by Linda Byler
Her father clapped his straw hat on his head and hurried out to meet her when the horse and buggy came into view, with Sadie making an appearance shortly after he left.
“Mam. Edna. My, it’s good to see you.” Sadie hugged her mother, then Edna, a warm, cushioned hug from her sizable younger sister. She smelled faintly of horse, leather reins, and fresh, damp air, and the lingering odor of a slightly wet and well-worn black jacket.
“Why, Sadie, no children?”
Sadie shook her head. “Nope, not this time. Julie and Lucy are at Vernon’s for the day, well, all night, actually. The boys are spending the day with their cousins, Chip’s boys. You know how Fannie is, the more children she can accumulate, the better.”
“So, you’re going shopping all by yourself?” her mother asked.
“Oh no. I was hoping you’d go with me.”
“Well, we’ll see.”
The excited Trixie appeared, bouncing on all four feet, running in circles, yipping her high-pitched sounds, and sure enough, leaving a small yellow puddle on the linoleum.
“What is this?” Sadie laughed, bending over to scoop up the wriggling dog. “Isn’t she the cutest thing? Mam, you should get a few litters of puppies out of her, you know that? She’s adorable.”
Edna felt a stab of anxiety, pictured the kitchen floor come to life with ten more Trixies, dotting the linoleum with tiny yellow puddles, yapping and bouncing. Grimly, she reached for the paper towels below the sink and swiped at the puddle, her face red, her eyes snapping with distaste.
“Dat brought her off Henry Garber, that Mennonite who raises Yorkies. We just enjoy her so much. She’s a bit of entertainment for both of us.”
“What about you, Edna?”
Sadie watched her sister with knowing eyes.
“Not my choice,” Edna said, in clipped tones.
Sadie laughed good-naturedly, her round eyes flattening as her full cheeks pushed them up, her teeth white and prominent.
“You know, Edna, you better be careful, or you’ll turn into a sour old maid.”
“You think so? Not everyone likes dogs, married or unmarried.”
“That’s true.”
They sat at the kitchen table, poured coffee, brought out the plate of cookies, and caught up on all the latest news from Sadie’s perspective, which was talked about in full detail. She elaborated on school problems, incompetent teachers, and a school board unwilling to work with them.
Edna snorted inwardly. Everyone knew Harley and Sadie’s children were slow learners, so inevitably, the teachers received the blame. The very reason Edna refused to teach school. Children were pliable; it was the parents you couldn’t change. No way, much easier to do laundry, cook, and clean house.
“Well, we should get going here. My first stop is the dry goods store. I’ll need a new black suit the way I hear it’s going with that poor Orva Schlabach’s wife. I can’t imagine how she must suffer, in pain from her cancer, knowing she must leave her poor children and husband. They said last week she has a few weeks, or that’s what the doctor gave her.
“The worst part, the one I can barely fathom, they say that the oldest boy is simply in denial. He’s very troubled, hard to handle, to begin with. The only one who was ever able to do anything with him was Lizzie.”
Her mother’s eyes filled with tears, her mouth turning soft with emotion.
“Oh, you’d just like to spare him everything he’ll have to go through at such a tender age, dealing with his grief. He’ll have a hard road ahead.”
Edna rinsed the coffee cups, put the remaining cookies in a plastic container, wiped her hands on a towel and went back to her room for a sweater.
Everywhere she went, Orva Schlabach’s plight was thrown in front of her, like an efficient roadblock. She did feel pity, yes, but it happened many times. God evidently designed it that a mother was taken away, so what was there to be done? She wished everyone would stop talking about it.
She’d be glad when everything was over. He’d find himself a suitable wife soon enough, and everyone would likely survive. Perhaps she was turning into a lemony old maid, but was that so wrong?
People needed to be strong; it was that simple. She’d found that out soon enough. You took whatever was placed in your life and made the best of it.
The day turned out to be the most fun she had had in a long time, sitting in the back of Sadie’s clean buggy, with her mother in the front seat with Sadie, conversation flowing fast and easy, the way mothers and daughters were.
Free to speak of whatever was on their mind, the sun shining, breezes that spoke of the promise of spring, Edna forgot about the new dog, the reality of the next job that loomed before her, or any troubling thought that entered her mind when she was alone.
Their first stop was Yoder’s Dry Goods and Notions, a long low building with a brick front, the porch lined with all sorts of useful tools like garden rakes, hoes, cultivators, and the PVC rings with attached clothespins.
Four vehicles faced the front of the building, with two horses tied to the long hitching rack. An elderly man was scooping piles of horse manure onto a wide metal shovel.
“Good morning, ladies,” he called out, straightening his bent back, his white beard framing his friendly face.
“Hi!” Sadie answered, turning her back for a moment as she stepped down from the buggy.
“Stay there, Mam, till I tie Maxie, O.K.?”
“You need help?” the elderly man asked.
“No, thanks. I got it.”
He nodded, then turned to resume his shoveling.
Edna waited till Sadie tied the horse, then helped her mother from the buggy, before climbing over the front seat and down on the paved parking lot. She adjusted the strap of her purse on one shoulder and led the way through the swinging glass doors. She breathed deeply, the smell of candles, herbs, and new fabric—a pleasant odor, one that held the promise of discovering new things.
She bought fabric for two new dresses, a dark teal and a lime green that was too bright, but she thought, oh well, spring is just around the corner, and I am, after all, still a young girl. She would feel pretty in it, lighthearted.
She picked up a package of steel hairpins, and a new hairnet to keep the roll of hair secure on the back of her head. She bought thread to match both dresses, then walked over to the housewares section, and browsed through stacks of plastic containers, dishes, and kitchen gadgets. As always, she wondered how young brides felt, establishing their own domain in the kitchen. Edna found herself wistfully eyeing the brand-new display of stainless-steel cookware, the two-burner griddle, and the twelve-quart kettle she would use to cook plump red tomatoes from her garden, turning them into spaghetti sauce. There were also fresh new kitchen sponges, dishcloths, and tea towels.
She turned away, a sense of loss like a mist that obscured her view. Well, it was what it was. Other girls could have all that, but God had chosen a different path for her.
She wandered to the back of the store to survey the decorative items. An exceptional picture of the silhouette of a tree, in stark black, against a gray background grabbed her attention. It would look great above the love seat in her room. It was only then that she noticed the printed words in darker gray.
The Serenity Prayer.
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Very meaningful. And quite unexpectedly profound. Tears pricked her eyelashes as chills covered her, the words spoken directly to her heart.
O.K., Lord. I know this is a direct message from You. I’ll take it and do my best to practice it throughout my life.
She bought the picture, with no trace of the usual guilt, the indecision that normally upset her choices.
Her sister met her in the aisle, raised her eyebrows while nodding toward the large purchase.
“Wow, sis, you’re in the splurging mood, huh?”
“Yup. Sure am,�
� Edna answered, with a saucy toss of her head.
She didn’t need to know how the picture had touched her heart. Best to hide the longing for her own home or husband from the eyes of her sisters or her parents. Let them be comfortable with their version of Edna’s single position in life.
“She’s too independent.”
“Doesn’t even think about a man.”
“She’s happy and carefree. Why bring up the subject?”
Sadie had about half a grocery cart full of useful items, her cheeks red and eyes bright as she searched the shelves for more necessities to begin her spring housecleaning.
She stood in front of the new wall mops, undecided, a finger to her full lips. “I need one of these so badly,” she muttered.
“Get one,” Edna told her briskly.
Sadie turned to her. “Do you have any idea how many dollars’ worth is in this cart? I had to get a new drip coffee maker. Oh, Edna.”
She reached out to slap her forearm.
“I forgot to tell you and Mam. Harley turned on the coffeepot, the feed man came, and he rushed out of the house. I returned from taking Robert to the dentist to find the house full of smoke and the coffeepot ruined. Positively blackened beyond redemption.”
“Wow.”
“It was more than wow. It was more like Arrrggghh. I was upset.”
“I bet.”
Well, she didn’t have a husband, so she didn’t have to put up with that. Harley was kind of a loser that way, forgetting things, always had that questioning look in his eyes as if he wasn’t sure if he was coming or going. But you couldn’t tell Sadie that. She worshipped the man.
Always had.
Back in the buggy, they decided to eat lunch at the local diner, just a quick sandwich.
More horse tying, helping Mam from the buggy, and through more swinging doors. They said hello to more of their Amish friends, settled themselves into a booth and ordered coffee.
The waitress was Amish, too, a young girl who took their order with the bored expression of the unchallenged.
“Isn’t she one of Ben Miller’s girls?” Sadie asked, in a voice barely above a whisper.
“Ask her.” Edna said.
“Well, I don’t want to appear nosy. She’s too fancy, anyway. If that covering was any smaller . . . Whooo.”
“Now, Sadie, your girls aren’t grown yet. You have to be careful.” Her mother said, a smile making the admonition seem like a gentle reminder.
The girl returned, stood on one leg, a hip to the side, and asked what she could get for them, cracking her gum, her gaze going out the window instead of looking at them.
“I’ll have the special,” her mother said quietly.
There was no acknowledgment of her mother’s order, simply a left-handed jotting on her tablet, coupled with more gum cracking.
“A bowl of chili and the cheeseburger with onion and pickle, please.”
Sadie’s voice sounded like a first-grade child asking to use the restroom. Edna rubbed her hands together in anticipation. She’d get her attention.
“What is on the chicken wrap?”
“Chicken.”
“I know there’s chicken. I mean, is it chopped, with cheese, like a cheesesteak, or is it a slab of chicken breast, plain, or is it marinated, cut-up chicken breast, or breaded chicken pieces?”
Edna’s face was a mask of innocence, as the girl struggled to follow. She quit popping her chewing gum, her dark eyes going to Edna’s, followed by a bewildered expression.
“Could you repeat that?”
Edna rambled swiftly through the same question.
The girl shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Why are you working here, then?” Edna asked stonily.
Sadie kicked her shin under the table, her mother looked straight ahead, blinking furiously with embarrassment.
The girl’s face colored, and she said breathlessly, “Let me go ask.”
“Good idea.”
As soon as she disappeared, Sadie hissed, “Ed-NA!”
“What? She was rude.”
When she reappeared, her full attention was given to Edna, her manner helpful and courteous.
“The wrap is marinated, cut-up chicken breast. The chicken cheesesteak is the one that’s chopped.”
“Then I’ll have that.”
Bewildered, the waitress arched an eyebrow.
“Which one?”
“The chopped. But no onions. Put extra tomatoes on it. And light sauce. They spread sauce on the wrap, right?”
“Yes.”
Edna could easily tell that she had no idea whether they did or not, but let it go.
“Are the waffle fries crispy?”
“I think so.”
“What about the onion rings? Do you make them to order, or are they laying under a warming light? Because if they are, I don’t want them.”
“Right.”
The harried girl scribbled furiously, wet her finger with the tip of her tongue, flipped the page, and resumed writing.
“If the waffle fries are made to order, I’ll take them. First. If not, give me the onion rings, but only if they’re fresh. What are your soups today?”
“Chili, chicken corn, and beef macaroni.”
“What’s in the beef macaroni?”
Meeting Edna’s eyes now, the girl did her best to list the ingredients, saying it was really very good. Edna waved her hand, “No, I don’t want any.”
“Alright. Can I get you anything else, ladies?”
“Coffee. We need a refill,” Edna barked.
She returned immediately with fresh coffee, more creamer, and a handful of straws for their water glasses.
“I’d like to order an unsweetened tea, please,” Edna said.
After the tea was placed in front of them, Edna riffled through packets of sugar, artificial sweetener, till she found Splenda, then tore open three packets and added them to her tea, her mouth expressionless as Sadie told her in quiet, menacing tones that she would never, ever come into this place with her again.
“She needed to be straightened out, Sadie. It’s only a matter of time before she’ll lose her job with that attitude.”
“But she’s Amish,” Sadie protested.
“I don’t care if she’s Amish or English, Chinese or whatever. She shouldn’t be a waitress if she can’t be courteous.”
Her mother sipped her coffee.
“Edna’s right, Sadie,” she said, still smiling, her eyes with the constant light of kindness.
“Well, I’m embarrassed. I’m going to leave her a large tip.”
Edna merely lifted her chin and sniffed.
The food was delicious, the atmosphere homey and inviting. Henry Garber stopped at their table to say hello, and to ask about the new dog.
“Oh, we’re so glad we have her,” her mother chortled, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Dat just loves that wee little thing, doesn’t he, Edna?”
Edna nodded, swallowed, smiled up at hairy old Henry Garber and his willowy wife with what she hoped was a genuine smile and not a toothy grimace of pure falsehood.
“Oh, he does,” she squeaked, pushing the words out with considerable effort.
The bulk food store, “Countryside Foods,” was a constant whirl of motion, smells, and sights. It was a huge store, almost a supermarket, and was a popular and well-managed market.
Her mother and Sadie were soon busily navigating the aisles bent over their lists, so Edna had time to browse. She picked up cookbooks and idly flipped through them, lifted oranges and sniffed them, then wandered the spice aisles, turning labels, before moving to the front of the store to check on her mother.
She stopped, half turned, and lifted a hand when she recognized the man everyone was talking about—the one whose wife was dying.
He was of medium height, a trimmed brown beard, with short brown hair beneath a narrow-brimmed gray hat. Edna squeezed a bag of cornmeal then let it go, before throwing a quick sidelong glance i
n his direction.
He was talking to an older man, his shoulders slumped with weariness, his hands in his pockets. His face was ashen, gray with care, his eyes wells of colored wretchedness. He bent his head, nodded, as the older man placed a hand on his shoulders.
He turned away, came toward her, stumbling blindly, his eyes half-closed with the force of emotion that brought the thick tears that rained down his cheeks, and his lower lip caught in his teeth as he struggled to contain the ravaging grief that tore him apart.
He never saw her.
She remained rooted to the floor, unable to move out of his way.
Never had she witnessed such agony.
She called out just before he walked into her, the toe of his heavy work boots hitting the side of her Skechers. She put up a hand to balance herself, found a coated arm and hung on.
“Oh. Oh. I’m sorry.”
His hand found her waist, held her upright. She found herself very close to the face of pure and total sorrow, the tears making small wet lines down the drawn cheeks, the trembling, masculine mouth.
“Are you alright?” he stammered.
Edna looked up, into the light-colored eyes, that held bewilderment, apology, and untold grief. It was as if he had seen the tip of the iceberg that he knew would eventually try and sink him, the reality of it all too harsh to bear.
She experienced a total loss of speech. Wave after wave of raw pity swept through her. She had to do something for this broken man.
“I’m fine. I should have moved. If . . . if you need me, I’m Edna Miller, I work as a maud. Here is my number.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” She watched him walk away.
CHAPTER 7
THE FIRST MORNING OF HER TWO-WEEK STAY AT JAMES DETWEILER’S was cold, gray, and threatening rain. The flat Indiana landscape was dotted with snowbanks that were mottled with dirt and reluctant to melt into the muddy surface of the earth. The warm breezes had been herded out by a bone-chilling, wet wind that sank its teeth into coats, hats, and scarves.
Edna paid her driver, lifted her duffel bag, then faced the front porch and took a deep breath. Front porches had a way of disclosing plenty about the family that resided within the walls of a house, so by this one’s appearance, she could tell it was one of the homes that required all of her energy and drew on her reserve of goodwill until there was nothing left.