Part 9 (1/2)
Chapter 16.
Julie held the hoe with her left hand while she bent down to pull a weed with her right. ”Some of these are so close to the tomatoes, I'm afraid I'll tear out the wrong roots.”
”Who knew that weeds could grow so much faster than vegetables?” Susan removed her wide-brimmed straw hat and fanned herself. ”It seems like they regenerate overnight, doesn't it?”
Hours had pa.s.sed since their breakfast disagreement. Julie thought Susan might hold a grudge, but to this point she hadn't mentioned anything. And Julie certainly wasn't going to bring it up.
”I know what you mean.” Julie wiped her cheek with her shoulder. Her back was aching from the morning's work, but something about being out in nature, the peace, the silence, was enjoyable despite the humidity and muscles that were not used to doing this kind of work.
”Why are the kids here already?” Susan put her hat back on. ”They shouldn't be back for several hours yet.”
The girls were jumping and shouting, and even Brian had an extra spring in his step. Of course Whitney's voice was the loudest and carried the farthest.
”We come bearing good news, simple women of the garden!” She reached into a large canvas bag slung over her left shoulder and extended her right hand triumphantly. In it she held lots of white paper. Julie looked at it for a moment and then realized what she was seeing. Envelopes.
”Mail call!” Whitney ran out into the garden, bouncing her way across a zucchini plant in the process. ”Kendra came to the school and said we might want to take a break and walk down to the mailbox. Just look what all we came back with.”
”Seems to me we could have done that after the school day was over.” Susan leaned heavily against her hoe and didn't really even look at the mailbag.
Julie went to stand beside her. ”Well, at least it gives a good excuse to sit in the air-conditioning for a few minutes. Right?”
Susan offered a weak smile and nodded. ”Now that I think about it, a gla.s.s of ice water and a chair sure do sound good about now.”
”I couldn't agree more.”
The kids bounded up the back porch steps, pausing long enough to take their shoes off and put them beneath the bench on the screened porch before disappearing though the kitchen door. By the time Julie and Susan made it inside, the remains of several envelopes were strewn around the kitchen table. Brian was bent over what looked like a Hallmark card, chuckling with enough force that his shoulders were shaking. Angie was reading a letter, which looked to be about three pages long, smiling and nodding. Whitney already had one card lying on the table in front of her and had moved on to a second. She didn't bother to look up but did motion with her left thumb. ”Old-person mail is on the kitchen counter.”
Susan had stopped just inside the porch door, so Julie walked over to find seven envelopes. The top one was addressed to her from Thomas, so was the next. She smiled as she turned toward the third. It was addressed to Susan, so she set it to the side. So were the fourth, fifth, and sixth. There was one final envelope, addressed to Julie from one of her friends at church. She picked up her three envelopes in her left hand and took Susan's in her right. ”Here you go, sweetie. Looks like even us old people get a little bit of mail.”
Susan nodded, cast a quick glance to the envelope as she took it, then simply turned her attention back to the kids and their reading. They were all smiling and giggling, their eyes s.h.i.+ning.
Again, Julie felt almost overcome with happiness. ”It's amazing how much a letter means when you've been without texting or email or Facebook for a while, isn't it?”
No one answered her. They were all far too involved in the reading of their treasures to have even heard her speak.
She took Susan by the hand. ”What say we go sit in the living room and read ours in comfort . . . at least the relative comfort of our hard, wooden, Shaker-style chairs?”
Susan nodded, her eyes slowly coming back into focus. ”Sounds good.”
Julie opened her first letter from Thomas. It was written in his usual block-style print, not quite a full page long. He wrote about being busy at work and missing the family, and then he started in on a story about his attempt to use the coffeepot.
I put the coffee beans into the grinder, just like you showed me, put the water in the tank, and flipped the switch. It made a rather unusual sound, or so I thought, so I opened the lid to take a quick peek. Mistake! The coffee grinder sent coffee shrapnel flying through the air at Mach 3, where they eventually made safe landing in the dining room, living room, and kitchen floors. In fact, tell Brian when he's looking through his telescope tonight to see if he notices any shards of French roast in the asteroid belt.
Julie had to set the letter aside for a moment while she laughed. Thomas was funny that way. Brilliant though he was, machinery with more than an on-off switch was bound to cause him trouble. The television setup, voice mail, anything computer-related that didn't require an all-out tech, those were all left in Julie's realm. ”Maybe he does need me, at least a little bit.”
Whitney came into the room and dropped onto the floor beside Julie, a fistful of mail still in her hand. ”Hey, kiddo, you want to hear what your father did with the coffeepot the other day?” She looked down at her daughter then and saw the tears running down her cheeks. She immediately dropped onto the floor beside her and said, ”What's wrong?”
Whitney shook her head. ”I should have stayed home and played travel ball this summer. Look at these pictures” She held out a half dozen pictures of the girls playing volleyball, drinking milk shakes, and sitting on the beach.
”Are you missing your friends?”
Whitney shrugged. ”Did you notice there's a new girl in the pictures? She just moved to town. Coach let her join the travel team, and she's supposedly a really good setter. Mom, they say she's really good. That's my position. What if I don't even get to play next year? What if I don't make the team?”
”Honey, you've already been selected for next year's team. And who says you can't improve your skills this summer? You're not playing on an organized team, but you can practice. We'll get you a ball, and you can work on your setups against the wall of the barn or something. Remember how you used to do that against the side of our house?”
”I remember how mad Dad got when I got dirty round marks all over the off-white stucco.”
”Yes, well, at least that's not a problem here. Besides, what if we put up a volleyball net somewhere out back? It might make for some fun family activity in the evening.”
”Playing against you and Aunt Susan?” Whitney looked almost offended.
”Hey, we may be older than you, but we're not in that bad of shape. I'm saying we could at least give it a try.” Julie glanced toward Susan, hoping she might have overheard, but she was reading a letter intently and seemed lost to the world. ”Or . . . maybe some of the kids that you met at church Sunday would want to play sometime?”
”Doesn't really matter if they want to or not if I'm not even allowed to go to youth group, now does it?”
”I'll find Kendra and talk about that this afternoon. I'll insist she let you guys go.”
”Insist? Really?” Whitney's face lit up. ”Wow, I like this new, stronger mom I see emerging.” She bounded back into the kitchen.
A new, stronger mom. Julie just sat, thrilled at the words and knowing her daughter had no idea how much they meant to her. No idea how much Julie wanted to really be that person.
After lunch, Julie left the kids to their conversations and went in search of Kendra, whom she found in the shack lingering over some sort of paperwork. The producer barely glanced up. ”Do you need something, Julie?”
”Yes, I'd like to talk to you about youth group. The kids want to go tomorrow night, and I think it's important that they do.”
”No. I did some checking, and they use electric guitars, amplifiers, and drums there. That's hardly appropriate in our situation.” She went back to writing, subject dismissed.
Julie straightened her spine. ”They need to be around other people their own age.”
Kendra didn't look up. Didn't acknowledge her in any way.
”The cameras aren't allowed inside church, so it's not like the world will see it. Besides, Amish teenagers have a time where they are allowed to experience the outside world. It's called . . .” For the life of her, Julie couldn't remember the word, the one word that would help her make her case.
”Rumspringa.” Kendra rubbed the back of her neck. ”But the Swartzentruber Amish apparently don't partic.i.p.ate in that particular custom. Since we're in their part of the country, then your kids shouldn't either.”
”Ninety-five percent of our viewers will not know the difference. Our kids need an outlet.”
Kendra still didn't answer. She picked up her iPhone and pushed a couple of b.u.t.tons, then said, ”Could you come in here, please?”
Gary opened the door almost immediately. ”What's up?”
”Would you be able to take the kids to church in the wagon tomorrow night? If they're going to do something like that, they need to go by horse and buggy to add at least a hint of authenticity.”
Gary shook his head. ”I've got to leave town tomorrow. Chris can do it, though. He's spent a fair amount of time around horses, and I showed him how to hook everything up.”