“Joseph has been eating dinner for twenty-seven years, Miss Eberhard,” Julia informed on a nervous laugh. He could hear her dishing something onto her plate. “He can get along just fine. Can’t you, Joseph?”
“Just drop the subject.” He grasped at his fading calm.
“Fine, I see the way of things.” Julia gave her napkin a swift snap and a puff of air fluffed over to him. “You have never had a problem doing things on your own,” she reminded him, the shrill sound of her voice contrasting sharply with the delicate chorus of birds outside. “I realize that when you were laid up flat on your back you needed assistance. But now—”
“But now, with these bandages on, I still can’t see.” Raising his focus to where she sat directly across from him, he wished he could see, but he couldn’t even open his eyes through the thick bandages. “And there’s a slim chance that my vision might not be what it was.”
He swallowed against the admission. If his sight didn’t fully return, he’d have to find independence as soon as possible or he’d never be able to stomach himself.
“Oh, Joseph, don’t be silly. You’re going to be fine,” Julia dismissed, then took a bite of something that crunched.
Awkwardness flooded his resolve. He could hear Miss Ellickson arranging things on the table, even dishing items onto his plate while he sat rigid as a board, every muscle in his body stiff and unyielding to the internal cry to relax. All he wanted was to be left alone, but Julia was being unusually possessive and Miss Ellickson was intent on doing her job.
A job he didn’t even hire her to do!
“Your plate is in front of you,” Miss Ellickson began, her voice low and measured. “Now, like numbers on a clock face, there’s a thick wheat roll at nine o’clock, mashed potatoes at twelve o’clock, cooked carrots at three o’clock and roast at six o’clock. If you’ll raise your hands to feel for your plate,” she directed, pausing as if waiting for him to follow her lead, but he couldn’t seem to move his hands from where they were tightly fisted in his lap. “You’ll find your fork to the left of your plate, spoon and knife on your napkin to the right. And your glass of grape juice is about three inches to the right of your plate, at two o’clock.”
From across the table, Julia’s sharp scrutiny bore down on him like a locomotive. He tried to ignore it. The aroma rising from the food normally would’ve made his mouth water, but instead his stomach churned. His discomfort could reach a swift end if he insisted they leave, but at this point he was too stubborn to give in.
“Shall we give thanks?” Miss Ellickson asked.
The distinct air of vulnerability in her voice pricked Joseph’s heart, but he quickly brushed it aside as though it were a pesky bug. In spite of his surging anger, he bowed his head as Julia’s utensils clanked to silence against her plate. Truth be told, over the past weeks he’d spent more time telling God what to do than talking with Him or thanking Him. Had God heard his plea for healing? Or had He passed him by for good?
On a long sigh, he began to pray. “Lord, thank You for this meal. Bless the hands that prepared it.” Remembering his sister-in-law’s tenuous health and the certain stress Aaron had to be under, he added, “And be with Ellie and the baby. Keep them safe.”
“Amen,” Miss Ellickson whispered after a long pause.
With a curt nod, he sat in the offending darkness, trying to ignore the daunting insecurity as he struggled for self-control. Pulling his sagging shoulders back, he braced himself, unwilling to look like a helpless excuse for a man—especially in front of Julia.
Crisp, metallic sounds from her silverware sounded against her plate. She hadn’t uttered one word in the past moments, but he knew she must be closely monitoring his every move. Her sharp inspection pierced like tiny shards of glass.
Could he do this? With his head bowed, Joseph tried to picture the things set before him. He slowly slid his hands up to the table, probing for his knife and fork. Once he’d located his utensils, he raised them to the plate.
“Now, when you’ve located your fork and knife—”
“I’ve eaten without help in the past, Miss Ellickson,” he cut in, knowing even as the words formed on his lips that he should just swallow his pride. “And I can do it now.”
Joseph fought to still his trembling hands. As he made a stab for the meat to cut it, the supple chunk seemed to dodge his effort, sliding away from him. His fork fell from his grasp, clanking loudly against his plate.
He couldn’t miss the small gasp Julia gave. “Oh, no, Joseph, you dropped your fork,” she announced loudly.
“Really?” Fumbling for his fork, he put it to the plate again while inside tremors of fury thundered. When he couldn’t locate the piece of meat with his utensils, his agitation increased.
“Here you are, Mr. Drake. The roast is back on your plate,” his teacher spoke evenly.
The roast had flown off his plate?
Steeling himself, he struggled to gather his composure as he repositioned his fork toward the carrots. With intense focus, he tried to recall where she’d said they were—three o’clock or ten o’clock? Framing one side of the plate with a hand, he set his fork to the plate, succinctly stabbing one long spear and cutting it in two. A small sigh of relief passed his lips as he opened wide and directed the carrot in. It brushed his lips, tumbled down his shirt, then fell to the floor with a moist thud.
He gritted his teeth as Boone immediately shifted across the floor and sniffed at the vegetable. Joseph’s breathing came heavy, labored. The loud rushing in his ears grew almost deafening.
“It’s all right.” Miss Ellickson’s tone was low and even.
He slammed his fist on the table to ward her off. He would do this alone or drown in a pool of humiliation.
“If you’ll put your fork to the plate,” she offered, forced patience lacing her words, “and first gauge where the food—”
“I will do it!” Joseph interrupted angrily, acutely aware that not one morsel of food had made it to his mouth yet.
Humiliation ricocheted in his mind like a shotgun blast in an underground cavern. Groping for his knife, his hand careened into his glass of grape juice. It tipped, the glass clinking on the solid wood.
“Oh, my new dress!” Julia yowled, her chair scraping away from the table. “My beautiful new dress! It’s ruined!”
Joseph sucked in a shaky breath. He stood, knocking his chair over with the back of his legs and sending Boone scurrying away, toenails scratching across the floor as the loud crash reverberated throughout the house.
Hearing the frantic sound of Julia wiping at her garment, Joseph brought his hands to his head, threading trembling fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he forced on a broken breath.
“Please don’t worry, Mr. Drake. Accidents happen,” Miss Ellickson responded quietly as she rose and crossed to the sink. “I’ll get it cleaned up.”
He drew quivering fingertips over the bandages covering his eyes, failure’s evil taunt screaming through his thoughts. He was sickened at his stubborn pride. Balling his fists firmly at his sides, he clenched his teeth tight. Even if he couldn’t see, he should be able to make it through a meal.
Simple things were now difficult. Difficult things, seemingly impossible. When he’d been released from bed rest, he thought he’d feel more comfortable, more capable. Instead, he felt more like a prisoner than a free man.
He jerked suddenly at Miss Ellickson’s light touch on his arm. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just wondered what you’d like for me to do?”
Julia