A Second Chance

by Linda Byler

  “Your mam is dead,” Marie said forcefully.

  “No, she’s not dead. She died. She’s an angel now. Dat said.”

  “Whatever.”

  Incredulous, Edna turned from one girl to the next.

  “So can I go barefoot?”

  Edna was at a loss. Of course, she remembered her mother’s words, or she would not have spoken of it. To say no would only bring the expected reminder that she, Edna, was not her mother, ending in disobedience. A yes would give her the advantage of her disobedience to her deceased mother’s words.

  So Edna shrugged and told her to do whatever she felt best.

  The girl stood, deep in thought, and watched Edna get down the recipe box and flip through it before sighing.

  “Guess I’ll put my socks back on. No bumblebees yet.”

  She returned to the couch and began the meticulous process of putting on the long, black socks.

  “Who put our snacks away?” Marie asked, unhappily.

  “I did.”

  “We don’t like our snacks in containers. Mam never did.”

  “You’ll learn to like it.”

  Edna kept her eyes on the recipe cards, felt the scorching look from the nine-year-old Marie.

  “You’re not our mother.”

  “No, I’m not. But I’ll be here for a month, so it’s my kitchen for the next thirty days.”

  She spoke firmly, busily flipping through the recipe box.

  “Neil won’t like it.”

  “Who’s Neil?”

  “My big brother.”

  Edna found the recipe she was looking for, or one close to her version of lasagna, so she didn’t bother answering, a shot of irritation stopping her kind answer.

  She knew Marie was lacing up her boots for combat, using her big brother as a scare tactic, and they’d barely been in the house for ten minutes.

  Little upstarts. Motherless or not, this attitude was ridiculous. Edna wanted to slap them both. Seriously, who did they think they were? Well, too bad, girlies, I can put on my own combat boots.

  “See, if you throw snacks on shelves without reclosing the bag or securing it, they go stale in a hurry.”

  “The same thing happens when you leave the lid off,” Marie retorted.

  “No kidding,” Edna said, indulging in much-needed sarcasm.

  Marie sniffed, loaded potato chips into a cupped hand, and headed for the couch. Edna’s first reaction was to stop her, but she thought better of it. Power struggles could sneak up on you, and before you knew it, you were on your knees. Let Marie have this small victory. Potato chip crumbs were not the end of the world.

  She busied herself cooking tomato sauce and ground beef, shredding cheese, boiling lasagna noodles, whistling low, only slightly aware of the girls’ whereabouts, until she felt a small figure at her elbow.

  “What are you making?” Emmylou asked.

  Edna bent to look at her, found the green eyes wistful, genuine.

  “I’m making lasagna.”

  “Mm.”

  “You like it?”

  “I do. My mam made it sometimes. My dat likes it.”

  “Good. Then we’ll have a good supper on our first evening.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  Emmylou was silent, hovered at her elbow, a small sprite of uncertainty. But it was something. A redemption from the disastrous beginning.

  The table was set, the lasagna bubbling in the oven, filling the house with its cheese and tomato goodness. Edna was tossing the salad, tentatively hoping no one would notice the browned edges on the iceberg lettuce, the wrinkled grape tomatoes she’d tried to revive in cold water, the peeled but salvageable carrot.

  Old crusts of homemade bread were turned into garlic toast, with the heels of sharp cheddar shredded on top.

  She grasped her lower lip in her teeth and willed the thick thrumming of her heart to slow when the white pickup truck with ladders attached to a silver ladder rack and a giant toolbox straddling the back bounced in the drive and pulled to a stop.

  She wiped the countertops for the fifth or sixth time, opened the oven door just as often. She heard the door of the laundry room open and close, and the rustling of clothes and shoes before turning to greet Neil, and was met with so much open hostility it took her breath away.

  She opened her mouth, closed it.

  “Hello, Edna.”

  The quiet voice of Orva Schlabach was like a benediction. A blessing.

  “How are you?” she asked, still reeling from Neil’s measured hatred.

  “O.K. I’m managing. And you?”

  “Good. I’m well, thank you. I . . . well, just made myself at home after LydiaAnn left. She was very helpful, though, getting me started.”

  “Good. She’s a wonder, that woman. Seven children at home and she’s spent more time here than anyone else, since . . .”

  His voice trailed off, unable to say what they both knew. He looked at Edna, then really looked at her in a straightforward manner, which left her exposed to wells of so much suffering, she would not have thought it possible.

  “Yes. Well, it’s . . . supper’s ready,” she said briskly, and turned away.

  Neil’s place remained empty. Orva went to the stairwell, called his name three times, then turned away.

  “He’s not hungry.”

  Edna kept her eyes lowered, bowed her head when Orva did. She thought, here we go, chalk one up for Neil.

  Edna had placed Orva at one end of the table, herself at the opposite end, opting to stay away from the wifely position to the left of the husband.

  She watched him from under her lowered lids as she ate.

  He was not tall, but of medium height, and wider in the chest and shoulders than she’d thought. With his blue denim shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, his arms were thick, heavily muscled, covered thickly in brown hair. His hair was brown, a bit wavy, cut short for a married man. His face was lean, tanned, not picture perfectly handsome, but honest, likable. A faithful face.

  She found herself drawn to his well-maintained composure, the grace and forbearance of his grief.

  He helped himself to an outrageously large chunk of the lasagna. Edna had to keep her mouth from falling open. A third of the whole pan.

  “This is so good,” he said, quietly.

  How could a man say something that fell so neatly into her expectations of almost perfect? He praised her cooking in simple language, without garnishing with flowery outbursts that were not true.

  That was all he said, before falling into his usual state of reverie, the first of many that Edna would observe. The girls ate well, chattered on about their school day in spite of preoccupied grunts from their father.

  “So, you’re staying for a month?” he asked before she served dessert.

  “That’s what they asked me to do,” she answered.

  “That’s alright. Although I don’t know what we’ll do after the month is up.”

  “We’ll see,” Edna assured him.

  His eyes found hers, questioned.

  “You have other jobs and aging parents, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  Without another word, he pushed back his chair and went out to his office, the dessert she brought out forgotten. Edna felt as if he’d slapped her.

  Marie ate half her cake before pushing back her chair, with Emmylou copying her moves. Edna stopped them both with an instruction.

  “O.K., girlies. When I’m here, let’s practice our clean up routine. You’re responsible for cleaning the table, while I wash.”

  Marie eyed her coldly.

  “We never did dishes for Mam.”

  “That’s alright. You will for me.”

  “I’m going to tell Neil.”

  “Will he mind?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then go. See what he says.”

  They clomped happily up the stairs, opened a door. Edna heard murmuring voices, running footsteps and more downstairs clomping.

&n
bsp; “He said we don’t have to. He said you’re not our boss.”

  Triumphantly, with wide grins, clearly the winners.

  Edna gauged the power-o-meter immediately. She had no chance, not with that vicious glance that meant Neil had the upper hand, not her. Well, round number one was lost. Without parental backup, she had no chance, so she let it go. Subdued, she cleared the table, scraped the dishes, then washed, polished the stove, and saved the remaining lasagna for Neil before drying the dishes and putting them away.

  She walked down to the rock garden and stood in the early evening glow of the sun sliding behind the horizon. Edna felt a sense of awe.

  Someone had spent hours designing this. She felt sad to see the amount of weeds from up close, then thought, Why not? If he didn’t like her weeding this beautiful spot, then he’d just have to come down here and tell her.

  She plucked a few tall dandelions, the yellow heads already gone to seed. She dug out chickweed and a few tall, spindly thistles, and dug into the soil with her fingertips. She found patches of vinca loaded with white blossoms that would bloom profusely in blue in a few weeks. There was ivy planted in crevasses, daylilies in lower, oblong patches, and echinacea that had barely pushed through the soil. She straightened, rubbed her back. Her eye caught a movement in the window upstairs.

  Neil.

  Well, let him go eat cold lasagna. If he didn’t eat with the family, he could eat whatever was left. She’d talk to Orva about this when she found him alone.

  More than a week passed before he walked down to the rock garden where she was still weeding, a job she tackled every evening after supper. She’d pruned the forsythia, hoed up the available mulch, and was separating the daffodil bulbs when he walked up.

  “How’s it going, Edna?”

  “Well, O.K., I guess. I need mulch, and feel bad asking for it.”

  She laughed and hid her face as she bent to retrieve forsythia cuttings.

  “You’ve done a lot of work down here.”

  “I guess I have. It’s not work, though.”

  “Order mulch. You want me to do it?”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Why don’t you sit here a while?”

  Orva pointed to the bench made of cement that was placed among the daffodils, the huge incline of stone, plants, and pathways before them.

  “O.K. My dress and hands are filthy.”

  “It’s alright. I just appreciate what you’re doing. This was Sarah’s personal oasis after she found out she had cancer. I had a landscaper come in and do it. My brother-in-law. The hill was already there, they just brought in the stone. Designed it and everything. He’s a genius.”

  This was the longest speech she had ever heard from him.

  She felt his nearness, and wished she was not covered in dirt.

  It was now or never, so she plunged into the subject of the children’s lack of manners, Neil at the helm.

  She sensed her loss before she had finished.

  “They’ve lost their mother. We have to go easy on them.”

  “But . . . You’re not helping these children, Orva. Neil frightens me with that look in his eyes.”

  “What look?” Orva asked, turning to stare at her in alarm.

  “He is so full of resentment. Of hatred. He hasn’t begun accepting or giving up what God has put in his life. Why do you allow him to stay away from the supper table? The only meal you’re all together.”

  “Sarah could make him listen. I never could.”

  “Never?”

  “Well, of course when he was younger. But not after she got sick. It was as if he wrapped himself in a shell and stayed there.”

  Edna was quiet for some time, then told him about Marie refusing to clear the table. Again, she felt him slipping away. She was losing him before she had finished talking.

  “Edna. I appreciate your concern. But these children have lost their mother. We want to do what we can to make their lives happy. Provide a quiet and restful atmosphere in the house so they can find peace.”

  Edna drew a sharp breath. She wanted to shake him, pound her fists on that solid chest. Children did not thrive on total lack of discipline, to be allowed to cater to their own whims, obedient parents jogging after them, and willing to hand over whatever it was that made them happy.

  He was wrong.

  But it was not up to the maud to correct him. She was on her own. If she wanted to change anything she’d have to work on it by her wily little self.

  Without another word, she rose and walked slowly up to the house to find Neil in the kitchen, his head in the refrigerator. He’d already eaten two cold burgers.

  Edna was still hopping mad, and she had no intentions of letting these two men get away with this.

  “Neil.”

  No answer, not even a backing out of the refrigerator.

  “I’d appreciate it if you ate with the rest of us. Is there a reason you can give me? Surely you’re hungry when you get home from work.”

  He turned and straightened. Tall. He was as tall as his father. His eyes burned into hers.

  “You think you can come here and boss us around, you can guess again. My mam is the only person I listen to, and she’s dead. So go home and leave us alone.”

  Edna bowed low, her one foot extended.

  “Touché, Neil. You got your point across. May you enjoy many cold burgers and countless bowls of cereal.”

  She smiled.

  Neil’s eyebrows came down, only slightly, a dead giveaway to his ill-concealed bewilderment. He snorted, an exhalation of impatience.

  “Funny.”

  “I’m not funny. You’re the one who’s different. Eating all that cold junk.”

  Almost, he smiled, then caught himself.

  “I’m happy.”

  “Good. You just stay that way. Oh, and would you come down to the rock garden a few times when the mulch is delivered? I’ll pay you ten bucks an hour but for no more than an hour. Can’t afford more.”

  “Ten bucks? For what?”

  “For hauling and spreading mulch.”

  “Nah.”

  “You sure? Ten dollars? You could work five evenings. That’s fifty dollars.”

  “You can’t afford it.”

  “I know I can’t. I’m just trying to get you to like me.”

  This time, he turned away and went upstairs to his room. Edna had caught the beginning of a smile and knew he was determined to keep his armor of anger secure.

  She got the girls ready for their bath and curled up with them on the couch for a few chapters of the book they were reading together.

  She finished, then asked if they’d brushed their teeth, which resulted in a vigorous denial, heads swiveling from side to side.

  “No way. I hate brushing my teeth.”

  “Go, Marie. Please brush your teeth. O.K.?”

  “I told you. I don’t like to brush my teeth. The toothpaste is sour. It hurts my gums. It’s gross.”

  Emmylou sighed and slipped an arm beneath Edna’s. “I’m too sleepy.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Edna said, removing Emmylou’s arm, hitching herself forward to get off the couch.

  The girls did not protest as she led the way upstairs. Edna watched as they brushed and rinsed well, then followed them to their bedroom.

  They had twin beds with homemade pink and white quilts, dolls and books. Bits and pieces of beads and paper, stamping supplies, and other art supplies were scattered across the white desk.

  “Alright, hop into your beds.”

  They slid under the covers, lay stiffly on their backs, and stared at her.

  “We forgot something,” Edna said quietly.

  “Prayers,” Marie whispered.

  “That’s right. Prayers. I’ll let you do that on your own, O.K.? Good night, sleep tight.”

  “Mam helped us when we were little. Before she got sick. But she couldn’t come up the steps anymore.”

  “Stop it, Marie. I’m going
to start crying. You can’t talk about Mam. See that box of tissues? I cry in one every night. A little bit.”

  The lisping voice touched Edna, so she bent, took the child into her arms, and held her close, rocking her softly.

  “You’ll be fine, girlies. I promise. I’ll be here to care for you for more than two weeks, maybe even longer.”

  Marie sat up straight, blinking in the light of the battery lamp.

  “You are definitely bossier than our mam was. But if we can get used to your bossy ways, it’s much better having you here to pack lunches and make out supper.”

  She rolled her eyes, with emphasis on the “definitely.” Her tone was so serious, that Edna’s shoulders heaved as laughter shook her.

  Dear child. Finding her own way up the steep slippery steps of living without her mother, at the age of nine.

  And so she took Marie in her arms as well, surprised to find how hard and how long the child clung to her before she pulled away and sat back.

  She sighed a long sigh, then shook her head.

  “You know, if you did that every night, I could much easier do without my mam.”

  Edna searched her face for signs of sincerity, then reached out and touched her cheek. “Then I will.”

  “Good.”

  With that, Marie scooted herself over, stretched out and put her arms behind her head, stared at the ceiling and asked, “You think my mam has wings now? I mean, I know she’s healthy again, but every person in Heaven is an angel, right?”

  “I think you’re right. She must be very happy.”

  Marie nodded. Emmylou sniffed loudly and told her to stop that, her mother did not have wings. Her mother looked the same way she always had.

  Edna said of course she did, then tucked them in, kissed them both and said good night. She hesitated when she saw Neil’s closed door, but tapped lightly, put her mouth close to the door and said, “Good night, Neil.”

  She received no answer, and didn’t expect one.

  Orva was on the recliner in the living room, the daily newspaper held up, the battery lamp above his head creating an oval of white light.

  Edna made her way quietly to the kitchen, rinsed the few cups and plates, wiped the tabletop where Neil had spilled his chocolate milk, then got the broom from the pantry to sweep up crumbs.

  She glanced at the area of light. Her heart leaped when the paper was lowered, the crackling sound almost frightening in the quiet house.