"Why don't you take a few moments off and do some knitting? I'll get supper without you for today. You take a little rest."
From Momma, it was a generous offer. I nodded, put on a look of gratitude I didn't feel, and went into the house to find the yarn. It was sitting in a yellow puddle on the table, and she'd even placed my knitting bag full of needles next to it. I grabbed it all up and went into the living room to sit in Grandma's old rocking chair. I took out the large, circular needle that would give the blanket a fairly loose weave and began.
I leaned back against the wooden slats of the rocker, and my needles flew with a light clicking sound. The methodical movement of my hands felt like a warm bath. I let myself sink into the familiar rhythm, and my mind drifted off to happier places. I saw the blanket grow into two rows, then three.
My hands increased their speed, and the feeling of relaxation left. If I went faster, I could get this blanket well under way by evening. Tension squeezed my stomach and flowed upward like a moving shadow. My grip on the ends of the needle tightened, and I dropped a stitch. I never dropped stitches. With an angry sigh, I backed up and picked up the loop.
My attention was glued to the growing blanket, and I didn't hear Winter until she sneezed in front of me. My head jerked up. "Man, Lizbet. You look ready to kill. What's the matter with you?"
I drew in a deep breath and forced myself to set the knitting on my lap. I made a small attempt at a laugh. "Sorry. Nothing's wrong. Just knitting."
She bent over and fingered my work. "A blanket or a super-wide scarf?"
"A blanket."
"It won't be big." She pulled it completely out of my lap. "Is there a baby shower or something?"
"No, no. I didn't want a big project, so I decided to knit a lap blanket. Yes, it's a lap blanket."
"The yellow is nice. I think it'll look great." She plopped herself onto the couch. "But I didn't come over to have a knitting party. Mom wants to know if you can come for dinner. She's eager to see you after your trip."
I'd eaten meals with the Stevensons forever, and it was always fun. There was no reason to say no. "I'll ask Momma."
"Ah, she won't care, but ask away. Want me to knit a row while you ask?"
I pulled the blanket out of her hands and saw the flicker of confusion in her eyes. "No, that's okay. I'd rather do it all myself." I hugged the beginnings of the blanket to my chest and went to find Momma. She was out in the garage talking with Dad.
"Can I go to Winter's for supper? Her mom asked."
Dad stood next to one of his wooden shelves of tools, and he shot Momma what looked like a warning glance.
Momma turned to me. "Don't you think it's a bit soon? We'd like to have you to ourselves a little longer."
"You can't keep me hidden forever," I said, startled again at my own nerve. What had happened to the quiet, timid Lizbet? I didn't recognize this girl with the mouth.
Dad took a step toward me. "Understand something right now, young lady. We are not hiding you. We think you need some more time to readjust to being home is all."
My father had a way of making his point without raising his voice one decibel.
"Fine, but how am I going to explain that to Winter? She didn't even think I needed to ask. What should I say? You don't trust me in public? You think I'll rat myself out?" Oh, I was in rare form.
"Enough, Lizbet. I'll talk to Winter myself." Momma brushed past me and hurried toward the house. I ran to catch up.
Winter looked up surprised as we both burst into the living room. "Hello, Winter," Momma said, stopping to catch her breath. "How nice of you to come by again."
"Hey, Mrs. Morgan. I'm sure glad Lizbet is back home. Did she tell you my mom wants her over for dinner?"
Momma gave me an appreciative look, which I was certain wasn't sincere. "Yes, we all missed her — which is why we're not ready to let her go so soon and eat at your place. It's nice to have her back around our table."
Winter's face blanched. "Oh, oh. I-I see." She was stuttering. "I understand. Okay. Maybe she can come over next week some time."
"I'm sure that'd be fine. Next week for certain."
Momma went to the door and held open the screen. Was she asking Winter to leave? This was not her usual behavior, and I could tell Winter was completely confused. She stood up and fidgeted with the edge of her blouse. My mother didn't move; she simply stood there holding the screen door open.
My jaw dropped. Momma was worried I'd slip up and divulge something, and here she was acting as far out of character as possible. I was so stunned I couldn't speak.
Winter moved toward the yawning door and looked back at me. "I guess I'll be going then. See ya."
Momma intervened. "Thanks for coming. I'll see you and your family at church tomorrow."
"Okay." Winter nodded at Momma and left the house.
Mother eased the screen door shut before looking at me. "It's for your own protection, Lizbet."
"Yeah," I answered. Still holding my knitting close, I headed for the stairs.
For my protection? Right.
Chapter Four
Dinner was a silent affair. I could tell Momma knew I was mad by the way her eyes kept darting to mine, and by the way she kept offering me more food. I didn't eat much, but then I never did. When Grandma had been alive, she used to call me Skin Over Bones. I didn't think I looked that bad, but close to it. I'd never weighed more than one hundred pounds, and at five foot seven, that was not much. It wasn't on purpose. In fact, I could eat way more than usual and not gain an ounce. Never had gained an ounce — except for last year, which hadn't been my fault.
I felt pure relief when the dishes were finished and I could escape to my room. I sat on my new comforter and knitted. I'd managed to get a good start on my blanket. With every inch, I was driven to go farther and faster. My needles had never clicked with such speed.
Someone knocked, and I didn't even glance up. "Come in."
Ned knocked again on the doorframe. I did look up then, and I saw the surprise in his eyes as he saw what I was doing. He groaned and strode across the room to sit on my bed. "Lizbet, what is this?" He picked up the corner of the blanket and flicked it. "Is this a baby blanket?"
My needles flew furiously — in, over, down, topped, in, over, down, topped.
He grabbed my hands, stopping my frenzy. "Is it a baby blanket?"
Tears burned my eyes. "No. It's a lap blanket."
He put his hand under my chin and raised my face to his. "Is it a baby blanket?"
The pity in his eyes stopped my breath. I wiggled into a different position. "What if it is? There are lots of babies in this world who need blankets."
Ned's head dropped, and we were both silent. It was getting late in the evening, but someone down the road revved up a lawn mower. It powered to life with a whining roar.
"Did you talk to Momma about counseling?" Ned's voice was tender, and his eyes were moist.
"She said no."
"I can talk to her for you."
"No. I don't need counseling. I had seven months of it already. I'm fine."
Ned shook his head. "No, you're not."
I tossed my knitting to the side. "Yes, I am. I'm back home now, and life will go on as usual. You'll see."
Ned stood and took a long deep breath. "You are doing well. You're doing great, in fact." Ned, my eternal cheerleader. He changed the subject. "Have you written to Farah?"
"No. Can I?" Excitement pulsed through me.
"Of course you can. I'll see she gets it." He reached out, tugged on my long braid, and left my room.
The thought of writing to Farah made me smile. I wondered how she was doing without me. Who was I kidding? Farah didn't need me or anyone else. Still, it'd be fun to write.
But first, if I hurried, I could get in another few rows on my blanket before turning in for the night.
****
Breakfast on Sunday was toast and peanut butter and maybe a banana. Simple and no-fuss. Dad and M
omma like calm, quiet Sunday mornings. I dressed in my navy skirt that hit me mid-calf, and my button-up long-sleeved white blouse. I carefully poofed the front of my hair into my traditional roll — Farah used to call it a rolling pin stuck to my head — and then braided the rest of it down my back. I was relieved Momma hadn't noticed my hair was a bit shorter than when I'd left. I didn't want to deal with her displeasure over that along with everything else.
I headed downstairs to eat my toast. Momma was sitting at the table alone. I sat across from her in Judd's regular spot.
"You all ready?" she asked.
"Just have to brush my teeth when I'm finished here."
Momma took a gulp of coffee. She pursed her lips, and it looked like she was chewing the inside of her lip. I took a piece of toast from the stack on the plate and made a big production of spreading peanut butter on it. Maybe if I appeared busy, we wouldn't have to talk.
Momma cleared her throat. "I hope you don't think I'm being too hard on you."
I continued spreading the peanut butter.
"If anyone finds out what happened, it would be even harder for you."
I looked up. "I'm sure you're right." And I was sure. In our community, a teenage girl giving birth would be the scourge of the century, no matter how she'd come to be pregnant. I was also sure if people found out where I'd been, it'd be harder on Dad and Momma, too.
I wanted to believe that this was all to protect me, but the doubt ate at me.
"Have you forgiven him, Lizbet? Have you cleansed your soul?" She leaned over the table toward me, and her look of intensity made my insides crawl.
Cleansed my soul? I could only stare at her.
She blinked, and her eyes darted around the room before coming to rest on me once again. "Hatred is poison to your soul. If you don't cleanse it, it will fester and grow and harm your position in God's kingdom. You know what Bishop James says."
I knew full well what Bishop James said. I'd listened to him for nearly sixteen years. I agreed hatred was wrong. And I agreed it would fester and grow if not stopped.
But something seemed off about it this time. Why did I have to do the cleansing? Why was the pressure on me?
"What about him?" I asked, my voice low and tense. "Has he done any cleansing?"
Momma jerked back in her chair. "He's not our responsibility. That's best left between him and God."
I jolted from the table, and my chair screeched back across the floor. "I wonder how many other girls have had to cleanse their souls because of him."
The shock of my outburst filled Momma's eyes before I ran up the stairs and into my room. I slammed the door behind me and sank onto my bed. No tears came — only a hardness in my heart that threatened to turn me to stone.
****
Winter grabbed me the minute I walked into the meeting hall. "Lizbet, sit by me in Sunday school. Lately Doreen has been a blob of glue on my side. She can drive a person absolutely mad in under ten minutes. I think she holds the world's record."
No sooner had the words left Winter's lips than Doreen came waltzing up. "Oh, Lizbet, you're back."
"I'm back."
"You sure were gone a long time."
"I'm aware."
Doreen pulled at her braid and twisted the loose ends of her hair in her fingers. "Winter sits by me all the time now."
"How nice," I said and walked into the small room that held our freshman/sophomore Sunday school class. Not everyone was fifteen or sixteen because we were all homeschooled. Some kids were as young as thirteen and some as old as seventeen. We weren't a big group, which was a good thing because even squished, we could only fit eleven chairs into the room. I think it had once been an old office or something. One Saturday we'd painted the room a horrible yellow, which always made me feel like I was sitting inside a glass of pee.
Johnny was already seated. He looked up when I entered, and his eyes lit up before he quickly looked away. I sat across from him and admired his perfect features. I had always been a bit crazy over how gentle and honest he was. He drew me like a magnet, and no matter how I tried to ignore it, there it was. I wasn't as cute as a lot of girls in our community, although Farah told me if I chopped off my hair way short I'd look pretty. I'd explained to her about how it was frowned upon, how I couldn't chop it all off, and she'd stared at me as if I'd sprouted mushrooms from my head.
I sighed. What did it matter anyway? I was tainted now. Soiled. If Johnny knew the truth, he'd never give me a second glance.
He was looking at me and I flinched, snapping out of my reverie.
"Scoot down one chair," Doreen told me. "I want to sit on the other side of Winter."
I scooted down a chair and glanced again at Johnny. He still looked at me, as if studying me for evidence of something. My heart quickened.
Winter nudged me. "Johnny keeps looking at you," she said into my ear. "I told you he missed you."
I frowned at her. "He did not."
Her eyes narrowed. "I knew it." She kept her voice low.
"Knew what?"
"You like him." Her face came alive. "I knew it! Want to move over there close to him?"
"Shh. Everyone will hear you. And you're wrong."
But she wasn't wrong. If only I could turn the calendar back and go to that revival service instead of staying home, everything would be different now. Everything.
Miss Marigold came bustling in, dragging her mini-suitcase of Sunday school material. "Good morning, my little cherubs." Her voice sang as usual.
Nobody but Miss Marigold could get away with calling high school kids cherubs. We all loved her and probably would have let her call us petunia blossoms if she'd wanted. Her waist-length hair was twisted up and wound around her head like a tiara. She even got away with sticking plastic flowers in it. Her fleshy face hung with wrinkles she liked to call laugh lines. None of us dared tell her those wrinkles were miles past being called lines. They hung in grooves like yesterday's crinkled laundry.
"Are we all here?"
"My brother Jacob is sick today, Miss Marigold. Since he was puking, Momma let him stay home," Doreen said.
Miss Marigold clucked her tongue. "I think we can all agree puking isn't welcome amongst us. What a shame, though, because you know how I hate absences. Speaking of absences, Lizbet, we're so happy to see you. It's mighty lonely when any of my little cherubs is missing. Welcome home." Her beady blue eyes sparkled with glee. "Today we're going to delve into the topic of loyalty. Now, let me hear how you would define loyalty."
"Being true to someone," Johnny said.
"Yeah, sticking with them no matter what," Justin McCabe said.
"Being true, not lying," Winter said. A couple of other kids gave their definition, but my mind was stuck on what Justin had said. Would my friends stick with me if they knew the truth? Would they be loyal? I pressed my lips together in a tight line.
I doubted it. My own mother had morphed into the opposition, no matter how much she insisted she was only looking out for me. What would Winter say if she knew I'd given birth?
Doreen? Miss Marigold? My own sister?
Johnny?
I gazed at him and fought back the urge to move seats. I wanted to be next to him, to feel his quiet strength. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I blinked hard to get rid of them. I was being completely inappropriate. I had no right to drag Johnny into my disaster.
He was watching me. What if he wanted to be dragged? What if he did like me? Winter nudged me again. "See what I mean?" she asked out of the side of her mouth.
Doreen leaned around Winter and gaped at me. "We haven't heard what Lizbet thinks."
Thank you, Doreen.
"Lizbet, we'd love to hear your opinion." Miss Marigold nodded like one of those bobble-heads.
"What Justin said. I agree with him." My voice was soft.
Justin grinned. "Hardly even remember what I said, but thanks for the vote, Lizbet."
Johnny kept watching me.
Sunday school lasted
an hour, and then the main service was an hour and a half. We did a lot of singing — nothing modern, though. We used old hymnals whose bindings were mostly broken and ripped.
Whenever the subject of new hymnals came up, Elder Monahan would stand and say, "These here hymnals were good enough for my grandpappy, and they're good enough for me. Besides, the stuff they call music these days ain't fit for a grasshopper." Then he'd sit down with a huge moan as if it was settled for the next three years. And it was.
I knew most churches didn't use hymnals anymore; they flashed words on a screen. But no one could ever accuse our meeting house of any signs of the modern day, which suited everyone fine.
Or so they said.
That morning Bishop James preached on the evils of media. I think he'd preached the same sermon the year before. The evils of media was one of our community's favorite themes. I didn't completely disagree. At the Home, I'd been shocked silent by what some of the TV programs showed. We had a TV at my house, but it was rarely on. Plus it was one of those huge clunkers you saw people dumping at garage sales.
We sang the last song, and most of us filed out of the meeting hall. My dad and Ned stayed back to straighten the chairs and stack the hymnals. Johnny waited for me at the door. He had his hands in his front pockets, and his navy jacket hung perfectly off his shoulders.
"Lizbet, can we talk for a minute?"
My mother sucked in her breath and tried to guide me by him, but I pulled away. "Yeah, Johnny, for a minute."
Momma gave me a disapproving look, took Regie and Susie by the arms, and shepherded them to the entry hall. Susie looked back and gave me a hateful glare.
"What d'you need?" I asked.
Johnny's left foot moved back and forth across the throw rug outside the door. "You seem different."
I patted my hair and straightened my blouse. "How? Nothing's changed."
"Not your clothes or hair. Something else. Your face."
I put my hand to my cheek. Farah had told me a hundred times if I wore rouge and a little eye makeup, it'd make all the difference. One time I'd stood over her collection of makeup for a good ten minutes, debating whether I should try it or not. I didn't have a clue how to use it, but she would've helped me. My upbringing kicked in, though, and I hadn't touched it.
Lizbet's Lie Page 4