Becky Meets Her Match

by Linda Byler

  The evening started out well when she noticed Daniel in the backseat with his buddies, grinning at her when she climbed into the van. The squeals of welcome from the girls, and the way they paid special attention to her, were heartwarming.

  It was so good to be home, so good to see the familiar houses and streets surrounding the town. She loved the feel of the clean Wisconsin air with its promise of winter and its abundance of clean, bright snow. It covered the wonderful emptiness of hills and forests and creeks like a pristine blanket, uninterrupted by traffic and skid loaders and snowplows and angry streams of people who needed to get to work and found the snow only an irritation, a setback to their ambitious day.

  That one freak April snowstorm in Lancaster was all Becky had seen, but it was almost frightful, the way buggies clopped through unsafe driving conditions. Cars skidded and lost control, ending up in gardens and yards and on the backs of other vehicles. Red lights spun and sirens wailed, a spectacle that was only an added nuisance to the existing melee.

  She guessed she was just a plain country girl, born and raised in boring Wisconsin, and that suited her just fine.

  The singing went well, with Becky’s voice blending in with the large group, adding a special bell-like quality. She loved to sing and put her heart into it, letting her voice rise and fall easily, following the words of the Christmas hymns.

  She found Harold Epstein and waved, smiled, and waved again. She was rewarded with a large grin, his hand waggling in reply. As soon as she could, she made her way to him and greeted him warmly, rewarding him with her hand held in both of his as tears splashed down his lined face.

  “I missed you, Becky. I missed you. It was as if all the sunshine went out of my life. I’m so glad you’re back. And how are your grandparents?”

  “My grandfather passed away a few weeks ago, and we brought my grandmother back to live with us.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “Thank you. I was sad because of my grandfather’s passing. He was a real friend to me, so kind and caring. I read to him every afternoon.”

  “You would,” Harold mused. “You know you are a special girl, Becky. The young man who wins your hand will be a fortunate one.”

  Becky did not know how to take a compliment of such high quality. She became flustered and said something unfitting and empty. Harold laughed.

  “The old Amish humility. Always humble. Always denying. That’s all right, Becky. You can take it any way you want.”

  He paused, then his eyes took on a new light. “I have a surprise for you, Becky.”

  He waited, as if to heighten the drama of his announcement. “They’re going to let you work here!”

  Becky clapped her hands like a child on Christmas morning, her delight evident, receiving his announcement with all the joy he anticipated.

  Her first day at work was two weeks before Christmas. She had had her interview with the administrator the previous week, and it went well. The only requirement was that she must wear a white bib apron, which the church allowed, just like the market workers who wore them only for their jobs.

  So Becky sewed, sang, and pressed white aprons, whistling as she did so.

  Mam was concerned, however. She felt as if a post of support had gone out from under her, now that Becky was gone for nine hours each day. But winter was coming on so things would not be as stressful, since Mommy would not try to venture forth. She quickly got chilly, being a little person without too much covering on her frail, old bones.

  Becky promised Mam she would not go to work at Round Oaks if she needed her at home, guilt nagging her dutiful heart the way it did. But Dat would hear nothing of that, saying he was home on the farm and capable of caring for his aging mother if Mam needed a break.

  Nancy spoke up, too, offering support, followed by the boys, each saying that Becky deserved to be doing what she loved best.

  A great love and appreciation for her family welled up, almost spilling over and running down her cheeks in the form of tears, but her rapid blinking kept them in check. Her eyes glowed with the emotion she felt, surrounded by the light of her family’s love. Only after being in Lancaster could she fully comprehend the warmth and caring she had always taken for granted.

  And so a new chapter began for Becky at the age of seventeen. She learned the ropes fast. A good student, she was quick to absorb instructions from anyone who wanted to teach her. And she was always cheerful, her dry sense of humor and quick wit a spot of sunshine for many of the residents of Round Oaks.

  Wherever she went around the facility, she thrived on helping the elderly. She smoothed pillows, cooled a feverish face with a fresh washcloth, read a story, changed a bed, and brought trays of food. But her most valuable talent was her listening ear and caring heart. She had a genuine interest in the cracked, whispery voices that related endless history. By the time she was there for a year, and her eighteenth birthday had arrived, she was well established as one of the best caregivers Round Oaks had been fortunate enough to hire.

  Nancy had begun to date a young man named David Schmucker. She had forgotten about Allen and was headed toward marriage, quite content to have found this new person, “her meant-to-be all along,” she airily confided.

  Becky had given up on Daniel. She realized after a year went by that he had no romantic interest in her whatsoever, in spite of his fling with her when she was much too young to be dating seriously.

  She told Nancy this one evening when they sat in Nancy’s room, the bare branches of the oak trees etched against the cold light of a waning November moon. “He just runs around on the weekends and treats me like a sister, same as all the other girls, so I figure he doesn’t want a fat wife. He’ll likely start to date Ida Fisher soon. She’s probably never seen a hundred pounds.”

  Nancy was examining a mole on her chin, holding a wooden mirror at a careful angle to catch the best possible light from the battery lamp. She put down the mirror, stared open-mouthed at Becky, and said, “Why would you say a thing like that?”

  “Well, after a year, you know there’s something wrong.”

  “He’s nice to you.”

  “Same as he is to everyone.”

  “Do you want him? Do you act as if he has a chance?”

  Becky shrugged her shoulders, lifted her chin, and said she’d never run after any guy. At her size, how embarrassing would that be, huh? And besides, she loved her job at Round Oaks, and she’d stay there till she was fifty and the size of a barrel. If Daniel wanted her, he knew where she was.

  “He used to seem very interested, Becky.”

  “He was.”

  “He told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps he’s waiting still. You’re barely eighteen.”

  “That’s old enough.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t think so.”

  Suddenly shy and unable to express her feelings, Becky lifted the corner of Nancy’s quilt and flung it over her head, crossed her arms, lifted one foot over the other, and sat. She sat on the floor like a statue that was covered with a tarp for repairs, making no sound.

  Nancy finished examining her mole and decided to address the imperfection on the rug. She lifted the quilt and peered beneath it, finding a stone-faced Becky staring straight ahead. Grabbing the quilt, she pulled it back over her head.

  “Hey! Quit acting so stupid. Get out from under that quilt.”

  “No, I like it in here.”

  “I need you to tell me how to get rid of this mole.”

  “You can’t. Leave it there. Some people call them beauty marks.”

  “No they don’t.”

  “I’ve heard it.”

  “Becky, come on. Stop acting so dumb.”

  As Becky got to her feet, Nancy yanked the corner of the quilt off her head. Becky grasped the opposite corner and gave a mighty tug, tearing the heavy cover from Nancy’s hands. She quickly rolled herself in the quilt like a gigantic cocoon, coming to a halt in front of the dresser
.

  Nancy stamped her foot in frustration, then doubled over, laughing helplessly until she crumpled onto the foot of the bed and gasped for breath. Becky really did roll easily, just like a barrel or one of those blue drums that held kerosene.

  Nancy heard her sister’s muffled voice, then began laughing all over again. “What did you say?”

  “Mm-fff-tt.”

  Nancy walked over and pounded a fist somewhere in the region of Becky’s hip. She was rewarded by the flinging away of the quilt, a mad scramble, and a lunge in her direction. Nancy turned and fled, running down the hall and into the bathroom, slamming the door in Becky’s face.

  “Let me in!”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Nancy. Let me in.”

  “Not if you’re going to hit me.”

  So Nancy let her in, and they sat on the edge of the bathtub and talked. Lighthearted warmth surrounded them, that easy, comforting feeling of being with a sister you trusted, knowing she trusted you, too. You could tell her anything, and she’d be all right with whatever was on your mind, no matter how childish or fearful or silly.

  “Well, Nancy, I do like Daniel. A lot. I think I almost love him, but he doesn’t notice me anymore. And if I tell you this, do you promise not to laugh?”

  “I promise.”

  “I don’t know how to flirt. I mean, not flirt, but how to let someone know that I like them, or let them know in subtle ways that I would welcome them, or whatever. I mean, I have confidence in many ways, but when it comes to guys, I imagine they think I’m about as attractive as a well fed cow.”

  Nancy did not laugh. She merely nodded, soberly addressing this problem with kindness. “I can believe it, Becky, I can. I mean, sometimes it’s hard enough when you’re, you know.”

  “Size normal?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “You know I’ll never be thin. It’s like being deported to Siberia or the North Pole if I have to try and lose weight. I can’t stand to think of two grapes and a weeny cup of yogurt for breakfast.”

  Nancy nodded. “But I do believe Daniel cares about you, Becky.”

  “He said he wanted me for his girl, a long time go.”

  “He did?”

  Becky nodded soberly.

  “Well then.”

  “Then, what?”

  “You’ll have to wait, I guess. Or ask him for a date.”

  Becky shrieked at the humiliation of doing anything so far out of the traditional way of dating.

  As Becky turned eighteen, Nancy became a true friend and support. They spent every evening in each other’s rooms, talking about their jobs, boys, friends, weekends, everything. How this all came about was a bit of a mystery to Becky, but she took it, this newfound admiration of Nancy’s, and loved her unabashedly. She made Nancy laugh until their sides ached, Nancy telling Becky about her insecurities that they had never discussed before. For Becky, this was liberating, freeing herself from the status of always being the runner-up, or second or third, never quite coming up to Nancy’s status.

  It was also a huge eye-opener. Could it be true that someone like Nancy, with her figure, face, and popularity, harbored even less confidence than she herself had? Could it really be?

  Was all of this about self-acceptance? What did God think of all this vanity? He made us, she reasoned. He gave me my metabolism, my appetite, my love of food. He made me this way.

  Becky was strong, healthy, and large. Nancy was not large. Or strong. Her legs hurt at night, and she constantly swallowed calcium and magnesium and Centrum gummies and gross-looking green shakes she shook up and down in Mam’s Tupperware shaker till her arms dropped, as if the length and severity of her shaking would change the taste. It all tasted like spoiled silage, or worse.

  So Becky threw aside the ropes of doubt that held her. She showered, dressed in the red Christmas dress Daniel loved, sprayed her hair with Nancy’s “shiny stuff,” polished her flat shoes, set the new white covering on her head, grabbed her coat, and was out the door when Junior had the horse ready.

  She was fully expecting this Christmas gift-exchange party to be the night. The night she would try to let Daniel know that she was eighteen now, and….

  Well, then what would happen?

  Something.

  The youth all met at the home of Steve and Ada Stoltzfus, a newlywed couple who had opened their home for a night of festivities for die youngie.

  Ada’s cheeks were flushed; her husband was still in the shower. Apologetic, she said he’d soon be ready, but they could all go to the basement awhile if they wanted.

  The house was lit with dozens of Christmas candles, holly branches dotted with berries, bowls of water with floating tea lights, and kerosene lamps surrounded by fresh pine. Becky was thrilled with the Christmas decorating.

  Mam lit a few cheap red candles at home, but thought it too worldly to decorate so freely for Christmas. That was all right; Mam and Dat were old and conservative, and that was a safety, a harbor, a guide for her own life.

  But, oh, Becky loved Christmas decorations. How thrilling would it be to do this in your own home, she thought. To have Daniel help her cut pine boughs and holly.

  She would sing, and he would join in. She’d put a turkey in the oven with stuffing and baste it repeatedly with butter. Or a ham, covered in pineapple sauce. And she would always buy soda. Diet Pepsi and Mountain Dew and sometimes root beer to make root beer floats.

  She would set a pretty table with white ironstone dishes and nice cutlery from Kohl’s. There would never be one green Melmac plate anywhere in her cupboards, nor would she throw mismatched silverware haphazardly alongside any scratched green plates. Neither would she ever use chipped tumblers in clear plastic like Mam bought at E&R Sales.

  Mam was so content, so uninteresting, never imagining she could set a table far more attractively. For one thing, she would never, ever spend fifty dollars for a few place settings of white ironstone when she had a perfectly good set of Melmac dishes, twelve plates stacked on top of each other in her common kitchen cabinets made of birch, stained to look like solid oak. The canister set on the countertop was from Tupperware, but it was so old and sticky, it was probably the first set the company had brought out.

  Mam’s theory was always the same, flat and undisputable. Why get rid of something if it was perfectly serviceable and nearly as good as new? What did it matter if the years rolled by and that canister set stayed right there, holding the flour, sugar, oatmeal, and coffee the way it always had?

  All these things flashed through Becky’s mind as she took in the brand new belongings in Ada’s kitchen. Pretty glass containers with popcorn, pasta, and tea bags. With wooden lids. Even a low basket containing different mugs in bright colors, with another glass container of coffee, one of sugar, and one containing what looked like dry coffee creamer. What a modern idea!

  Becky thrilled at the prospect of having her own kitchen, her own pristine domain that she would polish and scrub, sweep and wash, singing her heart out all the while. Just the thought of hanging out thick, new towels (they would be white) made her do a little spin across the floor, only in her head.

  Well, she was eighteen now. All her friends and Nancy were dating, so it was high time that Daniel stopped this waiting game. This treating her like a distant relative. Of all the nerve. He had told her he would wait for her, and here she was, dutifully caring for her grandmother, working on the farm for her father, also out of duty, and now working at Round Oaks, another dutiful job. Not that she didn’t like her work, she did. More than liked. She loved it, was inspired by it.

  But here, here in Ada’s kitchen, a stronger inspiration hit like a full-force wind in her face, awakening a need she harbored within herself.

  Was she being selfish? No. It was only normal. A normal desire to be married to someone she loved, to make a home together, a place of togetherness, two spirits melded into one life.

  Because, yes, she loved Daniel. There was no one else. She loved
the way he walked, the way his hair was always a bit too long over his eyebrows, his air of calm, the unhurried way he moved through his days. But most of all, his kindness. The way he never failed to stoop down and pet the dogs that greeted him, naming them something like Rover or Buster or Sam, always laughing, his small eyes crinkling at the corners.

  Yes, Daniel was worth having, and it was time he stopped this nonsense.

  She went about her evening with a smile on her face, but not a genuine one. It was more as if she had Scotch-taped the corners of her mouth so they would stay up.

  As the evening wore on, she became increasingly nervous, her eyebrows elevated without her knowing. Slowly, her smile slipped downward and her heart dropped along with it, until she couldn’t eat a bite. She just sipped on some red punch that tasted like fruit snacks but with less sugar.

  Quite clearly, she did not know how to flirt. She had no idea how to go about getting Daniel’s attention, now that she had come to the realization that she wanted Daniel for a husband. A real husband who lived in a house with her and cared for her until they were both as old as Mommy and Daudy had been, although, perhaps she might not live that long, being heavy and all.

  Well, she didn’t want to become so old that she didn’t know how to make seven-day sweet pickles anymore, or until she had to live with her son, forgetting everything she was supposed to know. Finally, she could no longer take the tension of her own shortcomings and walked over to Junior, saying she was ready to go.

  CHAPTER 10

  JUNIOR NOISILY VOICED HIS DISAPPROVAL, TELLING her there was no way he was ready to leave so early. The card games were just warming up. And had she forgotten, they had not yet exchanged gifts?

  Clearly embarrassed now, Becky hurried back to the girl’s corner and sat down, flustered, her cheeks suffused with color. She had no interest in games. The red punch in her glass was warming by the minute, tasting more and more sour.

  Hannah Stoltzfus irritated her by her constant shrieking as she slapped down UNO cards with the force of a hammer, always checking the room to see if anyone noticed. Her face was as red as the magenta color of her too tight dress, with her too tight apron pinned too low on her waist.