LITMIR.BIZ

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I asked him if he had brothers and sisters and he said, ‘Some of each.’”

      Emma laughed.

      Judith glared at her. “It’s not funny. We get along very well unless I ask him a personal question.”

      “Perhaps he’s just a very private person,” Emma suggested.

      “Even with his wife?”

      “His very new wife. Just give it time, Judith.” Emma pressed a hand over Judith’s, which clutched her coffee cup.

      Judith nodded. Her sister had given her good advice. She relaxed her hands. “What are you keeping busy doing?”

      “I help with some chores, and yesterday I helped in the store. Mr. Ashford did it out of kindness, I think, to give me a chance to talk to someone besides his wife and daughter. The people here are really—”

      They heard the sound of rapid footsteps and then Mr. Ashford called from the back door, “Katherine! You’ll never believe this!”

      Both Judith and Emma turned to see the storekeeper hurry into the room and over to the front window. Mrs. Ashford bustled out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “What is it?”

      Mr. Ashford waved a paper. “This is his letter of resignation, and there he goes. He’s getting on the boat! I can’t believe it!”

      “Who?” Mrs. Ashford said, joining her husband at the window. “That’s Mr. Thompson, the schoolmaster!”

      “Yes! He just resigned!”

      “What?” Mrs. Ashford squawked. “He can’t leave in the middle of the school year!”

      “Well, there he goes,” Emma said. She’d moved to stand beside the Ashfords at the window.

      “What got into him?” the storekeeper’s wife asked.

      Mr. Ashford frowned down at the letter. “It just says he must go home because of a personal crisis.”

      “What will we do come Monday? Who will teach?” Mrs. Ashford wailed.

      “We can’t ask Mrs. Lang. She’s busy with her little ones.” The storekeeper stared out the window. Then he swung to Emma. “Miss Jones, will you please take over downstairs? I need to go to Noah Whitmore and Martin Steward, the other school board members, right away.”

      “Of course,” Emma agreed. “I can handle matters.”

      “Thank you.” Mr. Ashford was taking off his long store apron and hurrying toward the rear entrance. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Katherine. Just keep a plate warm for me.” And then he was jogging down the steps, pulling on his jacket and hat.

      “Well, I never,” Mrs. Ashford said. “What is the world coming to?”

      “I don’t know,” Emma replied. “I’ll head downstairs.”

      “Thank you,” Mrs. Ashford said. “Call me if you need any help.”

      “I will.” Emma snagged a shawl and headed down the back steps. “Sorry, Judith!”

      Judith rose. “I don’t know what to say. May I help you in the kitchen? Or go help my sister?”

      Mrs. Ashford pulled herself together. “Why don’t you go down and help your sister finish your shopping? I’m making plenty of lunch. When your husband comes back, you two are more than welcome to stay and eat with us.”

      The woman was indeed kind and hospitable. “Thank you. But I think he’ll want to go home as soon as we’re done.”

      “I understand.” The woman beamed at her. “Newlyweds.” And then she returned to the kitchen.

      Blushing, Judith donned her shawl and carried the rest of her warm wraps outside and into the store. The thought occurred to her that people here might look to her sister to fill in at the school, but that wouldn’t work. Emma had applied to teach in their home district and had been turned down as “not having the serious temperament necessary in an educator of children.” Nonjudgmental Emma had been surprised, but Judith hadn’t.

      Very smart and good at all subjects, Emma would have made a lovely teacher, but all through school she’d been scolded for her humor and sudden outbursts of excited interest. Emma would never be the strict spinster teacher that school boards preferred. Emma was too pretty and jolly for them.

      * * *

      Carrying a sack of spices, Judith hurried inside, chilled from the short ride home. Asa came in after her and set several bags on the table. He went immediately to the banked fire and stirred it back to life.

      “That woman can sure talk,” he said, rising. Asa had surprised her by accepting Mrs. Ashford’s lunch invitation.

      Judith chuckled. “Yes, but her Salisbury steak and potatoes did not disappoint.”

      “Can’t argue that. You need me right now? I have to take care of the horses.”

      “No.”

      He headed toward the door.

      “But,” she said, halting him, “it occurred to Emma and me that we haven’t written home to our father. He isn’t in good health, and I want him to know Emma and I arrived safely and are doing well.”

      “A good idea. We can give it to Ashford tomorrow at church. Mr. Ashford’s the local postmaster.” He opened the door.

      “Asa, wait. I’d like you to write a line to my father. I think that would reassure him.” Her father had been very concerned about his twin daughters going away to marry strangers.

      Asa paused, his expression froze into vertical lines. “I’ll see about that later.” He escaped out the door.

      Escaped exactly described his exit.

      Judith stood by the dry sink, unable to move for a moment. Then she walked to the chair by the table and sat. Why would writing a line to her father flummox her husband? What could be more natural or simple? Something more than natural reticence was at work here. She thought over the many letters he’d written her. It wasn’t that he couldn’t write a few lines. He didn’t want to. Why? Why did he avoid any mention of anything personal? What was wrong with her simple request? What was going on within her husband?

      Feeling confused, she bowed her head and whispered, “Heavenly Father, something is not right. What is it? What should I do? Say? Should I confront Asa plainly?”

      At the word confront, panic swept over her. The old pang twisted around her heart. She pictured again that day in 1861. Tom Southby had been going off to war, and she’d decided she couldn’t let him go without telling him how she felt. With a red face, Tom had thanked her for caring for him but said he couldn’t return the same to her. Once again she flushed with the heated humiliation over those horrible moments. He’d said they’d always been the best of friends and he wanted to leave it at that. Best of friends. She’d been in love with him since sixth grade. Yet it wasn’t Tom’s fault that she wasn’t pretty enough.

      With effort, she mastered the old hurt and shame. Praying for guidance and peace, she sat for several minutes, hoping for something to occur to her. Then she recalled her late mother’s favorite verse, Isaiah 26:3. “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is steadfast because he trusts in You.”

      One thing came clear. She was allowing Asa’s hesitance to reveal anything about himself to disturb her peace. And that was what she’d really come here to find—a husband and a peaceful life with him. She went over the past two days and the innocent questions she’d asked her new husband and his avoidance of replying to each one.

      She recalled Mrs. Ashford’s favorable assessment of Asa’s character. “Lord, I feel I’ve married a good-intentioned man,” she murmured. “I sense nothing false about him. He doesn’t make up answers to suit my questions. That’s what a dishonest man would do. But why is talking

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