| |
After worship, Jemima went directly to the Fisher kitchen to help the other girls serve lunch. It was the way things had always been done, and on this particular Sunday, Jemima was glad of the tradition.
She took a platter of pickled beets off the counter, because she knew that Mark and Joseph and Samuel all hated them. She was on the brink of tears and didn’t trust herself to face her suitors with equanimity.
When she emerged from the house, Jemima quickly sized up the seating arrangement on the lawn, but to her dismay, her suitors had foiled her. She had hoped to hide in a safe corner, but Joseph was to the left, Samuel was seated in the middle, and Mark was to the right. No matter where she went, one of them would be there.
But to Jemima’s surprise, Deborah appeared at her elbow, carrying a platter of sandwiches. She turned her head slightly and whispered: “Don’t worry, I’ll come with you.”
Jemima couldn’t help glancing at her sister in astonishment, but Deborah’s freckled face was as placid as dawn. She leaned over again.
“Let’s get it over with.”
Jemima nodded, and walked down the porch steps. She walked past each table, serving whenever asked. She kept her gaze strictly on the table, spoke only when she was greeted, and answered with a demure smile and downturned eyes.
Her heart began to beat oddly when she approached Joseph’s table. She’d never had the chance to talk to Joseph. He still considered them engaged because he’d kissed her one evening. Never mind that it was completely his own idea, and that she’d denied it. He believed it, and that was the important thing.
Jemima felt her face going warm, and kept her eyes on the tablecloth as she served the food. But to her dismay, she heard Joseph’s voice calling her.
“Good morning, Jemima,” he called softly. “Would you give me some beets, too?”
She nodded, but didn’t look up. She moved around the table to Joseph’s chair, and to her dismay, as she extended her arm to serve him, Joseph surreptitiously slid a small, folded piece of paper up her sleeve.
Jemima lifted her arm at once to keep the paper from falling out on the table in front of everyone, went beet red herself and scrambled to keep the platter from overturning.
“Thank you, Jemima,” Joseph murmured, and brushed her sleeve fleetingly with his hand.
Jemima fled back to the house, holding one arm up to keep the paper from falling out onto the ground. She slapped the platter on a countertop, slipped past the other girls lined up outside the kitchen, and found an empty bathroom to hide in. She ducked inside and locked the door behind her, then leaned against it with her eyes closed.
After she had gathered her nerve, Jemima lowered her sleeve and let the paper fall out into her palm. She unfolded it and read:
My maus,
I have heard almost nothing from you in the last few weeks and have missed you very much. Have you given the last of the money away? I will be happy when you do. I am anxious to announce our engagement. I want everyone to know that you are my fiancée!
Jemima put a hand to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut to prevent herself from crying.
I have my eye on a house near my brother’s farm, for the two of us. I will take you to see it as soon as your business with the money is over. It is small now, but I can add more rooms as we need them.
Jemima shook her head, and choked off a sob. Poor Joseph!
When she had calmed down again, she tore the note into tiny pieces and threw it into the trashcan. She couldn’t let someone else find it and read it, and nothing poor Joseph said was going to make a difference now, anyway.
Jemima leaned over the sink and splashed her face with cool water. She couldn’t afford to advertise that she was upset, not with so many eyes looking at her. She splashed her face again.
After a few minutes her eyes looked more normal, and she had regained a calm expression by sheer will power. She told her reflection that she was going to talk to Joseph, but that time and place were important, that absolute privacy was important and she couldn’t bear to do it now.
Jemima took a deep breath, smoothed out her skirts, opened the door and walked out again.
But as soon as she had set foot into the little hall outside, something grabbed her and swirled her through the doorway of a neighboring room. She had no sooner recognized the dark blur as Samuel, than he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Jemima pulled back from him and turned her face away, blushing. “Samuel! What a way to behave – at worship, too!”
He reached for her again. “I’ve missed you! You’ve been away for so long, I was afraid you were sick.”
Jemima looked down at the floor. “No, no – I haven’t been sick,” she stammered. “I just needed to, to rest, after all the awful things that have happened.” She looked up into his face. “I still need to rest, Samuel.”
His expressive blue eyes registered pity, and then tenderness. “Yes, it has been hard on you, Mima,” he agreed, flicking a wisp of her hair with his fingertip. “I’m sorry if I came on too strong, but I just had to see you again. And – I’m still waiting for an answer to my question.”
Jemima looked away. She couldn’t bear to meet Samuel’s eyes, because now they were radiating feelings that she couldn’t return. She raised the only objection she could afford to confess.
“I know, Samuel. I know. But I still have things to do,” she stammered. “I still have so much of the money left.”
“When are you planning to give it away, Mima?” Samuel asked, frowning slightly. “I don’t mean to pry, but I-I would’ve thought—”
Jemima bit her lip. “There have been so many other things to do, I haven’t had time, Samuel,” she replied, and then blushed to think that she’d lied. “I do mean to give it away. I will.”
Samuel went silent, and Jemima prayed for some distraction to break the awkward silence. And it seemed that God had pity on her, because just then, Deborah’s strident voice echoed from the hall outside:
“Mima! Where are you? Mamm wants you.”
Jemima breathed a prayer of thanks, and looked up apologetically into Samuel’s puzzled face. “Oh, I’m sorry, Samuel,” she murmured, “I have to go.”
“Think about what I said, Mima,” he urged, and clasped her hands.
“I will, Samuel, I promise,” Jemima told him – and fled.
As soon as she was well away, Jemima gripped Deborah’s wrist and pulled her into a little anteroom, away from the sound of voices.
Jemima glared down into her sister’s startled eyes. “I want you to tell Mamm that you’re feeling sick,” she whispered fiercely. “Tell her that you’re bad sick to your stomach, that we have to go home. If I don’t get out of here now, I’m going to break down. Do you understand? I might not make it even now!”
Jemima’s angry façade crumbled suddenly. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
Deborah nodded. “All right, I will. We’ll go back to the buggy, but we’ll have to go out the back way, through the trees. We’d better keep out of sight, or you might get waylaid again.”
They escaped out the back door, hurried through the yard, and walked to the buggies behind a long line of thick fir trees that mostly screened them from view.
When they had reached the safety of the buggy, and Jemima was hidden away inside, Deborah looked up into her face and said: “Stay here, I’ll bring Mamm and Daed back to you. And try not to bust out crying, will you? It’ll make my job easier.”
Jemima nodded, and watched her sister disappear into the bushes again. She hugged her knees, and rocked back and forth, and tried to concentrate on her blessings.
But the thing she was most grateful for at the moment, was that her sly, tricky sister was on her side – for once.
