by Linda Byler
Lizzie got up and hurried to the bathroom to look in the mirror. She did look so ugly! Her forehead was twice as wide as it should be, making her eyes appear way too low on her face.
“I look … I look like a drowned rat!” she wailed.
Mam was hanging onto the back of the kitchen chair, she was laughing so hard. Emma and Mandy were sitting on the couch, their heads thrown back as they laughed with Mam.
Mam took a deep breath to answer but was overtaken with a fit of coughing. She leaned over the kitchen table, her hand covering her mouth as spasms racked her body. She clutched the table for several minutes until she could breathe normally again. Finally, she lifted her apron to retrieve the handkerchief in her dress pocket, gasped, and shook her head.
“My goodness, what a cough,” she said.
“Mam, you should see a doctor,” Emma said, gazing worriedly at her mother.
“I know, Emma,” Mam said. “I’ll see if the cough gets better this week. If it doesn’t, I promise I’ll go.”
Lizzie shivered. She hoped Mam wouldn’t wait too long.
Chapter 4
MAM AND DAT HAD stopped arguing in front of Lizzie and her sisters.
Lizzie knew why.
One of the last evenings the family was in Jefferson County, Lizzie couldn’t relax and fall asleep. She lay in bed, thinking once again about all they were leaving behind for Cameron County, when she heard Dat and Mam talking in the kitchen.
Mandy must have left the stairway door open because Lizzie could hear her parents more clearly than usual.
“I still don’t want to move,” Mam said. “But I won’t argue with you anymore.”
“Thank you, Annie,” Dat said. “I know this has been hard.”
“Not just for me,” Mam said. “It’s hard on Emma, too, knowing that she’s moving some place new where there aren’t many young people her age to run around with. But there’s no point in making it harder for her by arguing, so I’m going to just let it go.”
“What about Lizzie and Mandy?” Dat asked.
Lizzie lay very still, waiting to hear what Mam would say.
“They aren’t turning 16 yet,” Mam said. “Besides, they’re like two colts full of life. They don’t mind moving. It’s exciting to them.”
Lizzie rolled over so she couldn’t hear anymore of their conversation. Mam had done it again. Emma, Emma, Emma. Poor Emma. Well, what about me? Lizzie thought resentfully. Maybe I mind it more than anyone else. I’m just scared to bring up the subject for fear it will make it harder for Mam.
Lizzie always wanted to be like Emma, but she couldn’t seem to be, no matter how hard she tried to be good and sweet like Emma was. Emma loved to cook and bake and try new recipes, even copying a whole boxful of them before she had a boyfriend, which Lizzie couldn’t imagine doing. Emma loved to sweep and dust, wash clothes, and sew. She had even started sewing their white organdy coverings, which was a skill in itself.
She had copied every song from the many hymnbooks they had, writing them all down neatly in a composition book, so that when they felt like singing they used Emma’s handwritten songbook. Emma had first started copying songs in a thick composition book in sixth grade, so now she had a collection of over 100 songs—hymns, school songs, and little funny songs—actually, anything she could learn or that Mam and Dat taught her.
Lizzie often started copying songs, but she never finished any of them. The thing was, it took too long. Her hand got awfully tired of writing, and she became so horribly bored that she felt numb all over, so she never had a songbook of her own.
It had always been like this, Lizzie thought. Even when they were little girls and Dat was under a lot of pressure to have their very first house “under roof,” as he said, “before the snow flew.”
Emma, Lizzie, and Mandy went off to school every morning, while Mam cared for the twins, who were babies then, and cooked meals for the men who helped Dat build the house. Emma was clearly under plenty of stress, too, coming home from school every day to a sink filled with dirty dishes, and the house strewn with toys, baby bottles, diapers, and loads of unfolded laundry on the kitchen table.
One evening, after Mam had spent the whole day cooking for a tableful of men, the house was such a mess that Emma burst into tears of frustration when she stepped in the door. She tossed her lunchbox on the table, ran into her bedroom, threw herself on her bed, and cried.
Lizzie had looked up from her after-school snack of cold leftover meat loaf with ketchup, chewing methodically.
“What’s wrong with Emma?” she asked.
“Close your mouth when it’s full of meat loaf, Lizzie. She’s just upset because everything is such a big mess. It’s no wonder. If you and Mandy would help more around the house, she wouldn’t feel quite so responsible. All you do when you come home from school is eat and read the comics in the paper. You’re lazy, Lizzie. You’re actually getting quite overweight and you are lazy.” Mam’s face had been red with frustration and anger as her voice became louder.
The meat loaf that had been so delicious a moment earlier turned to sawdust and stuck in her throat. Lizzie was shocked. She felt hot all over, her face burning with humiliation.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Lizzie. I know I’m losing my temper. But you need to shape up and help Emma and me more over this time. We’re building a house and this house is for you, too, so your duty is to help along with everyone else.”
Lizzie hadn’t said one word. She couldn’t. She supposed what Mam had told her was true. She was fat and lazy. The truth hurt so badly, Lizzie felt like crawling under her bed and never coming out again. She would stay under her bed until she died and turned into one big dust ball. They would never know what had happened to her.
That evening, when Emma set the alarm clock properly as she always did, climbed into bed, plumped her pillow, rolled over, and said, “G’night,” Lizzie didn’t answer. After a while, she said, “Emma.”
“What?”
“Do you think I’m fat?”
“Ach, Lizzie, it’s mean to say someone is fat. I’m not thin, either.”
There was silence as Lizzie stared wide-eyed into the darkness. It was not a nice thought, but Mam wasn’t very kind. How could she be so mean?
“Emma?”
“Hmm?”
“Mam likes you a lot better than me, doesn’t she? I mean, she likes me as good as you can like a fat, lazy person, but she likes you a lot better. Not just because you’re thin and you work harder, but she really, really, really likes you a whole pile more than me.”
“Lizzie, now stop it. You know that’s not true.”
Lizzie sat straight up. “Emma, I know what’s true and what isn’t. Don’t you try and tell me. Mam said I am overweight and lazy, so that’s exactly what she thinks of me. And I don’t care.”
Lizzie plopped back down on her pillow, snorted, and then twisted and arranged herself in a comfortable position before she said, “G’night.”
“Lizzie.”
“What?”
“You can’t go to sleep thinking that. Mam would never love one of her daughters more than another. It’s just that you could help more since we have the twins. There is about three times as much work now as there was before they were born.”
“See?”
“See what?”
“I tried to tell you. What do we want another baby for? And then she goes and has two.”
“You think it’s her fault? God gave us those babies.”
At least Mam had decided to stop being upset about their move to Cameron County. Lizzie wished now that Mam could bring herself to care as much about her as she did about Emma. Dat did, but Mam still seemed to think first of Emma and her needs. Lizzie shifted in her bed, listening to the sound of Mandy sleeping. Maybe when they were little, Emma had been right about Mam loving all her girls the same. But that didn’t mean she did now. Lizzie was going to have to do something about this whole dilemma in the morning.
; Chapter 5
LIZZIE POUTED ALL THROUGH breakfast, barely touching her food. When someone asked her a question, she shrugged her shoulders and looked at the cold, congealed egg on her plate.
“Alright, what’s wrong?” Mam asked finally.
Lizzie blinked her eyes rapidly to hold back hot, angry tears of shame and resentment. She got up from the table. At the sink, she started throwing dirty dishes out of the way and slamming plates on the countertop as hard as she could. She would show Mam and Emma who could get work done around here. She held the bottle of dish detergent upside down and squeezed, producing mountains of white, frothy bubbles. The rinse water was foamy with soap when Mam came back to the kitchen to heat water for formula.
“Lizzie, how many times do I have to tell you? Don’t use so much dish detergent!” she said.
Lizzie didn’t answer. She turned away from Mam, blindly looking for more utensils. Just go away, she thought. Go away and leave me alone.
“Lizzie?”
“Nothing.” Lizzie kept her mouth clamped shut tightly. She refused to turn around and look at Mam.
Mam sighed and started to clear the food from the table.
CRASH!
Lizzie jumped as the milk bottle she was holding slipped through her soapy hands and landed on the floor. The whole glass gallon jar lay in a hundred pieces on the linoleum as milk streamed in every direction.
“Lizzie! You did that on purpose!” Mam shouted.
“I did not!” Lizzie yelled back. She grabbed a roll of paper towels and dropped to her knees, swabbing at the flow of milk.
“Ouch!” she yelped, as a large chunk of glass embedded itself in the palm of her hand. She sat back on her heels as blood spurted from the wound.
Emma knelt down beside her and calmly wiped up the milk with an oversized towel from the bathroom, absorbing most of it. Mandy gingerly picked up pieces of the glass jar with her thumb and forefinger. Mam bent over Lizzie, her face red, scolding and fussing anxiously. Jason sat on the bench at the table, his curly hair sticking out every which way and said calmly, “This is about a mess.”
Lizzie sat with her back against the cabinets, holding her bleeding hand while Emma filled a bucket with warm, soapy water and finished mopping up the milk. Mam stood up and turned to Lizzie.
“Whatever in the world were you doing? Banging the pots and pans around because you were mad about something again, Lizzie? Well, you just let me tell you something.”
She paused and took a deep breath.
“Emma, go get the gauze and tape. Union salve, too.”
While Emma hurried to the bathroom, Mam pressed the paper towel down hard until Lizzie winced.
“Ow. Watch it!” she said.
“Oh, sorry. As I was saying, you can just straighten yourself up right this minute, Lizzie Glick.”
“I heard you and Dat talking about Emma last evening,” Lizzie snapped, pulling her hand away.
Mam grabbed her hand again.
“Well, you’re going to have to learn to stop being so selfish. All you ever think about is yourself, and whether or not I like you as much as I like Emma. Now listen to me.”
Mam took off the paper towel, releasing the pressure on the wound, and only a small swell of blood seeped out of the cut. She cut off a piece of white sterile gauze and laid it aside.
“As long as you are planning to go through life thinking only of yourself, you’re going to have an awfully hard time. I’ve often told you girls, Jesus first, others next, and yourself last spells J-O-Y,” she said.
Lizzie shrugged. Emma and Mandy stood in the doorway listening.
“You know, too, Lizzie, that I’ve had an awful time giving myself up to moving to Cameron County. It’s a struggle to think of Jesus first. But if it’s his will that we move—which I hope it is—and if I don’t want to give in to that, then I most definitely am not putting God’s will first. And Dat …” Her voice trailed off.
Lizzie watched the emotion on Mam’s face. She wanted to be truly submissive, Lizzie knew, but it was very hard.
“You think it’s stupid, don’t you,” Lizzie asked.
“What?”
“Farming.”
Mam held Lizzie’s hand tightly as she applied the dark brown pungent salve before laying the gauze carefully on top of the wound.
“I shouldn’t say this, Lizzie. Especially not to you. But, yes, it’s stupid. Financially, for sure. I don’t know about spiritually. Maybe it will be good for all of us to do without money again.” She tore off a few lengths of adhesive tape, wrapped them around Lizzie’s hand, and stood up.
“There. No more washing dishes for you.” She bent down, her face level with Lizzie’s. “And quit your pouting.”
Lizzie looked squarely into Mam’s face before she said, “I will, if you quit treating Mandy and me like we’re two years old. Mam, I am 15, not four. And I have feelings, too, you know.”
Mam laid a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder, softly rubbing it back and forth. “Ach, yes, Lizzie, I know. You’re just so very, very different from Emma that it seems as if you’re younger than you are.”
Lizzie swallowed the lump in her throat. She could never understand why she felt like crying when Mam was kind.
But that was often how it was. Maybe when anger dissolved, it brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes. Probably.
Chapter 6
WHEN MOVING DAY ARRIVED, Lizzie was glad to see the moving truck pull in. She just wanted to put the worst part behind her, get to the new farm, and begin living her new life in Cameron County.
The sun shone with a golden light on the new spring leaves as they wound their way along the twisting mountain road, following closely behind the loaded moving truck in a van Dat had rented for the day. It was a lovely time of year to move, with a fresh spring breeze making everything seem soft and new. Lizzie supposed the four seasons would be the same in their new home, which was somewhat comforting.
When the van turned down the farm’s steep drive, the front door of the house opened and Lizzie’s Glick aunts and uncles filled the yard, ready to help unload their belongings and carry them into the house. The yard looked so much better without all the pieces of junk strewn about, Lizzie thought.
Inside the house, the girls ran excitedly from room to room. The place didn’t seem nearly as hopeless as it had on their previous visit. Mammy Glick and two of Lizzie’s aunts, all of whom lived right there in Cameron County, had emptied the house as soon as the English family had moved out. The tall, old kitchen windows shone, the glass sparkling in the spring sunshine. Even the grayish white tile of the kitchen floor was waxed to a glossy shine.
While most of the family helped unload the van, Dat and his two brothers worked in the kitchen, connecting the gas stove and refrigerator to the propane tank that sat outside the kitchen wall. When they were finished, Lizzie turned the burner handles, one by one, and watched as an even blue flame burst forth. Next she opened the refrigerator door and stuck her head in, enjoying the cold air that brushed her cheeks. Now they could have ice cubes again and ice cream whenever they wanted.
Mam came into the kitchen, carrying a box.
“There is so much to be done,” Lizzie said.
Mam nodded. “We could paint for a year and still find something to paint. But that will have to wait till we’re settled and everything is put in order,” she said.
Lizzie knew that Mam was right. The walls looked dirty, even after Mammy Glick had scrubbed them clean. But at least they had nice things in this new house.
That hadn’t always been the case, especially when Mam and Dat had first started the pallet shop. Then, it seemed, they were so poor that all they had to eat was lumpy potato soup.
“What’s wrong with Mam and Dat?” Emma had asked one evening back then as she scraped Lizzie’s uneaten soup into her own bowl and added the crusts of leftover bread.
“I think we’re very, very poor,” Lizzie had said as she gathered a handful of silverw
are from the table and carried it to the sink.
“Why are we so poor?” Emma asked. “I mean, Dat and Mam are always busy in the shop. Dat makes lots of pallets, and the little bell above the door rings an awful lot lately.”
“I know,” Lizzie said. “But they argue all the time.”
“No, they don’t, Lizzie. Mam and Dat really like each other, and they don’t argue all the time,” Emma said.
“I don’t care what you say, Emma. I heard them.”
“When?”
“One time.”
“Lizzie, you stretch stuff. Everything isn’t nearly as bad as you make it sound.”
“Well,” Lizzie sighed, grabbing a washcloth and wiping the plastic tablecloth furiously. There were little rips and holes in the cheap fabric, and Lizzie caught her washcloth in one. “See, if we weren’t so poor, we wouldn’t have this pitiful-looking, old, torn tablecloth on our table.”
“Lizzie, you should be ashamed of yourself. Lots of Amish families have torn plastic tablecloths on their tables. When I get married, I’m not going to go buy a new tablecloth just because it has a hole in it. Everybody has holes in their tablecloths,” Emma said.
Lizzie drew herself up to her full height.
“Emma, I don’t care what you say. Anyone that has a torn plastic tablecloth on their table is poor. If they weren’t, they’d buy a new one. When I’m married, I am not going to keep mine that long. It looks sloppy and makes you look like you’re poor, anyhow,” she said.
Emma added dish detergent to the hot water in the sink. “Well, I pity Mam.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just do.”
“I pity Dat,” responded Lizzie.
“I pity Mam most, because she’s always working in the shop and it’s just a fright how sloppy this house looks,” Emma had said.
Lizzie shook her head, remembering Emma’s words and the terror in her own heart. Well, at least they weren’t poor anymore. Not yet, at least. She turned to help Mam finish putting the pans away.
“Do you like it here now, Mam? I mean, better than you did that first time we saw the place?”
