by Linda Byler
Well, stop, Edna. None of your business. You can’t figure out the whole world.
So she worked, finished those dishes, swept and scoured, yanked the rope on the wheezing gas engine till she thought she’d popped a hernia in her stomach, hung out the three loads of yellowed prefold diapers with rows of plastic pants like little shower caps, her fingers red from the damp and the cold.
She cooked a mishmash of macaroni, peas, and deer meat and served it with applesauce and a jar of limp dill pickles she found amid the unmentionables on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. The family ate with relish, Dave smacking his lips as he spooned in the good, hot food, Emma with her white face bent over her plate, the baby lying on a pillow on the corner of the couch.
Dave asked for jelly bread. Edna’s first impulse was to blurt out, “Get it yourself.” But she didn’t. She pushed back her chair, found a loaf of sliced store-bought bread (as white as snow and about as nutritious) and set it on the table, with a smile, asking the children if they would like jelly bread, too.
She spread the dark purple grape preserve, the cheapest brand and in an enormous jar, halved the slices, and handed them out, while Dave spread two slices for himself and wolfed them down.
After everyone was finished, he hooked his thumbs in the right belt of his trousers and praised her cooking warmly.
“We do appreciate you, Edna. You deserve a gold medal as the best maud in all of Indiana.”
“Why thank you. I try my best, but you know as well as I do, I’m not perfect.”
“Very close, Edna. Very close.”
Edna swallowed self-consciously. What if a banner unfurled from her tongue, with all her thoughts written on them for everyone to read? He would never praise her then. There was not one thing in her thoughts worthy of praise.
She looked up and smiled. He returned her smile, followed by a slow, meaningful wink. Shock spread from her fingertips to her toes.
She blinked furiously, her face red with suffusing heat. She rose to her feet, pushed back her chair, and busied herself at the sink.
Emma’s whining voice cut into her confusion.
“I’d love some dessert, Edna. Why don’t you bake this afternoon and let the cleaning go? I need my coverings washed, too, and there’s a basket of ironing. Ach my, come here, Joshua. Yes, he’s poopy. Edna would you clean him? I don’t believe there are any clean diapers, so maybe you can just use a tea towel for now.”
Edna obeyed immediately, welcoming the distraction. Her hands shook as she went about her business, trying to convince herself it was nothing, it was only Dave’s way. She had been here many times before, every year, in fact, and he had never given her a reason to distrust him. He never once came across as creepy.
Ugh.
That was her own unspoken rule. If there were even a hint of questionable conduct, she’d walk right out, no matter what. But she had never thought herself attractive, never had a problem, or remotely expected one. Perhaps it was her smile. She should have been more circumspect.
She put the incident out of her mind and busied herself baking with the ingredients she was able to find. A greasy plastic pail with a lid proved to be half full of flour; another contained a spattering of damp, lumpy sugar. There were a few bags of confectioners’ sugar half full with a wire twisty keeping the contents in the bag and brown sugar spilling out of a “Yoder’s Bulk Foods” bag. In the chaotic drawers, she found coconut and a sticky bottle of vanilla, and there was plenty of Blue Bonnet margarine in the door of the refrigerator.
She mixed a batch of Grandpa cookies, a brown sugar and cinnamon cookie with a vanilla frosting. She cooked cornstarch pudding, after finding an immense container of cornstarch. Milk seemed to be plentiful as well.
Halfway through her rummaging and baking, Emma made her limp appearance at the kitchen table, draping her thin, despaired form into a kitchen chair. Edna tried to paste the kind smile in place, but couldn’t help comparing her to Gumby, the rubber stick man you could bend in any pose.
Emma ate three cookies, licking the vanilla frosting from her fingers, which seemed to perk her up.
Eyeing Edna with a malevolent glint, she remarked on her ample figure. “You work so hard. I don’t see how you can be fat.”
“I’m lined with sheep’s wool,” Edna fired back.
Emma raised her face and let out two sharp barks, like a beagle, then smiled, her face taking on a distant remembering of prettiness.
“Good joke, Edna. You’re funny. No, you’re not really fat. Just curvy.”
Then, “Did you hear about Orva Schlabach’s wife? I think her name is Sadie, or Sarah. Sarah. I think.”
The one-year-old stood at her side, his nose running, his matted hair like a bottlebrush in the back where he’d lain on it.
“Here, Ivan. Here, hold still.”
She swiped at the child’s greenish mucus with a corner of the tablecloth.
Edna’s eyes popped, but she swallowed her dismay, shoveling cookies off a tray as one possessed.
Emma slid little Ivan onto her lap, gave him a cookie, and reached for another one for herself.
“Yes, her name is Sarah. She has cancer. And now they say she has spots on her liver. You know she won’t last long. It’s so terribly sad, with those three children. They only ever had three as she’s always had health problems.”
Emma paused, shook her head from side to side.
“Sometimes I wonder, though. Would it be so bad, to leave this old world? Some would say there’s something wrong with me talking this way, but they wouldn’t understand the constant need for me to keep my head above water. It’s all just overwhelming, and every year, there are more babies. I know God wants us to have children, they are a gift from the Lord, we all know, but it brings an almost frightening workload. I’m so dreadfully tired and worn out.”
She continued, the words suddenly tumbling out like they’d been pent up a long while. “I wasn’t raised this way, believe it or not. I know things have spun out of control. Dave is very devout in his beliefs, and he says each baby is the will of God, but I can hardly do it anymore.”
She got up to go to the sink for a drink of water, sliding Ivan off in the process, resulting in an immediate howling, echoed by a high-pitched wail from the newborn on the couch.
The kitchen door was flung open as four boys burst through, red and white lunch buckets clattering on the countertop.
“Cookies! We got cookies!”
Handfuls of cookies disappeared in grabbing, filthy hands. The boys barely noticed Edna as they cast her sideways glances, then tore through the kitchen to shuck their coats and stocking caps between puddles of melted snow and dirt. It was only after they had clomped upstairs that Edna realized they had completely ignored their mother, and she them.
“It’s too much, Edna. Look at that. Those cookies will barely make it into the pantry. I know it’s because I never have time to bake.”
Edna took a deep breath. Her back ached from the tension of frosting the cookies, a pain between her shoulder blades like a knife, and it was already late afternoon, time for the evening meal. Suddenly, the whole situation irked her so much she couldn’t hold back.
“You need to talk to your doctor or midwife. You need a break. Tell them you’re depressed. They can give you something for it. Get yourself some Geritol with iron. These kids need rules. Those boys shouldn’t be allowed all those cookies before supper. Wake up and look around you. You have all these kids, now help yourself. If you don’t take care of yourself, no one else will.”
Edna spoke in short, clipped sentences.
“Where are your mother and sisters? Don’t you have anyone who can come in to give you a lift? Oh, and another thing? Disposable diapers.”
Emma gasped, shook her head. “No, no, we can never afford it.”
Edna pressed on.
“Where does Dave work?”
“The RV factory. You know, where everyone else does.”
“He makes enough for you to buy
Pampers. Buy the cheap brand. This house smells so strongly of dirty diapers it burns your eyes.”
She was horrified to find Emma weeping softly; her long, bony fingers held up over her face. Her first reaction was to apologize but quickly decided to let well enough alone. Perhaps Emma wasping around the house like an unwelcome silent shadow, carrying her huge basket of depression on top of her head was half the problem. She needed to stop floating and start paddling, even if Dave was less than ambitious. She married him, and now it was up to her to make the best of it.
The remainder of the day, Edna was watched with a hooded gaze from the wan woman on the recliner. Children of all ages clattered through the house, doing exactly as they pleased. Boys snapped rubber bands like missiles that whizzed across the room, hit walls and windows, their younger siblings. The final straw was one in the gas burner, where it slowly melted, setting up an awful stink.
She grabbed the offender by the sleeve, shoved her face into his grinning one and ground out, “You do that one more time, and you’ll go to your room.”
He drew back, his bold gaze never wavering.
“Good. I like it in my room. Go ahead.”
There were snickers all around from the watchful brothers.
“Alright. Your Dat will be home in an hour. We’ll see if he agrees.”
They leaped out of the kitchen, into their winter clothes, and outside, yelling insults about the fat, angry maud.
Edna mashed the potatoes, fried inexpensive ground beef, and made a milk gravy. She sliced Velveeta cheese into elbow macaroni and dished up canned green beans as Dave walked through the door, surrounded by his entourage of grinning schoolboys.
“Smells wonderful in here,” he said, jovial and red-faced.
Edna kept a low profile, the wink still fresh in her mind. Dave joked with the boys, held the lone little girl while Edna finished putting the food on the table. He bent over to wipe the smallest one’s nose, then drew him up to sit beside his sister.
They sat down to eat, Emma sliding quietly into her chair on her husband’s left, her eyes raised to his, the cowed expression downright piteous.
“How are you feeling, Emma?”
“Not good. I’m awful weak.”
Dave didn’t offer a reply, merely bowed his head for the silent prayer that was practiced before every Amish meal.
It was complete bedlam after that.
The boys all talked at once, reached across each other’s plates, grabbed utensils, and dug into mounds of potatoes and gravy. The toothless first grader squirted elbow macaroni through the gap in his line of teeth, while his little sister caught the noodles and promptly swallowed them.
There were simply no rules or discipline. Dave was too preoccupied, and the poor mother was awash in her own river of despair.
Edna ate, becoming steadily more disgruntled.
When she finally got to her assigned room, she was too weary to care if the room was cold or the mattress was beyond help. She was alone and it was dark and blessedly, luxuriously quiet.
She fell into a deep sleep, the kind where the night passes in a moment. She woke refreshed, immediately ready to tackle the immensity of her day. She had lunchboxes packed, breakfast made, and Dave out the door by six. The children who went to school ate at seven and were out the door by a quarter to eight. She had a quick slice of toast, a cup of coffee, and then brought the old wringer washer buzzing to life. She washed mountains of soiled clothes, washed dishes, straightened the kitchen between loads. She cleaned the lean-to, sorted through the junk, filled a garbage bag and threw it in the dumpster.
If they could afford a dumpster, they could afford Pampers, too, she thought. She baked five fruit pies, then a shoofly cake, and scrubbed the kitchen floor after lunch.
Emma faded into her recliner and offered not one word. This went on until Edna realized she was pouting, wanting her to feel bad about the day before. Well, two could play at this game, and she wasn’t going to lose.
She brought in the freeze-dried clothes, the fluffy towels and sheets and tablecloths, folded them, and put them away. Then she tackled the pantry.
She found unused plastic containers, labeled them, and stored oatmeal, raisins, coconut, baking cocoa, everything in neat rows, after scouring the shelves with Pine-Sol water that was steaming hot.
“I hope you know I won’t be able to find my things when you leave,” came the high whine from the recliner.
“That’s O.K. At least I’ll be able to while I’m here.”
After a rubber band hit the back of her neck, she caught Emery, the second of the boys, around the waist and got down at his level. “You do that again and you’ll be sorry,” she hissed in a low, deadly voice.
After that, the rowdy group circled her with something akin to respect, which kept those rubber bands in their pockets. Mealtimes were more normal, with Edna giving swift discipline to anyone misbehaving. Dave approved, Emma sulked.
“Now you listen to Edna, boys. She doesn’t put up with your shenanigans the way Mam and I do.” There was another slow wink in Edna’s direction, accompanied by a wide grin that fell just short of leering.
Well, as long as he keeps his distance, Edna thought. Maybe he’s just friendly like that. Hasn’t he always been jovial?
Winter evenings were long, the children all rowdy, romping around the small house with nothing to interest them. So Edna brought out the Monopoly game.
“No. Pieces lost. I hate Monopoly.”
“Money’s not all there.”
“We don’t like games.”
Emma’s voice came from the chair, “Edna, come get Beth. I have a headache.”
Edna hurried over to retrieve the crying child and placed her on her lap to soothe her. A sour smell came from the top of her head, so she asked Beth if she wanted to have a bath. She nodded.
Edna let her play in the tub with measuring cups and spoons, adding a dash of her own bath soap for bubbles. Then she put in Beth’s little brother, Ivan. She scrubbed their hair with plenty of shampoo, dressed them in clean faded pajamas, and sent them to their mother, like scented flowers, their faces shining.
“Ach my. Here comes my Bethey. Don’t you smell nice!”
With that, the languid, disinterested mother cuddled her sweet-smelling daughter, her face in the gleaming wet hair. Softly, her voice wavering, she began to sing, one of the old hymns Edna remembered from school.
Edna was surprised to find quick tears stinging her eyelids.
Perhaps it wouldn’t take much to give Emma new hope and energy. She’d ask to go to town, and she’d buy Geritol vitamins with her own money.
Emma’s mother banged the lean-to door, letting in a blast of frigid air, before tugging the door closed behind her. She was a tall, thin woman clad in a coat and scarf, her square face resembling her daughter’s. She thrust out a calloused hand, greeted Edna with more warmth than Emma or Dave had shown.
“My, Edna, you’re a wonder. Like a magic fairy, you come in here and spit shine everything, even the children. God must have a special place for you in Heaven.”
“Oh now, you are only flattering me,” Edna replied, sliding a pan of rolls into the oven. She’d known Emma’s mother was coming, so she’d set the sour cream rolls to rise first thing. She had a bowl of caramel frosting on the side, ready to spread. Coffee waited in the Lifetime drip coffee maker, the sun sparkling on the snow through the polished kitchen window. The floors were swept, the toys put away, Beth’s hair freshly braided, the baby asleep in his crib.
“Hello, Mam.” Emma said quietly.
“Oh, there you are. How are you?”
She examined her daughter with the knowing eyes of a mother, then turned to Edna. “Can’t you teach her how to manage a household the way you do?”
Edna knew the words were like falling bricks on Emma’s head, each one cutting deeply. Edna saw the slump of the shoulders, the drawing inward on herself, watched her return with shuffling gait to the recliner, to gaze uns
eeing into space.
Edna turned to the mother, raising a forefinger to her lips as if to stop the flow of vicious words.
“What?”
The mother looked bewildered. She had done nothing wrong. Everyone knew Emma was a slob, dragging herself around her house making half-hearted attempts at order and cleanliness. She took after her husband’s side of the family, not hers.
The sweet rolls were light, the caramel frosting divine, the coffee just right, steam curling up from the dark liquid. Everything was perfect, but the morning had been effectively ruined by the mother’s lofty attitude, holding herself far above her despairing daughter without realizing there was anything wrong.
Oh, of course she loved her daughter from her perch on Superior Mountain. But Edna knew she had no clue how to lower herself to be a help to Emma. She could have come in amid the mess, lent a hand, praised the small number of abilities Emma did possess. It was called nurturing, like spading and watering a garden.
Edna listened to the mother describe the many accomplishments she had achieved over the years and watched the daughter wither away. She walked around the rest of the day with a sour stomach that churned around the rolls she had consumed too quickly.
CHAPTER 4
A WARM WIND SPRANG UP IN SOME SOUTHERN STATE AND ADVANCED on the state of Indiana, set the snowdrifts and icicles into steady decline, revealing tufts of wet brown weeds, pieces of lumber, broken plastic pails, the bleached rib cage of some small animal, a cracked Cool Whip container that steadily filled with water from the broken spouting. Blue skies were peppered with white puffy clouds, which made Edna stop the hanging of laundry and gaze skyward, shaking her head at the unusual formations above her. She thought a January thaw was just what she needed to strip the stale beds and wash everything in hot water and the secret drop of Clorox she had started to add. If she had to use the Dollar General’s most inexpensive soap powder, then she could at least be assured the germs were gone.
All those stained yellow diapers worked to dispel her good humor. For one thing, it was hard on her pride, hanging them on the line, and for another, she could not persuade Emma to consider buying disposable diapers.