Serendipity

by Cathy Marie Hake

  After slipping behind that dusty blanket, Maggie mentally reviewed what she’d packed. Everything from andirons to window sashes, but not a single door. Not even a piece of wood that would serve as one. An empty nail hung on the wall. No. Surely there had to be an old catalog or magazine or something! He’d stranded her in a doorless necessary without the necessities! Oh my word! He mentioned the cottonwood. He actually expected me to use those leathery, toothed leaves to . . . Paper in her apron rustled. She slid her hand in and pulled out the recipe she’d gotten on the train. Her sigh ruffled the blanket-door. Todd had no one to blame but himself that he wouldn’t have his Wishes Come True.

  Not wanting to awaken her mother-in-law if she still slept, Maggie peeked in the curtainless window. One look at the cabin set her mind awhirl with plans, but those plans came to a screeching halt the second she spied the stove. With room for only one pot at a time, cooking would be an either/or proposition: either she served hot food and cold coffee or cold food and hot coffee. No two ways around it: she needed to set a cook fire outside, too.

  Since Ma still slept, Maggie dashed to the barn. Eggs, ham, and biscuits with a steaming cup of coffee – that ought to be a grand start for her man’s first day home. A search turned up only two measly eggs. Neither was any too fresh.

  The trip didn’t take any time at all. But when Maggie opened the cabin door, Ma shrieked, “You left me! How could you be so cruel?”

  While Maggie changed Ma’s linen, Ma kept a steady stream of rebukes, complaints, and criticisms flowing. No amount of soothing calmed her. Knowing embarrassment fueled the attack, Maggie forgave her but quickly escaped to start a fire outside.

  With coffee perking over one side of the washpot and water heating on the other, she went back inside to make the biscuits. Cooking for three felt odd. Stingy, even. A glance at the tiny stove made her wince. My heart ought to overflow with gratitude that I’m only cooking for a few, she reminded herself. The folding metal box which was to be set atop the stove to turn it into an oven couldn’t be found. Making do, she flipped a kettle upside down over the biscuits.

  Nudging the table flush against the wall, she gained a little breathing room. “With one leaf up, Todd has his rightful place at the head of the table and we’ll sit side by side.” She patted Ma’s hand as she squeezed past her wheelchair. “Using a spoon or fork is the next step. Practicing when it’s just the two of us here will make it easy.”

  “Easy? Nothing about this is easy.” Tears filled Ma’s eyes.

  Though tempted to dab away the tears, Maggie tucked a handkerchief into Ma’s right hand. “Aye, that’s true. Learning new ways is hard work, and you’re a private sort of lady. My intent was to say we’re kin, so your heart can be at ease as you improve because it’s just me.”

  While Ma gathered her poise, Maggie almost lost hers. Todd’s hideous dishes ruined her appetite. Gold rimmed the plates’ edges and ringed them again where the center began to slope upward. That inner ring measured at least half an inch – probably an attempt to corral all the fruit in the middle. Between the edge and inner gold ring, pansies fought marigolds for dominance. A gorgeous set of her great-grandma’s china – appropriately bearing graceful swags of roses – rested in a barrel out in the barn. Assured she’d only eat off these monstrosities for a single meal took the sting out of looking at the eye-crossing trio of place settings.

  The door barely opened, and Ma said, “Breakfast isn’t ready yet.”

  “Oh.” Todd sounded befuddled as well as disappointed.

  Accustomed to hungry, impatient men, Maggie patted his arm. “If you’d be so kind as to fetch the coffee brewing outside, I’ll have your ham all fried up and ready.” Relocating the biscuit pan with the overturned kettle to the table, she freed up the stove. Thank you, Jesus, for ham. It fries up so fast. Laughter bubbled out of her.

  Thump. A solid knock sounded as warning, and the door opened. Todd entered, sniffed, and grinned. “What makes you laugh?”

  “I thanked Jesus for ham. Ham! Jesus is Jewish. Jews don’t eat pork. It never occurred to me how I’ve ardently asked Him to bless food He wouldn’t touch.”

  “You have nothing better to think about?” Ma groused.

  Todd sat down. “In the New Testament, some believers ate of the meat offered to idols. Others did not. Paul exhorted us to act according to our hearts but not to make a brother stumble. I gladly eat ham. God looks upon the heart and knows I am thankful.”

  Maggie served her husband first – two thick slabs of ham and the pair of pitifully small eggs. While the ham for her and Ma sizzled, Maggie quickly poured coffee into all three cups. Why hadn’t Todd seen to that task? Uncle Bo always did when her hands were full. Just those fleeting memories brought pangs of homesickness. Naturally I’ll miss my uncles, but I have to work on pleasing the man who matters most to me now.

  “Push me to the table, Son.” Maggie served up the food for Ma and herself.

  Todd drew back Maggie’s chair, and she stepped in front of it only to miss the nudge of the seat against her legs as he scooted it back in. Baffled, she turned around. Her chair was gone! Todd had moved it sideways, to the spot farther from him.

  “Breakfast is getting cold.” Ma wore her cat-that-ate-a-spider smirk.

  Patting the other spot, Maggie forced a smile. “This place has the most room for your wheelchair. You’ll catch some nice heat from the stove here, too.”

  “I’ll get as much heat at my place.”

  Her place? A wife belonged at her husband’s side! Ma knew it, but she was trying to usurp her place as mistress of the home. Ready to confront the situation, Maggie’s chin went up – and then she saw the look in Todd’s eyes. She didn’t know him well enough to read the emotions there. Pain? Regret? Anger? A wife owed it to her husband to try to keep harmony in the home just as much as manage it. Did it matter if this is how things worked out right now? They could be different at dinner. Giving a little shrug, Maggie slipped to the side.

  Todd asked a blessing, then ate with lightning speed. Ma complained that the biscuits were too dry on the bottom but dunking them in the coffee made them passable. Maggie chopped the ham into tiny bits for her.

  “You made it into a baby’s food.”

  “No, if it was for a baby, I’d put it through a grinder.”

  “Hmm.” Todd agreed. At least Maggie assumed he’d agreed. His mouth full, he nodded once and reached for his coffee.

  “Here. Have another biscuit. Oh! I forgot the jam!”

  He perked up. “Yeah!”

  Scooting her chair back a little, Maggie hit an obstacle. At a slight angle, Ma’s wheelchair managed to block her exit. Another reason why I should be sitting there. A glance made it clear she couldn’t wiggle her chair free, nor could she lift her skirts and step over both her chair and the smaller rear wheel jutting from the back of Ma’s chair. Sinking back into her seat, Maggie started cutting her own ham. “Todd, I brought in two jars of jam – blackberry and plum. They’re in the poke at the foot of Ma’s bed.”

  “The wife serves her husband!”

  While his mother gave her opinion, Todd took the few steps to get the jam and returned. He grabbed another pair of biscuits, sat down, and attacked them.

  Maggie started chewing her first bite of breakfast. Did Todd agree with his mother? But he couldn’t – or he’d have stayed in place. Hadn’t he seen how he’d trapped her? Or was he too busy eating? His mother as much as called me lazy. And he’s allowing her to. Confusion and pain pulled at her.

  “The only good thing about this meal,” Ma declared theatrically, “is that it’s on my beautiful china.”

  Sitting through breakfast took every last shred of Helga’s reserves. While in the Ozarks, she had been a guest. For her to do nothing was understandable – expected, even. On the train, no one did anything. But this morning she couldn’t make excuses any longer. She was useless. The truth galled her.

  From the moment moving to Texas came up, she’d
looked forward to all that entailed. Instead of being a burden who needed to be shuffled around and told what to do, she’d be the lady of the house. Once again, she’d set the daily menu and make trips to the grocer, earning her own egg and butter money. Now that she knew more about fashion, she’d choose feed sacks with a more discriminating eye instead of just for what matched, so even her everyday dresses would be admired. As Arletta taught her, it wasn’t sufficient for a woman to simply blend in and be part of her community. She needed to stand out and be an example. Didn’t the woman of Proverbs 31 do just that? Ja, she did.

  Upon awakening today, Helga had lain in bed and looked about the cabin. All of her hopes, plans, and dreams had crumbled. She wouldn’t be deciding between oatmeal or biscuits and gravy for breakfast. Gone was the vision of curtains on the window, the same violet shade of pansies . . . With her tacky ways, Todd’s bride would likely nail up a pair of mismatched sacks.

  At least for now. But those kinds of things could be corrected. The list of lessons and admonishments she needed to give this girl grew. Magpie treated Todd like a servant instead of the man of the house! Helga knew her son couldn’t possibly have fallen in love. Oh, he was nice to a fault, but deep beneath that reserve he was just like his father. When he fell in love, there’d be no mistaking the fire in his heart.

  “What God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.” The line flashed through her mind. Only Helga knew deep in her heart God hadn’t intended this union. He paired like with like – and this was the most unlikely couple on the face of the earth. Since she couldn’t jerk them apart, Helga hoped she could coach Magpie into being a good farmwife. The task was staggering. Examples often helped; she’d keep a keen eye out for neighbors to use to illustrate points.

  “We must have good neighbors. They set up all my furniture so nicely. Todd’s best piece was his cot, so we brought mine, you see.” Affecting a half smile, Helga looked at Maggie and rubbed her right hand back and forth just below her beloved plate on the very table she’d begun housekeeping with as a bride. “This has always been my place at my table.”

  “I can understand why.” Magpie flashed a grin. “A wife should always sit beside her husband.”

  Bold as brass, that girl! She won’t stop at anything to get what she wants – even if it means taking away what’s familiar to me when I have nothing other than my memories. It wouldn’t hurt her one bit to yield to me.

  “Todd and I will be putting our bed up today. As we arrange the furniture, we’ll try to do something about the table.”

  “Yes.” Todd looked about. “The Bible?”

  “On Ma’s pillow. She was reading earlier.”

  That was a lie – not Maggie’s, but hers. Ever since she’d had her apoplectic fit, Helga hadn’t been able to read. The letters all looked like hieroglyphics. Their shapes made no sense whatsoever. After losing her first husband, all through her second unhappy marriage and the years with Arletta, Helga had found great solace in the Scriptures. She’d read them avidly. Only she’d never been good at memorization. Now that lack haunted her. It was bad enough she couldn’t walk or tend herself; she refused to let anyone discover that she’d reverted to being no better than an illiterate child. So when Maggie offered the Bible, she always accepted it. Sometimes she’d even turn the page.

  Guilt prompted her to snap, “Don’t tell him where the Bible is. Get it!”

  “I’ll be happy to fetch the Bible, Todd.” Maggie simpered. “Ma’s chair is at an angle, and I’m stuck here. As soon as you straighten her out – ”

  “Straighten me out! I am not a wayward child in need of discipline.”

  Todd stepped behind her but said nothing. A slightly jerky maneuver, then he pushed her back in. “So.” He motioned to his wife to stay seated and got the Bible himself.

  Yet another reminder that I’m in the way.

  The hillbilly took hold of her hand. “Ma, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. The chair was cockeyed is all, and my man set it to right.”

  My man. Not “Todd” or “your son.” Like the bird she’d taken her name from, Magpie chattered on, “We’ll find ways to make things work. I’m going to do every last thing I can to help you get back to where you used to be.”

  As shakes started to overtake her, Helga couldn’t say whether it was from anger or fear. It wasn’t enough that she was being pushed away from her own spot at her own table; she was being told she wasn’t welcome in her son’s home!

  “Speaking of which, I’ll be needing a nice, thick dowel, Todd. About an inch in diameter and so long.” Magpie held her hands about a foot and a half apart.

  His brows knit. “Wood is expensive.”

  “I already have rope, so that part’s taken care of. I saw the nails in the barn, too. So with a dowel, I can hang a bar over the bed for Ma.”

  “Nein!” Helga grabbed her son’s arm. “This bar she plans – it is a punishment. She left me alone this morning until I couldn’t wait any longer and I – ” Unable to actually say aloud what she’d done, she sobbed and shook her head. “I could not help it. That hurt my pride – but it was in private. This bar would shame me. Anyone who pays a visit will see it.” Swiping madly at her tears, Helga tried in vain to stop crying. “She knows it was her fault, and she hides the truth from you – but you watch. Soon sheets will be laundered.”

  “The laundry is already boiling. I’d best go check on it.” Magpie scooted back her chair. The door shut behind her with a scrape of the latch.

  Eyes trained on the edge of his mug, her son used his thumb to move it clockwise by the handle. “Back in the Ozarks, Margaret kept this a secret even from me – that you messed the bed. On the train, my wife woke during the night and early in the morning in order to spare any embarrassment.” Neither his face nor voice reflected any emotion. “I do not need a chamber pot, nor does she. But she brought one from her old home for you. This morning she went to the barn to get it.”

  Rising, Todd rested his hand on the Bible. “At dinner, I will read.” Then he, too, departed. Having been widowed twice, Helga knew she could lean on the Lord and her children. Now she couldn’t read her Bible, Arletta abandoned her, and Todd . . . He hadn’t even come to her defense. He’d just soundly put her in her place by standing up for his bride.

  Gott, how could you do this to me and leave me all alone?

  When Todd came in for dinner, Maggie purposefully sat in her rightful place at the table. Acting as if everything was right in the world, he pushed Ma to the other spot and took his own seat. For all her talk earlier, Ma now kept silent. Ignoring her snit, Maggie conversed with Todd.

  “John left my gelding, Axe, here last night. All my horses are named after tools.” Todd scooped in another gigantic bite. “Tomorrow I will reclaim my hogs from John. The Richardsons have the hens. Creighton kept my other horses at Never Forsaken in my absence. I told him I would fetch them this afternoon.”

  As dinner ended, Todd gave Maggie a solemn look. “You pray before you eat. We also pray after the meal. It is not enough to be thankful for the food. After partaking, one should dedicate the strength it gives to God’s service.”

  The custom appealed to Maggie. “The sentiment must be pleasing to the Almighty. Do we do it after every meal, or is it just after dinner and supper since we didn’t this morning?”

  “You left the table.” Ma scowled at her. “No one can force you to dedicate your service to the Lord, so my son didn’t call you back inside.”

  Todd ignored his mother’s comment and instead gave a short, heartfelt prayer. Once done, he stated, “The train ride exhausted Ma. I will put her to bed for a nap, and then I will do today’s reading from Proverbs.”

  Substantial as she was, Ma wasn’t easy to move around. Maggie appreciated how Todd saw to such matters. She rubbed Ma’s back while he read the third chapter of Proverbs.

  At the very end of the chapter a verse jumped out at Maggie. “ ‘Surely he scorneth the scorners: but he giveth grace unto t
he lowly.’ ” She’d seen the way her husband’s mother changed. Maggie understood all too clearly: As a temporary caregiver, she’d been acceptable, but she wasn’t up to snuff for wife material. Her scorn came across, but Maggie knew God was calling her to meet it with grace.

  Todd went back out to work. Maggie slowly coaxed Ma’s left hand open, rubbed lotion into each little nook and cranny, then grabbed a small jar and slid it into Ma’s palm. “Hands ofttimes curl up tight when someone suffers apoplexy. This’ll keep everything opened into a wide arc and help your fingers stay limber.”

  “You’re doing it to make me look ridiculous.” Ma pushed away the jar.

  “I waited until we were alone.” Maggie replaced the jar and held it in place.

  Arguing wouldn’t help, so Maggie set to washing the dishes. Ma kept up a commentary that was just as ugly as her plates. Nothing suited her. Maggie’s dress, the way she’d left the back part of her hair down, and the song Maggie hummed all came under attack. “You’re not taking my bed away and sticking me on that rickety cot.”

  Maggie stacked the last dried cup on the shelf. “That’s a needless concern.”

  “You took my place at the table. You’re just as likely to want my bed. Don’t think I didn’t see you put something in my dresser.”

  “I put away some of your clothes.”

  “Those hideous castoffs aren’t mine. They’re hillbilly rags.”

  Biting her tongue, Maggie stepped out the front door and leaned against it, only to jerk away. Sure enough, she’d gotten a splinter from the rough door. Pulling out the half-inch nuisance, she glanced back at the cabin. “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.” The line from Macbeth shot through her mind. I’m not going to think like that. I’m not. I came out here to get a fresh breath of air. In the distance, Todd rode off. “Thy mother’s name is ominous to children” from Richard III resonated in her brain. She shook her head. Of all the times for lines from Shakespearean plays to echo through her memory, this had to be the worst. A smile tugged at her lips. The lines were pertinent.