by Linda Byler
That evening, she turned her back to Orva for the first time, saying she had a severe headache, which was true. After she heard his deep breathing, she pulled the sheet over her head and let the tears come till she found a measure of peace.
Well, hadn’t the minister spoken of sunshine and rain, the way every minister described marriage? But rain, gentle rain that nourished the earth and created dark days, was nothing compared to this onslaught of ill will, an unexpected hurricane to the heart. Orva remained kind and understanding, but how could he know the depth of the hurt?
They were, after all, his children.
So each morning, Edna awoke with fresh resolve to overcome these times when the children’s resentment paved a road of difficulty for her.
She put chicken and tuna salad in a Tupperware container, made sure the rolls were fresh and soft, put plenty of ice in the gallon water jug. She scoured the white lid of the Coleman coolers with Comet, till it appeared new, proud of the fact that her men went to work with clean lunches, packed thoughtfully. The heat of summer arrived in a cloud of humidity and blazing sunlight that left Edna gasping for air at nine o’clock in the morning.
The laundry hung stiff and straight in the hot morning sun, the cucumber vines already wilted in the garden, and the geranium leaves curling from lack of moisture.
She sat at the kitchen table, drinking her lukewarm coffee, listening to the stirring upstairs as the little girls woke to a new day.
She always looked forward to their appearance on the stairway, and this morning was no different. With school over for the summer, they were a constant source of entertainment with their chatter.
She stretched and yawned, then got up to start a batch of bread. It was too hot to bake, but Orva loved her homemade bread and rolls, so she tried hard to have it fresh out of the oven at least once a week when he came home from work. Neil did not like the homemade rolls for his sandwich, so she always kept the store bought on hand for him.
She was learning.
In the short time that she lived here as Orva’s wife, she had one textbook after another set in front of her, forced to accept, remain optimistic, and yes, learn. When she became disheartened with Neil’s attitude, or the girls’ lack of respect, she tried to rise above it and remain cheerful and smiling in spite of the sinking feeling in her heart.
She measured yeast in lukewarm water, stirred it absentmindedly as her thoughts went from one incident to another. Marie was on a mission, it seemed, to make sure Edna stayed in her place, ever since the pictures were hung in her room. The hugs of bedtime were gone, with the excuse that she was too old to be tucked in like a baby, turning her back, tilting her head to look at the pictures on the wall that had been her mother’s.
It was a small form of rejection, but one that drove a cloud above Edna’s head for days, especially when Emmylou followed suit, saying she was not a baby who needed a hug before she fell asleep. The kick delivered when she was down was the day Neil refused to eat even one item in his lunch, saying the banana on the bottom was overripe and had ruined everything.
“Don’t you know to wrap bananas in plastic wrap? Mam always did,” he said with a look of so much disdain it took her breath away.
He must really hate me, she thought, for the hundredth time.
She turned her back to him, refused to answer.
This boy needed discipline. He needed a sharp rebuke from his father and needed to know that speaking to his stepmother with all that adolescent condescension was unacceptable. But it would never happen, Orva living in constant fear of provoking his son.
And so the tiny seed of bitterness was planted, with Edna bouncing from times of hope that the situation would improve, to moments of wondering if no one had an eye for any wrongdoing, while she remained the sounding board for everyone’s grievances.
It was too hot in the house to eat supper, and certainly too uncomfortable to eat in the kitchen, so Edna fired up the grill, prepared burgers and sausages, made a bowl of potato salad, and cut a large watermelon in chunks, placing it all outside on the patio table that had been a wedding gift from her single friends.
It was not an inexpensive table and chairs, but one that would withstand all kinds of weather, lots of company, and abuse in general.
The chairs were heavy, with pivoting seats that tilted forward or backward, and there were bars between the table legs to rest feet so that after a meal, chairs could be tipped back to relax with a glass of iced tea.
Edna was so proud of this patio set, a dream come true for her. How often had she walked among the summery displays at Snavely’s, daydreaming of owning one of these, but without a patio or a home of her own, and certainly no husband, it wasn’t possible, none of it.
Neil had taken to eating with the family after the accident, so tonight, he collapsed into a chair, raked a hand through his hair, and sighed.
“My leg gave me a lot of trouble today.”
Tanned, with his shoulders widening like his father’s, Neil was turning into a handsome young man, if he could ease the tension in his mouth, learn to smile and relax, accept life’s twists and turns without the peevish pout.
Orva looked at him.
“I told you not to go up on that roof.”
“Someone had to do it.”
Orva didn’t bother answering, simply went ahead squirting mustard all over the burger on his plate. Edna looked at Neil, then looked away hurriedly, seeing the black light of irritation that flared far too often.
To ease the tension, Edna spoke out of turn, saying perhaps another worker could have gone up.
“You weren’t there. You have no clue what we’re talking about.”
The snarl on his top lip was as plain as day, his eyes boring into hers with just the right amount of contempt to make Edna feel the usual wave of despair, the jolt of unacceptance.
She busied herself cutting watermelon, her lips drawn back in a tense smile and her eyes blinking with humiliation. She looked to Orva for support, but he was already occupied with Emmylou’s sausage, cutting rapidly with his knife.
Determined to rise above this mundane exchange of unpleasantness, Edna took a bite of watermelon, chewed, and smiled brightly.
“Mm-mm. This is the best one yet.”
Orva raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
Edna nodded. “I’m learning to leave them on the vine a bit longer. I think that thing that attaches it to the vine, whatever it’s called, needs to be withered more than I thought. The watermelon becomes sweeter.”
Orva shook his head.
“You’re a wonder in the garden, Edna.”
“Why thank you, Orva. You know I love gardening. There’s something about the challenge of growing melons, though, that’s especially rewarding.”
She met Orva’s eyes, allowed her love to show, a warmth spreading across her face.
Neil pushed back his chair with enough strength to knock it on its back, grabbed his plate, and slammed through the door. Edna thought she heard him mutter something about “Kissy kissy,” but she couldn’t be sure.
Orva looked up, shrugged, and went on eating his burger that was dripping with ketchup and mustard.
“What brought that on?” Edna asked. She was only answered with another shrug, another bite of burger.
Edna’s uneasiness prevailed as she washed dishes. Orva’s shrug was the most inefficient, uncaring thing she’d seen yet. Why couldn’t he show sympathy or understanding where Neil was concerned? She could not ask for a kinder, more considerate husband, but with Neil, there was always this competition, this need to show superiority. He could have been nice about Neil’s leg pain instead of telling him that he did wrong by going up on the roof. Neil had meant well and was doing his job. Immediately after delivering that put-down, Orva praised her melon-raising ability.
Why couldn’t Orva see it? He was blind and deaf when it came to dealing with his oldest son, again, even if things had been so different when Neil had been in a coma. Noth
ing had changed, now that he was back to his usual self. But approaching Orva and telling him of this major fault hadn’t worked the first time, and very likely never would. She wished she had enough wisdom to work on a miracle between these two by some brilliant act of psychology. But she knew that, too, was a plan without a possibility.
She simply had to maneuver her way through this labyrinth of emotions as taut as a guitar string, and hope to hit the right chord.
Her tears fell in the dishwater, plunking off her face like a child’s. She sent a plea Heavenward, for wisdom, for support, and thought again how she needed the serenity prayer more than ever.
“God grant me the serenity to change the things I can, to accept the things I cannot change, and to be able to tell the difference.”
Or something like that. Telling the difference, that was the sticker. How did one go about knowing when to speak, when to take action, and when to shut up and accept a situation that was clearly out of one’s control?
Neil had always confided in his mother, an act of confidence driving the wedge between him and his father. Clearly, Orva had harbored childish jealousy of Neil and his relationship with his mother. Was that because he felt she loved Neil more than she loved him? The need to have a serious talk with Orva overtook her. She had to talk to him, now, this evening. To stay quiet would only allow this festering wound to become even more toxic. Her way had always been to face a situation head-on, take the blows as they were hurled, and live with the consequences. This situation was the first one that left her crying weak tears in her dishwater, cowering in indecision.
Enough. She was Edna Miller, well, Schlabach now.
She washed her hair, showered, cuddled up to Orva on the sofa in the living room after the children were in bed, laying her head on his shoulder, stroking his chest and telling him that she loved him. He sighed and drew her close, answering her love with words of his own.
He buried his face in her wet hair, drew in a deep breath and said she smelled so good.
“Edna, you know you are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I love you more every day. You fulfill me in ways I didn’t know were possible. You are my whole life.”
Edna was quiet, allowing the words to rotate and shine, as if she was sifting through diamonds with her fingers, catching all the brilliant lights she possibly could. Everything seemed possible when she heard his declaration of love this way.
And so she launched her concern, immediately.
She felt him tense up, draw away from her. She stopped speaking, held her breath, before plowing through her fear.
“Surely you can see, Orva, like tonight on the patio. Neil needed to hear that he did something right by going up on the roof, not something wrong. He was only doing his job. He isn’t one hundred percent healed, you know. Then, on top of that, perhaps you’d better not praise me when he’s within hearing distance. He doesn’t like me, you know, and to hear your enemy being praised is hard for all of us, especially a struggling teenager.”
“You’re not his enemy.”
“Of course I am. He doesn’t like me.”
“There’s a difference.”
There was a moment of silence fraught with exploding emotion.
“No, Orva, you’re wrong. Neil can’t stand me and does anything he can to let me know. You’re not aware, because I don’t tell you half the stuff he says to me.”
“Why don’t you tell me? I’d straighten him out.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’re scared to death of him.”
Truth, especially when spoken in an accusing tone, can have the impact of a sledgehammer, and this was exactly what Edna’s words brought out in her husband.
With a sharp intake of breath, he drew away from her, pushing her aside. He leaped to his feet, breathing hard, his hands balled into fists, his chest heaving.
“Don’t, Edna, don’t. Don’t you ever tell me I am afraid of my own son. You know there is not an ounce of truth in that sentence. I did not marry you to come into my family and make all this trouble. We got along just fine the way we were, and I plan on keeping it that way.”
With that, he stalked out of the house, into the still, hot night, leaving Edna sideways on the couch, with an impending sense of threat.
CHAPTER 20
EDNA WAS SHUCKING CORN IN THE BACK YARD, SITTING ON A STACKing lawn chair, a wheelbarrow on one side, the garden cart on the other, a huge stainless-steel bowl at her right, and a pile of light green corn husks at her feet.
She took up another ear of corn, pried the ends loose and ripped the husks downward, then broke off the end and picked up the small vegetable brush to rid the corn of its silk.
Another broiling August day, she thought wryly, but it wasn’t too bad sitting here in the shade. She eyed the wheelbarrow stacked high with deep green ears of corn, imagined it would take all day before it was cooked, cooled, creamed and cut, put in ziplock freezer bags and put in the gas chest freezer in the basement.
Now where were the girls? She’d asked them to help at least ten minutes ago, and so far, she’d not seen anything but the house and surrounding lawn and flowerbeds. Which was enough.
She’d never tire of this beautiful home. She’d always view her home as an undeserved blessing, an old maid with no prospects finding herself the wife of a desirable man, the co-owner of a house that was far beyond anything she had ever imagined. It was a joy to mow grass, plant flowers, shrubs, and order mulch to distribute among the many perennials and ornamentals, before standing back and soaking up the pleasure of her hard work. Everything, including the everyday tasks of doing laundry, sweeping and dusting, scouring bathrooms, washing windows, were labors of love.
Not that the house and its duties came with no strings attached, she reminded herself, as the craziness of the previous evening horned in on her thoughts. It had been the worst of their bad times, as always with Neil in the center.
But Orva was afraid of his son, and Neil knew it. That was the number one reason Neil spoke to her with no respect for her feelings.
He could lord it over his passive father, so she was lumped in the same category, an annoying parent who knew nothing about anything, who bumbled through life having the unlicensed right to put an unwrapped, overripe banana in his lunch, and he had every right to tell her so.
Searing anger shot through her. She should stand up to Neil, bark and yell like a trooper, deliciously telling him everything he needed to know. She daydreamed about the words she would say, then resigned herself to the fact that it would never make a difference, the way she’d botched everything last night.
Oh, Orva was mad. Was still angry with her, as far as she could tell. They’d kept each side of the bed warm, with a sizable area in the middle that neither one had touched. She’d considered apologizing, then scrapped that idea, justifying her confrontation with the thought of having merely told him the truth, and if it was hard to digest, well, then he’d have to get over it.
She had not cried one tear. She was too angry at both of them, acting like spoiled children. She shucked corn harder and faster than necessary, wondered if all married couples had times like this.
She knew Chip and Fannie did, but that was no mystery, for sure. Fannie loved to boss Chip around, always thinking she knew best in every situation, and Chip was not the kind to let his wife walk all over him. So they had frequent bouts of arguing, sinking into their specific silences, until they made up and got along wonderfully until the next round.
Harley and Sadie were more level, but that, no doubt, was on account of Sadie being meek and quiet, an almost perfect helpmeet.
Yes, Edna had seen plenty in her years as a maud, her mood receptor honed to a fine instrument. But did those couples ever become as upset as Orva had been last evening?
Well, she’d have corn on the cob for supper, steak on the grill. Butter him up a little, see what happened. If it weren’t so hot, she’d make butterscotch pie, but it was too uncomfortably humid to think of eating th
at sweet dessert.
No watermelon; knowing these men, they’d start up the endless round of praise and put-downs again.
Now where were those girls?
“Marie! Emmylou?” she yelled.
No answer.
Annoyed, she got up, shook the corn silk from her skirt and hurried into the house, sliding the screened patio door harder than she should have. She sniffed. Something was burning. Bacon or ham.
The kitchen was blue with smoke, a blackened pan set on the countertop, greasy, rumpled paper towels thrown across the table, empty plates with the residue of blackened bacon and crusts of toast.
She pressed her lips together in a thin line, calling out grimly, “Marie!”
A thin reply wafted down the stairs.
“Get down here. Now!”
Two frightened faces appeared on the oak stair railing.
“What were you doing in the kitchen?
“Making breakfast.”
“But there’s lots of smoke, Marie. You burned the bacon. You are not allowed to make bacon without me, O.K.? Now get down here and clean up. You can wash your dishes.”
With that, Edna stamped back to the kitchen, lifted the pan to find a black ring on the granite countertop, just as she’d feared.
Orva had told her about the high-quality countertop, and it was not meant to hold very hot pans.
Oh my. Now what? In the mood he was in already, this would certainly cement his displeasure.
“Look what you did.”
She showed the darkened circle accusingly, watching their faces intently.
Marie’s eyes opened wide. Emmylou peered over the countertop and gasped.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You set the hot pan on the granite countertop. You can’t do that. You could have had a bowl of cereal if I was busy with corn.”
Marie stepped back. For an instant, Edna thought her face would crumple, and she’d cry. Instead, her eyes fell to half-mast, her lip curled, and she spat out the words, “You can’t boss me around. You’re not my mother.”
