A Wedding for Julia (3 page)

It was true she hadn’t been overly social. She couldn’t remember the last singing she’d been to, but then she was not a girl. She was a woman.

Instead she’d waited. She’d done what a good daughter should do, followed all the rules, and waited. For what? So she could be turned out of her home. So she could be told once more what to do.

It wasn’t fair.

And she hadn’t seen it coming. She had never expected such an answer. She had never dreamed her mother and her father—she mustn’t forget
he
had agreed to this plan—would betray her this way.

No, she’d been busy designing a café in the bottom floor of their home. Where should she put the tables she would purchase from David King? What type of sign would best attract customers? What would be the best location for it? Should she advertise in the
Budget
? What design should she use for the menus?

None of those things mattered if she would be living in Pennsylvania.

“Why now?” she repeated.

“Why? Because you asked.” Her mother stood, gripped her cane, and shuffled out of the room.

Leaving Julia alone, staring out at the last of the crimson roses.

Chapter 2

C
aleb Zook guided his horse and buggy along the road that ran parallel to Pebble Creek. He was headed toward the Beechy place. It was the first Tuesday in September, the weather was cooler, and he should have been in a fine mood.

Except the changing of the weather reminded him he wasn’t getting any younger. Who was?

He scrubbed a hand over his jaw—clean shaven.
Ya
. There was the rub. There were things he regretted, and never marrying was at the top of the list. It had started bothering him more since he turned forty last month, but regrets were like the water running beside him, running down Pebble Creek.

He couldn’t catch them. He couldn’t do anything about them.

It was best to let them go.

Fall in Wisconsin was a thing of beauty. There was a light breeze and the temperature was a pleasant seventy—he’d seen the readout on the bank building as he drove out of town. Afternoon light bounced off the water playing over the rocks in the creek. He might finish up his run for the general store early and put in an hour or two of fishing. Soon enough hunting season would start. Perhaps he’d talk Aaron into a hunting stand a time or two, depending on Lydia’s condition. She was pregnant with their first child, and it was due before the end of hunting season. He smiled at the thought of his friend and his young family. Aaron was happier here in Wisconsin than he’d ever been back home. Caleb didn’t mind admitting to himself that Aaron had found something he hadn’t.

And there was the problem that was scratching at his happiness this fine autumn day. Without fail, winter would follow fall, and winters in Wisconsin were long. One wretched cold night followed another, and the solitude was somewhat depressing.

Caleb hunched over the reins and pretended his horse needed directing. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that hunting was losing its appeal, as was fishing. Maybe he was sick. Or perhaps he was lonely.

Could be. Whenever he went back home to Indiana, he was surrounded by family, and he thought about staying. His life was here, though. He’d come because Aaron’s letters had described a life that held so much promise. And Wisconsin had been all that he’d described and more. It had been all Caleb had imagined and hoped.

Hadn’t it?

What kind of life did he have, spending every night alone?

Gotte,
what I need is a friend
. The words popped in his mind. He almost laughed out loud. He had many friends in Pebble Creek, people he could call if he needed a hand. Making the turn toward the Beechy house, he realized his heart was right, though. He needed a close friend, someone who was as alone as he was. Someone he could have long talks with. Someone who didn’t have to hurry off because of their own family, their own obligations.

Gotte,
I need a friend
. The words echoed in his heart, and they felt true. His
mamm
used to say that prayer eased the heart by lifting burdens up and into their proper place. He wasn’t one for fancy praying, but maybe that didn’t matter so much. Maybe it was the asking that counted.

He found himself whistling as he turned again—this time down the lane that led to the Beechys. He slowed his gelding in front of the two-story house and studied the large square structure.

“That would be a fine house if someone took care of it,” he said to Red, his sorrel. His father had named Red last year when he came to help Caleb settle. Jebediah had never been accused of having an imagination. He’d gone with Caleb to pick out the horse, who had a reddish tint to his coat. The name naturally followed.

Jebediah had no imagination, but Caleb did.

He looked at the house in front of him, and he saw how it must have looked years ago, before the elder Mr. Beechy had become ill. Before the burden of the place had fallen on the shoulders of Julia.

“Shame,” he muttered.

Red didn’t seem to have an opinion. He tossed his head and began pulling at the grass in front of him.

“Don’t eat a bare patch,” Caleb cautioned. “I only have the one box. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

He knew talking to the horse was ridiculous, but Tuesdays and Thursdays were delivery days. The other three days he worked for the grocery, he helped unload pallets of food and stock shelves. On delivery days, he drove the back roads. Riding the remote routes of their district alone, the quiet could build up and make you long for a conversation. The ride became lonely, even for an Amish man, who was accustomed to quiet. Too much of a thing could make you restless, which was probably why he was looking forward to seeing Julia.

Sure would beat trying to talk to Samuel Gingerich. The man constantly spouted Scripture.

“The Bible says we should devote ourselves to
Gotte
’s Word,” the older man had bellowed.

Caleb had made the mistake of asking if he had tried fishing recently.

“Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable.” Samuel frowned and stared at Caleb as if he had offended him in some way.

So Caleb had said, “Have a good afternoon, Samuel,” and left.

But the lecture from the old guy rankled his nerves. It seemed to him that fishing was lovely and admirable. Perhaps it was even honorable as it provided food for people and did so in a peaceful way.

Besides, he didn’t need a lesson from Samuel Gingerich. He read the Bible and didn’t need it quoted to him.

All right, he hadn’t read it a lot, but he’d read it some. You’d think Samuel would want to talk about something else—the weather maybe or all the tourists who had been through town—but he hadn’t. Caleb had been happy to drop off the man’s groceries and turn Red back down the lane.

Funny how some people never wanted to come into town to buy their groceries. Some people, like Samuel, didn’t care to see other folks. They avoided it whenever they had the chance.

Other folks, like Julia, couldn’t get away even if they wanted to. He’d watched her since he’d started delivering groceries a year ago. She was devoted to her parents and rarely left the house. What would that be like? To be completely tied to a place?

Had she ever been over to Wildcat Mountain? How often did she go into town to shop for things a woman needed? Her dedication was something he had a hard time understanding, especially given his history with women—correction, one woman.

Hefting the box of groceries up on his shoulder, he walked up the steps, knocked on the door, and inwardly chided himself. The past was past and he was over it. What he’d been through with Lois had happened years ago, and he didn’t feel any bitterness toward her. She’d been young. He was wrong to use her behavior as a measuring stick for how other women might or might not act.

He knocked again on the door.

When Julia’s mother answered, he knew something was wrong.

Chapter 3

H
ello, Caleb.”

“Ada.”

“
Danki
for bringing the groceries.”

“Happy to do it.” Caleb stood there, uncertain what his next move should be. He’d been bringing groceries to the Beechys twice a month for a year, and Julia had always answered the door. Was she sick?

Ada pushed the screen door open a crack, which was difficult for her to manage, what with her arthritis and the fact she was still clutching the cane. Caleb shuffled the box to his other shoulder and opened the door.

“You can take that into the kitchen.”

“Oh,
ya
. Sure thing.” Maybe Julia was in there cooking. Something did smell good. Caleb didn’t realize how much he’d looked forward to seeing Julia and her smile until Ada had answered the door. The thought of not seeing her again for two weeks made his stomach twist, which was ridiculous. He’d see her at the next church meeting, but that was different. On Sundays the women kept to themselves, especially the single women.

Caleb walked across the small entry hall and through the front room. An
Englisch
family would have used it for a dining room, but Julia and Ada had filled it with their sewing things. On the far side of the room was a doorway leading to the kitchen.

Cooking on the back burner of the gas-powered stove was a stew, which was what Caleb had smelled. His stomach growled as he set the box on the counter next to the pot—beef vegetable if he wasn’t mistaken. No doubt all of the vegetables had been grown by Julia, but where was she?