I’m sorry, God. Please cleanse my heart from doubt and other sins, like the reverend said. I know you’ll do what’s best for my mother. Please help me understand your will.
Amen.
“I’m thinking about becoming a vegetarian,” I told Dad and Beth at lunch the next day, “so I’ll need some stuff from the grocery store.” Grandma was there, too. She’d come over because she said our windows needed a good washing.
I’d written out a list: nuts, macaroni and cheese, pork and beans (without the pork), fruit, yogurt, ice cream, chocolate bars–stuff like that. We had lots of vegetables in the garden already, so I didn’t need to put any on the list.
“Think again,” Beth said, handing the list back.
“Daaad.”
“Don’t be silly, Elsie. Eat your lunch.” He didn’t look up from his newspaper even.
Lunch was Klik and lettuce bunwiches with carrot sticks and the leftover chocolate cake from Auntie Nettie. I took the lettuce out of the sandwich. “I told you, I’m giving up meat for a while. Bread, too.” The piece of limp lettuce didn’t look all that appetizing, but I chomped down on it to make a point.
Beth snorted. “Since when?”
I ignored her. “This is all healthy stuff. Mostly, anyways. See, Dad?” I shoved the list in front of his nose. “Don’t you want me to eat healthy? Especially when I’m working so hard?” I was working hard. I’d used the wire brush Dad had given me to scrape loose paint off the garage siding all morning.
“How did you get a cockamamie idea like this in your head?” Dad sighed.
I shrugged, wondering what to say that wouldn’t be a lie exactly. “I want to try it. Can’t I try it for awhile even?”
Grandma’s beady little eyes were even beadier than usual, watching me close.
“You’ve got a screw loose if you think I’m going to make special meals just for you,” said Beth.
Beth had used up any good feelings I had left over from yesterday. “I’ll make my own meals. Promise.”
“It’ll take us all summer to eat what we have already.” Dad nodded at the piles of food on the counter that church members and neighbors and relatives had brought over in the last two days–platz, cookies, cakes, buns. There were casseroles, hollopchee, varenika, and at least three pies in the freezer. It was enough to make me wonder if there was maybe a commandment I didn’t know about that said you had to bring food to your neighbors when someone was sick. Only problem was that most of it had meat in it. Or else it was bread.
I was desperate. “If Mom was here she’d buy me this stuff,” I muttered just loud enough to be heard.
Grandma shook her head. Dad stared at me over top of his paper; He stared for a long time. “Do what you want,” he finally said.
“Thanks, Dad!” I gave him a bear hug, carefully avoiding his whiskers.
“Unbelievable,” Beth muttered.
She was such a sore loser, even though I knew using Mom like that was sort of dirty pool. Only I didn’t have a whole lot of options. I poured a glass of milk and piled my plate with cheese, carrot sticks, and fruit. Grandma got up to cut the chocolate cake for dessert. I asked for an extra big piece.
“I thought you were giving up bread,” said Beth.
“This is cake.”
“Cake is bread, dummkopp.”
She must’ve been too ticked to even think of a good insult. “It is?” I looked at Dad.
All he did was shrug. “Leave me out of this.”
Beth couldn’t wait to gloat. “Any grain or anything made with grain or flour counts as a bread.” She started counting things off on her fingers. “Cookies, muffins, cake, pie, donuts, pancakes, rice, macaroni–”
“Macaroni?!” Who knew? She had to be pulling a fast one on me.
“Nah, meyahl?” said Grandma quietly. “Lying has short legs, not? It doesn’t get you very far. By now you should’ve learned yourself that much.”
“I never lied.” Maybe I hadn’t told the whole truth, but I’d never lied. Not today anyways.
Beth grabbed my list and crossed off at least half the stuff on it. “Still think you’re going to give up bread and meat?”
I thought about throwing my glass of milk in her smug ugly face. “I hate you,” I muttered and stomped out the door to eat in the sunshine.
So much for getting along with Beth. I could practically feel God frowning at me.
Outside Tommy rubbed up against my arm, nosing at my plate. “This is going to be a lot harder than I thought, Tom-cat.”
Tommy didn’t give a care about my troubles. He sat on his haunches beside his empty saucer. “Meow,” he accused me. Rats. I’d forgotten to feed him. Again. I dumped half my milk in his saucer and chewed on a carrot stick.
Lena followed me out to the porch with a huge piece of chocolate cake. “Dad says we can go swimming again tomorrow. My sunburn is almost better.” She shoved a forkful of cake in her mouth.
“Mmmmm.” She smacked her lips. “Schmack gout”
Why couldn’t I have been an only child?
I didn’t even feel bad later when Beth went out for groceries and I used her razor to practice shaving my legs. It was going pretty good, too, and then Lena started banging on the bathroom door, which you bet I’d remembered to lock.
“I’m in here!” I yelled.
“Hurry up! I have to go!”
“Just get lost for once! I’m busy.”
“I have to go nowww! Pleeaase! Let me in!”
She kept banging and yelling and the more she banged and yelled, the faster I went and the madder I got. Before I knew it I’d sliced a nice big chunk off my shin. The blood started to pour out of the slice and Holy Moses, it stung like crazy when I washed it off, enough to bring tears to my eyes.
By now Lena was crying outside the door and I would’ve let her in already, except my leg was still gushing.
I let Lena in as soon as I could. “All right already. I’m finished.”
Her face was a blotchy mess. “I couldn’t wait,” she mumbled.
Fuy. So it goes. “Why do you always have to wait until you can’t hold it?”
She just stood there, wiping her runny nose with the back of her hand.
“Never mind. Take off those shorts already.”
While she cleaned herself up and changed clothes I rinsed out the wet ones and washed the floor. Lena went back outside to play and I went back to scrubbing the garage siding with one shaved leg and one hairy leg because there wasn’t enough time to finish the job before Beth got home.
Dear God,
I don’t really hate Beth. Only sometimes I feel like I do. She just makes me so mad.
You knew what I meant when I said I wouldn’t eat any bread, didn’t you? You knew I only meant bread bread, and not all that other stuff, right? I’ll try my best to give up most bread, but I think I’ll starve to death if I can’t eat rice or macaroni or cereal even.
Thanks for making Lena’s sunburn better. I couldn’t stand having to spend another whole day around here when all my friends are at the pool–even though I got a lot of work done on the garage. So far I’ve made nine dollars already!
Please help Beth to not be such a grouch, and help Lena to not bug me so much. I’m sorry about Lena’s accident, I didn’t mean to be mean to her. And I know it’s wrong to use Beth’s stuff without asking, which is probably what you were trying to tell me when I cut myself That was like, some kind of karma, right?
Most of all, please take care of Mom and help her to get well soon. Lena and I miss her. I guess Beth and Dad do, too. Maybe that’s why everyone’s so crabby all the time.
Amen.
“You weren’t kidding!” Jillian cruised into the back-yard on her bike.
“Hey!” I set down the wire brush I’d been using and grabbing a corner of the scaffold, I jumped to the ground. The frame rocked and rattled back in place.
“Careful, kint” Grandma warned. She and Auntie Nettie sat on lawn chairs in the shade, shell
ing ice-cream pails of peas as fast as Lena and Beth picked them.
“I had to see this for myself,” grinned Jillian.
“Check out the tan.” I pulled aside the strap on my bikini top to show her how tanned I was already in only three days on the job.
Grandma clucked her tongue. “Schentlich,” she muttered, followed by a stream of Plautdietsch that made Auntie Nettie chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Sometimes it really got my goat when they talked about me in Low German.
“Grandma says you sit yourself on your ears,” said Auntie Nettie, grinning still more. “She means you don’t listen.”
Jillian cracked up. “I can totally see it.”
“My grandma doesn’t approve,” I whispered, rolling my eyes. “She and Beth think Dad’s crazy to let me paint, and that I’m plain wicked to be parading around half-naked.”
“Your friend would like something cold to drink maybe?” Auntie Nettie asked.
I offered to get lemonade for everyone. Even went around to the garden to ask Beth and Lena if they wanted a break.
Beth took one look at me and said, “Put on some clothes at least.”
There was no point in trying to be nice to her. I was perfectly respectable in a pair of old cut-offs and my bikini top. “What’s wrong now?”
“For one thing, you look ridiculous wearing a top like that. It’s not like you have anything to show off.”
My face grew hot. “Thanks for noticing.”
Beth could go jump in a lake as far as I was concerned, but I pulled on a T-shirt anyways. Partly for the sake of peace, and partly because I wondered if Beth might be a little bit right about me looking ridiculous.
When I came out with the lemonade, Grandma had put Jillian to work already, shelling peas. I should’ve known Grandma couldn’t stand to see idle hands.
“So? How goes the big job?” Auntie Nettie squinted at the house.
Personally, I don’t know what Tom Sawyer made all the fuss about. I knew this was only my third day at it, but so far I liked this painting thing. It was fun hosing off the loose dirt. I liked scraping and brushing blistered paint from the window frames and siding. I liked smoothing the rough edges with sandpaper.
I liked how Tommy stretched out on the porch to keep me company, snoozing in the sun or just watching and listening to the radio and me jabbering away at him. I liked how the sun warmed my bare back as I worked. And for sure I liked being out of earshot of Beth all morning.
Most of all, I liked how Dad nodded after work when he checked how much I’d done and said, “Good job.” He’d even asked me to do the bottom half of the house. I could’ve done the top part, too, but he wouldn’t let me climb so high on the scaffolding.
We still hadn’t got around to the actual painting part, but I was pretty sure I was going to like that, too. Maybe Grandma was on to something with this work thing.
“The garage is ready,” I said. “And one side of the house. Dad’s going to caulk windows this weekend. He thinks we’ll be painting by next week, as long as it doesn’t rain.”
Grandma shook her head. “Uy uy uy.”
“Enough already, mumke” tutted Auntie Nettie. “It never bothers anyone and she’s doing a real good job.”
“I’m doing a real good job of picking peas, right Auntie Nettie?” Lena asked. “Mom will be surprised, right?”
“Best job ever,” nodded Auntie Nettie. “Your mother will be proud of you. This afternoon we’ll blanch and freeze them yet, too.”
Lena beamed.
Beth picked up her pail. “C’mon, schnigglefritz. One more row to go yet.”
“I’ve got to get home, but I’ll see you at the pool this afternoon, right?” Jillian handed me her empty glass.
“For sure.”
“Uh, say hi to your Mom for me.”
“I will.” I wasn’t sure exactly if she knew Mom was sick, but I wasn’t about to talk about it right then.
I gathered the rest of the empty glasses. Auntie Nettie followed me inside with a brimming bowl of peas. “Nah, meyahl? You didn’t tell your friend your mother was sick?”
“I will. Just not, you know, in front of everybody. She probably knows anyways.”
“But not from you.” She dumped the peas into the big colander in the sink and started rinsing. “Only from the schnetke conference.”
She’d lost me. “The what?”
“The biscuit conference. You know, the gossips.”
Auntie Nettie made it sound like I was ashamed of my mother or something. That wasn’t it at all. Mom just wasn’t a subject that came up in casual conversation.
“Esther will be home again in no time,” Auntie Nettie smiled at me. “You’ll see. Are you remembering to say your prayers for her?”
“Yeah.” That’s all everyone said–pray, pray, pray. I was praying. Every night.
“Have you been yet to see her?”
“We haven’t been allowed. Maybe tomorrow, Dad says.” Part of me was a little bit glad we hadn’t been able to go see Mom yet.
“Ach!” Auntie Nettie shook her head. “What nonsense is that? Esther will worry herself crazy. And children need their mother.”
I smiled, but Auntie Nettie didn’t seem to notice. “Anyways, Dad says she mostly sleeps right now,” I prompted, hoping she might let slip something I should know.
“Sure she sleeps, who wouldn’t sleep when–” Auntie Nettie turned the cold water on full blast, mumbling to herself. “They are fools, those doctors. They think they are like God and know everything that is best for your mother. What have they done for her all these years? I’ll tell you. Nusht. Worse than nusht.”
I’d always known my mother was different. Nobody else’s mother did stuff like cry over dead baby robins. Or put on their bathing suits to go outside and play with their kids in the rain during a thunderstorm. Or pick dandelions and weeds to put in a vase on the kitchen table.
When I was little and Beth was in school already, Mom used to take me for long walks all over town. One time in the spring we took off our socks and shoes. I rolled up my pants and Mom tied up her skirt above her knees and we spent the whole afternoon splashing and wading in the ditches looking for tadpoles. I’d never had so much fun. Only when Dad came home that night for supper he said his boss at work had seen Mom and me playing in the ditches and asked him if his wife was “gaunz ferekt”, which meant totally crazy.
“So? What did you tell him?” she wanted to know.
Dad smiled kind of crooked and shook his head and said, “Not totally crazy, only halfway.”
Which made Mom laugh. Then Dad put his arms around her waist and kissed her laughing mouth and Mom twirled me up in her arms and said, “Elsie and I went on an adventure this afternoon, didn’t we schnigglefritz?”
After that, whenever Mom got one of her crazy ideas–like maybe climbing a tree to see if there were eggs inside a nest–then she always said, “Do you feel like an adventure, schnigglefritz?”
Only pretty soon after that Lena was born, so she became the schnigglefritz in our house. And then I started school yet, and found out other kids didn’t go on adventures with their mothers. They mostly only played on the playground at the park.
Auntie Nettie shook her head, still muttering mostly to herself. “It’s not my business. I shouldn’t go so much off at the mouth.”
I grinned. We all knew Auntie Nettie’s opinion of psychiatrists. We all knew Auntie Nettie’s opinions about most things. “You’re probably right. I bet her doctor, is a real dummkopp”, I teased.
“En schozzle. En daugnichts.” Auntie Nettie chuckled. She flicked her wet hands, spritzing me with water. “Good thing you don’t know the Plautdietsch.”
“I know some.”
Dad walked in about then, home for lunch. “What do you know, Elsie?”
Auntie Nettie got busy at the sink real quick, her back turned. But her shoulders shook silently. I broke up laughing.
“Why do I think you two
have been up to no good?” Dad hung up his cap.
“Sit you doy, O’Lloyd,” Auntie Nettie ordered him into a chair. For sure there was no one named O’Lloyd in our family. But once, Grandma Redekop said that to a visitor named O’Lloyd when she didn’t know the right English way to say “Sit over there.” Now everyone said it all the time.
Dad didn’t bother to protest. Not that Auntie Nettie would’ve listened. She winked at me. “Putzendonna”, she whispered. “You’ll get me in trouble.”
“Better you than me,” I whispered back. Then because it felt so good to laugh I threw my arms around her waist and hugged her.
“Uy uy uy” she said, patting my hair.
For lunch Auntie Nettie had brought over two bagfuls of rollkuchen to eat with watermelon. She knew it was my favorite food in the world. I’d poured a lake of syrup into my plate beside a mountain of the deep-fried dough strips before I saw Beth smirking at me and realized that rollkuchen was probably bread, too. Fuy.
Sighing, I gave my plate to Lena. “I think I’ll just have watermelon and yogurt.”
Everyone stopped doing whatever it was they were doing. They turned, like they were all tied to the same string, to stare at me.
“Are you sick?” Dad asked.
Grandma felt my forehead, “You don’t feel hot. You should lie down maybe.”
I started laughing again. Pretty soon I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt. I couldn’t stop till I got the hiccups.
Dear God, I prayed that night. My stomach grumbled.
It was kind of mean of Beth to say I don’t fill out my bathing suit enough for anyone to notice. Not that I give a care really, even if it’s true. I don’t want Aaron to notice me for that, I just want him to notice me. At the pool today it was like he didn’t know I was alive even.
I know it’s only been three days so far, but I need to change our deal a little. Instead of giving up meat and bread, would it be okay if I just gave up meat? I don’t think I’ll make it twenty-one days otherwise. For sure not in this house. Daniel wasn’t a Mennonite.
Thanks for understanding, God.
Almost Eden Page 5
