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Just after four o’ clock, Jemima freshened up and dressed. She could hear her parents stirring down the hall; they were always the first to rise.
She felt guilty already, because she was going to have to tell a story to explain why she was going to be gone all day. The best thing she could think of was to volunteer to deliver some preserves that her mother wanted taken to her sister, a few miles away. It was a long walk, and her parents would expect her to stay for some time, visiting her aunt, and then it would be a long walk back.
It was at least a plausible story, though she’d also have to make up a story about why she hadn’t shown up at her aunt’s house, as planned.
Jemima bit her thumbnail nervously, but to her dismay, there was nothing left – she had chewed it down to the quick. She knew that lying was wrong, but how could she possibly slip away for a whole day without giving her family some reason for going?
When she went down to the kitchen, her mother was already pouring out coffee, and her father was nursing a cup between his big hands.
Jacob looked up, and his expression softened. He grinned at his eldest daughter, but Jemima was stabbed by guilt, and could only muster a small, sickly smile in return. To her relief, he didn’t seem to notice, and her mother pulled her aside.
“Jemima, start some bacon, please.”
Jemima did as she was told, but shot her mother a surreptitious look as she carefully placed bacon strips into a fry pan. “Mamm – do you still want to send that basket of preserves to Aunt Priscilla? I could take them today, if-if you like.”
Her mother looked at her. “Well – yes, I still do. I’d appreciate that, Jemima, if you’re willing. But you’ll have to walk. Your father is taking the buggy into town today.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Jemima answered quickly, and directed her attention to the stove. But when she raised her eyes again, she noticed that her sister, who had just arrived, was staring at her through narrowed eyes.
“Can I come with you?” Deborah asked suddenly.
Jemima’s mouth dropped open slightly. Deborah never asked to come with her – anywhere.
Her mother smiled and nodded. “That’s a wonderful idea, Deborah! Aunt Priscilla will be glad to see you.”
Jemima bit her lip, and added slowly: “Yes! The last time I saw her, she told me that she wanted to teach you how to make her sauerkraut. Now you can learn!”
She didn’t raise her eyes. That was another lie; she was getting in deeper and deeper.
But as she’d hoped, Deborah made a face and shrugged. “In that case, I’d rather stay here. I hate her sauerkraut!”
“Deborah!” cried both of her parents, at once.
Jemima finished the bacon, and helped her mother prepare the rest of breakfast. When everything was ready, she sat down meekly at the table, ate in silence, and kept her eyes mostly on her plate. She noticed, uneasily, that Deborah was watching her, and wondered if there was some look on her face that gave her away. Or – her blood ran cold at the thought – that she’d said something in her sleep that gave her away.
When breakfast was over at last – because to Jemima, it seemed to last forever – she lingered behind to receive the jars that she was supposed to be carrying to her aunt. Her mother looked at her in surprise.
“Why Jemima, do you mean to go now?” she asked.
Jemima looked up at her. “Yes. It’ll take a while to get there. I’d like to get there before the sun gets too hot.”
Her mother nodded. “That’s sensible. Here, I’ll get them for you.”
Jemima was alarmed to see that Deborah stayed behind at the table as well. Her suspicious blue eyes were still watching. Jemima finally bit her lip, and met them. She gave her sister a direct look.
“Is there something you wanted to ask me, Deborah?” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.
Deborah narrowed her eyes again, but shook her head. To Jemima’s intense relief, she pushed off from the table and went back upstairs.
Her mother returned with a half-dozen jelly jars, a loaf of bread, and half a ripe cheese in a basket. “Here, take these to your aunt,” she instructed, “and give her a kiss for me! Be sure to tell her that I’m going to return her book, as soon as I’ve finished reading it.”
Jemima nodded submissively, and felt more wretched than she could ever remember feeling in her life. Maybe she should just forget all about this thing.
But her mother was standing in front of her, with her hands on her hips.
“Well, scoot, girl!” she told her.
Jemima stood up, heart pounding, and carried the basket out through the front door. A rosy predawn light was in the east, and already the countryside was clearly visible. The sounds of early morning came faintly from across the valley: the sound of a barn door closing, a man calling to someone, a rooster’s call.
Jemima moved quickly around the side of the house, and walked out to the garden. The Williams fellow had said that he’d be waiting for her in his usual place, but she’d learned that he was a very late riser. She had never seen him before 6 a.m., at any rate. But maybe this morning, he’d make a special effort.
He had promised to take her to his truck, and to drive her to the auction house. He had told her that it was scheduled at 9 o’clock, but the city was a good distance.
She walked out to the very edge of the garden. Her heart was pounding.
This was craziness. She shouldn’t be travelling with a man she didn’t know, not to the grocery store, much less to a city hours away. He was a crazy man, he’d proved it. What if he just drove away with her?
What if–
A soft hiss from the bushes brought her focus sharply back to earth. The branches trembled. Sure enough – there he was, just visible from her vantage point. She hesitated for a split-second, then walked quickly toward him, and followed into the underbrush.
But as she looked back over her shoulder, she was shocked to see that Deborah was standing on the front porch of the house, watching her as she went.
The Williams fellow took her hand and pulled her through the bushes until they reached the fence that separated the King farm from county land.
Then he turned to smile at her. He was beaming, and looked happier than she’d ever seen him.
“I knew you had it in you, Duchess!” he grinned.
Jemima frowned. “What did you call me?” she demanded.
“Duchess,” he grinned, unrepentant. “You look like one. Now, we have to go over this field to get to my truck. I’ll help you over the fence.”
Jemima slapped his hand away. “I can climb over a fence by myself,” she told him.
He grinned at her again, and waved toward it invitingly. Jemima set the heavy basket down in the weeds, hiked her skirt up, and climbed over. It was very awkward, and embarrassing, but she wanted to show this Brad Williams fellow that she was her own person, and not a helpless child.
Once she was over, he hopped over it easily, and then led her through the scrubby, overgrown field to a line of trees at the edge of the road. Sure enough, there was a white truck. He walked to the passenger side and opened the door for her gallantly. She gave him a long look before climbing in – carefully, and with great trepidation.
He walked quickly to the driver’s side and climbed in. As he turned the switch, and the engine growled to life, he turned to her and smiled – that nice, warm smile.
Only – excited, too. She could see it.
“Don’t worry, Duchess,” he told her. “This is going to be the best day of your life.”
As the truck pulled off down the road, Jemima shrank down in the seat, turning her face away from the window and covering it with her apron, in case she caught sight of anyone on the road.
If she was spotted riding in a car alone with an Englisch reporter, it was most definitely not going to be the best day of her life.
