Be It Ever So Humble

by Jenifer Jenkins

“Horse poop. And I’m covered in it, too,” was his response.

  “Good!”

  John shook his head, clearly frustrated, and reached toward me. I flinched, and my body tensed. He continued the motion and dipped his sponge into the bucket. I stared at him, still frozen as he began scrubbing the ground. After a while, I guess he realized that I was no longer scrubbing, and he looked up at me.

  “I... apologize,” he spoke reluctantly.

  I was shocked that those words came out of his mouth. It pulled me out of my trance, and I began wiping the floor again. I had such a mixture of anger and confusion, and so many other emotions stewing underneath, the surface that I could not think of a snarky response.

  Taking my muteness for sullenness, he continued in a gentler tone. “It was wrong of me to let you fend for yourself like that. I should have been more helpful. I know being here must be hard for you, and today probably didn’t make it any easier.”

  “You’re damn right this is your mess, too,” I choked out. It was in response to what he’d said earlier, and I could see the wheels turning in his head as he backtracked to find that point in our conversation. I could have accepted his apology once his words sunk in, but I was still too peeved.

  He nodded, and we continued our task—both of us brooding and contemplating. Eventually, Aunt Martha startled us both by saying, “That’s enough, you two.” She was tying an apron around her waist and putting her own set of gloves on as she knelt on the other side of us. I marveled at the stockpile of gloves I’d seen in this household today alone. Kenny and Martha should really own stock in rubber. She took John’s sponge from his hand and said, “John, you go on back to work now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He looked like a guilty child as he stood and exited the house.

  I was glad to see him go. I’d had enough of trying to make nice with him for one day. Not that I’d had much success at that.

  “You go on and get washed up now,” Martha said to me as she sponged up some brown goop. “I’ve got some soaps under the sink that should do the trick real nice. They’ll take the stench right out. Just hang your clothes out over the back porch railing when you’re finished, and we’ll figure out a way to wash ’em up real good.”

  I looked down at my stained outfit. There was no way it was salvageable, and at this point, I didn’t think it was even worth saving. “Do you still have a fire pit?” I asked. “We might as well burn them.”

  Martha nodded. “We can do that if you’d like.”

  I did like, or rather, I wanted to. After insisting the outfit wasn’t that nice anyway, I could now prove just how little attachment I had to it. I laid the sponge in the bucket of water and asked, “Where should I put these gloves?”

  “Leave them here.” She patted a spot beside her. “I’ll take care of those.”

  I did as she said and headed to the bathroom. First, I turned the shower on, hoping it would get warm if it ran long enough on the hottest setting. Next, I took off my mucky outfit. I wanted to be rid of it as soon as possible. Crouching in front of the cabinet under the sink, I opened the door to find towels, toilet paper, and a tin container. It was filled with adorable round soaps that fit perfectly into the palm of my hand. They smelled heavenly, especially compared to the manure stench I feared would linger in my scent memory forevermore. I lifted one of the soaps to my nose and inhaled deeply. The scent was a luxurious combination of lavender and mint.

  As I chose my bar of soap, I had a memory—a soap memory. I remembered leaving my aunt and uncle’s house with bags full of soap. Occasionally Aunt Martha sent me soaps for my birthday or holidays. I always wondered where she got them. They seemed expensive and were better than the luxury brands I used regularly.

  Bringing the soap with me into the shower, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the water was tolerable. Compared to this morning, it was downright balmy. The water beat down on my tired muscles, and I relaxed. I hadn’t realized how sore I was until then. During the trials of the day, I must have been tensing. I tried to clear my mind while washing myself in Aunt Martha’s spa-worthy soap. It soothed my soul. The familiar lather and scent made me feel serene, safe. This was going to be one of those showers I never wanted to get out of. I’d have been content to stay there for the rest of my visit.

  I lingered there until I heard the front door open. Uncle Kenny must have been home. What time was it? Had I been in there for a long time? My fingers were pruning. I heard a low “Woohoohoo!” followed by a “What happened here?” and cringed. So Kenny would know about my debacle, too. That made three people—the three people that I would be spending all of my time with. Part of me was relieved. Though it was humiliating, I found a sort of peace in knowing that there was one secret I didn’t have to keep.

  ***

  Later that night, I listened for Kenny and Martha to go to bed. Once I heard Kenny snoring (or was it Martha?), I crept into the kitchen to use their old landline phone. I remembered those vaguely from childhood. It was a cordless black phone that cradled in a stand on the counter beside the refrigerator. I plucked the phone from its base and walked as far toward the corner end of the house as possible. Then I dialed the only phone number I’d ever bothered to memorize besides my own.

  “Hello?”

  “Mom,” I whispered.

  I heard her shuffle the phone before she responded, “Chastity, baby.”

  “It’s me. I’m sorry it’s so late...”

  “Late? It’s only ten o’clock.”

  I’d forgotten there would be a time difference. “Oh. I was just calling to let you know that I got in okay. Well, I’m not sure okay is the proper word.”

  “Well, it certainly took you long enough,” she said, and the tone of her voice was unreadable. I didn’t know if she was upset or joking.

  “My bad. I haven’t had much time until now.”

  “That’s hardly an excuse,” she quipped.

  Was she trying to start an argument? Wasn’t she the one who banished me to this far-off place? Hoping my sad tale would garner some sympathy, I continued, “Anyway, it’s been a rocky start here. When I got to the airport, Kenny and Martha didn’t even pick me up. They sent some guy to get me, and he was awful. I’ve never met anyone so rude.”

  “They sent someone to pick you up?” My mother sounded offended.

  I whimpered. “Trust me. I was just as upset as you. He’s this guy they know. Well, he’s more like a boy, really. Very immature.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “John.” I rolled my eyes and hoped she could hear it.

  “And they sent him because...?”

  “I don’t know. I just know that he’s literally the worst. I’ve seen him a couple of times now, and his personality hasn’t improved yet.” I made up my mind not to tell her about today’s mishap. She didn’t need anything else to worry about. “This guy practically lives here, and I don’t know why they want me to spend time with him.”

  “You don’t have to, baby. You are there to get better, okay? You don’t need to make friends with anyone. In fact, you shouldn’t. Just lay low. Stay there for a little while, and when the timing is right, you can come home.”

  “When do you think that’ll be?” I asked meekly. My mother was quiet for a minute. I thought maybe I’d lost her, so I muttered, “Mom?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve created quite a predicament for yourself, and you’ve left me to clean up the mess.”

  Ouch. Her words stung, but I suspected the “mess” I’d left behind was nothing compared to the mess of this afternoon.

  “Don’t worry.” Her voice switched from her earlier snippy tone and was now reassuring. “I put a little extra money in your account this month, so why don’t you order a few self-care items online? Maybe a nice retinol serum? Some slippers?”

  “I don’t think they even have a computer.”

  I could hear my mother clutching her pearls on the other end. “Oh, I don’t believe that. Even hicks have compu
ters. Anyway, it’s probably better for you that way. No distractions, no temptations. The best thing you can do while you’re there is to keep to yourself, baby. They don’t expect you to do anything else.”

  I found that hard to believe.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning I didn’t wake up with the plague, so I counted that in my favor. However, I was not looking forward to seeing John again. He was another kind of plague. A plague on my soul.

  I didn’t bother showering when I got up since I had no idea what was in store for me. After yesterday’s fiasco, I decided to become a nighttime showerer. Persuasion had been my trusty pillow again. I was about halfway through the book and was surprised by how much I liked it. Most of Jane Austen’s novels had movies, and I liked to keep my intake of stuffy, old English stories to a two-hour time limit. I was amazed that this book didn’t seem stuffy at all. I liked the way Jane Austen infused social commentary into her stories. It was as though she was speaking through her characters. An acting coach said that in a class I took once, and I finally understood what she was talking about. I wouldn’t mind sitting around reading the book all day, but after yesterday’s conversation with Aunt Martha, I knew that wasn’t going to be allowed. What was her joke? That she and Kenny weren’t “spring chickens anymore”? I wondered just how hard things were for them. If they needed my help, the situation must have been dire.

  After dressing in a plain black V-neck tee and black yoga pants, I walked into the kitchen. Let them try to say I looked nice now. Of course, John was the first person I saw sitting at the table. His back was turned to me, so he didn’t see me grimace when I noticed him. It was too bad, actually. I would have liked for him to see it. Let him know how much I detested him. The person I didn’t want to notice, though, was Martha. So, of course, she did.

  She tried to play it off with a wink and stood up and motioned toward a chair. “Have a seat. I’ll bring your breakfast over.”

  I was afraid to ask what we might be having, so I obeyed silently.

  “How are you doing this morning, Sis?” Kenny asked, eyeing me carefully.

  I was still mortified but wasn’t about to admit that with John sitting at the table. “Fine, thanks.” I stared at the fork lying on the placemat in front of me and mindlessly twirled it in my fingers.

  Aunt Martha came up behind me and stretched a plate onto my placemat. To my astonishment, the meal consisted of avocado toast with a side of fruit salad. It was good fruit salad, too. This wasn’t your average, store-bought, melon-infused concoction. This was pineapples, strawberries, and blueberries. Everything looked fresh and delicious, and I was starved after not eating the night before. I had been too distraught to think of food then. The only questionable item on the plate was the toast. Was it gluten-free?

  Aunt Martha must have known what I was thinking and answered my voiceless question. “I asked John to find me a recipe for gluten-free bread on the Internet. You should be able to eat everything on your plate.”

  Of course he did. Summoning my inner Jane Austen, I gave John a curt nod as thanks. He nodded back and seemed satisfied with himself.

  Looking at what I expected to be lard-filled meals on everyone else’s plates, I saw that they were all eating the same thing I was. Well, they also had eggs, but still... Even John was eating my breakfast of choice. I was baffled.

  My jaw must have been gaping because John asked, “Is everything all right?”

  I snapped back to attention when I heard his voice. “Yes.” Slowly I picked up my avocado toast and took a bite. It was glorious. I quickly inhaled the rest and was done before anyone else. I wanted to say, “Take that, John!” as if eating fastest was somehow a competition.

  “Can I make you another piece of toast?” Aunt Martha asked as I wiped my mouth with a napkin. In my starvation, I’d managed to make eating avocado toast a messy business.

  I desperately wanted to say yes, but seconds were a no-no for me. “No, thank you,” I responded. Then I added, “Really. Thank you.” To show my gratitude, I took my plate to the sink and rinsed it all by myself. I got an odd feeling of accomplishment from that small task. Turning my head, I asked, “Should I put this in the dishwasher?”

  My question was met with silence. Kenny and Martha were stunned. Then Martha responded, “That would be nice. Thank you, Sissy.”

  After I completed the task, I sat at the table again. Since I was feeling charitable, I asked, “Would anyone like me to refill drinks or plates or...” I realized I didn’t really know my way around the kitchen and prayed that no one would take me up on the offer. Luckily, they all declined. Starting off my day with another humiliation would have been unbearable.

  “Sis, would you like to run some errands in the truck for me today?” Uncle Kenny asked.

  I was surprised he would offer such a thing. Wasn’t I on house arrest? Would it be wise for me to go out into the public? “What kind of errands?”

  “Farm-related. You won’t have to go into town. I just need something picked up, and I’m swamped here.” Kenny smiled reassuringly.

  I couldn’t see any reason to say no to him. In fact, it sounded like a sweet deal. I would get out of the house, and I wouldn’t have to feed or clean anything. “I’ll do it,” I said.

  Kenny clapped his hands together once. “Well, that’s great.” He then turned his attention to John. “I’ll call Mrs. Winters after breakfast to let her know you two’ll be over.”

  “‘You two?’ You mean, I’m going with him?” There was more acid in my tone than I’d intended, but I’d spoken without thinking.

  “Now, you didn’t think I expected you to drive that truck, did ya? I recall trying to teach you to drive a stick when you were a kid...”

  This was true. I was only about eight years old, and Kenny piled several phone books into the front seat and used a baseball bat to press the pedals. I’d forgotten about that. Wow. That was incredibly dangerous. Granted, we were driving around a field in the middle of nowhere without many obstacles, but still.

  “I was a kid,” I replied and then conceded, “But, yeah, I don’t know how to drive stick.”

  “This is a two-person job. It would be helpful if you went along with John,” Kenny spoke mildly. I could tell he wanted it to be my choice to assist, or he wanted me to think I had a choice.

  I nodded and asked, “What exactly are we doing?”

  “Picking up farm equipment,” John answered.

  That didn’t seem too difficult or disgusting. I agreed to go along for Kenny and Martha’s sake. Knowing I’d have to spend more time alone with John was a major downside, though. Either I’d be spending time with John or with cows and goats. It was a tough one to call. I definitely preferred John the Goat for company, but I didn’t want to think about another possible pooptastrophy. I decided I preferred John the Human to manure. But only slightly.

  John finished his breakfast and a work-related conversation with Uncle Kenny before we headed out. Honestly, I didn’t understand anything they talked about. As far as I was concerned, it was a foreign language. Aunt Martha handed John a paper bag as we walked out the door.

  A trailer that hadn’t been there before was hitched to the back of the truck. “What’s that?” I asked.

  “A trailer,” John replied without any other details. It was a typical John answer, and I didn’t have the patience to push for more information.

  When we reached the truck, John did something almost gallant. He opened the passenger door for me. It was an uncharacteristically polite gesture. Was he trying to make up for his attitude thus far? Perhaps this was the proverbial olive branch he was laying out for me—or however that saying went.

  “I’ve got to move a few things out of the front seat,” he said, shattering the pretense of chivalry.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  He pulled a large briefcase-like bag out from the seat and haphazardly threw it into the truck bed. Just about everything John had was caked in dirt and dust, so he p
robably didn’t care much about the condition of things. He left the door open and walked around to his side.

  “You gonna get in?” he asked as he slid into the driver’s seat.

  I frowned and carefully placed myself in the passenger’s seat—only slightly less worried about cleanliness than the last time I was in his heap. “So, this Mrs. Winters... she’s a business acquaintance?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we’re going to her place to pick up farm equipment?”

  “In a sense.” He offered nothing else, and I wondered if it was his life’s mission to irritate me. Spending time with John was penance for my sins.

  “Well, where does this Mrs. Winters live?”

  “On the other side of town.”

  The other side of town? How far was that? “And how long will it take to get there?”

  He sighed. “About an hour.” Before I could let out the expletive that had built up in my throat, John added, “Martha sent a bag of goodies for us if we get hungry.”

  So that’s what was in the paper bag. I wondered what kind of goodies she’d packed—probably nothing I would want to eat. I figured I should get comfortable since I’d be stuck in this truck for a while. I lamented my inability to drive a stick. I would have preferred to drive rather than ride. Cooper would’ve said it was part of my control-freak nature. I groaned. Cooper was definitely the last person I wanted to think about.

  John must have taken my grumblings as a reaction to our current situation because he reached to turn the radio on and offered, “You can change the station to whatever you’d like.”

  I shrugged. “Actually, I don’t listen to the radio much. I’m more of an oldies kinda gal.” This I said with a forced southern drawl just to be obnoxious.

  “Me too.” He pointed at the glove box and said, “Look in there. Maybe you’ll find something you like.”

  I obeyed. At least it was something to do to break up the hour-long timespan we’d be stuck together. Two hours, in fact. It would be an hour there and an hour back. I tried not to let that bother me too much; after all, I was trapped now. No turning back. My other option, I reminded myself, could very well involve feces.