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 huffed. “Isn’t it obvious that you’ve already done quite enough? Just look at the mess he’s made,” she hissed. “Poor Joseph obviously isn’t ready for this. I’m certain that you can’t be doing him a bit of good by pushing—”
“Stop!” he growled. “Just leave, now.”
A moment of crushing silence was followed by the whoosh of Julia’s skirts as she walked toward the front door. “I can tell when I’m not wanted,” she spat, her voice laden with unveiled disgust as she stormed out, slamming the front door behind her.
“Mr. Drake? I’m terribly sorry about all of that.” Miss Ellickson slid her hand off his arm. “I’ll understand if you want to call it a day.”
Tilting his head down toward her, he wished he could see her. He just wanted one glimpse. From the moment they’d met this morning, she’d seen him at his worst, with behavior he didn’t even know he was capable of. She’d taken his rude, unyielding responses with a stiff upper lip. Why? Who was this woman who would sacrifice her own comfort and willingly endure the ugliest part of him?
Chapter Three
Unadulterated fear had shown like gaping holes in Mr. Drake’s stony wall of composure. From five years of experience working with the blind, Katie had learned to recognize the sure signs. And she’d never seen such desperation. All morning she’d witnessed it in his tensing jaw, tight fists and grim expression. She was worn out just watching him work so hard to fortify himself against the fear.
She stood for several moments on his porch, her legs weak as she clutched her books to her chest. He’d said that he’d lost his appetite. That
