*****
The next day, true to her word, Joy supervised the children at the orphanage as they gathered tomatoes. A small army of eager hands plucked the ripe fruit, each child competing to see who could pick the most.
“Careful with the squashes, Johnny, they bruise easier than your knees,” Joy said.
“Like this, Mrs. Worthington?” Mary held up a perfectly selected squash for inspection.
“Perfect,” Joy praised. It was hard for her to watch the children work without helping, but even Mrs. Graves expected her to sit on a blanket and watch the harvest without helping.
After the harvest, Joy returned to the orphanage kitchen, sleeves rolled up and apron donned, ready to tackle the mountain of produce.
“Watch the fingers, Samuel. We’re making tomato sauce, not finger stew,” Joy quipped.
With each jar sealed and labeled, Joy felt a sense of accomplishment. As much as she knew Thomas wanted her at home, she felt so much love being there at the orphanage. It was hard to leave the children.
When she got home a few hours later, she was excited about all they’d accomplished, explaining what they’d done that day to Thomas. “Perhaps our little one will inherit my love for gardening!”
“Or for bending rules,” Thomas responded, arms folded and an amused smile playing on his lips.
“Only the ones that need a bit of…flexibility,” Joy replied.
*****
Thomas paced the length of the parlor, hands clasped behind his back and brow creased in a tight frown. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked away with maddening precision, each second a sharp reminder of Joy’s absence. He’d all but begged her to stay home more, especially now with their child on the way, but it seemed his words evaporated like morning mist against her resolve.
“Joy,” he began as soon as Joy breezed through the door, her cheeks flushed with a telltale rosy hue from her day’s exertions. “We need to talk about your…activities.”
“Thomas, you worry too much!” Joy laughed. “The children needed me at the orphanage.”
“I need you too,” Thomas interjected. “My clients require attention too, attention I cannot give when I’m fretting over whether my wife will grace us with her presence or not.”
“Ah, but I am here now, am I not?” Joy countered with a playful smile.
Before he could formulate a response, the doorbell rang, its chime echoing through the house like an indictment. Thomas glanced at the clock, his shoulders sagging—a full half-hour early. He waved for Joy to hurry upstairs to get ready as he walked toward the door and his clients.
“Mr. Applebottom, Mrs. Applebottom, welcome,” Thomas said, extending his hand as he led the couple into the parlor. “Please forgive us. My wife is still preparing. I assure you she will be down soon.”
“Preparing?” Mr. Applebottom’s brows rose in thinly veiled surprise, his gaze lingering on the staircase as if expecting Joy to appear in a flourish of skirts and apologies.
“An unexpected delay at the orphanage where she volunteers,” Thomas explained. “You know how these charitable endeavors can be.”
“Indeed,” Mrs. Applebottom replied, her tone as crisp as the lace at her throat. “One must always prioritize, Mr. Worthington. Especially in times such as these.”
“Absolutely,” Thomas agreed.
The minutes stretched, filled with idle chatter about business and the weather, all the while Thomas listened for the sound of Joy’s footsteps. Finally, he heard her footsteps on the stairs.
“Mr. and Mrs. Applebottom,” Joy greeted, her voice infused with warmth as she extended her hand. “I do apologize for the delay. The day ran away from me, as they often do when there’s work to be done.”
“Work?” Mrs. Applebottom repeated, the word hanging between them.
“Yes, I do enjoy being busy,” Joy said, turning her smile to Thomas. “My husband has told you of the children at the orphanage? I find it so rewarding to spend my days there with them.”
“Children do have a way of capturing one’s heart,” Mr. Applebottom admitted,.
“They do,” Thomas found himself saying. “And my wife has a particular gift for helping there.”
As the conversation turned to tales of Joy’s adventures at the orphanage, Thomas watched, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. Perhaps there was room in their lives for both business and benevolence, after all.
