by M. Mabie
“Are you hungry?” I asked as we skirted Fairview before heading down the highway toward my place. I could eat, but it was going to be late when we made it to the cabin. Although it was still hot out, it was already dark. If she wanted to grab a quick bite, this was a good time to find one.
“I’m not hungry,” she answered to the window. She sat as close to the door as possible, and it caused me to worry for her. But she had a long road, and she’d have to speak up for what she wanted out here. Nobody was going to make all her decisions anymore, and at first, that would be uncomfortable.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel and gave her another chance. “We’re almost there, but we can stop here in town if you’d like.”
Her thin fingers knotted and slipped over each other. She didn’t answer, and I dropped it. I wasn’t leading a stubborn horse to water hoping it would get thirsty on the way. It had been a long day and she’d probably never been in a vehicle that long.
I’d made a round trip since that morning and was worn out from the drive too.
“I don’t have much at home, but I have eggs and bread. Tomorrow we can come back to town for groceries and whatever else you need.”
Finally, she looked my way. “I can make you an egg sandwich.”
I took a left and accelerated toward the house.
“Myra, that’s not what I meant. You don’t have to wait on me.” I curbed my annoyance, and added, “I didn’t want you to be hungry.” Not being around Lancaster women for so long, I’d forgotten just how docile they could be about every little thing.
Frankly, I didn’t spend much time with any women. If I did, it was Dori and Ashley, and they were the opposite of push-overs.
“Thank you,” Myra whispered.
Soon we passed curve after curve, my favorite part of the highway.
“Down the road a ways is the Grier Mill and lumberyard where I work. The Griers gave me my first job—after I left Lancaster.” We topped a hill and beyond the tree line sat their house. I braked at the bottom and put on my blinker, taking the drive that cut through the back of the lumber yard lot to my cabin.
“I didn’t have anywhere to live, and they let me stay back here. It’s small and primitive, but it’s quiet and peaceful. I lived here for about a year before I talked to them about selling it to me.” I slowed almost to a stop, and we carefully went over the low water crossing at the creek. It had been a dry summer, but with a good rain that creek could come up fast.
She sat straighter, but it was too dark in the valley for her to see much. The thick woods along the dirt road made it pitch black down the lane after dusk. We went around the bend, and my cabin came into view. The light beside the front door made the wrap around porch glow, and I was glad to finally be home.
Although I loved it, I wasn’t blind to how much work the cabin still needed. I glanced her way, hoping for a clue to her thoughts and found nothing, but her breathing was faster, and her hands were tightly clasped on her lap.
I pulled off to the side and backed the truck bed close to the steps, so it would be easier to get her trunks inside. Then, I killed the engine.
“We’re here.”
Her chin rose, and she whispered, “Home.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant for her. But she was safe. She was free. And she wouldn’t have to worry about anything for a while until she landed on her feet. I’d help her any way I could—like the Griers had helped me.
The sound of her deep breaths filled the cab of my pickup. For a split second, I almost reached out to her but caught myself.
“I’ll show you around and then get your things. Come on.”
She only nodded and reached for the door. I followed suit and climbed out of my side. Tentatively, she made her way to the back of the truck and slid through the tiny space between the bed and the step rail. She stood at the top as she looked side to side, and her long skirt swung like a bell. Her long hair met her waist, and the ends moved, caught in the slight breeze that always seemed to flow across the porch.
Slowly, I climbed the steps behind her.
“It wraps around the whole cabin. The back side is nice in the morning.”
“It’s lovely,” she answered, studying the walls and wood decking.
Lovely was a stretch. Almost every other board squeaked.
Then, like an ax, the day hit me all at once.
In a warped way, I was bringing my wife, regardless of circumstances, into my home for the first time. I’d watched movies and learned that it was custom to pick a bride up and carry her over the threshold, but I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate or if it would scare her.
There was also the detail of: we weren’t normal. We hadn’t fallen in love with each other. Courted like people do. Or even really knew each other. And our marriage, although binding, wasn’t normal either.
Still, the image of carrying her into the house flashed through my mind. But thresholds were for lovers, so I slid my key in the lock, and added getting her a set of keys to my errands for that week. I kicked the bottom of the wooden door near the jamb where it stuck a little on humid summer nights. Inside, I held it open for her to pass through before closing it, so the bugs wouldn’t get in.
Suddenly, the home I’d been so proud of looked rough. My secondhand furniture’s rips caught my eye. My rugs were crooked atop dusty wooden floors. When I’d left that morning, it had felt larger somehow. Now everything seemed crowded, shabby, and mismatched.
I marched to the couch, folded the afghan, and lay it over the back.
“Not really what you expected?” I slid my hands into the front pocket of my pants and scrutinized the room like it was the first time I’d been there. Unimpressed.
“I like it,” she offered along with a half-smile.
I leaned against the sofa and pointed. “Kitchen. Bedroom area.” Which was basically just a wall of bookshelves separating it from the rest of the open room. “This is the living room. The bathroom is over there. It’s been updated—unlike the rest of the place. The other door over there is a pantry and storage room. My gun cabinet is in there. Linens. Pot and pants I don’t use. Cleaning supplies.”
She finally looked at me with the mention of cleaning supplies, and I realized how it must have sounded.
“Not that I expect you to clean up after me or do anything like that. In fact, just make yourself at home. Take care of yourself, and I’ll do the same.”
Again, she remained quiet. It was frustrating. I wasn’t a conversationalist but talking to a wall was maddening. Her silence made even me—a man of few words—uncomfortable.
I scratched my beard, racking my mind for the right words. Evidently, not hard enough because I landed on, “Can you just say something already?”
Her cheeks flushed, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. Finally, her eyes landed on mine, and she spoke directly to me. “I’d like to get ready for bed, Abraham.”
28
Myra
It was funny how the Lord worked. I was beginning to think that as much as he had sent Abraham to help me and lead me out of a difficult situation when I needed him, he’d also send me to Abraham.
His truck seemed to run just fine but could use a deep cleaning. The ride had been long, and I didn’t want to bother him while he focused on the road, but now that we were at the cabin, I noticed that it too lacked a woman’s touch.
There were no curtains. The floors needed a good mop. Maybe two. Maybe three. The walls were bare, except for one piece of art and the large shelves that separated the living room from the bedroom. Each level overflowing with book after book. Personally, I didn’t know how anyone could need that many books.
I’d only really needed one. The Word. Then again, I had a few copies myself.
Had he read them all? And if he had, what was the point of keeping them afterward?
His furniture, from what I could tell, was sufficient, but nothing matched or coordinated. Most of the cushions were frayed or ripped, which I
could fix. The end tables, which were made of thick wood looked like they might be nice, under the all the dust and magazines.
On the wall across from the couch where he leaned, a massive television hung between two large windows. I’d never seen a TV that big. It seemed frivolous, but it was his home, and I wasn’t there to judge.
I was there to be his wife.
As nervous as that made me, I was also excited. I’d never been a vain person, and looks were only skin deep. I’d been taught at a very young age to be modest and simple, that God didn’t care about shallow things. We were clean and prudent.
But the more I studied Abraham, my husband, I had to wonder if God didn’t favor some and gift them with more attractiveness. He was the most masculine human I’d ever seen, and even though it wasn’t common in Lancaster, I was growing fond of his longer hair and scruff. After all, he hadn’t had anyone to trim it for him without paying, and I couldn’t fault him for being frugal.
“I’ll get your things. I’m sure you’re tired. It’s been a long day,” he finally replied after a few seconds. Usually, I felt uncomfortable when men looked at me the way he did, but now I only felt blessed.
I had three trunks and a suitcase, and as he hauled in the bigger pieces, which I would deal with in the morning, I packed the smaller one into the bathroom with me.
He’d said the bathroom had been updated, but that was putting it mildly. It was almost out of place in the cabin. The walls were bright white, and every metallic fixture in the room was shiny chrome. There was a walk-in shower that was made completely out of glass and a large tub in front of a window.
The counter was long and instead of a sink it had a large clear bowl basin. The faucet came straight out of the wall under the mirror, and the turn-style knobs had porcelain accents.
It was the most beautiful bathroom I’d ever seen.
Most of the homes I’d been in had decorations in the restrooms. Angels or flowers or simply a colored theme, but this was simple and essentially bare, but I liked it. Since he’d remodeled this himself, I wondered if it was his style.
He seemed like a no-frill kind of man.
Before I opened my small suitcase, I picked up a damp towel that was on the floor and put it in the hamper—which was full. I’d get started on the laundry first thing in the morning. I lifted my case to the large end of the counter, and the first thing I reached for was my hairbrush.
As I studied myself in the mirror, running the bristles, root to tip, I looked at my reflection. My cheeks were rosy, but my eyes seemed brighter.
Would he be pleased with me the way I was with him? I prayed he would be, at least eventually when I learned what he liked. It was a wife’s place to learn their husband’s preferences, but I had no experience and hoped he was patient as I found my way.
My father had liked long hair, and therefore my mother had always let hers grow even if she mostly wore it up in public. Would Abraham like mine shorter? When we became more familiar, if he didn’t tell me outright, I’d ask to be certain.
Did he have a favorite color he’d like to me wear or colors that he didn’t like at all? I’d avoid those. My father liked blue, and Jacob didn’t care. So, if he wanted something different, I’d be busy at my sewing machine, which didn’t sound all that bad.
With that thought, I pulled the nightgown I’d made weeks earlier for my first wedding night and held it to my chest. It was cream satin, which I’d found on sale. That night would be the first time I ever put it on, and the first night anyone else ever saw it.
Hopefully, he’d like it.
29
Abe
After bringing Myra’s trunks in, I parked the truck in the driveway, and just sat there for a while. I told myself it was because I needed a minute to clear my head, a second to gather my thoughts and reaffirm that I’d done the right thing.
But the real reason was the light was on in the bathroom and I was staring at her, brushing her hair in the mirror. In the privacy of the little room, she looked relaxed and peaceful. She looked beautiful, and I shouldn’t have spied on her like I was.
I’d wait until after the light went out, and then hang around outside until hopefully she just went to bed.
After thirty minutes or so, I found my way to the porch and looked inside. The lights were off except one. Dim incandescent beams leaked around the books on my shelves. I tried to remember if I’d even made my bed that morning, knowing that I probably hadn’t.
I’d been in such a hurry. My one-track mind hadn’t thought past making sure she wasn’t auctioned off to some old man who would mistreat her, an innocent woman who didn’t know her own worth.
On the other hand, maybe my place would be so undesirable that it would motivate her to get a job and find one of her own. Sure, we were married, but that was only to satisfy the Legacies. She was free to do what she wanted. Leave when she wanted.
As I sat on the wooden rail looking in, I wondered how long that would take.
The next day would probably be overwhelming for her. The weeks to follow would be full of new experiences, and she’d be cutting her teeth in a world she’d never lived in. Thankfully, unlike me when I left, she had a small cushion to land on in the form of a check in the envelope.
Regardless of the piece my father had snagged, in the name of tithing, she had enough to make a fresh start.
I couldn’t cash it until Monday, and I was almost certain she didn’t know how to handle money anyway. That would be yet another thing I’d have to teach her and another area where I’d had to learn the hard way.
Something caught my eye, breaking through the light filtering through the living room and then the door opened. She stepped out onto the porch, barefoot.
In the twilight, she was a goddess. The way I’d pictured Athena from a Greek mythology book I’d read. Long flowing hair cascaded around her, and she didn’t look like she had earlier. Her arms were slender and bare. Her skin was almost the same creamy color as the sheer fabric she wore. The neckline wasn’t plunging, but it showed her collarbones and chest.
Myra was stunning.
I held tighter to the rail so I wouldn’t fall off, swallowed, and cleared my throat. “What do you need?”
She fidgeted with the material at her sides. “To please my husband.”
Oh my God.
Those words were designed to have the effect they did. My blood ran hot, pulsing, hammering beats through my veins. Visions of sweeping her up into my arms stoked a phantom burning need inside me. An urge that had been planted there in youth, not only had it remained after all this time, but it was stronger than I’d ever realized.
I wasn’t that monster.
Every single molecule in my body disagreed, but I found the will to stay where I was. That wasn’t why I brought her there. Wasn’t why I helped her leave.
Did she think she owed me?
“Myra, it’s—"
From out of nowhere, she interrupted. “It’s our wedding night, Abraham.” Her protest was encouraging but misplaced.
My chest was tight, and my mouth was bone-dry again.
“That wedding didn’t mean anything.”
She flinched. Her blue eyes squinted at me in the moonlight. “But you asked me to be your wife. You made vows.” She found her right hand and rubbed the ring on her finger, and her voice cracked when she added, “You’re wearing a band.”
Had she thought it was all real? That we were going to live like husband and wife? That I expected her to please me that night? Did she not understand it was all a show to get her out of Lancaster?
I realized she was so deeply entrenched into that way of life that she’d also bought into the charade I’d help her put on.
I was the only one who’d known.
“We did all that today so you could get out of Lancaster. So you’d be free to make up your mind about your future.”
She looked at the ground, scanning it side to side. Then, she set her shoulders back, and her eyes ro
se back to mine. “I did make my mind up. I married you. You are my future. That was my choice,” she said. This time when she spoke her voice was strong and sure.
It was more attractive than the sight of her in that gown. She was standing up for herself. Asserting herself. Telling me what she’d wanted. The only problem was, she didn’t even know me and only wanted me out of some blind obligation she’d been brainwashed to fulfill.
I wouldn’t take advantage of that, but also didn’t want to hamper the new voice she’d found.
Before I could think of the right thing to say, she stated, “You don’t want me either.”
Rejection was an ugly feeling, and I didn’t want to cause her any more stress. She’d been through enough in the past few weeks.
The devil on my shoulder begged for me to give her what she wanted.
It would have been easy.
It would have been wrong.
But doing the right thing wasn’t simple, especially with her. It was complicated.
I pinched the bridge of my nose feeling the tension in my head, a thrashing war behind my eyes.
“I’m going to sleep on the couch. Please go to bed. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
She didn’t argue. Didn’t hesitate. Immediately, she turned and left. Minutes later, the light in my bedroom went out.
I FELT THE SUN ON MY face, and the smell of fried eggs hit my nose.
It was late when I finally dozed off on my sofa with my old afghan under my head for a pillow. I’d have to come up with a better sleeping arrangement because my neck was stiff and my back ached. My eyes opened and, looking outside, I could tell it wasn’t as late as I’d estimated. The sun was just peeking through the trees in just the right spot to beam into the living room and heat my skin.
There was water running somewhere, and I lifted my head to look around and see what was going on.
There Myra stood in the kitchen, cooking at the stove, wearing another wrist to neck to ankle length dress. Same as yesterday, just another shade of blue. Her hair was braided, and it hung in a long rope down her back.
