Becky Meets Her Match

by Linda Byler

  “I’ll help you down.”

  “No!” Becky meant it. She was far too heavy. There was no way he could lift her down like a child, and there was no way she would allow him the chance to try. What a helpless predicament!

  “Stop it. Give me that bucket.”

  He smiled, a slow, relaxed smile. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you the bucket if you’ll ride home with me. I’m going to Levi Lantze’s overnight—for Christmas dinner tomorrow—so I’ll drop you right off. I bet Jake has a load, with Junior and those other guys.”

  Becky’s head spun. Jake and Junior did not have anyone else to take home. They never did. Who in the world was this person standing here? He didn’t want her to accompany him for the same reason guys asked to take girls home—to start a special friendship. She had just turned sixteen. She was too young.

  Likely he was only being kind, as in genuinely looking out for her. He didn’t want her in the way other guys asked the popular, thin girls if they could take them home. But what if he did?

  Her thoughts spun, making no sense. She had never imagined this situation, and certainly not this soon. She was fat, not a girl anyone would consider. What did he mean by all this?

  Red shirt, black vest, and neatly pressed trousers. Longish brown hair, small eyes, longish face but not ugly. In fact, the longer he stood there, the better he looked, as far as his facial features went. He had a nice, wide mouth and a pretty big nose, but not horribly, unnaturally big. Becky felt the thudding of her heart.

  He looked as if he had no intention of putting the bucket over for her to step on. In fact, he didn’t look as if he had any memory of a bucket having been there in the first place. He merely slid two big hands around her wide, soft waist, planted his feet firmly, and lifted her down before she had a chance to catch her breath.

  “You’re not so heavy,” was all he said. “Now can I give you a ride home?”

  She looked up at him. He was so tall and she was so short. She felt very much like a child.

  Why did she say yes? Her biggest fear was sitting in a buggy with a potential suitor. She was so wide. She took up so much of the seat. It was too awful to think about. He couldn’t even drive, stuffed against the door the way he would be.

  But to be seated with Daniel was like finding the corner piece of a jigsaw puzzle. Everything fell into place. She never thought of her size. She was happy to be seated in a young man’s buggy. This was the first time she was taken home by anyone, and she had only turned sixteen.

  He was quiet, relaxed, funny, and easy to talk to. He made his intentions very clear in the best way possible, saying he hoped she knew that he wanted to begin a friendship as soon as she was ready, if she would consider doing that with him.

  He slid a long arm around her shoulders and pulled her very slightly against him as he talked, then let her go. He said he never forgot the first sight of her, that she was made perfectly his size. Becky never remembered how she got down off that buggy or walked into the house.

  CHAPTER 6

  AFTER THE CHRISTMAS SINGING, MAM FELL into a fit of cleaning, cooking, and pudding-making, the likes of which Becky had never seen. What in the world, she thought, watching her mother’s face turn red as a stop sign, sweat trickling from her forehead like a squeezed sponge, as she yelled at Nancy to turn down the draught on that woodstove, it didn’t need to be ninety degrees in this kitchen.

  Becky mostly stayed out of her way, taking her time cleaning the upstairs, grabbing a few moments to read a page of her favorite book. Anything to stay out of Mam’s way. She guessed fifty-some people was quite a herd of relatives, coupled with all the letter-writing and phone messages about Mommy, and the tension between Mary and Salome and Mam herself.

  Becky had her own opinions about Mam sticking her nose clear into Pennsylvania from way out here in Wisconsin, since she would not be able to help with Daudy’s care. Why not keep her opinions to herself? As usual, Becky shrugged her shoulders and did just that.

  Even if she chose to air them, they’d be batted down like a swarm of hungry houseflies with the fly swatter, wielded by either Mam or Nancy.

  The thing was, if Salome took on 95 percent of the responsibility for Daudy’s care, then she was the one who should be allowed to make most of the decisions. She and Henry. Why did she have to concede so many of her opinions to Mary, who was wheeled off to market half the time, or—and this really irked Becky—to Mam and her high-mindedness, who lived hundreds of miles away and was unable to contribute any time?

  She doubted whether Mam was too generous with the checkbook either, storing away all that Princess House stuff for Nancy, and Nancy unable to snare Allen the way she was.

  Life was interesting. Her own life would have to be put on the back burner until all these holiday festivities were past, that was sure.

  She bent down to use the handheld brush to scoop up the dust and dirt she had swept from each room, emptied the accumulation into the trash bag she held, then turned to begin cleaning the bathroom, a major chore with those big boys.

  They were all slobs, every one of them. They left washrags lying in the bottom of the bathtub or slung across a faucet or scrunched on the shelf of the tub wall. Flying slathers of their bodywash stuck in blue blobs on the side of the bathtub. The blue rug was always wet, the washbasin never rinsed clean. Their towels lay on the floor, or, worse yet, were slung haphazardly across the shower curtain rod.

  Today was no different. What a mess! She found dirty socks in corners, shaving cream on the wall, toothbrushes and capless toothpaste, combs, mirrors, and deodorant left everywhere. It was a hodgepodge of men’s items taking over the whole bathroom.

  Things had to change. One medicine cabinet and one narrow cupboard were not enough to keep this bathroom organized. If she complained, no one took her seriously anyway, so this mess called for some drastic measures.

  She marched straight up the attic stairs, the cold like a slap on her face. She forgot how frigid an attic could be. Shivering, she stepped carefully over boxes, past rows of plastic hangers and an old blue and green playpen, to find the white bookcase she was looking for. There it was, sure enough.

  She lifted a corner. It was very heavy. Oh, well. She tugged it out from under the eaves, heaved it upright, and stood panting. Whew, that thing was a load. Well, she needed it in the bathroom, so somehow she was going to get it there. On its side would be best.

  She considered going to the barn for Dat, then thought better of it. For one, he was as busy as Mam right before the company, and two, he probably wouldn’t allow it, saying she could wait till after the holidays.

  She needed to help the bathroom. Elam’s Kate, who lived in the nicest house in Lancaster County, would be coming, carrying her airs like a crown on her head. So if they lived in a square, white-sided cracker box, with a wooden patio in need of stain the only thing saving it from complete ugliness, she could at least organize the bathroom.

  She laid the ungainly bookcase on its side, bent over, and grasping it on both sides, gave it a mighty heave. It moved a few feet. She repeated the maneuver until she had edged it to the stairs.

  She scratched her head, caught her breath, then tilted the bookcase down the first few steps. She tested the weight, quickly deciding she could handle this, and then slid the heavy piece of furniture down the attic steps, too fast and much too loud, clunking it against the attic door with a bang.

  She waited, holding her breath, but there was no response from the kitchen. Likely the eggbeater was whirring and Mam’s ears were shut tight from the pressure within. Becky smiled, the thought of steam escaping from Mam’s rather heavily lobed ears and sounding like the teakettle when the water boiled. She was at the boiling point, no doubt.

  Becky jumped, hearing her name called forcefully. She turned to find Mam and Nancy, their eyes large and frightened in pale faces, indignant.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What was that crash?”


  “I just slid the bookcase down the stairs sort of fast.”

  “What are you doing, sliding that heavy old bookcase down from the attic right before S’ Grishtag essa?” Mam’s chest was heaving, and Nancy had her “How could you” look perfectly in place.

  Becky decided it was time to voice an opinion, let it fall where it may, then pick up the pieces after the storm of disapproval was over. She told her mother and sister to just turn around, make a left, and go look at that bathroom. It was a disaster, and the reason was that no one ever had enough space for all their junk. Furthermore, no one cared, “including you two,” meaning Mam and Nancy.

  It ruffled quite a few feathers, as she expected. She was soundly scolded by her mother, sniffed at in the most condescending manner by Nancy, and had her sanity and good judgment questioned. But Becky stood, her arms folded across her stomach and her mouth set in a straight line that did not bode well for either one. In the end, their voices faded and they went back down the stairs to their pies and puddings, leaving Becky to her own devices.

  She lugged the heavy bookcase through the bathroom door, heaving, maneuvering, and tugging it into an upright position. She clapped the dust off her hands and nodded to it. “There you are, sir, in all your glory,” she told the bookcase.

  She wiped it with Lysol, got down all the clean towels from the too small cupboard and folded them differently, then stacked them neatly on a shelf, adding a stack of washcloths. She pounded down the stairs to ask Mam for a turntable, got down a few mugs from the cupboard, and set about arranging everything in an orderly fashion. The turntable went into the cupboard. On it, she set the boys’ toothpaste, shaving cream, soap, and all the extras that cluttered up so much of the minimal space the cupboard afforded.

  She scrubbed and whirled, rinsed and scoured, finally collecting soaps from Nancy’s room and her own. She put them in a clear, round vase, then stepped back to survey her work. Not bad.

  If this was her bathroom, her very own, like after she was married, she would paint these walls a dusty aqua green, put up a white, poofy curtain and white trim, hang a pretty picture of the sea, and add a bunch of other white sea stuff. She didn’t really know what all that would be. She had never been to the sea or ocean or beach, whatever you wanted to call it. Maybe “vacation.” Elam’s Kate went every year. Lucky girl.

  Well, we’re Wisconsin hicks, so we’ll just be who we are. That thought brought contentment back to Becky, who was glad to live here on the farm in the cold and the snow and the beauty of the extended Christmas season. She was happy to have the Christmas dinner, grateful for all the relatives who would rain down upon them tomorrow.

  She had a feeling that some of the relatives would cause a much greater impact than a raindrop. In fact, they would be more like an entire bucket of water dumped on Mam.

  Going to her room, Becky picked up her journal, ripped out a few pages, and with a fine-lined black marker, made signs for the newly cleaned and organized bathroom.

  “Wring washcloth. Hang over side of tub.”

  “Rinse basin after brushing.”

  “Pick up all dirty socks. Sock monster will bite.”

  “Put towels in hamper.”

  “All violators will be pushed down the stairs.”

  What a hooting and hollering when the boys found the bathroom completely rearranged, with written instructions and threats! They knew it was Becky and teased her unmercifully. Becky loved it and reveled in all the attention. She told her brothers she was lurking in the hallway and would keep track of whoever went through those bathroom doors and who emerged. If they left it looking the way they had before, she was serious, she’d push them down the stairs.

  She carried out her threats, or tried to, catching Abner knocking his toothbrush on the side of the basin and leaving smears of dark blue Colgate toothpaste all over the sides. When he emerged, she screeched, grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the stairs. He resisted with great force, but Becky was powerful. With all that weight leaning against him, he soon realized he was actually in great danger of being pushed down the stairs.

  In the end, they both burst into helpless fits of laughter and sat side by side on top of the steps as Becky told him she was serious, things had to change in that bathroom.

  Abner put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed affectionately. “Ah, Becky, you are the best little sister ever.”

  “Not so little, unfortunately.”

  Abner glanced at her, a grin lighting up his face. “Jake tells me someone thinks you’re just the right size.”

  “What does he know?”

  “Something, evidently.”

  “I’m much too young to be thinking of anything seriously.”

  Abner nodded. “That’s why I like you so much, Becky. For a girl, your common sense is just amazing.”

  “For a girl?”

  “Well, no insult intended. But you know what I mean.”

  Becky nodded, completely at ease. Among her people, women and girls had their place, which in many ways was a step below the menfolk in their lives. The men were respected as leaders, the women as helpmeets and not leaders or decision-makers, at least publicly and formally. It was just a matter of being raised that way, even if the women sometimes stepped out of their role as lesser vessels, causing a discordant note in the mellow music of God’s plan!

  And so the bus arrived, plowing its way through the falling snow. So large and formidable, the bus was like a barn on wheels, rolling in the lane powerfully and steadily, as if the snow was a minor annoyance. It disgorged relatives in a constant, black-clad stream of hats and coats, punctuated by brightly wrapped Christmas gifts, suitcases, and diaper bags, squalling babies and carsick children, who were pale and unhappy. Their mothers carried Cool Whip containers filled with the poor toddlers’ breakfasts that had not been in their stomachs very long at all.

  These children were not used to traveling in fast-moving vehicles. Only occasionally were they allowed to ride along to town in a car or van. Even then, some mothers sat beside their children, nervously fingering a plastic container, watching a little face lose its color as the driver swung around another turn in a hurry to get to Walmart. He knew the wait would be lengthy, so the quicker he got there, the better.

  Young mothers knew exactly which drivers were notorious for speeding around curves and across hills, causing their children’s stomachs to clench with nausea. Chiropractors, Dramamine, holding a lemon—the cures were endless, but in the end, it was simply easier to leave toddlers at home whenever possible.

  Mam stood on the porch, a beacon of welcome, blinking back tears as she shook hands, exclaimed at the growth of the children, and expressed the gladness she felt to mol vidda eich sayna.

  Dat greeted everyone at the door of the bus, his black hat steadily decorated by the falling white snowflakes, the shoulders of his black coat turning to gray lace as he pumped hands and patted shoulders. It was just so good to see everyone mol vidda.

  Nancy and Becky, dressed in their holiday red, welcomed relatives in the kitchen, directed them to the bathrooms, held babies they had never seen, and squealed in delight as their cousins, Kate, Laura, Emma Mae, Mary, and Hannah, fell upon them like colorful tropical birds, as brilliant and as noisy.

  Oh, it was so good to be with family. Until Mam discovered that Mommy stayed home with Daudy. Her eyes filled with tears as both hands went to her mouth.

  “But why? Why did you leave her at home?”

  A gray fog of disharmony settled around the adults, chasing the gladness effectively into the corners of the room as everyone sensed how clearly upset Mam was. Voices chimed together, the reasons thick and plentiful.

  “She wouldn’t leave Daudy.”

  “She couldn’t travel all this way.”

  “She didn’t want to go.”

  Mam’s lips pursed. “She just wrote me a letter. I just got it this week. She looked forward to being here so much.”

  Going to the wooden let
ter holder on the wall, she retrieved a white envelope, extracted a single sheet of lined paper, unfolded it, and searched for the sentence Mommy had written. “Here it is. ‘We are looking forward to seeing all of you on the twenty-seventh.’”

  Mam lifted her eyes, large and accusing, searching each relative’s face, a judge in black robes with only a sliver of mercy available.

  Dat scratched the side of his face, a gesture he used when he became uncomfortable. “So what did happen that Mommy stayed home? You know that this could very well be the last time she sees her own son and his family.”

  Henry spoke for all of them, his voice level with kindness. “She really wanted to come, I believe. She looked forward to it, just the way she wrote. But when it came right down to it, it seemed she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave Dat.”

  His eyes found and held Mam’s accusing gaze, the kindness and truth in them easily wrestling down the accusing glare he found there.

  The fog was banished by Henry’s goodwill, the wave of Christmas cheer was summoned from the corners of the room, and the festivities began.

  Mam was the center on which the wheel of the Christmas dinner turned. Red faced, with eyes snapping, she called out orders. Some sisters-in-law stood at the sink in clouds of steam, wielding potato mashers, their shoulders’ rhythm to the arm-plunging movements like a song, a cadence. They laughed and talked, then stepped back to wipe their steaming glasses and to let someone else have a turn.

  Mam moved to the stove, flung the oven door open, and proudly lifted out the champion of all dishes, the Christmas roasht. The oversized blue agate roaster was steaming hot. Using heavy hot pads, she set it on the countertop, removed the lid with a flourish, and stepped back smiling, beaming proudly.

  No contest here. Mam made the best roasht. The very best. Her secret was chunks of chicken, baked and cubed to perfection. She cut the celery in fair-sized chunks as well, and did not broil all of it in butter. She like to mix some in raw to give a better celery flavor.