who inherit,” she insisted.
“Well, you certainly don’t know any.”
“I will. You’ll see.”
Jennifer laid aside her brush and went to turn down her bed. “Well,” she flung at her twin, “if you find a young man—wealthy, a Christian, willing to marry you, and Mama and Papa decide you are old enough to marry—
then
you will have my blessing.”
Felicity flipped back her long hair. “What makes you think I need your blessing?” she snorted. “I am doing this to save Mama and Papa and you talk like—”
“Mama and Papa do not need ‘saving.’ ”
“Well, they need—need something—or we wouldn’t be here while they are there,” said Felicity, nearly in tears.
Jennifer felt like crying too. Loneliness crowded out her courage, making her feel deserted and desperate. “Let’s not fight,” she pleaded. She knew she could not stop her tears if she tried to say more.
Felicity turned her back. She did not want Jennifer to see how difficult it was to hold her own tears in check.
“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” Felicity finally managed to ask.
“No. And I don’t think Mama and Papa would either. You are much too young even to be thinking of marriage.”
“Other girls marry at our age.”
“Other girls have not given it proper consideration.”
“Then what
can
we do?” asked Felicity.
“Pray,” Jennifer replied. “Just pray. And while we are at it—we must pray for Grandfather. Even though he’s been taking us to church, I don’t think he is a—a real believer.”
Felicity had the same fear. “He’s sweet, though, isn’t he?”
Jennifer wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her white nightgown.
“He’s very sweet,” she agreed, then added, “and he must miss Mama something awful.”
John pushed his chair away from the table in the cook shack and turned to leave for his own sleeping quarters. He shared the stark, simple shack with five other men. It was not the kind of arrangement he enjoyed.
It was noisy, crowded, and often filled with smoke. Although he was determined to endure the inconvenience, to live with the simplicity, and to forego his need for privacy, he continually longed for Julia.
John slowly strolled the short distance from the eating area to the shack. He wanted time to think—to pray. It was nearly impossible to pray with the raucous laughter, coarse jokes, and smoke-filled air pressing in on him. He stepped off the beaten path and lowered himself onto a fallen log. The night sky was clear, and stars were beginning to appear. John was weary. It had been a long, hard day of heavy work in the woods. He was a cutter now, not an overseer. Mr. Small had told him that would soon change, but for now John was working alongside the other men on the cutting crew. Actually, he figured the hard labor was good for him. The physical exhaustion kept him from thinking too many painful thoughts and made it easy for him to sleep at night despite his many concerns. And of course he was glad to have a paycheck coming regularly.
John turned his face toward heaven as his chest tightened with loneliness. Jule. The girls. Even the familiarity of his small town. He missed it all very much.
“God,” he whispered into the darkening night, “I’m glad I didn’t need to leave you behind too.”
He sat silently, unable to go on. Even his prayers were painful. He watched the moon rise over the nearby pines. A cloud covered it for a moment. Then it reappeared, bigger and brighter than before. In the forest a wolf howled and another responded. They were on the hunt. They needed to survive. John felt a kinship with the wolves. He too was fighting for survival. For himself—but mostly for Jule. For the girls. He had to survive—for them.
Julia placed a late summer rose in a small vase on the breakfast tray she had prepared for Miss Priscilla. Constance had gone for a walk down one of the numerous wooded paths. Julia had assured the girl that her sister would be fine. Julia was quite able and willing to care for Priscilla’s needs. Constance had looked relieved—anxious for a few moments alone. Priscilla was getting increasingly restless and difficult.
“I think a short walk would be good for Miss Priscilla too,” Julia suggested.
“So do I,” responded Constance with a weary sigh, “but she absolutely refuses.”
Julia said no more. She had tried everything she could think of to make Miss Priscilla feel more comfortable—more content—more loved. But Miss Prissy was not an easy person to love. Determined to show her love no matter how difficult the task, Julia prayed more fervently for the strength to do so.
