Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
“Oh.”
I regard Josh ruefully, smothering a laugh at his obvious shock. To be fair, I’ve had a few weeks to get used to the idea, not that I’ve actively thought about it all that much. Still, it’s been bubbling away in the back of my mind.
“Actually,” I tell my husband, “I think I might know.”
His eyes round and his mouth drops open. Again. “What?”
I grimace in acknowledgment of my unwitting deception. “Emmy gave me a pretty big hint when we went away to Charleston.”
“Abby, that was three weeks ago!” He looks exasperated as well as outraged.
I can’t exactly blame him. I really should have found a time to broach this topic sooner.
“You couldn’t give me a heads up in all that time?” he demands. “If I’d had so much as an inkling of what he was going to ask me, I might have handled it better.” He groans and lays his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes—and making me wonder how he did handle it.
I wince as I go sit down next to him. “I’m sorry, I really should have,” I tell him contritely. “I just wanted to get straight in my own mind how I felt about it, and, honestly… I was hoping this was more of an in-the-distant-future kind of thing.” Which it still might be… maybe?
“Well, it’s not,” Josh says flatly. “It’s a right-here, right-now kind of thing. He showed me the ring.”
A frisson of some emotion I can’t identify goes through me. It’s nothing too negative, but it still feels scary. Big. Do I really want Bethany to get married to the first boy she falls in love with, before she’d even turned twenty? She’s only known him for a little over a year.
“We are talking about him proposing?” I clarify, just in case, and Josh rolls his eyes so hard, I see nothing but the whites for a full second.
“Yes, that is what we’re talking about.”
Okay, maybe I should have accepted that when Josh mentioned the ring, but still, it seems crazy. Bethany getting a marriage proposal. She’s still more or less an infant. How is that possible?
“So, how did you react?” I ask Josh.
“Well, it took me way too long to realize what he was going on about,” Josh admits on a sigh, his head still resting against the sofa as he stares at the ceiling.
“And then when he said he wanted our blessing… well, let’s just say I didn’t give it to him.
” Another sigh, deeper this time. “To be fair to Ben, he took it in his stride. He said he knew we might be surprised because we were from New Jersey.”
I can’t help but laugh at this. “What does being from New Jersey have to do with it?”
“Well, do you know anyone in New Jersey who gets married at nineteen?” Josh asks, lifting his head to look at me.
With a grimace, I have to concede he has a point. I don’t.
“So…” I pause as I think through it all. Ben really wants to ask my daughter to marry him. How is that even possible? How can we be the parents of a child old enough to get married? “What did you say? Did you give him your blessing?”
“I didn’t not give it,” Josh says, then throws up his hands, even though I haven’t said anything.
“I was blindsided, Abby!” he cries, which is fair enough, because I was blindsided when Emmy told me.
“I didn’t even know what he was talking about first. So no, I didn’t give him my unadulterated, no-holds-barred blessing.
But I said I was glad he’d asked, and I’d talk to you.
” He shakes his head, rueful now. “I’ll be honest, I was struggling. ”
“Oh, Josh.” I lay my head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I really should have told you.”
“Well.” He puts his arm around me and draws me close. “I guess I’ll forgive you. Just.”
“Wow, grace in action,” I tease.
He looks down at me seriously. “That’s something else I have to tell you.”
This time, I have no idea what he’s talking about, but his tone alarms me a little. “Something else?” I query cautiously.
“Pastor Todd came by to pick William and Jack up for bowling.”
“And?” I ask when Josh doesn’t seem inclined to say anything more.
“And he wants to meet with us to talk about membership,” Josh says in the same ominous tone. “Apparently, when you’ve been attending a church for a whole year, they want you to become members. Or at least think about becoming members.”
“Oh.” I absorb this slowly, trying to figure out how I feel about it. It’s true we’ve been attending Grace Fellowship for a whole year. And I’ve been going to Bible study, the kids have finally started attending youth group, and the church is a big part of our lives.
And yet… I don’t feel like I’m personally part of the church. If I’m honest, I feel like I’m far from a member and more like a fraud. We may attend church, I might have given the prayer at Bible study a few months ago, I might have a Bible verse taped above my sink…
But when it comes to actual, honest-to-goodness, putting-your-money-where-your-mouth-is faith? Not so much. Not at all, if I’m honest. At least that’s what it feels like right now, when so many worries are swirling through me, and it rarely even occurs to me to look above for answers.
“Hmm,” I finally say, which isn’t much answer.
Josh nods like I said something deep. “My thoughts exactly.”
“Well…” I lift my legs to rest on top of his as I relax into the sofa, one hand resting on my bump. Baby girl gives my palm a welcoming—or warning—kick. It’s been a long day, and it feels nice that the house is quiet, the dusky light outside peaceful. “Maybe that’s a problem for another day.”
“Maybe it is,” Josh agrees. “We didn’t set a date for this meeting, anyway.”
“Well, that’s something,” I tell him encouragingly.
He lets out a short huff of laughter. “Yeah, I guess.” He shakes his head as he pulls me in closer, my head resting against his chest. “How did we get here?” he marvels.
“Homesteading in West Virginia, becoming church members, our daughter possibly getting married at nineteen.” He turns to face me, a wry smile tugging at his mouth.
“Did we become hillbillies without me realizing?”
“Would it be so bad if we did?” I ask teasingly.
Josh’s eyes crinkle. “No,” he says, pulling me toward him for a kiss, “I guess it wouldn’t.”
The days melt into one another, and no proposal comes.
It’s getting hard to keep quiet about it because I’m pretty sure Ben wants it to be a surprise for his beloved, but every time Bethany walks into the house, I spring to attention, half-expecting an excited “you’ll never guess!
” as she lifts her left hand with its sparkly chip of a diamond.
So far, it hasn’t happened, and I feel just about equal parts disappointed and relieved. I really don’t know if I’m ready for this next life step, especially with a baby on the way.
I keep busy around the homestead, and we also head into Buckholt to visit Hooch and Jessie Mae. Their wedding is next month, and everyone is excited.
“I got my tuxedo,” Hooch tells me while Jessie Mae watches him with that bemused yet beady eye of hers. “I look pretty darn dashing, if I do say so myself.”
“I’m sure you do, Hooch.” I glance at Jessie Mae. “And everything’s ready on your end?”
“I think so.” Jessie Mae seems like the kind of person who would be fearsomely organized. “My three sisters are bridesmaids, and the reception is in the church hall. We’re doing a hog roast, and everyone’s bringing pies. There’ll be a bluegrass band from church.”
“Sounds amazing,” I tell her sincerely.
“And no booze,” she adds severely, with a stern look for Hooch, who has been known to be partial to his hip flask. “Lemonade and iced tea only.”
“Aw, Jessie, honey…” Hooch begins with his trademark hangdog expression.
“I mean it, Henry,” Jessie Mae says.
I jolt in surprise at the use of his given name. I’ve only ever thought of him as Hooch, but clearly, things are changing around here.
“I know you do, sweetie pie,” Hooch says, and, contrite, he kisses her cheek. Jessie Mae smiles in satisfaction.
I smother a laugh. I think they’ll work well as a couple. Hooch seems to be happy to have his wife in charge.
At the end of the month, when everything is growing in rampant bounty and the days are long and hot, Ben drives up in his dad’s truck with the bed full of baby stuff.
“Special delivery,” he announces, and starts to unload it onto our front porch. There is a lot of stuff—a crib as well as a bassinet, an electric swing, a bouncy chair, a highchair, three garbage bags full of clothes and cloth diapers, a plastic bin full of board books and another one of soft toys.
“Your mom kept all this?” I exclaim. “She told me she gave away a lot.”
“She did,” Ben confirms, “but with seven kids… she had a lot of baby stuff. She said she was keeping all this for the grandkids, but…” He shrugs. “I think it’s going to be awhile before that happens.”
“Is it?” I ask, looking at him closely, my tone laden with meaning. I would love to know when he’s thinking of popping the question… or if he’s gotten cold feet.
Ben blushes and looks down at said feet. “Yeah, I mean… even if we—if I—got married soon, I don’t think kids would be on the cards for a while. You know, we—I—have things to do first.” His face is beet red by this point, and he hurries back to the truck. “Enjoy!” he calls as he jumps in.
I have to smother a laugh. It was clearly excruciatingly embarrassing to talk about procreation with his prospective mother-in-law.
Not that I particularly want to draw out that conversation, either, but I’m still no closer to knowing when Ben is going to propose.
At least it seems like a when and not an if, which makes me feel a little anxious but not nearly as much as it once did.
“Goodness,” my dad remarks as he comes out onto the porch to survey all my baby loot. “Looks like you won’t need to buy much.”
“I know, right?” I straighten, resting one hand on my ever-burgeoning bump.
I’m thirty weeks now, and I feel it. Everything aches, and I’m huge.
Trying to weed the garden with this big belly has become exceedingly difficult.
I have Braxton Hicks contractions every time I pull something out of the ground and have to breathe deeply before I go again.
“Not too much longer,” my dad says with a sympathetic smile, as if he or any man knows what it feels like to waddle around without being able to see your feet. “Shall I help you bring this in?”
“Sure.” As we’re carrying the stuff in, I decide to broach the subject of Jolene, something we haven’t really talked about much, even though my dad sees her at least once or twice a week.
“So, Dad,” I say as casually as I can as I bring the bouncy seat inside. “I was thinking of inviting Jolene over for dinner.”
“What?” My dad, normally so easygoing and affable, looks shocked. “Why would you do that?”
“So we could all get to know her better?” I suggest, smiling, although his reaction has thrown me for a loop. “Wouldn’t you like that?”
“I don’t know, Abby.” My dad shakes his head. “Jolene is…” He doesn’t finish that sentence, and I really have no idea how he might have. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says with surprising firmness.
I put down the bouncy seat, frowning. “Really? Why not?”
“It’s just…” He runs a hand through his thinning gray hair, looking old all of a sudden. Of course, he always looks old—he’s seventy-six—but right now, I feel his age, and I think he does, too.
“Dad… I won’t invite Jolene to dinner if you don’t want me to,” I tell him. “I just thought since she’s part of your life, and we’re part of your life… you’d want us to know each other.”
He smiles tiredly at me. “Thanks, Abby, for understanding,” he says, which is really no answer at all.