by Linda Byler
The horse stood, but his head was held high, his feet prancing as he obeyed.
It was Neil.
Edna watched, peered closely to see what he would do, confronted with this shy young girl driving her own rig, something he’d never attempted. Neil had never even shown an interest in a horse or a buggy.
He stepped aside, then spoke to her. She looped the reins in the ring attached to the harness, and with Neil on one side and Carla on the other, they unhitched together. It was Carla who led the horse out of the shafts, but it was Neil who took him to the stable.
She stood till he reappeared. They spoke a few words, then Carla walked up to the house and Neil closed the garage door.
Edna hurried to the door, drying her hands on a dish towel.
“Come in, Carla. It is too cold to be riding around in a cart,” she said, laughing.
“He needs driving,” Carla replied, in the soft lispy voice that Edna had thought so endearing.
“Well, he’s a beauty.”
“Gypsy Vanner. A foreign breed. He’s my project, and quite a handful.”
Edna shook her head.
“Never heard of them.”
“They’re not that common.”
She had hung her coat on an empty hook, then draped her scarf across it, before checking her hair and covering in the mirror above the washbowl. Satisfied, she turned, gave Edna the full benefit of her smile, a dazzling display of white teeth in an almost perfect face.
Real natural beauty, something Edna had never possessed. For an instant, she wondered how it would feel to look in a mirror and be aware of your own good looks, to know you were presentable, beautiful.
Carla did not seem to be the type of girl to be vain in a grosfeelich way. She was only fifteen, had not entered the maelstrom of rumschpringa, so perhaps that was why she appeared untouched, unaware of the impact she would have as she grew older.
“How is Marie doing for you?” Edna asked.
“It’s a bit soon to tell, but she seems willing. Her attention span is like a six-year-old. Really short. She’s easily distracted, and I think it’s hard for her to focus on her work.”
Edna nodded. “Well, I’m so glad you agreed to do this. It will mean a lot to her, as she grows older, to be able to keep up with her class.”
Carla looked around.
“They’re upstairs. I’ll get them.”
“Marie!” Edna called, as Carla got out her books on the folding table in the living room.
The girls clattered down the stairs, eager to spend the evening with Carla. Edna smiled at them, then ushered them into the living room, before leaving quietly to resume her work in the kitchen.
It wasn’t long before she heard someone in the laundry room. She smiled to herself and looked up to find Neil in the doorway, his hair combed a certain way, his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders hunched self-consciously.
“Any of that chocolate cake left?” he asked gruffly.
“No. Actually, there isn’t. But I made chocolate chip cookies today.”
He nodded, headed to the refrigerator for milk, set the gallon jug on the table and reached into the cupboard for a glass.
Edna almost asked him why wasn’t he in his room the way he normally was, then thought better of it.
No use in scaring him off.
The kitchen was quiet, with only the sound of Carla’s soft voice breaking the silence.
Neil dipped three cookies in his glass of milk, leaning forward over it as he wolfed them down in two bites, and turned his eyes repeatedly to the living room before casting covert glances in Edna’s direction. She could sense his indecision, both wanting to stay and to disappear up the stairs to his room at the same time.
He reached for another cookie.
Carla’s low melodious voice rose and fell.
Neil got up, went to the laundry room and returned with the DeWalt battery lamp. He walked through the kitchen without looking at Edna, and set it on the bureau by the couch.
“Thought you might need some light in here,” he said gruffly.
Carla had been leaning over Marie’s work, but she straightened, smiled at Neil, and thanked him before returning to her work.
He walked away slowly.
Carla watched him go. Neil reached the stairway and hesitated before making his way slowly up the stairs.
Hmm, Edna thought. Very interesting. He couldn’t sit in the living room the way he wanted to, and the kitchen meant eating more cookies and putting up with her. Her shoulders shook as she turned her back to hide the laughter. Ah, young love. Only once were you smitten, never again slain by Cupid’s arrow in quite the same way. Well, this was the cutest thing she’d ever seen, and she felt privileged to be a spectator. She would have to keep very tight control of her verbal observances.
She heard Carla tell Marie that she’d done well, but it was time for her to leave, driving her horse the way she had.
Marie said it was dark, how was she going to get home?
“I have lights, Marie. Bright ones,” Carla answered.
“Oh, good. ‘Cause I was going to tell you to stay here for the night. You could sleep with me and Emmylou. We have twin beds, but you could sleep in the middle on a pile of blankets.”
“I could, couldn’t I? That would be fun. O.K., Marie, one more time. Let’s say the six times tables. Ready?”
Marie began, haltingly, stumbling already over six times three. Emmylou bounced up and down in her chair, broke in and recited the whole set without skipping a beat.
Marie’s face crumpled, and she began to cry. Suddenly she balled her fists, drew in a deep breath, and her face turned red with rage before she attacked Emmylou, hitting and scratching.
Edna hurried to the living room, amid Emmylou’s yells of protest.
Carla lifted a pale, worried face to Edna, who peeled Marie off her sister, with a firm hand on each shoulder.
“Stop it, Marie. That’s not fair to Emmylou.”
“Let go of me!” Marie shrieked.
Edna only grasped harder, and Marie’s shrieks turned to yells of frustration and anger, till Edna hustled her away out to the kitchen and pushed her firmly into a chair, telling her to stay there till she calmed down.
“Everybody loves Emmylou. Nobody loves me. You’re not my mother. You can’t boss me around. I wish you wouldn’t live here,” she yelled.
Emmylou was lying on the couch with her back turned, hiding her face as Marie’s words roared through the house. Carla was busying herself in the living room, without as much as glancing in Marie’s direction, obviously a stranger to outbursts such as this.
Edna stood firm, her arms crossed, waiting for the storm to pass. When the yelling turned to screams, she reached for the distraught little girl, lifted her up, and carried her to the laundry room. Marie’s eyes opened wide, and the screams stopped immediately.
“You’re . . . you’re not going to paddle me, are you?” she whimpered.
Edna set her down, hard, pushed her face close to hers and said, “No, I’m not going to. But you will be punished properly for this behavior. I don’t care if you tell your father or Neil. I am your mother now, and throwing a fit like that is unacceptable. You know we love you, and that fit you threw was only being mad that Emmylou knows the six times tables. She studied with you. You didn’t care if you learned them or not, because that’s how you are. It’s time you straighten up.
“You will wash dishes for a week, every single evening.”
“I don’t want to,” Marie whimpered.
“I don’t care if you want to or not, you’re going to. Maybe till Friday or when you’ll know your times tables. Now get in there and tell Carla and Emmylou you’re sorry.”
Marie refused to apologize. She sat down on the floor, hid her face in her hands, shook her head from side to side.
Edna did not coax or force her, but allowed her to sit alone while she told Carla how bad she felt. Carla assured Edna in her breathy voice that
everything was fine, she was just upset, and that things would be different at the next session, but her face appeared pinched and drawn.
Edna accompanied her to the laundry room for her coat, watched as she bent to pat Marie’s shoulder, and was ready to help her out the door when Neil appeared, got down his coat, and told Edna he’d do it.
Carla told him she could hitch up by herself, she was quite used to it, but Neil wouldn’t allow it. Carla became quite flustered, didn’t tell Edna good night, and fumbled with the buttons on her coat before following Neil out into the night.
Edna made a mental note to teach Neil to open a door for girls, to stand back and allow them to go first, the way Orva had always done.
She gritted her teeth when Orva came into the laundry room, his eyes red-rimmed with fatigue, took one look at the pouting Marie, and bent to console her. He coaxed her to his recliner, where he sat her on his lap and spoke to her in quiet tones of understanding, polishing and smoothing all of life’s rough edges for his precious, neglected daughter, while Edna was left to fume, thinking how gladly she would have administered a sound “paddling,” the way she had been disciplined at home.
But Orva thought of Marie as a helpless, unloved infant.
How immeasurable was communication between a man and a woman? Had she never known of the children and their first mother, she would be devastated, unable to understand Orva’s way.
He would always feel responsible for the little girl’s longing for their mother, but it was to be understood, of course.
And Edna loved him even more, for all he had endured as a child and all the trials of adulthood, yet he carried on bravely.
CHAPTER 23
IT WAS SUNDAY MORNING, WITH ITS USUAL SENSE OF URGENCY TO COMB the girls’ hair, get them dressed in the best dresses and pinafore-style aprons, and prepare a good, hot breakfast, the way her mother had always done. Her mam said it was important to feed the body as well as the soul before and during church services.
She would take time to sit down and read the text for that day’s Scripture, a sight Edna would always cherish. Her mother was not the neatest, most fashionable woman in church, but the heart inside was filled with a love, a curiosity, and caring for those around her.
Edna thought perhaps that was why she worked as a maud for so many different people; she had inherited her Mam’s curiosity about people’s lives.
Upstairs, Marie was arguing loudly with Emmylou. Her strident voice broke into Edna’s thoughts, and she gazed upward, heaving a sigh of resignation.
Here we go again.
“Alright. Marie, what’s going on?” she called from the foot of the stairway.
Emmylou’s worried little face appeared, her hair sticking out in every direction. “She’s mad!” she informed her.
What else is new? Edna thought, a weariness creeping across her shoulders.
“Marie!”
“What?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Emmylou wants to wear green, and I don’t. I want to wear my lavender dress.”
“Well, go ahead and wear it.”
“No, we have to wear the same. She’s my sister.”
So of course, as usual, Emmylou gave in, and they both appeared in the lavender dresses. Edna praised Emmylou, telling her how nice it was that she gave in and did what her sister wanted.
Marie sniffed and said she should have, Emmylou was younger than she was.
Edna gritted her teeth again. With that attitude, young lady, you’re going to have a hard row to hoe, she wanted to tell her, but turned her back to start breakfast.
Orva came in from the barn, then sat at the kitchen table drinking his coffee as Edna made scrambled eggs, toast, and sausages.
“Cold this morning,” he observed.
Edna didn’t answer. She was still seething, thinking how Marie would always be a handful and that father of hers would always take her part, no matter what. Marie would vent her frustrations, never giving in, and he would come along with the Band-Aid of compliance, cajoling and wheedling her into a better mood. She did nothing wrong in her father’s eyes.
Edna tried to picture this helpless baby, crying on and on, with her father being the one who would rescue her from the neglect.
Did she still feel the unreasonable disinterest of her mother? Why else was a child so unlovable?
Orva watched Edna’s face as they ate, then got up to dress in his Sunday clothes. Edna washed dishes, and listened to Emmylou tell Marie that her gray bunny was going to have baby bunnies and all of them would be gray.
Marie scoffed at Emmylou, saying that gray bunny was a boy, so how could he have baby bunnies? As sweet-natured as ever, Emmylou agreed immediately, nodding her head and giggling at her own mistake. Edna found herself hoping the gray bunny would have babies to prove Marie wrong.
Marie yelled, clutched her head, and told Edna to stop yanking on the brush; she was pulling out all her hair. Edna told her she wasn’t pulling hard, and to stop right this minute.
Orva came out of the bedroom in his white shirt and black trousers, his vest and coat in his hand, freshly shaved and showered. Edna always thought he was the best-looking man in church.
In any church.
“Edna, perhaps her head is a bit sensitive,” he said softly.
“Perhaps it’s not,” Edna ground out, getting a surprised look from Orva, and a flash of righteous indignation from Marie.
“You know, I pull on the hairbrush just the same as I do for Emmylou, and she never makes a sound, Marie. So what does that tell you?”
“She’s your pet. You love her, and you don’t love me.”
In exasperation, Edna sought Orva’s approval, a bit of support to help with this difficult child, but found his eyes accusing her instead.
But Emmylou was so much easier to love. Whatever Edna required of her was fine, she sang or hummed under her breath as she played alone, ate what was on the table, and never complained about anything.
Edna turned away and finished Marie’s hair before starting on Emmylou. She felt the lump rise in her throat, the separation from Orva already painful, manipulated by his willful daughter.
The ride to church was icy, and Edna’s words frosted with resentment. She hadn’t bargained for this the day she married him. Could not have known. The image of a neglected newborn was wearing thin with the way Marie bucked her for every reason imaginable, especially when Orva was in the house. And furthermore, where was Neil? Orva never attempted to get that boy to church. He merely stayed at a friend’s house or lay in bed with the comfort of knowing his father would go to church and never bother him at all.
Edna was subdued as she greeted the women she had come to know as her own church people. Since moving into Orva’s district, she felt welcomed, honored.
Here was the poor widower with a new wife, and by all accounts a capable one, a talented older girl who loved the whole family as her own.
They were such a sweet couple, so obviously in love. The children accepted Edna as their own mother, now didn’t they?
Whatever Edna appeared, a rosy glow surrounded her, the other married ladies in awe of the newcomer. And friendly. Edna was so happy and talkative.
But this morning covert glances were directed her way. What was wrong with Edna? She seemed distant, battered down.
She cried as the minister talked, cried when they knelt to pray, wiped tears when they stood to hear Scripture being read. What had gone on, they wondered, casting inquisitive glances.
The white-haired grandmothers in the front row, the ones with bowed heads and hands with heavy blue veins threaded across the tops of their hands like rivers and tributaries on a road map, took notice.
They saw Edna and knew. They sent silent prayers.
It was the way of it. You couldn’t expect anything else. Any girl, no matter their age, who stepped into another mother’s territory, was bound to have days where she knew she was in over her head.
The children w
eren’t hers. They were Orva’s. That biological tie was missing. And so there was work, struggling, a path that turned unexpectedly to steep, treacherous climbing.
After services, when Edna sat alone, waiting till Orva made an appearance to ask if she was ready to go, Sylvia Burkholder, Paul Burkholder’s wife, made her way across the kitchen to sit beside her.
Perched like a small bird, Edna thought. Sylvia, who was in her eighties, couldn’t have weighed more than ninety pounds. Maybe a hundred.
Tiredly, Edna turned to acknowledge her. During services, she’d felt as if she was underwater, the congregation and the speaker swimming in circles. She was deflated now, exhausted, longing for home and a quiet place to rest.
“How is everything with your family?” Sylvia asked.
Just peachy. It’s none of your business, Edna thought, but counted to ten, and turned to smile at the tiny little lady, hoping her smile was not too crocodilian.
“Good. Good. Everything’s fine.”
The curious eye sparkled behind the round frames of her eyeglasses, which she reached up to adjust, a small smile spreading across her face.
“Well, that’s strange,” she quipped.
“What?”
“That everything is good.”
“Well, it is.”
“You know, I married a widower with two children. We had ten of our own, after that. So I feel as if I know what you’re going through. It’s not always good. The children and their father have a special bond, and no matter how much you tell yourself you love them as your own, you don’t quite manage it.”
She lifted an arthritic finger with knobs like acorns beneath the skin. Her hands were a testament to pain and hard work, for sure.
“After I had a newborn of my own, I realized the difference. The irritation that came so easily with Paul’s little ones simply vanished with my own. Do you find yourself resenting his protection of them?”
Edna nodded, ashamed to have her deepest struggle brought to light.
