I didn’t have anything in my closet to wear with them, and ended up getting a bright red dress with little cap sleeves and a full skirt, just to have something to go with the shoes - but it was worth it. I worried that it was a little much for church - fire engine red shoes, dress, and lipstick were a little conspicuous. I wore the outfit rarely because I felt a little silly in it, but every once in a while, I wore my red shoes while I did house work, just because they made me feel good. There’s just something about red shoes. That morning as I’d dressed for church, I’d decided I should celebrate my birthday with my red dress and my red high heels. I wondered what Samuel thought of my outfit and felt a little flash of guilt that I cared.

“Come on by this afternoon,” I heard my dad say. “We’re having a little barbeque for Josie’s birthday, and we’d love to have you.”

“I’ll bring lemon squares!” Nettie replied firmly. “Then you won’t have to worry about dessert, Josie.” I groaned inwardly. I hated lemon squares. And I wanted to worry about dessert. I wanted chocolate cake.

“That’ll be fine,” my dad said, walking out of the chapel’s big double doors into the Sunday sunshine. I walked at Samuel’s side, trying to think of some way to still make chocolate cake and not hurt Nettie’s feelings.

“I like red,” Samuel said softly. All thoughts of chocolate cake fled my silly head.

I glanced up at him quickly. He was looking down at me. “Happy Birthday, Josie.”

“Thank you,” I said a little too brightly.

“Do you really want us to come for your celebration?” He asked quietly. “Your dad didn’t ask you before he invited us.”

“We’d love to have you.” It was just a little fib, having everything to do with dessert. “Then I can give you your sweatshirt back. I’ve been meaning to bring it by.” I wished I would have kept quiet about the sweatshirt. It made me think of clinging to him in the rain. I looked down at my red shoes shyly.

“I wasn’t worried about the sweatshirt,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you later then.” He turned as his grandparents waved and walked with them to Nettie’s grey sedan.

Jacob and Rachel had four little blond boys, ranging in ages from 7 to 2, who were constantly underfoot. Jacob’s only instructions were “don’t kill yourselves,” and Rachel was always busily doing this or that, setting out food, helping me in the kitchen, and she seemed unaffected by the antics of her wild brood. One time the older boys had tied 4-year-old Matty up in the chicken coop. He had been hollering bloody murder for at least a half hour before anyone realized he was gone. The chickens hadn’t hurt him, but he’d been pecked a time or two and will probably never volunteer to help me gather eggs again.

Jared had married an “out-of-towner” when he went off to school. Her name was Tonya, and she came across a little uppity. She didn’t mix very well, and Jacob’s boys made her very nervous. She kept their two little girls close to her sides, and she spent many of the family get-togethers watching the boys in horror. She was very pretty with her glossy brown bob and perfect makeup, but she had a perpetually pinched look to her mouth, and she was constantly saying things like “Jared, don’t you think you ought to…” and “Jared, you need to ...” Jared had the look of brow beaten husband these days.

Johnny’s wife Sheila was pregnant with twins and was so big she could hardly move. Her feet were swollen and her skinny arms stuck out to the sides like Popsicle sticks. She sat in a lawn chair and didn’t move the entire time they were there. I kept her in cold root beer, and Tonya kept her bored with tales of her own deliveries, which we had all heard a trillion times.

I’d made rolls that morning before church, letting them rise while we went to the service. I had marinated chicken br**sts for my dad to grill, and we’d added some hot dogs for the kids. I’d thrown a big green salad together from my garden and made my dad’s favorite tangy potato salad. Chips, watermelon, and root beer rounded out the simple meal, and I was putting tablecloths over the picnic tables we had set up in the backyard when Don, Nettie, and Samuel arrived.

Every woman, including both the pregnant and the uppity, ogled Samuel when he walked into the backyard. He still wore his slacks and dress shirt from church, but he’d taken off his tie, undone the top two buttons, and rolled up his sleeves. He was brown and muscular and his coloring made a stark contrast to all the fair hair and freckles. He carried lemon squares. I sighed in defeat. I had all the ingredients for a double chocolate cake with butter cream frosting in my kitchen. I would just have to whip it up when everyone went home. The thought cheered me, and I went forward to graciously take the lemon squares from Samuel’s hands.

The food was set out, the blessing given on the dinner, and people were digging in before I got a chance to sit down for a minute. The tables were filled with my siblings and their families, so I settled myself on the steps leading from the back door and picked at my plate. I was never very hungry when I cooked ... it must be all the nibbling and testing along the way. Samuel’s shadow soon hung over me.

“Can I sit?”

I scootched over and made ample room.

“This is good food.” Samuel’s voice was polite and formal, and I searched for something to say after the obvious ‘thank you.’

“I remember Johnny from school. He was in a couple of my classes. The kids are nieces and nephews, obviously, but I don’t recognize any of the women, and I don’t know which of your older brothers is which.”