Almost Eden

by Anita Horrocks

  “No thanks to you. You’re supposed to be watching her!” Beth practically spit in my face.

  “I was watching her!” I shouted right back. “I played with her even. I can’t keep my eyes on her every second. There are lifeguards at the pool, you know.”

  “That’s not the point!”

  “Well, what is the point? It’s not like Lena doesn’t know the way home!”

  I waited for Beth to spout off some more, but instead, Dad jumped in.

  “Lena got back an hour ago.” He was pretty steamed. “Not only did she ride home alone, she’s burned to a crisp.”

  Rats. “Can I help it if she takes off without telling me?”

  Beth snorted, but Dad glared at her from under his bushy eyebrows and she kept her big yap shut for once.

  “I expect better from you, Elsie,” he said. “I have to be able to count on you to keep track of your little sister. Especially now, while Mom’s away. Lena shouldn’t be gallivanting around town without anyone knowing where she is.”

  There wasn’t anything more I could say, which didn’t stop blabbermouth me from saying it. “So I’m supposed to let her just tag along everywhere with me and my friends. That’s not fair!”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d said one thing too many. The wrath of Dad was about to descend.

  “Who said anything about fair!” he bellowed.

  Auntie Nettie rose quietly. She brushed her hand against Dad’s shoulder as she walked by him to the sink.

  His eyes followed her and he sighed. “No swimming for either of you until Lena’s sunburn heals. Now go check if she’s okay and call her to eat. Nettie brought over supper for us.”

  “Thanks, Auntie Nettie,” I muttered, but never moved, just glared at Dad like I was daring him to completely blow his stack.

  “And if it happens again,” Dad’s voice rose, “you won’t be going to the pool at all for the rest of the summer! NOW SCRAM! VAMOOSE!”

  I scurried by him and up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door shut. As if Dad would ground me from swimming for the whole summer.

  Our room was darkened, the blinds pulled. Lena lay on her stomach, whimpering. I grabbed the Noxzema from the dresser and sat beside her on the bed.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “This goop will cool you off.” Feeling the heat rise off her skin took away some of the mad inside me. Maybe I had screwed up, but Beth made it sound a lot worse than it was, talking about perverts yet. I mean, Hopefield might have its share of weirdos, but not like that.

  “Owww!”

  “Hold still.” I tried to be more gentle. “Thanks for taking off without telling me. Now I can’t go swimming.” Mom wouldn’t have grounded me. She wouldn’t have yelled at me either. She wouldn’t have even told Dad that Lena had come home alone.

  “I went to Jessie’s for a Popsicle. I couldn’t find you.”

  “You couldn’t have looked too hard.”

  There was a soft knock and Auntie Nettie opened the door. She was holding a glass of water. “For Lena. She should drink.”

  Lena gulped it down obediently while Auntie Nettie felt her forehead and back. “You are burning up, meyahl.”

  Auntie Nettie didn’t say anything about me letting everyone down, but somehow I felt worse than before. She helped me smear more cream on Lena’s neck, back, and arms. The tops of her legs and backs of her knees were pretty bad, too. When her skin was coated we got her into a baggy T-shirt that hung down to her knees.

  “Supper’s ready. C’mon.” I gathered our wet towels and bathing suits to hang up outside.

  “Sorry you got in trouble.” Lena held her arms out from her sides and shuffled out of the room, trying not to bend her elbows or knees, wincing with every step.

  She actually looked pretty funny, but I knew it wouldn’t be too smart to laugh. “And I’m sorry you got so burned,” I sighed.

  “Not to worry. Everyone makes mistakes. How else do we learn?” Auntie Nettie squeezed my shoulders. “Come. You’ll feel better after you eat.”

  Even with more Noxzema before bedtime, Lena whimpered most of the night.

  She wasn’t the only one I’d forgotten about either. I’d hardly thought about Mom the whole afternoon. What kind of daughter was I, anyways?

  Dear God,

  I didn’t mean to forget about Lena today. I was just having fun. Then that glommskopp Mark Giesbrecht…well, you know what happened. I’m sorry, and I’m sorry about lying to Jillian and for feeling jealous because Pete likes her and Aaron doesn’t even know I’m alive. I’m not sorry for thinking Mark is a moron because he is, but I’ll try to stop hating him. Maybe you could help me figure out a way to get him to stop bugging me so much all the time.

  I’m a little bit sorry about mouthing off to Dad, but he should be sorry too, for yelling at me. How come he has to be so grouchy all the time?

  I don’t understand about Mom. I know she was upset and everything, over all the fuss I made about the pajama party. But I don’t understand how someone can get so sad they have to go to a hospital. I don’t understand why you let her get sick again. You must have a reason. Maybe this is a test, like the one you gave Jonah when he was swallowed by the whale. I’ll try hard to have faith in you. I promise to do what Dad and Beth say, and help out around the house and take care of Lena and everything. I promise to try my hardest, only please, make Mom better.

  And if you don’t mind, please hurry. It’s summer.

  Amen.

  At church the next morning, Reverend Funk called out the names of all the sick people. He called out my mom’s name, too, Esther Redekop, and asked the congregation to pray for her. So then everyone knew. Nah yo. So it goes always, not?

  When Lena and I walked in the door, Dad was already on the phone. “No. We’re managing pretty well, thank you. The girls are all pitching in.” He rolled his eyes at us. “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Koehler. Bye now.”

  Dad groaned. “Just what I need. The whole church traipsing down here to stick their noses in our business.”

  “You should be happy so many people will be praying for Mom.” Beth tied an apron around her waist and went to stir the pot she’d left simmering on the stove.

  Now seemed like a good time to change the subject. “I’m hungry, what’s for dinner?” I tried peeking into the pot.

  Beth shooed me away. “Children’s questions sprinkled with sugar,” she said, all sweet and sappy. Like she was trying to sound like Mom, using one of her lines and everything.

  “Don’t even bother,” I said.

  Beth started to snap back at me and then she bit her tongue. She looked a little hurt maybe, but what was she trying to prove anyways?

  By the time we sat down to eat, I really, truly was starving. Auntie Nettie had brought summaborscht for supper last night. Fuy and double fuy. I’d barely touched mine, filling up on fresh brown bread instead. Only thing was, man could not live by bread alone, even if it was homemade. And instead of pancakes this morning, all we got was cereal. A bowl of cereal wasn’t enough to get a person through one of Reverend Funk’s sermons.

  This morning he’d talked about Daniel, and how Daniel had spent twenty-one days praying in order to come to know the will of God. He didn’t eat any bread or meat, or drink any wine the whole time. At the end of twenty-one days, God appeared to Daniel in a vision, and Daniel fell on the ground before him. Then God touched Daniel and gave him strength. Reverend Funk said the same thing can happen in the lives of Christians today. Then we sang, “Dare to be a Daniel.”

  “Stew?” I turned up my nose at the slop on my plate. “We’re having stew?”

  “What’s your problem?” Beth was standing there with a ladle of goop. She looked like she had a good idea of what she’d like to do with it, too.

  “Nothing, only–” I bit my lip. I’d said the wrong thing. Again. After I’d promised God and everything. “Sundays we usually have chicken, that’s all.” Roast chicken with bubbat, which
Mom said was Mennonite dressing, but which was really more like cake with raisins in it. Yummy. And mashed potatoes and gravy and peas. My stomach growled just thinking about it.

  “Well, this Sunday we’re having stew. If that’s not good enough for you, too bad.”

  “It’s good enough.” I put a piece of meat in my mouth and started chewing, to show her.

  “I’ll have you know that I missed Sunday School and was late for church so I could make this stew.” Beth was snarly even for Beth.

  All I could do was smile and nod, since I was chewing still.

  “There are plenty of people in this world who are starving, you know, people who would be only too glad to have a hot bowl of stew.”

  Now she really did sound like Mom. Still chewing, I mumbled. “I know.” Never mind that it was 80 Mo outside.

  “They can have mine,” said Lena, pushing her food away. She crossed her arms and frowned so hard her eyebrows nearly touched. I knew that look.

  Dad obviously didn’t, or else he wasn’t paying attention again. “Do you girls always have to natter at each other? Eat your dinner.”

  I could have told him that wasn’t going to work. Only I was still chewing yet.

  Tears flooded Lena’s eyes. “I can’t. It tastes like, like…” She looked to me.

  I managed to swallow. “Like crud?”

  “Yeah. Like crud.”

  Now Beth got all blurry-eyed and red-faced. “I don’t know why I bother.”

  “Have you tasted it?” I asked her.

  By now Dad had sampled the stew for himself. “Maybe we should go out to eat. It is Sunday. Stew is always better the second day.”

  “Oooo!” Beth pushed back her chair and began banging dishes around.

  “Oooo!” I was pretty good at imitating Beth. Lena giggled.

  Soap suds flew across the room as Beth whipped around. “You’re such an imbecile!”

  “What’s an imbecile?” asked Lena.

  “It’s a fancy word for idiot,” I explained. I knew a lot of words my friends didn’t know. For one thing I read a lot. But I also made a point of looking up any word Beth used to insult me with.

  “Oh. Why doesn’t she say idiot then?”

  “She thinks I’m too stupid to know I’ve been insulted and that’s like, you know, a super-duper insult.” I grinned widely, teeth and everything.

  “Enough!” Dad slammed his fist on the table. A fork jumped to the floor. He barked out something in Plautdietsch.

  He didn’t need to translate. We all buttoned our lips. In the end we went out to the Harvester for burgers, and then Dad said he was going to see Mom.

  “Can we come with?” Lena asked.

  “Not today.”

  So Lena gave him a card she’d made for Mom. I gave him the notes I’d taken in church so Mom wouldn’t miss the sermon about Daniel.

  Tommy meowed loudly when Dad dropped us off at home. He scowled and shoved the cat out of his way with his foot. “If no one is going to feed that animal, I’m going to get rid of it. Some farmer would take it for his barn.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Beth said. “I’ve got enough to do without worrying about a grungy old alley cat yet.”

  “I’ll feed him,” I told Dad.

  Please God, give me strength.

  After Dad left, Beth said she had a headache and went to have a lie-down. Lena disappeared next door to play with a friend. I filled Tommy’s saucer with milk and made some frozen Kool-Aid pops for later. Then I changed into my bathing suit, grabbed a book and a glass of leftover Kool-Aid, and went to lie in the sun. If I couldn’t go swimming, I could at least work on my tan.

  I was rubbing lotion on my hairy legs when the light-bulb went on upstairs. Now was the perfect time to experiment. Beth kept her stuff in a bathroom drawer; she probably had a razor or some of that hair removal guck in there. I would try both, I decided, to see which did a better job.

  The house was dead quiet as I tiptoed across the kitchen. I pushed open the bathroom door slowly so it wouldn’t creak and give me away, opening it just enough to slip inside. I didn’t see Beth standing there in her housecoat until it was too late already. She had one foot propped on the toilet lid, and was using a wad of toilet paper to wipe at a trickle of blood running down her bare leg.

  At first I was too stunned to move. Then Beth looked up and saw me. You can bet I moved pretty quick then, fumbling for the door knob behind my back.

  “Get out of here you little brat!”

  Opening the door, I backed out. “Are you okay?”

  Beth’s face was so red and twisted I thought she was maybe going to explode. She reached for a bar of soap. “GET OUT!”

  I ducked, pulling the door shut. The soap thudded against the other side. “At least now I know why you’ve been in such a crappy mood!” I shouted at the closed door. Then I made a beeline outside.

  Man-a-livin’ anyways, if she didn’t want someone to walk in on her, she should’ve locked the stupid door. Still, I was pretty embarrassed. I picked up Tommy to cuddle. Beth wasn’t hurt. She just had her period. That didn’t take much to figure out. Only who knew a person could bleed like that? I mean, we’d seen the film and had the talk in school and everything, but that kind of detail had never come up. I’d sort of imagined it would be like a leaky faucet. A drip here, a drip there. Not an actual trickle.

  So far Naomi was the only one I knew who’d started already. On the first day the pool opened we’d all gone swimming only Naomi said she couldn’t go because of “you-know-what” and you bet we all knew exactly what “what” was. I’d made up my mind right then that there was no way I was going to miss out on swimming because of some stupid period. I’d use those tampon things instead of pads–that’s all there was to it.

  Tommy wriggled out of my arms and I remembered to breathe.

  What if it happened this summer? I wasn’t ready. No way could I ask Dad to buy me what I needed. He wouldn’t have the foggiest clue. No way could I buy what I needed myself. Even if I could stand the embarrassment, I’d seen the boxes lining the shelves at Rexall Drugs. Regular, super, super plus, ultra super. How was I supposed to know which one to buy? What if someone I knew walked into the store when I was paying for it? What if there was a boy at the cash register that day?

  After what just happened, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to ask Beth to help me. Not until she cooled off, that was for sure. Which wasn’t going to be any time soon, judging by the look on her face.

  This wasn’t the sort of problem I wanted to talk to God about either, though it was sort of his fault. I mean, He was the one who made us the way we were and everything.

  I had little choice, really. I’d have to swipe what I needed from Beth. God would understand. I hoped.

  Sweat poured off me so I moved into the shade, not daring to go back inside. A good hour later Beth stuck her head out and told me to go fetch Lena from next door. “Dad will be home soon. Auntie Nettie phoned and invited us for faspa.”

  For once I didn’t argue. Faspa at Auntie Nettie’s was always more than the usual coffee, buns, and cheese. There’d be homemade sausage and meat pies, probably plum platz and chokecherry piroshki, and for sure one of her famous chocolate cakes.

  Only Lena had other ideas. She wouldn’t budge from the neighbor’s porch. “I’m staying here. We’re making a play.”

  “You can come back later. Say good-bye.”

  “Good-bye,” Lena said smugly, and turned on her heel to go back inside. I didn’t have the patience today for her games. So I grabbed her around the waist and carried her across the yard, kicking and screaming.

  “Owww! You’re hurting me!”

  Honest, until that second I’d forgotten all about her sunburn. As soon as I put her down her teeth clamped on my arm.

  “Ouch!” I let go. “You bit me!” Lena scooted off. Sunburn or not, no way was she getting away with that. I chased her down, grabbing her wrist and trying not to touch her anywhere els
e as I dragged her home. She dug in her heels and fought me every step of the way, bawling like all get out.

  Beth came tearing out of the house, screaming at me to smarten up. I was too busy trying to hang on to Lena to listen. Next thing I knew Beth had me in a headlock, so I kicked her in the shins. Somehow my fingers got all tangled up in her hair. All the while Lena was trying to get my other hand close enough to her mouth to bite me again.

  Right about then I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. It was Reverend Funk and Mrs. Funk, coming up the walk.

  Next thing I heard a car door slam behind the house. My brain put two and two together and figured out Dad was home. Only problem was the message took a second to get from my brain to the rest of me.

  “WHAT IN BLAZES?!”

  Message received. I did the only thing I could think to do. I let go of Lena.

  Lena toppled straight back, right into Mrs. Funk. Mrs. Funk stumbled backward, too. Only the heel of her shoe somehow got wedged in a crack in the sidewalk. I have to admit, she tried her best to recover her balance without dropping the coffee cake she was carrying.

  Too bad Mrs. Funk was a little bottom-heavy. She went down hard. She landed on her bum in the flowerbed, one shoe on and one shoe off, right on top of Mom’s forget-me-nots.

  The coffee cake landed in her lap, upside down.

  Lena landed on the coffee cake.

  “In the house,” Dad choked, his face scarlet. “Scoot!”

  The three of us practically left skid marks, we scooted so fast. Into the house and straight to our rooms.

  When I was five years old a crusade came to Hopefield. The evangelist thundering from our church pulpit put the fear of the Lord into me. That night I knelt beside my mother and asked God to forgive my sins. I accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as my savior and was born again.

  I don’t remember what sort of sins I’d committed when I was five. Probably I fought with Beth. Probably it wasn’t any different back when I was five than it is now.

  All I remember is being terrified that I was going to burn in hell for eternity.