Read Julia's Hope for Free Online Page B

“Are you sure we’ll find some?”
    “Well, no. But we can try. I need your help. The more eyes the better, okay?” She handed Robert the saucepan, and I stood in silence, watching them walk away.
    But little Sarah suddenly turned around to me with her eyes sparkling. She held out her crumpled violets. “These are for you, Daddy,” she said with a smile. “Aren’t you coming with us?”

SEVEN
    Julia
    Walking out to the timber was a chore for me, knowing how I’d upset Sam. He didn’t understand any better than I’d expected him to. He was thinking of the way things usually work, the way people do things when they’ve got options. But we had nothing but hope left, and hope doesn’t work like anything else in this world. Even Papa would have admitted to that. Oh, but he’d scoff at me now, worse than Sam, even. Papa had to have his world in order. He wouldn’t cotton to me taking up with a notion like this.
    I kept my eyes on the ground around us, looking for the edible mushrooms. But I kept thinking of the things we could do here, even without money. I knew enough of doctoring herbs so that I could gather and sell some, if there was anyone in the town who would buy them. We could clean up the house and try to close off the broken windows as a courtesy. There was plenty of firewood to be had out here. We could replace what we’d used from the basement, even if we didn’t stay another night.
    I took a deep breath and looked into the trees stretching to the east in front of me. Shagbark hickory and sugar maples stood amongst the oak and cottonwood. The rain had left everything with a deliciously fresh smell, and I could imagine hickory nut pancakes with maple syrup. Grandma used to say that if a person had fertile land, they could provide for themselves everything they needed. “After you got a few chickens,” she’d said, “you and the good Lord can grow all the rest.”
    As a child, I had dreamed of testing the idea, finding a place and living off what I could find and what I could produce. Papa had laughed at me, of course, telling me I should marry an upstanding city boy, one who knew how to make a company pay him what he was worth. I’d done it too. Or I’d thought I had. And things had been good for awhile. Papa would have liked the house we had, the neighborhood, and Sam’s ambition for more. But that wasn’t meant to be. And now my old dream was back, so strong that I tingled inside.
    Robins and a woodthrush sang over our heads, and the spring beauties at our feet seemed to dance to their tune. I hadn’t found a thing to put in my bowl, but the kids didn’t care about that right now; they were too busy exploring. I told them just to stay within sight of me. And if they saw any mushrooms, ask to make sure they were the right ones, even before they touched them, since some kinds are poisonous.
    Sam was only about three yards away from me, but we didn’t speak. I’d really put a cloud between us this time, just when I’d thought I was ready to be closer again. We walked along in silence, searching the ground.
    Ahead of us, Robert found the stream so suddenly he almost fell in. With pebbles on its bottom and moss along its banks, the stream was a pretty sight, just the sort of stream a homestead should have. The only thing missing was the blackberries I’d imagined as a girl, plump and purple and free for the picking. Instead, thistles and joe-pye trailed uphill on the other side of the water, with pickerel dotted here and there and a half dozen clumps of winter cress. I squatted down and began to break off leaves.
    “Did you find a mushroom, Mama?” Sarah asked, running to my side.
    “Not a one. But this is cress, honey. Pretty good stuff.”
    “Are we gonna eat leaves for supper too?” Her bright eyes revealed a hint of dismay at our menu.
    But Robert was suddenly shouting, and I saw him pointing toward a fallen log. “Is that the right kind, Mom?” he yelled. “Is it a good