Chapter 21
So what to do? She was up at her usual time sipping tea sitting on the seat in the three-windowed nook of her bedroom; she stared at the occasional car that passed on the street below. She’d been so practical as to save ten dollars per month by taking the second floor apartment.
Right now she wanted nothing more than to walk out her front door and find herself in a park-like vision of the Garden of Eden. No more scrimping. No tromping up the narrow stairs with groceries in plastic bags so heavy they left deep gashes on her wrist.
And the shower. She hated her tiny three-foot square shower with no tub; another five dollars saved per month, she reminded herself. What had been the benefit? Five extra dollars in exchange for a tub full of bubbles and warm, rose- scented water? Hardly a trade-off.
And her newly discovered bit of humor and frippery had disappeared. The banter she and Bertie had shared still rang in her ears. Could she pick up the phone, she would gladly spend the extra dollars just to hear in a strong Scottish brogue, “Get on with it, lassie.”
Edwina realized she’d been stirring one level teaspoon of sugar at the bottom of her teacup for who knows how long and tossed the spoon down, chipping the garage sale mismatched saucer. What was life if you couldn’t have at least one matching cup and saucer? It didn’t have to be expensive, just matching.
She picked up the cup and sipped. The warmth flooded her body; the feel of the cup in her hands flushed memories out faster than she could process them. She was complaining about every little thing. She knew she should be thankful, grateful, and blessed, for she was—in so many ways. Her frumpy nightgown was now stained with tea—again— because her hand was shaking.
“Whatever,” Edwina said and swiped at the tea soaking through her gown.
She finished the tea and stood. It would do no good to sit in the apartment and dream. Dashed dreams were things she did not want to think about right at the moment nor did she care to use one of her sick days in familiar surroundings. Gazing at the sun filled windows, she realized for the first time that her entire two week Scotland vacation had been worth every bit of trouble.
Today she would use the extra gas in her little used white Volkswagen and go to another town and walk. There were hills in Michigan, but none like the blue-green ones in Scotland. She needed to walk on some hills. Soon the winds of autumn would change the season again, and for some reason she could not abide the thought of a snow-covered winter, although there was nothing more beautiful than a sunny day with every living thing covered in sparkling snow or a moonlit white night.
St. Joseph. That’s where she would go. There were hills there—sandy hills. Not the same, though it would have to do. The beaches would be overrun with sunbathers, but she might find a nice shady street and walk to Lake Michigan just to watch people. If she were lucky, she might be able to snag a bench.
Take a lunch? Nope, not this time. No peanut butter and grape jam sandwich today. She would stop at McDonald’s, then have a triple decker ice cream cone at Kilwin’s in down- town St. Joe.
Slipping into a worn pair of blue jean shorts, something she hardly ever wore, she pulled on a red sleeveless cotton tank top and slipped her toes into beach shoes. That would have to do. She gathered her thick hair, now grown halfway down her back, into a pony tail, then clipped it up atop her head. Grabbing sun block and a towel, she headed out.
Edwina felt silly tiptoeing down the back stairs on a Thursday morning, considerably later than usual. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, just taking a day off. She’d worked many overtime hours when no one else would. Surely it was all right to enjoy a little tomfoolery.
After a stop at the gas station which used six of her four- teen dollars, saving the rest for lunch and ice cream, she rolled down the windows, pulled sunglasses from the visor, and started up the highway to St. Joseph. It was a pleasant enough ride, her hair blowing around her face, kids out of school riding bikes, and travelers stopping along the road- side for summer’s-end sweet corn, tomatoes, green beans, and watermelon at the fruit and vegetable stands.
Her heart fluttered like the pad of paper on the front seat, the wind blowing it wildly. Restless, she punched several buttons and settled on an oldies music station. The upbeat sounds soothed her somehow. Made her stop thinking about herself. That was the problem, she decided as she drove along. She’d been thinking way too much about herself.
The story about the Scottish hero and the woman in the gauzy dress meeting on the windswept hills had died some- where along the way. Perhaps another story line would come today. It would be a project that would keep her mind off things. And what better way for the local librarian to make the front page of the small town newspaper than to write and publish a book?
Excitement sliced through her soul—an emotion she hadn’t felt in a long time.
The forty-five minute drive brought her to her destination. Luckily she found a spot not too far from the beach and parked. From the looks of it, the weather was blowing up a storm and beachgoers were walking to their cars hauling towels, ice coolers, and pushing babies in strollers. Surprisingly, she was not distressed by the change in weather. It might blow over, but if it didn’t she’d gaze across the wide blue expanse, wondering what she was supposed to be doing with her life. Maybe a ship’s captain was better suited as a hero.
For now she’d let the wind blow her hair and try to keep the paper from ripping off the pad. It was turning dark. People were starting to scatter; paper cups and napkins were sucked out of their grasp against their will. Dark clouds formed over the water. She watched, fascinated.
Storms over the water. Storms in our lives. She let the idea settle. Not surprisingly she found an abandoned bench and sat down, held the pad of paper over her head as the huge drops plopped on her hair, and gazed at the scene before her. It may not be Scotland, but it was beautiful and frightening at the same time.
Lightning began to strike from the dark clouds hanging over the roiling water. A bolt hit the water, and Edwina wondered if it skittered across the top and struck things or went diving into the water. The wind picked up even more, white sand burying her shoes as it blew inland. The storm raged and rain fell. It was a warm, quick downpour and then it stopped. The wind blew the rolling clouds northward. Then the sun popped out again. The sand, now heavy with rain, fell into her shoes. But it didn’t matter. The storm had lasted only ten minutes.
She’d eaten on the way up, so she was in no hurry to leave the bench, especially since people were starting to come back. Soon the beach would be full again. An hour later, she was ready to go. Shouts of children playing and beach balls flying past signaled she should move to a quieter place, since that was the reason she’d taken off work. To be alone. To think. Contemplate her life.
Removing her beach shoes and shaking the sand out of them, she decided to walk barefoot and meandered toward the car. The sun had dried off every spot of rain, leaving behind a clean scent. She pulled the fragrant air into her lungs and thanked God for life. She’d been too introspective as of late and promised herself she would seek out better ways to spend her time.
Perhaps she was naïve, but she wanted to make a difference in somebody’s life. And the path she was walking right now was headed nowhere.
Edwina left the tree-lined residential street and headed for downtown St. Joseph. It was a short walk to the ice cream store. Minutes later she found herself meandering by shops noting the summer visitors, many from Chicago, as she slurped her fast-melting giant mint chocolate chip ice cream waffle cone. She hadn’t allowed herself the luxury of a triple dip cone for... she couldn’t remember when.
After a full day moseying, driving, and just plain laziness, she walked back to the Volkswagen and headed for home, parked her car in the shade, and ran up the stairs, her shoes dangling from her fingertips. The phone was ringing. Should she answer?
“Nope, not today, my friend,” she said aloud. “Not today.” This was her day. She’d be back at work tomorrow.
&n
bsp; That decided, she sat at the dining table and worked over her notes on thoughts about the storms and lazy days of life. Perhaps her ideas could be turned into a magazine article.
Still full from lunch and the huge ice cream cone, she settled for a bag of microwave popcorn for dinner and went to bed. She’d taken charge of a tiny piece of her life and lived it today. And it had refreshed her spirit, body, and mind.
Edwina Page 21