Plain City Bridesmaids

by Dianne Christner

  “Yes. You told me. Guess nobody else is hungry, either.” Mom placed her hand at her temple. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m sorry you have a headache.”

  “I’ll be fine, but are you feeling all right?”

  Mom’s face reddened. “ ’Course I am. I was thinking about making some homemade ice cream tonight, but we’re out of rock salt.”

  “You always work hard. Why don’t we go to Dairy Queen later? I’ll treat.”

  “That would be nice, honey. I got a new Country Living magazine. Think I’ll just go sit on the swing and relax a bit. Your grandparents are coming over later.”

  “I’m going to wash my hair. We went for a walk today, and Lil’s road is so dusty. There must be some pollen in it, too.”

  “That’s the same thing Micah said. He sure does get hives a lot.”

  Megan nodded and went upstairs, glad to get away from her mom’s bad mood. As she washed her hair, she wondered if having Micah around all the time was starting to wear on Mom. She’d always enjoyed having friends over, the relatives, too. Often she hosted the holidays. Megan blotted her hair on a towel. Everybody was allowed a few grumpy days. She just hoped there wasn’t anything wrong that Mom wasn’t telling her.

  By the time she’d finished, the bathroom was steamy. The summer heat always rose and made the upstairs hotter than the rest of the house. Megan opted to dry her hair on the porch and give her mom a chance to redeem herself.

  “Can I sit with you?”

  “Sure, honey.” Mom scooted over, gave her a wary glance, then turned the page to her magazine. “See this quilt advertisement? It’s machine stitched. Now why would somebody want to buy this when they can make one themselves—a much better one, too?”

  Megan drew the hairbrush down through her long, straight locks. “Don’t know, Mom.”

  “You ladies trying to solve the world’s problems?” Micah asked, stepping up onto the porch and obviously not realizing the tension surrounding the women.

  Feeling his gaze on her hair, Megan self-consciously tossed it behind her back and dropped the hairbrush onto her lap.

  “No, I was just asking Megan why somebody would want to buy a machine-made quilt when they can make a better one.”

  “Probably for convenience.”

  “I suppose. But shortcuts don’t make things better.”

  “Unless it’s Dairy Queen,” Megan teased.

  “You don’t like my ice-cream recipe? Honestly, Megan. You’re a piece of work right now.” Mom rose. “I’m going to ask Bill which he’d rather have. There’s still time to make a batch before your grandparents get here.”

  Thought we didn’t have any rock salt.

  Micah watched Anita go into the house. On the porch, Megan sighed.

  “Sorry. Guess I have bad timing.”

  She stared at the screen door. “It’s not like Mom to be rude. Something’s bothering her. We used to be able to talk about things. But lately …” Her voice trailed off.

  “She’s withdrawing?”

  Megan shrugged. “Maybe it’s me.”

  “I talked to her this afternoon. She seemed stressed. I hope it’s not me. Or the cat.”

  “Phooey. Mom loves to entertain and play the hostess. She always enjoys having my grandparents over, too. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll pass.” She glanced at him and patted the swing. “Sit?”

  “I’m good here.” He lowered himself to the top step.

  Megan shrugged. “I’m glad you could spend time with my friends.”

  “You all grew up together except for Fletch?”

  “Yes. Katy and Jake loved each other since first grade.”

  “Jake told me how he helped fix up the doddy house. It reminded me of my cottage, here.”

  “Believe me, the doddy house needed more than a day’s work. It was a major project.”

  “So you girls lived together?”

  Megan fiddled with her hairbrush. “Katy and Lil moved in together while I was still at Rosedale. I couldn’t afford my share of the rent until I graduated and got a job. I lived at the doddy house with Lil for a while, but then she got married and took it over.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “Not really. It was Lil’s dream. And she loved the place. After she met Fletch, her dreams changed.” As Megan got invested in her memories, she involuntarily drew her half-dried hair to the front of her shoulder and ran her hairbrush through it.

  Watching her made Micah’s mouth go dry, and he struggled to push away his own dreams, the ones of Megan with the silky long hair. It was good the root cellar had been dark; it had helped him maintain his self-control.

  She tilted her head, realized what she was doing, and shook it back over her shoulder. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he managed.

  “Good. I saw your sneezing fit at the picnic.”

  “I saw yours, too.”

  “I know. It’s weird how we’re allergic to the same things. Except I don’t have any food allergies.”

  He clamped his arms around his bent knees. “You don’t get hives every Sunday morning, either.”

  Megan leaned forward and waved her hairbrush. “Why do you think that is?”

  He gave a harsh laugh. “If I knew, I’d put a stop to it.”

  “You think it’s something at the church? It’s only on Sundays,” she reasoned aloud. “Could it be stress or nerves or something you wear?”

  Micah shook his head. “I’ve been stressed and nervous before. Never had hives. But something I wear? Hmm.” His eyes widened. “I did get my suit coat dry cleaned just before I came to Plain City.”

  Megan eyes sparked with excitement, “That’s got to be it.” Then her shoulders sagged. Beautiful shoulders that were making it hard to concentrate on their conversation. “No. That can’t be it. You wear it more often than Sundays.”

  He stood, rubbing his clammy hands on his trousers. “No, I have more than one. I think you just solved the mystery.” As difficult as it was, he needed to put some physical space between them. “Enjoy your ice cream.”

  “Don’t you want to stay for Dairy Queen? At least let us bring you back something.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but Anita’s already stressed. And your grandparents just pulled in the drive. I’ll give you some family time.”

  Megan stood. Her pale hair fell forward and caught a shimmer from the sun that was dropping low in the west. “All right. ’Night, Micah.”

  “ ’Night.” He curled his fists and strode to his cottage. His cat leaped from the window seat to greet him, rubbing against his trousers. “She’s an angel, Purrty, and I feel like the devil.”

  Megan went to Volo Italiano for lunch. “All week long, Mom’s been snippy and withdrawn. She goes to bed early, and Dad’s been spending more time in the shop. Micah must have sensed something’s wrong, because he’d grown scarce, barely taking any meals with us. I don’t know what he thinks of us,” she bemoaned.

  Lil touched her friend’s arm. “I know what you’re going through.” She referred to her own mother’s long, painful bout of depression two years earlier. “I never dreamed it would happen to Anita. You better talk to her. Try to get at the bottom of it, before she slips into a downward spiral.”

  Lil wasn’t helping matters. Megan hadn’t felt this scared since her frantic drive with a funnel cloud barreling after her. Her heart clenched as though destruction was peeking its head in her rearview mirror and gaining momentum, even as they spoke. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Good. Or I could send my mom over.”

  “No, not yet.” Megan pushed the idea away, almost sorry she’d brought up the matter. “Did you have your romantic picnic this week?”

  “Tomorrow. Fletch doesn’t have to work. At least, as far as we know.”

  “Has it been hard getting back into the grind?”

  “Not bad. Giovanni’s patient.”

  “A good thing,” Megan teased. Lil had tried the patience of eve
ry boss she’d ever had before Giovanni. Of course, that was back when Lil’s mom was going through depression. The thought of her own mom having that condition troubled Megan.

  “I only saw Chance once this week. He hasn’t left yet?”

  “No. two more weeks. His stay got extended.” Megan debated asking Lil’s opinion about the movie that Chance had pestered her about all week. But when she saw Lil glancing toward the kitchen, she knew their time had ended. She pushed up from the stone bench. “I’m glad you’re back. Thanks for the penne.”

  “I’ll pray for Anita.” Lil pushed up and straightened her black slacks. The two friends hugged, and Megan left the restaurant with a heavy heart.

  That evening, Megan fidgeted through an uncomfortable supper.

  “I can’t believe I burned the potatoes,” Mom apologized.

  Micah examined the food on his fork. “Parsley potatoes are supposed to be crispy, aren’t they? And if they aren’t, then you’re on to something good with these.”

  “A little charcoal’s good for the liver,” Dad teased.

  Mom tossed her napkin on the table. “Don’t patronize me.”

  Soon after that, Micah slinked away to his cottage. But there was no place for Megan to go. This was her home. It used to be happy. “I need to know what’s going on with you two. Nobody will look me in the eyes anymore. Mom?”

  Mom grabbed some plates and went to the sink.

  Dad sighed. “Come back here. Sit down and tell her.”

  An army of dread marched up Megan’s neck. Dad hardly ever spoke sternly.

  With slumped shoulders, Mom set the plates on the counter and returned to the table. “It isn’t a pleasant story.” She clenched her lips.

  “Dad?” He shook his head, and Megan looked back at Mom.

  “You know that I’m adopted.”

  Megan nodded, nearly numb with fright. Surely they weren’t going to tell her she was adopted, too.

  “What you don’t know is that I know some things about my blood relatives on my birth mom’s side. They come from Reading, Pennsylvania. They have kept in contact a little bit.”

  Relief swept over Megan, and she strived to understand. “Do I have grandparents that I don’t know about?”

  “No, they aren’t living. But you have a great-aunt.”

  “Did something happen to her?”

  “No.” Mom’s jaw tightened. “She’s coming for a visit.”

  A boulder of burden rolled off Megan’s shoulders. “But that’s wonderful!” So Mom’s irritability was worry about meeting her relative? She wasn’t depressed, and her parents were still getting along? Only relatives visiting. It was a good thing. But Mom didn’t act like it was good at all.

  “Not so wonderful. Let me tell you the rest.”

  The weight returned and pressed heavily. Megan kneaded the base of her neck.

  “I didn’t tell you about your relatives before now because I thought it was something we could brush under the rug. But it refuses to stay where it belongs. Now I wish I’d told you about them before.”

  Dad’s eyes shone with sympathy. Folding her hands on the tabletop, Megan whispered, “So tell me now.”

  Fidgeting with the cloth napkin, Mom nodded. “Your great-aunt is English. I come from a family that is not Mennonite, never was. My blood mother was not even a Christian.”

  An ocean of shock washed over Megan, disabling her movement and speech.

  Mom dabbed her eyes with her napkin. “I’m an imposter.”

  Dad reached across the table and stilled Mom’s hand. “That’s ridiculous. You’re a wonderful woman. You may have been born into the world, but you were raised Mennonite. Megan and I don’t have any regrets.”

  Megan struggled filled with confusion and frustration. “Not Mennonite?”

  “Of course she is,” Dad maintained. “She was baptized in the church just like you were.”

  Truth strangled Megan’s neck. “Then I’m not Mennonite, either. I have the outsider’s blood.” Tears pressed behind her eyes. She stumbled to her feet and clutched the table. “This is a shock. But I have to know. Who are we?”

  Mom blew her nose on her napkin. “If I hadn’t been adopted, my name would be Lintz. My mother’s family was Witherspoon.”

  The word adopted reminded Megan that none of this was her mom’s fault. Mom couldn’t help that her parents had been killed in a car crash, either. Megan softened her voice. “How do you know they weren’t Christians? Did you meet them?” She refused to believe that her mom would secretly stay in contact with her family and keep it from her.

  Once Mom opened up, the story spilled out. “My parents weren’t even married. My grandparents attended some church, but my mom didn’t want to have anything to do with their faith. She went wild and lived with my dad without the blessing of her parents. I don’t know much about the Lintz family. When the accident happened, my grandparents rejected me.”

  “Maybe they were too old to raise a child?”

  “Not that old. They knew about the Mennonites through a friend’s housekeeper. They made some inquiries and found a home for me.” Her voice glittered with resentment. “One that was far away, in a different state. So they could hide their shame. But now they’re gone. My aunt Louise wants to bring me some of my grandmother’s things.”

  “Did she tell you all this?”

  “No, Mom told me.”

  Megan knew her mom referred to Grandma Bachman, the woman who had raised her. With Dad’s parents gone, she was the only grandmother Megan had ever known. “When?”

  Mom gripped Dad’s hand. “When I was about your age, Mom told me about my background. It was hard for me to accept their rejection. Now this Louise is sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong. I told her not to come. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’s bound and determined to drag up my past. What good can come of it now?”

  Feeling as though she were crawling out of a dark shroud and viewing the light for the first time, Megan blinked. “Who all knows about this?”

  Mom shrugged. “I suppose most of the older folks in church.”

  Resentment that she’d been kept in the dark, Megan cried, “I can’t believe nobody ever told me.”

  “It’s one of those things that died down.”

  “You know that everyone loves your mom.” Dad patted Mom’s hand. “And they adore you. I know it’s a shock to discover some genes you didn’t know about, but these people gave you and your mother some good genes. A cheery disposition, for one.”

  Megan pushed in her chair and gripped its back, disgusted by how he could refer to an entire clan of living people—her people—as a gene pool.

  He explained, “You can’t discount the good just because a young girl made some poor choices.”

  “When is our aunt coming?”

  “Next month.”

  Megan forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. Somehow, we’ll make do.”

  Mom’s expression filled with gratitude. She shot to her feet and pulled Megan into an awkward embrace. Megan woodenly patted Mom’s back. But inside, she felt broken, as if everything she’d always believed in had been snatched away from her. She pulled back. “Thanks for telling me. I’m tired. I think I’ll go to my room now.” She shifted her gaze to the kitchen sink.

  “Go on to your room. You don’t need to help with the dishes.”

  Megan didn’t have the strength to argue and sprang up the stairs and down the hall. In her room, she slammed the door and crumbled.

  CHAPTER 23

  The skeletons in Megan’s outsider closet rattled their bones, making sleep elusive. She squinted at the digital clock. It was barely after midnight. Anger and resentment added to the clatter in her brain, and after hours of struggle, she threw back the covers. She tossed her legs over the side of her bed.

  Her room was hot and oppressive. She snatched up her robe and stole downstairs. Mom claimed lemon tea helped her occasional insomnia. In the kitchen the demons of the co
nversation she’d had with her parents haunted the air. Through the window, the cottage light glimmered. Her lips formed a grim line to think that she’d once considered Micah repulsive. In truth, she was the faulty piece. With her outsider genes, she was no longer a prize for any decent Conservative man.

  The whistle of the kettle drew her from the window. She quickly removed the teapot from the burner, lest she awaken her parents. She didn’t want to face them or their sympathy. With resentment she fixed her tea and bought the steaming cup to her lips. Micah’s light twinkled into the surrounding darkness. What had he told her in the root cellar? “When it’s dark enough, you can see the stars.” She bent and looked up toward the sky, but it was blocked by shrubbery.

  She padded barefoot onto the front porch, flinching when she heard the creaking chains of the porch swing. “Micah?”

  “It’s me.”

  She hesitated. “What are you doing here so late?”

  His soft voice was laced with amusement. “Probably the same thing as you. I couldn’t sleep.” His brown gaze swept over her night robe.

  “Sorry for disturbing you. I better take my tea back inside.”

  “Is Anita upset with me?”

  “No. It’s nothing to do with you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His pleading tone beckoned. With brief hesitation she rationalized that even though she wore a robe, her body was fully covered. They had survived the root cellar without causing a scandal, and he was the preacher. Her bitterness scoffed that her good name was already smirched, anyway, so she sank down beside him. “I found out what’s troubling Mom.”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but it’s obviously upset you.”

  With her forefinger, she twisted her hair. “Mom’s adopted. I always knew that, but tonight I found out that she kept some things from me about her real family. We have an aunt who’s coming to visit us. Mom’s been worried about the visit and also about me finding out the truth about her family.”