by Linda Byler
“I’m sorry, Edna. I wasn’t going to . . . I told myself I would let you go without telling you . . . anything. You belong to Emery. I have no right to do this.”
Edna sighed. There were no words to fill the space that needed to tell him the truth.
Slowly, so slowly, he bent his head. He hesitated, drew back.
“Edna, I . . .”
She could not bear to step away, to do the right thing.
She lifted her face, then hesitated, and turned her head to lay it on the comfort of his solid chest.
“Oh Edna. What are we going to do?” he whispered.
She stepped away, and stood alone, so alone, her arms hanging empty at her sides. Orva kept his eyes on hers. With a small cry, she was back in his arms, and when he kissed her it was both of them at the same time, a perfect longing fulfilled, orchestrated by the maestro of denied love, of attraction long subdued, of proper tradition obeyed and respected.
She didn’t think, only knew this man’s kiss was everything she had ever longed for, imagined, and far beyond. He was perfect, his nearness a necessary ingredient, like air and oxygen, water and fire, an elemental coming together.
There was no time. No beginning and no end. The kitchen slowly came back into focus, and they stepped away hurriedly, hearing Neil’s feet hit the floor, then his door opening, water running in the bathroom.
“I apologize, Edna.”
She shook her head, tears already trembling on her lashes. He reached out to wipe them away with the tip of his finger, then took her face in both of his hands.
“I have no right to put you through this. I will never do anything again to make you feel confused.”
She could only shake her head.
“Tell me you don’t despise me, please, Edna.” He whispered.
“Never,” she whispered.
They heard Neil clattering down the stairs, and both quickly turned away, Edna to the sink, busying herself rinsing coffee cups, and Orva to turn the propane lamp up.
“Morning, Neil,” he said.
Neil never answered any morning greeting, so Edna never offered one, merely kept her back turned as he hurried through the kitchen. Orva shrugged, and said, “There. Right there is why I have no right. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll enjoy your vacation, continue to see Emery.”
And then Edna spoke. She poured out her heart. She told him exactly why she was in agony, afraid she was a spoiled child, wanting what she could not have, until she acquired it, and found the longed-for person like sour grapes.
“You do understand, Orva, right? It’s so hard to have enough confidence to say, oh, I don’t like Emery after all. He’s nothing like I always thought he would be. I mean, surely God led him to ask for me, after all these years. What if I am not thankful, just take him for granted?”
“But do you love him, Edna? Do you want to be with him every hour, want to touch him?”
With a small cry, Edna fled to the safety of the kitchen sink. When she turned, her face was so pale, her eyes so agonized, that Orva knew he was treading on dangerous territory.
“I’m sorry,” he said, yet again.
“No,” she burst out. “No. I don’t want to be with him. I can’t stand his kisses. I feel nothing. And that is the reason for my unhappiness. How does a person know?”
“A person places his trust in God’s leading. Which we will both do, with broken spirits, so that He can show us the way. What we experienced this morning is very real, but let’s give it time. Only through our faith and willingness to obey with humble hearts can we find the right path.”
His words were like a healing ointment to a gaping wound. Yes, here was a man who had been through the fire, been burned and polished beneath the Master’s hand until he glowed. A respect that seemed almost like reverence brought a sense of peace as she allowed herself to trust his words, the truth that brought understanding.
“Although, here I am telling you all this, when in reality, I am the one who needs to be told. I waver often, doubting God after He took Sarah.”
Edna took a deep, steadying breath.
“So then I’ll go to Florida.” She gave a small laugh. “It’s ironic, really, the judgment I’ve passed on these folks who go to Florida every year.”
“We never know what life will bring, do we?”
“For sure. I always thought it seemed so senseless, wasting all that time and money. Now I’ll see if it is a waste, or if it will be a major event that I’ll look forward to each year. I’ll turn into a Florida snowbird.”
They parted that afternoon with a gazing into each other’s eyes, trying to convey all they felt, hoping to trust the three weeks would bring no change. Maria wrapped her arms around Edna’s waist, and told her she probably wouldn’t be alright for three weeks without her. Emmylou pouted and told her to come back as fast as the bus could bring her.
“Minerva Yoder will take good care of you,” Edna assured them, then kissed them both goodbye, and with one last look at Orva, she carried her luggage to the car, got in beside the driver and left, answering his attempts at conversation in quiet monosyllables.
At home, she retreated to the safety of her room, packed her belongings in a large rollaway piece of luggage, tried to summon a sense of anticipation. She was looking forward to a vacation, new sights and a whole other world she had heard about so often from her friends, but felt the stab of reality too harshly, thinking of Emery.
He was so sure, so eager for this time together, and she the proverbial shrinking violet.
Well, it couldn’t be helped. By some twist of fate she’d met Orva and if Emery wanted to wait thirteen years while she turned into an old maid then it simply was what it was.
She enjoyed the evening meal with her parents, didn’t allow Trixie or all the senseless clutter to dispel her good spirits, simply let her troubles fall away and put on an aura of happiness for her ageing parents’ sake. Her father teased her, saying Sadie and Fannie were going to have to plan a wedding as soon as she returned, now wouldn’t they?
Her mother smiled and nodded, but knew in her own wise way that still water ran deep, and Edna was as deceptive as a forest pool.
She ached to erase the tension from her face, to calm her stumbling heart, to tell her love wasn’t perfect and to marry a widower with three children wasn’t easy, that was certain.
CHAPTER 15
THEY STEPPED OFF THE BUS INTO A BURST OF WARM SUNSHINE AND blue unclouded skies in a charming town called Pinecraft. There were hordes of bicycles, three-wheeled tricycles, cars, trucks, pedestrians, but mostly a vast array of Amish folks of every ordnung imaginable.
There were lawns so green it almost hurt her eyes, and flowers of every color and shape, blooming bushes and small trees, but the most beautiful of all were the palm trees, so foreign to anything she’d ever seen. To see a photograph of the tree did not do it justice, she decided, but kept this bit of observation to herself, seeing how Emery was taken up with reading addresses, muttering to himself as he figured out how to get to their destination.
“I didn’t tell you we’ll be staying with my brother and his wife, also my grandfather. They said they’d meet us here, but I don’t see anything, yet.”
“Oh.”
Edna was surprised, then relieved. She had not wanted to be prudish by questioning the fact that they were staying together, unmarried, but in the back of her mind, she had wondered what the arrangement would be.
“Taxi! Taxi!”
Emery dashed into the slow-moving line of traffic, almost colliding with a startled old gentleman on a three-wheeled bike. Edna held her breath, felt the perspiration break out on her forehead standing in the heat of the day, which was lovely at first. But she was accustomed to her winter climate and became decidedly uncomfortable.
She was relieved when he was able to stop a white and black vehicle with the letters “Taxi” emblazoned on the front. Their luggage stowed in the back, she fell in beside Emery, suddenly gratefu
l for the air-conditioned vehicle and its swarthy, talkative driver.
Emery gave him the address, then fell into a lively exchange of words, while Edna gazed out the window, unable to keep her attention on anything but the darling little houses, painted white or blue or lime green or coral. They had front porches or screened-in porches or patios, and were decorated with outdoor furnishings, potted plants, and items from the sea.
What a charming town, she thought. She could hardly wait to rent her bike and explore the many streets, visit shops and stores.
She grinned to herself. Here she was, right smack in the middle of the folks she had always looked on as frivolous, money squandering, self-seeking individuals without a bit of conscience about those less fortunate.
What a difference it made, then, to be here, to enjoy God’s wonders with an open heart, to feel a love and kinship with other Amish folk who came to Florida as a getaway, a moment’s reprieve from their dutiful, work-filled days at home.
Well, she had some attitude adjustments, at any rate. They found the house on a street that looked much the same as all the others, except for a cul-de-sac and a low-lying marsh that stretched out from there. They were greeted enthusiastically by a thin, bent, aging man with a heavy white beard and a sunburned, balding head, his quick actions reminding Edna so much of her energetic fiancé.
“Hello! Hello! So glad you made it. So this is Edna?”
He held her hand, shook it repeatedly, his dark eyes alert, quick to notice his surroundings, to gauge the mood between them. Edna thought of Moses, an ancient prophet with the gift of leadership, conversation, and the wisdom of communing with God.
“Hello. Yes, I am Edna. It’s good to meet you.”
“I’m Harvey. Harvey Miller.”
So he was Emery’s grandfather.
“Eli and MaryAnn are at the beach, but they’ll be back in time for supper.”
Emery was carrying luggage, sending the taxi on its way.
Before Edna could take stock of her surroundings, he had pushed past her looking for bedrooms to store the suitcases.
“Only one extra bedroom?” he called out from the end of the small hallway.
“Afraid so. You’ll have to sleep on the couch,” the old man called back, grinning and winking at Edna.
“Are you serious?”
Emery came out to the living room, surveyed his surroundings with distaste.
“I have a bad back. I don’t know about this arrangement at all.”
Immediately, Edna spoke up, always the fixer, the helper, the one who made life easier for everyone.
“I can sleep there. No problem.”
The old man shook his head. “No, no. That won’t be necessary.”
“Why not? She offered,” Emery said, looking hopefully at Edna.
“Sure. I can sleep out here.”
She unpacked her bags, stowing her clothes in drawers and on hangers in the closet. The room was small but comfortable, with a full-sized bed, a low dresser with a mirror, a chest of drawers, and a wicker chair in the corner. The walls were painted white, with a serviceable quilt in shades of green; the pictures appeared to have been plucked from a thrift shop without thought. A faded pink candle leaned to the right on a green plate, beside an old wooden cedar chest with a flaking woodland scene shellacked to the top.
Edna longed to go shopping, to decorate this room with items that made sense, here in this tropical climate so close to the ocean.
Emery clattered into the room, all effusive words and manic energy, stuffed his clothes in the chest of drawers, threw his luggage on the wicker chair, then came over to give her a quick hug. He lifted her off the floor in a grip so compressed her covering slid back, followed by one of his wet kisses.
“My sweet Edna. Are you happy we’re here?”
“Oh yes! Of course. This is lovely. We’ll have so much fun.”
“Good, good. I’m glad you like it. You want to go rent our bikes now?”
“Why don’t we just relax a while? I need a drink, maybe something to eat. A snack? We didn’t have lunch.”
“Sure. We can do that. Sure. Come on. Doddy can rustle up something.”
They sat at the kitchen table with glasses of ginger ale mixed with pineapple juice, saltines, and cheddar cheese.
The old man proved to be what Edna had imagined. Full of wisdom, with an energy about him that made him seem like a much younger man.
“Yes. I bought this house in ’85. Mam and I enjoyed many vacations here with the children. Back then, it was allowed to bring the school-aged ones. Nowadays, no children can be taken out of school, which is a good thing. We’re very fortunate having our own schools, so we need to obey the rules of those who look out for us.”
“Huh. The government? Buncha crooks. That’s what they are.”
Harvey Miller’s eyes fastened on his grandson’s face, but he kept his peace. He found Edna’s eyes on his, and something passed between them, a flicker of shared understanding, of both being in disagreement with the fractured attitude Emery displayed.
She bent her head, busied herself cutting cheese slices.
The kitchen was adorable, small, compact, with white kitchen cupboards and blue walls, a black and white patterned linoleum that appeared to have been the recipient of many activities, worn where the traffic was heaviest, punctured and torn in other places. An old gingham curtain hung in the window above the sink, a tin container on the windowsill, and a white refrigerator decorated with dozens of souvenir magnets, recipes, bills, and Bible verses.
Edna would hang a Roman shade in a white basket weave, paint the walls white, and replace the worn linoleum. She’d put glass bottles on top of the cabinets.
She’d get rid of the awful magnets.
But she reminded herself again, this was not her house, merely a place to stay for a three-week vacation.
Eli and MaryAnn returned, sunburned, laughing, delighted at their arrival, welcoming them warmly. Edna had, of course, met them before. They were a childless couple in their early forties who took every opportunity to go sightseeing to various locations at any given time, spending most of the winter months in Florida with his widowed father.
MaryAnn was tall, with long arms and legs, resembling her husband who was like a twin to Emery. They were all willowy, athletic, energized to the point of mania, and Edna only hoped to be able to keep up.
“How was your trip down?” Eli asked, helping himself to a handful of saltines.
“Great. We had a good trip. Good seats, comfortable, lots of fellow travelers to chat with. Time went fast, really.”
Emery leaned back in his chair; his dark eyes lit with enthusiasm.
Edna groaned inwardly. She had no idea he felt that way.
The trip was long, boring, and seemingly endless. The seats were beyond miserable, and the bathroom facilities horrendous. And yes, his constant talking had grated on her nerves. She was hungry, thirsty, tired without being able to sleep, constantly trying to avoid the clinging of his arms, or hands, or . . . well, his brain-sapping conversation and cloying words. She finally gave up trying to decipher her inward shrinking and irritation, chalking it up to the underlying exhaustion that was so much a part of her life. She thought she’d feel better after a week of sun and rest.
She made a wholehearted effort after hearing Emery’s rosy account of the arduous bus trip, and berated herself for turning into a person she didn’t know; a bitter, battle-weary old maid who wavered from being determined to love Emery and make an honest effort this time, to admitting there was something better out there.
Her first evening Emery sat with her on the couch, asked kindly if she was sure she’d be alright, then went into a long account of his back injury when he was bucked off a horse at eighteen years of age.
Edna listened, nodded, smiled, her eyelids drooping, her back aching from hours of sitting.
“See, Edna, if we were married, you could sleep with me,” he said quietly, then wiggled his eyebrows
comically, his face mere inches from hers.
His breath smelled like fish.
The flounder MaryAnn made was absolutely the best fish Edna had ever eaten. She stuffed it with a mixture of crabmeat, breadcrumbs, spices, lemon juice, and mayonnaise, then broiled it to perfection. Served with baked potatoes and shredded cabbage, carrots, onion, and toasted almonds, plus ramen with a vinaigrette dressing, it was so good that Edna tried to eat delicately, but had been hungry for so many hours that she found herself filling her plate twice.
All these tall, thin people. She felt like a dumpling.
She smiled at Emery and said yes, but they weren’t married, so she’d be fine on the couch. Of course he needed to take care of his back.
The following morning Edna was the first one awake, so she rose quietly, turned on the coffee maker, dressed, and poured a fresh, hot cup. She let herself out the back door to the small patio enclosed by magnolia trees, and what appeared to be a climbing vine with small yellow flowers scattered all over it. The large waxy leaves of the magnolia looked artificial, so Edna extended a hand to stroke the glossy growth.
“Checking to see if they’re real?” a voice asked softly.
Edna turned, embarrassed, but relaxed to find MaryAnn in her summer housecoat, her hair in a ponytail, her eyes swollen with sleep.
Edna laughed.
“Don’t feel bad, I did the same thing when I came here the first time. They’re beautiful.”
“They sure are.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“I was exhausted after my bus trip, so yes. I slept like a log.”
“Good.”
MaryAnn frowned, a pucker appeared between her eyebrows.
“What is up with you sleeping on the couch, though? Why doesn’t Emery let you have the bed?”
“He has a bad back. He explained it to me last evening before he went to bed. A horse unseated him when he was a teenager.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Edna nodded soberly.
“Well.” MaryAnn took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and sipped her coffee thoughtfully. Edna relaxed and watched a mockingbird glide in for a landing on the highest branches of the magnolia tree before opening its mouth, and imitating the cry of a seagull to perfection.
