A Second Chance

by Linda Byler

  Edna stayed quiet, the heat creeping up into her face.

  She smiled brightly, kept her shoulders square, her posture straight, and hoped they would never encounter them again. Thank goodness names weren’t exchanged.

  Their table was perfect, set in a small alcove, with only one other couple. The lighting was dim, and the water glasses held plenty of ice, just the way Edna liked it. Emery had good manners, holding her chair for her, which made her feel like a princess.

  The food was as delicious as they had both anticipated, and the conversation flowed freely. Edna relaxed, laughed and talked, studied the planes of his face, and decided, yes, this was the Emery of her dreams.

  He was a delightful conversationalist, easy to understand and knowledgeable in many subjects. They talked of the past, the uncertainty of youth, and the difference in attitudes and expectations at their age, now.

  The waitress appeared, asked whether they were interested in dessert. Emery ran his hands over his stomach, grinned, and shook his head.

  “Not for me, thanks. But it’s up to the little lady.”

  He watched her face.

  Edna ordered a slice of pie. Coconut cream, her favorite.

  After the waitress left, Emery’s eyes twinkled.

  “You sure you need that?”

  A stab of irritation shot through her, but she corrected it with a bright smile.

  “I probably don’t need it, no. But I love their coconut cream pie,” she said evenly.

  “Had it a few times, have you?” he asked.

  Edna felt like Trixie when her father gave her one of his dog treats.

  Should she be glad to receive Emery’s approval? Should she be bouncing up and down, yapping and exulting that she was allowed to have a slice of pie?

  “Yes,” Edna answered tightly.

  At evening’s end, Emery kissed her. Edna was unprepared for the sudden swoop of his arms, and the sensation of wet lips pressed to her own. She had dreamed of this moment, waited for it all her life, in fact, and felt nothing.

  Nothing but the need to extricate herself from the impression that left an airless panic, as if a garbage bag had been pulled over her head.

  Emery released her, smacked his lips, and said he was ready for the next date whenever she was. She was concentrating on keeping her hands at her sides when she desperately wanted a Kleenex from her purse to wipe off the moisture.

  “Yes. Well. How about two weeks?” Edna said brightly.

  “Why not next weekend? I really enjoyed this tonight, Edna. You’re a lot different than you used to be. I’m glad to see you’ve really grown up, and I enjoy your company. Besides . . .”

  Here he broke off and laughed like a hyena.

  “You’re so soft and squooshy.”

  Edna laughed with him, to be polite, telling herself it was simply his offbeat sense of humor. He was like a dog that veered off unexpectedly, following whatever scent he fancied, delighting in things that only he could know.

  Spontaneous. That was the word for it. Free-spirited.

  “Alright. Next weekend. But I have church,” she said.

  “I do, too. I could stay for the night, take you to church.”

  Edna hesitated.

  Her parents would have to drive alone. Well, they’d be capable, likely.

  “My parents need supervision sometimes, but perhaps we can drive behind them.”

  “Sure. We can do that.”

  She helped him with his horse, watched the small blinking lights as he drove out the lane, turned right, and disappeared. Slowly, she turned, her head lowered, and walked back to the house. She paused on the porch, taking in the scent of the climbing rose, the dew that was settling on the newly mown grass. The daylilies had opened, pure lemon yellow and so beautiful, but were closed for the night, their wings folded like resting angels.

  A cricket set up its night music. Out on the highway, a truck changed gears, with the flow of traffic a soft buzz in the night.

  Ah well.

  Like the old climbing rose, you couldn’t have the sweetness without a few thorns. Sunshine and rain, days when things settled drearily around your shoulders and days when life was all beauty and light. First dates were probably all awkward, every one. She could tell Emery was the nervous type, so perhaps his off-the-wall humor would settle down. She’d have to give this time.

  The following day was the in-between Sunday, when there were no church services. Amish tradition had services every other week, leaving a day of rest for visiting friends and family. So today Edna was grateful for the chance to sleep in, to luxuriate in having nothing that needed to be done all day.

  She reached over for her alarm clock, tilted the face to check the hands’ placement, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

  Her bedroom was illuminated with golden sunlight when she woke up again. She waited for the joy, the remembered gladness of having enjoyed her first long-awaited date with Emery, but lay staring blindly at the ceiling, her fresh morning thoughts stirred into a vague pudding of nothingness.

  Her emotions had peaked to heights of euphoria, then plunged into the depths of doubt, finally buoyed by the assurance that nothing was perfect.

  Did first dates always turn out this way? Was it normal?

  She could choose to feel disappointed or choose to be thrilled, realizing he was smart, entertaining, funny, and good looking.

  But that kiss.

  She rolled over, stuck her face in the pillow and groaned.

  Kisses were overrated. Not just kisses, but all romance and touching and hugging and carrying on. Honest only to herself, Edna knew she had felt the same way she had as a child when she was kissed by some warty old aunt.

  Yuck.

  It would get better. She’d get used to it. Or he’d improve. Dear man, he was so nervous he was fairly walking on pins and needles, all evening.

  When she really thought about it, she found it hugely endearing. To think she had made Emery Hochstetler nervous. Imagine. Yes, it had all happened too fast, and she simply didn’t have the time to absorb all of it yet.

  Her parents’ faces were an open book of curiosity, and Edna did not leave them wondering about her evening. She gave them a shining account.

  Her father grinned widely, his round cheeks like polished apples.

  “Oh, that Emery. Good for you. Glad you enjoyed it. I suppose he’ll be coming around again?”

  “Next weekend,” Edna chortled.

  Her mother raised her eyebrows, batted her eyelashes coyly.

  “My, the man knows what he wants, doesn’t he?” she said in a girlish tone of voice.

  “I guess.”

  Edna enjoyed her bacon and homemade waffles and the cut-up strawberries and whipped cream. Her mother’s old waffle iron never failed to produce the plumpest, most golden waffles she’d ever eaten.

  “Oh Mam, you know how much I love your waffles,” she groaned, reaching for yet another half.

  “I love to make them, Edna. You know that.”

  But Edna knew it was a celebration, like a birthday cake for her date with Emery. Her parents took so much pleasure in her happiness that it brought a rush of love to their wrinkled, aging faces. It made no sense to assault them with tales of his little quirks, the inability to understand some of his ways. She’d simply keep those things to herself.

  The little girls were delighted to see her early on Monday morning. They tumbled down the stairs in their eagerness, their hair all schtrubbly, smiles crinkling their faces.

  “Edna, we are so glad to see you. We’re hungry, and . . .”

  Emmylou eyed her, then beckoned. “Come here.”

  Laughing, Edna went and bent over till Emmylou could whisper in her ear, “You have to wash. I don’t have any clean underwear!”

  Horrified, Edna straightened, sucking in her breath in a mock gasp.

  “Really? What did you do with all of them?”

  Marie said solemnly, “She had diarrhea.”

&
nbsp; Emmylou nodded. “I missed my mother a lot. Marie helped me.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. I should have been here.”

  “You shouldn’t leave on the weekends,” Marie said, eyeing her with a mournful expression.

  Edna wanted to reassure the girls that she would stay, but knew her dates with Emery would require her to leave. She decided the best approach would be to tell the girls the honest truth, introducing them to the fact that she had another life, one that did not include them.

  They took the news with brave faces, nodding like little women.

  “O.K.,” Emmylou sighed.

  “You should not be dating this other man,” Marie said bluntly.

  Edna watched their faces, guilt creeping up over her own.

  “Why not?”

  “I hoped . . .” Marie lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “I hoped that you could live here with us until we all die. You wouldn’t have to marry Dat; you’d just live here.”

  Edna smiled. “Oh, I don’t know how that would work.”

  “It could.”

  So much confidence, hopes so high. Edna couldn’t bring herself to deny Marie this little plan she had dreamed up, so she said, “I suppose it could.”

  She hung all the laundry on the line in the bright morning light and watched a pair of bluebirds at the house in the backyard, their brilliant coats shining in the dappled shade beneath the maple tree. She noticed the green show of weeds between the rows of carrots and turnips, saw the wilting tops of the red beets and knew it was time to do them up into pickled beets.

  The yard needed to be mowed and trimmed.

  This was her domain. This was where she thrived, and happiness came easily. Adrenaline was already coursing through her veins, as she planned ahead. After laundry, she’d clean up the children’s rooms, make the beds and dust the furniture. She’d hoe the weeds, then pull the red beets, wash them, and get them started cooking before she put a cake in the oven.

  There was not one baked item left, the monster cookies and chocolate pie were all gone. Well, it was O.K.; with no one to cook for them they’d naturally eat whatever they could find.

  She whistled and sang, scurried from room to room, smiled and laughed and talked nonsense with Emmylou and Marie, who trotted after her and dropped bits of information.

  “Dat was grouchy yesterday.”

  “Neil stayed at Ervin Chupp’s the whole time. Dat was mad.”

  Edna processed these bits of information, but nothing upset her tranquility. Emery was settled into her life, the impossible had actually happened, and as long as she could erase the low points of the evening (that knee clutching), she was, indeed, blessed beyond measure. Dreams did come true.

  Over and over, she told herself she could not expect perfection at her age. A thirty-year-old single girl could not be picky with the men in her life, or she’d stay alone.

  For one honest moment, being alone seemed like a smooth, untroubled alternative, a road less traveled, perhaps, but a peaceful one.

  She fluffed the pillows on Neil’s bed, pulled up the sheet and tucked it in, then the navy blue comforter. The breeze coming through the window was already promising the heat of early summer. Soon the green beans would be ready to pick and freeze, then the cucumbers. She’d make her mother’s seven-day sweet pickles, and serve them with grilled cheese and tomato sandwiches. She wondered if Orva liked sweet pickles, or if he was the sour dill type.

  She drew back the curtain to watch the bluebirds again and knocked something off the windowsill. She was shocked to find a red and white package of Marlboro cigarettes. The ashtray was stuck on the ledge between the windowsill and the screen, a brown lighter beside it.

  She replaced the cigarettes slowly, her mind churning.

  He was fifteen years old. Not with the youth his age, or rumschpringa. But a bad beginning, acquiring an addiction so soon. Edna felt heartsick, then let it go. Neil was none of her concern, especially now that she was dating Emery.

  All this was hidden from the little girls, who were sitting on the floor flipping through a copy of Outdoor Life.

  She tried putting the incident from her mind, and clattered down the stairs and out the door. Once she reached the garden shed, she retrieved a hoe and began cleaning up the carrots and turnips, assuring herself over and over that to tell Orva would solve nothing, but that was not sufficient to erase the guilt of knowing.

  Neil was not a typical adolescent. He was hurting, the timing of his mother’s death something that never failed to bring sorrow to Edna.

  Why did God take Sarah, knowing Neil needed the comfort and stability of his mother’s presence? All the anger, the hatred, and disrespect channeled into the first act of rebellion that would hardly be the last.

  Wasted youth. Edna knew the path well, having watched more than one young man approach his sixteenth year without the armor they would need to withstand peers who would eventually lead them onto the wrong road. The road of instant gratification, that Band-Aid slapped onto painful rebellion that only served as a breeding ground for infection of every kind.

  She lifted the heavy cucumber vines, already supporting tiny green cucumbers and yellow blooms. Fat bumblebees buzzed from one flower to another, busily pollinating, keeping the garden in heavy production by the intricate design of God.

  Surely, if He cared for all these little creatures, He would watch over Neil, keep him in the palm of His hand. She found herself praying in bits and pieces, but mostly offering up one young boy’s life to the Lord’s care.

  She mixed a chocolate cake, her arms whirring with the power of a good stainless-steel whisk, and popped it in the preheated oven as the girls announced the beets were finished. She praised their work, set two large kettles filled with red beets and water on the stovetop, then went back to more garden work.

  All day, this was her frantic pace, but at the end of the day there were twenty-six quarts of pickled beets lined up on the counter, laundry folded into drawers, or hung in closets, the garden tilled and hoed until not one weed was visible anywhere, but only vegetables in straight rows with fresh, dark soil between them.

  Orva walked along the rows, a toothpick protruding from his mouth, his head bent. Edna would have paid a lot, much more than a penny, to know his thoughts.

  Neil had come home from work and threw his lunchbox and thermos on the table before taking the stairs two at a time and staying holed up in his room the remainder of the evening. Sometime during the night, he crept downstairs and ate a large portion of the chocolate cake, and all the leftover meatballs in barbecue sauce.

  Edna packed his lunch the following morning and thought if she was his mother, he’d go one day without a lunch, then two, until he obeyed and sat down to his supper, the way a young man should.

  CHAPTER 13

  THROUGH THAT SUMMER AND INTO FALL, EDNA WAS WHIRLED INTO A courtship that left her head reeling with euphoria one moment, insecurities the next moment, and finally a time when she admitted to herself that she was utterly exhausted.

  There were weekends of hiking, biking, picnicking, staying at cabins with other couples, hymn singings, potluck suppers, ball games and volleyball, croquet and outdoor barbeques, horse sales and benefit auctions.

  There were neighboring church services to attend with Emery, where she recognized hardly a soul. Edna felt left out and alone, but would never have had the courage to say anything to Emery.

  He was a constant bubble of energy, laughing, moving, talking, his mood infectious, igniting the same high-powered wattage in Edna. She glowed with happiness, spoke more than anyone had ever expected, and became quite the social butterfly among her peers. They all expected the engagement that fall, then a Christmas wedding, but when nothing was announced, folks lost interest, and Edna’s surmised nuptials were forgotten.

  It was a few weeks before Christmas when she sank into her reclining sofa at home in her room, sighed a deep, cleansing sigh, and knew she had reached her limit. Slow, hot tears t
rembled on her heavy lashes, broke away and slid down her cheeks as her chest heaved with exhaustion.

  Things were just a mess at Orva Schlabach’s. She was so close to telling him to look for another maud, her heart had pounded in her chest, and she’d felt the color drain from her face.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  Neil was worse than ever, on the verge of leaving home. A juvenile delinquent in the making. Marie was having trouble in school, Emmylou came home with a black eye, having gotten into a fight with a second-grade boy, which was incomprehensible to Edna.

  A girl! She’d never heard of it.

  And told Orva so.

  They were seated at the kitchen table, late at night, after the girls had been put to bed, and the tapping and goodnight call at Neil’s door completed. She’d found Orva seated at the table with a slice of apple pie on a plate and a glass of milk.

  Since dating Emery, she didn’t really see Orva anymore. He was never around much, and if he was, it was in the presence of the children.

  She didn’t notice Orva, his moods, his sorrow, his smiles. The incident of seeing the heavy shoulders, the desire to comfort him, had been lost in the shuffle of long weekends with Emery. She was never quite sure what kept her there at Orva’s, except for the little girls who needed her every day.

  She’d basically given up on Neil, who didn’t give her the time of day, ever. She may as well have been a fly on the wall for all he cared, so she figured two could play this game and ignored him. He was lucky she fed him, and that was the truth. But every night, she’d pause, tap her knuckles on his bedroom door, and say goodnight. He never replied.

  “Orva, you know Emmylou has a black eye from getting into a fight at school.”

  Edna blurted this out while her back was turned, folding the dishcloth after wiping the countertops.

  “I wondered what happened to her, but she wouldn’t tell me.”

  Edna turned, with her hands on her hips.

  “The girls need attention. You haven’t visited their school, you show no interest in their grades. I know you’re busy, but wouldn’t it be a good thing to check up on them occasionally?”