A Second Chance

by Linda Byler

  Edna felt nothing, then turned away.

  She did not leave the house, still waited on the phone call that did not come. She spent the evening with Eli, MaryAnn, and Harvey on the back patio, the warm fragrance of the evening bringing on a sense of melancholy.

  Edna felt sad, leaving Florida. The warmth of the tropical climate, the beauty of the sunsets, the clear water of the ocean, the white sand and profusion of flowering bushes and trees, the stately palms, would always hold a place in her heart. She would now understand the longing to spend the winter months in a location so different from her home state, the freedom of being away from work and responsibility, a time of rejuvenation.

  Never again would she stand in church and look down her nose, sniffing those “better than thou” sniffs.

  “You’re not really here, Edna,” MaryAnn said quietly.

  Edna looked at MaryAnn without seeing her.

  “Hello?” MaryAnn said, laughing.

  Edna smiled.

  “You know I’m leaving on the six o’clock bus. If a certain phone call arrives.”

  MaryAnn nodded.

  Eli and Harvey retired early, leaving MaryAnn and Edna in deep conversation. They talked, they cried and laughed and sympathized.

  A bond grew between them that would last a lifetime.

  When the phone jangled to life, Edna leaped to her feet, her heart racing as her eyes raked the caller ID.

  Yes, it was him.

  “Hello?” Quietly, out of breath.

  “Edna?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Orva.”

  “Yes.”

  Couldn’t she say anything but yes?

  “Sorry I’m late. I just got back.”

  “How is he?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Orva?”

  His voice was choked, garbled. “It doesn’t look good. He’s on life support.”

  Her heart plummeted. The room spun.

  “But he’s expected to live?”

  “They won’t say.”

  What was left to say? How did one go about comforting a person who recently lost his wife, and was confronted with another tragedy so soon?

  “Orva, I’m sorry. Do you want me to come home? To the girls?”

  “They are asking for you.”

  “I’ll come. I’m scheduled to leave on the six o’clock bus.”

  There was another pause. Then, “I don’t know what Minerva will say. She’s . . . kind of taken over.”

  So here it was. The rest would follow. He’d fallen for her. Tall, willowy, blond Minerva.

  “So you’d rather not have me? I don’t want to create a problem.”

  “You won’t. I’ll tell her, Edna, believe me, it isn’t a problem. Just come home.”

  His voice broke, then.

  “Come home, Edna. I need you.”

  No words could express the music in her heart. She bit her lip to keep from saying words she would regret later. She merely said, “Alright.”

  “When will you be here?”

  “Sometime on Thursday forenoon, I imagine.”

  “Should I meet you at the bus station?”

  “My parents or sisters can. I mean, if you need to be at the hospital.”

  “I’ll be there. In Topeka, right?

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll see you then. Have a safe trip.”

  “I will.”

  Her heart sang. She replaced the receiver, let it drop slowly, softly. She turned to go to the back patio, then took a deep cleansing breath, let out all the pent-up stress of the past twenty-four hours, before clasping her hands in a euphoria that was, of course, weighted with worry for Neil.

  She let herself fall into a lawn chair, her arms and legs dangling, her head propped on the back, her face lifted to the night sky.

  “I’m going home.”

  “That was him?”

  “It was.”

  “And?”

  “He wants me to come home. He needs me. He said he’ll talk to Minerva. She’s taken over.”

  “Glory be.”

  And still, they talked. Edna knew she would not sleep if she did not lay on that couch. That creaky couch with the lumpy cushions that slid out from under her every time she changed positions. And Emery with his bad back enjoying a good night’s sleep, evidently, by the eruptions of expelled breathing that came from his room.

  And so she left Florida, riding on a comfortable bus with more Amish and Mennonites, all sorts of plain people who were returning to their homes after a few weeks or months in Florida. She dozed, but mostly she gazed out the window and watched the scenery, or read the book she had picked up at a little bookstore, and tried to stay calm, without the hard work of an imagination that ran wild.

  “Mind if I sit here?”

  Edna looked up into a ruddy, tanned face surrounded by graying hair and a pair of the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Tropical waters.

  “Sure. Here, let me put my bag on the floor.”

  He lowered himself into the adjoining seat, extending a hand. Tentatively, she reached across and took it.

  “Elmer Stoltzfus.”

  “Lancaster?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Stoltzfus is not a western name.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  There was not an awkward moment after that. He, too, was a widower, but it had been nine years since his wife passed away. Nine long years of being alone, the children all married with families of their own.

  He’d often considered marrying again, but felt unfaithful to the memory of his Ruth, and said she was as perfect as Ruth of the Old Testament story, their love blessed beyond comparison. He talked constantly of his deceased wife, the union was a gift from God, and to be honest, he was a bit leery of second marriages as they often didn’t go well.

  “Too many men marry when they’re still grieving, heartsick, and lonely. Any woman looks good to a man who lives by himself after a while, let me tell you.”

  He gave a short laugh.

  Edna looked at him, horrified.

  “What?” she asked, without thinking.

  “It’s true. Don’t look so scared. I’m serious. Second marriages are a downright catastrophe, or can be. You know, it gets messy. Children involved. And if those children are not your own flesh and blood, it can be hard to . . . well, I’ve seen it.”

  Edna sat up straight, her nostrils flaring with indignation, but instead of giving him a piece of her mind, she kept her mouth closed.

  “So, what’s your status?” he asked.

  Status? As if she was expected to fill out a questionnaire. Put an X in the box. Married. Single. Whatever.

  She bristled, wouldn’t speak.

  “I mean, I noticed you’re by yourself. Going home?”

  “Yes.” Stiffly.

  “To . . .?”

  “Indiana.”

  “I thought so, by the bowl-shaped covering. You’re single? Or did your husband opt to stay home and milk cows?”

  “Yes. In fact, he did. He’s at home, milking cows. I went to Florida for my health.”

  She patted her chest, cleared her throat.

  “Bronchitis. Florida climate does wonders.”

  “I see. Well, I’ll move on here. I need to talk to my cousin who’s seated in the back of the bus. Have a good read.”

  “Wait.”

  He sat back down.

  “I lied.”

  “You what?”

  “I don’t have a husband, I just said that to . . . actually, I don’t know why I said that.”

  He put back his head and laughed, a full, deep, pleasant sound that made her laugh as well.

  “Funny girl, aren’t you? That’s what I like about you westerners. You have this great sense of humor. That was your way of getting rid of me, right? Look, I’m not in the market for a wife. I just thought you looked alone, kind of scared, maybe, as if you weren’t too sure what was going on in your life, so I wante
d to see what you had to say. You looked interesting to me.”

  Edna laughed.

  “I’ve been called a lot of things, but never interesting.”

  “You seem like someone who is very intelligent. Has seen a lot in life, but is confronted with something that makes her nervous.”

  Edna smiled wryly.

  “I’d say you have supernatural powers, or else you’re an excellent judge of character. All except the very intelligent.”

  And so they traded life stories, decided they’d both been tossed about by life’s high seas, but he was easily old enough to be her father, at fifty-seven years of age. Time passed swiftly, and when the bus pulled into an Arby’s, they ate together, then passed the remainder of the trip in each other’s company.

  Elmer Stoltzfus restored her faith in men. He had come across as abrasive and nosy, but Edna learned he was only honest, curious in a good way.

  His life lessons were many, a string of events in which he had acquired a keen insight, especially in diving unprepared into the shark-infested waters of holy matrimony. Edna smiled when he said marriage was not for the faint of heart, except for his Ruth. An angel. An absolute saint on earth. But he had seen so much.

  His own daughter and son-in-law had an awful time of it. They’d been for counseling, counseled till they were blue in the face, but it hadn’t made a whole lot of difference.

  His honesty was refreshing, his optimism catching. He spoke freely of an all-powerful God who directed lives, whether people were aware of it or not. A faith that seemingly moved mountains.

  She pondered his words, thought how he thrived on golden memories and a devotion to God alone, a curiosity about his fellow men and women, and a spirit that longed to help folks to a higher ground when he knew they were stuck in their own defeat.

  His advice to Edna about Orva was to go slowly. There was plenty of time. Orva was at the crucial stage, when his loneliness was his driving force, especially if he had had a solid marriage before.

  Edna took his words into her heart. He was right, she knew.

  So when the bus pulled into Topeka, she kept herself from the anxiety of peering out the window, watching for Orva, hoping he’d stay true to his word. The cold wind was like a slap in the face, but she’d dressed for the wind’s knife edge, knowing what the beginning of March could be in Indiana.

  And there he was.

  Solid, dressed in a heavy gray coat. A neat black hat. So handsome, so right, so Orva.

  The light in his face was like a beacon, guiding her on.

  “Edna.”

  It was a statement, a reassurance.

  Surrounded by a sea of Amish folks coming from the bus, there were only the expected formalities. They waited for luggage, kept their eyes on safe objects like the bus or people they both knew, and called out greetings.

  Again, he opened the car door for her and she gathered her skirt, placed her feet delicately, feeling every inch a princess.

  But Edna remembered Elmer Stoltzfus’s words.

  With the girls in school, they found Minerva Yoder alone in the house, busying herself at the stove, cooking dinner, the table set for three.

  So he’d told her.

  “Welcome back, Edna.”

  She extended both hands and Edna took them gratefully.

  “How are you, Minerva?”

  “Good. I’m good. Moving on, now that you’re here.”

  “Are you glad to be doing that?” Edna asked.

  A slight pause, then a cheery “Oh yes. Back to the bakery literally. I miss it. And my Mam will be happy to have me back.”

  She placed a casserole on the table, and a plate of sliced cheese.

  “How was Florida?”

  “Great. Actually, I love it there. All I want to do is return as fast as I can.”

  “No wonder, you have a special memory now. And a bright future with Emery, right? Or didn’t he pop the question the way everyone says he will?” Minerva asked, laughing, glancing at Orva.

  He sat at the head of the table as if carved from stone. Expressionless.

  Edna shook her head.

  “Actually, he didn’t. Our trip was cut short by Neil’s accident.”

  “He came back with you, though. Right?”

  “No. He stayed.”

  “I see.”

  It was obvious that Minerva did not see, that she was more than a bit irritated by the disclosure of no engagement, no bubbling bride to be, and no promise of having Edna removed. But there was nothing to do about this except sit down at the usual place, arrange her utensils and bow her head with her hands folded in her lap when it was time, without disclosing any of the inner rough and tumble of her thoughts.

  When the prayer was finished, they all helped themselves to the casserole, which needed salt, but was pronounced delicious by Edna in a breathy self-conscious tone of voice that bewildered Orva. It went unnoticed by Minerva.

  “So, is Emery returning in the coming week, or . . . ?”

  Minerva faced Edna with a calm expression, friendly, curious.

  “I’m not sure. We . . . he’s staying at his grandfather’s house, with his married brother Eli.”

  “You stayed there, too?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Ooo. Close quarters to think you are only dating.”

  Absolutely nothing to say to this, Edna thought, so she didn’t.

  Minerva turned to Orva.

  “So, I’m here with the girls tonight, right? Edna is going with you?” Orva glanced at Edna, then looked away.

  “She wants to see Neil, I believe.”

  Edna nodded.

  There followed an awkward silence, forks sliding sideways across plates, the breaking of waxy cheese and polite chewing, with mouths closed. The wind sent a porch rocker tapping against a window frame, a tree branch scraping on the porch roof.

  Edna found her room filled with Minerva’s belongings, the bathroom piled with an array of liquid soaps, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, flossing string, hairbrushes and combs, hairspray, hairpins, bands and bobby pins.

  There were lavender bath salts, eucalyptus oil, bubble bath, and French Country bar soap, a loofah sponge, a long-handled bath brush and a ball of nylon netting on a rope.

  She managed a shower surrounded by bottles and objects she never used, dressed quickly and hurried down the stairs, knowing they’d be leaving at one o’clock. Orva emerged from the bedroom fastening his shirt buttons, but avoiding her completely as he entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

  Minerva had finished the dishes and was sweeping the floor in long, swift strokes with the soft kitchen broom. She looked up when Edna entered the kitchen, smiled and asked if she just got rid of all her junk, or if she showered around it.

  “Oh, it’s fine. You must enjoy your bath time.”

  Minerva stopped sweeping, set her broom against the cabinet, and sighed. A faraway look came into her eyes, and she smiled a rueful grin.

  “Oh, you know, Edna. From one single girl to another. If we want to be pampered we have to look out for ourselves, because no one else is ever going to do it. You know how fortunate you are with Emery?”

  Edna nodded.

  There was no sense in telling her. Word got around soon enough, among the plain people who lived their lives woven together like a fine basket.

  No, she did not have Emery, and there were no regrets, not now, not ever. The mystery had been solved the second she saw Orva standing in the bus station in Topeka.

  His maturity, his quiet strength, those sad eyes.

  It was as if God had handed her a sign, written plain as day. The future was constructed of the hope of his love, but if it was not to be, then she would come to accept it, in time.

  But never would she mourn the friendship with Emery.

  CHAPTER 17

  EDNA’S DISTASTE FOR HOSPITALS STAYED HIDDEN AWAY IN ORVA’S presence. The quiet, dimly lit room with its confusing network of wires, tubes, screens wi
th numbers and jagged lines, the monitors and wheezing and clicking, and the smell of antiseptic and cleaning fluids were stark reminders that this was the ICU.

  These things surrounded the bed, yet Edna could see only Neil, his head almost covered in white gauze bandages, his face swollen to an alarming size, his eyes closed in two curved dark lines. He was attached to so many devices that Edna stopped halfway across the room, afraid she would upset or disturb the rhythm of one or all of them.

  Orva went ahead, bent over and touched his chest.

  “Neil. We’re here. I brought Edna. Remember Edna, our maud? We’ll sit with you for a while.”

  He turned to Edna.

  “We’re supposed to keep talking to him, they told us.”

  Edna approached the bed hesitantly.

  “Hello, Neil. It’s me, Edna.”

  She reached out to touch his cheek. It felt waxen, like a statue, but it was warm. She watched his chest rise and fall, over and over, and wondered if the machine was the only reason he was breathing at all. She turned to Orva, tears in her eyes.

  “Is there . . . ?” She gestured with her hand.

  Orva stepped closer, bent his head so she could speak very softly.

  “Brain activity?”

  “Yes. He is not considered brain dead.”

  “So there’s hope.”

  Orva nodded, bit his lip.

  They sat side by side. Orva explained in detail what had occurred the night of the accident. Neil was in a car with his friend Owen, and both had been drinking, with dangerous levels of alcohol in their blood. They ran a stoplight and went up over a curb and into the side of a brick building in downtown Topeka.

  Neil had head injuries, a ruptured spleen, broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and an arm broken in many different places, the bones shattered.

  “Neil was in bad shape after Christmas. It seemed as if the hockey equipment only served to remind him of what he should be. He wanted to meet high expectations, so he set goals for himself, but failed them all.”

  Edna shook her head, then turned to meet Orva’s eyes.

  “But why? He was doing so well. I had high hopes that if he actually joined the hockey team, it would build his self-worth.”