by Linda Byler
They wore brightly colored button-down shirts, some with stripes or a soft plaid, an occasional t-shirt showing beneath an open collar. And they wore black broadfall trousers with narrow waists and loose suspenders. If a mother complied with her son’s wishes, the waist of his trousers fit snugly to allow the exclusion of suspenders altogether.
There was Melvin, dressed in a shocking color of teal, his face red with exertion, doing his level best to “whip” everyone. His hair was beginning to show that gleam of scalp, a dead giveaway of balding. He was yelling much too loudly, moving with reckless abandon, evidently having a hard time “whipping.”
He didn’t see her arrive, so she sat down on the arm of a sofa, beside Rose, and watched. After numerous exertions of arms and legs, his face turned an alarming shade of red and he finally managed the game point, raising his paddle high, lifting his face, and yelling a shrill cry of victory before bowing low and then straightening and stomping both feet.
The girls found his display quite hilarious. Rose laughed loudest of all, which pleased Melvin so much that he repeated the whole procedure.
Sarah laughed out loud, helplessly. That Melvin. What an individual!
A girl Sarah had never seen placed a hand sideways across her mouth, giggled, leaned forward, and rolled her eyes at her companion, Arie Beiler, an older girl who had been in Sarah’s group of youth as long as she could remember. The new girl seemed to know Arie well, so Sarah wondered if she was the new schoolteacher Melvin had spoken of.
She was dark-haired, and wore glasses with heavy black frames, giving her an edgy, career-girl look. Her mouth was wide with full lips, her dress a charcoal gray, with shoes that were almost sandals but not quite. She was not thin, although she carried the excess poundage well, her hands large and capable, her shoulders wide.
Hmm, Sarah thought. An interesting character, this one.
Later in the evening, she made a point of introducing herself, shyly, but with so much curiosity, she had to carry it out.
“Hi. I’m Sarah Beiler. I should know you, likely, but I have no idea who you are.”
“Hi, Sarah. I know who you are. Minister Davey Beiler’s daughter, right?”
Sarah nodded, suddenly speechless.
“I’m Edna King from Dauphin County. They had a problem school, near Ronks, so they asked me to teach this year. This is my eleventh term. I do art classes as well—at different schools.”
Her eyes were bright with curiosity, her words spoken clearly, no humility in sight, so far as Sarah could tell, but she liked her immediately.
“Yes, I’m Davey’s daughter.”
No credentials, she thought wryly. No career, no boyfriend, not getting married, just Davey’s girl.
“You lost your little brother shortly after the fire, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s so awful. It must have been a hard, hard time.”
“It was.”
“You have my deepest sympathy.”
Sarah lowered her eyes, feeling a bit out of her league. This Edna was so well-spoken, so learned, so…so English. Sarah felt like some country bumpkin who could hardly speak.
“So, are you healing? Time does help the grieving process.”
“Oh, yes. We miss Mervin, especially these winter evenings. But he was so innocent, and he’s in a better place now.”
“Certainly. Oh, absolutely.”
“Winner’s pick!”
The call was from Lee Glick, who stood, tall, relaxed, his hair very blond, surveying the crowd, taking his time choosing someone to play. He was wearing a navy blue polo shirt, his shoulders pressing against the seams. Sarah turned her eyes away, to Matthew, who was slouched on a recliner laughing.
“Sarah?”
It was a question but a calm, assured one, sending a stab through her stomach, creating a tumultuous feeling near her heart, as if her ribs had closed in on its regularity. She looked up and acknowledged the warmth in his eyes, then rose to the challenge, moving fluidly, with unconscious grace. Taking up the red paddle, she smiled at him.
“I never played ping-pong with you. Are you any good?” His question was for her ears alone, and she blushed painfully.
“Of course.”
“Alright, then. Here we go.”
His serves were atrocious, but Sarah had played enough ping-pong with her older brothers to have acquired the skill of the return. Lee raised his eyebrows, whistled, and realized this was no ordinary girl playing ping-pong.
Lee was an extraordinary player, but so was Sarah. Mid-game, he put both hands on the table, palms down, leaned forward, and asked, “Where did you learn to play?”
“I have four older brothers, remember?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“They were, shall I say, exacting teachers. Mean, too!”
He laughed, his blue eyes sparkling, and she joined in.
At the end, she won by one point. The score had been tied at twenty, the youth mostly on their feet, cheering. Melvin was completely beside himself, the veins in his neck protruding to the point that Sarah thought he might pop one.
“I should have warned you, Lee. She’s a mean one.”
Lee laughed and shook his head, breathing hard. Sarah sank onto the sofa, shy now that the game was over, suddenly disliking the attention.
As if Matthew wanted to share the glory, he sat down beside her, his gaze never leaving her face, saying he’d play this next game. And because his eyes were so dark and compelling, and he was Matthew, the love of her entire life, she said of course she’d play. She got back on her feet and picked up the paddle.
As usual, Matthew was no contest. She beat him handily, without too much effort, but she knew Matthew wasn’t much interested in sports. He’d rather be cooking or reading, he always said.
She remembered sitting beside him in school, doing anything to gain his attention, even dropping a wad of crumpled paper in the aisle so she could bend over to retrieve it. But his nose was in yet another book, and she may as well not even have been there at all.
In the end, Matthew threw down the paddle, hard, and turned away with no further ado. All the spark left Sarah’s eyes, and her smile melted into trembling insecurity before she lowered her head and walked away, misery creeping into her eyes.
Lee had to clench his hands until the muscles rippled beneath his shirt to stop the anger, the overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Sarah, my love.
“Sarah! Pick me!” Edna King raced around the table, and Sarah’s face was filled with light again.
Lee’s hands unfolded, and he turned away casually, so that no one was aware of the intensity of his emotion.
The evening was ruined for Sarah, however. She had upset Matthew, so the snack that was set up on the side tables may as well have been sawdust and chicken bones as the dryness in her mouth created a sour despair.
Katie had decorated the table with a ping-pong theme using a green tablecloth with a ping-pong net dividing the food from the drinks. She stuck tiny plastic paddles into white icing on top of chocolate cupcakes, and dusted cookies formed in the shape of ping-pong balls with powdered sugar.
Sarah sipped disconsolately on a lemonade, her face a mirror of remorse, until Rose slipped an arm through hers. She leaned close and whispered, “Matthew was a poor sport.”
So. She had seen. How well Rose must know Matthew!
“It’s okay,” she muttered. Rose nodded then giggled when Melvin sat beside her. He leaned across and hissed, “Sarah, introduce me to the schoolteacher.”
Sarah examined Melvin’s red face and unkempt hair. She wanted to tell him to go outside, stand in the cold wind, cool off, and fix his hair. But what she said was, “Now?”
“Course.”
Ach, Melvin. She cringed but stood and moved to touch Edna’s elbow.
“Edna, I want you to meet my cousin, Melvin. I think he lives just across the road from your school.”
Edna turned, her face alight with interes
t. Showing her good manners, she allowed herself to be led to the sofa, where Melvin reclined with Rose, in all his red-faced glory.
Thankfully, he stood and shook her hand, very politely. He didn’t hold Edna’s hand too long or too hard, and this is what he said: “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time. I often watch you play baseball with the children.”
Much to Sarah’s complete surprise, Edna seemed to lose all her composure. Her face changed color, and her well-modulated voice slid away into a stammering squeak.
“I…Yes. How are you?”
She blinked, adjusted her glasses, sniffed, and then, much to Sarah’s chagrin, lifted her apron, found a Kleenex, and blew her nose. Oh my goodness, Sarah thought.
Melvin must have found that whole display of discomfiture a pure delight. His eyes took on that light of familiarity, that cunning beam that was a prelude to a full show of every one of his charms. In his own eyes, Melvin would be the benevolent knight in shining armor, ready to rescue his damsel in distress, that lucky girl who would now be subject to his personality.
“I’m well, thank you! Your name, though?”
Edna may as well have been in the presence of a king, the way she became tongue tied, clearing her throat, stammering, and finally saying, “Edna. Edna King.”
“Edna? Oh, I love that name. It’s so different. Not many Ednas around. Too many Sarahs and Rebeccas and Suzies. Sorry, Sarah.”
Sarah punched his arm. Edna smiled and picked at her dress front, her nervousness only producing more confidence in Melvin, who went way overboard in his introductions. He told Edna his great-great-grandfather was a blacksmith from Switzerland, and Sarah figured it was another one of his stretched truths, feeding off his heightened emotions, laid out for the sole purpose of impressing the worldly Edna King.
She was led away by Matthew, then, who said he was ready to leave, as it was getting late, and they had church tomorrow.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Sarah said goodbye to Melvin and told Edna it was a pleasure to meet her. She hurried up the stairs for her coat and purse, thinking she had to dig up enough nerve to help Melvin with his shirts.
Who in the world made those shirts? He’d look so much better in store-bought ones. He always picked a fabric and color that would be truly lovely stitched into a dress for a girl. And with that Edna! Now she had good taste. Understated, but classy. Not out of the ordnung, she dressed respectfully, but…well, differently.
Why were her thoughts carefully assessing Melvin now? She wondered at this, as she located her purse and shrugged into her coat.
Matthew was hitching his horse to the carriage to take her home, an unbelievable occurrence, a dream come true, and here she was, thinking about Melvin’s shirts. What an old maid!
She was stopped at the door by Rose, who was breathing hard.
“Is…is Matthew taking you home?”
“Yes. He brought me.”
“Oh. Yes, well. That’s…well. Okay. Have a good night.”
“Night, Rose.”
Matthew’s horse was prancing, so Sarah lost no time running out to the buggy, swiftly getting in, and firmly closing the door. When he released the reins, they were off with a hard jerk, the gravel pinging against the buggy as the horse’s speed increased.
Matthew was busy controlling the eager horse, so he said nothing, and Sarah watched his profile, the perfect downward slope of his nose.
She’d go shopping with Melvin. She’d ask him to go along to Rockvale Square to visit a few men’s shops. Oh, he’d protest. There would be nothing harder for Melvin to swallow than being told he needed help with his clothes. In his own eyes, he was quite dapper, but if that Edna turned out to be interested, he’d better get a few shirts. Maybe gray, or almost black. A pinstripe wouldn’t hurt.
Perhaps that was the reason Edna was in her eleventh year of teaching. She was almost thirty years old. And she became as flustered as someone Priscilla’s age meeting Melvin in his brilliant teal colored shirt.
“What did Rose have to say tonight?”
Matthew’s voice split apart the reverie, and she had to shake off the image of Edna before replying.
“Oh, not much. She seemed thrilled to play ping-pong with Lee Glick.”
Intended barbs like that fired much too quickly. They were completely untypical of Sarah, and she knew it. Where they borne of desperation?
Matthew’s voice was low and harsh. “Yeah, well. It might be a good idea to eliminate the girls playing against the guys, and you know it.”
There was no answer to this, so she remained quiet, afraid she might upset him again.
The night was moving around them, the horse’s mane and tail blowing, the weeds shivering beside the road, bushes shaking thin branches at the wind’s command. Distant pole lights seemed to blink as branches raked across their beams, and the buggy swayed just a bit as they rounded a curve.
An oncoming buggy dimmed its headlights, and Matthew clicked the dimmer switch on the floor with his foot.
“Old Dutchies are out late tonight,” he muttered.
Sarah laughed, hoping to elevate his mood. He smiled in return, which encouraged Sarah to bring the evening to a better note with happy chatter of her week at the market, launching into a vivid account of her new acquaintance, Ashley.
“I didn’t think you were the type to make friends with English girls. Especially not someone like her.”
“Oh, but she’s so nice. She seems genuinely interested in the barn fires that have been going on all year. She’s so caring. I think it really bothers her that we’re all going through this together.”
Matthew nodded. “You better be careful, Sarah. She might know more than you think. Don’t trust anyone, as long as these fires are being lit.”
“Alright. I’ll be careful.”
They turned into the Beiler lane, and too soon, Matthew tugged on the reins, stopping the horse at the end of the sidewalk.
Just when Sarah could hardly bear to lift her hand to tug on the door handle, Matthew’s voice stopped her.
“You don’t have to go in right away.”
Slowly, slowly, her hand slid down, and her breathing almost stopped. The wind whipped the branches of the maple tree. Somewhere a gate clanked against the chain that restrained it. A heifer bawled from its enclosure, a small plastic bag whirled away, causing Matthew’s horse to lift its head suddenly, and he tightened the reins.
Then, “Sarah, do you think Rose is unhappy?”
“No.” Too quickly, too decisively, the word was placed between them.
“She doesn’t miss me?”
“No.”
“How well do you know her?”
“We’ve been friends forever. I know her very well. She is after Lee Glick now.”
After the words were out, she felt as if she was sliding uncontrollably into a world where there was no safety, no restraint. Her heartbeat fluttered and accelerated, until she became lightheaded. Oh, but, please God. I’m so close. Please don’t take him away.
She wasn’t lying. She just wasn’t including all the facts. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and told Matthew that Rose was doing just fine, was happy now, whereas after the breakup, she hadn’t been. Matthew listened quietly and nodded speculatively.
There was a space of silence that prickled uncomfortably with unspoken feelings, words that hung in the balance, deciding Sarah’s future. If Matthew did not come to a decision tonight, when? Oh, when would he ever?
A gentle nod of her conscience reminded her of the timeframe, that it was too recent that Rose had ended the relationship. But Sarah was afraid that if Matthew didn’t commit now, he might never.
Finally he sighed. “Sarah, you know how it is. I’m still not really moving on. I miss her terribly. But if I know that it’s absolutely hopeless, once I find out for sure, will you be my girl?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, Matthew! Of course I will.”
Too quickly, too exuberantly again, and she kn
ew it. But like the wind howling outside the buggy, her caution was caught up and whirled away.
With Matthew, all thoughts of right or wrong were confused, the line blurred into a fuzzy gray that her conscience could never quite completely touch.
Why then, when he pulled her roughly against him, his face lowered as his mouth found hers, did she pull back? Was she afraid, with the thought of Mam’s warnings forced between them?
“Matthew.”
“What? What’s wrong now, Sarah?”
She heard the urgency in his voice and succumbed, allowing herself the privilege of being in his arms, blindly erasing the overwhelming feeling of something being not quite perfect.
How many years had she imagined this? How many months had she wondered how it would feel to be in Matthew’s arms?
It was Mam—that was all.
A sob rose in her throat, as unexpected as a beam of light on this stormy night. She stumbled into the house, her covering disheveled, her hair windblown, her heart and mind caught in a sweet but indefinable misery.
As she lay sleepless, the branches creaking outside her window, she choked back the mysterious lump that kept rising in her throat. She was tired, that was all. That, and Mam’s dire warnings.
Well, Mam knew a lot, but she didn’t know Matthew, so she’d get over it eventually. No matter that she was clearly second best. She would be first in his life.
She flipped on her side and was shocked to find tears sliding across her nose. She swiped viciously at them, a fingernail slicing into the skin below her eye. She winced, squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as possible, and tried to give praises to God for Matthew’s love. But she found that not quite possible either, like a harmonica with one stuck key, just one note short of perfect.
So Sarah pushed past the mysterious tears, the image of Mam, the warnings, the stuck note that stubbornly refused its song. She prayed the prayer of too many young girls whose hearts and wills are not in complete sync with the will of a loving heavenly Father.
God, please listen to my prayer and give Matthew the love I feel for him. I want him so much. Not my will, but thine, Lord, you know that. All things are visible to you, including my thoughts. Please, bless me with Matthew.