A Second Chance

by Linda Byler

  And she was happy, happier than she’d ever been.

  She spent Christmas Day with her parents, a quiet time filled with love and simple homemade gifts, with roasted chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner. She read the Christmas story of Christ’s birth alone in her room, eating a bowl of popcorn and pondering her fate.

  But she knew the most precious time was spent with Orva and the girls. Neil arrived with his friends, who dropped him off to open his gifts, which he did with more grace and enthusiasm than Edna could have hoped.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  The look on Orva’s face wrung Edna’s heart and left it clunking painfully in her chest. The poor man.

  “You’re welcome, Neil.”

  “It’s really good equipment. Kevin says I’ll make the team.”

  The remainder of Christmas was cast in the rosy glow of Neil’s approval. Orva was happier than Edna had ever seen him, and for this, she was grateful. But she kept herself in the role of maud, allowed no intimate glances, and simply did her duties with a bowed head and only an occasional smile.

  She had accepted Emery and would see it to the finish. It was who she had always wanted.

  Edna lay wide awake upstairs in her cold bedroom, listening to the sound of Orva walking, pacing from the kitchen to the living room and back again.

  CHAPTER 14

  AFTER THE HOLIDAYS, THE LONG WINTER EVENINGS LEFT EDNA restless, the days long, the workload barely enough to keep her occupied. She complained to her mother, who informed the sisters, who decided it was time she put in a quilt frame, there at Orva’s, with the impending engagement and all.

  Edna fumed and fussed, saying she already had three quilts that would be stored in cedar chests and never used. Why would she want a fourth?

  “Oh when you houseclean in spring, you switch the quilts on the guest beds, wash them, and fold them away,” Fannie informed her. “Nothing smells better than a fresh quilt that has been stored in a cedar chest.”

  “Look, I have no idea where my home will be. What if I live in a small house? A double-wide trailer? Then I won’t have room for a cedar chest, and certainly not a guest room.”

  “And, you might live in a huge two-story farmhouse,” Sadie said.

  So the following week, her mother and sisters arrived at Orva’s, the quilt frame on the back of the pickup truck, children in tow.

  They had never been to Orva’s, so the day was immensely interesting to them as they checked out every room, every closet, the pantry, exclaiming and admiring while the children ran wild, the way they always did whenever Sadie and Fannie were together.

  Edna had gotten out of bed to make cinnamon rolls, at the unaccustomed hour of four. Eager to see her mother and sisters, it was not that hard to roll over, shut off the alarm, and dress hurriedly before tiptoeing down the stairs and into the kitchen. She used the battery lamp by the sink and tried to make a minimum amount of noise.

  She heated milk, set the yeast to rise, got out the eggbeater to whip the eggs, which must have woken Orva, who began pulling drawers open in the bedroom.

  She put coffee on immediately.

  When he appeared in the shadowy kitchen, his hair tousled, his eyes bleary with sleep, carrying a pair of socks, Edna grinned sheepishly.

  “Sorry. I’m making cinnamon rolls.”

  “No need to apologize for that.”

  “I did tell you my mother and sisters are coming, right?”

  He nodded. “Good. That’s great. You said something about putting in a quilt frame.”

  “They insist. I already have three.”

  “Well, the fourth one may be necessary at some point.”

  “Huh.”

  She mixed the flour and leftover mashed potatoes until she had a smooth, elastic dough.

  “Do I get any of them?” Orva sked.

  “Probably not till this evening. They won’t be ready till at least eight.”

  He helped himself to a cup of coffee, sipped, then caught Edna’s eye and smiled.

  She lowered her head and did not return his smile. He was too close. The cozy atmosphere in the kitchen was too intimate, the smell of fresh coffee and rising yeast dough and his clean white socks, his tousled hair and sleepy eyes, his old denim shirt stretched across his shoulders.

  She caught her lower lip in her teeth and bit down, her senses scattered now. With all her strength, she tried to hide the overwhelming need to be close to him, to belong to something, someone.

  But she did. She did belong to Emery, who loved her the way she knew was right.

  Her heart thudded dully in her chest when she felt his approach.

  She busied herself at the sink, rattling bowls and spoons as if the sound would frighten him away.

  He did not touch her or speak to her. He merely warmed up his coffee from the pot on the stove, then went to his office to do bookwork.

  She saw the yellow light from his office windows, saw him moving around, turning up the gas heat. The snow appeared gray and cold but glistened in the light from the windows.

  Edna shivered, then took a deep breath to steady herself. She got out his lunchbox and Neil’s and began to throw food blindly into them.

  There was something seriously wrong with her. It was so deeply shameful, this attraction to Orva. She had no right to feel this way, happily dating Emery, in love with the man of her dreams.

  The thought of feeling this . . . whatever it was, for Emery would be so perfect, so easy and wonderful, to long to feel his arms around her, to expect the nearness of him to be what it was with . . .

  Yes.

  With him. With Orva Schlabach, the widower with three children. To finally realize this, to admit it to herself, was like being hit by a sledgehammer, draining her energy, the joy, and anticipation of her mother and sister’s arrival. There was no way on earth she would ever speak to them about this; it was too personal, too deeply embarrassing. Edna knew they thought she always had her act together, forging her way through life with confidence and that famous brisk energy, working, managing households, tackling one menial task after another.

  Here came love, and she dissolved like wet cotton candy, turned into a blubbering, insecure disaster.

  Edna swallowed, bit back her tears, filled thermoses and punched the dough with more strength than was absolutely necessary. She made egg and cheese sandwiches for everyone, was snappish with Emmylou when she complained about having her hair pulled too hard, answered Orva in monosyllables when he spoke directly to her, and sighed with relief when they all went out the door.

  Her sisters’ arrival lifted some of the heaviness. As she knew they would, they eyed her too closely, raised their eyebrows when she set down cups of coffee and asked what was up with the dark circles under her eyes.

  Her mother praised the cinnamon rolls, loved the house, said “My, Edna. This is a beautiful home.” Her dear wrinkled mother with the wide hips and the hunched back, the merry way of meeting life head-on, unwrapping everything that seemed complicated with a shrug of her rounded shoulders and an, “Oh well, the Lord has a reason.”

  Almost, in the light of her mother’s love and rock-solid faith, she became undone and poured out her troubles for them to examine, sift through, and come up with a sound solution.

  Her pride took the driver’s seat, though, and she pasted an imaginary smile on her face and listened to her sisters’ lively banter, held the little ones, ate too many of the cinnamon rolls with pecans, and drank cup after cup of coffee until her head buzzed with caffeine.

  The quilt frame was a rollaway kind, as Edna called it. It had a T-shaped, wooden support on each end, two long round pieces of wood with heavy fabric attached, an inch of space at the bottom to pin the quilt, roll it up, and put the batting on top, after which came the beautifully pieced top, the actual quilt.

  “I don’t know about the purple, Fannie,” Edna mused.

  “Why? What’s wrong with it? You know it’s pretty with that olive green and golden yellow. It�
�s all the style.”

  “Well, since you pieced it, and you say so, I’ll take your word for it. It’s O.K.”

  They sat down to quilt, with thimbles, small needles, and miniature scissors to snip off the ends of the thread. It was as easy as breathing, pushing the needle up and down with the end of the thimble, over and over, a mindless skill that brought instant contentment to all of them.

  It was a ritual, a tradition among them. Their mothers had all quilted, and their mothers before them and on back to pre-colonial times, even before the forefathers had made the perilous journey across the Atlantic in waterlogged, creaking sailboats a tenth of the size of modern-day carriers that plied the waves.

  “So which is best, to quilt on the seams, or to stay away an eighth of an inch?” Sadie asked, leaning back to rub her temples.

  “I have to make an appointment, get my eyes examined,” she said, grimacing.

  An indignant howl came from the toddler.

  “Hey! Here,” Fannie rose swiftly, her folding chair toppling to the floor.

  “Neva, let him have that. Come on, give it to him.”

  Neva held the spinning top to her chest, pouting, her little stomach pushed out, her feet planted firmly, toes pointed out. Sadie entered the fray, trying to get little Evan to give it up.

  “That’s hers, Evan. She had it first.”

  Her mother smiled at Edna.

  “Here we go again,” her eyebrows said.

  Edna laughed.

  It was family. There was just nothing quite like being in the company of sisters and sisters-in-law, mothers, nieces, and nephews. No one else understood each other quite the same way or created an atmosphere that allowed you to be more yourself.

  Which Edna certainly was, spinning in her own vortex of doubt, humiliation, and fear, dumped into the certainty of her pride, which resulted in an unusual silence as she quilted steadily.

  Fannie leaned back, thrust her feet out and lifted her hands above her head. “My neck!”

  She twisted her head first one way then another, her eyes closed. She turned to look at Edna.

  “What is up with you, Edna? You don’t have a thing to say.”

  “She’s in shock, thinking about going to Florida with Emery,” Sadie said, her voice rising into a singsong on the word Emery.

  Edna merely smiled.

  “Aren’t you?”

  Bewildered, Sadie leaned in to gauge her sister’s mood.

  “Yes, of course I am. Just mind your own business.”

  “Ooo. Touchy, are we?”

  “Well, what a dumb question. Everyone or anyone would be looking forward to a Florida vacation with their boyfriend.”

  More eyebrow raising and eye rolling behind her back, her mother shaking her wisdom-filled head, her mouth drawn in a thin line.

  Fannie announced, “Someone’s here.”

  Edna looked up, and saw the black truck. The siding crew. Orva was home before lunch. Something must have happened.

  The laundry room door opened, he made his appearance in the kitchen, an old rag held to his forehead. Traces of blood were on his cheeks, in his eyebrows, but he said hello, in a normal friendly tone of voice.

  Edna was on her feet; the color drained from her face, the dark circles under her eyes like purple bruises.

  “Orva! What happened?”

  “It’s not much. I should have been careful. It’s too windy to be putting siding on today.”

  He disappeared into the bathroom, returned with the small plastic basket containing adhesive tape, Band-Aids, and gauze.

  “Here. Here. Sit over here.”

  Edna was fluttering around him, guiding him to a chair, lifting the rag away, gasping.

  “It’s pretty nasty. Why don’t you just go to the Urgent Care?”

  “You think I should?”

  “Mam, Fannie, come over here. What do you think?”

  Dutifully, they inspected the injured forehead, shook their heads and told him to go, the wound would definitely require stitches. Edna hovered, brought a clean cloth, paper towels, and a bottle of peroxide.

  “Oh, I forgot to introduce you. Orva, my mother and sisters, Sadie and Fannie. Mam, this is Orva Schlabach.”

  They acknowledged each other, smiled, then watched Edna become even more flustered, bringing him a clean shirt, her face flushed. Fannie jabbed an elbow into Sadie’s side, they caught each other’s eye and winked.

  That Edna. Things were not the way they should be, but no one spoke of it or hardly dared to think about it.

  February arrived, with its unpredictable bouts of stormy weather and balmy days. Crocus and hyacinth bulbs pushed small green shoots up through the mulch but then got the tips frozen by a low temperature with a sparkling frost. Piles of gray snow melted into gravel-ridden slush, until the next storm blew in, covering everything with a new and pristine cover of fresh snow.

  Edna’s nerves were shot. She hovered on the edge of anticipation and doubt as if she were winding her way up a steep mountain, on a very narrow trail, the unknown yawning to her left, a steep precipice on her right.

  Orva had hired Minerva Yoder to be his maud for the three weeks Edna and Emery would be gone.

  On hearing this news, Edna’s heart had plummeted until she felt physically ill. Why Minerva? She was in Edna’s group of single girls, blond and willowy, soft-spoken, vivacious. The last person on earth that should be with Orva for three weeks. The thought had made her cheeks burn, until she lifted both hands to her face as if to ward it, and certainly the accompanying jealousy, off.

  She knew Minerva was the opposite of her. She was smart, witty, outgoing, confident. The hardest part was the fact that she cared, knew she shouldn’t. So if she was in love with Emery, why did this burning jealousy raise its head like a fiery dragon?

  A few days til Saturday now, and Edna’s face turned pale with fatigue and lack of sleep, her eyes dark pools of misery and uncertainty. She threw herself into the work, making casseroles, lasagna, baking so many bars and cookies it seemed as if the freezer was full of them. She cleaned with a vengeance, made sure every piece of laundry was done then sat down late that Friday evening, convinced she had done everything she could to make it easier for Minerva.

  She knew Orva was in his office. She watched the rectangle of yellow light, willed it to turn dark, wanted him to walk into the kitchen to talk to her on this last evening, but when the light glowed steadily, she forced herself to walk slowly upstairs, to the shower and to bed.

  She heard him come in. She heard every footstep, everything he did, until the bed creaked and the house settled into the nighttime quiet.

  And still she did not sleep. Her thoughts were rampant, darting down avenues of confusion, then guilt, then despair. She prayed fervently, finally, when it seemed as if she would surely lose her mind.

  How did one receive an answer from God? How did you know when He answered? If only He would stand beside her bed and say in one simple sentence what He wanted her to do. Was she only a spoiled youngest child, who wanted and wanted, longed for and desired Emery Hochstetler, and once he was hers, she wanted someone else?

  If she went to Florida, a thousand miles away from Orva, with Emery, would everything fall into place, love blooming in the beauty of the sea and the sand and the palm trees? She had to retrieve that old feeling when she thought of Emery, the intense longing to be his girl, the way her life had always been.

  Far into the night, she agonized between faith and her own will, trying to decipher one from the other. Perhaps Orva was only a test from God, trying her true love for Emery. Who knew?

  She was up very early the following morning, making coffee, moving quietly in the dim light of the propane gas lamp.

  She had slept very little, so coffee was a necessary ingredient to think of facing her day. She jumped when the laundry room door opened, could hardly believe it would be Orva. She’d thought he was still in bed.

  Her mouth went dry, her heart pounded.

&
nbsp; “You scared me,” she said shakily.

  “Didn’t mean to.”

  “Coffee’s ready.”

  “Good.”

  She poured him a cup, and one for herself.

  An awkward silence stretched between them.

  Orva sighed.

  “So tell me, Edna. Are you looking forward to your Florida vacation?”

  She toyed with her coffee cup, kept her eyes lowered.

  “Yes. Yes, of course I am.”

  “I’ll miss you. The children, too, of course. They’ll probably treat Minerva the way they treated you in the beginning. Remember?”

  Oh, so now it was Minerva. Not Minerva Yoder.

  Edna punished him with no reply. Another awkward silence followed.

  “What’s wrong, Edna?” he asked, with so much tenderness she felt an immediate sob rising in her throat.

  “Nothing. That’s a dumb question.”

  “But . . .”

  He paused. “You’re so pale, with dark circles under your eyes, as if you are exhausted. We’re working you too hard, aren’t we?”

  She took a deep breath for courage, then told him she was exhausted, but not because she worked too hard. It was, well, other stuff.

  “Stuff?” Orva sked, then grinned a slow lopsided grin.

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Maybe I would.”

  She got up to refill her coffee cup, but stood at the sink gazing out into the early morning darkness.

  “Look at the quarter moon. Isn’t that the most beautiful thing? It’s so clean this morning you can see the imprint of the rest of the moon, but only a slice is bright enough to notice.”

  She felt him behind her. He didn’t speak. She reveled in his nearness, knew it was all that was missing in her life. She was not surprised when his hands cupped her shoulders and gently turned her to him.

  She went into his arms with a natural gladness that made everything right, dispelled the agony of making the wrong choice. She knew there was a place in her heart that only Orva could fill.

  She looked up, found his eyes and knew the golden light that turned steadily darker was for her.