Poppies

The next day Jobeth tended to the chores as usual. She was surprised how easy it was to fall back into old routines. Spring was just around the corner and soon it would be time to plant. Standing outside in front of the mound of dirt that would soon be her garden, she took a deep breath. The taste of spring lingered in her throat. Oh, how she loved this time of year! It was a period for fresh beginnings, and this year it was quite appropriate with her new life spread before her. She examined her garden with an expert’s eye. She could easily picture carrots, onions, lettuce and various other vegetables sprouting forth green and luscious.

  Noise from the front of the house disrupted Jobeth’s thoughts. Curious and a little apprehensive, she went to investigate. Walking around the corner of the building, she stopped short. A buggy full of women was pulling up toward the dwelling. Her heart began to pound, thinking of the vision of the last group of woman she had encountered. Feeling exposed, Jobeth felt a desperate urge to hide. The carriage moved closer and closer toward its destination. Sweat began

  to form on her brow. What should she do? Where should she hide?

  “Hello,” waved a pretty brunette. Her other hand held the leather reins, controlling the two horses that pulled the wagon full of women.

  It was too late. They had already spotted her.

  “Hello,” Jobeth stood nervously and walked toward the buggy that had now stopped.

  The women began to emerge from the wagon, chatting amongst themselves.

  “Did we come at a bad time?” asked the same brunette. She looked to be about twenty years old.

  “No. No,” Jobeth said, clutching her shawl around her shoulders. Her nerves starting to settle. Held proudly in each woman’s lap were baskets loaded down with goodies. Delicious smells raised and mixed together to form a welcoming atmosphere. There was no reason for her to fear these women or anyone else

  “Would you like to come in for refreshments?” she asked shyly, not used to entertaining. She was not the same young girl she had once been. It felt strange and a little frightening to be participating in activities long thought gone.

  “Well, if you are sure we are not interrupting?” a young blonde, about eighteen, asked. Jobeth looked them over cautiously, soaking their very essences in. There were four of them, all about her age. They seemed friendly enough.

  Friends.

  It had been so long since she had a girlfriend.

  “No, you are not interrupting at all. Just give me a minute to clean up,”

  Jobeth ushered them toward the house. The four young women followed suit, with welcome baskets held snugly in their arms. Walking with her back straight,

  She couldn’t help but smile to herself. Spring was indeed in the air.

  Jobeth nervously poured hot water from her kettle into matching blue cups. Tiny white flowers embroidered the bottom, giving them a dainty, feminine feel. The four women had seated themselves around the kitchen table; their baskets full of treats were now laid out before them. The four women were as diverse in appearance as were their choices in treats. Sara, the small blonde who had spoken outside, was seventeen and had been married for a year. She had brought homemade bread with pickled eggs. Mandy was a little plump eighteen-year-old woman with thick red hair pulled back into a modern twist that she had adopted since her marriage. She proudly displayed her famous cinnamon muffins topped with melted white icing. Heather was the youngest at sixteen and was expecting her first child. From her basket she removed smaller bowls and the plaid towels that covered them, exposing the colorful berries inside. Each bowl held a different color of berry. Twenty-year-old Lorie was the tall, thin, attractive brunette who had driven the wagon full of greeters to Jobeth’s door. From her basket she gently removed two candles finely crafted into a delicate design. Jobeth was in awe of the intricate artistry. The wax seemed alive with movement. Each piece of wax delicately interwove with the other forming a beautiful sculpture. Lorie, seeing Jobeth’s expression, was pleased in her choice of gifts. Her candles were her passion and up until she married two months ago, she sold her candles at the local store. Now she made them for herself. Her husband would not allow her to sell them for money. Afraid people would think he could not provide for his new bride. It embarrassed him. Lori sighed, trying to push aside the memory of the joy she had in selling her prize candles to her fellow neighbors and reveling in their complements. She was married now and had to listen to her husband’s requests.

  “Larry said a new young couple had moved into George and Diana’s house and the girls and I decided to make a visit,” Lorie spoke, the self-proclaimed leader of the small group. The other girls nodded in unison.

  “Do you like it here so far?” asked Sara, sipping her tea. Her eyebrows knitted together in anticipation of Jobeth’s answer. She was curious about the frail-looking young woman who bustled about the kitchen trying to scratch up some edible snacks of her own.

  “Yes.” Jobeth looked back toward the table, enjoying the banter between the girls. Sara smiled supportively. She liked Jobeth’s pretty face and knew they would become fast friends.

  “Well, you will just have to go into town with us next week and meet the rest of the girls. We all go to Max’s Café.” Mandy proclaimed, feeling important to be the one to tell Jobeth about Max’s. It was a favorite place to gossip and escape the monotony of housework.

  “You will just love it. It is just like cafes in France. Jean-Claude, the restaurant’s owner, is adorable. He is a short little man with a thin twisted moustache that twitches when he talks rapidly in his accent. It is so European. You will just love it.” Mandy squealed, “Our town is just wonderfully modern.”

  “I feel like I already love it,” Jobeth said in all honesty. For the first time since her parents had past away, she felt normal. It felt good to be back in her old skin. Better. She was no longer a young, naive girl. She was a grown woman with the experiences of a lifetime behind her.

  “I hear your husband’s sister lives with you.” Heather beamed across the table at Jobeth. Like Sara, she immediately liked Jobeth.

  Jobeth nodded, lowering her eyes. She could not look Heather in the face and lie. She was certain she would see that her marriage to Alan was a hoax, plainly written all over her face.

  “Does it bother you?” Heather leaned forward in her chair. The other three followed suit. All eyes were upon Jobeth. She looked up at them shyly and smiled a warm smile. If they only knew how much little Shawna meant to her and how the blonde little girl had come into her life. It was funny how Alan had continued the charade that Shawna was his sister. It just showed Jobeth how much the child meant to him.

  “No,” said Jobeth strongly, and firmly. “She is like my sister and I love her as such.”

  “Well it is always good to get along with one’s in-laws,” proclaimed Lorie.

  She was thinking of Larry’s younger sister whom Lorie did not like. The sister felt Lorie was too old to marry her brother. Cecilia was a constant thorn in Lorie’s side and she could not help but notice the love in Jobeth’s eyes for her sister-in-law. Lorie felt envious. Jobeth seemed to have everything.

  “She is just a little thing, isn’t she Jobeth?” she asked.

  “She is.” Jobeth smiled thinking how much Shawna had seen in her short years. Too much. But things were changing. They were starting a new life again.

  There were no more secrets. Not really. Jobeth thought of Alan and the warm

  safe feeling enveloped her once again. It was her Alan feeling: safe and secure.

  She felt married to Alan. He loved her and she loved him. There was no more shame. Alan had taken the shame away by continuing to love her, even after knowing the truth. They had a chance to begin once more. Jonah had been right.

  She could move on from her past and love.

  “Would anyone care for more tea?” Jobeth stood up to get the kettle. Yes these women would become her friends but they would not be Jonah. No friend could take Jonah’s place. She picked up the kettle s
till hot from the fire and pushing the sadness from Jonah’s death down deeper into her body, she waited

  patiently for a reply.

  “Oh yes, me.” Mandy piped up. “Jobeth, do tell, what are you going to plant in that glorious garden?”

  “I have plenty of plans,” Jobeth said, looking out the window and beyond.

  “Plenty of plans.” She turned to her guest, kettle in hand. Life was going to be different here. She was counting on it.

  Chapter 13 —