Lizbet's Lie

by Brenda Maxfield

  "No, my face is the same."

  Johnny shook his head. "No, it's not. Something in your eyes. Are you okay?"

  What did he see? My gaze dropped to the floor.

  "No, look at me. Please." There was urgency in his voice, which brought my eyes to his. "It's there. In your look. You're not happy anymore."

  My eyes widened, and I tried to laugh. It sounded like a chortle even to my ears. "That's ridiculous. Why wouldn't I be happy? I'm back home now, and everything's fine."

  The Timmons family pushed past us. Johnny said nothing until they were out of hearing range. "It's not as bad as right before you left. But you're not back to normal. I know you, Lizbet."

  "No, you don't. You think you do, but you don't." My voice caught on my last words, and I turned to go. Johnny caught my arm in a gentle squeeze.

  "You can trust me, you know. I'm loyal, like we were talking about in class today." Tenderness toward me was clear in his eyes.

  Tears blurred my vision. "But Johnny, you don't know…"

  Momma came up then and took my hand. "Lizbet, let's get a move on. Dad and Ned are finished straightening up for Wednesday evening meeting. Johnny, nice to see you again."

  She nodded curtly and pulled me away. As we headed toward our car, she leaned close to my ear. "What were you talking about? He doesn't know, does he?"

  I pulled my hand away. "Don't worry. He doesn't know."

  In a way, I was glad Momma had butted in. In another few minutes I might have been tempted to spill, which would've been a massive mistake. Momma was right. No one need ever know.

  ****

  Sunday afternoon was the one time of the week when we were allowed to laze around. I was out on the porch knitting when Ned walked out to join me.

  "Did you write Farah?" he asked, and then looked over his shoulder back toward the house, no doubt to see if Momma was listening.

  "It's in my desk drawer. I don't have a stamp."

  "You won't need one. Give it to me, and I'll see she gets it."

  "How? What do you mean?"

  "I'm driving over close to the Home today. I'll drop it off."

  Ned's eyes didn't meet mine. I put my hand on his arm. "Why will you be over by the Home today? It's completely out of the way of everything."

  He sat on the swing. "Fine. I'm going there to take your letter. Period."

  "There aren't visiting hours today. You won't be able to see her."

  "I'm going to take your letter, not to see her." He ran his hand through his thick blond hair.

  I said nothing, only looked at him.

  "I'm trying to do you a favor, you know," he said.

  "If Momma finds out you're sweet on Farah, she'll kill you."

  "I'm not sweet on her. I'm trying to help you out."

  I stood and set my knitting down on the swing. "Give me a minute."

  I went into the house, closing the screen door slowly behind me to avoid its squawk and bang. No reason to alert my folks about anything. They were probably in their room taking a Sunday nap — the only time anyone would ever catch them lying down during the day. I gingerly took the steps two at a time and hurried to my bedroom. I opened my desk drawer and pulled Farah's letter from beneath a stack of spiral notebooks. I unfolded it to read again what I'd written.

  Farah,

  How are you doing? I imagine you'll be so relieved when it's over. Do you feel okay? Did you get a new roommate? This probably sounds stupid, but I hope you didn't. Instead, I hope you'll always remember me as your roommate.

  It's strange to be home again. My parents treat me weird, like I'm some kind of bizarre troll or something.

  I never told you about Johnny. I should have. I don't know what to do. He wants to know what's wrong with me. I can't tell him. He'd hate me forever for what happened. Like I hate myself. And I know I'm not supposed to hate. But I do. So I'm a double sinner. Will it ever go away?

  Ned tries to help me. But then you know Ned. He's always nice. Where are you going to live when you're done? Could you come visit? I'm not sure if Momma will let you, but I want you to come.

  Your roommate,

  Lizbet

  I carefully re-folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. I left my room and nearly smacked into Susanna. I attempted to walk around her in the narrow hallway, but she blocked my path.

  "Johnny is not available," she said, her voice tight.

  "No one in our community is," I said and pushed her to the side.

  "I mean it, Lizbet. You were gone, like, forever, and things changed."

  I paused at the head of the stairs, turned to her, and glowered. "I'm aware." I stepped down the stairs, being careful to tread as if on eggshells.

  Ned stood at the door of his truck, waiting for me. He seemed jumpy, as if he couldn't wait to leave. "Got it?" he asked.

  I pulled out the letter and handed it to him. "Maybe she'll be out in the living room and you'll see her."

  He opened the truck door and climbed into the seat. He put his face close to mine. "Maybe I'll get lucky."

  "Momma will have a fit."

  "I told Dad I was running an errand."

  "He didn't question you?"

  "He's not Momma."

  "She'll die if she knows."

  "Lizbet, I'm merely delivering a letter to your former roommate. What's so weird about that? It's only natural you'd be close to her, considering you lived together for months. Even Momma could understand that."

  "Oh, she'd understand, but she wouldn't approve."

  "She doesn't know Farah's story."

  "It'd be worse if she did."

  Ned sighed and grasped the steering wheel. He knew I was right. "I'm delivering a letter. Period."

  I took a step back so he could close the door. He rolled down the window.

  "Tell her I miss her," I said.

  He nodded. "Will do." He rolled the window back up, and I heard him shift into gear. With a light spray of gravel from the back tires, he was off.

  I stood and watched him go. I wished I was in the truck with him. Not to go back to the Home — no, never. But to get away from our community, yes.

  Chapter Five

  The afternoon dragged on like an injured slug. I had nothing to do, so I pulled out my knitting. At the rate I was going, my blanket would be finished by Monday evening.

  I should've asked Ned to pick up more yellow yarn for me. On second thought, he would have given me some strangled look of pity, and I'd feel even more pathetic. I could ask Dad. He wouldn't question why I was knitting another blanket when I'd just finished one. He wouldn't question why I felt compelled to keep knitting.

  A question I couldn't answer.

  "Hey Lizbet." I looked up from the swing. Winter hustled up our walkway. "Knitting again? Come on over to my house, and we can make our plans."

  My hands continued their quick rhythm. "What plans?"

  "For the pageant. I talked to Miss Larson this morning after church. She's in charge this year, which I'm sure about killed Mrs. Glibbons. I wish I'd been in on that decision. I bet the earth was ready to split open."

  "Nothing would've happened. Mrs. Glibbons wouldn't dare blast her anger in public."

  "But imagine her expressions, her body movement. Now, there's a performance for the pageant." Winter's chirpy voice shook with glee. "I think I'll put them on the program."

  I smiled. "You're wicked."

  She plunked onto the top step. "It's boring around here." She gave me a sheepish glance. "Better now you're here, but still boring. I bet there was a lot more action where you were. If we could go to public school, fun stuff would be the norm."

  "I went to public school for a few months."

  Winter jumped up and scurried to the swing. "Why didn't you tell me? What was it like? Did you meet anyone cool? Did you have to wear a uniform? Was it hard?"

  I set down my knitting and held up my hands. "Whoa. One question at a time, if you don't mind."

  Winter sat beside me,
and her eyes danced with anticipation. "Tell me everything. Don't leave out one tiny detail."

  "No uniforms. A lot of homework, but it wasn't hard. I think homeschooling is a lot harder. Except chemistry there was super hard. No, I didn't meet anyone cool."

  How could I tell her we pregnant girls were only tolerated? We weren't invited to anything or included in anything, or even befriended. Everyone knew we'd only be there for a few months. Plus, the whole pregnancy stigma was a difficult hurdle.

  Winter opened her hands to the air. "That's it? I get nothing more? A few puny words of description?"

  "I didn't fit."

  "Why ever not? You're nice and you're okay-looking and you come from a good family. Why didn't you fit?"

  "I just didn't. You wouldn't have either." Which was true. Being away from our community had shown me how weird and sheltered we were.

  "Come on, you can give me more. Think. Make it up if you have to!"

  I laughed. "All right. It was riveting out there. The excitement kept me awake every night. I went to basketball games and became a cheerleader and the cute guys all asked me out and I dated and kept it a secret from everyone and no one found me out and I'm going to write a book about it and become famous."

  I took a big breath and gave Winter a satisfied grin. She cracked up and slapped my knee. "Love it! Wish I could have been there."

  "Yeah, wish away." I grew solemn. "But seriously, it wasn't so great."

  Winter leaned back in the swing, and we swayed to her repeated tapping. "I suppose it's not so bad here. Nice people, anyway."

  "So what's going on with the pageant?"

  "Believe it or not, Miss Larson is giving us some freedom of choice this year. We have to somehow incorporate something we've learned, but we can write a play, recite poetry, sing, or make some kind of art object."

  "That is news. What do you want to do?"

  "Not sure. Wanna come over to my house and brainstorm? My mom is making snickerdoodles, and I'm hankering for some. I don't imagine you'll turn them down either."

  Winter's mom was the best cook at church and everyone knew it. No one turned down an invitation to eat something she'd made.

  "I'll tell Momma." I picked up my knitting and went into the house. It was quiet. I tiptoed to her bedroom door and put my ear to it. Dad was snoring. I didn't want to awaken them and besides, Momma might say I couldn't go. So instead of asking permission, I went to the kitchen, pulled out a recycled envelope, and wrote At Winter's on the backside. I laid it on the table where Momma would be sure to see it, put my knitting on the end of the couch, and ran back outside.

  "I'm good to go."

  "Nice." Winter got off the swing, and we headed down the walk to the road.

  If you could avoid the mud puddles, walking down our road in the spring was pleasant. The houses were spaced far enough apart to give everyone a chance for some creative gardening. Since we didn't put much stock in dressing ourselves up, most of our beautification efforts went into creating the finest flower and veggie gardens anywhere. We passed by Mrs. Harmon's old farmhouse where the white paint was peeling off in strips from the eaves. She was outside kneeling in her rose garden, and when she saw us, she removed her floppy hat and waved it in the air.

  "Won't be long now, and these old roses will grace the world," she half-hollered.

  "Yes, ma'am," Winter said and waved back. She leaned toward me. "Always feel sorry for her."

  "Me, too."

  "Has to be mighty lonely without her husband and kid."

  "Has to be," I agreed.

  Two winters ago, Mr. Harmon and their daughter had both been killed in a horrific car crash. Black ice. They'd died instantly. I thought Mrs. Harmon would move from such an old cavernous house since she was alone, but Momma told me she'd never move because of the memories. Momma told me that people in grief cling to memories.

  I stopped walking. People in grief cling to memories.

  Winter was a few steps ahead before she realized I'd stopped. She turned and stared. "What are you doing? Come on."

  Obediently I caught up, ignoring the sharp pain that passed through my stomach.

  Winter's house was up ahead. We were almost there when we saw a cloud of dust coming toward us. My heart lurched. Ned. I pulled Winter to the side of the road and motioned him to stop. With a burst of billowing dirt, he pulled the truck up next to us.

  "Just a minute," I said to Winter. I clamped my hand over my nose and mouth against the dust and ran around to the driver's side. Ned rolled down his window.

  "Well?" I asked.

  He smiled and there was a look of deep satisfaction on his face. "Letter delivered."

  "You saw Farah, didn't you?"

  "She was in the living room, like you said."

  "How is she?"

  "Beautiful. Huge."

  "Was she happy to get my letter?"

  Ned leaned his elbow on the window ledge. "She hugged me, she was so happy."

  "Did she have a letter for me?"

  "Nope. But I waited while she wrote one."

  Excitement gurgled in my heart. "Do you have it?"

  Ned dug in his shirt pocket. "Of course I have it." He pulled out a folded piece of pink paper.

  I looked through the truck window at Winter waiting for me. "Maybe I should read it later," I said, sticking it into my pocket.

  Ned glanced over at Winter, then back at me. "Maybe you should."

  I squeezed Ned's arm. "Thanks for doing this for me."

  "Glad to."

  I eyed him. "I can see you were." I smiled. "But whatever your real reasons for going, thank you."

  Ned nodded and rolled up his window. He waited till I was back around the truck before he started off again toward home.

  "What was that about?" Winter asked, waving the dust away from her face.

  "Nothing. I had to check with Ned about an errand."

  Winter seemed satisfied, and we continued on to her house. When we entered the living room, her two younger brothers were sitting in the middle of the floor playing a board game.

  "My turn," Walter said.

  "You just took your turn, doofus. It's my turn," Isaiah said.

  Winter clucked her tongue. "You two keep arguing, and it will be no one's turn. And if Mom hears you calling each other names, you'll be in for some Bible memory work."

  Both boys zipped up and bent their heads over the game. I noted Walter spun the wheel and took his turn. Course he was older, so it was no big surprise he got his way.

  The aroma of cinnamon and sugar wafted in from the kitchen. Winter nudged me. "Snickerdoodles, like I told you." She pulled me with her into the kitchen.

  Mrs. Stevenson looked up from a cookie tray where she was placing the newly rolled lumps of dough. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the wayward girl."

  Wayward girl? Did she know? My eyes froze on her face, but she was smiling warmly. No, of course she didn't know. How could she?

  "Hello, Mrs. Stevenson," I said.

  "You sure were missed around here," she went on. "Came by for some of my cookies, eh?"

  Winter took a glass plate out of the cupboard and piled it with fresh cookies. "You know she did, Mom. Hey, we're going to be working on the pageant, so keep Walter and Isaiah out of our hair, okay?"

  Mrs. Stevenson chuckled. "Right. I'm not too effective in that department."

  Winter rolled her eyes. "I know, but I'm asking anyway."

  Mrs. Stevenson playfully swatted Winter's backside with a dishtowel. "Honey, we all know you're the one who keeps them in line."

  "Quit with the hitting," Winter scolded, but she was laughing. She grabbed my arm, and we headed for the stairwell.

  Winter clumped up the steps, and I followed her. Jealousy stung my throat. What I wouldn't give to have such a relationship with my mother. It wasn't to be. My relationship with my mother hadn't been all that happy before and seemed even more unlikely to be happy now.

  Winter's room was tiny. Her single b
ed took up most of the space, but it was loaded with pillows and stuffed animals and was a comfy place to spend the afternoon. She shoved some teddy bears onto the floor, clearing us a place.

  "Sit," she said. She deposited the plate between us and commenced munching. "What do you want to do for the pageant?" She sprayed me with a light coating of cookie crumbs.

  "Gross. Mind not talking when your mouth's full?" I laughed and wiped off my pants.

  She pressed her hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she said through her fingers.

  "I think you should come up with an idea. I haven't been to any of the meetings, and I don't feel like I know anything going on."

  Winter swallowed a mouthful of cookie. "Not much has been going on. Not much is ever going on. You should know that."

  I shrugged. "Any suggestions?"

  "I think we should do a play. We could incorporate some history with a Bible story. Miss Larson would eat it up."

  "Fine by me. Which story?"

  Winter took another cookie and tossed it gently from hand to hand. "How about when those friends lowered the guy through the roof so Jesus would heal him? I've always loved that story."

  I'd always loved it, too. Those guys were true friends who'd never given up until their friend had been healed. I looked at Winter. Was she that kind of friend for me? If she knew what I'd been through, would she stick by me?

  Momma assumed everyone would reject both me and my family if they knew. I understood where Momma was coming from. Judgment came down hard on anyone who even hinted of moral failure. Getting pregnant and having a kid out of wedlock totally qualified as moral failure. The fact that I'd been attacked didn't seem to make a difference to either of my parents. In their eyes, pregnant was pregnant.

  The fact that the guy who'd done it to me had been a relative of the bishop's made it unspeakable.