He did not respond. Instead, he stood there, deflated, in the middle of the room, as though someone had come along and let the air out of him.
Something burned within Rebekah. Something she couldn’t place. Something that was not welcome in her heart or in her home.
“I’ll just leave this here, next to your breakfast.” Joseph’s voice, moments earlier so jovial, was muted.
Regret flooded into her mind and tightened her throat. Call out, Rebekah. Call out and apologize. Tell him you are so sorry. Tell him you love him.
Joseph gestured toward the plate and continued. “Thomas cut the pancakes into hearts for you. The littler hearts he made are for Lil’ Bit.”
His words tugged at her heart, but the simmering anger refused to let her apology pass. Resentment and jealousy had taken hold. She did not respond.
Joseph was stoic. “Do you need anything else right now, Rebekah?”
She stared at her swollen hands. “No.” Her fingers were so bloated they could hardly bend. They reminded her of sausages. “Just go.”
Do you really want him to go, Rebekah? For how long? For good? Why are you doing this? What is your—
“As you wish.” Joseph turned away from her. “Then I will leave you to your day.”
She counted his steps as he left. One, two, three. Then, they stopped.
He did not leave?
A funny, scraping sound thunked from just outside her door. That sounded like a chair scraping the floor then hitting the wall. Rebekah glanced around her room. Sure enough, the little chair was gone.
He moved the little chair out into the hallway.
She wet her lips. “Joseph?”
He appeared in an instant, a hopeful gleam in his eye. “Yes?”
“You were just in the hall?”
He nodded. “Of course. After you were so sick that you could not walk, I told you that I would never lea—”
Her simmering ire exploded. “Just go, Joseph. Go do what needs doing and leave me be!”
He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again. Hurt clouded his eyes and his entire stature seemed to sort of collapse on itself. Like a limp jacket, forgotten, hanging on a peg.
Incensed, Rebekah continued. “I am not so feeble and helpless that I need you standing out there. Watching me. Waiting for me to mess up so you can swoop in and save me like some hero.” She paused. “I do not need you, Joseph Graber.”
Joseph stared at her with a look in his eyes that she could not place. Instead of responding, he slinked away, trailing hurt and sadness, out the door and into the hall. This time, Rebekah counted as his footsteps passed the little chair and continued down the stairs. When she got to twenty-seven, she could no longer hear them.
Good riddance.
She tried to shush the little piece of herself, the one that shouted from somewhere down deep within her, crying for her beloved, for her best friend, for her Joseph to come back, for him not to leave.
Still fuming, she snatched the letter from the nightstand.
Dear Joseph,
We are safely delivered of a ten-pound bopplin girl, exactly down to the day. We are both already out in the fields, tending our bees. We have several quarts of honey set aside for you, which we hope to deliver in person soon! We are excited to introduce y’all (isn’t that a great word?) to bopplin Ruth Ann Wagler.
We cannot wait to see you! I have something I want to talk to you about, but it would be best to do in person instead of through a letter. If we come within the month, will Rebekah be delivered by then? I hope so.
Annie, unfortunately, will not be coming with us. She has gone on to Santa Fe, a place in New Mexico with Crackerjack, but more on that later. There is so much to catch up on in person! We miss you so.
I hope to hear from you again soon!
All our love,
The Waglers
Rebekah’s heart sank as she focused on the bottom of the letter. “Again?” She shifted her weight with the sudden nameless discomfort that overtook her. Slowly, realization began to dawn on her. “Joseph has been exchanging letters with her? With Katie?”
A cramp seized her middle and sudden wetness dampened her thighs. “That is just wonderful gute. Now I have gotten so upset that I have gone and wet myself.” Her brow furrowed as she tried to shift her bottom out of the sudden, unexpected warmth.
I did not even think I needed to go.
A knock sounded at the door.
The pain in her middle threatened to pinch her in two. She tried to call out, but the words would not come.
Not now. No visitors. Not when I have had yet another toileting disaster.
The knock came again, louder, just as the pain began to subside.
“Joseph, I cannot talk with you right now!” She was so breathless; the words barely passed her lips.
Samuel, her fater, stuck his head inside. “Hallo, Dochder. May I komme in?”
Tears, either born of relief or gratitude, she was not sure which, filled Rebekah’s eyes and she nodded. Perhaps it was both.
Her father stepped inside. “I brought you a gift. I have been working on it for many, many days.”
Samuel reached into the hall and produced an ornate wooden cradle. Her eyes widened. “Fater, what is this?”
He ran his finger along the scalloped edges. “It is made from tulip tree wood. Actually, from yours and Joseph’s tulip tree.”
“Oh Dat.”
The dark, striated wood smelled deeply sweeter the longer it sat in her room. Before long, it had filled the room completely with its muted, welcoming scent.
“I wanted it to be a surprise, so I told nobody. Not even your mater.” He smiled down at her. “Was I successful?”
“Ja!” Rebekah returned her father’s smile. “It is a wunderbaar handsome cradle. The hours of work put into it are evident. But most of all, I am most glad that you are feeling better enough to do this, then to bring it over.”
He patted her foot as another pain gripped her.
