Rose slumps into the kitchen, Ginger—or maybe it’s Marmalade—in her arms, crammed into Felicity’s riding outfit from the American Girl Doll company, which it sometimes feels we single-handedly keep in business. Those dolls have more clothes than I do.
“But Jack isn’t doing his math,” she complains.
“You’re right,” I tell my ornery tween. “So, you don’t have to, either. Instead, you can clean the downstairs bathroom, including the toilet, and recite your multiplication tables while you’re at it.” I smile sweetly while Rose gapes at me in shocked outrage. I don’t usually take such a hard line, but when I do, she knows I mean business. “I’ll inspect your work in fifteen minutes,” I tell her, just as I feel another twitch inside. Seems my baby agrees with me.
It isn’t until the evening, when we are getting ready for bed, that I have time to talk to Josh about Emmy. The day was full, as this time of year always is, with work, chores, plans, and kids.
Bethany came back from Buckholt bubbling over about some plan to start selling her own aromatherapy oils at the health shop where she works. My daughter makes a lot of plans—in addition to taking over our neighbor Miss Barbara’s herbalist business when she moves next month, she is training to be a midwife and now, it appears, start her own aromatherapy business. I can’t keep track of all the ideas she has; I just hope some of them come to fruition.
“Do you think you have time to do thatandmanage Miss Barbara’s business, along with your online midwifery modules?” I asked mildly as I handed her plates for the table.
“Yes, because Josie wants to help with Miss Barbara’s business,” she tells me a touch impatiently. I think I’d forgottenthat detail, but as I said, it’s hard to keep track. “By the way, Miss Barbara is having a going-away party next Friday. We’re all invited.”
“Oh? You mean she’s really going?” Miss Barbara has talked about moving to California to be closer to her sister since we moved here.
“Of course, she’s really going, Mom,” Bethany replied, rolling her eyes. “Didn’t she say she was?”
“Yes, but…” Miss Barbara is something of a free spirit. She moved to Wildflower Valley thirty years ago to start a yoga studio and ended up running her herbalist business instead. To be fair, I don’t know her that well, although I’m glad she’s taken Bethany under her wing. “Well, that sounds like fun,” I say, which seems like the best response.
Now, as Josh eases himself into bed, wincing slightly as he lifts his leg over, I sit down next to him.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say, and the seriousness of my voice has him turning to me in alarm.
“What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “It’s not about me or any of us. Actually, it’s about Emmy.”
“Emmy?” Understandably, Josh sounds incredulous. Emmy really is one of the most cheerfully capable people either of us knows. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing, really, but she’s been a little down, and life can get…” I think of the daily drudgery and hassles of laundry, cooking, kids, and bills. “Well, you know how life can get. I was thinking maybe the two of us could go away for a girls’ weekend. Maybe to Charleston or Richmond. Nothing crazy—just a hotel room and a nice dinner out, maybe something at a spa.” I hold my breath as Josh’s forehead furrows. He’s considering the idea, but I know what else he’s considering—me being away for acouple of days in the busiest season of our homesteading life, plus the expense of a hotel, meals, and a massage…
Or maybe that’s just whatI’mthinking because my husband turns to me with a wide smile.
“I think,” he tells me, “that sounds like a wonderful idea. As long as you can convince Emmy to go.”
I think of the expression on Emmy’s voice when she told me about Ed’s beers-and-bowling work conference. “Oh, I think I can convince her.”
Of course, I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. I barely get a chance to talk to Emmy for another week because, like me, she’s busy with plowing, planting, and managing a very full life. Plus, she has three more kids than I do. And, I suspect, she’s avoiding me because she’s embarrassed by her mini-breakdown.
She certainly hurries away after Bible study the next week, as well as homeschool co-op, without any of the usual cheerful chitchat I’ve come to take for granted. I decide I’ll have to beard this lioness in her den.
The morning after co-op, I leave Jack and Rose helping Josh with the pond—he’s decided to dredge it, inspired by Mike—and head over to Emmy’s. The ramshackle farmhouse just three miles from ours is practically a second home for me and quite a few of my kids. The sagging front porch, the chickens clucking in the dusty yard, the line of washing hung out to dry even though it looks like it’s about to rain… it’s all wonderfully familiar, but it also makes me think Emmy really could use a break.
As I head up the porch steps, one of them cracks beneath me. Oh, dear.
I knock once on the door and then open it, the way I’ve become used to.
“Hello…” I call cheerfully. “Anyone home?”
For a relatively small house that is home to nine people, it’s surprisingly quiet. Ed’s pickup truck and Emmy’s nine-seater minivan are both in the driveway, so I’m pretty suresomebody’shome. “Hello?” I call again and come into the cluttered hallway. There is a sodden diaper right in front of the door, and I step over it carefully.
“Hello?” I call for a third time, just as Emmy’s third youngest, Caroline, comes around the corner and skids to a halt. Caroline is twelve, with the same straw-colored hair as every other member of her family and Emmy’s freckles. Truth be told, though, I don’t know her very well. Emmy and Ed have so many kids that a few in the middle get a little lost in the mix. With a lurch, I wonder if that will happen to Rose or Jack once we add number five to our brood.Five kids. How did that happen?
“Caroline!” I say, my voice booming out a little too loud, the way it does when I’m with children I don’t know very well. “How are you? Where is everybody?”
She folds her arms and subjects me to a pout. Classic middle child behavior. “How should I know?” she asks sulkily before adding grumpily, “They’re out in the barn.”
Okay, I guess she does know. I hide my smile as Caroline stomps upstairs. Been there, done that. Many times. I have no idea what Caroline is annoyed about, but I’m guessing I’ll find out when I go out to the barn.
