The Complete Series

by Angela Scipioni

  “God and the power of His Spirit are not confined by the walls of the church, Lily. Do not underestimate what Jesus can do for you.” Donna pulled a tissue from the console and wiped Lily’s tears. “Now dry your tears. This is a time for rejoicing - you’ve been born again in the Spirit.”

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “That’s the beauty of it. You don’t need to know what to do; it shall be revealed to you. You don’t need to know where you’re going. You only need to take the first step. Walk and pray.”

  “I don’t know many prayers,” said Lily. “Except the Our Father, and the Rosary, and the Act of Contrition.”

  “That’s not prayin’ ” said Donna. “That’s recitin’. You got to speak to God, tell Him what’s in your heart.”

  “It’s been so long since I’ve done that - if I ever have... maybe I did when I was little. I’m not sure where to start - I know I want a baby. I want peace in my house.”

  “Well now,” said Donna. “What I can tell you is that all that your heart’s desires are within God’s power. What I can’t tell you is how to pray - each person needs to work that one out on her own. All I know is that I feel closest to God when I am expressing myself in a free and creative way.”

  “That sounds like how I felt when I used to sing.”

  “There you go,” said Donna. “The Lord God loves Him a good song, that’s for sure.”

  “What kind of song?” asked Lily. “Like ‘Amazing Grace’ or something?”

  “That’s an oldie but a goodie, but there are so many beautiful songs of praise and worship, songs of gratitude and supplication.” Donna closed her eyes, and hummed for a few seconds. “It don’t matter how you talk to Him, Lily. You just got to get the conversation started.”

  The front door of Lily’s house opened. “I better go. Thanks so much for taking me to church today, Donna.”

  “My pleasure. I’ll call you about PTW, OK? It’s less intense than worship service, and it’s a chance to really talk things through. Plus,” she added with a glint in her eye, “There’s fresh baked goods!”

  “That’d be great,” said Lily as she jumped down out of the truck and used the weight of her body to slam the door closed.

  As Lily stepped into the house, Joe’s voice spilled out from the kitchen.

  “I can’t fuckin’ believe it!” Joe shouted into the phone. “Did you see that goddamn guy? He was running like his asshole was on fire.... I know, I know... Jesus Christ, what a game, what a fuckin’ game.... alright Ant - I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Lily stood in the doorway, wondering what to tell Joe about why she was so late returning from church. She flinched as he headed toward her, but he scooped her up, lifting her body right off the ground, spun her around in a circle and then set her back down onto the floor.

  “What’s going on?” Lily asked.

  “I scored today, Lil. I scored big.”

  “You won? Really?”

  “Why is everyone acting so surprised?” said Joe with a laugh. “I knew my losing streak was coming to an end. I knew it.”

  A losing streak? Is that what the past nine years had been?

  “We’re going to Palomino’s tonight for dinner,” said Joe. “But,” he added, taking Lily by the hand and leading her toward the bedroom, “We’re going to start off with dessert.”

  With groans and moans Joe devoured Lily enthusiastically, savoring her, taking his time in ways that increased her pleasure, as though he had suddenly discovered a set of instructions tucked under the mattress.

  “That was amazing,” said Joe.

  “Unbelievable,” said Lily.

  The Proverbs 31 Wives Club met every Tuesday in the fellowship hall at Christ Covenant Church. The room was abuzz with chatter as Donna took Lily around, introducing her to the other women.

  “You’ll love our little group,” said Phoebe, a slight woman whose ill-fitting clothes sadly reminded Lily of the hand-me-downs she grew up in.

  “We’re just like a huge family of sisters, mothers, and daughters,” said Cora, an older woman with white hair and glasses whom the younger women all referred to as “Mom.”

  “Yeah,” said Donna. “‘Cept we’re much more civilized than I was with my family.”

  “As long as you don’t try to snatch up the last of Diane’s lemon squares from Donna, you’ll get along just fine,” said Bethany with a wink.

  “I don’t deny it,” said Donna, smacking her lips. “I do love those lemon squares. I know I shouldn’t indulge, but I can’t seem to help myself. At least I’m in good company, as Paul says in Romans chapter seven verse fifteen, “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate, I do.’ Lord, help me!”

  “Ladies! Ladies!” called Bethany. She gently rang a small crystal bell, holding the stem between the tips of her thumb and middle finger. “Tardiness is sloth in disguise! Let’s take our seats! Let’s take our seats!”

  Lily followed the pack as they filed themselves into the arrangement of gray aluminum folding chairs - each of which was occupied by copies of The Study Bible for Women, and a book titled, Learn to Be the Wife of a Satisfied Husband. The chairs formed an unbroken circle, presumably intended to create a sense of common status among them.

  “Is she the leader?” Lily asked Donna, gesturing toward Bethany as she took her seat.

  “Technically, we don’t have a leader,” said Donna. “But Bethany is one of those people who just naturally takes charge. Plus, she’s really well-known within the Christian community. Have you ever heard of Christian Family News?”

  “No - what is it?”

  “It’s a local paper that all the churches distribute. Bethany writes a weekly homemaking column. She’s a bit of a celebrity around here.”

  A petite woman with long straight black hair named Marie sat next to Bethany, produced a legal pad and pen from her canvas bag, and began taking notes. Bethany opened her Bible, and the circle grew quiet as the members of PTW folded their hands and bowed their heads.

  “Dear Father, please bless our time together today, and lead the conversation in the way you would have it go. Thank you for bringing our sister Lily to our little group. Together with us may she come to understand what it truly means to be a Proverbs thirty-one wife. Amen.”

  “Amen,” they all said.

  “Since this is Lily’s first time here, let’s all open our Bibles to Proverbs thirty-one and follow along as I read.”

  “A wife of noble character who can find?” Bethany looked up, reciting the rest from memory. “She is worth far more than rubies. Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value. She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life.”

  When she reached the end of the passage, Bethany took a deep breath and then exhaled. “Does anyone have any thoughts to share about what that means to them? Anything jump out at you?”

  “I don’t think any of us here harms our husbands,” said Phoebe. “I think we’ve at least got that part down.”

  “Oh really?” said Bethany. “So none of us argues with our husbands?”

  “Sure, we argue sometimes, but -”

  “You don’t think that’s harmful?”

  “Everybody argues, though,” said Diane.

  “Not everyone,” said Bethany. “I don’t argue with my husband. I submit to him.” She held up the Bible and vigorously tapped with the long pink nail of her index finger on the page from which she had been reading. “So does this wife - which is why the Bible says she is worth far more than rubies.”

  “I noticed something later on in the chapter,” said a woman named Michelle. She looked to be around thirty years old, and wore a brace on her right knee. “At verse twenty-eight it says, ‘Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: ‘Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.’ I could be a better wife too,” said Michelle, “if my husband and my kids respected me like that - praised me an
d called me noble. It’s hard to keep giving and giving when you feel taken for granted.”

  “Michelle. Honey.” Bethany closed her Bible and leaned in toward Michelle. “The Proverbs thirty-one wife is not that way in order to please her husband. She does all these wonderful things in order to please her God. She lives life as though she were married to our Savior Himself.” Bethany smiled broadly. “That’s why her husband praises her. And that’s why in verse twenty-three we read that, ‘Her husband is respected at the city gate.’ He succeeds in his endeavors because she serves him as she would serve the Lord - not because she feels respected. If our husbands are struggling, the first thing we should ask should not be, ‘What more could he be doing?’ but rather, ‘What more can I be doing?’”

  “Amen to that,” said Cora, without looking up from her knitting.

  “How long have you been married, Mom?” Bethany asked Cora.

  “Forty-five years.”

  “Case in point,” said Bethany.

  Lily listened to the banter, thinking that the whole thing sounded ridiculous, but acutely aware of her recent fervent prayers for guidance, and of the way in which her own attempts at home were not getting her anywhere. It sounded off-the-wall, this idea of the perfect wife, or that any of them sitting in the circle had the capacity to approach that kind of perfection.

  “Lily,” said Bethany. “You look puzzled.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lily.

  “No need to apologize, honey. How is God speaking to you through this Scripture?”

  Lily squirmed in her chair. She would never presume that God would go to the trouble to speak directly to her, but her impressions were clear. “I think it’s an ideal, you know? But I don’t see how anyone can actually reach it.”

  “Thank you for your honesty, Lily,” said Bethany. Her smile lingered upon Lily, but her eyes were filled with concern, the way a young mother looks at her newborn as it struggles to figure out how to release painful intestinal gas.

  “Let’s take a poll,” said Bethany, raising her own bejeweled hands in demonstration, her silver bangles clanging against each other. “How many of you feel the same way Lily feels - that you don’t think it’s possible to reach this noble goal?”

  Several women raised their hands.

  “That’s exactly what Satan wants you to think,” said Bethany. “Because if you don’t believe it’s possible, you won’t even try. And if you don’t try, you can’t experience that it does work, and you can’t bring the glory and peace of Our Lord fully into your homes and marriages.”

  The women all lowered their hands. Lily grimaced at the idea that Satan was involved in all this. Wasn’t he better occupied with wars, famine, and disease?

  “But what about some of these references in this chapter?” said Lily. “All that talk about wool and flax, and merchant ships? Even if I wanted to try this, I don’t know how to translate some of this so that it makes sense for me as a modern woman.”

  “And that, my dear Lily,” said Bethany. “Is why we have this group, and why we have each other. Just don’t expect to get support and encouragement from your secular friends - or even from your non-believing family members. They won’t understand. They can’t. They’ll tell you it’s a bunch of hogwash, and what about women’s rights, blah, blah, blah.” Bethany tugged on the tail of her sweater, smoothing it out over her bust and torso as she sat upright. “I mean, I’m all for equal pay and whatnot, but I’m a woman too, and I have a right to be happy without having all of those demands placed on me by the women’s movement. If you ask me, women’s rights has done more to make women miserable than it has to make them happy - the divorce rate is going up, kids are growing up without their fathers. It’s a disaster.” Bethany pushed the cuffs of her sleeves up toward her elbows and fanned her face with her hands. “Oh goodness! I’ve gone and gotten myself all worked up, haven’t I?”

  It was obvious that Bethany was passionate about the issue, and she did have a point. Lily thought about the break-up of her parents’ marriage, and now the strife in her own.

  “I don’t think I’ll be at the spindle until dawn,” said Lily. “But what I’m doing sure isn’t working.”

  Each week, PTW focused on a different topic, such as home management, parenting, and interpersonal relationships. Occasionally, they would bring in an expert such as the real estate agent who gave a talk on how to negotiate a deal, or the psychologist who spoke to them on how to defuse an argument and engage in active listening. Many of the topics were interesting and useful, and Lily methodically set out to put them to the test in her own life.

  “I’m still not quite sure what to do about the whole gambling thing,” she told Donna. “After all, the Proverbs thirty-one wife is supposed to be keen with finances, but I have no control over what he spends or how much he gambles. I never even see his paycheck. How can I be smart with it?”

  “You can be smart with the money you make,” said Donna. “But a woman does not have dominion over her husband - or his money. God has set it forth that the husband is the head of the household, just as Jesus is the head of the Church.”

  “But Joe isn’t a Christian,” said Lily. “He is not asking God to lead him as head of our home.”

  “First of all,” said Donna. “You don’t know what is goin’ on in his heart or his soul. And in the second place, your obligation to submit to his authority is not dependent upon whether or not you think he’s doin’ the right thing. Leadin’ Joe is God’s job; followin’ him is yours. Besides, even when he’s gambling a lot I bet you haven’t gone without food, have you? Doesn’t the Lord provide?”

  “I did take a few things from the food cupboard a couple times, like you suggested,” said Lily. She didn’t even get embarrassed about it anymore. “But no, we haven’t gone without.”

  “Lily, the Word tells us, ‘Do not muzzle an ox while it is treading out the grain.’ Better that you take a box of elbow macaroni or two than to fall out of God’s grace by screamin’ at Joe and havin’ that same fight for the hundredth time.”

  “Which fight is that?” Lily asked.

  “It don’t matter,” said Donna. “They’re all the same.”

  Lily pulled the calendar off of the refrigerator and flipped back a month. She counted out twenty-eight days. Then thirty-five, then forty-two, then fifty-six. It had been eight weeks since she’d had a period. She waited two more weeks. Nothing. She scheduled her doctor’s appointment without telling Joe, and had so much trouble concentrating at work the day after her test that she assembled an entire shelving unit backwards, using an upside down photo as her guide. She took four breaks before lunch, slipping out to the pay phone to see if her results had come in yet.

  “Yes, I know they’re here,” said the nurse. “I just saw them. Oh - here we go. Lily Diotallevi, right?”

  “Yes!” said Lily. Just read me the damned results already!

  “Positive,” said the nurse. “The test came back positive - and your progesterone levels look really good. Would you like to schedule your next check up now?”

  Lily hung up the phone and ran back to her station. Positive. Good progesterone levels. In just two more weeks she would be out of the woods. She was finally going to have a baby, a little one to hug and love, who would bring joy and peace to their home, whose presence would surely tame Joe’s wild side and bring them all together as a family. A baby. Thank you, Jesus.

  For the most part, telling people about the pregnancy was great fun; it was news that was met with hugs and questions and joyous laughter. But there were two people whom Lily dreaded telling - her mother, and Iris. She would have to tell Iris soon – before she heard about it from someone else. She decided to write it in her reply to Iris’ latest letter, which for the last several weeks, had been stashed in the drawer where Lily kept the bills and the other neglected correspondence.

  Dear Iris, She sat for ten minutes without writing a third word. She didn’t want to just come right out and tell her w
ithout working up to it first. What could she talk about? She couldn’t tell Iris about church or about PTW – the girls were right; Iris wouldn’t understand. She had an important job at a posh resort hotel, had a wealthy husband who adored her and took her all over Europe just for fun. As Iris’ world had expanded, Lily’s shrank, until finally it was contained within the four walls of her house, along with her church, the grocery store, the cleaners, SaveMart, and the gas station, all of which were connected by approximately eight miles of generic suburban thoroughfare. Iris could never understand her world.

  Lily scribbled a few notes about the new garden she was planning. She wrote about Jasmine’s second divorce, and Violet’s opening of her second birthing clinic. Chit chat brought her gratefully to bottom of the page where she penned, Love, Lily. PS: I’m pregnant, with an expected delivery in the fall. Detached. Factual. Hoping that would take some of the string out of it for Iris, but resentful that she didn’t feel free to just be happy.

  “Hi, Mom – It’s Lily.”

  “Lily! Well hello! How are you?”

  “Good – I’m actually surprised to catch you in. I’ve had more conversations with your answering machine lately than I have with you.”

  “Oh, that darned machine,” said her mother. “That tape has been full for days.”

  “You could try listening to the messages.”

  “Who has the time?” Her mother’s speech was garbled, no doubt due to the cookie that she was likely munching on while they talked. Probably Archway oatmeal raisin. Maybe with white icing. “But you didn’t call me to talk about my schedule, now, did you?”

  “No,” said Lily. “I actually called because I have some news.” Lily paused, but her mother didn’t ask. “I’m having a baby. For real.”

  The line grew quiet. Finally, Lily’s mother said, “Was it intentional?”

  “Why would you ask me that, Mom?”

  “I thought there were some issues with you… you told me just a few months ago that you and Joe had some issues to work out. Are you sure you still want a baby? You have choices about this, you know.”