by Linda Byler
She heard the whisper of his hair on the pillowcase as he turned his head. In profile, he looked so much like his father, except thinner and younger.
He sighed.
“Before the accident, Dat marrying you would have made me so mad. But I heard a lot of his words. You know. He’s . . . well, cool. So I’m down with it.”
“You’re down?” Edna asked, not understanding.
He laughed. “I’m O.K. with it.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded, “It’s cool.”
She told Orva, who received the news with no small amount of incredulity. Prayers were answered, he said. He hadn’t prayed for perfection, only the healing of the hurt in Neil’s heart from his mother’s death.
He hadn’t asked for a complete and total conversion from bad to good. Only the healing that would bring this about, in God’s time.
“He’s so young. We’ll likely still have our times, but the seed has been sown, and he’ll find his way back. Praise God.”
By the middle of April Neil had the casts removed and was upright, walking with the aid of a walker on wheels.
He still wore a neck brace, but it, too, would be removed in the coming weeks. Orva and Edna hunched over the kitchen table with a calendar, planning the date of their wedding, where to hold the services, who would host the reception, and the guest list.
“Fannie and Sadie, my two sisters, will be beside themselves with only a month to prepare. We had better plan this for the last week in May.”
“Whatever you think, Edna. But that is like a year away.”
“No. Six weeks.”
“Too long.”
The little girls were told, with shrieks of approval and lots of acrobatic maneuvers across the kitchen and into the living room.
“I knew it! I just knew it!” Marie shrieked.
“You’ll be my mom, I’ll have a mom,” Emmylou cried, extending her arms and racing around in circles, like an unbalanced bird.
Orva put his arm around Edna’s waist and drew her close. They smiled into each other’s eyes and thanked God in the hidden recesses of their hearts.
Her family was fit to be tied, literally.
If only she’d thrown hints, given them a clue, it wouldn’t be half as bad, Sadie and Fannie shrieked. The sisters-in-law took the news with less fanfare, but then, they weren’t the ones who had to do a wedding at their house.
Sadie lifted both hands to her flaming cheeks.
“Why didn’t you give us a warning, at least?”
“Because of Emery.” Edna stated flatly.
“What’s he got to do with it?”
“Well, we did break up only recently. This whole thing is a scandal.”
“Oh, pooh! You and Emery were broken up before you started. He was like a mirage to you. You know, you crawling across the desert dying of thirst and he was always there, like a mirage. He was never real. He likes English girls too much.”
Edna’s head shot up, her eyes widening.
“What?”
“Well, he does. Everyone knows it. We just never had the heart to tell you.”
Edna contemplated this bit of information, before deciding to stay quiet about the coffee shop episode. If it was true, the gossip her sisters were implying, then perhaps the overheard conversation was a blessing in disguise, but there was no point in destroying his reputation even more. She knew there was truth in Sadie’s outspoken observance.
“You broke up before you started.” Broken down into gentler phrases, it simply was not meant to be, a common saying but very meaningful now.
Sadie searched Edna’s face keenly.
“That’s what happened, right?
“Well, not really. I mean . . . oh, forget it, Sadie.”
“Tell us, Edna.”
And so she did. They laughed and cried together, listened wide-eyed, burst out in righteous indignation at her description of the sleeping arrangement.
“Oh, he’d definitely be a winner,” Fannie said, her mouth so full of butterscotch pie that it sounded like “witter.”
“Swallow your pie!” Sadie shouted.
Edna laughed without restraint, cut another slice of pie, and decided you could search the world for something closer and better than sisterly bonds and you would never find it. Love and romance was another category, a God-given love that was high on the list, but sisters were priceless. They understood everything about you, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. They loved you even when they disapproved of you, and always forgave you for every crazy thing you ever did.
“I can’t get ready for a wedding in a month,” Fannie said, repeating herself for the third time.
“Orva is alright with the end of May.”
“What’s the difference, Fannie? Six weeks or a month?” Sadie broke in.
“Two weeks, that’s what the difference is. Two whole weeks of painting and cleaning up. We have to move most of the shop stuff, you know.”
“I’ll tell you what. We’ll just get married in town. One witness, you or Fannie, which one will it be?” Edna asked.
And so began the busiest six weeks of Edna’s life. Keeping Orva’s home running smoothly, weeding the gigantic rock garden, spending as much time as she could helping her sisters, sewing the wedding dress, choosing and sending invitations, finding fine china and silverware, matching tablecloths and placemats; it was all a bit too much.
She made lists, crossed them off, made more lists.
Every evening she fell into bed, so exhausted sleep was dreamless, a blink in time and she was awake at the sound of the alarm.
Her take-charge attitude was thrown off kilter by a sense of unreality. Sometimes she wanted to pinch herself to make sure everything was real.
At night, when they had a moment alone, they knew it was the best time of their lives. Or at least for Edna.
“There is only a young love once,” Orva told her quietly. “Only when you’re young is when you’re free-spirited, diving into love and marriage without have experienced it. It is a love like no other,” he said, his face saddened by memories.
Only for a short time, Edna felt slighted, before he folded her tenderly in his strong arms. He told her she was the best thing that God had ever given him, to give him hope and a new life with a beautiful girl he certainly did not deserve. Words that built her confidence in him, in spite of being a second wife.
She knew she was not beautiful, but kept this to herself. If beauty was in the eye of the beholder, then that was alright.
She had no reason to doubt his love, his attraction to her. He told her repeatedly how strong she was, and so capable of running a household smoothly.
“Well, Orva, when you say that, it’s much more believable than when you tell me I’m pretty.”
“I never told you you’re pretty. The word is beautiful. And you are.”
He smoothed her hair away from her face, sighed, and said sometimes he could hardly stand the love that flooded his chest.
“It’s like congestive heart failure. I’m fa-schticking on all this love.” And she smiled softly.
CHAPTER 19
BY THE TWENTY-SIXTH OF MAY, THE WARM BREEZES AND BRILLIANT sunshine had effectively blown the gray days of winter to wherever they went till another season of cold rolled around. Trees were decked out in their green dresses, every flower bed and patio displaying new color as women everywhere filled pots and planters, edged shrubbery and perennials with hot pink petunias, buttery marigolds, and flamboyant geraniums in a variety of daring reds.
Lawnmowers buzzed across new grass, leaving neat stretches of turf like the finest carpet. Gardens were filling up with straight rows of peas and beans, red beets and carrots, clumps of cucumber vines peeking through the tilled soil.
Sadie had done her best. Her husband, Harley, had worked along with his energetic wife, listened to her insistent voice, mostly, but sometimes veering off course and doing things his way. The long white shop with the two garage doors was
turned into a wedding chapel in due time, scrubbed and painted, carpet laid, benches set.
About a half mile away, Chip and Fannie had their shop decked out for the reception, or the dinner, as was the Amish label for the wedding meal.
Rows of tables were set with white dishes, glass tumblers, and silverware, dinner rolls, butter and strawberry jam, apple butter, and honey. In the background, many friends and relatives were working to see that the wedding dinner went seamlessly, frying chicken, boiling potatoes, making gravy. It was all a sort of controlled chaos, with women chattering like colorful birds, each one a competent cook who had prepared a wedding meal many times.
They were the cooks, an honored position.
Edna was dressed in navy blue, with a white cape and apron, a new covering on her head, new shoes on her feet, and a glow on her face that everyone said made her appear prettier than they’d ever seen her.
Wasn’t it something, they asked each other. So perfect for Orva. But they’d seen it before, the widower marrying his maud. It was not unusual.
The wedding sermons were preached by two uncles, the short first sermon by a spirited young minister who spoke of Sarah’s passing, which produced quite a few handkerchiefs held to streaming eyes, especially for the family who had endured all the pain and questioning of the years of her cancer-ridden world.
Yes, they nodded. God had taken away, so there was peace in acceptance. You didn’t question his ways when he took a dear sister, daughter, mother of hurting children.
They were glad to welcome Edna to the family, relieved to hand over the duties of helping Orva and the children. Now they would have a mother to pack their lunches, keep their clothes clean, cook and sew and bake. But even more important was the fact that Orva would not be alone, but have someone by his side, a helpmeet, someone to love.
Neil sat on the bench, still thin, but the color in his cheeks was returning, the pallor of his face turning into a healthy tan.
As he listened to the sermon, watched his father stand before the bishop with Edna by his side, pronouncing the quiet “ya,” and the congregation rising in prayer after they were pronounced man and wife. Many people cast covert glances in his direction, wondering what he was thinking, his face set like stone, his mouth in a grim, inscrutable line.
Was a stepmother ever truly welcome to a teenager?
Or did they all harbor a form of resentment against this woman who was thrust into their life by the father’s choosing?
What about Mam? She was gone, forgotten so soon, while the father went chasing after anyone who seemed readily available. Evidently, everyone thought it was O.K., the way they set up this wedding, dressed up, and sat here with shining approval. But it was too soon. Much too soon for the grown son to take in this finality, this forgetting of his beloved mother who was dead, buried in the Amish graveyard with a too-small, too-unadorned gravestone stuck into the earth above her wooden coffin that lay rotting beneath it.
And so amid the happiness, the gaiety and celebrating, there was only the smallest sprout of the bewilderment and uncharted navigation of the coming years.
Orva and Edna were now man and wife, married, joined in holy matrimony by the bishop, bound together as one in the eyes of God and man.
Edna had never felt such joy, so much love, and acceptance by his people, and Sarah’s. They were so generous in their praise, giving her no reason to feel she had entered into this union too soon or with too much confidence in her own ability.
Humble. Edna Miller was humble, so sweet, they said. She’ll win over those children, even Neil. And they so obviously loved each other.
The entire congregation was awash in high hopes and goodwill, kinfolk and friends who were inspired to see what God had wrought in his great love for the suffering Orva and the lonely Edna.
They piled their wedding gifts on the back of Rick Anderson’s pickup truck, helped both sisters restore their shops back into working condition, and began their life in the house Edna loved so much.
Marie and Emmylou went on with life, swaddled in the security of having a mother. They went to school with good food in their lunches, the memory of Edna’s hug across their lonely shoulders, and faced life head-on with newfound confidence.
Her parents brought her furniture from the large bedroom down the hallway, her father presiding over the hardworking men as if he was the foreman of a moving company. Her mother hovered, laughing, throwing little knick-knacks in the packed boxes. Saying she’d want these when she became homesick.
“Here, Edna. Take Trixie,” her father said, handing the bewildered little dog to her. “I know you’ll miss her.”
And laughed uproariously at his own joke.
“Goodbye, Edna,” her mother said, reaching for her. Edna was gathered into a warm embrace, and felt the patting of her hands as if to assure her that all would be well with them.
“But, Mam, will you be alright?”
“Why of course we will. You girls will check up on us. Dat is much better than he was for a long time on that medication. We’ll be fine.”
“I’ll be back every Thursday to clean.”
“Now, if something comes up don’t get all stressed about our cleaning. I can clean, too, you know.”
Edna smiled at her mother, thought of the bathroom and Trixie, the dead flies and dropped geranium leaves. Her parents stood together, waving, Trixie draped across her father’s arm, her head to one side. Edna told Orva that dog had never been happier than she was to see her leave.
By the first week in June, her new life as Mrs. Orva Schlabach began in earnest, the house rearranged to her liking, her furniture in various positions, mixed with the things that had been Sarah’s.
The first wind of unrest blew in when she took down a few pictures and replaced them with her own. She was innocent about this change until Marie asked what she’d done with her mother’s pictures.
“I stored them in the attic, Marie. Why?”
Marie put a finger to her chin, tilted her head sideways, and said it got too hot in the attic for her mother’s pictures, and she wanted them in her room. Eyes glaring, accusing.
Surprised, Edna took in the baleful look, the defiant stance.
“Oh, alright, Marie. I didn’t know the attic got so hot.”
“It does.”
She turned away, and Edna felt properly scolded. It was far more than the pictures. It was Marie holding on to her real mother, the memory of her, resenting the thought of her new mother replacing the one she still missed. Edna went to the attic, brought down the pictures, asked Marie where she wanted them hung.
Marie surveyed her room, then asked to have them put above the bed, where she could see them before she went to sleep.
Edna did as she was told, then searched Marie’s face for signs of approval, but there was none, only the attitude of having been slighted in the first place.
She tried to put the incident out of her head, told herself repeatedly that it was nothing, a normal wish for a child who had lost her mother. But the whole thing stuck in her mind like a painful bruise until she approached Orva with the unsettling disclosure.
He listened patiently, of course, he always did, which soothed Edna’s ruffled self-confidence. He put an arm tenderly across her shoulders, pulled her close, and said he was sure this was nothing out of the ordinary. Marie simply felt displaced without the usual things on the wall.
“Of course,” Edna said softly. “I understand.”
A few weeks later it seemed that the pictures on the wall laid the groundwork for a string of incidents that were like interlocked pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that eventually formed the border of an entire image; a scene that pushed its way into Edna’s joy, took away her serenity as efficiently as a thief in the night. She knew the danger of this thief lurking in the shadows, knew she had to stop thinking of herself, stop being childish, but one incident became so significant she came to Orva again.
“Orva, can I talk to you about Neil?”
She loved him with all her heart, a consuming love that only multiplied as the weeks wore on. He was all she had ever imagined and more. She could put up with the children’s periodic lack of acceptance.
She settled beside him, leaned into his solid chest, felt secure and cherished as he drew her close. He kissed her and told her he loved her, which brought quick tears.
“I’m sorry to keep bringing up these childish things,” she began.
“It’s O.K., Edna. We were bound to have some problems somewhere along the line. It’s O.K.”
“No, it’s not O.K.” Edna corrected him
“How is it not?” he asked.
“I’m just being too sensitive. I often feel as if I’m not welcome here. I mean, not really like that, but . . . I don’t know how to say it. It’s as if I was still the maud and the children resent everything that goes outside of that.”
Orva took a deep breath. She felt his chest heave, and felt guilty for putting him through this.
“It’s probably perfectly normal.”
And so she didn’t tell him about Neil slamming his lunch on the counter, eyeing her with a look that could only be described as distaste, and telling her never to put tuna salad on a roll again. That it got soggy and gross, before adding the fact that his Mam never did, she put it in a container.
“I’m sorry,” Edna stammered, hating herself for not thinking that perhaps the tuna salad would make the bread soggy, but was in a hurry that morning and let it go.
Neil didn’t acknowledge her apology, he simply turned on his heel and clomped upstairs with as much noise as he could make, slamming things in his room.
To let me know how much he hates me, Edna thought.
She’d been so sure, after the accident, so confident that Neil would be different. He’d said he was “down” with it. He wanted her to marry his father. So why was everything so wrong?
