by Linda Byler
Sylvia wagged the knobby finger.
“Don’t feel bad. It’s a circle. He protects the children because he feels you’re too hard on them, and you’re too hard on them because you know he won’t help you with discipline. You feel alone against your husband and children, and you think you’re the only person in the world who has ever been quite as much of a failure.”
The old gnarled hand was placed on her knee.
“Take heart. It’s only normal. This, too, shall pass. If you need a listening ear, come pay me a visit. I have a quilt in frame.”
At that moment, Marie ran over, told her Orva had sent her to let her know it was time to go. Edna nodded, placed her hand on the old one, and whispered, “Denke” before getting up and leaving Sylvia. With tears threatening again, there was no use trying to say more.
Orva was concerned, tentative. He searched her face, made small, cheerful talk, which Edna acknowledged with monosyllables of her own. Her throat felt as if an apple had taken up residence somewhere in her esophagus, the endless amount of water in her tear ducts threatening to squeeze out like the nozzle of a hose.
“Philip Yoder was interesting today. I always enjoy hearing him talk about Thanksgiving. He’s a history buff. But you know, he totally has a point, how being ungrateful is one of the major sins. I think God wants our gratitude, our dankbar feelings, and to always mention this in our prayers.”
Yeah well, Philip was underwater with everyone else, so I don’t know what he bubbled on about, Edna thought.
“What’s wrong, Edna?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t seem very happy.”
From the back seat, a loud throat clearing was followed by an emphatic “She’s always grouchy. Nothing different today.”
Orva turned around, “That’s enough, Marie.”
Emmylou began singing “When the Roll Is Called up Yonder” in her high piping little voice, as she tapped out the tune in time with her fingers. The unexpected sweetness of Emmylou’s voice, coupled with one smidgen of support from Orva, sent the tear ducts full steam ahead. Edna wailed and snarfed into her handkerchief, coughed and choked and heaved with sobs.
Orva became alarmed, put an arm around her to draw her close, but Edna pulled away, snapped at him with unreasonable words, then went on with her hiccup and nose blowing.
“Edna, it’s alright. Whatever I might have done to hurt your feelings, I’m sorry.”
“You take up for the girls and you never make Neil go to church. You care much more about your children than you do about me.” The “me” was extended to a long high wail, followed by more snuffling and nose blowing.
Orva brought the reins down on the horse’s back, and they traveled home with record speed. Even Marie was quiet in the back seat, having never experienced an unraveling quite like this. Edna sank into the corner of the buggy, drew the lap robe tightly around her legs, and crossed her arms to pull the thin black shawl around her shivering body. She was cold and miserable and felt dreadful.
Now what?
All she could think of was that awful ham they had served at the lunch table. Grayish, slippery, and with a band of white fat circling it, completely unfit for human consumption. She swallowed and felt the saliva rush into her mouth.
Well, marriage was certainly interesting. Here she was, face splotchy with red and white patches from crying, eyes red and swollen, speaking in an unkind tone, and letting her husband get a glimpse of the real person he married.
Relieved to see the large house and shop come into view, Edna took a deep, cleansing breath, kept her face averted, climbed off the buggy as quickly as possible and hurried into the house without saying another word. She clawed at the strings of the bonnet and threw off her shawl before making a mad dash to the bathroom, with the smell of that awful ham clinging to her throat.
She had not vomited for many years, and she found the experience as horribly unpleasant as ever. She wiped her mouth, washed her face, peered into the mirror through whale’s eyes, and thought how much she resembled Shrek, the green ogre. She loosened her cape and apron, sank into the deep cushions of the living room couch, drew up a soft blanket and closed her eyes. The room spun, tilted the couch sideways, then spun to the right again. She groaned.
Marie and Emmylou raced up the stairs, chattering like anxious birds. She heard Orva come in and listened to the bathroom door open. When he returned, he stopped and stood by the couch till she’d opened her eyes.
“You O.K.?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” she said weakly. “But there was something wrong with that ham they served at church. It was so gross.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Men don’t. They eat anything.” Edna huffed, then flopped onto her side and closed her eyes, shutting Orva out of her miserable existence.
Orva reached down to pat her shoulder, but Edna shrugged his hand away. He sighed, headed to the kitchen to make popcorn and put the coffee on.
He couldn’t help but feel a jolt of panic, remembering his times with Sarah. To have Edna turn into this bear was a bit puzzling. This was not his beloved wife he knew and loved. He filled the coffeepot with water, mused about the fit she’d taken this morning already when combing the girls’ hair. Well, nothing was perfect in life. Nothing.
Edna slept well that night, and awoke refreshed and full of energy, her good humor returned like the tide, sure and strong as always.
She filled the wringer washer with hot water and laundry detergent, sorted clothes, and got a load going before waking the girls. She bent to get out the plastic container of sausage to make their breakfast sandwich, opened the lid, and sniffed.
Ugh. What in the world was wrong with this stuff?
It smelled positively spoiled. It was gray and slippery. Seriously.
“Marie, do you mind having toast and cereal this morning? I’m sorry, but I think this stuff is not fit to eat.”
“What?”
Marie peered into the container of sausage, sniffed, said it was O.K. She wanted a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich.
“You sure, Marie? I bought Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Your favorite.”
“Nope. I’m hungrier than cereal.”
All her good humor asserted, Edna steeled herself and shaped the slimy sausage into patties and fried them, made eggs, put a slice of white American cheese on top and put everything on a toasted roll, then wrapped them in aluminum foil and got out a pitcher of grape juice. She sat down at the table with the girls, teased them about their love of arithmetic, and laughed along with them about the teacher’s lack of patience.
They went off to school with a good warm breakfast in their stomach, and a mother who had bounced back from being in ill humor all day Sunday. In Marie’s descriptive whispered words to Emmylou, Edna was like one of those fruit bats that hung in a cave, upside down, somewhere in Africa.
She was, and they did, those bats, she’d seen it in her geography book. Emmylou laughed so hard she had to put her head under the covers last night.
Halfway through doing laundry, Edna felt light-headedness coming on but thought it was only from the sickness the day before. She’d hurry up and get everything pegged to the line, then have a huge, very hot cup of coffee with her favorite creamer. Today she’d need all her strength planning this Thanksgiving dinner and calling relatives to let them know what to bring.
The coffee was terrible. Edna got out the blue bottle of creamer, shook it, turned it on its side to check the date, shrugged her shoulders and replaced it.
Ah, well. Must have caught a virus. Stomach bug of some kind. She ate her Bran Flakes with banana slices and a bagel with butter and Season-All, then felt wonderful and got down to business.
Turkey and stuffing.
Potatoes.
Sweet potatoes.
She felt energized, ready to seize the day. Nothing could take away her zest for life now; nothing could remind her of the cloud of gloom that had hidden everything all day yesterda
y. A good cry was healthy, she reasoned.
She called Sadie and Fannie, and left them hilarious messages in a squeaky Mickey Mouse voice, shaking and laughing as she did so.
She brought fresh hay for the bunnies, thinking they looked cold and lonely, and talked to the horses in the barn as she swept the forebay for Orva. Life was good. Absolutely nothing as satisfying as being married, a mother to children who’d lost their own dear mother. Her nose burned as the tears formed in her eyes. Poor little girls. They did their best, just like herself.
By late afternoon, she was cold, shivering, exhausted. She turned up the thermostat on the gas heater, leaned over it as it rumbled to life, but chills raced up her spine and across her shoulders the moment she turned away. Nothing to do but wear a sweater in the house.
She told Orva at supper that he needed to check the windows, Neil, too. The house was drafty. Cold. Neil leaned sullenly over his plate of mashed potatoes and meatloaf and sniffed, but kept his opinion to himself. So Orva went around checking for loose windows and doors that weren’t properly latched, but told Edna it really was warm in the house, that he saw no reason to repair anything.
Carla arrived in a cloud of pale blue and a fragrance that smelled like youth and sun and dreams. She was so gorgeous, so innocent and unaware.
Edna’s nose burned as tears welled in her eyes. She cried in her dishwater because Carla was so lovely and God was so good that He sent this beautiful girl to help Maria with her lessons.
She sniffed, wiped her eyes and watched Neil fold himself into the kitchen recliner just a few feet away from the living room door, opening a magazine she was sure he didn’t find interesting at all. Then she got goosebumps and more tears thinking about Neil falling in love with Carla, giving his life to God, and joining the church.
The thought was more than she could handle. Her shoulders heaved as short, hard hiccups of sound came from her throat.
Orva found her crying in the pantry, a bag of potato chips clutched in one hand.
“Edna, my love. What is going on? I’m so worried about you. I want you to see a doctor as soon as possible. I’m afraid you’re depressed. I can’t help it; I am so afraid you’ll be like Sarah was, just a mere shadow of her usual energetic, happy self.”
Edna nodded and tried to calm herself, but ended up in his arms, the bag of chips crackling between them.
He bent over her, kissing her forehead as if to comfort a child, smoothing her hair away from her face, ruining her covering in the process.
He pulled away, lifted her chin to search her eyes, begged her to tell him what was wrong, why she kept bursting into tears.
“I don’t know. Or yes I do. It’s Carla and Neil and how innocent and how beautiful they both are and God spared his life, maybe, so he can experience a good life with a special girl, and the whole thing is so unbearably sweet how Neil acts so gruff and grownup when all he is, is a little boy. He’s scared of life and how he’s going to get through it and now he’s falling in love with Carla and I can’t take it.”
Her words ended in a wail, subdued against his shoulder.
Orva pressed her head to his chest, the beginning of a small smile spreading across his face.
Carla’s tutoring proved to be priceless. Marie looked forward to every session, responded to her patience and technique of teaching numbers in ways that were understandable. Slowly, the numbers that were jumbled in her head became orderly, with the division and multiplication making sense.
They spent weeks learning to borrow numbers for subtraction, resulting in Emmylou’s climb to the head of her class and beyond, as she sat with Carla and absorbed everything she taught Marie.
Edna observed Neil’s continued interest in Carla, her whole world collapsing around her with nausea and fatigue.
The Thanksgiving dinner was a disaster, with Edna plowing ahead in spite of being lost in a world she didn’t understand, the debilitating sickness and utter weariness beyond anything she could have imagined.
Her sisters told her they couldn’t believe she was so dumb and proceeded to tell her she would likely be a mother to her own child in approximately eight months, and why didn’t she think of that?
Edna, wide-eyed and shocked, sat at the messy kitchen table and stared at them.
“No, I don’t believe it.”
“Get used to it, darling,” Fannie laughed.
Sadie was clearing the table, shaking her head and laughing. The sisters-in-law all nodded, agreed, washed dishes and chased after children, then left the house in a state of chaos. There was food on the floor, leftovers all over the sink and countertop, stained tablecloths to be washed, along with a mountain of tea towels.
Edna made her way grimly through the day, pinched misbehaving children behind their mother’s backs, cried when one sister-in-law said the stuffing was over-salted and got in an argument with her father about senseless politics she knew nothing about.
Her mother watched her and shook her head, thinking about the road Edna would be traveling. A mixed family, for sure. Well, she’d simply have to get the prayer wheels turning, knowing Edna’s tendencies to become ruffled at the slightest upheaval of her orderly world. Babies were just that. An upheaval.
Orva got down on his hands and knees, wiped the kitchen floor with methodical strokes, scrubbing the same spot over and over, until Edna told him he’d wipe the shine right off the linoleum if he cleaned it like that. He sat back, grinned up at her, and asked her about appreciation.
“I mean, come on, Edna. A guy needs some admiration for doing a job like this.”
She looked into his upturned face and thought, This is my husband. This is my love, and just look at him. Every appreciative thought she could summon crowded into her mind, and she got down on the floor and kissed him thoroughly.
“How’s that for appreciation?” she asked him, returning his starstruck gaze.
“Edna, I love you. You are everything any man could ever ask for. The day I married you, I became the owner of a rare and precious jewel.”
They sat together in the middle of the kitchen floor and talked about their day, laughing at Edna’s description of the lumpy potatoes, the thickened gravy that curdled like sour milk, and the creamed corn that had no salt and tasted like a tin can.
“Orva, you know why, don’t you?” Edna asked.
“I was hoping that’s what was wrong with you a few Sundays ago when you were so cranky.”
“Definitely cranky. But, with your love, I can handle anything. Seriously, if I ever feel better, I’ll be thrilled.”
CHAPTER 24
IT WAS A LONG WINTER.
Edna got through it in a haze of nausea and fatigue. She listened patiently to a bevy of friends, each one with a sure-fire remedy for her morning sickness, which turned into dinner, supper, and evening sickness as well. She bought ginger root and chlorophyll and quit drinking coffee. She went to the chiropractor and went to the Wellness Clinic, made sheep’s eyes at the unsympathetic doctor and begged him for a pill, any kind of pill to take away this crippling nausea.
Marie and Emmylou took to staying in their room, doing crossword puzzles or playing with their dolls and toys upstairs, while Edna groaned inwardly as she washed dishes and folded laundry. She eventually flopped on the recliner to hang her arms down the sides, turn her face to the wall, and heave a sigh of self-pity and righteous suffering.
The only bright spot was Carla’s tutoring and Neil’s ongoing interest. After the first snowfall, she heard him walk into the living room and ask her to stay later; he’d hitch up his riding horse to a tractor tube and take them all for a ride. He accompanied her to the phone to call her parents, and Edna hurried to the window to watch them walk past the porch light and into the dim gray whiteness of a winter evening. The girls were in the laundry room chattering with excitement as they pulled on sweaters, coats, scarves, and boots.
A wail came from Emmylou.
“Now what?” Edna thought with exasperation.
/> “Wait, Marie! Wait!”
Edna heaved herself from the recliner and hurried to the door of the laundry room. The DeWalt battery lamp revealed the puddles of melted snow, the basket piled with laundry, and the boots strewn everywhere.
“Marie, what now?” she asked.
“She doesn’t hurry up,” Marie announced staunchly, her bearing like someone in the military, her eyes challenging Edna to do something about it.
“But I can’t get my boots on!” Emmylou wailed.
Edna knew if she bent over, she’d lose her supper, the way she had struggled all evening to keep the bit of protein she’d managed to ingest.
“Marie, come back and help Emmylou, please.”
“You can do it.”
With that, Marie flung herself out the door and down the steps.
Emmylou set up a shriek of denial, then flopped back against the closet and howled. Edna ground her teeth in frustration, went to the door and called out into the gray-white winter evening.
“Marie!”
The dark form was moving into the barn, a mere dot in the swirling landscape.
From behind, Emmylou set up another volley of wails and loud cries of indignation.
Well, she was not going out into that snow and cold to retrieve the disobedient Marie, that was sure. She turned, told Emmylou to hush, she’d help her, then got down on the floor, leaned over, and tugged the boots up over her feet, willing herself to keep her supper from rising in her throat.
“There, Emmy. How’s that?”
Emmylou swiped at her tears with the back of her hand, a smile breaking through her despair. Her sunny disposition was her norm, so it was always hard to see her disappointed or hurt.
She lifted herself off the floor, gathered up her mittens, then looked at Edna.
“I don’t want to go alone in the dark.”
Oh boy, Edna thought.
But she threw on a coat, grabbed her hand, and headed out to the barn in the cold.
She found Neil and Carla standing together under the light of the battery lamp, deep in conversation, with Marie hovering between them, listening to every word. Edna couldn’t help the stab of irritation.
