Julia's Last Hope by Janette Oke Read Free Book Online Page B

glistening dark gold beneath his fingers. He loved the touch of wood—the smell—the pattern of its grain.
    If they could have sold the big house—even for a fraction of what it was worth—they might have had a possibility of starting over. As it was, they would lose the house, lose everything. John’s jaw twitched and his eyes hardened. It would be tough giving it all up. He tried to shrug off his dismal mood.
    “As Jule says,” he reminded himself, “God didn’t pack up and move off with the mill. He’s still here—still looking after us.”
    John headed for the office to pick up his check. Time was passing quickly and he’d be late for the evening meal if he didn’t hurry.

    Julia stopped by the bedroom where the girls were preparing for supper.
    “How about wearing your blue gingham dresses tonight?” she asked them.
    Two sets of eyes lit up. “Are we going out?” asked Felicity.
    “No.”
    “Are we having guests?” asked Jennifer.
    “No—it will just be us.” Then Julia answered the question that she could read in their faces. “They’re Papa’s favorite dresses,” she explained.
    Jennifer turned to study her mother. Julia also was wearing one of John’s favorite dresses.
    “Will Papa be feeling sad tonight?” she asked.
    Julia tried to keep her voice steady, her chin from quivering. “He—he may be. Just a bit. The mill is gone now. Papa hated to see it go. This was a hard day for him.”
    Jennifer’s face grew serious. Felicity looked more buoyant. “Should I tell him my joke?” she asked.
    “I’m not sure he will be ready for jokes,” Julia said softly. “Just try to be cheerful—and as agreeable as you can be. No fusses.”
    Both girls nodded.
    Julia closed the door quietly behind her as she left the room.
    “I think I should tell him my joke,” insisted Felicity.
    “What joke?” asked Jennifer.
    “A man had twins and they were both the same size and had the same color hair and the same color eyes, so how did he tell them apart?”
    Jennifer looked dubious. She slipped her blue calico over her head and then asked the question Felicity was waiting to hear, “How?”
    Felicity whisked on her own blue dress, her eyes sparkling in anticipation of the punch line.
    “The boy wore britches and the girl didn’t!” she exclaimed, then laughed uproariously at the humor of her story.
    Jennifer did not even smile. “It’s silly,” she declared. “Silly and stupid.”
    But Felicity was still laughing—so hard that she could not tie the bow of her sash.
    “It’s silly,” Jennifer said again.
    Felicity’s face sobered. “You’re just cross ’cause you didn’t think of it,” she challenged.
    “Am not,” Jennifer shot back. “I’d never tell such a silly joke.”
    “You never tell any jokes at all,” Felicity threw at her. “You are so—so sour—and—and dull. You never even laugh.”
    “I laugh when things are funny.”
    “No, you don’t. You never think anything is funny.”
    “I do too,” Jennifer declared. “When Papa tells a funny joke—I laugh.”
    “Papa doesn’t tell jokes.”
    “He does too.”
    Felicity shook her head. “He hasn’t told a joke since—since—”
    “Well, he used to tell them. And he will again when—”
    Jennifer stopped as her tears began to fall. Would Papa ever tell jokes again? Would he ever laugh and play with them? Would he ever tease Mama good-naturedly? When would their world get back to normal again?
    “See! You don’t even know how to laugh. You just cry,” Felicity taunted.
    Jennifer slapped her.

    Julia was not at the door to greet John when he arrived home. She was in the bedroom settling the dispute between her daughters. Both girls were in tears, and Julia herself felt ready to cry. She had wanted a warm, serene welcome for John on this most difficult day. Hettie had fixed his favorite dinner, and Julia had groomed herself to please him. The girls were to have presented themselves in their father’s