Bossy Bridegroom

by Mary Connealy

  “Show me the potatoes and tell me how many to peel. You’ve got a lot of anger stored up, and I’m going to prove to you that I can take it. I deserve it, and you deserve a chance to vent.”

  Jeanie dumped a ten-pound bag of potatoes in the sink and snapped a peeler on the counter with a metallic click. She whacked him with the bat as he picked up the peeler.

  “What’s that for?”

  “That’s for giving me permission to be angry with the husband who deserted me and my child.”

  Michael started skinning the potatoes in silence.

  She set the bat on the countertop so she could bake a couple of pans of brownies, but she kept it within grabbing distance.

  seven

  Michael was out of breath just keeping up with her.

  They’d finished at the senior center, walked back to the nursing home—she’d worked a shift there—and visited her hospice patients who were residents of the manor. And the day wasn’t over yet. They headed for the nursing home exit to—Michael presumed—walk another mile.

  “Now you’ve got a town meeting? We’ve been up since 5:00 a.m., and I slept in my car last night.” He jumped back, and the bat missed him.

  Jeanie stopped and crossed her arms over Old Hickory. He knew that look. After one day he knew that look. “I’m sorry. It was instinct. Go ahead and let me have it.”

  He stepped closer but noticed she didn’t bother to swing again. Was it possible her arm was tired? He was pretty sure that, even though it was latex and air, she’d left some bruises. The woman had a lot of suppressed anger.

  “Well, I didn’t sleep much at all. Having my husband show up and start screaming at me was pretty upsetting.”

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t bother swinging. She was tired. Maybe now was a good time to try to make some headway in this mess of a marriage.

  “I’ve studied the meaning of marriage. God’s meaning. God called men to love their wives as Christ loved the church. Christ died for the church. He cried over it. He healed and performed miracles and pleaded and preached and walked all over the nation of Israel trying to spread His message of love. I’m going to do that for you, Jeanie. I promise before you and God. I’ve been convicted of the depth of my sin, and I only want a chance to make it up to you. I owe you so much. I’ve hurt you so much. I’ve—”

  “Enough!” Jeanie left the nursing home and set out for Main Street. Michael trailed along one leash short of heeling like a dog.

  He had followed her like this all day. He’d tried to help in any way he could while Jeanie put in a four-hour shift. The nursing home administrator put him to work. They had a list a mile long ready for unsuspecting volunteers. He’d mowed and weeded flower beds and moved furniture. Then he’d folded laundry, dragging a basket of it with him while he visited with patients. Jeanie had directed him to two different rooms with people lying immobile in their beds, asleep or unconscious.

  “Talk to them,” she’d said. “They’re my hospice patients.”

  Not eager to be turned into a line drive, he’d obeyed. At a loss, he’d told the patients about his bungled marriage. He hoped the sound of his own voice would give him some bright ideas. The folks he visited slept.

  Now here they were off to a committee meeting. Michael sighed, but even that he did quietly. Maybe there was something to that bat. He was definitely beginning to think before he spoke.

  People stood in line to hug his wife, and it chafed him. Michael waited patiently, but his jaw was tense until the warm greetings ended. He knew this reaction. He’d called it love when they were married, but it was jealousy—or more accurately, self-centeredness. He wanted Jeanie to stand slightly behind him while people made a fuss over him.

  God, please make me a better man. Forgive me for my sins. Take away that old nature.

  He noticed Carolyn Herne from the nursing home church service and saw the man who must be her husband, Mayor Bucky. His wife was a slim redhead, full of motion and energy.

  Mayor Herne was grayer, rounder, and slower. But he had a great smile and a hearty manner that everyone responded to. The mayor took the center seat at a table at the front of the room. Two other men and one woman sat beside him.

  The mayor rapped a gavel. They dispensed quickly with a roll call, minutes, and a treasurer’s report. Then the mayor asked about new business and started talking. “All right, let’s get the plans in motion for the Memorial Day celebration.”

  Jeanie and Michael sat at the back of the few short rows of chairs in the large auditorium. Michael quit listening. He prayed silently as he tried to look clearly at all the ins and outs of his selfishness. He was so focused on his prayers and asking for forgiveness and healing from what seemed like reactions imbedded on an instinctive level, terribly hard to overcome, he didn’t notice the room had fallen silent for a while. He looked up.

  Everyone stared at him.

  “What?” He glanced at Jeanie for an explanation.

  “I just told them you’d be involved with the Memorial Day celebration, too.”

  Michael only knew Jeanie was involved, and anything she did, he’d do. “That’s right.” He smiled at the gathered group of about twenty. “I want to help. You know Jeanie told me that the Shaw Ranch’s buffalo are a pretty good tourist attraction. Maybe if you used—” Michael quit because Jeanie’s fingernails had started digging into his forearm. If he kept talking, it might end up with him scarred for life. Some men got their wife’s name tattooed on their arm. He’d have a slightly different permanent keepsake—claw marks.

  “We thought this year we’d try to focus on the veterans more. We always do a ceremony at the city hall and end it at the cemetery, but we thought this time …”

  Michael had felt a glimmer of excitement when he imagined the quiet little town bustling with tourists, tram rides out to the ranch, games and shows focusing on the former history of the area when buffalo roamed free, Wild West costumes, and maybe a small rodeo. Wild Bill Hickok was from South Dakota, wasn’t he? Or Buffalo Bill Cody maybe? Deadwood. Mount Rushmore. Lots of possible ideas. And with Cold Creek flowing through town, wide enough for some water sports—at least canoeing or rafting or fishing tournaments—the town was full of possibilities. If they planned to play it safe instead of doing something exciting, he wasn’t all that interested.

  He mostly ignored the meeting, concentrating instead on praying for self-control and a miracle. He figured he needed both to win Jeanie back.

  What little he caught was very routine. Standard Memorial Day fare. Blah, blah, blah, flags. Blah, blah, blah, trumpets. Blah, blah, blah, twenty-one-gun salute. Nothing much earthshaking there. Sure he’d help. Maybe they’d let him mow the grass at the cemetery or something. Jeanie, who kept raising her hand and saying, “I’ll help,” like some kind of jack-in-the-box, was probably already doing it, so he’d pitch in.

  The meeting broke up, and the same round of hugs wore on his nerves.

  Jeanie seemed to be quite the local celebrity. More likely the local doormat. Michael knew only too well she’d be good at that.

  Pastor Bert had said she had a servant’s heart. Well, the whole town had tapped into it. But not him. Oh no. The husband gets left out in the cold.

  Everyone else left. He helped Jeanie fold up the chairs and return them to the rolling racks. When they were finished, she produced a key for the building.

  How’d she get that?

  They left through the back door of the aging Main Street structure that opened to the same alley containing Jeanie’s staircase. She locked up, pocketed the key, and whacked him with the bat.

  On about the fifth whack, when she showed no sign of stopping, he grabbed the stupid thing. “What did I do?”

  She jerked it loose from his grip, but she stopped with the puffy beating. “I’ve known you a long time, Michael. I could read your mind. Well, what I do in this town is my choice. It’s my life! You think I need to give up that life for you. I won’t. Every time you grind your teeth
or clench your jaw to keep from saying the bossy things you’re thinking, I’m hitting you for that, too.”

  “That’s not fair. I deserve some credit for controlling myself.”

  “You deserve nothing.” With a guttural scream of frustration, she turned and marched toward her apartment, which meant she walked ten feet. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you tonight.”

  In all honesty, Michael couldn’t believe it either.

  “It won’t last long. I’ve never seen you go a full day without losing your temper.” She stomped up the old steps, making so much noise Michael was afraid the staircase might collapse. “I’ll have you pitched out on your ear before the evening is over.”

  Michael jogged to catch up. “Let me take you out to supper. It’s nine o’clock, I know, but you’ve barely eaten all day.” He’d barely eaten either.

  “Don’t you mean you’ve barely eaten all day?”

  “No, I’m just—I want to take care of you in some little way. Please, Jeanie? It’s not about the food. It’s about me trying to start, some little way, proving to you that I’m a changed man.”

  Jeanie snorted as she dug out her key for this ridiculous excuse for an apartment. If he rented a better place, she’d never agree to move into it with him, so he didn’t say a word as he hurried inside, afraid she’d lock him out if she had the least chance.

  “I told Mrs. Tippens you’d clean out her gutters tomorrow. She’s living at the nursing home, but she still owns a house, and she worries about it.”

  “Mrs. Tippens? I remember her. She slept through the church service.”

  Jeanie’s glare nearly caught his hair on fire. “She woke up once for a few minutes, and she frets. This will put her mind at ease. You clean gutters while I’m getting dinner at Golden Days.”

  “Okay, I’d be glad to.”

  Jeanie went into what might be laughingly described as the kitchen.

  The whole main room of the apartment was about fifteen-by-fifteen feet. Three doors in the wall opposite where they’d come in were opened. One was Jeanie’s bedroom, complete with a single bed. One was a tiny bathroom. The other seemed empty. He’d be sleeping there no doubt. He wondered if anyone in town sold inflatable mattresses.

  The kitchen took up one corner. She opened a refrigerator circa 1950 and dragged out a loaf of bread and a couple of other things. “If you’re hungry, I’ve got some sliced turkey.” She set things on her countertop—which was two feet of cracked and curled black linoleum. She was so obviously making just one sandwich that Michael didn’t hesitate. Good excuse to stand next to her anyway.

  He built a nice turkey sandwich with mayo, dill pickles, cheese, and lettuce. He noticed she ate hers without mayo and with a meager serving of turkey. No wonder she was so thin. “After I’m done with Mrs. Tippens’s gutters, I’ll stop for groceries. I can help with the bills.”

  Jeanie turned on him. “You’re not going to be here long enough to pay for anything.”

  Michael couldn’t stop a smile when he heard the tone of her voice and saw the fire in her eyes.

  “You think this is funny?”

  “No, I think you’re wonderful.” He reached out, a little afraid he’d draw back a stump, but he couldn’t resist resting his hand against her cheek. “I think I was a fool to try to mold you into some perfect, submissive wife, because I had no idea what perfect was. I love what you’ve become since you got away from me. I made it harder for you to get here, but you made it. I’m proud of you. Let’s go sit on your couch and exchange our lists, like the pastor told us.”

  Jeanie’s eyes wavered. She still loved him—he had to believe it. But she didn’t trust him, and he had to respect that. She watched as he centered his sandwich on his plate, cut into two perfect triangles.

  Jeanie had left hers whole, and it was far less tidy than Michael’s. He knew, when they’d been together, he’d have said just a few mocking words about slapping a sandwich together. He’d have made sure she felt that little pinch of criticism. She hadn’t been able to breathe to suit him during their entire marriage and most of their years of dating.

  “You should have had a bat right from the first.”

  Jeanie looked at the bat she’d leaned against the refrigerator while she made her meal.

  “I can’t think of a single thing I love about you, Michael.”

  His stomach twisted as he internally rejected her words. “Well, I’ve got a lot I love about you, and I hope after we’ve been together for a while, you’ll discover some things to love about me. I don’t want it to be about before, because nothing we loved about each other was healthy. Let’s go sit down.”

  He led the way, and when he sat down, he saw she’d brought along her trusty Louisville Slugger.

  Michael had jotted a few things down. He pulled the list out of his jeans pocket.

  eight

  Jeanie saw that piece of paper and felt as if Michael were going to read her death certificate.

  He’d always had a rare gift of charming her out of a bad mood—in the early days—when he’d tried. Later he’d just browbeaten her. She fought to keep cool, keep distant.

  Michael sat on the couch, and Jeanie headed for the one overstuffed chair.

  “Please sit beside me.”

  “Fine, let’s hear this list.” She sank onto her bristly, threadbare couch, made sure there was three feet between them, and took a hefty bite out of her sandwich, barely resisting the urge to do something gross like chew with her mouth open or dribble crumbs on her lap. That’d make him crazy.

  She braced herself to slap down every superficial thing he said. She expected to hear him claim to love all the things he’d tried to change.

  “I love that you’ve become a woman of faith.”

  Well, rats. How was she supposed to slap that down? She took another bite to keep from telling him she was proud of his new faith, too.

  “I love that you’re caring for people in need. Your kindness was always the most alluring thing about you.”

  Jeanie rolled her eyes, wanting him to know she wasn’t affected by his words—even though she was. She kept eating, and her sandwich was shrinking fast. What excuse was she supposed to have for silence once the food was gone?

  “It’s true, Jeanie. I took advantage of your sweetness and your low opinion of yourself. I grabbed you and started right in making sure you thought you were lucky to have me. You were funny and popular. You could have had any guy you wanted.”

  “I don’t want a guy.”

  “I want you to know that I’ve been faithful to you these years we’ve been apart. I’m not going to claim it was because I’m so honorable. No man who abandons his family can kid himself about honor. But the truth is I threw myself into working after I left. I was so cocky.” He clenched his fists and shook them. “So sure I could rule the world, be rich, show you, show everyone how great I was. I just focused only on that.”

  “Whatever.” She did her best to act like it didn’t matter—but it did. It mattered so terribly. She’d always pictured him leaving her for another woman. The thoughts had tormented her, deepened her sense of failure.

  She set her empty plate aside and stared at her hands, folded in her lap like a good girl. The pastor had asked something of them, and Michael had delivered. Her husband-the-rat was sincere about his new faith. Three months ago he’d made a commitment to Christ. If she was too hard on him, could she possibly undermine a new baby Christian? She didn’t want to mend their marriage. What could she do but be honest? God asked for nothing less.

  “Michael, I’ll tell you what I love about you.” She met his eyes. His were a darker blue than hers. Right now they were locked on her, gazing, giving her a chance in a way he never had before.

  “I’m a Christian. I became a Christian after I abandoned Sally. I ran off and left her, giving Buffy the papers she needed to begin adoption proceedings. When I left, I was as low as a person can sink. I hated myself, and I guess I’m not the suicidal typ
e, because I never considered it, but I didn’t feel like I deserved to live.”

  “Jeanie, I—”

  “Stop.” Jeanie held up her hand. She could see it cost him, but he quit talking. “I need to finish this.”

  Nodding, Michael subsided against the couch cushions, his lips clamped shut.

  “I’m a believer. Jesus said plainly we’re to love God and love our neighbors. Those are His greatest commandments. So I love you. I am happy for you that you’ve found Christ, and I can see the change in you. I can see you trying to be kind, and that’s something you never wasted a second on before.”

  Michael rubbed his hand over his mouth, clearly trying to hold back words. His blatant regret weakened her resolve. If she gave him another chance, he really would try. She believed that. She also believed he’d fail.

  “But as far as a romantic love, I just don’t feel it. The only emotion you stir that isn’t negative—and there are plenty of those—the only twinges of love I’ve had for you are sick. They seem like traces of that old dependence. I’m afraid of loving you. Honestly, Michael, loving you and mending our relationship might destroy me, and it might destroy you, too. Can you honestly say you’re not afraid of slipping back into that awful excuse we had for a marriage?”

  After so obviously wanting to interrupt her before, now he didn’t speak. His shoulders slumped, and he set his own sandwich plate aside and reached out tentatively to take her hands. She almost pulled away, but his demeanor, so defeated and humble, was such a surprise that she hesitated and he had her. She decided not to dispute the touch—for now.

  “I am afraid. I am. But I also believe God calls us to one marriage and the vows are for life. If we can’t make our marriage work, then we both have to be alone forever. I don’t want a life like that.”

  “I do.”

  Tightening his grip, he shook his head. “You only want to be alone because I made it so bad for us. Maybe it’s true that we can’t be together. But I think we dishonor God by not at least trying.”