Bossy Bridegroom

by Mary Connealy

  Michael returned that level look. The moment stretched. So sweet, so submissive, so pretty. He realized with a start that she was nearly thirty but she looked like a kid. She wasn’t wearing a bit of makeup, and he saw freckles scattered across her nose. He’d always harassed her about covering them with makeup.

  Her hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. It was straight and honey blond, not the flashy, permed platinum he’d goaded her into. He’d called her hair mousy brown or dishwater blond. She had lost all of her curves, as if she’d starved away her womanhood. He’d goaded her about being fat once she’d gained an hourglass figure from giving birth.

  He’d been a nonstop bully, and he deserved her contempt. Deserved to be alone for the rest of his life.

  God, please forgive me. Help me to make Jeanie forgive me.

  She looked like the girl he’d fallen in love with. His Jeanie. Before he started “fixing” her.

  Tears burned his eyes, and he blinked, not wanting her to give an inch. He knew the kindness of her heart. She might give him another chance just because he cried, and he didn’t want that.

  Not when he’d just discovered it was within his power to destroy God’s miraculous healing of his temper.

  “I’ll go talk to him. But I’m not leaving town. I’m here to stay. I love you, sweetheart, and we are going to heal this marriage. I promise you that before God.”

  He turned and trotted down the squeaking, protesting iron steps.

  At the bottom, he looked up and saw her leaning over the railing, staring down at him as if she were looking right into the eye of the devil himself.

  He turned and jogged away from her, knowing he had only the slimmest control over his need to go back and convince her, by force if necessary, that they could be together again.

  three

  Her mind had chased itself around and around until she thought she’d go mad.

  Jeanie rolled out of bed the next morning, grateful for the first blush of sunrise that put an end to this farce of sleeping.

  She should have gone down to the Cold Creek Manor to see if the night shift needed any help. As it was, she’d be three hours early for the senior center. She didn’t usually show up until eight.

  Showering in the tiny bathroom, she tried to get the cobwebs to clear from her aching head.

  Michael was back. Mike.

  God what can I do?

  She stood in front of her miniscule bathroom mirror and stared at the scripture she’d claimed for a life verse. It was taped there as a reminder to start her day with God. Taped there to remind her that strength had never come easy. Quitting, depending, and blaming were more her style—along with living with shame.

  “We want you to be very strong, in keeping with his glorious power. We want you to be patient. Never give up. Be joyful” (Colossians 1:11).

  Pulling on khaki slacks, white sneakers, and a light blue cotton sweater because the kitchen at the Golden Days Senior Center was always cold, she spent a quiet time with her Bible, searching for new verses about being strong in the Lord. She studied ones she knew and made notes when she found another one. She’d been doing that since she accepted the Lord.

  She prayed and claimed that strength. When she felt in control of her roiling emotions—something that would probably last only until she saw Mike again—she left her apartment. As she descended the stairs, she continued to reach with her soul for communion with God.

  “We want you to be strong.”

  God, please make me strong.

  “Never give up.”

  That’s what Michael makes me want to do. Give up.

  “Be joyful.”

  That one she could never manage. Oh, she was happy enough. She enjoyed her work and the friendly people in Cold Creek. And she felt joy in the Lord. But she never felt joy deep inside where she knew she’d failed at her most fundamental calling—motherhood.

  She could feel her will slipping. She had it in her to be a doormat. She wanted it. Letting a man be in charge meant she had no responsibility. In exchange, she had to allow herself to be demeaned night and day for her whole life. And that was easy. She’d learned it at her father’s knee.

  Jeanie’s father and Michael’s father were matching tyrants. Their mothers—perpetual victims. Jeanie and Michael had created a home exactly like the ones they’d been raised in.

  Jeanie quickened her pace, trying to escape her thoughts, until she was running the two blocks to the Golden Days Senior Center. But she couldn’t outrun her mind.

  Once inside, she fought to regain her calm. She was so early she could bake bread in plenty of time for lunch. There were twenty-five people who came to eat, a wonderful group of elderly who treated her as if she were their own daughter. That meant they meddled and nagged and gave her endless advice. But it was all done with love. And she’d never felt such love before.

  Except from Buffy. Her little sister had tried to love her.

  And Sally. Her daughter had endless, unconditional love to give, but Jeanie had thrown away what Sally so innocently offered.

  Neglecting Sally, rejecting her daughter’s love, then giving her up was a sin for which Jeanie couldn’t forgive herself. No matter how fully God had forgiven her.

  She began her busy day by slipping a roast into a slow cooker and adding seasoning. She usually baked the meat in the oven, but it wasn’t yet 5:00 a.m. There would be plenty of time for it to cook. Her seniors would enjoy the especially tender meat.

  This was Monday. She usually got here close to 8:00, got dinner started, then ducked out just before 9:00 to help with Peaceful Mountain’s church service at the Cold Creek nursing home. Then she came back to the senior center and worked until 1:00. Next she went to her second part-time job as a nurse’s aid at the nursing home. She was training to be an LPN through a program at the nursing home, and she was enjoying that.

  Well, she didn’t enjoy the textbooks. She’d never been good at her studies. Her grades were good, but she had to work hard to keep them up. Nevertheless, the hands-on work was an easy fit, and she felt a wonderful sense of accomplishment.

  Jeanie spent her supper hour as a hospice volunteer. She currently had two patients at the manor whom she was helping escort into the next life with dignity, offering support to distraught families. Working with these families instead of eating had shaved twenty pounds off her overly round frame.

  She had Bible study on Tuesdays and choir practice on Wednesdays. On Thursday evenings she worked her third part-time job, four hours at the Cold Creek library. She led a 4-H Club on one Saturday morning a month, helped with Girl Scouts the next week, and filled in at the local mini-mart the third and fourth Saturdays, for her fourth part-time job.

  Saturday afternoons Pastor Bert gave her a ride out to the Peaceful Mountain Church she attended. She practiced the piano for Sunday services. It had taken hard work to remember those rusty lessons from childhood, but she was good enough now to play for church. After she practiced, she cleaned the little clapboard country church, mowed the lawn, and tended the flower beds when needed.

  She still didn’t do enough to make up for abandoning her daughter.

  Kneading bread in the empty kitchen at the run-down senior center, she prayed, trying to get her mind to settle down so she could think.

  “Hi, Jeanie.”

  A scream ripped out of her throat. She jumped and knocked the huge circle of dough sideways.

  Mike snagged it in midair. He’d always been good in an emergency. Quickly, he set the dough back in front of her.

  Heart hammering, she waited for the cutting remark.

  Clumsy, jumpy, nervous, daydreamer, stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “I’m sorry I scared you. I went by your apartment and you were gone. Pastor Lewis said you work here mornings.”

  Jeanie snapped, “What were you coming by for? I told you to stay away from me.” Suddenly, kneading the bread was a perfect excuse to take out her frustrations. She turned all of her anger loose
on the defenseless loaf.

  Mike turned and leaned his back against the counter. He crossed his arms and ankles and looked at her.

  She glanced up and saw his eyes shift to the pummeled dough. It was possible he got the message.

  “I know you, Jeanie. Even if I never gave you any respect, I had to know you really well or I wouldn’t have been able to hurt you like I did.”

  Jeanie’s hands stopped in mid-punch. “What?”

  Their eyes locked.

  “I knew you doubted that you were smart, because Buffy was such a genius. I knew how your dad went for your intelligence when he wanted to hurt you. I knew that drew blood and you’d never defend yourself.”

  She couldn’t look away. She’d never demanded respect. Never figured she deserved it. Now here he was admitting it. In effect handing her his best weapon.

  “I knew you based every bit of your shaky self-esteem on your personality and looks. You were so popular and pretty and you worked so hard at both. I wanted it for myself. And once I had it—had you—I set out to take that bit of confidence away from you.”

  “Go away, please.” Jeanie tore the huge, smooth circle of dough into three equal pieces and began forming loaves. Her hands worked automatically. She’d done this a hundred times in the six months she’d worked at the center. Twenty-five people for lunch, each loaf fed about twelve. Crust pieces were hard to chew, so that took away six.

  Michael’s right hand settled on her shoulder, and she couldn’t ignore him anymore.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, doing her best imitation of a woman with courage. “Oh, are you still here?” She held his gaze.

  “I talked to Pastor Lewis last night for about two hours.”

  Jeanie gasped. “It was already late when you left my place.”

  “I was too desperate to wait.”

  “Too impatient, you mean.”

  Mike shook his head. “I was awful to you last night. I had all these plans about proving to you that I’d changed, and then I just fell right back into the same old habits. But that was one night. I went straight to talk to the pastor. I was clear about our breakup being all my fault. He agreed to be a marriage counselor for us.” Michael grabbed the receiver of the black wall phone and punched in numbers while Jeanie tried to process what he’d said.

  “Marriage counseling? No, we’re not doing that. We’re through.”

  “Hello, Pastor Bert? It’s Michael. I’m at the senior center with Jeanie right now.”

  “Michael, hang up that phone!”

  Michael obeyed her, which threw Jeanie for a loop.

  “He was on his way to town for coffee anyway. He’ll be here in about five minutes.”

  Jeanie resisted the urge to smash one of her lovely loaves right in his face.

  Michael seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. That didn’t make him a genius. It wasn’t as if she was trying to hide her rage, after all.

  “So, do you work all morning to get the noon meal ready, or do you have a break?”

  The nerve of the man almost choked her. “Are you serious about trying to breathe life back into our marriage?”

  “Yes, absolutely.” Michael came up to face her.

  She turned and nestled each spongy dough ball in the greased loaf pans. “Then you’re doing it just exactly wrong by forcing your way into my life and dictating that we’ll go to marriage counseling. How am I supposed to think anything but that you’re the same tyrant you always were?”

  “So, if I’m doing it the wrong way, then there must be a right way. So you’re saying we can fix this marriage.”

  “I’m saying get out. I’ve said that any number of times, but as usual you’re calling the shots.” Relentless jerk. That’s how he’d convinced her to marry him right out of high school. He’d been a senior when he’d asked her out at the end of her freshman year. All through college he’d pressured her—in every way.

  He’d pursued her, loved her, flattered her. She’d been thrilled and honored, and when he criticized, she’d twisted herself into a pretzel to make him proud.

  “I’m not interested in healing this relationship. I’m finally learning to respect myself.” Well, she intended to learn … someday. No luck yet.

  “You told me you don’t want a divorce.” Michael-the-Deaf-Man settled on a chair at the rectangular kitchen table and scooted another chair out a bit. For her. She considered using it on his head.

  She set the loaves in a sunny window, covering them with a dish towel to rise. It chafed that Michael was exactly right about one thing. She had nothing to do for about two hours.

  She perhaps should speak a little louder. “Get out, Michael. We’ve got nothing to discuss. Unless you want to start divorce proceedings. I’m not going to do it, but I will go along with it if you wish. I made my vows before God, and I intend to keep them.”

  “I agree. We took vows, and they’re eternal. Our marriage is for life. Sit down.”

  More orders. He was trying to be nice, and he still couldn’t stop.

  “That’s wonderful.” Hands clapped together in glee.

  Jeanie jumped. The hardy voice turned her around.

  “If you’ve got a good grasp of God’s plan for marriage, you can make this work.” Pastor Lewis was here. And he’d gotten just exactly the wrong message.

  Michael stood and extended a hand to Jeanie’s pastor. The two greeted each other like old friends. They back-slapped and smiled, and Jeanie felt it happening. Already she was being pushed aside, the submissive wife, the troublemaker who didn’t want to fix her marriage. She washed her hands, trying to figure a way out of this trap.

  “Pastor, we talked about this last night, but I want to repeat it in front of Jeanie, with you as a witness. I abandoned her and our daughter. I take full responsibility for the mess we’re in. The reason I want you here is because I’m a tyrant, unkind, unloving. I’ve found Jesus since we broke up, and I’m here to try to make up for all I’ve done.”

  Jeanie felt like she was hearing words that she’d only imagined in her wildest dreams. Hanging up a hand towel, she shook her head a bit, trying to make sense of what he’d said.

  “I thought I could come here and make things right.” Michael shoved his fingers into his hair just as he had last night. Acting agitated, unsure—it was a completely foreign gesture. “But the first words out of my mouth were said in anger. Then later I started bullying her and, worse yet, enjoying it. I don’t think we can handle it without professional help.”

  Michael turned to her. “I’m sorry about last night. When I was born again, I felt the anger lift off of my heart and I thought I was healed. But yesterday I found out it’s still there, dormant for a while but still close at hand. I’ve got a long way to go, and even if you promised to be strong and keep me accountable, I’m afraid we’d slip right back into the same patterns. That’s why I want the pastor involved.”

  He said it like their marriage was fixed. Like they were only working out details.

  Tears burned at her eyes.

  Pastor Lewis, a rotund man, tall and full of gruff kindness, rested one of his huge, gentle hands on her arm. “Sit down, Jeanie. I told Michael that you and I have talked about your fears many times and the pain of your marriage and giving Sally up. I understand how hard you’ve struggled. I just want us to talk together for a while and see if we can find a starting place. I don’t expect a few minutes of talk to settle years of strife.”

  Jeanie looked from the pastor’s red-cheeked face to Mike’s chiseled, tanned profile. Both of them were strong men. She knew Pastor Lewis was her friend and a wise counselor. But he was trying to bend her to his will just like Michael did.

  Or maybe he just thought this was the right thing to do.

  She sank into the chair Pastor Bert pulled out. Michael, straight across the small table while the pastor sat on the end between them, reached out to clasp her hands as if she’d just declared her undying love and agreed to forgive him everything.
/>
  She moved to shake his grip away when the pastor said, “Let’s join hands and pray.”

  With an exhausted, tearful sigh of defeat, Jeanie let Michael hang on even as she knew his grip would pull her under and destroy her.

  four

  Michael fought down the triumphant sense of victory as he held Jeanie’s hand.

  “Jesus said we are to forgive seventy times seven,” the pastor began.

  Seventy times seven equaled four hundred and ninety, and Michael knew he was already way over. He’d probably needed forgiving four hundred and ninety times before their one-month anniversary.

  When the prayer ended, Pastor Lewis focused on Jeanie. “You’ll notice my prayer was one of forgiveness, from God and for each other. It’s not just Michael who has sinned here, Jeanie. When one partner is the more dominant personality, the problem isn’t just that he’s calling the shots; it’s that you’re letting him. He gets in the habit of not listening to you, and you get in the habit of not even telling him what you want.”

  Pastor Bert reached in the breast pocket of his suit coat and pulled out … an inflatable baseball bat. “I want you to hit Michael with this every time he tries to bully you.”

  Jeanie lifted her head. Her shoulders squared. She jerked her hand loose from Michael’s and reached for the bat. She ripped its cellophane wrapper open and began blowing it up with a vengeance.

  “Uh, Pastor Bert, I’ve never heard of this before.” Did he carry one with him at all times? How often did he recommend this technique?

  The pastor ignored him and kept talking to Jeanie. “And this is just for him overruling you, being a bully, demeaning you, insisting on having his way without consulting you or respecting your opinion, hurting your feelings in any way. If you ever feel like Michael is angry at you—we’ve talked in counseling about the fear you lived with. If you feel that, call me anytime, day or night. I will personally come to your place and throw him out.

  “H–her place?” Michael’s heart started pounding. Was the pastor going to recommend they live together? Michael wanted that so badly he was afraid to hope.