by Linda Byler
She figured he’d probably been hurt by a girl at some point. “Well, I let myself get burned twice,” she said, trying to make him feel better. “I really thought Ben was special. But I’m not dumb. I mean, I still sometimes think he’s going to write or call, but Eva’s right. He would have by now if he was going to.”
He stopped walking. She turned to find him looking at her with soft, earnest eyes, eyes that were the color of dark honey.
“Ben’s an idiot.”
She smiled a very small, very wobbly smile, then bowed her head as the honey gold of his eyes stripped away the pride in hers.
The evening at the lake was a blur. Emma was starved, her feet aching horribly. Elijah got on her nerves, and Eva was acting like a sixteen-year-old girl, throwing mud at Matt, shrieking and running when he came after her. Elvin drank all the Coke, and the mosquitoes were so abundant she accomplished nothing by swatting continuously. When no one made an effort to continue on home, she set off by herself.
She had no idea who or what had brought on this dark, suffocating mood. She was tired, in a good way, physically, but her heart and mind felt like they were trapped in an airtight container, slowly suffocating. She reasoned she needed a good night’s rest and was showered and had her bed made up before the others got back to the camper.
She did feel better in the morning, and that day and the next followed in slow rhythms of hiking, fishing, relaxing around the campfire. Elvin decided to rent a pontoon for fishing. The price was outrageous, but he shrugged his shoulders, said it would be worth it, that Elijah would love it.
Eva packed the diaper bag while Emma gathered food for the day into the cooler. Today they’d be fishing, and tomorrow they’d pack up and clean the camper to leave the following day. The men were in high spirits, thrilled to be going pontooning on a lake. The only downside was the weather. Matt checked his phone, announcing it forecasted rain and high winds, and suggested they should put it off till the following morning, but Elvin would have none of it. It was barely cloudy, he said, and a stiff September breeze never hurt anyone. Eva told him if they tipped and she drowned it would spite him terribly, whereupon he threw his arms around her and told her he would never put her in that kind of danger.
The sky was the color of sheep’s wool, a dirty white with jagged rips of blue. The wind was soft, so Emma put on a windbreaker and wrapped a light blue scarf around her neck. The water was a deep greenish gray color, reflecting the overcast sky. The trees surrounding the lake appeared to have been brushed with occasional strokes of yellow and orange, an occasional scarlet, but mostly the trees retained the chlorophyll of the summer green.
The pontoon boat was like a large room on two upended canoes, with a sturdy roof on poles, soft vinyl benches, and blue outdoor carpeting. It was white on the outside, quite streamlined for a pontoon. Matt called it a yacht, pretending to offer champagne as the others climbed on, making the three of them laugh. Elijah laughed too, mimicking the adults.
As the boat sliced through the water, the spray shot up on either side, leaving a long wake behind them. The breeze was strong, and Elijah gulped, turning his head toward Eva’s chest when the air became too much for his little lungs.
They found a quiet spot beside a few willows, the branches trailing in the deep green water. Matt killed the motor, then hauled the anchor overboard before diving to beat Elvin to the fishing rods. Arguments ensued over real bait versus artificial, night crawlers versus spinners. Eva quietly went ahead and baited her hook with canned corn she’d sneaked into her tackle box, winked at Emma, and cast expertly on the opposite side of the boat.
Emma played with Elijah, insisting that she didn’t fish and was happy keeping him entertained.
“Come on. Just pull up one of those darling night crawlers and spear him with the hook,” Elvin barked happily.
Emma shook her head.
Matt settled the fishing rod in the bracket, pulled up a chair, and leaned back, his hands propped behind his head. Elvin followed suit. The only sound was the gentle lapping of waves against the side of the boat, the rustle of the willow trees, and Elijah’s happy chatter as he played with his toys.
A yelp from Eva surprised them all. Down came Matt’s legs, the chair crashing to the floor.
“Fish on!” Eva yelled.
Emma watched as the tip of the rod bent like a macaroni noodle, then jiggled and shook as she grabbed the handle, grasping it firmly before slowly working the reel. Both men stood at attention, their eyes riveted to the almost invisible line that stretched out into the dark green water.
Eva bit down on her lower lip, concentrating as she worked the reel. Finally she settled the handle on her upper leg, for stability, and shouted, “It’s no small fish!”
“I can tell,” Elvin said, fairly dancing around on tiptoe in his excitement. The rod bent almost in two, Eva gave the fish more line, then worked the reel faster.
“He’s coming in. Get the net,” she said, now out of breath.
“Want me to take a turn?” Elvin asked, hovering.
She elbowed him away. “This is my fish.”
And it was. She landed a beautiful largemouth bass, all green and silvery scales that rippled beneath the cloudy sky, the frightened yellow eyes and huge gaping mouth gasping for air. Emma hoped it would be a catch and release, but no, they were looking forward to an old fashioned fish fry with thick white filets rolled in cornmeal and cracker crumbs, fried in oil and eaten with fresh coleslaw.
They held him aloft, admiring the poor gasping fish before putting him on ice in the massive cooler. Emma did her best to be a good sport, but it seemed cruel.
Elvin told her God put those fish in the water to sustain man, that was the order of His law. Emma argued that we have cows and pigs and chickens to eat, which are killed in a humane manner, instantly, while the poor fish lay gasping on ice, which was unfair.
Eva giggled. Elvin rolled his eyes. Matt smiled and reminded her that Jesus ate fish with his disciples, which Emma couldn’t argue with.
She thought how they had come to know each other pretty well these two weeks. He’d make a good husband for some English woman. She hoped his girlfriend would treat him well.
The trip home proved uneventful, everyone tired out and sunburned, the prospect of returning to the real world a bit daunting, with all the rest and relaxation behind them. Elijah was cranky in his car seat and kicked and twisted his small body against the restraints until he fell asleep. Matt drove, keeping his eyes on the road.
The camper was taken to Elvin and Eva’s home to be cleaned and unloaded. They invited Matt to stay for the evening, but he said he needed to get back, he had a list of jobs in the morning.
Emma found herself watching his face, wondering if he’d offer his phone number or some way to stay in touch. But he simply said goodbye, thanked them all for a great time, and drove away, heading back to Lancaster.
“Well,” Eva said brightly. “There he goes.”
Elvin grinned, shook his head. “He’s a great guy. Can you imagine carrying Elijah all day?”
“Not all day.”
“Almost.”
They set to work, Emma pitching in with the cleaning of the camper, the sorting of food and clothes. She was eager to return home, but felt it was her duty to help her friends before she left. After all, they’d paid most of her expenses, so it was the least she could do. The past two weeks had proven to be much more rewarding than she had ever imagined. Her friendship with Eva had deepened, her respect for them as a couple had been set in cement. Her highest aspiration was to build a union with a good man such as Elvin.
Oh God, lead me to Your will. Take me beyond the physical attraction, lead me to real love, the kind that is deep and enduring and forever. Thank you.
She whispered this as she worked, adding silently, Or if I am to be single, please help me to accept that.
She could not place her finger on what it was exactly, but the trip had been a time of reflection. It was
as if she had let go of something, opened her hands to allow something to escape her palms, then turned away from that to find her world opening up with colors suffusing the gray parts.
Where would Matt go once he arrived in Lancaster? He had never mentioned his location, if he lived alone, or with whom. Perhaps he lived with this Sheila.
She asked Eva, who turned to her with a look that could only be described as triumphant.
“He has an apartment somewhere. His address is Ronks something.”
“Ronks is a huge area.”
“So why do you want to know?”
“There is a thing called curiosity. I’m merely being curious, okay?”
“I have his phone number. Do you need it?”
“Of course not.”
Her family was overjoyed at her arrival, plying her with dozens of questions, the little girls hopping around her like two bunnies, grabbing the package of oversized balloons she had brought them, unwrapping the lollipops, and running outside to continue their swinging.
Produce season had come to an end, except for late pumpkins that lay on the frostbitten vines in great colorful piles. Huge heads of cauliflower were cut and brought in to be pickled, cooked, eaten raw with ranch dressing, even boiled and mashed like potatoes.
The fields were tilled, a late rye planted, and everyone could breathe easier, count the profits their hard work had brought, and call it another successful season.
Her mother brought the stack of mail she had kept for her, then busied herself at the kitchen sink with eyes in the back of her head, her ears straining to hear. The rustling of paper stopped, as did the paging of magazines.
A plain white envelope with no return address.
Emma’s breathing became shallow puffs that left her face erased of color. Slowly she slid a straight pin out of her covering and poked it along the top of the envelope before slinging it from end to end. One piece of folded paper. Her eyes went to the signature.
Ben Glick.
He had written to her, after all these months. Blood pounded in her ears as her eyes darted from sentence to sentence.
His work in North Carolina was not finished, so he could not return just yet. He inquired about her health and well-being and told her he thought of her often, but the way things looked now, he’d be there till Christmas. As an after-thought, he mentioned the fact that the rest of his crew was going home the end of the week.
Could she come down sometime? The beach would be deserted through October, pretty much.
He didn’t say he missed her, but surely that was what he meant when he asked her to come to North Carolina.
Her head spun as she made immediate plans.
She stared into space, the letter in nerveless fingers, her thoughts arranging, rearranging.
“Mam,” she said finally.
Her mother turned from the sink, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Mam, Ben wrote to me.”
Wordlessly, then, she handed the letter to her mother, who restrained herself from devouring it too eagerly. Her brows knitted, the hope of finally seeing Emma married dissipated as she read. Slowly she lowered herself into a kitchen chair, took her time to read it again.
It broke her heart, the desperation in her daughter’s eyes.
“Should I go?”
There was an uncomfortable moment when her mother hesitated, and Emma knew the space of silence meant no, but could not bring herself to accept it just then.
“I guess that’s up to you. I’m not sure that I would. If he is truly interested, shouldn’t he be coming here? He’s hardly making his intentions clear.”
Emma could not absorb her mother’s words. She had prayed to God, and He had answered. Ben wanted her, and that was all that mattered. There was one small glitch, though. Ben had left no return address and no phone number, which was puzzling, but understandable, knowing him. A soft smile turned up her lips, as she prided herself on how well she knew him. His passion for life, his infectious grin, the slaphappy camaraderie of his persona.
She would surprise him. She had a plentiful nest egg in the bank. What was the cost of a driver if it meant her heart’s desire would finally find a resting place?
She went to church and talked to Eva, who wiped Elijah’s face with a baby wipe before spooning more sweet potatoes into his mouth.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly.
“Don’t give me that same spiel my mother did, Eva. You don’t know Ben the way I do. Look, he wants me to come down, and that says it all. Right?”
Eva ate some of the Gerber sweet potatoes, made a face, and said she had no idea how her son could eat that stuff.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Eva cast her a look that could only be labeled as irritated.
“Just chill, Emma. Take it easy. This is not something to be decided on immediately. Give it a month, at least. And keep praying. God does not always answer our needs quite so soon, or so . . .”
Emma broke in.
“Or so what? You just can’t accept this because it’s not what you want, right?”
“Come, time to eat.”
The lady of the house came to steer them in the direction of the women’s table, where they took their place in the line of women and girls, sliding onto the benches set on either side of a long table, cutting off the conversation effectively.
Emma found herself without appetite, a sick feeling of dread building up in her stomach. First her mother, then her best friend. Why couldn’t they see it her way?
She spread a slice of homemade wheat bread with cheese spread, cut it in half and chewed slowly. She speared a pickled red beet with the tines of her fork, brought it to her saucer and cut it in small pieces with her knife.
“Coffee?”
Behind her, a young girl held the coffeepot aloft. Wordlessly, she handed her the green melmac coffee cup, received it back before scooping up dry creamer and swirling it into the black liquid.
“I heard you went camping,” Rachel Zook commented, on her right.
“We did. Elvin, Eva, and I.”
She affirmed the vacation was good, and yes, she was glad to be back. But she didn’t offer any details, didn’t ask Rachel about her own fall plans. Her thoughts were on the beach in North Carolina.
Her words to Eva were clipped and short as she said goodbye later, glad to go home to her room and figure out the details of her upcoming trip, returning to the place and the man of her dreams.
She applied for and got a job caring for a neighbor lady who lived alone and was approaching ninety years of age. Her name was Anastasia Gilbert, known by most as Anna Gibbs. She was under five feet, had a small frame, and had her hair done every two weeks by that hairdresser in town that charged an arm and a leg and didn’t use the right hair color.
Her hair shone bright blond, and everyone on God’s green earth knew her hair wasn’t that color. She didn’t need a caregiver, she got along fine on her own, but she just needed someone to help out with a few things here and there. She had no children, no relatives close by.
Her house was like a gingerbread house, complete with trim work, porch posts, and railing painted white against an apple green porch.
White shutters accentuated the green painted stucco, giving the house an aura of being in a fairytale, the porch being deep and wide, filled with ceramic pots in colors of the rainbow, huge ferns drooping over their sides. Wicker furniture of every size and description was placed hapharzadly and filled with the neighbors’ cats or the three of her own.
Emma loved Anastasia Gilbert from the first day she met her. She had come over from Russia in 1945, after the war, with her parents and one brother, who were all dead and gone, may they rest in peace. She’d married Thomas Washinger, and when he died, she’d waited a year before marrying William Gilbert.
Anna and her family were poor as church mice when they arrived in America, but her father had worked hard and done well with the dry cleaning business and se
nt her to college, where she’d got her degree in English and went on to teach high school literature.
When Emma took the job, she explained she would need the last five days of October off, having planned a trip to North Carolina during that time. Anna had agreed, eager to have her start. So Emma spent her days with Anna from six in the morning till six at night, cleaning, baking, doing laundry, ironing, or just sitting and talking.
She loved the cluttered interior of the small green house, the deep carpeting that silenced footfalls and invited the cats to lounge in puddles of sunlight. She hoisted the clumsy Rainbow vacuum cleaner out of the hall closet and into each room every single day, vacuuming the accumulation of cat hairs with its quiet power.
Anna called Emma “Emmaline,” which felt to Emma like a term of endearment. Emma would come home in the evening and tell her mother what a sweet and smart woman Anna was, and Emma’s mother was glad to see her find contentment in her new job. Emma’s mother dismissed the ever-thickening cloud of worry about this Ben and tried to place her trust in Emma’s own sense of direction. Surely she wouldn’t actually go to North Carolina to chase the man. A mother’s anxiety is best swept away by frantic housecleaning, and the house had never looked quite so clean.
CHAPTER 17
EVA WAS HAPPY TO HEAR ABOUT HER FRIEND’S NEW JOB, THE LIVELY DESCRIPTION with which she entertained her, tales of the old lady’s whimsical traits, the coziness of their breakfasts and shared lunches.
And then the bombshell was dropped.
“Only a few weeks until I leave for North Carolina!”
Shocked, Eva stared, her eyes bouncing in her head.
“You haven’t given it up?”
“No.”
A moment of silence settled between them, during which Eva held back a tirade of frustration over her friend’s stubborn and idiotic pursuit of this man, and instead simply said, “You’re not going alone.”
It was a statement. An order.
“Why not?”
“Emma, you can’t go all that way with a driver. It would cost you a thousand dollars.”
“That’s my business if I want to pay that much.”