by Linda Ford
He squeezed her hand and drew her to the pair of empty chairs next to the door. Lizzie sat down, heat rushing up her cheeks. Her head lowered, she allowed herself a quick glance around the circle. An older couple sat across the room from her. To her right were a younger couple and three children at their side. The children sat still as statues. The youngest, a boy of about six or seven, squirmed. His father touched the boy’s shoulder, and the lad stiffened. Lizzie glanced over the others and blinked as she encountered a pair of bright eyes. The girl across the room smiled before she ducked her head.
“Could we sing number seventy-eight?”
Lizzie jerked her head to see who spoke. It was one of the older men who remained seated. Suddenly little black hymnals appeared in each hand. Caleb held one toward her.
Then, without any instruments, the group sang. Lizzie choked back the sadness tearing at her throat as she listened to the mournful tones of the group. Singing, she guessed from their demeanor, was not meant to be enjoyed.
After five stanzas, the song ended, and silence again descended on the room.
“I’d like to share from First Thessalonians chapter five.” A gray-haired portly man opened his Bible, waiting for the rest to find the place. Lizzie found the passage in her Bible; then she and Caleb bent over the pages as the older man read.
“ ‘Let us watch and be sober.’ A timely admonition for us, I believe.” The older man went on to warn the others to be constantly watching for Christ’s return and to be on guard against Satan’s wily attacks. “Let us pray.” The prayer continued for what seemed to Lizzie a very long time. Her head drooped, and she jerked forward as waves of sleep swirled around her. It was the longest prayer she’d ever heard. It amazed her that the little ones across the room could be still so long.
Finally the man uttered, “Amen.” But the assembly remained seated, their heads bowed.
Her legs began to ache. She shifted ever so slightly and was certain every pair of eyes turned toward her.
Someone called out another hymn number. They sang six droning verses. Another man prayed for almost as long as the first. Another hymn was called out; then some unseen signal announced it was over. There was a general rustle as people rose, murmured quiet greetings, and filed outside.
Caleb introduced her to the others as they made their way to the buggy. The only name Lizzie could focus on was that of a young woman—Molly something or other—who leaned closer and said, “I’m so pleased to meet you. I’ve longed to see another young woman in that room.”
Lizzie met the girl’s eyes and saw a flash of humor. “Glad to meet you,” she said. She looked down at her skirt and grimaced. “It seems black is the only appropriate color. I wish I’d known.”
Molly patted her hand. “I’d wear bright colors if it weren’t for my father.” She nodded toward a tall, heavyset man. “He thinks I should look and act like an old woman.” Molly’s eyes flashed. “But I want to be young first.”
Lizzie grinned, liking this girl. “Where do you live?”
Molly pointed to the south. “A couple of miles that way.”
Lizzie bit her bottom lip. It would be several miles from where she and Caleb lived. What a disappointment. She sensed Molly would make a good friend. “I wish you would come and visit me.”
Molly’s gaze darted to her father, then back to Lizzie. “I just might do that.”
Caleb turned from speaking to the father of three children. “Mother and Dad are waiting,” he said to Lizzie then. “See you later, Molly.”
The buggy turned into the yard, but Father Hughes did not stop at the little house. Instead he drove on to the bigger house before he reined in the horses.
“I have dinner ready,” Mother Hughes called over her shoulder. “Didn’t think there was much point in both of us making a meal.”
Lizzie shot Caleb a startled look.
“Do you mind?” he asked, low enough so his mother wouldn’t hear.
She shrugged. She longed to have Caleb to herself and ask him the questions filling her mind. On the other hand, it would be nice to sit down to someone else’s cooking. “Thank you,” she said to her mother-in-law.
Inside, a cloth lay over the table. Mother Hughes lifted it off carefully. The table was fully set, with biscuits piled on a plate. The older woman removed saucers covering several small bowls. Pink pickled beets, green dills, and bread and butter pickles filled the air with spicy, sharp smells. A bowl of bright red canned tomatoes sat in the center of the table.
Mother Hughes disappeared into the pantry and returned with a plate of sliced meat.
“You’ve gone to a lot of work,” Lizzie said.
“I did it last night,” Mother Hughes said, indicating the others should sit at the table. “We don’t work on the Sabbath.”
Lizzie felt reprimanded; yet the idea of not having to do any sort of work for one day held vast appeal. “Not anything?”
Father Hughes chuckled. “The cow must be milked, of course. And in the winter, the fires must be fed.”
Mother Hughes nodded. “But in the summer we don’t light a fire. We only do what is essential.” She gave Lizzie a sweet smile. “I expect you find our ways different. I hope you can get used to them.”
“I expect I can do about anything I put my mind to doing.” She hadn’t meant to sound so sharp, but Mother Hughes had a way of phrasing her words to make it seem as if she doubted Lizzie could adjust to her new life.
“I wouldn’t be too prideful if I were you,” Mother Hughes warned, softening her words with a gentle tone and a soft smile. “ ‘Pride goeth before a fall.’ ”
Lizzie laughed, though the words stung. “I’m not meaning to be prideful. I know I’ll make more than my share of mistakes, especially if I don’t know what’s expected.” She paused, letting both Caleb and Mother Hughes feel the weight of accusation in her words. Either one of them could have warned her of their beliefs instead of springing things on her out of the blue. “But I hope I learn from my mistakes.”
Father Hughes interrupted before anyone could respond. “Why don’t I ask the blessing so we can eat?”
She waited until they were alone in their own home before she turned to Caleb. “Why didn’t you tell me I should wear black to church?”
He cocked his head and studied her. “Because I like you in that dress. It suits you.”
She blinked. It was hard to remain annoyed at a man who gave her compliments. “Thank you, but don’t you see how uncomfortable it made me?” And how it gave her mother-in-law more things to criticize. “I don’t know what’s expected if you don’t tell me. Everything is so different.”
“I guess I didn’t say anything because it truly doesn’t matter to me.”
“But all those other people. What do you think they thought?”
Again he shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what they think. Besides, I expect most of those women would like to have a dress like yours.”
Lizzie was mystified. “Then why don’t they? Why do they wear black if they don’t like it?”
Caleb sighed. “Because the church teaches the women are to be in subjection to the men. And the deacons say a modest woman will wear black.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair.
The whole idea seemed strange to her. “My mother obeys my father, but she’s allowed to choose her own clothes.”
“I’m not agreeing with the way they do things. In fact, I’m half convinced most of the men would rather like to see their women folk in something besides black.”
She spread her hands. “Then why—”
“I think everyone is afraid they’ll be accused of not being sober and vigilant if they change anything.”
Lizzie thought of the verse hanging prominently on her in-laws’ kitchen wall. “But what about the joy of the Lord, the joy of His salvation?” His expression grew troubled. “Caleb, what do you believe?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I don’t necessarily agree with my parents, but on the oth
er hand, how much joy do we deserve? It seems you do your best, but it isn’t nearly good enough, and then you die.”
“Caleb.” His words sent shock waves through her body. “Sounds to me like a you’re-born, you-suffer, you-die fatalistic approach to life.” She crossed her arms over her chest as if she could block the dark thoughts from her heart. “I don’t believe life is like that at all, and I can’t believe the Caleb I had so many fun times with in England is saying it. You used to reach out for life with an eagerness that made me laugh with joy. You wanted to see and touch and taste everything so long as it wasn’t sinful.”
“That Caleb died in France.” He turned away to stare out the window.
She stood looking at him, hearing his words, but wondering if she’d misunderstood them. A shudder snaked up her spine and rattled her jaw. She pulled her thoughts together. “I don’t believe that,” she whispered. “I’ve seen glimpses of the old Caleb.”
He kept his eyes turned toward the window. “I will never be the old Caleb again.”
“I suppose not. But you’ll be a better, stronger man instead.” She didn’t dare contemplate any other option.
Still staring out the window, he didn’t answer. “There’s a storm brewing,” he muttered. “It must have slipped in from the north.”
“Caleb?” She touched his arm, wanting to continue their discussion, but he jolted away as if he’d been struck.
Lizzie pulled her hand back, pressing it to her stomach. He’d never flinched from her touch before. Maybe he had changed more than she guessed. A chill settled into her bones.
Lightning flashed in the distance. Thunder rumbled.
Caleb shuddered. “I hope it misses us.”
Lizzie stared at his back.
The storm grew closer, the lightning brighter. Thunder rumbled and rattled. Then rain slashed against the window.
Caleb spun away from the window. He huddled on the rocker, pulling the quilt around his shoulders. Leaning over his knees, he cradled his head in his hands. “I hate rain,” he muttered. “Rain and mud and thunder.” He moaned—a sound that drove fear into Lizzie’s heart. What had happened to her bright young husband? He seemed to have disappeared inside the body of someone she didn’t know or understand.
“Caleb, it’s only a shower.” She stood at his side, longing to wrap her arms around him and comfort him. As if reading her thoughts, he stiffened and turned his shoulder to her. She didn’t dare touch him for fear of being pushed away.
A plopping sound pulled her attention away from Caleb.
“A leak,” she cried and hurried to put a bowl on the table to catch the drip. Another plop. This time by the bookcase. “My pictures.” She swept them into her arms and, looking around for a safe place, opened the trunk and tossed them in, hurrying to put out another bowl. By the time the shower ended, she had a half dozen bowls and pans set out to catch drips and had rescued Granny’s blanket and a stack of books.
Throughout the storm, Caleb remained huddled in the rocker, shuddering at every clap of thunder.
The storm passed. The thunder ended. The rain stopped. The drips slowed. Still Caleb sat with his legs drawn close to his chest, his head bowed.
“Caleb?” Lizzie moved closer. “The storm is over.”
He nodded. Slowly, as if it required an effort, he pulled himself upright, his hands clenched into tight fists in his lap. A shudder shook his shoulders.
5
Disregarding Mother Hughes’s instructions not to light a fire, Lizzie soon had a hearty blaze going in the stove. She made a pot of tea and carried a cupful to Caleb.
His eyes had a faraway look in them. She wondered if he even saw her as he took the cup and slowly sipped the contents while she sat on the edge of the sofa, close to his knees.
After a moment, his eyes focused, and he turned toward her. “Sorry about that. I hate storms.”
She nodded, waiting for him to explain his reaction.
He took a long drink, then muttered, “I hate rain.” Suddenly he pushed to his feet, set the cup on the table, and stomped from the house.
Lizzie stared after him. “Now what?” she muttered. But no explanation awaited her, and she set about gathering up the pots and bowls, pitching the water outside. She was washing and drying them when she heard a sound on the roof and rushed outside to see Caleb with a bundle of shingles and a handful of nails climbing a ladder to the roof.
Seeing her, he called, “I’ll fix those leaks. No need to have rain inside as well as out.”
For a moment she watched, then turned back inside, relieved he seemed to be back to normal. Hammering rattled overhead.
“Caleb?” Father Hughes’s voice reached her from outside the house.
She wiped her hands and went to join the older man.
“What’s he doing?” Father Hughes asked.
“Fixing the roof. It leaked in several places.”
“Caleb?” his father called again, louder this time.
Caleb stopped hammering and turned to peer at the two below him. “Hi.”
“Have you forgotten it’s the Lord’s Day?”
Caleb shook his head. “Nope.”
“We don’t work on the Lord’s Day,” his father reminded him gently.
“The good Lord saw fit to send rain on the Sabbath so I’m thinking He was reminding me the roof needs repairs.” Caleb turned back to place a nail and pound it in.
“Your mother is upset at listening to hammering.”
“I’m sorry.”
Lizzie didn’t think he sounded a bit sorry; and as if to prove her correct, he pounded in another nail.
“Caleb?” His father’s voice grew firmer.
But Caleb only pounded in another nail.
Lizzie edged back, not wanting to get involved. Quietly, before either man could say something to her, she slipped inside and soundlessly closed the door through which she could still hear the conversation.
“Caleb, will you honor our wishes?” his father persisted.
The hammering continued without interruption.
She waited, barely breathing. When she heard no more voices, she stole a peek out the window and saw Father Hughes tramping back to the house. She sank into a chair, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. What did it mean? What drove Caleb to defy his parents? Who was this man she had married?
Caleb worked on the roof the rest of the afternoon, finally coming down for supper. He went back outside almost before he’d finished eating. As she washed dishes, she saw him go to the barn and return with a bucket and a hammer. He eyed the barn, then walked the fence line.
That night he crawled into bed beside her and pulled her into his arms. “I see a hundred different things around the place that need fixing.”
“You sound happy about it.”
He chuckled, and she snuggled close, lulled by the rumble of his voice and the beat of his heart.
“Just happy that I can fix them.”
He fell asleep almost at once. She stayed cuddled in his arms, rejoicing that the old Caleb had returned. The one who had sat huddled and shivering on the rocker was a stranger—a frightening stranger.
When she awoke the next morning, Caleb was gone. She heard hammering and jumped from bed to race to the window. In the pink early morning light, he sat high atop the barn, poking in new shingles and hammering them in place. Shaking her head and smiling, she got dressed and prepared breakfast, then went out to the barn. “Caleb,” she called. “Breakfast is ready.”
He jerked in her direction, a startled look on his face, and then a slow smile softened the dark planes. “I’ll be right down.” He shuffled across the sharply sloped roof as Lizzie held her breath, fearing he would fall. He climbed down the ladder and came to her side.
“Thought I’d get an early start.” He leaned back, his hands in his rear pockets, looking pleased with himself.
“You must have been up before the birds.”
“Nope. They were scolding and cleanin
g house when I got the ladder.” He dropped his arm over Lizzie’s shoulder and turned her toward their home.
By noon, when he quit to eat, the barn roof was splattered with new shingles.
Mother Hughes came over with the eggs before Caleb left. “It’s nice to see you work, Son.”
Lizzie blinked. The older woman made it sound like Caleb’s working was an unexpected bonus. Lizzie kept a firm rein on her tongue to keep from leaping to Caleb’s defense.
Caleb only leaned back in his chair and smiled—a smile, Lizzie noted, that did not reach his eyes. “I’ve always worked, Mother.”
“Before you left us to go overseas, I guess you did.”
Lizzie gave the woman tea and gulped hurriedly from her own cup. “That little rain certainly freshened the air,” she said.
“Rain this time of year is good,” Mother Hughes agreed, then turned to smile at Caleb. “Did you forget the command to rest on the Sabbath?”
Caleb tilted his chair back so far, Lizzie feared he would end up on his head. He locked his hands behind his neck before he answered. “I didn’t forget.”
His mother shook her head. “But I heard you—saw you—repairing the roof yesterday. The Sabbath, I might remind you.”
Caleb nodded. “Like I told Dad, the good Lord saw fit to send rain on the Sabbath. I figured He was telling me it was time to fix the leaks.”
Mother Hughes drew her mouth tight. “I’m certain He meant no such thing.” Her eyes narrowed. “But what can I expect? I’m sure you encountered all sorts of temptations and heathenism over there.” Her gaze lingered on Lizzie.
Lizzie’s fingers dug into her palms. She stared into her tea. It was obvious her mother-in-law held Lizzie responsible for Caleb’s choices. An unfair assessment. Lizzie had nothing to do with it.
Caleb dropped his chair with a thud. “I certainly did; and if it weren’t for Lizzie and her family befriending me, I don’t know where I might have ended. They’re a fine Christian family who showed me nothing but charity.” He jerked to his feet. “Life doesn’t always fit into neat little slots, Mother.” He stomped out the door.
Lizzie held her breath as the door slammed behind him. She darted a cautious look at her mother-in-law and saw a flash of pain cross the older woman’s face. She understood how difficult it must be to see her son slipping away from her, and Lizzie’s heart went out to the woman. She covered Mother Hughes’s hand with her own. “He didn’t mean to hurt you. It’s just that it’s hard for him to fit back in after being at war.”