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Jemima sat out on the front porch steps, looking up at the stars.
It was two o’clock in the morning, and she’d have to be up again at five, but she had long since given up any hope of getting any sleep.
That Williams fellow had popped up again in the bushes, for the third straight time in the last month. The first time, it had caused her to scream out, because Joseph was there, and she’d been terrified that Joseph would see the fellow standing there. The second time, he appeared early one morning, and Deborah had almost caught them talking, and that would’ve been a disaster, because Deborah would gleefully have blabbed all she knew. But he was quick – she had to give him that. He had dived into the bushes like an expert.
It made her wonder if he had a lot of experience hiding in bushes outside girl’s houses.
This last time had been at dusk, just before it was time to go inside. He had been bold enough to come out onto the lawn this time, and he had come quite close in the near-darkness. Uncomfortably close, really. She put a hand to her brow, and smoothed back a little wisp of hair. He had stood so close that she could feel his breath, and catch the scent of his clothes; they had been faintly fragrant of pipe tobacco, and that man scent. She couldn’t quite describe it – it was a clean scent, equal parts salt, and soap, and skin.
She sighed and rubbed her arms against the evening chill.
He had wanted her to sign a paper. Every time he’d come out to the house, it was the same thing: sign this paper.
She bit her lip and looked up at the sky unhappily. It was odd that he didn’t bring all the papers at the same time and have done with it. And she really should have told him to go away and never come back. He didn’t listen, he was stubborn beyond all reason, and she was terrified that someone would see him, and ask her why he was there.
She couldn’t figure that out, herself.
Unless, he wanted to be near her, like he’d said once.
She twisted the end of her long braid. She didn’t like the way things were going. There was going to be trouble if things went on the way they were going.
She was beginning to understand that she’d been naïve to think she’d be able to keep the sale of the letter a secret. Once the reporter knew about it, well, she was pretty much ruined, and she had been silly not to admit that before now.
He had already gotten the story out of her – how she’d found the letter, what it had said, and even how she felt about what it had said.
She blushed, and looked down at her hands. How had he done that? She hadn’t intended to tell anyone how beautiful she thought it was.
Maybe it was the way he had sat down beside her, and settled down and listened. The reporter boy listened better than anyone she had ever met.
Well, to her story at least. He didn’t listen at all in the general way, when it came to things like keeping his distance and behaving like a gentleman. He had kept his promise, technically – the promise he had made to her in the store. He hadn’t grabbed her up or tried to kiss her, or laid a finger on her, not even to shake her hand. He had been polite, and had stuck mostly to talking just about the letter, and the auction.
But he showed up at the house whether she liked it or not, he laughed at inappropriate things, and he was always nagging her to let him take a picture. He had said that the world would want to see the girl who found the million-dollar letter.
And, that he wouldn’t mind having a picture of her, himself. Then he had smiled again, and winked.
She would have dismissed that as nonsense, except she’d caught him staring at her, and not just at her face, especially when he’d thought she was looking somewhere else. Jemima tossed her head and looked out over the slumbering fields.
He was a typical barbarian Englischer and had no manners whatsoever.
But, she had to admit, there was another side, too. Because when it had come time to tell her story, then he had gotten very quiet, and settled down and listened very hard. He listened with his mind, which was the best way she could put it. Not just with his ears.
He had smiled when she told him that she’d been glad the letter was real, because it was a beautiful letter – very sweet and romantic. He had a wonderful smile, it was very warm, and it lit up his face.
Like he really...understood.
She had actually dreamed about him. And that horrified her, but she supposed she didn’t have any say over that – or responsibility. She wasn’t in control of her dreams, after all.
She had dreamed that the Williams fellow had climbed in through her bedroom window and chased her all through the house, with her wearing nothing but a cotton shift and her hair going all down her back.
And then, then she dreamed that he caught her and kissed her again, hard, just like he had in the store that day. And she screamed, and he jumped out through a window again, and broke all the glass out of it, like a wild animal.
And then she dreamed that Mark and Samuel and Joseph came running into the room and gave her flowers, and since she couldn’t decide between them, she married them all, right there in the living room, in her cotton gown.
But when she turned to leave with them, she looked back over her shoulder, and the Englischer’s crazy blue eyes were watching her from the broken window.
She woke up with her heart pounding, and she must have cried out, because Deborah had called out from across the hall for her to shut up, and go back to sleep.
But she hadn’t slept. She hadn’t slept for hours.
She chewed her nail.
This last time when he’d shown up, the Williams fellow had come as close as she’d let him, and looked into her face with those bright eyes. He had said:
“Tomorrow is the auction, Jemima. I know you’re reluctant to go, but please, give it serious thought. This is something that only happens once in a lifetime. You will never get a chance to see something this important again. It’s – well, it’s history – and it will change your life.”
She had set her mouth, given him a direct look, and was on the point of telling him that it would not change her, but he had smiled, and nodded, as if to say “Yes, it will.” He put out his hand, as if he would have taken her cheek in it, and then dropped it to his side.
He smiled, and added softly: “And Jemima, you shouldn’t be afraid of that. It’ll be a good thing.”
Then he had added: “It’s now – or never.”
His voice had been as low and tender as if he had been talking to a baby. The memory of it made a ghostly tingle dance up her spine.
He wanted her to meet him in town tomorrow, and get into a car with him alone, and let him drive her to another city. It was unheard of – it was definitely not allowed – and if anyone ever found out that she did it, well, she couldn’t imagine.
Only one thing was certain – it would be a scandal, and she would be in disgrace and very likely in trouble as well.
She bit her lip again and shook her head. There was definitely going to be trouble. Because she had already decided that she was going with him.
She believed that the end result was the will of God, and justified it to herself that way. But if she was really honest, she had to admit that she probably would have found a reason to do it anyway.
Because it was wicked and rebellious, but she wanted to see him again. She wanted to get to know him better.
Because only then could she get the answer to the question that had haunted her for months.
Why didn’t you take that letter when I gave you the chance?
