by Lilah Rivers
“A sad fact she seems to have forgotten!”
Giles sighed. “Okay, I… I can see that this is too tender a wound, it won't heal so quickly. Nor should it.” After along, uncomfortable silence, Giles added, “I’ll leave you to digest and consider, for the wisdom of the Lord to inform you of the true path, the way and the truth and the light.”
“I already know these things,” Jodi pointed out. “What I don't know is the way of the other.” She glanced down to her feet, and she knew her meaning was clear enough to Giles. He didn’t seem interested in being further insulted, even considering how insulting he'd already been to her.
“Very well,” he said. “I… I know we'll have time to discuss this at greater length at a time when reflection and reason can lend a more civil tone to things. But remember one thing, my fair Jodi:Family is what matters most and, in that interest, I hope you will reconsider the tartness of your position.”
He stood and stepped out of the parlor, turning to add, “I’ll see myself out.” With that he turned, his boot heels clacking against the hard pinewood floors. The front door opened and closed, and Jodi found herself alone. She’d never felt lonelier.
Jodi sat with the truth, her blood running cold in her veins. There had been too many months of doubt for her to be floored, but she still felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach. She could hardly breathe, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.
How could he do this to me? He knew how long I’ve been waiting, how everybody knew we were to be wed. What will I tell them now? What will they think? And what about my parents? What will they think, of me and of Giles? And what will the community make of them, parents who failed to marry their daughter off, losing the groom to the daughter of their own family?
But there was no point in refusing to accept it now, terribly tempting as that had been as the months had crawled on. Jodi had to face the fearful fact that she was alone—at twenty-three years old, she was quickly approaching the age of a spinster. She would be a disgrace to her parents and a laughingstock among their neighbors.Or worse, an object of pity.
No, Jodi told herself, I won’t be that; I won’t be either one!
Jodi started to think about her best friend, Amy Harper, now Mrs. Clinton Burnett of Angeldale, New Mexico. She could easily picture her red, curly hair, that stubborn smile.
Amy wouldn’t take this, Jodi thought, though who would ever have turned away from marrying her? And if they had, she surely wouldn’t pity herself, sitting slumped in the parlor and staring at her sad reflection in the mirror. She’d be out there living, finding a new man, a new start, a new life.
That’s what Amy did, Jodi reminded herself. In the last year, she went out as a mail-order bride and seems to have found every happiness. In the meantime, I’ve spent the year here in Providence, Rhode Island, doing chores at home and waiting to be jilted in favor of my own cousin!
Jodi sighed, the silence of the parlor seeming to tell her that there had to be another way, another life. The course seemed clear, and the time perhaps long overdue.
Chapter 3
Jodi sat down at the roll-top desk in her bedroom and pulled out a fresh piece of paper. Usually she’d be sitting down to a happy chore, dipping the pen into the ink and scratching out a fine litany of good will and best wishes. And though she still had those aplenty for her old friend Amy, she had little of them to enjoy for herself.
She didn’t want to get into the details of what had happened; just to review them for herself was painful enough, but to have to explain them to her best friend was just too much. And Jodi knew it would have been painful for Amy, too.
No, Jodi told herself, better to spare us both.
So it was with a heavy heart but an even hand and a caring mind that Jodi did what she had to do in a way she felt best about; not with dishonesty, but with discretion.
Dearest Amy,
I hope this letter finds you well. I have so enjoyed our communications over the past year, since you went out to New Mexico. I do hope and rest in certainty that you and Clinton Burnett have found the happiness together which we both knew you’d find. He did seem like a good man, from what little I knew or know even now. But God has His way of creating perfection among we, the imperfect; joy among the joyless, company for the lonely.
I think I will always remember the worry I fostered for you on the day I told you Giles and I were to be married. You were so brave, so loving and supportive. But I couldn’t deny that I was worried for you, that you would ever find the happiness that I was so certain that I’d already found.
Well, as for my happiness, it seems as if it’s not to be. No, my friend, I oughtn’t be less than honest with you; our happiness may yet be, but not together and not in one another. I do hope for his happiness, and my cousin Alice. I don’t know what my cousin would say to me, as we have not spoken. I will hope and pray that we do someday, though it strains my imagination to draw a vision of such a thing.
Of course, my life offers limited options. I am here and so is my situation. The neighbors will be speaking of it soon and then widely. I don’t fear for gossip, of course, nor for scorn. I know Jesus loves me and will always stand with me; wherever I turn, he is there.
But the others? Not likely, I don’t think.
However, if this is what God desires for me, I will surely endure it. What care would I have for others when he who was to care for me most has turned his back? I cannot lie, my oldest and dearest friend, I have sorrow which I cannot turn from. But if this is my burden to bear, it will still be less than the suffering endured by others. I am determined to be grateful for the continued good health of my beloved mother and father, of you; even for my own health, to whatever advantage I can still put it.
But as you know, my friend, we’re both well over twenty-one, two years beyond that sacred age. I’m well on my way to being the spinster we always imagined, but I’m glad you have escaped that fate. We oughtn’t have imagined ourselves growing up that way. Believe my words, Amy, you would not want to face the emotions and fears which stir in me now, and which I am afraid will never recede.
I cannot feel sorry for myself, of course. If he would fall in love with another, then surely his love for me was not true. I do not blame my cousin for trickery, or Giles for shallowness. Perhaps theirs really is the true love God intended after all. Perhaps He has some other love in store for me, or perhaps none at all. But, like Job, I shall not lose faith, whatever may happen.
But no matter my feelings about Giles, about myself, I must say I have missed you, my closest, dearest, and oldest friend. How much do I value your strength of will and character. I have always held your personal strength in the highest esteem. If I may be so bold, I’ve always found much in you to emulate; your ability to stand up to others, what some would have called your stubbornness. Do you recall on that day when you referred to yourself as a mule? But did I ever tell you that I always thought you were much more a mountain; tall and strong and unyielding, turning away any not up to the task?
I only hope that all who dared come your way were up to that noble and rarified task. To know the heights of your soaring character would only enrich anyone as it has me. In truth, I long for that comfort even now, as it was when we were twelve and fourteen and eighteen and twenty-two.
Of course, that’s not likely to be, with so much distance between us. But for me, no stretch of time or place can truly separate us, and I feel as if even now you are here with me, so great is your influence and my admiration.
Please give my very best to your husband and wish him my complete and utter congratulations again on marrying the very finest person I have ever known.
Yours in eternal friendship,
Jodi.
Chapter 4
It was only a few nights later that Jodi was having dinner with her parents, Martin and Ellen Hoffman. Both were aging nicely, getting a bit rounder and bit grayer. Looking at them across the table, it was almost too easy for Jodi to imagine herself al
ready resembling them, even at half their age.
They glanced at her several times, wordless from across the table, surveying her thoughtfully. She tried to keep up a brave face, to betray their insight with some kind of noble cleverness. But after all those years and all the shared blood coursing in their veins, Jodi knew it was a fruitless effort.
The only real questions were whether or not they’d ask, and how much they would say.
Jodi tried to concentrate on her meal, roasted chicken crispy on the outside and tender within, rosemary and garlic giving the meat a delicious tang. The red potatoes were firm and buttery, the green beans still crisp and colorful despite being steamed to perfection.
They kept eyeing her, Martin from over his brown handlebar mustache and Ellen from under her graying hair. They shared sad glances and then went on eating in silence as the minutes crawled past.
Finally, her father Martin seemed to feel he had to ask, “And how have you been feeling over the past few days, Jodi?” She wasn’t sure how to answer, and in her silence, Martin went on, “You’ve been quiet as you go about your chores, and your mother and I quite understand why.”
Ellen leaned across the table. “It’s all right if you feel sad about what happened, Jodi. Nobody at this table will hold you in a low regard.”
Jodi silently repeated, At this table? Because others not at this table may think otherwise? Her heart sank as her worst expectations seemed to be coming true, and after only a few days.
“Mother, Father, how could I be longing for good company when I have before me the two finest citizens in all of Rhode Island?” Her parents glanced at one another, but Jodi knew she hadn’t convinced either of them. “To be quite frank,” she continued, “I… I’m certain that Giles is heeding the proper call, the true call of the Lord.”
Once again, Jodi sensed that she wasn’t convincing either Martin or Ellen or even herself.“You know how I’ve always loved my cousin? Well, I’m glad for her that she’s found such a good man in Giles. I wish them both all the happiness in the world.”
Martin said, “And that’s quite… admirable of you, Daughter.”
After a moment of quiet, Ellen asked Jodi, “But… what of your happiness, dear?”
Jodi shrugged, trying to maintain her brave face as she took a bite of chicken. She thought of Amy, how casual and resistant she could be, how much strength her old friend seemed to garner from such a position.
“God will see to my happiness,” Jodi stated.
Martin sighed. “And your faith is as encouraging to us as your courage, Jodi. But… God does help those who help themselves.”
“Life is short, dear,” Ellen put in, “and the years do go by quickly.”
Jodi wasn’t surprised to hear it. She’d almost been expecting it as one of the few possibilities of what her parents may bring up. But she already knew what her answer would be. Still, as a matter of respect and of decorum, Jodi would have to let them continue.
Martin said, “Jodi, things of this sort, they’re borne of childhood expectation. But as we grow to be adults, we become familiar with the sad fact that these expectations are often disappointed. If this is your trail of passage, then so be it.”
“Precisely my view, Father.”
“But there are other things to consider,” he went on, “and principal among them are not childish notions, but… adult responsibilities.” Jodi waited in silence, ready to anticipate what was coming next. “We are told by the bible to go forth and procreate, are we not?” He looked at her and Jodi nodded, not wanting to put it into words. “And there are matters of business, of… protocol.”
“We only want for you to be happy,” Ellen intervened from the other side of the table.
“But being happy is one thing,” Martin clarified, “being blessed is something altogether different. To have a family, to carry on the name and traditions which raised you, to carry on the efforts of those who came before; these are more important than the whimsy of a child. Wouldn’t you say?”
Jodi felt the pressure of their scrutiny, and the little dinner table gave her no room to escape it. “I would never contradict you, Father.”
“Good,” he declared, “I’m glad to hear it. It’s time, then, that we discussed your future prospects.” Jodi didn’t answer, as she knew no answer would have interrupted her father at that point, nor likely any time in the future. “Have you any other suitors in mind?”
Jodi repeated, “Other prospects?”
“A husband, of course. Now, I know you’ve spent a year on this business, and most of the young men in town would know that, too; the interested ones, in any case.”
“Husband!”
Ignoring his wife, Martin persisted, “It’s a matter which cannot be ignored, my wife. The longer it goes on, the more difficult it will be to remedy.”
“Oh, Husband,” Ellen repeated sadly.
“I suffer from no malady,” Jodi told him, “no virus or disease.”
“We all know that,” Martin replied, “but others have different perceptions, and time is of the essence… age a factor.”
“Husband!”
“Stop correcting me, Wife!”
“Please,” Jodi barked out, “Mother, Father, stop arguing over me. Whatever my own… ill-ease, it oughtn’t bring you such discord. Surely that’s not what God would want or intend.” Her parents shared a wordless glance.
“I am your father,” Martin responded in a tone of voice that suggested he did not intend to be challenged. “I want this matter resolved with all possible dispatch.”
“What am I to do, marry the first gambler I meet on the street?”
“Daughter!”
“Mother!”
“Family! I won’t have this… this carnival at my dinner table.” An echoing silence followed Martin’s authoritative outburst. “I do not insist that you marry unhappily, Jodi. I love you, and for you to be happy is my greatest fondness and hope. But… if you allow yourself to miss this season, if you grow much older and then grow old alone, I assure you that you will not be happy. These are not the days of your childhood years, pretending with your friend to grow old as spinsters and making a game of it. This is your life, my daughter, not a game. If you make a mistake with it now, it will haunt you for the rest of your life. This is what I hope to avoid. This, as the older and more experienced person, I can see coming up ahead even if you cannot. Please, my child, whom I love above all, trust that I have seen such things come and go before. I have seen hearts broken, I have seen dreams dashed; so have we all. But I know, in my brain and in my heart, that in days long after I am dead and gone, you will thank me for this wisdom. You will come to understand my perspective now when you are in my years. I know how wrong you think I am, but you will see in later years the truth in what I’m telling you. You will have a man and children and you will know what it truly is to be blessed, just as I know what it was like to be blessed with a child such as you.”
But this comment only earned a saddened expression from Ellen.
“Not that I didn’t marry just whom I loved and just whom I wanted,” Martin added with a clearing of his throat. “But, in time, you may find what I was lucky enough to find quickly, and what you thought you had found with Giles.”
Jodi did not want to agree, but there was a kernel of truth to it. Something told her that God still had a path for her, that He was guiding her steps. But where they would take her, Jodi still couldn’t know. She had a feeling they were about to lead her far and wide, though she could also imagine her feet taking her to the household of some virtual stranger, to be little more than a domestic servant and breeder, a slave in the guise of a wife.
No, Jodi told herself, I won’t be that! Amy would never be that, and I won’t be, either!