by M. Mabie
Since the call with Robbie had left me with a flood of energy, and I had some fresh pine in the shed, I walked down there and dug around until I found an old sketch I’d made of a dining table. As I measured the boards and cut them to the sizes I’d need for it to seat eight. Out in the world, that meant you could have guests and enough room to share a meal with them. A table for eight in Lancaster meant at least half of your family could eat around it.
I’d only had one brother, which wasn’t common for back home, and I wondered how many siblings Myra had. Would they get to her first, would they try to influence her? I hoped not, which was one of the reasons I didn’t want Robbie’s dad to know I was interested in the meeting. I didn’t want to tip anyone off that I was planning on throwing a stick in their wheel.
If no one suspected anyone from the outside was going to attend, they’d just wait and talk to the Legacies like the sheep they were. That’s how things worked there.
Time seemed to pass easily as I worked, and before I knew it, it was one in the morning, but I had a table top and the beginning of an offer for Myra.
14
Myra
Things just went on as usual after Jacob’s funeral. When people asked if I was all right, I told them I was fine which was the truth. God truly was good, because I still hadn’t been weighed down with grief.
That week, I started making a quilt for Catherine with some of Jacob’s shirts. She’d been heartsick for her youngest son, and I wanted to give her comfort. My chest hurt for her. She’d only been blessed with two children and now had neither of them close.
My parents had nine, and my aunts and uncles all had that or more. We’d been the M Foxes. I always thought it was so people in town knew which Fox family we belonged to. There were J Foxes and B Foxes. One family didn’t go by first letters, but all their names ended in an O sound. So Bo, Milo, Leo, Margo, Sarah Jo, Theo, and Cleo all belonged to them.
While I worked on the quilt and took care of the house, often my mind would wander to my mother and my sister. It would have been better if they’d been around. Maybe I’d live with my mother or my sister and her family, but days went by, and I wasn’t sure what would happen.
Since my brother Michael lived within walking distance, and since I didn’t own a car and it felt strange to take Jacob’s truck anywhere, I made a gooey butter cake in Denise’s casserole dish and walked it down the street while it was still warm to give them. She’d been so thoughtful bringing me food, I wanted to do something for her in return.
When I got to the door, she answered with her hair all over the place pulled out from her low bun in the back, pregnant and with a baby on her hip. “Hi, Myra.” She turned to see what my nephews were fighting about behind her.
“I wanted to thank you for the hash brown casserole. I made you a cake.”
She yelled behind her, “He isn’t supposed to be off that blanket. Put him down.”
Denise looked exhausted, so I said, “It’s still warm if you want a piece. I’ll look after the kids for a while, if you need a break.” It wasn’t like I had anything to do, and I really had been lonely. Even when it was just dad and I and he wasn’t speaking anymore, at least I’d had someone to talk to.
She moved little Avery of A Foxes, over to her other hip and glowered at me. “You know I don’t need your help. I can manage my family just fine.”
I stepped backward off the step when she reached for the storm door handle, a little surprised by her shortness with me.
“I just thought you might like a few minutes. I don’t mind helping.” I lifted the glassware.
“Amanda, come get this from Myra and put it in the kitchen.” Their oldest came to the door, her long russet hair clumped together in thick wet waves over her shoulders.
She smiled at me when she took it and did what her mother told her to.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Denise spat and slammed the door.
It took me a second to gather my thoughts. Why were people talking to me like that? First Abraham, then Pastor Hathaway about my ring, and now Denise. What had I done wrong?
Not wanting to upset anyone else, I kept to myself that week and only visited father once to read him some of his favorite scripture. He was asleep for the most part, but at least he didn’t get angry with me.
Since I was constantly asking God for direction during the day for myself, at night, I prayed for my father, for my family, for the church, and for Abraham.
That was surely why I dreamt of him each night.
15
Abe
“Just a trim,” I told Ashley.
I hadn’t been able to make it to her salon, so she was giving me a cut in her and Chris’s kitchen after they had me over for dinner.
She shared a look with her husband, and then glanced down at me, holding my wet hair out to the sides. “Like a few inches or...”
“I still can’t believe you're cutting it at all. After all the hell Ted has given you over the years, you decide to cut it now?”
I’d trimmed my beard, too.
I ignored Chris. “Don’t cut it all off. Just clean it up.” She walked around to the back of the chair, and I sank when she pressed on my shoulders to get down more.
“Want me to make it short, like Chris’s?” She laughed when he pushed his shoulder forward and puckered his lips at her. His hair was fine, but I didn’t want it short.
“No. Just a trim.”
Chris leaned against the counter and pulled another slice of pizza from the box beside him. Ashely had had a craving for ham and pineapple, so they’d ordered in for us. “What are you doing?” he asked again.
Time would only tell, and much of it depended on what kind of hell I was walking into. “Best case scenario, I talk to her and explain that she has options. Either she’ll want to stay and be happy with whatever the Legacy board decides, and if she’s truly okay with that, then I’ll do nothing. But after I tell her some things that the elders might not explain, she might want to leave. If she does, I’ll let her stay at the cabin until she gets on her feet. I’ll help her find a job or something.”
I stopped with the best-case scenario. There was no need to go on.
Ashley combed my hair back and parted it where I usually did, then piled half of it on my head. She pulled a section in the middle and snipped, and then rubbed a notch in my back where it lay. “There okay?”
“That’s fine.”
“And you really don’t even remember this girl from when you lived there?” she asked as she continued trimming.
“I don’t. Ash, I only had an eighth-grade education when I left, the girls get less. The only time you’re around people who aren’t your family is on Sundays at church and at a few community events throughout the year. There’s no mall. No movie theatre. No dances. No concerts or ballparks. There’s work and church and home. If you’re lucky to live on a farm, maybe you’d have a tree house or a pond to play in. Animals to tend to. In town, you could ride your bike. That’s about it. Most male-female relationships begin with fathers talking at the men’s meetings.” I remembered her last name, but there were dozens of those blessed Foxes.
When Robbie called me back with a time for Saturday’s assembly, I’d went out on another limb and asked him about her father. He was in a nursing home and didn’t expect Mr. Fox would attend the meeting.
“That’s so messed up,” Chris conceded.
I agreed, and I didn’t know Mr. Fox, but I only hoped for her sake that he was the kind of man that would have been there to represent his daughter in a way he knew would make her happy. And since he wasn’t going to be there to do that for her, the least I could do was be a sort of proxy. Someone to listen to her and maybe bring representation on her behalf to the table.
With that, I knew to be taken seriously, I’d need to clean up a bit. I’d need to consider their judgments because they’d have them. I had to give them some of what they wanted to see. A man who looked respectable, according to them
and the church. That meant a haircut, a trimmed beard, new shoes and a suit.
In the end, even if I didn’t change anything, a least it wasn’t on my conscience that I didn’t try to help. My hair would grow back, and my beard would too. If all I was out was the cost of some new clothes, then I could live with that.
“That’s the way it is there. Since I’m showing up on their turf, I need to at least look like I’m playing by their rules. It’s not that big of a deal if it helps her. Then I’ll come back, and everything can go back to normal.”
Part of me hoped that was the way it would go.
A bigger part of me was prepared for everything to change.
If I ignored it, turned my head and went on with my life, what did that say about me? After I left and found my footing out in the real world, I always told myself that if there was ever another person like me who I could help, that I would.
Here I was faced with an opportunity to pay it forward. I could offer help, but it would be up to her to take it. If she didn’t want me there, that would be the end of it. I’d have no regrets.
If I did nothing, I had a suspicion I’d regret it the rest of my life.
I wished I’d had a sign of some kind over the past few days, like an arrow pointing me in the right direction. All I knew was, at the beginning of the week when I was convinced I wasn’t doing anything, I’d felt dreadful. Since deciding I was, I’d felt powerful. Almost like the man I aspired to be. That was what pushed me forward.
I had two days to prepare myself, but I’d be ready. I would go in with armor because I knew what weapons they’d use, and I’d be equipped to pierce them with their own blade if need be.
Not only because it was the right thing, but—for me—it was the only thing I could do.
16
Myra
I hauled my clean sheets and the new quilt to the side yard where the clothesline was, eager to get them out before the sun got too hot. I’d been caught by the heat on more than one occasion, sweating and nearly fainting. Dressing modestly was wise, but during the summer it posed a few challenges. If I timed it right, they’d be dry before the heat of the late morning sun could roast me since there wasn’t much shade, but I liked using the clothesline more than the drier for linens.
Father always loved line-dried sheets and blankets, and it was something I was accustomed to doing for him at my old house.
I’d enjoyed living in the tiny, new house with Jacob when he was alive and now alone, even if it hadn’t been at all what I’d expected. It would just take some time to get used to because it still didn’t feel like my home, and I wasn’t even sure I’d be staying there. Another thing that I was being patient for.
I’d asked Pastor Hathaway if I’d be allowed to continue living there since it had been Jacob’s house after all. He’d only said to be flexible and pray, and that he’d talk to me again sometime next week. So that’s what I’d been doing.
I decided I’d get my chores done early and treat myself with brownies and a word search puzzle that night since I’d been feeling so low. If I was expecting grace and fortitude, I had to deserve it. I had to stop moping simply because I was uncertain on the future.
I believed God really would take care of me. I had to strengthen my devotion and let it be his way. Surrender to Him, and He would provide. I’d read and repeated Proverbs 3:5 so many times I had it memorized.
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”
When next week got there, I’d be ready to face it head-on with a grateful heart.
Just as I finished sticking the last clothespin on the line, I heard a truck coming down the street, and I waited to see who it might be. Maybe it was one of my brothers who hadn’t been by to see me yet. They were busy men. Or maybe it was Matthew, back from his mission trip. When it got closer, I didn’t recognize the vehicle.
However, I’d been struck stupid and continued to stand there like a statue until it got to Jacob’s corner lot and stopped at the sign adjacent to the yard beside the house.
It was Abraham.
He looked different.
I couldn’t be sure because he was in profile in the truck turning into the drive, but his hair seemed cut. At second glance, it was just pulled back. But his beard was groomed much closer to his face, too. I could see his neck and even the collar of his buttoned shirt.
I was sweating, and every bird in the trees had quit chirping. It was hot and so quiet. Both the world and I were still, the only thing moving was this man who was much different than the last time I’d seen him.
In fact, he was wearing a nicely pressed white dress shirt—not a wrinkle to be found—and expertly tailored navy pants. He had on a pair of brown shoes that looked like they’d never been worn before.
And he was walking toward me.
Maybe the sun had gotten too hot, too soon. My head swam, and I felt like one of the sheets hanging on the line. Wet and left out to dry.
Why would he be here? Why did he look like that?
He walked with purpose through the grass and only slowed when he reached me. I stood there like a thirsty tree with a basket hanging from her limp branches.
My mouth hung open, and I slid my tongue across the back of my teeth.
He didn’t even look real, but the furrow in his brow proved his authenticity. It was him, and he was very real.
“Myra.”
My chest scrambled to fill when he spoke, and spots floated in my vision. Had I been holding my breath the whole time?
“Are you okay?” he asked and crouched to study my face, which didn’t relieve me in the least. He was so close that I could see each lash on his lids, each amber speck in his hazel eyes.
My voice crept up my tight throat. “Why are you here?” My manners had melted along with my sensibilities.
Please don’t let him shout at me, Lord. Not right now.
“I want to talk to you. Is that okay?” His tone wasn’t ribbed with the stern tension he’d used with me the last time—or the first time really—that he’d spoken to me. He sounded calmer, possibly kind.
I liked the smell of him. Something vanilla. Something cherry. Something wild.
“Okay,” I answered.
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. You seem kind of shaken up.”
I swallowed and managed to slow my breathing since he’d stepped back a pace when I answered. “I’m fine.”
“May I come inside with you?”
Inside the house? Alone?
I’d never been alone with a man besides my father, my brothers, my pastor, and my husband. I knew the rules for unmarried women and how improper it was to be alone with a man, but I was married, and it had been to Abraham’s late brother.
Would that make it all right? We were related, in a sort-of way.
It was best I asked him what he thought. “Do you think it’s appropriate?”
“What? Going inside, so you don’t pass out in this ninety-degree weather to have a conversation?” His tone had begun to change back in the blunt candor I remembered. Then he added, milder than he’d begun. “Yeah. I think it’s appropriate. I’d like to talk to you.”
From everything I’d been taught and from stories I’d heard about girls making bad decisions and putting themselves in bad situations, I prayed I wasn’t about to fall into one myself.
“Okay.” I walked to the closest door, which happened to be the back one and I wondered if that was being forward and too casual for company. I wasn’t sure how to behave properly.
He followed, but at a few steps behind which made me feel better.
“Would you like something to drink? Water? Milk? Juice? Lemonade? I can make some punch if you’d like?” My hands shook as I placed the laundry basket on the kitchen table, but thankfully it didn’t fall off.
“Water is fine.”
I pulled the glass from the dish strainer, the one I’d used that morning, and filled it from the tap.
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br /> “Should we sit in the dining room?” Having a table between us seemed like a sensible idea. I wasn’t some woman to have a man over lounging on her sofa. What would people think?
“That’s fine,” he answered and took the glass from my wobbly hand before I spilled it.
I waited in the kitchen for him to walk into the next room first, wishing I could calm down and collect myself enough to not seem so silly.
The sun had gotten to me once again.
I sat across from him when he didn’t choose to sit at the head of the table.
“I want to talk to you about what your plans are since Jacob passed away.”
I gave myself time to form an answer, knowing men liked directness and honesty, always. “Well, I won’t know until next week when Pastor—your father—speaks to me. Until then, I’m letting God work and trusting in Him.”
He laid his hands flat on top of the placemat before him and picked at a corner, seeming somewhat uncomfortable too. He replied, “It’s good that you’re praying, and I’m sure everything is in God’s plan.”
What a nice thing for him to say. Maybe he wasn’t a runaway heathen like his father said after all.
“And next week is fine, there’s no rush, you’re dealing with a major life change, but what about right now?” He tapped his finger on the wood. “What do you want right now?”
That was confusing. It was okay to not know, but he also wanted me to know right now?
To clear it up, I gathered my humility and answered, “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you want me to say.”
He returned firmly, his eyes wide, “I don’t want you to say anything except what you want.”
My mind spun again. “Please, don’t get angry.” I rubbed my forehead wondering if maybe I was getting ill or a headache. “Will you excuse me a second?”
I needed an aspirin.