A Second Chance

by Linda Byler

  Was it true what he said?

  Perhaps she had overstepped her boundaries. But she would not apologize. He could chew on her words a few days, choose to spit them out or swallow and digest them, and make an honest effort. About time.

  On Sunday morning Dave and the four oldest went to church, so Edna cooked a large breakfast for Emma and the little ones, straightened the house, put on a clean apron, and waited for company to begin arriving.

  The windows gleamed, every fingerprint wiped, the floor was swept and scrubbed, the furniture dusted. There were cookies, cupcakes, and pumpkin pies in the pantry, and a large container of beef stew cooling in the refrigerator. She made sure the beds were made, the coats and shoes hung up or placed on the shelf, and the washhouse swept clean.

  Emma seemed to take a new interest in changing diapers, a job that had fallen to Edna before, so that was a most encouraging sign. Now for the mother’s arrival and continuing support.

  Of course, they were the first to arrive, the usual greetings, the ensuing fuss about the new baby, mostly by Emma’s father, who hadn’t seen him yet. Emma smiled, pleased to receive praise from her “Dat,” but her mother wiped the smile away sufficiently by eyeing the stack of disposable diapers with a withering glance in Edna’s direction.

  “I hope Emma had nothing to do with this.”

  “She didn’t,” Edna said sweetly. “Dave thought she seemed a bit overwhelmed with the three little ones all in diapers.”

  “Oh? He did?”

  “Yes. He’s very caring of his wife. Emma does so well, you know, but with Atlee and Ivan still both in diapers, Dave thought she should switch to disposables.” Edna leaned close, gave her an intimate wink. “He makes good money, so it isn’t as if they couldn’t afford it.”

  A deep breath and straightening of the shoulders from the mother, a look of fresh appreciation to her daughter.

  “Well. That’s nice. Yes. I know he provides well.”

  Edna nodded. She served coffee, accepted praise for the house’s appearance, and thought gleefully, “She’s eating out of my hand. Flattery did get me somewhere.”

  James and Ivan Hoschtetler arrived, followed by Dave’s grandparents. The living room was filling up, so Edna made more coffee, refilled cups, served cookies on a tray with napkins. She watched Emma closely for signs of fatigue, but there were none. She appeared a changed person, smiling, talking, sharing glances with her husband, showing off the new baby as if it was the first one.

  The transformation was nothing short of amazing.

  The third couple was Orva Schlabach and his thin, pale wife, whom Edna and Emma had discussed earlier. Her eyes were sunken in sharp cheekbones, but alert and bright with interest. Edna invited the couple in, and her heart swelled with pity for this small woman so obviously carrying on a brave battle for her life, knowing the dreaded disease was slowly spreading through her vital organs.

  Orva was of medium height, much wider than his wife, but that was all Edna could remember afterward, hurrying ahead of them to place a few more folding chairs, make sure there was enough coffee.

  All afternoon, she helped with the company, her thoughts distracted with the cancer patient’s courage, and the light of love in her bright eyes as she held the newborn. She kept him the entire time, repeatedly gazing into the small face as he slept.

  Edna’s emotions simply got the best of her. She stayed in the kitchen, catching mewling little sobs that kept forming in her chest, traveling up through her throat. Did Orva know her time on earth was short? Or was it only the innocence of the new baby, the undisclosed amount of time this sweet child would be given to spend its days on earth?

  She measured coffee into the coffee maker, blew her nose with a wad of Kleenex, and stood gazing out of the kitchen window, seeing nothing.

  Death and life. Disease and good health. Who knew?

  God called the shots, that was all there was to it. Life was like an immense orchestra, the maestro directing every swelling sound. Either down to the depths, or up to the heights, everything from sickness, accidents, unexplained suffering, to the opposite.

  Which was the opposite? What were the heights? A child born, or a person released from a disease-riddled body?

  Well, either way, she was no philosopher. She couldn’t stand here with all these sad, maudlin thoughts cartwheeling through her head.

  The sky was gray, ominous, rising out of half-melted graying snowbanks, the whole earth appearing dull, without color. Edna shivered, tried to shake off the rising sense of omen. Why these melancholy forebodings now?

  Too much emotion, she supposed. Too much of everything, trying to fix an unfixable family, allowing herself false hope, when a good dose of reality was like a smack in the face.

  Dave and Emma Chupp and eight offspring would likely return to their former way of life the minute she drove out of view. She could wield all this power while she was here, but inevitably, they’d return to who they were, and perhaps live a happier life than she would ever have.

  So for the remainder of her stay, she did what she did best, which was to nurture, clean, do laundry, bake and cook and iron. She bossed those boys around, who crossed their eyes, stuck their thumbs in their ears and wiggled their fingers behind her back, called her “elephant” instead of Edna, and mimicked her gait when she wasn’t looking.

  She had one solid victory, however.

  Every week, Dave Chupp drove his horse on Saturday afternoon, tied him to the hitching rack at the Dollar General, and bought a large cardboard box containing the cheap brand of disposable diapers. And Emma had scrub rags and dust cloths for years to come, plus the bonus of rags to tie around her children’s necks when they came down with the flu.

  CHAPTER 5

  THERE WAS A MESSAGE ON HER PARENTS’ VOICE MAIL WHEN SHE returned.

  A group of single girls planned a trip to Florida, on the bus. Would she like to go? Delia Miller’s number was the return.

  Edna let it go. It was too dark, too cold on a Saturday night, so she scuttled back in the house, shivered, held her hands to the stove’s warmth.

  Her father sat in the oversized recliner; his fingers dovetailed like a good drawer, his eyes closed, and his round eyeglasses slid down his nose. He opened one eye, then closed it again.

  Her mother was shelling walnuts, cracking them with the old nutcracker, her arthritic hands gnarled like an old tree root. Then she’d use the silver pick that always reminded Edna of a dentist tool to carefully remove the meat from the nutshell.

  She slid into a chair opposite her mother, ate a few walnut halves, then spoke of Dave Chupp and his wife, the way things went at that house.

  Her mother shook her head from side to side, clucked like a hen.

  “Ach well, Edna. You know she’ll have more babies. Sometimes a tired mother like her raises some amazing children. It seems as if they run wild to you, but they have a healthy amount of space to grow, to develop their own attitudes. Plus, you have to bear in mind, that kind of child is no worse off than the ones who have to walk the line with controlling, abusive parents. Just let it go, now.”

  “I do, Mam. I really do let it go. It’s not my life.”

  Her mother. “No, it’s not.”

  The wisdom of the elderly, Edna thought.

  “Should I go to Florida?” she asked.

  “Who’s going?”

  “A bunch of girls.”

  “Well, I guess that’s up to you.”

  “Delia Miller, Annie, Robert’s Annie, you know who I mean.”

  Her mother nodded, popped a walnut into her mouth.

  “But I never thought I’d go. I don’t really approve of it. That’s all you hear in church. I don’t think I should spend my money just for my own pleasure.”

  Her mother raised her eyebrows.

  “You shouldn’t look down on others. Or judge.”

  “I know. I wasn’t.”

  But Edna had done both and knew it. Of course, she wanted to go. Who wo
uldn’t? But no, she wouldn’t go, not with that bunch of girls, anyway. They fit the description of an airhead so perfectly. Each one pretending they loved the single life when their eyes were like magnifying glasses looking for an available man.

  Edna leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms and watched her mother pick walnuts, her gaze shifting from her mother to her father, large and asleep in his oversized chair. No, it would not be right for her to run off and leave her parents in the dead of winter. She must say no.

  “Well, that’s enough for tonight.”

  Her mother drew herself up, extracted the indispensable straight pin, opened her mouth to pick her teeth, wet nutmeats all over her tongue.

  Edna swallowed, grimaced, but didn’t have the heart to say anything. Her father coughed in his sleep, opened both eyes, and reached for the handle at the side of his chair to lower the footrest. He leaned forward, heaved his great bulk out of the chair and shuffled across the kitchen.

  Edna sighed, jerked her head in the chair’s direction.

  “Seriously, Mam, look at that. Two empty coffee cups, a Pepsi can, cookie crumbs. What is he doing, drinking that stuff?”

  “Oh well, one won’t hurt him.”

  “Of course it will, and you know it. His legs and feet are often numb now. Who’s going to care for him once he sprouts a bunch of open sores on those legs? No more Pepsi, Mam.”

  “Tell him, not me. You know if I don’t let him have it he’ll go down to the corner.”

  “He can drink diet.”

  “He won’t drink diet soda.”

  Her father lumbered back into the kitchen, belched, patted his expanse of shirtfront, said he was hungry.

  “It’s bedtime, Dat,” Edna said curtly.

  “I need my peanut butter crackers before I go to bed. Can’t have my sugar too low in the morning.”

  “Dat, you need to stop eating those packets of Ritz crackers with peanut butter. You’re getting barely any peanut butter and too much sugar. Carbohydrates that turn to sugar. Spread a slice of celery with it, if you have to have peanut butter.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he began to chuckle.

  “You know what I heard about celery? The only thing it’s good for is to convey dip to your mouth.”

  Edna didn’t laugh. Her mother lifted an arm and scratched where it itched. Her father brought a packet of crackers to the table, went back to the refrigerator, lifted a can of Pepsi, looked at Edna’s sour face, and then put it back. He poured a large plastic tumbler of milk, drank half while he stood at the counter, brought the remainder to the table. The kitchen chair groaned in protest as he lowered his bulk into it.

  “Dat, you need to lose weight. I’m worried about your sugar.”

  “Nothing insulin won’t fix.”

  He waved a hand in dismissal. Insulin was his bridge to procuring and relishing good food. Diabetes was easy for him. Shoot that stuff in his body every day, and everything was normal, including Pepsi and doughnuts down at the corner.

  The Quick-Mart down where Route 101 met 62 was her father’s idea of a good time. Sit at the counter with a cup of coffee, greet all your neighbors and friends, then sit all morning and talk about things that aren’t important. He would order toast and jam, carbohydrates and sugar. After that, it would be a few eggs, over easy, on a pancake, doused in syrup, and not the sugar-free kind, either.

  Then he’d come home, tell Mam he can’t have any of her pie, or cookies, whatever she made, eat a light lunch of vegetable soup, a plate of cheese. And she believed him when he said he was doing real good with his sugar.

  The only reason Edna knew all this was because of his brother Ray, who was often with the truck that delivered hay to many of the homes where Edna was a maud. He’d laugh about his brother’s antics, relate in full detail what a schliffa he was.

  It was a growing despair that sprouted in her chest like a mushroom, crowding out any humor or sense of leniency as far as her father was concerned. It simply wasn’t funny.

  She would be the one to look after them both. Everyone else had a life. She had no husband or children, no permanent address away from home.

  She was unattached, a built-in nurse that came with the property.

  “How was the two weeks this time?” he asked, scratching his stomach, his fingernails like small rasps as he worked them across the fabric of his shirt.

  “Oh well, you know, it was Dave Chupp’s.”

  “They had another one, that’s right. How many does this make for them?”

  “Eight.”

  “Really? Why, that’s a right nice family. Everything went well, I suppose.”

  “Yes.”

  What else could she say? Her parents were elderly, so they could only fathom the good in every person, didn’t need to hear the hard parts, the tough times. Sometimes Edna imagined having a husband to whom she could relate every aspect of her day. Even her thoughts.

  Well, she had Dora, her best friend and confidante, but she had her own life, her days filled to the brim with family, work, activities in the community.

  She’d have to call her one of these days. Maybe tomorrow.

  It was off to church the next morning, under lowering skies that bulged with snow, the wind easterly, damp and cold. She’d tried to persuade her parents to stay home, but they would have none of it, her father becoming quite noisy, and stating that he needed a healthy dose of spiritual food.

  Edna thought he did, too, the way he could never pick up the cross of self-denial, sitting down there at that Quick-Mart eating pancakes and toast with jam on it, rolling around in his earthly pleasures like a pig in slop.

  “Now, Dat, if it snows this forenoon during services, you are staying kaput. In the house, till I ask someone else to get the horse ready. You hear?”

  “I don’t hear you, no. I have a perfectly good pair of boots with a rubber tread, and feel quite capable, thank you.”

  “Mam, help me out here.”

  But her mother shrugged, chirped something about him being alright, which made Edna want to snort in frustration. How many years young did they think they were?

  “Well then, if the snow starts coming down, we’re not staying for lunch.”

  “Oh, I think we will. You know I enjoy church essa very much. All those pies, cheese, and ham. Yum.”

  So was it any wonder she entered the house of worship as disgruntled as a wet hen in cold weather? Her parents just tried her good humor to the limit.

  Of course, the minister hit the sore spot, speaking at length about respect for the elderly, the true honor that was becoming lost, parents a burden for the children, the children likewise a burden on them.

  Where was the voice of authority? Respect?

  And Edna bowed her head in shame, knowing full well how far off her designated rung of the family ladder she was, yapping at her parents like an agitated terrier from the back seat. She had to do better.

  Had to.

  Alright, if her parents wanted to stay and were not afraid of the fine bits of snow that were beginning to fly past the window, then she would respect their wishes. Indeed. She set her mouth into a pious shape, her eyes becoming limpid pools of martyrdom. Ah, how good it felt to peel off the layers of dross, the impurities of her nature, leaving a shining vessel of polished gold for Jesus.

  She clasped her hands, turned her face toward the minister, felt the blessings clothe her like an expensive fur. Yes, life was not worth living if you couldn’t practice a bit of self-denial.

  The snow was driven in by a stiff wind now. Edna could hear the clattering of a loose piece of the soffit and feel the draft at her feet. Her eyes repeatedly went to the window, where the snow appeared to be whirling even faster. She swallowed her anxiety, set her face to the minister.

  She sang heartily during the closing song, then watched to see if her father would get his hat from the hook and venture outside.

  Her breath caught. She bit her lower lip.

  Yep. There he went, his b
lack felt hat smashed down to his eyes.

  Oh dear.

  Harley Troyer stepped over, stopped him by putting a hand on his arm, spoke to her father, nodded, and smiled. Harley then left to get his own hat and accompanied her father out the door and down the steps.

  Thank goodness. Thank you, God.

  In the buggy, she huddled beneath plaid woolen blankets like a child, closed her eyes, and vowed to let her parents drive, respect their ability to stay on the right side of the road, spot oncoming traffic, and be able to see in the increasingly white world outside.

  “Alright, here we go. Whoah there, Dob. Careful. You’ll fall. Roads are downright slippy.”

  A long wait. The hissing sound of tires on snow, the whoosh of air as they passed.

  “You see anything, Mam?”

  “No. go ahead, Dat. The coast is clear. But close your window as soon as you can.”

  “Come on, Dob. Git up!”

  The smack of reins across his fat back.

  Edna wanted to yell, “turn signals!” She did not hear the blinking clicks that should have been in use to avoid a crash.

  “Hurry, Dob. Car coming.”

  She felt the turning, the rocking of the buggy as it rolled across the road. She almost bit her tongue in half, her teeth clacking in panic when the sound of a horn sounded loud and long, followed by the outraged yell of a motorist who barely escaped an accident.

  “What? What was that?” her father asked, his head swiveling from side to side.

  “I didn’t see anything.” Her mother said mildly. “Close the window, now, Dat.”

  Edna sat straight up, every well-meaning bit of spiritual advice flung away with the woolen blankets.

  “The turn signals!” she shouted. “You forgot again, Dat!”

  “Edna, now you simmer down,” her mother said evenly.

  “No use getting riled up. We made it,” her father added.

  Why? Why was she stuck with her elderly parents? Nothing would ever change. She felt waves of irritation coupled with self-pity, then the sense of martyrdom she’d felt in church. Yes, Lord. This is my lot. Give me patience and an understanding heart.