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“There she is!”
Jacob had been sitting at the kitchen table, but he rose and put his hands on his hips as Jemima walked in the front door. “Where have you been all day, young lady?” he demanded.
“Are you all right, Jemima?” Rachel added. Her anxious eyes were glued to Jemima’s face. “Look at her, Jacob!”
Her father walked up and lifted her chin to the light. “You’re right, she looks flushed.” He covered her brow with one big palm. “Not running a fever, though.”
Jemima lifted troubled eyes to father’s face. “I feel fine,” she told him.
Deborah raked her with a shrewd glance. “Pffft! She’s been with one of her boyfriends,” she scoffed and went back to her dinner.
Jacob’s expression darkened. “Is that true, Jemima?” he demanded sternly.
Jemima cast her eyes down. “I went to the lawyer’s office,” she stammered. “He sent me a letter.” She soothed her guilty conscience by telling himself that part was true enough.
Her parents exchanged a wordless look but seemed to accept her explanation, to her relief.
“What did the lawyer say, Mima?” her mother asked.
Jemima put her bag down and went to sit at the table. “He says he thinks my chances are good because Mr. Morton is bluffing and wants me to settle out of court,” she replied. “He says that he thinks he’ll destroy Mr. Morton if the case goes to a jury,” she replied literally.
Her mother frowned her disapproval. “That is why we don’t go to court, Jemima,” she chided, “Fighting and talk of beating, of destroying! It isn’t right to do such things!”
Jacob half-turned. “We’ve talked about this before, Rachel,” he said quietly, and she fell silent; but not before giving him an unhappy look.
“Mr. Hutchinson says that my appearance is next week,“ Jemima continued. “He says he’ll send a car to pick me up, and drive us to the courthouse. And not to be worried.”
“I hope you told him that we are not worried, no matter the outcome,” Rachel replied. “Now eat your dinner.”
Jemima obeyed and said little else. She helped her mother clean up after, and joined her family for evening prayers, but once when she opened her eyes, she noticed that Deborah’s sharp eyes were open, too – and watching her.
When prayers were done, they all went upstairs for the night. Jemima closed her bedroom door behind her, and changed into her nightgown, and plaited her hair. But she didn’t even bother to turn down her lamp, because there was no chance that she would drop off to sleep, not for a long time.
She reclined on her bed and closed her eyes. In an instant, she was in Brad Williams’ – Brad’s arms again, and his kisses were sending shivers up and down her spine. No matter how guilty it made her feel, she couldn’t help reliving it. No one else had ever made her feel so – she couldn’t describe it – so deliciously burned up.
Because somehow, Brad Williams was on fire, from his crazy eyes outward. He did insane things, like he had no fear, and maybe he was an Englischer, and maybe a madman, too, but when he kissed her, he kissed her like it was the last time, like the world was ending, like they were both going to die.
No one, not Mark, not Samuel, not even Joseph, had ever made her feel like Brad made her feel.
And that was a problem.
There was a soft knock at the door, and Jemima opened her eyes. “Come in,” she called.
To her surprise, when the door opened, Deborah stood in it, braiding her long hair. She closed the door behind her, swung her braid behind her, and put her hands on her hips. “So, you like the Englisch reporter,” she said, matter-of-factly. “What do you plan to do with Joseph, and Samuel, and Mark?”
Jemima frowned. “What I do is my own business, Deborah King,” she said, with uncharacteristic tartness, “—not yours!”
“Fine,” Deborah replied blandly, “but you can calm down. I’m not bashing your choice. I have to admit, he is a very nice-looking guy. Maybe not as good-looking as Joseph, or as well-built as Mark, but close. He’s got plenty of nerve, I’ll say that, he’s smart, and he’s way cooler than the other three.
“Are you planning not to join the church, and go Englisch, then?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!“ Jemima exclaimed crossly, “I’m not planning anything, and Brad Williams is not my choice, and I don’t understand why you even brought him up.”
Deborah smirked, “Please. I may be 14, but I’m not blind. I saw your face when you came back. After all your other romances, I know the kissy face look, and since Mark and Samuel and Joseph were all at work today—it had to be the Englischer boy.”
Jemima’s mouth dropped open, and Deborah nodded, “Mmmm-hmm.”
Jemima swallowed, and tried not to look worried. “Why are you saying all this?”
Deborah shrugged. “I just wanted to tell you that I know and that I approve. In fact, I’ll help you, if you like. I can talk him up to Mamm and Daed. You’ll need that if you decide to keep seeing him.”
Jemima frowned. “Why are you doing this? You’re not – well, you don’t usually –”
“I’m not usually nice to you,” Deborah agreed. “True. But, maybe I’ve changed my ways.”
Jemima frowned and gave her a narrow look: but Deborah only smiled angelically and walked out.
Jemima watched her go, then fell back onto the bed and gnawed her fingers. Now she was in Deborah’s power—as if she didn’t already have enough troubles!
But even that danger couldn’t distract her for long. After a few fretful minutes she drifted back into her dream: of being locked in Brad’s embrace, of being kissed by that handsome madman, of feeling like they were all alone, like nothing and no one else even existed.
He had closed her in his arms and crushed her to his lips, in spite of the pain she knew it had cost him, and kissed her like a wild man. He had murmured in her ear, crazy things, had made her lose her breath, cry out even though they weren’t alone, and made her promise that she’d meet him again after the trial. He had even promised to come back to their house, and she knew he was capable of doing it, in spite of the danger.
He might be an Englischer, but Brad Williams was a brave man, and a good and kind man. He had been amazingly unselfish, in spite of his talk about wanting a story for himself.
There was no future in Brad Williams, she knew that, but as long as he was there, as long as he kept coming back and holding out his hand, she would keep taking it. She frowned because it wasn’t fair to Joseph, or Samuel, or Mark – but she couldn’t help what she felt.
She trembled inside, thinking that maybe Brad had been right. Maybe if you loved someone – you knew right away.
She looked up at the ceiling and tried to pray, but God felt far away and remote. She had the guilty sense that she was doing wrong, or at least, doing stupidly. It wasn’t wise for her to see an Englisch boy, because once she joined the church, she would only be able to marry another church member – not an outsider. And Brad Williams was definitely an outsider.
Her mother was right. She was setting herself up to be hurt. None of this was going to end well.
But as long as she could put off the painful ending, she didn’t care. Jemima leaned over and blew out the light.
