Still Life in Shadows

by Alice J. Wisler

“How did you get that cut?” Gideon skirted around him to get a better view. Not only was there a wound over his eye, but his cheek was cut, and blood was still oozing from it. Gideon grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser by the sink and reached up to wipe his brother’s cheek. “What happened?”

  19

  Sheepishly, Moriah grinned and then gave Gideon’s hand a push away from his face. Slurring his words, he said, “Some folks around here don’t like me, I guess.”

  “Who?” He’d been here less than a month; could he really already have enemies?

  “That bigot.”

  Gideon spoke the name of the first person who came to mind. “Reginald?”

  “Is that who that idiot is?”

  Gideon stepped closer, feeling small next to his brother’s six-foot-two frame. “Be careful.” The warning came out stronger than he’d wanted it to.

  Moriah waved a hand in the air. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Gideon smelled the Jim Beam on Moriah’s breath, but there was something else that caused Gideon to worry. His brother’s pupils were larger than normal, and the rims of his eyes were red.

  “I said don’t worry!” Moriah was yelling now.

  “Shh. You’ll wake the neighbors.”

  “Don’t tell me to be quiet!” With that, Moriah let out a stream of curses and pushed Gideon against the cabinets, knocking his head against the wooden frame. Stunned, Gideon bit back anger. Something told him to go now, and he listened to that something. Turning, he bolted from the kitchen. He would get out of the way, back to his room. It was clear that Moriah was in no mood to be confronted.

  In his bedroom with the door shut, Gideon sat on the edge of his bed, fear rising in his chest. Rubbing the back of his head, he felt the knot under his hair. Closing his eyes, he wondered why he’d been so anxious for Moriah to get back here.

  The next morning, he was glad to see his brother sprawled out on the couch, the blanket covering his bare legs. Not wanting to wake him, Gideon showered, dressed, neglected to eat breakfast, and left the apartment. Moriah did not stir once, even when the front door to the apartment stuck and Gideon had to forcibly pry it open.

  Although the sun was just coming out over the horizon, Gideon’s walk to work was without its usual energetic strides. What a shame to not be able to enjoy the sound of birds and the way the clouds sprang to life as the sun lit them with its rays. It didn’t help that Gideon could not stop the memories of his father’s chastisement as they took over his thoughts.

  Gideon pushed the shed door open. He peered into the darkness to see a figure cowering over by the bags of fertilizer. “Are you all right?”

  The instructor, Judith Lane Russell, had asked the class to tell their stories in third person and then in first, just for the sake of changing the point of view. When she read Gideon’s six pages told in first and then the same story recounted in third, she asked if Gideon could see it.

  “See what?” he’d asked. He didn’t want to confess that he hadn’t had much education. He’d finished eighth grade at the Amish school and was now enrolled in mechanics training at Ormond’s expense so that he could obtain his auto mechanic’s certification. But reading and writing English had never been his strong suit.

  “You are more honest when you write about yourself in third person.”

  “I am?”

  She nodded. “It happens a lot. We seem to feel more freedom to write about those hard places when we write as though we are strangers looking in on the situation.”

  Gideon had been only a young man of seventeen then, but her words stuck in him. He would carry them with him always.

  He expected that Moriah might make it to work by the afternoon, but only Kiki showed up. Setting her bicycle in its usual spot, she began chattering about school and how it had been two weeks since she’d had to pay a visit to Principal Peppers’ office.

  “Can you believe it, Gideon?” she asked a few times until he finally responded.

  “No, I can’t.” He shoved Moriah’s grin from his mind and looked at her. Her short hair was in two barrettes today, one was a cat’s paw and the other was a cat’s tail. He wondered if the set came with a third, that of a cat’s face. “I bet the principal is getting bored without your visits.”

  He waited for her retort—something fun and teasing, but she was silent. Bracing her hands against the storage room door, she gave out a light moan. Then, with no more warning, she fell against the door like a sack of cement and slid down to the floor.

  “Kiki!” Gideon shouted.

  Instantly, Ormond rose to his feet. Seeing Kiki on the floor, he turned to Gideon. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Gideon knelt beside the girl, noting her closed eyes and feeling the cool skin on her forehead. “Kiki,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  Ormond was on the phone, and after a moment, Gideon realized he’d called the tearoom. When he hung up, he said, “She’ll be right over. She said not to call 911, she knows what to do.”

  “Kiki.” Gideon tried to rouse her. Her chalky complexion worried him, and wondering what one did in a situation like this, felt her pulse. Her eyelids fluttered when he asked, “Kiki, can you hear me?”

  Minutes later, Mari was kneeling over Kiki. She’d brought a plastic cup of orange juice with a lid attached and a straw that bent like a wayward whisker. “Kiki,” she said, curving a hand around her shoulders. “Sit up.”

  Gideon thought that making the girl sit up and drink was a bit odd, but he said nothing.

  Mari must have noticed his puzzled expression. “Kiki has low blood sugar and needs the natural sugar from the juice.” She placed the cup of juice by her side, and again tried to raise her sister with one arm around her shoulders.

  Gideon crouched in closer and helped by letting Kiki rest against his bent knees for support.

  “I might throw up.” The small voice came from Kiki before she opened her eyes. “I don’t want to throw up, but I might.” With bleary eyes, she focused at the wall.

  “Wanna go home?” asked Mari.

  When Kiki shut her eyes again, Gideon nodded at Mari and gently lifted Kiki off the floor. Rising to his feet, he carried the girl out of the shop to the lot where Mari’s car was parked. Mari opened the back door, and Gideon laid Kiki on the seat.

  “Do you …? Should I …?” He fumbled for the right words.

  She understood him. “We’ll be fine.”

  He then watched Mari drive away. Taking a deep breath, he wanted more assurance that Mari had the situation under control. As he hoped Kiki was okay, he paced the floor of his bay. For someone I didn’t ever want to see again, I certainly am spending a lot of time worrying about her. And Mari. He audibly sighed. What if she needs some help, another adult to assist her? Inside the shop, he emptied the lone cup still on the floor, pouring its bright orange contents into the sink. As the liquid disappeared, he knew he needed to get out of here as well.

  “I’m going to Kiki and Mari’s,” he said to Ormond as he grabbed his jacket from the peg by the door to the bays.

  “You can take my car,” Ormond offered, scribbling Mari’s address on a scrap of paper.

  Gideon found the little house with the peeling paint on the front porch with no problem. He parked the Buick on the side of the road by the mailbox.

  Once inside, Mari greeted him warmly. “You didn’t have to come. I know you’ve got work to do.”

  He dismissed her concern. “How is she? I should have followed you and helped you carry her inside.” He guessed he had a way to go to get the title of Mr. Chivalry.

  “She’s resting in her bedroom.”

  “Is she okay?” He wished he’d brought flowers or some treat the girl would like. “How often does this happen to her?”

  “Fainting? Once or twice a month. She told me she didn’t eat lunch today. That was a big mistake.” Mari was clearly displeased. “She has to eat at regular intervals. The school knows she has hypoglycemia.”

&
nbsp; Mari sat on the plaid sofa, removing a lacy blue pillow from behind her back. She produced a weary smile, and Gideon was aware of the concern in her eyes.

  “She’ll be fine,” he offered, immediately feeling stupid for the sentiment. What did he know about hypoglycemia? “How long has she had this …?”

  “For about three years, I think. But when she was with Mama, I didn’t see her as much.”

  “Why didn’t you see her?”

  “I can’t stand to be at my mother’s.” She spat the words out, not coating them with any form of apology. “Ugly to say, I know. But true.”

  Gideon recalled their conversation about her mother being a hoarder.

  “Are you going to sit down?”

  He grinned. When was the last time he’d been in a woman’s home? He wasn’t sure whether to take the spot next to her on the couch or the crimson La-Z-Boy recliner by the TV.

  She patted the space beside her.

  He sat as she said, “I know it sounds awful coming from such a sweet Southern gal like me, but Mama’s house suffocates me.”

  “Sometimes honesty in sweet gals is the best.”

  She did smile then.

  And today, he found her dimples particularly endearing.

  “Right before social services came over, Mama’s car was so stuffed with her cloth pets that there was no room for Kiki to ride.”

  He wanted to change the subject. Wasn’t it enough that her sister had fainted? He didn’t want her to feel badly about her mother now, too.

  “The Bible refers to thinking on things that are true and praiseworthy, but I doubt it’s referring to my mother and her collection of puppets.”

  Just as she mentioned the Bible, he saw one on the coffee table, one covered in thin leather with gold writing on the cover. “You read the Bible often?” She must; the cover was dog-eared.

  “I have to. It fuels me for this massive world.”

  “Do you believe it?”

  “You mean, do I believe that what’s inside is truth?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant.” Talking about God make him squirm slightly.

  “I do.” After a moment she raised her head to meet his eyes and asked, “What do you believe?”

  Stretching out his legs, he wondered what to say to this question.

  Hard work, wash your hands, go to church, live simply, respect your mother, respect your father, get up early, don’t be a slacker. Why? For what? Nervously, he smiled. Mari was seated so close beside him. He could smell her hair, a fragrance of orange blossoms with a hint of something stronger like coconut.

  “Should we make sure Kiki is okay?” He got to his feet.

  “She’s probably sleeping. She was up late last night working on a project for school.” Patting the space he had occupied, she said, “Tell me why you don’t like to talk about God.”

  He sat. This time he made sure that there was a little more distance between them. If he was going to have to discuss God, he didn’t need to be breathing in her aromatic shampoo.

  Her eyes were not teasing but serious, smooth as the pebbles he used to toss across the creek behind the farm. “So you discarded God when you left Amish land?” Her smile softened the question.

  He thought that sounded like a childish thing to do. He wanted Mari to know that his decision was much more complicated and calculated than the way she made it seem. Discarding God would never be in his capacity. God was ingrained in his thoughts; he just wasn’t sure that God was really for him. “Do you know anything about the Amish faith?”

  “A little. I thought they were Christians.”

  “Do you know Reginald Smithfield?”

  He saw her shudder. “What has he got to do with Amish?” she asked.

  “He despises them just as he does blacks, Native Americans, you know, the Cherokees around here, Jews …”

  “And Asians,” she said, filling in his pause.

  “He thinks nothing of all the minorities. We’re like trash to him.” Gideon hated the harshness of his words. “He makes himself feel better by cutting us down. He feels superior.”

  “You mean he thinks if you aren’t Caucasian and born in these mountains, you are no good?”

  “Exactly.”

  He liked the way her face looked so serious when he tried to make a point. Her brow wrinkled a little and her top lip pressed into her bottom one.

  Continuing, he said, “Would you call Reginald a bigot?”

  “Oh, yes. The worst kind.”

  “Did you know that the Amish look down on those who do not dress or live as they do?”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. They are close-minded. It’s their way and no other.”

  She thought for a moment. Her brow wrinkled and she eyed him suspiciously. “What has this got to do with Christianity? You question their faith?”

  “Jesus says to love everyone. He even said to think of others more highly than we think of ourselves. I don’t see that in the Old Order communities at all.”

  “But they’re Amish! Amish are like the wholesome side of America. Aren’t they just about perfect?”

  Gideon’s eyebrows shot up, but before he could reply to Mari’s outburst, a noise came from Kiki’s bedroom, and Mari stood to check in on her sister.

  Gideon heard faint conversation. Looking around the sparsely decorated room, he wondered if Mari was so tired of her mother’s clutter that she preferred herself to deal with the bare minimum. Stretching, he yawned. Suddenly, his lack of sleep from the ordeal with Moriah early this morning was catching up with him. Taking his cell phone from his pants pocket he looked to see if there were any messages or missed calls. The screen showed there were none.

  A moment later Mari returned to the sofa.

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s hungry.”

  “I can pick up something at the diner down the street.”

  “Or … I could cook.”

  Gideon remembered hearing Kiki talk about how her sister didn’t do cooking well. “Do you really want to cook?” To soften his question, he added, “I mean, you’ve had a busy day.”

  Mari frowned. “And Kiki always complains about my food. But—”

  Placing a hand on her arm, Gideon said, “What do you have? I can make us all dinner.”

  “Really? You cook?”

  “Surprised?”

  “No. Well … well, maybe a little.” Mari stood and Gideon followed her into the kitchen.

  Mari opened the fridge. “Let’s see. There’s some ground beef. I think I have a few chicken legs in the freezer.”

  “Do you have enough beef for meatloaf?”

  “Two pounds,” she said reading the label on the meat package.

  Though excited to try his recipe for Mari, Gideon knew he had to ask one more pertinent question. “Do you like meatloaf?”

  “Sure. Who doesn’t like meatloaf? It’s American, isn’t it?”

  “Does Kiki?”

  “She does. She also loves mac and cheese.”

  He knew he had to please the little girl who was his reason for being at this house in the first place. “Do you have macaroni? Any cheese?”

  Mari opened the fridge and took out a slab of cheddar cheese. From the pantry she brought out a box of elbow macaroni.

  Gideon smiled as she placed it on the counter in front of him. “Looks like this is a start,” he said.

  20

  Of course she had onions and green peppers for the meatloaf. With a slight twinge of embarrassment, she confessed that she bought those in large quantities to make her fried vegetables nearly every night. She hadn’t learned to cook, which was strange since she was the manager of a food establishment. “I make pies. That’s it.”

  “And you are good at it,” he said.

  She accepted the compliment and then asked what she could do to help with the meal preparation tonight. Gazing at her and then hoping he wouldn’t be accused of focusing for too long on her deep dark eyes, he told her to
just sit and tell him about herself.

  “Talk about myself?” she asked.

  “Yes. What do you like to do?” Opening a cabinet, he found the spices and retrieved the salt, pepper, and garlic powder.

  Hesitantly, she said, “I sing in the church choir. I love the Beatles. But I don’t sing Beatles songs in church.”

  As he mixed the ground beef with chopped onions, green peppers, spices, tomato paste, and an egg in a bowl, Mari sat at the kitchen table and talked. She said she liked art, but not modern; she’d once wanted to be a dancer, but she’d never had lessons. When he asked how it was being responsible for her sister, she winced. “Now how am I supposed to answer that?”