A Second Chance

by Linda Byler

  Oh, there was a time when she would not have thought there was anything wrong with that title. Her shoulders squared, her face took on the practiced look of happiness and self-sufficiency, of being a career woman. Albeit an Amish one, so minus the high heels and attaché cases. Her wardrobe and luggage consisted of sensible Skechers, white aprons, and a roomy duffel bag.

  Pride was a constant pillar of support. She never allowed the people in her world to see below the mask of happiness, the energy, and constant work tackled with an almost manic vigor.

  She was alright. Always. She had everything under control. As the years went by, Emery remained an active figure in her imagination, but in the mist of nostalgia. He moved to another county, opened his own leatherworking shop, so Edna let go, more or less.

  Now here she was, still alone, and Yonie bobbed to the surface of her life. Oh my. Now what?

  How did one go about loving someone you had no attraction to? Was it possible? Was it required?

  She needed her sisters, so she slung a sweater over her shoulders and sat in her father’s tiny office to use the phone.

  She got Fannie’s voice mail.

  “Fannie, this is Edna. There’s an emergency coffee tomorrow morning. It has nothing to do with our parents, so don’t panic. Bring your cream-filled coffee cake. See you.”

  Sadie’s voice mail. Same sales pitch from Edna.

  Her parents had no idea her world had been rocked., They went about their day reading get-well cards, counting out pills, peeling blinds, and turning the thermostat up or down, taking Trixie out or wiping up after her. Her mother cooked the evening meal, a delicious but simple bean soup and fried sausage patty sandwiches with bread-and-butter pickles, slices of Swiss cheese, and tomatoes.

  Edna wasn’t hungry, she said, which sent her mother into a tailspin, asking what she’d eaten for lunch, did she think maybe something had gone bad? Was she coming down with the flu?

  She retired early, dressed in her nylon pajamas after a hot shower where her tears ran freely with the steady stream from the showerhead.

  She cried for the loss of Emery, who she finally had to set free, with the proposal on paper from none other than Yonie Hershberger.

  So that was the new level in which she should view herself. She knew there shouldn’t be such a difference. Wasn’t one human viewed with the same measure as another? In the eyes of God, anyway.

  Till late in the evening, she wrestled with her options. The later it became, the more this whole thing irked her. She brushed her wet hair, heavy and dark, viewed her face with all fairness.

  Average. She was not hideous. Her face was small, round, like the rest of her. It was not a beautiful face, with outstanding features. It was a plain, nondescript face with ordinary features.

  Like Emery.

  She could no more help that intrusion of thought than she could help breathing. He lived in her subconscious, all the images of the past years like a child’s View-Master. Click. You pulled the lever down, and there was a brilliant photograph of him, riding his black horse at the sale. Click. There he was again dressed in his Sunday best, his hair perfect, his smile making her knees go weak. Another click, and there he was, loading his plate at the oyster dinner.

  She had to rid herself of these images, had told herself that over the years, but now, tonight, she meant it. If a false hope would keep her from loving Yonie, then it was time.

  She slept a few hours before her alarm rang at six, shuffled to the bathroom and glared at her reflection.

  The letter. All of the previous evening’s doubts and fears presented themselves again. But it was a new day, with Sadie and Fannie coming to help her untangle from the web in which she found herself.

  Her father appeared perky, color in his cheeks again, as he sat up at the kitchen table, looking sadly at the lone fried egg and shaking his head.

  “You know, life is cruel. Those doctors have no idea how small and worthless one fried egg is without mush.”

  Edna shook with laughter.

  “Funny, funny, Dat. But if you want to stick around for a while yet, you’re going to have to change your eating habits. It’s oatmeal for you.”

  “Rolled oats. Not that quick stuff.”

  “Whatever. No more mush for a while. Your cholesterol was off the charts.”

  Her father cut sadly into the fried egg with the side of his fork, laid the cut piece on a corner of his toast that contained not a smidgeon of butter.

  He bit off a section, chewed, then said with a wistful dignity, “You know, isn’t there a selection of artificial butters at Walmart? Some of them are made from olive oil, I believe.”

  “Of course, Dat. We’ll look for something you like on our next trip to town.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  His bowl of oatmeal was met with the same humble obedience, punctuated by fits of coughing and a tired sigh before he scraped his chair away from the table.

  “Think I’ll drink my coffee on the recliner,” he mumbled. “Komm, Trixie.”

  The small dog’s ears perked up, and she followed him obediently, then was picked up and placed in the big man’s lap.

  “You’re only allowed a fourth of a cup of dog food, and I can only have one egg. Fellows in misery.”

  Trixie raised her face, opened her mouth, and yawned, with the super-long tongue dangling. Edna watched her balefully, thinking how rat-like she was, while Trixie eyed Edna with humor in her brown eyes, as if to tell her she was the fortunate one, sitting up here while Edna did the dishes.

  Can I help it if I’m not a dog lover, you little sprinkling can? Edna thought, then rose to begin clearing the table. She finished the dishes, then told her mother about her sisters’ visit, complete with a coffee cake.

  “Alright, what is the emergency?” They asked in unison, as they washed their hands in the laundry room sink, dried them on a towel, and headed for the kitchen.

  “My hands still smell like horse,” Sadie said, holding them to her nose. She retraced her steps, soaped and washed again, sniffed her hands before she dried them.

  “I can’t stand the smell of horse sweat on leather reins.”

  “Try Trixie’s messes,” Edna said sourly.

  Fannie rubbed Edna’s back.

  “Oh, come on, darling sister. The poor hapless creature. She’s so cute.”

  Her mother nodded. “She is. I feel bad that Edna has to clean up after her, but we can hardly get her broken.”

  “Well, it’s cold yet. Wait till the weather moderates, then she won’t mind going out.”

  “Emergency? Remember? What is the emergency?” Sadie asked.

  Edna was pouring coffee, so she kept her face hidden. Unexpectedly, her heart slammed against her chest, and she felt the color drain from her face, accompanied by the absolute certainty that she was going to cry.

  Bewildered, their mother’s eyes questioned.

  Edna faced them in spite of her spiraling emotions, blurted out the news of the letter.

  “Yonie? Wha-at?”

  “Yonie Hashbya? Simply unbelievable.”

  And from her mother, “Why Edna, you’ve been asked.”

  As if her whole life had been a journey to this point. Mam could leave the earth and go to her heavenly reward now; her youngest daughter had been asked, with marriage the end result. Her motherly mission had been accomplished.

  “So, the emergency amounts to?” Fannie asked.

  “What should I do?”

  “Tricky, tricky,” Sadie said flatly.

  “He’d make you a wonderful husband, and you know it,” from Fannie.

  “Aye. Aye.” Sadie interjected.

  Edna slurped coffee, burned her tongue, grimaced. “Would you marry him?” she snapped, looking from one inconclusive face to the next.

  “No.”

  “Probably not.”

  A long, uncomfortable silence, rife with words that should be spoken but polite kindness refused to let out.

  “Al
right, here goes,” said Sadie. “You know you were never asked for a date because of your obsession with that Emery Hoschtetler. It was as if you wore a thick layer of armor that was a repellant. Like insect repellant.”

  Edna snapped to attention.

  “Nobody knew it. Not one single person. Well, a few of my girlfriends. But not you or Mam.”

  “Too bad if you think so. It was written all over you.”

  “Now, don’t be mean, Sadie,” her mother chided gently.

  Edna felt the strength drain from her arms. She sagged against the back of her chair, looked from one sister to another.

  “O.K. It was. Too bad. It’s all in the past. So what? Now if I want a husband, it’s going to have to be Yonie. Is it alright to marry someone for the sake of being married? Does love come later, if you give yourself up? Or should I be happy in my single life? You know if I marry, you guys are going to have to step up to the plate and do your share with Mam and Dat.”

  “You’re not going to marry him,” Fannie said bluntly.

  Sadie slid her eyes sideways with a warning look.

  “You could try one date.”

  “I think you should,” Mam said firmly. “How will you know if you like him or not unless you spend an evening with him?”

  “But, Mam!” Edna wailed.

  From the recliner, her father’s weak voice wobbled across the room.

  “Yonie Hashbya? By all means, you’ll take him, Edna. Here’s your chance for quite a ketch. That man is the salt of the earth. You better take him.”

  Short of breath, he halted, laid back against the headrest of the recliner. Touched by her father’s weakness, Edna told him soberly that she would. She would allow him to come see her on the evening of the twenty-first. Fannie cut another slice of coffee cake.

  “Well, alright. Emergency taken care of. Right, Sadie?”

  “I would say so.”

  “You’ll write to him?” her mother asked, anxiously.

  “Yes. I will. I’ll try that first date if that’s what you think I should do.”

  Her father smiled, her mother looked pleased, but Sadie and Fannie walked like puppets when they left. As if they were being forced into something they could barely carry out.

  The buggy fairly bulged with their outraged conversation the whole way home. Their parents were too old-fashioned to try and make Edna enjoy a date she never wanted in the first place. They couldn’t stick them together like Legos, there was no way that strong-willed Edna was going to date poor Yonie. It was the worst match in the history of romance.

  Edna was not the type to let love happen by giving herself up. She knew her mind immediately, and her whole mind was taken up with that waspish Emery Hostetler.

  “You know, she acted shocked that we were let in on her little secret.”

  “What she sees in him, I’ll never know. He’s skinny, walks around like a banty rooster. It’s just how Edna is. Contrary. If I can’t have him, I don’t want anyone.”

  “It’s just too deep.”

  The horse slowed to a walk, the road turning slightly uphill.

  “Hey, get this thing moving. I have laundry to do. Chip finally fixed my washer.”

  Sadie opened the window, slapped the horse with the reins, and said, “Mark my words, that date is going to be a disaster.”

  CHAPTER 9

  EDNA, OF COURSE, NEVER HEARD HER SISTERS’ DIRE PREMONITION, which was a good thing, the way she battled for weeks, staunchly determined to meet this thing head-on.

  When the day finally arrived, she ignored the sinking of all her resolve, showered, dressed carefully in the new rose-colored dress she had sewed in the latest fabric, a light black sweater for the evening that was bound to be carrying hints of early spring. She combed her hair with a bit more care than usual, sprayed it liberally with hairspray, before adjusting her white covering. She felt pretty, even if the result was not what she’d hoped. The dress was too vivid, too rose-colored. She’d tried too hard.

  Her parents nodded their approval, a spark in her father’s old, tired eyes. His health had improved, but the pneumonia had taken away more of his already waning strength. Her mother told her she looked very pretty in that new dress, and she hoped she would enjoy her evening.

  “Thank you, Mam. I think I will.”

  She was ready at 6:00. The house was cleaned up, the dishes put away, Trixie on her father’s chair. Enda scanned the floor and the rugs for telltale dark spots and was relieved to find none.

  When a horse-drawn buggy finally appeared, Edna was taken aback at the beauty of the horse. Black, high-stepping, the buggy gleaming.

  Well.

  She went to the barn, in the traditional way, to help him unhitch. It was a lovely evening, the sun already setting the sky on fire with the beautiful colors of orange, blue, and yellow, the breezes carrying a hint of flowers, new earth, and developing plants.

  He was about her height. They were both short. He was very short for a man. He stood on tiptoe to run the reins through the ring mounted on the harness.

  “Good evening, Edna.”

  He turned, and his face was an open book, pleasure written in joyous paragraphs. She took his proffered hand, shook it, and returned his greeting.

  “Hello, Jonathan.” She couldn’t say Yonie.

  He waved away the formality. “Oh, just call me Yonie.”

  She smiled, met his eyes. Hidden behind the heavy lenses, surrounded by sturdy black plastic, they were only small indentations in his round face. His nose was quite prominent, his mouth round, like his eyes. He was clean-shaven, his hair cut well, so that was something.

  “So, did you want to go somewhere?” he asked, turning to lead the horse through the door and into an empty stall.

  She waited till he reappeared.

  “You hadn’t indicated anything when you wrote, so I thought we’d stay here, if that’s alright.”

  “Certainly. Of course.”

  He walked over to the buggy, reached behind the seat and produced a wrapped box, complete with the most beautiful arrangement of ribbons and bows she had ever seen. She lifted her hands in delight. He gestured for her to follow him to the porch where he held out the box to her.

  “My goodness!” she breathed.

  “For you, Edna,” he said, handing it over with so much pride, he was fairly bursting. Edna found this strangely endearing, and took the package with genuine feeling.

  “Thank you. You shouldn’t have done this. It’s too much.”

  He giggled. Edna didn’t know men could make such a feminine sound.

  The box tilted. Oh, there’s something alive in here, she thought. Then she noticed the breathing holes.

  The box whimpered.

  No, no. Please don’t let this be a dog. Oh please.

  But that’s exactly what it was. A Yorkshire terrier. A teacup Yorkshire terrier. Brown and black.

  All of Edna’s upbringing could not save this moment. She opened the door, unsure what else to do.

  “Um, my, um, here’s Trixie!” she said brightly, as the small dog’s keen sense of smell found her own kind, bouncing and yipping and leaving small puddles of excitement on the floor.

  The ill-concealed outrage turned her face a darker shade as she swooped to pick up the dog and carry her to the door, to set her outside less than gently.

  She saved the ribbons and bows, folded the beautiful wrapping paper, looked at the trembling dog, a portrayal of twice the work, twice the annoyance.

  She reached out to hold the puppy, forced herself to say, “He? She?”

  “You don’t like him?”

  Yonie’s face was the picture of damaged pride.

  “I do. He’s really cute.”

  The evening was endless, Edna keeping up her end of the conversation, a seesaw with her being the heaviest. It was hard work. The presence of the dog colored every word she said, as she wondered with wild desperation how she would ever manage.

  Yonie was kind, hopeful, enter
taining. He was actually a good conversationalist, but knowing this was going nowhere and never would, she could not concentrate on their talk. What was she supposed to do with the dog?

  He offered to take him back, which almost changed everything, the despair replaced by a rush of gratitude that almost felt like love.

  He didn’t ask for another date, only looked at her from the whitish-blue glare of the headlamps, thanked her for a good evening, climbed into the buggy and left. Edna turned, sighed deeply, and walked slowly back to the house.

  Then, with the night scented with budding tulips and daffodils, the new grass and overturned earth, Edna felt a deeper sense of longing, a longing for something in her life that she knew she wanted.

  To be loved by a man, the way Chip loved Fannie.

  Harley and Sadie. Her three brothers and their wives, all joined together by God the day they said, “I do.” Till death do us part.

  She supposed she’d wasted the best years of her life, waiting on Emery, but was that so wrong? Would she ever give up that hope? He was still single, so why should she?

  But she knew the futility of her thoughts. Edna pictured the evening without Emery lurking in the perimeter of her being. Yonie might have appeared different, maybe completely desirable. Oh, she had no idea.

  This business of dating and romance was too hard, like being tangled in fishing net underwater.

  She’d go on to her next job, throw herself into the work, care for her aging parents, and forget about it.

  Her message line contained two messages, the first one left by a man, saying they’d asked a niece to help out, that with milk prices what they were it was too much to pay wages to a maud, but they’d keep her in mind.

  Edna felt a sense of loss, she enjoyed the Miller family over on Route 618, their bright house and homey atmosphere.

  The second message was from, well, she wasn’t sure exactly who it was. A sister to Orva Schlabach. Would she consider housekeeping through the month of April? Something about produce and greenhouses, her brother Ben and his landscaping business, something about hardscaping.

  What in the world was hardscaping? Her message was one of those that began with “How are you? We’re having a beautiful spring day, and isn’t this weather lovely?” All those idiotic questions when she knew full well there was no way on earth she could answer them. The rambling message could have been condensed to a few quick sentences and one important question. Would she be willing to keep house for Orva and his three children, ages fourteen, nine, and six?