by M. Mabie
Still modest, but she looked more comfortable. I liked it.
“I can make you breakfast, and I think I’ve found the trick to your coffee,” she greeted with her phone in her hand. “Good morning.” She was much more chipper than I was and the scent of lemon and something clean filled the air around her.
“I’m not really hungry.” I stretched and scratched the back of my neck, noticing how much better I felt from the day before, and then looked around for my mug. It wasn’t beside the sink where I kept it but opening the cabinet door, I saw it right away.
She’d cleaned it. There wasn’t a smudge or stain to be seen. She un-seasoned it to the point of looking new again.
“The pin I read says the key to a great tasting pot of coffee is a clean coffee maker and fresh cold water.”
I wasn’t aware that my coffee hadn’t tasted great all along, but it was early, and I needed at least a cup to know anything. The maker looked good, and the decanter was full. I pressed my thumb to the flappy lid and took a sniff. All seemed well.
I poured my cup and took a sip as she waited eagerly, watching me sample it.
It was hot. Maybe a little less bitter. But all in all, it was coffee, and it would do the trick.
Her brows lifted, and bright eyes squinted. She hadn’t made that expression around me before, and it was cute even though it felt too early. “I didn’t drink any. So I’m not sure if it’s good or not.”
“It tastes like coffee.” Still, any coffee you don’t make yourself always tastes somewhat different, but, more or less, it wasn’t anything too odd or off from normal.
“Good. I did it.” She lightly clapped her hands in front of her and let them fall to the center of her apron. “I wasn’t sure if I’d get it right. There are so many different kinds and brews and machines and flavors.”
It was hard to tell if it was the caffeine bringing me to life or something else.
“You made it. You should give it a try.”
You would have thought I’d asked her to take a shot of whiskey or a hit off a joint by the way she waved her hand.
“No, thank you. It’s not for me.” She cavorted around me between the counter and the island. “I don’t need it.”
“Who really needs it? It’s a crutch. Sometimes just starting your morning with something good and familiar is nice. Sets you up for a good day.”
Her head fell to one side and her lips pursed. She was skeptical, but I was swaying her.
Not one to pressure or coax, I took another drink and placed the mug on the counter beside her hand. She was a grown woman, and if she didn’t want it, who cared?
I needed to get my boots on.
Not even a minute later, I watched as I tied my laces. She lifted it to her nose, and her face relaxed. She liked the smell. Slowly, she brought the mug to her lips and tried it, and then almost immediately bent over the sink and spit it out, shaking her head back and forth.
A laugh bubbled up my chest, and I sat back to watch with only one shoe on.
She wiped her mouth, turning around. “You drink that every day?”
My view of her was changing to someone who looked less like a victim.
She shook her head again, and her hair swung. “No. I don’t need that.” She made a face and stuck her tongue out, cringing. When she stopped, she smiled back at me, still laughing on the lumpy couch feet away. “What time do you get home?”
Home from her lips was something novel for me. It had been my home, but now I shared it. “It changes. If we’re working at the mill, just after four. If we’re logging, I might be gone a few days or a week. Just depends.”
Her smile slipped. “You’re gone for a week sometimes?”
I hadn’t really thought about it with everything else going on, but we’d logged a few weeks back, so we wouldn’t go out again for a while. “Not often, but yeah.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she drew a deep breath. I’d never had anyone around who’d notice I was gone before, and although I didn’t want to worry her, it was almost nice that she looked disappointed by the thought of me not around.
I shook it off.
As quickly as she was adapting, she might change her mind.
“What are your plans today?” I asked and put on my other boot. I enjoyed watching her experience new things, and work was important, but I hoped I wouldn’t miss anything big. There was plenty for me to do in the shop when I got home that evening, but I was looking forward to four.
37
Myra
My plans for the day were to mop the floors and clean the windows, which badly needed it. The view was so beautiful, I could only imagine how much brighter it would be with perfectly clear glass. Abraham probably wouldn’t even notice, which was fine. He’d told me more than once that he didn’t expect me to clean and tend to the cabin, but it was just in my nature.
If he was working, I should be too.
Dishonesty wasn’t something I was comfortable with, so I just told him about some of my plans that I thought he’d approve of. “I might take a walk. Unpack a little more.” He had plenty of space in his closet for my clothes.
He slapped the arm of the couch and rose to his feet. “Good idea. I’ll clean out a few drawers for you before I head out.” Before I said anything else, he was in the bedroom making a ruckus.
“I only need one,” I called and refilled his coffee mug. “Do you mind if I cook tonight?”
“Are you politely saying I’m not a good cook?” he called back.
I smiled, fond of when he spoke casually to me like that. “No.”
He walked back into the kitchen and stepped close to me. “The top drawer is yours. You can cook if you want, as long as you understand you don’t have to.” He drank the mug down until it was empty and leaned around me, sitting it beside the sink. “Don’t wash that.”
I had no idea why he kept his cup dirty, but I didn’t understand coffee anyway.
He was less than an arm’s length away, and like usual his nearness made me a feel a certain way. Tense. Wound up. On edge. Needy.
I’d spent the entire night like that, although I liked it better than sleeping alone.
He looked down at me, his eyes greener than I’d noticed before, and offered me a tight grin under his beard where I was learning he hid them. “If you need anything, I’ll have my phone on me. Leave yours on too.”
“I will,” I said. “Have a good day.”
“You too.”
Neither of us moved. When I was a child, that would have been the moment when my father gave my mom a kiss on the cheek before he went to the bank. By that time, they’d been married for years and years, and I wondered if he’d kissed her at first or if it had taken them time to work up to that too.
The moment passed, and he exhaled before saying, “Okay, then. See you later.”
I was patient, I could wait until later, and however long it took to earn goodbye kisses.
HIS FLOOR POLISHED right up. It didn’t look new from a simple sweep and mop or anything, but there was a vast improvement. And I was right about the windows too, it was sunnier in there, and it was like you could walk right through the bigger windows. He’d left me ample space for my undergarments and luckily had enough hangers for me to add my clothes to his closet.
I’d expected those chores to take me longer than they did. So when I finished only a few hours later, and it was still too early for lunch, I decided to nose around. He didn’t have any pictures, but he had one piece of artwork that hung in the living room. I liked the colors, but I couldn’t tell what it was of. Golds and bronzes, browns, black and white. It kind of looked like a type of rock or something.
I tried to turn on the television, but I couldn’t get anything on the picture except static and gave up quick.
For whatever reason, his bookshelf intimidated me, and as I glanced over the spines on one certain shelf, I noticed one word a lot of them had in common.
Cult.
The titles di
dn’t shape that word in a good light, and I wasn’t familiar with the term. Surviving a Cult. The After-Cult Life. Cults and Conspiracies. And a dozen more the same. I didn’t like the eeriness they gave me, and instead poured myself a glass of lemonade and went outside where the sun was shining, and there were no dark clouds in sight.
I played with Pinterest, again losing myself in the endless things there. I made a new board for long hair, and then, out of curiosity, typed in the spot at the top: How to Make Your Husband Happy.
Oh, my word.
There were articles about reigniting the spark and rekindling a marriage, but they didn’t really apply to my situation. I was searching for the first spark.
There were also intimate photos of couples holding each other, embracing, and some were mouth-to-mouth with headlines about how to make husbands happy sexually.
My heart raced. I shouldn’t have been looking at such sleazy things, but I was inexperienced and if it could help make Abraham want me ...
I tapped on one of them, took a steadying breath, and then glanced back at the phone. Graphic photos were loaded, my mind swam, and shame heated my cheeks.
I couldn’t do it. I’d only had that machine for a day, and already the wickedness had pulled me in. I’d fallen prey to temptation, and I turned it off before it could corrupt me like I’d always been told the hedonistic world would.
Earlier that year, a young man in Lancaster had been caught with pornography, and he’d been punished with Service and Testimony. I wasn’t sure if it was even possible for me, not living there anymore to be reprimanded like that, but I knew one thing.
God was always watching.
I considered removing the application from my phone but decided not to. I’d employ more self-control.
My heart raced, knowing I’d wandered onto something I shouldn’t have. My first thought was to pray for forgiveness, for Him to not judge me on my weak moment. However, it didn’t seem right praying when I could still see those images so vividly in my mind.
I needed a distraction and decided to freeze raspberries. It was the right thing to do.
As I plucked and worked, I wondered how things were back home. How was Father doing? If Matthew had stayed to visit or returned to Newmecula. What people were saying about me being re-banded and leaving with Abraham. Did anyone miss me?
After spreading the washed fruit on cookie sheets and sticking them in the freezer like one article had advised me the day before when I was searching for things to do with them, I grabbed my pocketbook from my purse and got the paper I carried in it with phone numbers for my family.
“The Michael Fox residence,” Denise answered. I hoped she wouldn’t be as curt with me as she was the last time I’d spoken to her, but it wasn’t uncommon for pregnant women to have short tempers. I didn’t hold a grudge.
“Hello, it’s Myra,” I greeted.
“Hi, Myra. What do you need?” She sounded less angry, but no less annoyed to hear my voice.
“I don’t need anything. I just called to see how you were feeling and how the family is.”
She grunted like she was either standing up or sitting down. “We’re fine. We’re all still here same as always. Well, except for you. Where did Pastor’s long-haired son run off to with you?”
I didn’t like the tone she used when speaking about Abraham, and I sat up straighter. “He brought me back to Fairview where he lives and works. It’s beautiful here.” Calling her had been a mistake.
“That sounds nice.” There was screaming in shouting in the background, which was normal for her house. “Enjoy the peace and quiet while you can. It won’t be so nice when you’re stuck there all alone with a house full.”
In that moment, it hit me in full force once again how lucky I’d been that Abraham had saved me. It would have been challenging—no, miserable—if the Legacies placed me with her and Michael.
“I hope you’re feeling well. I’ll let you go.”
She was snide when she replied, “I feel just peachy, Myra. God bless.” Then she hung up.
God bless you too.
I wouldn’t call her again anytime soon. I’d wait to call after the baby arrived and congratulate my brother. She’d no doubt miss me when she went into labor. I’d helped her through every one of her deliveries, and I prayed for anyone who’d be helping her now.
I dialed another number and begun to wonder if he was going to pick up.
“Hello,” Matthew answered.
“It’s Myra,” I said. “Have I interrupted you?”
“Myra. No, not at all.” His tone was much friendlier, and I was relieved. “How are you?”
“I’m wonderful, Matthew. I just wanted to call and say hello.”
“I didn’t recognize the number. Is this Abraham’s phone?”
It was in a way, but it wasn’t the one he carried. “He doesn’t have a landline out here, so he got another cell phone so that I could use it when he’s gone.”
“And how’s he treating you? Giving you more attention than his delicate brother?”
I smiled to myself thinking of all the nice things Abraham had done to make me feel welcome. “He is. God is good.”
“God is good, sister.”
Yes, this was a much better conversation. “Have you visited father? Is he doing well?”
“I saw him yesterday before I came home. He’s doing the same, but I don’t imagine he’ll be with us long.” I’d expected as much, but in a way, it comforted me. “He’s being taken care of though. Don’t worry.”
“Okay, Matthew. Thank you. I only wanted to check in. I don’t want to keep you. I know you’re busy.”
“I always have time for my family, Myra. And after you’re settled, Abraham should bring you to Newmecula for a visit. In fact, I’d like to have his number to ask him myself. And if there’s an emergency where I’d need to contact him, then I won’t have to bother Pastor.”
The number was in my phone, and I didn’t have it memorized. “Does your phone do text messages? I can send it to you that way when we hang up.”
He chuckled and answered, “That sounds just fine. Text it to me when you get a chance.”
“I will. Have a good day.”
“I will. You do the same.”
I felt much better after talking to my brother. I liked the cabin and didn’t mind that I’d had to move away from Lancaster but having a connection to back home, or my family at least, was a comfort. Besides, I hadn’t had time to become homesick, not like I had when I’d moved into Jacob’s house at least. Funny enough, I felt lonelier there, and we’d practically lived in the middle of town.
After I made myself a bite for lunch, I built the chicken casserole I’d decided on and put it into the oven to cook nice and slow, so it wouldn’t get too dry.
My first day alone in my new home slipped by in a blink, until the last hour. From three to four felt like it stretched on and on. So after making sure I’d scrubbed my Pinterest app for inappropriate content, I looked for things I could do the next day to fill the long afternoon better and found just the thing.
38
Abe
I successfully avoided Chris and the Griers for the most part. The first half of the day I spent changing blades on a machine that had gone down, and at lunch, I ran into town to deposit Myra’s money and mail our marriage certificate. I kept to myself by mowing the property along the highway and around the mill, but I didn’t get to my truck fast enough at four o’clock.
Behind me, Chris was humming the wedding march as I walked across the lot with the dust kicked up from a storm about to roll through. “You can’t hide from me forever, Abe. And I am pissed I missed the bachelor party though.”
I drew a calming breath and opened the door to my pick-up. “It’s not like that.”
“What is it like? Ashley said she’s cute—in a Little House on the Prairie sort of way.”
I pointed at him through my open window as I climbed inside. “Watch it.” I didn’t h
ave time for him and his lame jokes. I needed to get home. I had a lot of work yet to do.
His hands shot up. “She’s right though. You have a thing for Laura Ingalls Wilder. Or is it Laura Ingalls Hathaway?”
I wondered how many years I’d get for running him over.
That conversation was the exact reason I hadn’t planned on telling them we’d been married. Fake as it was. They wouldn’t understand.
“Knock it off,” I warned.
“What’s your rush? Eager to home and...” he paused there to bite his bottom lip and thrust his hips.
I didn’t even bother turning the ignition off when I jumped out and headed toward him. Suddenly, he knew I wasn’t joking. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Slow your roll. I’m just playing, Abe.”
“It’s not funny,” I said, staring him dead in the eye.
“Okay. I’m sorry. Relax.” He looked sorry too, but he wouldn’t have put up with anyone talking about Ashley like that either. That was a fact. “Ash wants you guys to come over Friday.”
I’d hoped that the two women could have been friends, but maybe it was just too soon. And since I wasn’t really going to pound my closest friend into the rocks, but only wanted him to take me seriously, I headed back to my truck.
“No.”
“Oh, why not? Don’t be like that.”
I slammed the door and pulled the shifter down to drive. “Come over for what? So you can mock her? Poke fun at her clothes? You don’t know what she’s been through. Hell, she doesn’t even realize what she’s been through. I’m not taking her over there for you to get a good laugh. It’s just not right, and I’d be the most wrong for putting her through it.” I glared at him as I drove by, and repeated, “No.”
In the rearview, I watched him pull off his ball cap and scratch his head as I pulled away.
I’d asked her to trust, told her I’d protect her, and damn if I didn’t take that seriously too. Inside or outside of Lancaster. No one was going to hurt her.
Around the bends in the road and over the creek, the cabin came into sight, and I slowed, not realizing I’d been flying down my lane. I hadn't expected to feel that protective—especially with my friend—and the rush of adrenaline had me marching up the stairs, if only to see her before I went to the shed. All the while my phone went nuts in my pocket.
