Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
It’s mid-July, and our garden is beginning to give us its bounty.
I have a basket full of sun-ripened tomatoes, golden zucchini, and fresh, bright-green spinach.
The kitchen counters are covered in mason jars, and I’ve been canning for most of the morning.
This afternoon, we’re heading to Buckholt for Hooch and Jessie Mae’s wedding, and tomorrow night, I’m having Mike Landry and Diana Ames over for dinner.
I would have invited Jolene, too, except for my dad’s obvious reluctance.
I still haven’t figured that one out, but I’m willing to be patient.
We also had our first glampers last weekend, a family of four with two angelically behaved children who said please and thank you on cue and were delighted to help Rose collect the eggs.
I joked to Josh that I think he created them with AI because I don’t think anyone could have convinced me more that this glamping thing might work.
They didn’t even leave any trash behind, and they were as quiet as mice.
Next weekend we have two couples coming, and the weekend after that a family of five.
And meanwhile, this baby is due in less than a month. At my last appointment, my OB said she’s measuring right on target, and she also advised I head to the hospital at the very first twinge. “Fifth baby, fast labor usually.”
I nodded soberly. Rose’s delivery was two hours from start to finish. I joked to Josh that I might be having a home birth after all, which he did not find very funny.
All in all, though, I’m feeling surprisingly peaceful.
Last week, we sorted through the baby stuff and arranged it all in Bethany’s room, which she graciously agreed to give up as a nursery.
When—if—she comes home to stay the night, she’ll sleep with Rose.
Still no ring on her finger, and Josh and I have stopped expecting her to flash a diamond at any given moment.
We also set a date to meet with Pastor Todd, which I am, somewhat to my own surprise, looking forward to.
His conversation the other week really put me at ease.
Maybe I don’t need to have the faith thing all figured out.
Maybe it’s a journey, and all that matters is you’re on it, taking one baby step at a time.
As for now, I need to get this canning done before we get ready for the wedding. The kitchen is full of steam and good smells as I go about my work, Max determinedly underfoot and cats swishing their tails everywhere as I shoo them out.
Josh, Jack, and William are all working outside, and Rose is making a new sign for her farmer’s market business. Bethany and Ben have gone out for the afternoon; she said they’d see us at the wedding.
Life feels very full but in a good way.
Just then, I trip over Max and swear out loud. I really am thankful, I tell myself as Max retreats under the kitchen table, giving me a martyred and baleful glance, and I rush to the stove to check on my tomatoes.
Several hours later, we’re all cleaned up and heading to the wedding at Buckholt Baptist Church. I bought a new dress for the occasion, a flowy number in cotton batik that I liked when I bought it but now makes me feel like I’m wearing a tent. There is just no getting around being this huge.
Josh, William, Jack, and my dad all look spiffy in matching khakis and blue button-down shirts, which is pretty standard formal wear around here.
Rose is wearing a castoff of Bethany’s, a pink sundress with straps that tie in a bow on each shoulder.
We’ve all got farmer’s tans and freckles on our faces, but that’s one of the benefits of country living.
Josh puts on John Denver as we hurtle up the hill toward the main road into Buckholt, and I lean my head back against the seat, content with my world.
The wedding is, of course, beautiful. Pretty much all weddings are.
Seeing Hooch standing at the front of the church, his beanpole frame filling out a tuxedo, his thinning red hair slicked back from his forehead, and his usually droopy moustache and side whiskers neatly trimmed… well, it brings a lump to my throat.
The adoring expression on his face as Jessie Mae comes down the aisle, resplendent in ivory satin bedecked with more ruffles and frills than I could have ever imagined, is enough to make me wipe my eyes.
As the ceremony ends and the minister tells him, in good humor, that he may kiss his bride, Hooch lets out a holler and gives Jessie Mae a big old smack right on the lips. Everybody cheers.
Afterward, we troop over to the church hall, where a hog is well on its way to being roasted, and a folding table is practically bowed beneath two dozen homemade pies. The bluegrass band is already warming up, and the mood is merry, the lemonade and iced tea flowing freely.
I didn’t get to see Bethany or Ben before the ceremony, but now they come up to Josh and me, both of them flushed, their eyes sparkling like…
Bethany holds up her hand, and there it is, a tiny sliver of a diamond winking on her ring finger. For a second, I can only stare.
“Oh, my goodness…” I finally manage faintly while Josh springs to action, clapping Ben on the back, his smile genuine although his eyes looked a little dazed. I think we’d both lulled ourselves into thinking the proposal wasn’t happening anytime soon, after all, yet here we are.
“Ben took me to Sandstone Falls in New River Gorge Park,” she explains. “And he proposed right there on the overlook.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I say again, truly at a loss for words. New River Gorge National Park is about an hour south of us and is the main attraction of the area. We did a hike there early on, but I’m sorry to say I haven’t been back.
“It was so romantic,” Bethany says, her eyes shining, her fingers laced with Ben’s.
I’m still feeling shell-shocked, and I’m pretty sure Josh is, too.
“Well, this certainly calls for a celebration!” he exclaims. “I don’t think there’s any champagne, but let’s toast you with lemonade!”
They laugh, and Josh goes to fetch us all lemonade.
I look around for Emmy, wondering if she knew today was the day.
I feel happy—mostly—but also a little worried.
I want to ask Bethany if she’s absolutely sure about this, but it doesn’t feel like the right time.
In fact, I’m pretty sure it absolutely isn’t the right time.
Josh returns with a tray of plastic cups of lemonade, and we all duly take one and heft it high.
“To Bethany and Ben! May you have a long, happy, and fruitful life together!” Josh says, and although he hides it well, as his wife, I can tell he’s choking a little on the words. As onboard as we’ve tried to be about this engagement, it still feels like a scary and precipitous step.
Later, after we’ve toasted and talked—hearing the details of how Ben got down on one knee and nearly fell over, and Bethany thought he’d tripped and tried to tug him up before he stammered out his proposal; a story for the annals, to be sure—Josh and I drift away.
“Okay, I wasn’t blindsided this time,” he confesses with a wry smile. “But almost. Even though I shouldn’t have been.”
“I know.” I nod and take a sip of lukewarm lemonade. “I felt the same.”
“But Ben is a great guy, and the Wilsons are great people,” he continues, sounding a little like he’s trying to convince himself. “It’s all going to be great.”
“Yep.” I nod, a little mechanically. “Great.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I guess it just feels fast. And like we’re not old enough, never mind Bethany. How can we have a daughter who’s engaged?”
I pat my bump. “And another one on the way.”
“Crazy.” Josh shakes his head again, his expression turning reflective. “Ben’s a good guy,” he says again.
I nod. Ben is a very good guy, but I think there is part of both of us that wishes Bethany had had the chance to experience a little more of life before deciding to get married.
We can’t separate ourselves from the festivities for long, and as the dancing starts in earnest, Josh is called away to dance with Bethany and then Rose.
I refuse to dance, because if it doesn’t cause me to go into labor right there in the fellowship hall, it will almost certainly make me pee myself.
Emmy finds me as I sip my second cup of lemonade on the side of the dance floor. “Well, I guess you’ve heard,” she says, looking ebullient. “He finally popped the question!”
“He did,” I confirm, widening my smile because I know Emmy will sense even an iota of hesitation on my part. “And he surprised us all! Amazing.”
“It is, isn’t it?” she agrees in satisfaction. “They’re thinking they’ll get married in May.”
Something Bethany has yet to tell me. I do my best to hide the needling sense of hurt that Emmy knows a potential wedding date before I do, even though I’m the mother of the bride.
“That seems like a good length of engagement,” I remark.
“And we’re going to be in-laws!” Emmy exclaims with a hoot. “How funny is that?”
“Very funny,” I agree, and she looks at me closely.
“Abby…” Her voice holds a warning note. “Why aren’t you happy about this?”
“I am,” I insist. “I’m thrilled. Ben is an amazing guy, and I think he and Bethany will be very happy together.”
“But?” Emmy prompts ominously.
“But just let me have a moment to let it sink in!” I tell my best friend with a definite edge to my voice.
“You can’t monitor my moods, Emmy; it’s just not fair.
I’m allowed to feel a little overwhelmed, or anxious, or whatever, okay?
And it’s no reflection on you, Ben, or the Wilson family in general. All right?”
Emmy blinks at me, looking stunned, and I realize my voice may have risen a little. But this dynamic has been going on for nearly a year, ever since Ben and Bethany started dating, and I cannot conceive of dealing with it for another twenty or thirty years.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her sincerely. “But I just feel like you’re always analyzing my reactions and then taking them personally. And if we’re going to be in-laws, we’ve got to get this straight between us.”
She stares at me for a moment more, then her mouth twitches into a smile.
“Fair enough,” she agrees. “I know I’ve been a little…
much about this. You’re allowed to feel a little, I don’t know, mixed.
” She sighs. “I’m a little mixed, too, if I’m honest, which is probably why I’m acting like I’m not.
I’m trying to convince myself that I’m not about to lose my firstborn son to a wonderful woman he so clearly adores.
” She gives me a wry, twisted smile. “You’re not the only one who feels ambivalent, even if I don’t seem like I do. ”
“I get that.” I reach over, clumsily because of my big bump, to give her a hug. She embraces me tightly, and we’re both sniffing suspiciously as we pull back.
Then I hear an almighty holler, and Hooch is galloping toward me, his face flushed, making me wonder if he’s secretly had a nip or two from his flask.
“All right, Miss Abby! It’s your turn for the reel!” he cries, and grabs both my hands, pulling me toward the lineup on the dance floor.
“Oh, Hooch, I don’t think I—”
Too late. Hooch is already pulling me down the line, do-si-doing with the best of them. I am already breathless, and I am seventy-five percent sure I really am going to wet myself.