by M. Mabie
Alcohol was forbidden in Lancaster, but when we were moving my father to the nursing home, I’d found a bottle of brandy in his desk. I smelled it before I threw it away but didn’t dare taste it. I had no idea where he’d even bought it, but he hadn’t drunk much because it was mostly full.
“You’re old enough to drink, if you want to. It’s up to you.”
Money was better spent elsewhere. “No, thank you.”
“Like I said, it’s up to you. I have some stuff at home you can try if you want to sometime, and there are always a few beers in the shop.” He pushed the cart forward and almost ran into a lady that looked almost nine months pregnant.
“Watch it, Buster,” she said and chuckled, holding her big belly. “I’m not trying to drop this baby in the middle of Sullivan’s liquor aisle.”
He leaned on the handrail of the cart, looked around, and said, “Sorry, Ashley. Chris with you?”
Ashley wore a strappy yellow dress that hit just above her knees. Her hair was about shoulder length, and it was platinum blonde that faded out to a light pink at the ends. I’d never seen anyone with hair like hers. She waddled around the opposite side of our cart and lightly punched Abraham in the arm.
Why would she touch another man? She was pregnant.
“No, he’s putting the crib together. I couldn’t wait for him to finish. I need cookie dough, and I need it now.” She smiled at him, and he almost looked like a different person. More relaxed. Less serious. Handsome.
“Myra, this is Ashley. She’s a good friend. Her parents own the mill where I work.”
I shifted my purse higher on my shoulder. “Hello, I’m Myra.” I held out my hand. “Abe’s wife.”
31
Abe
Ashley’s eyes popped out about as far as her stomach.
“You’re what?”
I shifted, not sure what to say, and held a hand up. “You’re in a hurry, and it’s a long story.”
My friend’s head fell to the side, and she gawked from me to Myra—who was rim-rod straight beside me—and back again. “It can’t be that long, I just saw you last week.”
I wasn’t getting into it in the middle of the grocery store. “I’ll talk to you guys later. We’re on our way out.”
“Chris is going to die,” she said. “Have you talked to Mom and Dad?”
I hadn’t talked to anyone, and even if I had, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. What was done was done. I hadn’t planned on breaking it to anyone so fast, but now that Asley knew, so would they. Work was going to be interesting the next day.
“I’ll see them tomorrow,” I replied and rocked the cart back and forth. “We’ve got to go. See you later, Ash.”
She waddled off, but I heard her utter, “Holy shit,” under her breath as she went the other way.
Usually Myra didn’t stare, but when I turned to her, her eyes were glued to Ashley. The two women couldn’t have been more opposite, but in time I hoped that they might become friends. First, Ashley knew about Lancaster, so she’d understand why and how Myra was... well, like Myra. And secondly, Ashely—as crazy as she was—would be a good influence on her. At the very least, she’d be a woman that Myra could talk to about things I didn’t know about.
“Let’s go,” I said, and just like that Myra snapped out of it and fell into step with me on the way to the register.
“Is that her first baby?” Myra asked as she helped me unload the cart.
“Yes.” I lifted a five-pound bag of flour out and set on the conveyor. Was five pounds really necessary? “Ashely and Chris married a few summers back.”
She handed me the eggs and bread from the place where children usually rode in the front. “They waited that long?”
“People in the real world have kids when they want, Myra. Or not at all sometimes. That’s their business, not yours,” I countered. I was short with her, but she was wrong to be judgmental. We weren’t in Lancaster and every couple’s purpose in life outside of that crazy town wasn’t to build up the Lord’s army. Couples had children when they were ready, not because they’d been brainwashed into believing it would get them to Heaven.
After that, she got quiet again and didn’t say another word until we got back to the cabin. I didn’t have to tell her where to put things, because, right or wrong, she knew her way very well around a kitchen.
“What should I make tonight?” she asked as she gathered the empty bags and put them all into one.
I could already see her falling into a routine of cooking and cleaning, and that wasn’t the point of all this. I answered, “I’ll grill later.” Even though my stomach growled thinking about all the familiar home cooking ingredients she’d had me buy, but I needed to set a precedent. “You can do something for me though.”
Right away, her eyes found mine, waiting for instruction. If it had been genuine, if she’d really wanted to please me, it would have been nice. To her I was just a husband, and so it was annoying for a handful of reasons. The biggest one was how pretty she was and didn’t even know it.
I needed some alone time to get my head on straight.
“Let me see your phone.”
On cue, she rounded the island and pulled the device from her purse. It was off.
“You should leave it on.” The sales guy installed a few common apps on the home screen, but I needed to log into my accounts, so she could download books or music, with the hope that she’d actually do it. “Do you remember how to ask Google questions?” They’d showed her at the store.
“I think so,” she replied.
“Try it. Ask something.” I handed it back to her. “Something you’re interested in knowing.”
After a moment, she spoke directly into the end of the phone, clearly and slow. “Google, what can I make with fresh raspberries?” That was a good start, but she forgot part, and the phone did nothing.
“You have to say, Okay, Google.” But when I said it the phone came alive. I nodded for her to continue with her question.
“What can I make with fresh raspberries?” Her eyes lit up when thumbnails of different recipes showed up on her phone. Even though she wasn’t really asking any deep, meaningful questions, it was a start.
If I was honest though, it was also a little bit me selfishly wanting some homemade dessert and a lot of the smile she was wearing, and I let it go at that.
She scrolled, and it was fun watching her browse. “Did you find something?”
“I found many. They all look good.”
To me, cooking was a chore. Baking would be a disaster. But, as she scrolled and swiped, it was plain to see it made her happy. I suppose that was how I felt about building things, which was what I was about to do.
“No more cleaning today,” I told her as I pulled a water bottle from the case by the refrigerator. “Play with your phone, get used to it. Get settled in. Relax. I’m going to the shop to get some work done. If you need anything, then send me a text.” I’d already programmed her number into my phone, and to show her how to do it, the store guy had programmed mine into hers. So I pulled mine out and typed Hi into a message as I stood by the kitchen door.
When her cell chimed, she read it and once more her grin was ear to ear.
It took her a few minutes, but after I opened the shop and got a breeze moving through it by opening the big doors on either end, I had a message.
MYRA: Thank you, Abe.
I turned on the radio, got lost in some classic rock, and sanded cherry wood until it was as smooth as glass. While I worked, I thought about her smile, the way her lips felt the day before, and how tempting she was in the nightgown on my porch.
Luckily, I wasn’t doing saw work because those images were dangerous all by themselves. I didn’t need to lose a finger and my soul.
32
Myra
I wasn’t supposed to clean, but the laundry would be wrinkled if I didn’t take it out of the dryer. And even though I tried to ignore it for a while, I folded it.
Abraham would probably be at work the next day, so I decided that’s when I’d really get some work done around the cabin. The phone had a handy notes feature, so I made myself a list of chores to accomplish that week.
There was this thing called Pinterest that man at the store showed me how to use that was truly incredible.
“Women love this app,” he’d said. “You’ll get addicted though so watch out. My girlfriend has about six thousand boards for everything you can think of.” I was glad that he’d saved my email address into the notes because it seemed like everything under the sun needed it. He couldn’t believe that I didn’t have one, but it took him no time at all to set it up.
I wasn’t very good at typing things into the phone, so it took me a while to get the hang of it, but he was right. Before I knew it, a few hours had passed, and I already had a handful of boards on my account. One for cooking and a thing called life hacks and beautiful quotes and scriptures and another few for sewing and gardening. There was so much that it was overwhelming.
Since Abraham said he was grilling, there wasn’t anything for me to prepare or get ready, but it was getting later in the evening, so I decided to sit on the porch in a rocker that faced the shed. The afternoon sun was behind the trees, and it was quiet.
So, I talked to God.
I’m still confused about many things, but today has been an easier day. So, thank you.
Abraham isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met before, and I wonder if that’s good or bad. He doesn’t follow the same rules that my family and everyone else does, but I still get the feeling he’s a Godly man. A believer. He’s quoted The Book, and he’s honest with me.
He talks a lot, but it doesn’t seem very natural to him. He’s nothing like the Pastor, but he also didn’t seem wild like the woman I met at the grocery store. I wasn’t trying to be judgmental, but so much here doesn’t make sense.
The way people speak and dress and behave. Was Abraham right? Do you not care about how we represent you? Because that’s what I was always told. My appearance should honor my father and you. I suppose, now it should honor Abraham and you. I don’t think he likes my long dresses, but I don’t think I’d be comfortable out in public as undressed as Ashley, although it was a pretty fabric and shape and looked much cooler for the hot weather.
Please watch over my father and reunite him with mom and Maureen before his body causes him too much pain. I’m afraid his mind is already there and gone.
Please give me the patience to listen to the man you’ve chosen for me, even if he says our marriage doesn’t mean anything to him. I hope in time, and if I can become more of a woman he’d want, that will change. Guide me through all these new things and offer your wisdom so that I’ll glorify you and Abraham.
I still believe you have a plan for us. Thank you for not forsaking me.
And just as my mind ended that quiet time with Him, Abraham walked out of the building. It must have been very hot in there, and he lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe perspiration from his face. Even though he was many feet away, the sight of his bare stomach and chest for the second time that day made my stomach do flips and my heart race.
If God didn’t want us together, then why did I feel such a powerful pull to him. Why did my body react like it was? Why did I want him to take me? To have my virtue?
I had to trust it was because it was meant to be.
Wanting to be helpful, I went inside and pulled a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator and lined a large bowl with a paper towel. I carried them with me down to the shed. He was working on a chair hanging in front of him and I cleared my throat to let him know I was there.
“Are you thirsty?” I asked. “I thought you might want a cold bottle.” I offered it to him and walked closer for him to grab it. I wasn’t very knowledgeable about woodworking, but the table and chairs looked darker than they had that morning when he’d shown them to me.
“Thank you,” he said and drank almost the whole thing.
I’d never been the kind of woman to ask a lot of questions. I was under the impression that men didn’t want to be badgered about this or that, but when I didn’t speak, that seemed to bother him more. I had to try because in only that one day he’d been so gracious with me.
I swallowed and asked, “Are you getting a lot done?”
His hand ran through his hair, and he pulled it out of his face. “Some. I’ll be able to take these to town this week.” That was good because according to the shop owners, his furniture was popular. “I’d like to finish a few pieces over there just to get the places in town more stock. I’ll be busy down here for a while to get caught up.” He finished his water and tossed the empty plastic into a large barrel along the wall. It hit the rim but bounced off instead of falling inside.
I was closer, so I knelt to pick it up. “I found even more raspberry recipes on that Pinterest thing.” There’d been hundreds to choose from. “I’m going to pick some and make the—” I paused to make sure I got the name right—"Old World Raspberry Crunch Streusel Topped Crumble Bars I found.”
His mouth pinched together and pulled to one side, and his hazel eyes softened at the sides. “That was a mouthful.” He charmed me with that look.
I wasn’t sure if he was making a joke or not, but I was laughing anyway. Like a silly girl, I giggled and covered my mouth with my hand, embarrassed that I couldn’t stop.
He pitched forward and wrapped his thick fingers around my wrist, then moved my hand down to my side.
“Don’t cover that up.”
My body flushed like it had right before he kissed me at our banding ceremony.
God, let him kiss me like that again.
The cheeriness in his eyes changed to something more somber, and when he released my arm the air in my chest collapsed in on itself, and I had to pull a deep breath to refill all the empty space.
“I need to finish in here.” He turned his back to me and marched to the farthest chair hanging from the hooks. “You’ve got berries to pick.”
33
Abe
Myra laughed.
She could cover her body. Hide her flesh and her bones from the world—for now, if that made her comfortable.
But when she laughed, I demanded to see it.
I wasn’t a funny man, but I was creative and motivated to hear it again.
34
Abe
By the time I closed the shop, satisfied with what I’d accomplished that afternoon, and made it back into the cabin, she already had the dessert baked and cooling on the island. My home smelled warm and nostalgic as I washed my hands at the sink.
She’d cooked for herself, not me. It was something she enjoyed, not a chore that she was obligated to do. I reminded myself this repeatedly until the guilt about my excitement to eat it later went away. It felt like I was always talking myself off a ledge around her.
“I don’t cook all that great but grill a nice burger.”
Myra was sat on the couch, legs crossed, and to my surprise, she was holding a book. I couldn’t tell which one she’d pulled from the shelf because it was open on her lap, and it wasn’t my business, but I was curious if she’d went with fiction or non. I had a big selection of both. Some good, some bad of both too.
For her sake, I hope she’d found one of the former.
“What can I do to help?”
“If you’re reading, just relax. I can manage.” After washing my hands, I unwrapped the ground chuck and threw it the mixing bowl she’d washed and put on the rack to dry. “The raspberry crisp thing smells good.” I wished I could have remembered the obnoxious name she’d called it before, but it was too much.
“It does. The berries you have are sweet, and I didn’t find a single bug. Do you spray them with anything?”
Spray the wild berries that grew beside the garage? No.
“Nah, other than just picking a couple off every now and again, I don’t touch them.”
She stood and sat the b
ook face down on the coffee table. “What a waste, but I’m sure you’re busy.”
I threw spices, salt and pepper, and a few dashes of dried onion into the bowl and began to mash it around with my hands. “It would be more of a waste if I picked them and didn’t eat them. At least out there the birds and animals can have what they want.” When everything was blended, I pounded the meat into a ball in the bottom of the metal bowl. “I usually fry potatoes with burgers. Is that okay with you?”
First, she nodded and then spoke out loud. “That sounds good. What can I do?”
Impressed that she was at least cutting back on the nod-yes, nod-no replies, I answered, “There’s a skillet in the pantry I use, grab that and some oil and then come keep me company.” She’d experienced a lot of new things for one day, and she’d left everyone she knew behind, there had to be something she wanted to talk about, and if she had questions, I wanted her to know she could ask me.
As she ducked into the pantry, I crooked my head to the side to get a peek at the spine of the book as I walked toward the door.
The Holy Bible.
Not that I hadn’t read it more than once, but I was disappointed. Not only because she was reading her Bible when I’d told her to relax and find something fun to do, but also because the idea of talking to someone about a story or topic from one of my bookshelves had almost sounded appealing.
The guys at work were not readers, and other than them and the Griers, I didn’t have anyone to discuss things like that with. It wasn’t like I was joining a book club.
She was coming out right behind me, so I held the door for her and let it shut after she squeezed by.
I pointed to the range-style side at the end of my small grill, and she set it on the burner.
“Abe,” she began, stretching my name out intentionally making a show of not calling me Abraham as I’d requested. Again, I was conflicted. I was keen on her not calling me Abraham, but it also made me cringe that she was just being obedient. “Would you like a glass of lemonade while you cook? I made some earlier.”
