Julia's Last Hope (24 page)
Priscilla and Constance left the next day. Constance seemed reluctant to leave, but Priscilla was impatient to be gone.
“I suppose that poky old train will be late,” she fussed, but the train was right on time.
“I will write,” Constance promised.
“I will be waiting,” said Julia.
“Thank you. Thank you so much—for sharing your faith—for understanding—for your love,” said Constance.
Julia hugged her again and blinked back another onset of tears. She turned from Constance to Priscilla. The train was coming toward them, chugging heavily as it pulled up the incline toward the station.
“Priscilla,” said Julia. “I—I’ll continue to pray for you.” Julia tried to give the girl a parting embrace, but Priscilla accepted only a token hug and then stepped back quickly.
“Constance, grab that big bag,” she ordered, “it’s much too heavy for me.”
Julia turned back to Constance who welcomed the warmth of her farewell embrace.
“Don’t let her upset you,” whispered Constance. “She was affected by your love much more than she lets on. She said as much to me. And now that I know God—I will be able to help her. I will keep working and praying and—who knows?”
Winter’s snow arrived early, making Julia feel buried and confined in the big, empty house. If she had not had Christmas projects to keep her mind and fingers busy, she felt sure she would have gone out of her mind with loneliness and sorrow.
John came home for Christmas, and Julia clung to him as if he were her only link to sanity. “I have been counting the days ever since you left,” she moaned, “but they ticked by so slowly.”
John pulled her close and brushed his lips against her hair.
“You’ve lost weight,” Julia fretted.
“Not much.”
“But you
have
lost weight. Aren’t the meals—?”
“The meals are fine. They feed us like—like lumberjacks,” John said with a grin.
Julia lifted a hand to rub his cheek. “It’s so good to have you home.”
But strangely, having John home made her ache even more intensely for Jennifer and Felicity—or perhaps it was because of Christmas. Julia’s thoughts kept returning to the girls.
It will be such a special Christmas for Papa,
she kept telling herself. She pictured the big house on St. Pierre. The staff would have decorated the halls with boughs of cedar and holly. The tree would be standing in the wide front parlor, hung with ornaments too numerous to count. Cinnamon and nutmeg would fill the house with irresistible aromas. Julia remembered it all. It would be as it had been during her childhood. Having the girls this year gave her papa a reason to celebrate Christmas.
“Oh, if only we could be there too,” grieved Julia. “Then—then I would be so happy.”
But they were not there. Julia mailed her parcels with teary eyes and a loving heart. Then she busied herself baking John’s favorite desserts, hanging the familiar streamers, and carefully placing the glass balls on the tree John brought home to her.
On Christmas day Julia set the table for seven. She had invited the Clancys and Mr. Perry for dinner. She had wanted to have everyone who was left in town, but the Shannon children had the measles and could not go out, and the Greenwalds had guests of their own.
John and Julia managed to get through the day. Julia tried to be cheerful, tried to keep her mind on her guests, but her thoughts kept slipping to her family in the East.
I wonder what they are doing now. I wonder if the girls are thinking of us. I wonder—
And then the guests went home and the day was over. Julia was glad she had worked so hard to get ready. As bone-tired as she was, at least she would be able to sleep.
Julia was hard pressed to keep busy as the winter days came and went. The household needed many things, but she had no materials with which to work. Julia chose to be frugal. She stretched John’s paychecks as far as possible so they could lay aside sufficient funds to reunite the family.
In February Hettie took sick. Julia worried more than she admitted. There was no doctor and no longer even a druggist in town. What few medications remained were shelved in Mr. Perry’s back room.
“I really have very little to offer you,” Mr. Perry told Julia when she asked for his help.
“I just don’t know what to do,” Julia sighed. “I have heard of poultices for chest colds and steaming for head colds—but this is neither. I don’t know what is wrong with her.”
“Well, keep her warm and quiet—that’s about all I know,” said Mr. Perry. “And chicken broth. My ma used to swear by chicken broth.”
“And where am I to get a chicken? I have tasted nothing but wild meat for two years now.”
The man nodded his head but said nothing more.
Julia picked up a few tablets said to bring relief from aches and pains and then trudged home through the snow.
It was several days before Julia saw any improvement in Hettie’s condition. By then Julia was exhausted from work and worry.
“I’ll sit with her,” said Tom, entering the room. “You get some sleep.”
Julia did not argue. She went to her room and fell on her bed without even removing her clothes. “Dear God, may she be all right now,” she whispered, and then she slept.
In March the Clancys moved away.
“There’s no need for a town clerk when there’s no longer a town,” Mr. Clancy said simply.
“I’ve been thinkin’,” Mrs. Greenwald said to Julia a few days later. “No need to keep those shops open when there is nothing much in them. Might as well sort out what is left and board up those windows before everyone is gone and there’s no one to help us.”
Only the Shannons, the Greenwalds, and Mr. Perry were left.
“What about the summer trade?” asked Julia.
“Perhaps Mr. Perry will lend a shelf or two in his store,” Mrs. Greenwald continued, and Julia didn’t argue.
The few remaining hand-crafted goods were moved to Perry’s store, and the men of the community nailed the boards back on the shop windows.
At last Julia began to feel that spring might actually come again. She took every opportunity to be outdoors, even though it was too early to plant a garden, too wet to walk in the woods, and too desolate to stroll downtown. Julia mostly puttered at home or hurried to the post office to see if she had a letter from John, the girls, or her father.
John’s letters always sounded cheerful. True to his word, Mr. Small had found John a position as overseer so he no longer had to put in hard, heavy days as a cutter. He told Julia how the town was growing, with more and more homes lining the crooked streets.
“They have even put in electricity,” he wrote in one letter. “Of course that is thanks to the lumber mill.” He spoke often of missing his family and how happy he would be when he had saved enough money so he could come home again.
The girls’ letters always told interesting incidents of life in the big city. They had learned to love their grandfather. They enjoyed school and the young ladies who had quickly become their friends. They wrote about their interests in music and sports, and they told Julia about shopping trips and visits to exciting places. But they also spoke of their eagerness to be back with their parents again. Julia could often detect little cries of loneliness.
Her father’s hasty notes were filled with comments about the girls. He praised Julia for raising such fine young ladies, talked of their accomplishments in school, gloated over how well Jennifer was doing on the piano and how sharp Felicity was in mathematics. It was always a joy for Julia to read her father’s letters—but they did make her even more lonely.
After Tom plowed the garden, Julia set out with her packets of seeds, glad to have something to do, something that would actually show growth—advancement. At the same time she wondered,
Why am I doing this? I am planting a garden big enough to feed the town—and there is only Hettie, Tom, and me.
What about your summer guests?
she argued with herself.
Guests? Perhaps a few—but never enough. Never enough to earn a suitable income, and never enough to eat all of these vegetables.
But Julia planted on. She felt compelled to do so. It kept her feeling busy—profitable.
“We are leaving, too,” Maude Shannon told Julia toward the end of spring. “Jim just doesn’t want to struggle here anymore.”
Julia didn’t even raise her head. She had expected it.
“Do you want the cow?” asked Maude.
“I’ll ask Tom. He would have to care for her. I will let him decide.”
“I’m sorry to leave you like this,” Maude went on.
Julia managed a half smile. “That’s all right,” she said. “We have always said that whenever a family feels they should move—that it’s time to go—then they should do so.”
“Might you go too?” Maude asked.
Julia shifted. She had thought of it. Had wondered. Had even hoped John might suggest it.
“No,” she finally said. “No, I don’t think so. Not now at any rate.”
“Do you have folks coming?” Mrs. Shannon asked.
“You mean summer guests? No, not yet—but it’s still early. Most folks don’t come until late summer or early fall.”
“Well, I should get going. I’ve got a lot to do,” Maude said. “Packin’ and all. Thanks for the tea, Julia.”
