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Jemima gave herself a few days to recover from her painful parting from Joseph. She spent her days in quiet, repetitive work that required no mental concentration. She washed and ironed, she mopped and dusted, and she helped her mother make dough for baking.
She shunned society, and whenever she was able, she stole away to her own bedroom, or her father’s study. She had never felt in such urgent need of prayer; but she also felt a growing sense of guilt over her delay.
She planned to tell Samuel next. But telling him was going to be even harder than telling Joseph.
Because she loved Samuel, had loved him since they were children. It was impossible not to love the mischievous blond boy with the twinkling blue eyes and ready charm. He’d been a fixture at their house for years – swinging his legs over their porch rail, sitting at their table, snitching cake from the fridge.
Filling the house with the sound of his jokes and laughter.
It was going to be lonely when he wasn’t there anymore. But Jemima told herself that such thoughts were selfish. So she gathered her strength and mailed Samuel a note.
He arrived on the afternoon of the next day. It was a greeting-card November afternoon, with big flakes of snow falling from a leaden sky.
She had chosen to talk to him in her father’s cozy study, where they could be alone. She’d prepared cups of hot coffee and built a crackling fire, in the forlorn hope that the warmth at least would be of some comfort to him.
She sat in the study, listening to the sounds of his progress to the house and then the jaunty rapping that was his familiar knock at the door. The sound of her mother’s greeting, and his own respectful reply.
The sound of his footsteps across the floorboards of the living room. Samuel had a quick, light step.
The sound of a second rapping – softer this time – on the study door.
She lifted her head. “Come in, Samuel.”
The door opened and Samuel filled the space inside it. He was holding his hat, and his mop of blond hair caught the firelight and glistened like gold. Jemima looked up at him wistfully, forced herself to smile, and motioned toward her father’s chair.
“Please sit down, Samuel. I have coffee, if you’re cold.”
Samuel accepted the cup gratefully, warmed his hands on it and took an appreciative sip. “Thanks Mima,” he grinned. “It’s cold outside. Coffee just hits the spot.”
She let him warm himself. She listened wistfully as he told a funny story about a fox that burst out of the bushes and spooked his horse on the way over, and how he’d almost set a world record, until he could get it under control. She smiled sadly, watching him, thinking: It’s the last time.
When he’d finished his story she smiled, and bowed her head, and prayed: Lord, help me do this. I don’t know if I can.
Samuel laughed again, and took another sip of coffee. “So why did you ask me over, Mima? A note, too! It sounded official.”
He turned to look at her, and the smile gradually faded from his eyes.
Jemima prayed again, and looked up into his eyes.
“I wanted to talk to you alone, Samuel,” she murmured. “I need to let you know – that I’ve made a decision.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry, Samuel,” she went on, “but I can’t marry you. I’m in love with another man.”
Samuel’s beautiful blue eyes widened. Jemima watched as a dozen emotions chased each other across their swirling surface – hurt, disbelief, shock, and – loss. Samuel bowed his blond head, and his hands hung limply over the edge of the armrests.
“Samuel, I’m so—”
His sandy brows rushed together. “Who is it, Mima?” he asked huskily. “Not Joseph, surely. So it must be Mark.”
Jemima dropped her gaze to her lap and said nothing, but to her relief, Samuel didn’t press her.
“I hope the two of you are – very happy together. I mean that, Mima.” He turned to her, leaned over, and kissed her cheek.
Jemima put a hand to his face as he kissed her. “Oh, Samuel, I hope that when – when some time has passed, we can go back to being friends,” she whispered, turning pleading eyes to his face. “I’ve always been so fond of you.”
He looked down, shook his head, and smiled crookedly. “It might not be right away, Mima,” he said softly.
“Just so long as we can still be friends,” she replied. “But I can’t see it being very long, Samuel,” she murmured fondly. “You’re too sweet and handsome to be without a girl for long.”
He looked at her and smiled gallantly. “You’re probably right, Mima,” he rallied, and in spite of her tears, Jemima laughed a little.
“I know I’m right. Miriam Zook has had her eye on you for years,” she told him, “and I’ll probably still be jealous if I see the two of you together. But I’ll just have to live with it.”
Samuel looked up at her. “Mark is a lucky man,” he told her ruefully. “I hope he understands that.”
Jemima looked down and made no reply.
Samuel nodded. “I hope you won’t think I’m rude if I leave a little early,” he told her. “I think I need to go home and lick my wounds for awhile.” He turned, looked at her affectionately, and caressed her cheek with his hand.
“Best of luck, Mima.”
“And you, Samuel,” Jemima told him, with tears in her eyes.
She watched him as he walked out of the room, so tall and straight and handsome, and was stabbed by a sense of terrible loss. There had been no other way – but even so.
The tiny crackle of the fireplace suddenly sounded loud in his absence.
Jemima listened for Samuel’s voice as he said his farewells to her parents in the living room. She heard the screen door creak open and slap shut. She heard Samuel’s slow footsteps fade gradually across the yard.
The thought that she would never hear them coming back, was almost too sad for her to bear.
Dinner that evening was subdued and mostly silent. Jemima was oppressed with a heavy sense of sadness and said almost nothing, and Deborah spoke only on command, but Jacob and Rachel exchanged knowing glances. Rachel maintained a silence that was respectful of Jemima’s melancholy mood, but it was clear that she was glowing with suppressed excitement.
Deborah’s wary eyes flitted occasionally to her mother’s face, and then to her father’s, and then to Jemima’s – but she said nothing.
