A Life of Joy

by Amy Clipston

  “I have one,” Lindsay said. “I brought my one-piece that I wear when I go up to the lake with the family or with the youth.”

  “That’s good. That’s neat that you go to the lake with your family.” Trisha gestured toward the door. “You may want to go for a swim while you’re here.”

  “That would be fun,” Lindsay said. “I went to the lake with Rebecca and some of the other girls and women in the community last summer. Everyone had a really nice time.”

  “I remember you and your sister having a blast in the waves, when you were —” Trisha stopped speaking, winced, and settled back in the chair.

  “Are you okay?” Lindsay popped up and headed over to the chair. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Yeah.” Trisha’s voice was hoarse. “I think my painkiller wore off. Would you check the kitchen counter for my pills and bring me a pill and a drink?”

  “Sure.” Lindsay rushed to the kitchen. After locating the pills, she retrieved a glass of ice water and brought them both back to Trisha. “Do you need anything else?” she asked after Trisha had taken the pill.

  Trisha shook her head and sighed. “I think I need to rest.”

  “You okay?” Frank looked alarmed as he approached, clad in khakis and a collared shirt with his company logo where the breast pocket would be. He held a briefcase in his hand.

  “Yeah.” Trisha closed her eyes. “I just took another pain pill. I’m going to rest now.”

  He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You take it easy. I’m going to head into work. Bob just called, and he needs me to help out with an issue with the electricians.” Frank then moved over to the kitchen and gestured for Lindsay to follow. “I need to go to the office and job site. Will you be okay?”

  “I can handle it,” Lindsay said.

  He pointed to a piece of paper pinned to a little bulletin board above the cordless phone. “There’s my cell number and also the office number in case I’m out of range if you get my voicemail. Don’t hesitate to call me if you have any questions or you’re concerned about something.” He pointed to a business card below his number. “That’s Trisha’s doctor. You can call his office if something comes up too.”

  Lindsay nodded. “Okay. When will you be home?”

  He frowned. “Traffic is pretty bad around here these days. I’ll call you when I’m on my way home.” He started for the door, and Lindsay trailed behind him. “Call me if you need anything.” He disappeared through the door.

  Lindsay glanced around the family room and smiled when she heard a soft snore coming from Trisha’s chair. She quietly gathered up her clothes from the sofa and carried them to her room, where she hung them in the closet. Lindsay moved to the laundry room, located off of the large master bathroom, and found a laundry basket.

  While humming a hymn she’d often heard Elizabeth humming in the bakery, Lindsay gathered up the dirty laundry from the bathroom hampers and then stood in front of the washing machine. She bit her lower lip and tried to remember seeing her mother do laundry in their old house. Her mother had often threatened to stop doing Lindsay’s and her sister’s laundry because they would wear their clothes for only a short time and then toss them into the hamper.

  A smile turned up the corners of Lindsay’s lips while she recalled one of her mother’s rants, accusing Jessica and Lindsay of being princesses who thought that new clothes and water were inexpensive. Only a week before her mother died, she’d promised to teach the girls to use the machine in order to lighten her housekeeping load, but she never got the chance to give the girls the lesson.

  Lindsay had mastered Rebecca’s wringer washer and actually enjoyed doing the laundry for Rebecca on Mondays. She frowned, wondering how Rebecca was faring without Lindsay’s help in the house. She hoped someone would step up and help her aunt, and she assumed Katie would be the one to take her place.

  She leaned over and opened the door to the front-loading machine. Lindsay remembered helping her mother separate clothes, and she understood that dark colors and whites were always washed with like shades. She pushed the dark-colored shirts and trousers into the machine until the drum was close to being full.

  Standing, she examined the bottles and boxes of detergent, stain lifter, and softener sitting on top of the white metal work area above the expensive looking machines.

  “This can’t be too hard,” she whispered. Standing in front of the washer, she stared at it, wondering where the detergent was supposed to go. She stepped back, examining the machine, taking in the complicated-looking control panel and the large, circular glass door, but nothing looked like a place for detergent.

  “I can do this,” she muttered. “After all, I conquered a wringer washer.”

  Lindsay stood up on her tiptoes and peered over the counter and looked behind the machine, spotting only hoses. She then opened the door and pushed back the clothes, peeking around inside the drum for a compartment.

  Finding nothing, she closed the door and stepped back to study the machine. She spotted a compartment at the bottom and crouched down to examine it. She pulled it open and found a round top and instructions for cleaning out the filter bimonthly.

  “This is ridiculous!” She smacked the door closed and stood, contemplating if she should wake Trisha to ask how to load the detergent. However, she knew that Trisha needed her sleep, and Lindsay was too embarrassed to admit that she’d been fooled by a washing machine.

  While studying the control panel, she spotted an indentation to the left of the control panel, under the machine’s name. Placing her hand on the indentation, she pulled open a small drawer and spotted small compartments designed for bleach, laundry soap, and softener. A laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head, marveling at how obvious the drawer had been. She examined the box of detergent and then scooped the prescribed amount before dropping it into the drawer. She then added half a capful of softener.

  Lindsay then studied the control panel, wondering how she would start the washer. She bit her lower lip, reading the buttons for the water level, spin, and temperature. Placing her hand on the large dial, she turned it, and the control panel lit up with a series of beeps.

  While the lights seemed to indicate a normal wash cycle, she pushed the start button and hoped that the machine wouldn’t ruin the clothes or flood the laundry room.

  The washer beeped, clicked, and then was silent for a moment. Lindsay sucked in a breath and hoped she hadn’t broken the machine by pushing the wrong button. Soon the water began to pour into the drum, and Lindsay blew out a sigh of relief.

  Moving back into her bedroom, Lindsay found an apron and slipped it on over her purple frock. She then tiptoed to the kitchen, careful not to wake Trisha, who was sleeping in her chair, as she passed through the family room.

  She decided to clean for Trisha and went to the kitchen to find the vinegar, a bucket, and rags, which was how Rebecca had taught her to clean. She found a bottle of vinegar, which was almost empty. She paused, wondering what to do. She’d seen Elizabeth clean with just plain water when they ran out of vinegar at her house, but she wasn’t sure Trisha would be comfortable with that since she tended to worry about germs when Lindsay and Jessica were little.

  Lindsay searched the cabinets and pantry and found a bottle marked “bathroom cleaner.” She grabbed a sponge and small bucket from under the sink and headed to the bathroom. When she sprayed the tub, she did her best not to gag. She wondered how Trisha could stand the strong, unappealing smell of the cleaner.

  While working, she thought about her life back in Lancaster and wondered how her friends and family members were doing without her. Did they miss her? Did Matthew think of her?

  After the bathrooms were clean, Lindsay moved on to the other rooms. Keeping with the method of cleaning that she’d learned from Rebecca, she wiped down the walls, floors, and drawers. She worked swiftly and quietly, stopping only to move the clothes to the dryer and then throw a load of whites into the washer.

  While
folding the dark load, Lindsay held a pair of Trisha’s jeans up to her nose, breathed in the synthetic, flowery scent of laundry detergent, and grimaced. The clothes smelled much fresher back home after hanging them on the line. She filled the laundry basket with the dark load and then carried it out to the deck, careful not to wake Trisha, who was still snoozing in the chair.

  She’d spotted some twine and old clothespins in the pantry in the kitchen while she was searching for cleaning supplies. After grabbing the twine and slipping the clothespins in her apron pocket, she created a makeshift clothesline by carefully standing on a chair, stringing the line across the deck, and tying the twine to empty hooks that she assumed used to hold the hanging plants that now lined the deck railing. She hung out each piece of laundry while humming to herself and then returned to cleaning the main level of the house.

  Since it took quite a bit of time to thoroughly clean the main level in the Amish method she’d learn from her aunt, Lindsay decided to clean the guest rooms and den on the third level the following day. After putting the cleaning supplies away, she searched the pantry and refrigerator for supplies for supper.

  “Lindsay?” Trisha’s voice croaked from the family room while Lindsay was flipping through her cookbook.

  Lindsay dropped the book onto the counter and rushed out to the den. “Yes?”

  “Could you help me get up?” Trisha asked.

  “Of course.” Lindsay fetched Trisha’s wheelchair from the corner and helped her climb into it. “Do you need more pain medicine?” she asked, while pushing Trisha toward the bathroom.

  “No,” Trisha said. “I can’t stand the foggy feeling I get when I take them. Could you grab me some new pajamas? I think I want to wash up.”

  “Absolutely.” Lindsay took Trisha’s arm and guided her while she hopped from the wheelchair to the commode. She then slipped into the master bedroom and fished through Trisha’s dresser until she found fresh pajamas and undergarments. On her way back to the master bathroom, she snatched a washcloth and a couple of towels from the linen closet. She entered the bathroom and found Trisha scowling while staring at the bathtub.

  “Do you need help?” Lindsay asked, placing the clothing on the counter.

  Frowning, Trisha shook her head. “No, I can do this. Just stay within earshot in case I fall and can’t get up.”

  “Okay,” Lindsay said, moving to the doorway. “Would you like meatloaf for supper? I found most of the supplies to make my aunt’s recipe. I just need to improvise some of it, but I’m sure it will come out okay. Even my fussy uncle likes when I customize my meals.”

  Trisha grinned. “Sounds delicious.”

  “Thanks.” Lindsay felt her cheeks heat at Trisha’s wide smile. “Why are you smiling like that?”

  “I’m proud of how much you’ve matured,” Trisha said, pushing her messy brown hair back behind her ears. “Your mom and dad would be proud of you too.”

  Lindsay backed out of the bathroom. “I better get cooking. Call me if you need any help. I won’t have the television on or anything, so I’ll be able to hear you.”

  Lindsay contemplated Trisha’s words while she mixed the meatloaf. Would her parents be proud of her? She shook her head while adding spices to the meatloaf mix.

  It seemed to Lindsay that Jessica would be the daughter who made her parents proud. Jessica was the one who was driven and knew what she wanted. She was off in a big city, learning how to survive at a powerful company. Jessica would probably graduate from college with honors and go on to make a lot of money doing what she loved.

  Lindsay, on the other hand, would be able to run a household and make a good wife and mother someday. She might know how to cook, clean, and babysit, but she didn’t know who she was or where she belonged. But she loved to bake and try new recipes. Didn’t it matter that she excelled in what she loved more than finding a powerful, high-paying career?

  She blew out a deep sigh while pouring the meat mixture into a loaf pan. It didn’t make any sense to her that Trisha was proud of her, but she hoped that Trisha was right about her parents. Perhaps her parents were looking down from heaven and smiling on their daughter. Whether Trisha was right or wrong, Lindsay just wished for one thing: to figure out where she belonged.

  Once the meatloaf was in the oven, she stepped out to the deck and pulled a pair of jeans off the clothesline. Inhaling the fresh air, she smiled.

  “Much better than the smell of laundry soap,” she whispered while folding them. After folding each garment and placing it in the basket, she retrieved the other load from the washer and hung the items on the line to dry so that they would also smell fresh.

  Won’t Aunt Trisha and Uncle Frank be surprised when they smell their clean clothes? She grinned while heading back into the kitchen.

  “Lindsay-girl,” Frank began between bites of meatloaf, “this is fantastic! Your aunt has taught you well.”

  Lindsay patted her mouth with a paper napkin. “Thank you, Uncle Frank. I’ve learned quite a bit from my aunt Rebecca and also my aunts at the bakery.”

  “I bet they like it when you cook for them,” Trisha added, lifting her glass of ice water.

  Lindsay shrugged. “I don’t get many complaints.”

  Trisha and Frank laughed and the phone began to ring.

  “Should I get it or let it ring?” Lindsay looked between them, not knowing what to do. Nothing interrupted meals in Daniel’s home.

  “It’s up to you,” Trisha said. “We’re not formal here. Check the caller ID.”

  Lindsay hurried to the phone and spotted Jessica’s number. “It’s my sister.”

  “Take it in your room,” Frank said. “I’ll clean up the kitchen if you girls are long-winded.”

  “Thanks!” Lindsay grabbed the phone and rushed toward her room while pushing the button. “Hello?”

  “Linds!” Jessica nearly yelled into the phone. “How are you?”

  “I’m doing okay.” Lindsay dropped onto her bed. “How are you?”

  “Doing well,” Jessica said. “Tired. I’ve been working nearly twelve hours every day this week. We have a big project due next Tuesday.”

  “I hope they’re paying you well.” Lindsay crossed her legs under her and cradled the phone between her shoulder and cheek while removing the pins that held up her tight bun. Although she wasn’t wearing her prayer covering, she felt more comfortable wearing her hair up like the other Amish women back home.

  “They are, but I’m still tired.” Jessica sighed. “So, how’s Aunt Trisha doing?”

  “Okay, I guess.” Lindsay rubbed her scalp in an effort to stop it from throbbing. Her hair fell in waves to the middle of her back. “She had some pain today and had to take her pain pills. I also helped her to the bathroom so she could wash up. I think she felt better after that.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Uncle Frank went back to work this afternoon, so I took care of the laundry, did some cleaning, and made a meatloaf for dinner. They both thought it was delicious. I used Aunt Rebecca’s recipe, and it turned out pretty well. Not as good as hers, of course.”

  Jessica snorted.

  “What?” Lindsay asked.

  “You’re so domestic, Linds.”

  Lindsay rolled her eyes. “Please don’t start. You’re just jealous because you would starve if you had to live without drive-through meals or frozen dinners.”

  “I resent that,” Jessica quipped. “I made dinner the other night.”

  “Oh? And what did you make?” Lindsay asked, finger combing her long, red hair.

  “I made spaghetti and meatballs,” Jessica said, sounding proud.

  “Oh really?” Lindsay grinned. “Mom’s recipe?”

  Jessica paused, and Lindsay laughed.

  “Sort of,” Jessica said. “At least, it was almost as good.”

  Lindsay’s smiled faded a little as she thought of her sister, parents, and their nights gathered around the table eating their mom’s delicious dinners. “I miss
you.”

  “I miss you too,” Jessica said. “Maybe you can come visit after Trisha’s better. We have plenty of room here in Kim’s house. You could bunk in with me, and I could give you a tour of the city.”

  Lindsay shook her head. Jessica would never give up her dream of taking Lindsay to experience the big city. “Maybe,” she said. “Have you heard from Jake?”

  “No,” Jessica said, and Lindsay could hear the disappointment in her sister’s voice.

  “Have you tried calling him?”

  “No,” Jessica said.

  “Why not?” Lindsay flopped back onto her pillow. “You should be the better person and make the first move. I know you’re never shy, so what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Jessica said.

  “You shouldn’t give up. He told you that he loves you.”

  “Let’s change the subject,” Jessica countered. “What about you? Have you done anything else besides cooking and cleaning?”

  “I went shopping with Uncle Frank earlier today.”

  “Oh? Where’d you go?”

  “Lynnhaven Mall.” Lindsay studied the white ceiling while she talked. “It looks so different now. They’ve added some new restaurants out front. You’d love it.”

  “Cool,” Jessica said. “What’d you get?”

  “Some clothes.” Lindsay hoped she wouldn’t ask for details. “Nothing exciting, but it’s functional.”

  “To get you out of your Amish garb?”

  “Please don’t start,” Lindsay warned. “I don’t feel like arguing.”

  “Have you called any of your old friends? Like maybe Vicki or Heather?” Jessica asked.

  “No.” Lindsay glanced across the room at her pink address book sitting on her dresser. “I’ve been here less than forty-eight hours, so I haven’t even thought about calling anyone.”

  “You should call Vicki and Heather,” Jessica continued. “I’m sure they’d be thrilled to hear from you.”

  “I’ll call them once Aunt Trisha is doing a little better,” Lindsay said, sitting up and leaning against the wooden headboard. “I bet they’re busy shopping and packing for college.”