| |
Jemima folded up the big quilt and carried it up to her bedroom, where she had also stashed a thermos and some cups. She had pushed the family picnic basket under her bed, to be ready when called for.
Jemima put a small finger to her lips, pondering. She couldn’t decide if it would be better to have coffee or hot apple cider with caramel. She also planned to fill the basket with some cheese and fresh apples and crackers, and to make some coffee cake.
She reclined on the bed and closed her eyes. She could picture their next meeting already: the two of them snuggling together on the porch swing, toasty warm with the big quilt around them, and each of them warming their hands with a cup of piping hot cider.
And those weren’t the only ways to stay warm on a chilly evening. Jemima smiled to herself and imagined Brad’s arms, strong and tight around her.
A slight noise from the doorway made Jemima sit up suddenly. To her surprise and dismay, Deborah was standing there, eating a piece of pie and wearing an expression that hinted that she’d guessed exactly what her sister was thinking.
Deborah glanced back into the hall, and then leaned in through the doorway and drawled: “What’s this you’re working on – a big quilt? And you’re hiding the picnic basket under your bed. Brad is coming back again, I see.”
Jemima looked down and tried to assume a neutral expression, but she felt herself going hot with annoyance.
Deborah grinned at her and rolled her eyes to the ceiling in mock innocence. “A lookout sure would be handy, huh? You and Brad wouldn’t have to worry about Daed coming down and catching you together.”
Jemima stared at her grimly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Deborah sighed and crossed her arms. “Sad,” she replied. “It’s sad that you don’t trust me, because I meant what I said. I could help you.”
“This is a change for you, isn’t it, Deborah?” she asked coolly. “You like to make fun of Joseph and Mark and Samuel, and of me when I talk to them. Why are you acting so different now?”
Deborah finished the piece of pie she was eating. “Because it isn’t Joseph or Mark or Samuel this time,” she replied, licking her fingers. “Your life is finally getting interesting – don’t jinx it.”
“I don’t see why you’re interested.”
“I like Brad Williams. He’s kind of cool. I think he’d be good for you,” Deborah told her.
Jemima stared at her suspiciously, and Deborah shrugged. “Okay, that’s not it. Or at least, not all of it. Maybe I owe him for something.”
Jemima looked up sharply. “Owe him? What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing serious,” her sister replied. “Just that I made him pay me 50 dollars once, to bring you out to the garden.”
“What!”Jemima cried, and stared at her younger sister in outrage. “Oh, Debby – tell me you’re joking!”
Deborah nodded her head. “It’s true.”
“Why – how could you even think of such a thing!” Jemima gasped. “You have to give him his money back, right away!”
Deborah smiled, and shook her head. “No, I don’t. Because he had it coming. He messed us all up. I was just making him pay for it, a little.”
“Of course you have to give him his money back!” Jemima cried. “What he must think of us! Of all the dishonest, greedy—”
Deborah held up an admonishing finger. “Careful now, Mima. Remember what I know. You don’t want me to change my mind about helping you. Right now, I’m willing, but that could change.”
“Oh!” Jemima pinched her lips into a thin, straight line. “You should pray to God for forgiveness, pray hard! And now I have to pray that God will make me willing to forgive you – you little – you—”
Rachel walked down the hall behind them, and both Jemima and Deborah clamped their mouths shut and looked down at the floor. A few suspenseful seconds passed, and then their mother slowly returned.
Rachel poked her head into the doorway, and opened her mouth as if she was about to ask a question: but one look at Jemima’s face made her turn her eyes from one of her daughters to the other.
“What’s going on in here? Jemima, why do you look so – so angry? Is there something wrong?”
Deborah raised her brows significantly, and smiled. Jemima bit her lip.
“No, nothing’s wrong.”
Rachel frowned, and looked from her to Deborah. “Are you sure? Deborah, what did you just say to your sister?”
Deborah regarded her with a kindling eye. “Why does everyone always think that if there’s something wrong, it has to be my fault?” she demanded.
Jemima squeezed her eyes shut and prayed, but Deborah flounced out of the room, sparing her the necessity of a reply.
Rachel watched her go and turned her sympathetic eyes on her oldest daughter. “I don’t know what just happened, but whatever it was, forgive your sister,” she sighed.
“It’s so hard, Mamm,” Jemima murmured, and her mother nodded.
“I know, dear.”
Her mother came over and kissed her, smiled, and put a calming hand to her cheek. Jemima looked up at her mother ruefully.
But after she left, Jemima squeezed her eyes together and stamped her foot on the floor. If it wasn’t a sin, she could wish that Deborah would fly away to a desert island somewhere, where she would have to stay until she was thirty years old.
Or at least, old enough to know not to play so cruelly with other people’s feelings.
Jemima shook her head bitterly. But in the meantime, it looked as if she was in Deborah’s power. She could only pray that Deborah was willing to leave her in peace to enjoy what little time she had with Brad.
But given Deborah’s actions so far, she had very little hope of it.
