Julia's Last Hope (15 page)
The new Shannon baby arrived. Mrs. Greenwald helped with the delivery in the absence of a doctor, but it was Jim Shannon who kept calm and cared for the mother and child. The baby boy was fine, and the entire settlement breathed a sigh of relief. Many prayers went up, thanking God for the child’s safe arrival—even from lips that wouldn’t normally have admitted to prayer. The neighborhood ladies organized help for the family for the first few weeks. Then life returned once again to its familiar routine.
The first paying guests arrived in July. The next came a week later. Both families spent a few dollars in the shops along Main Street.
The next guests didn’t come until mid-August. Julia did not get her first turn until near the end of the month when a young couple came to take advantage of the quietness of the mountain village.
“We wanted a place where we could just be by ourselves,” the young woman confided.
“We will see that you have all the time alone you desire,” Julia promised her.
The Harrigans ate meals in the kitchen while the young couple was served in the dining room. Jennifer and Felicity took turns serving.
“It is so romantic,” Felicity crooned the first night. “Just the two of them, with the candles and the silver. Mama, do you think they would like us to move in the Victrola so they can listen to soft music?”
Julia smiled at her romantic fourteen-year-old. “Perhaps,” she said. “Why don’t you ask them?”
The couple turned down Felicity’s offer of dinner music. “We really don’t care to linger,” the young man explained.
The couple spent their first few days wandering town streets and mountain trails. Then he went for walks alone and she sat on the back porch swing, whiling away the hours with no handwork, no reading, nothing to keep herself entertained. To Julia she looked very bored, very listless, and very lonely.
“Would you like something to read?” Julia asked. “We have a number of good books on the library shelves and you are welcome to borrow them.”
The young woman smiled and shook her head.
“Are you tired of walking?” Julia questioned.
“I’ve already seen everything there is to see.”
Julia nodded. It didn’t take long to see everything.
“Your husband likes to walk?”
The woman shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Would you like to join us in the kitchen? We’re making blueberry jam today. The girls have just returned with full pails of wild berries. Perhaps—”
“I don’t think so—thank you,” the young woman responded.
Julia had run out of ideas, so she left the girl alone.
Jennifer served the table that evening. “I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Alberts are very happy,” she said as she brought the empty soup dishes into the kitchen and prepared to serve the main course.
“Why do you say that?” asked Julia, turning to look at her.
“They haven’t said a word to each other all evening,” Jennifer explained. “They just glare at each other or look at their plates. They aren’t even eating much—and he is usually ravenous.”
The next day Julia sent Jennifer and Felicity off to the berry patch. The young woman was on the porch swing alone again, and Julia approached her, tea tray in hand.
“Anna, I thought you might like some tea,” she ventured.
The young woman didn’t answer.
“It is such a beautiful day,” Julia continued. “I love it when the breeze is just strong enough to stir my hair and bring the scent of flowers.”
Still no response.
Julia set down the tea things and poured a cup. “Have you been married long?”
“Almost a year.”
“Well, you hardly get to know each other in a year. I remember when we had been married for just a year. I was wonderfully happy. I was deeply in love with John. Still, I wasn’t sure if John really knew me. Really understood me,” Julia sighed. “It’s funny, I wasn’t even sure at times if he really loved me.
“There is so much to learn about each other,” Julia went on, passing the sugar and cream. “It takes far more than a year to get in step with one’s mate.”
Julia offered the young woman a piece of shortcake.
“John is a good man. A wonderful man. But at first—well, I guess we didn’t know how to express our love. Or else we just forgot to. I learned something then. I learned that it is basically up to the woman to set the tone for openness and closeness. We just understand a bit more about expressing love, I guess. Boys are taught not to show emotion—to be masculine. I’m not saying that’s right—it’s just how it is.
“Well, women don’t have that problem. We are free to say how we feel. To show others we love them—by doing little things, saying little things. Women can find lots of different ways to say ‘I love you.’ ”
Julia paused to think a moment. Then she went on. “Sometimes I feel sorry for men. We teach them one thing—and then expect quite another.”
Julia sighed and stirred her tea.
“You know, I was secretly hoping that I would have a son. I wanted to—well, to break the rules. To raise a boy free to express love and tenderness. I don’t mean I’d want him to be a sissy. It takes a strong man to be tender. John is that, but he still has a hard time expressing it. He just—he just holds me—comforts me—but he can’t seem to say how he really feels. If I didn’t know him so well, I wouldn’t understand.”
Julia raised her cup and sipped.
“But I didn’t have a son. I had twin girls—and how I thank God for them. John and I wanted more children, but, well, God knows best. I am blessed indeed. Two girls—and a wonderful husband.”
Julia fell silent, allowing the young woman some time to ponder.
At length Anna raised her head and looked into Julia’s eyes. “You know, don’t you? That something is—is wrong between—” She could not go on. Her eyes filled with tears and her head lowered. She bit a quivering lip between even white teeth.
“I guessed,” said Julia softly. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“It’s just—just—well, it isn’t what I expected it to be,” the young woman finished with a burst of tears.
“It never is,” responded Julia.
Anna’s head came up. She looked surprised.
“We expect romance, flowers, love songs,” said Julia; “instead, we get dirty dishes, laundry, and silence.”
“But I thought—”
“And he thought,” said Julia. “I suppose he expected things like welcome-home kisses, favorite pie, and slippers. Instead, he got broken plumbing, mounting bills, and complaints.”
Anna dug for a handkerchief.
“If only there were some way to prepare for reality rather than romance,” Julia went on, “marriage would have a much better chance.”
“Are you saying there is no romance?”
“Oh my, no! There is romance. Our problem is that we want it
all
to be romance. And we want fulfillment—a perfect relationship—immediately. In reality we must first know each other, learn from each other, protect and support each other. We must build together. Work together. Marriage is hard work. The hardest task we will likely ever undertake. And then when we are well on the way to accomplishing some of those things—then we experience the real romance—the excitement of fulfillment and shared love. More exciting than we ever dreamed.”
Julia’s face was shining as she spoke the words.
That’s how it had been for her and John. She loved him more—was more sure of his love for her—at the present than at any other time in their marriage, and they had enjoyed many good years together.
“I guess I thought—I guess I wanted it all—romance, fulfillment—right from the start,” Anna said. “Why—why can’t it be that way? I mean—I loved him—”
“And I’m sure he loved you.
Loves
you. But it takes time to work through the sharing of that love—to figure out how love works.”
Julia leaned from the swing and plucked a flower from the nearby bush.
“See this rosebud?” She held it out to Anna. “It’s perfect. So new, so full of promise and color. Someday it will be a full flower. Beautiful, fragrant. But just suppose I want it that way now. So I take the petals and force them to open up, to be mature—now. What will happen?”
Anna waited.
“I’d spoil it,” Julia said. “I would crush and bruise it, and it would just wilt and die. It takes time to reach full-flower,” Julia continued. “We must nurture it, not rush it. It will happen if we are patient—and loving.”
The young woman blinked away her remaining tears.
“Here,” said Julia, handing the rose to Anna, “there is a vase in the hall for it. Place the rose in your room and give it care. Watch it unfold—slowly—naturally—fully.”
She patted the young girl’s shoulder and moved to gather up the tea things.
Anna smiled. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I—I will try. To be patient—and loving. I promise.”
“That’s all we can do,” responded Julia. “Try. Try with all our might.” She walked away with a prayer that the young man might also be willing to try.
John was not sleeping well. His mind was troubled in spite of his faith in his God, in his Jule. Things were not going as planned. The summer had turned to fall and they’d had only one paying customer. All of the reserve money was gone.
The garden had been good again. John breathed a prayer of thanks for that. But even so, they needed many items that the garden could not produce. John wondered how they would manage to purchase them.
There was also the matter of the girls’ education. Another school year was drawing near. The girls needed more than Jule could teach them in home lessons. They were quickly becoming young women, and John and Julia wanted them to have a proper education—perhaps college if they were interested.
John shifted under the blankets, unable to find a comfortable position. Beside him, Julia breathed evenly. He was glad he wasn’t keeping her awake with his tossing.
Oh, God,
he prayed silently as he had many times before,
show me what to do. Please, show me what to do. It would break Jule’s heart to leave here—this house. I could never offer her a house like this again. But we can’t go on living like this—no income to speak of—nor much hope of any—and so many needs for the family.
Help me, too, when I talk to Jule about our future. Give me the right words. Oh, God! I need you so much!
John lay in the darkness thinking about their circumstances. Perhaps he could find work at another mill. His old boss had written him on a number of occasions urging him to leave Calder Springs and join him at the new mill site. Perhaps some position would still be open—though John was sure they had found a foreman by now. Still—any job would be better than no job.
John rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
The moon must be bright tonight,
he mused. Then he thought about how easily his mind slipped to other things. He let his gaze go to the window. Light sifted in around the edges of the full velvet drapes. He was tempted to rise from bed and take a stroll outside to see the mountain valley by full moonlight.
It must be pretty out there tonight,
he thought. The cry of some night creature interrupted his thoughts. It was followed by the hoot of an owl. John visualized the scene. The owl, hungry and in need of food for its growing family. The small nighttime animal being caught off guard. The speed of the owl, as with one silent and powerful swoop it split the air, grasped the victim with outstretched talons, and, hardly slowing its speed, continued on to its nest.
Tonight John’s empathy was with the owl. He knew the desperation of trying to provide for a family.
“We do what we have to do,” he muttered.
Julia stirred. John wanted to reach out and take her in his arms—not for her comfort, but for his. But he did not want to wake her. She too was carrying a heavy burden and needed her rest. John turned so he could watch her in the moonlight, and his thoughts began to mellow.
It’s a marvel we have made it this far—and with no debts. I don’t know how she does it. Keeps food on the table—and the girls cared for.
Then John remembered noticing the girls at the supper table that evening. Their dresses were getting tight and short. Julia had let out all the seams and let down all the hems. There was no more room for growth—but the girls kept growing.
“They will soon be done with their growing,” Julia had assured him with a careful little laugh. “They are as tall as I am now. Girls don’t grow much after they reach their age.”
John hoped Julia was right. She had no more bolts of material in the upstairs sewing room from which to sew new dresses.
The clock in the downstairs hall chimed three o’clock. John changed his position once more. He had to get some sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come.
It’s no use,
he finally sighed.
I might as well do something useful.
John slipped out of bed and headed downstairs. The moon bathed the hallway and the stairs with enough light for him to find his way. He went first to the kitchen for a drink and then to his desk in the library.
He drew out a sheet of writing paper, dipped his pen in the ink well, and began a letter to his former boss. He would tell Jule his thoughts at the first opportunity.
