by Linda Byler
They laughed together.
“You know, this patio always brings back memories of when Eli’s mother was alive. She was like you in many ways. Short, a bit chubby . . .”
“You surely mean fluffy, don’t you?” Edna asked, her eyes twinkling.
“Whatever. She had dark hair and yes, so sweet, just like you.”
“I’m not always sweet. Hardly ever, to be correct.”
“Oh, you are sweet. You’re perfect for Emery. He needs someone just like you. I’m so happy for you. You make a great couple. Think he’ll ask you to marry him on some romantic spot on the beach?”
A wave of despair came as unexpected as lightning, leaving her speechless. She could only concentrate on her breathing, gulping enough oxygen to stay afloat, without succumbing to the tsunami of exhaustion that left her glued to her chair. She had to grip the handle of her coffee mug to keep from dropping it.
“I don’t know. He might,” Edna said breathlessly, then smiled quickly to mask the unexplained onslaught.
She was subject to a searching look, a narrowing of dark eyes.
“Is everything alright?”
“Yes. Of course. We’re . . . I’m fine.”
“O.K. If you say so.”
“Certainly. I don’t know why you would think otherwise. We’re very happy. Being in love is so unbelievable. Just a whole new world of getting to know each other, growing together.”
Edna realized she was babbling now, so she got up to disguise her confusion, poured out her cooling coffee, and let herself into the kitchen, quietly, to refill her cup. On her return, she’d regained her sense of balance. She looked into MaryAnn’s eyes and smiled.
“Tell me about your life, Edna. Is it really true that you’ve always waited on Emery?”
“Oh yes. He was the only one for me.”
MaryAnn clasped her hands delightedly, raised her eyes to the blue skies, and sighed. “So terribly romantic, isn’t it?”
“It is. A dream come alive!” Edna gushed.
She was acting a part so well she knew she could have been a Nazi spy, a shark in a loan company, the best imitation . . . well, anything or anybody. A certain sense of power made itself known as if she held the ability to control her own destiny.
If she had said everything was fantastic, that love was everything she made herself believe it was, well then, it was.
The door swung open, and Emery appeared in clean denims and a white T-shirt, barefoot, and his hair uncombed. He was holding a mug of coffee.
He sat on Edna’s lap, the ever-present skinny arm snaking across her shoulders. A line of dried spittle ran from his mouth to his chin, with a strong whiff of last night’s flounder and crabmeat.
“How’s my best girl this morning?”
Without waiting for a reply he launched into a vivid account of his perfect night’s rest, ending with, “Man, did I sleep!”
Edna wanted to smack him. Her thigh was aching badly, the backs of her knees smashed into the woven resin chair. She shifted uncomfortably, spilled some coffee, and the color rose in her cheeks.
MaryAnn watched.
“So now, I am ready,” Emery shouted. “All I need is a half dozen eggs over easy, about ten slices of bacon and a stack of pancakes.
“What say, Edna baby?”
“Sounds good. If you’ll get off my lap, that’s what I’ll do. Make you a big breakfast.”
She smiled without looking at him.
MaryAnn watched over the rim of her coffee cup.
Breakfast was a happy affair, sitting around the oval kitchen table with eggs and bacon, large cups of coffee, fresh tree-ripened oranges and grapefruit, before the warmed casserole dish was set on the table, along with the maple syrup and homemade blueberry syrup.
“Pancakes! Wonderful! “ Emery yelled, lifting the lid of the dish and burning the tops of his fingers, then letting the lid clatter onto the tabletop.
“Ow! Man, that’s hot! Shoulda told me, Edna.”
Edna’s mouth was set in a thin line without comment.
But the sun shone, the air was balmy, laden with the scent of the ocean, the magnolia, and bougainvillea, the yellow jasmine, all dispelling any negative reaction to a less than perfect boyfriend.
Florida was magical, the days filled with anticipation of experiencing new sights and sounds, getting to know other Amish people, many of them already acquaintances.
She found herself on a rented bike, cycling everywhere, waving to friendly folks in cars, on foot, or on three-wheeled battery-operated bikes that droned past like bumblebees.
They ate seafood in restaurants, and they cooked it at home. She learned to like steamed oysters and clams in hot sauce, ate prodigious amounts of shrimp dipped in cocktail sauce and red snapper broiled and drowned in lime juice and cilantro with roasted cherry tomatoes.
MaryAnn became a dear friend and confidante. Every morning they were up early, drinking coffee and sharing their lives. Edna learned of the deep heartache and disappointment of a couple unable to have children, the dashed hopes, the desperation, until finally, they accepted “Thy will be done.”
Edna’s nose burned, her eyes filled with quick tears of sympathy as she listened to MaryAnn. She spoke honestly, sparing no details, a forthright account of inner turmoil, and a marriage that was seriously strained. They cried together, laughed together, took long walks, sat in restaurants and people watched, drank tea, and ate French fries.
Eli and Emery spent their days fishing or joining Edna and MaryAnn on the beach. Edna loved the sea, the endless expanse of blue water that met the sky on the horizon and melded into the same brilliant hue.
She loved the white sand, the tropical breeze, and all the seabirds. She waited on Emery’s proposal without thinking of the outcome.
And not once did she mention Orva Schlabach, Neil, Marie, or Emmylou. She only allowed herself to think of him, to ponder on what had occurred in the kitchen on the nights when she lay awake, her lower back bothering her. She adjusted pillows, took Advil, and lay flat on her back on the rug by the couch as she heard Emery’s deep, rattling snores.
The sleeping arrangement could not be helped. Wasn’t it her duty to call him “Lord?” To wait on him, to see to his comfort?
The good wife. In the years she had been a maud, she’d seen plenty, and instinctively knew when the wife truly loved her hardworking husband, cared for him without self, Edna’s own highest aspiration.
And so she would practice to be that woman before marriage, to practice goodwill and submission.
She lay awake and tried not to listen to the rattling snores from the bedroom, while mulling over and over the feeling for Orva, the almost spiritual connection to the essence of him. He was everything Emery was not.
But why? Emery was a good man, an uncomplicated, overactive, loud, painstakingly honest man. She assured herself of this.
Until that fateful day.
For the first time, she’d allowed MaryAnn to glimpse her own hidden turmoil, to take stock of her soul-searching. It started by MaryAnn asking her where she had been working and who was taking her place.
“I was with the widower, Orva Schlabach. He hired Minerva Yoder, a good friend of mine, until I return.”
MaryAnn watched Edna’s face, saw the misery creeping across her features like darkness enveloping a twilit evening. She watched Edna bite down on her lower lip, watched the eyelids cover her eyes, the windows to everyone’s deepest emotions. Edna got to her feet abruptly and tossed her coffee across the railing, then returned to sit on a hassock, all agitation and suppressed emotion.
MaryAnn said quietly. “So that’s not good.”
“Oh, it’s O.K. Why wouldn’t it be? Nothing wrong with that,” Edna replied, but wouldn’t meet her eyes.
MaryAnn gave a short laugh.
“Obviously, there is.”
“What do you mean?”
Startled, Edna’s eyes flew open, found MaryAnn’s, and was caught off guard.
&nb
sp; “It seems to rattle you, either the fact that Minerva is there, or just the fact that you had to leave Orva.”
“Oh, stop it. It’s nothing like that. I just pity the little girls. And Neil is a problem. He’s fifteen, bending all the rules. Orva can’t do anything with him since his mother passed away. I just . . . well, it’s complicated.”
MaryAnn believed her but knew this morning was only a glimpse, only a small part of Edna’s inner churning.
And she felt a great sympathy.
Edna walked to the little café named “Just Coffee,” slid into a booth, and ordered a bagel. They made their own here, huge, chewy, and crusty, with flavored cream cheese so good she always asked for extra.
An iced coffee would rev her up, prepare her for the long bike ride to the bookstore with Emery.
“Hi! How are you, Emery?”
The waitress stopped at the booth next to hers, the high back dividing the diners well, giving them the maximum amount of privacy.
“Great. Doing great.”
“Still having a good time?”
“Oh, you bet.”
“So how’s your girlfriend holding up?” the waitress asked, laughing.
“Oh, you know. Whatever. I told you she’s got some age on her, and she’s on the fluffy side, you know.”
The waitress giggled.
“Tell you what. You want a good time? I’ll ask my Dad to take us out for shark. He’s got a forty-footer. Speedboat.”
“Really? That would be absolutely the greatest. Sure I’ll go.”
“The girlfriend?”
“Nah. She’s got a sunburn. Gets motion sickness. We can’t have her puking all over the boat.”
Edna’s face felt as if it would go up in flames. She reached over, grabbed her purse, and slunk out the door, her mind completely blank save for the fact that she had to get away, the more distance she put between herself and that café, the better.
Some age on her? Sunburned? Puking? And the improperly familiar way she’d spoken to him, calling him by his first name. Surely this wasn’t their first overly friendly encounter.
Edna walked. She balled her fists and stalked on leaden feet. She ran, jogged, her skirt flapping, her purse banging against her knees, with her mind still blank and her heart like a stone in her chest. Her back was soaked with perspiration, and her chest was heaving, so she found a park bench by a pavilion, hidden from view by the magnificent growth of magnolia. She wiped her face with the hem of her skirt and allowed herself to calm down first, hoping for rational thoughts and the dignity to think this over in a mature, Christian way.
What would Jesus do? That wise, old question.
If a man sins against you seventy times seven, thou shalt forgive him. Slowly, the admittance came. She could forgive him and would do just that. But she could never marry him. He had not one ounce of respect for her. Couldn’t have, talking like that to a waitress.
Some age on her. Really. She may as well be a swaybacked old mare, where he pulled down her mouth to pronounce her long in the teeth.
She was hurt, furious.
Slowly, then, the fog lifted. The mist that had always created a sense of uncertainty, an obscuring of a clear pathway. No, she could not marry Emery.
And perhaps would never marry Orva, either. Was that so terrible? She would not decide her own destiny, or grasp desperately for what she wanted or didn’t want.
She would merely live, appreciate the sunshine in Florida, the magical days of vacation, soak up the sea and the sand and the palm trees and wait on God’s wonderful love and leading.
She would bare her soul to MaryAnn, who was a dear and kindhearted woman who knew suffering in her own life. And she would understand.
Edna would now understand herself. She would be completely truthful with herself and others. She had never loved Emery. Not since the first date.
And with a blinding pain of reality, she knew she loved Orva with all her heart, her whole being. He was her soul mate, but these things were all in God’s Hands, and not her own.
CHAPTER 16
THE RIDE TO THE BOOKSTORE DID NOT HAPPEN, EDNA SAYING SHE had a headache (how handy that old malady came in), her sunburn bothered her a lot, so if it were alright, she’d stay here.
He was concerned. Kind.
Edna could not meet his eyes. She turned her face away.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I told you, I have a headache.”
With that, he left, leaving Edna alone in the house. Harvey had gone to the park to play shuffleboard, Eli and MaryAnn off somewhere, who knew, the way those two found a new and different adventure every day. Edna lay on the couch with a glass of ice water beside her, a gigantic sour mood descending like a blanket that threatened to smother her. Self-pity disguised itself as martyrdom, the “why me?” After all the years of service and hard work, why couldn’t God be more merciful to her? Here she was, a thousand miles away from her parents and Sadie and Fannie, this awkward situation flung in her face, and she did not deserve it. She’d always tried to do what was right, prayed to be forgiven for her judgmental attitude, knew her faults, and tried to overcome them.
She thought of Eli and MaryAnn, then. They did not pity themselves, or question the fact that they were childless. They just went ahead with their lives and made the best of what God handed them.
Life was mysterious. God was, for sure.
You just couldn’t figure everything out on your own. If Orva developed feelings for Minerva, then that was her signal to be just like Eli and MaryAnn, to be an inspiration to others by accepting her single status.
And what was wrong with that, being single?
This solid thought came crashing down when she thought of Orva, his sad eyes, his, oh, just everything. The way he talked, the way he poured a cup of coffee, the way he sat on a kitchen chair, leaning back and crossing one foot over the other, with his wide shoulders and heavy arms, the way his face lit up at the sight of Emmylou.
Somehow, she’d have to shed all that like a winter coat, and simply divest herself of the warmth and beauty of her feelings for him.
Her head was pounding now, so she rolled over, sat up, put her head in her hands and groaned. She was reaching down for her glass of ice water when the door opened, and Harvey stepped in. His face was red from the heat, his breathing quick and fast as if he’d been hurrying.
“Edna, I’m supposed to deliver this message to you. You worked for this Schlabach fellow? A widower?”
“Yes?”
“There has been an accident. A young boy is in critical condition, and this Schlabach wants you to know.”
“A boy? His boy? Neil?”
“I don’t know.”
Edna felt the color drain from her face and felt the agony of being so far away when Orva needed her.
“Thank you for telling me. I’ll call. If he needs me, I’ll return.”
“Alright. You’re O.K. then?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine.”
Edna called his office number, received his business voice mail, as she knew she would, and left a brief message saying she’d return if he needed her. She left the telephone number of the house where she was staying.
Then she sat by the phone, wringing her hands, chewing her fingernails, pacing, returning to sit by the table and stare out the window, waiting for a ring. Just one ring, to let her knew what really happened.
She walked out to the back of the house, paced the yard, told herself everything would be alright, which was followed by the anxious thought of how Orva would deal with the death of his son, less than a year after Sarah.
She stopped, listened. Was that a ring?
She hurried to the back door, but it was nothing. She told herself Orva was at the hospital. He wouldn’t call any time soon.
Where were the little girls? Was Minerva good to them? Did they have to go to school as if nothing had happened? Edna felt a moment’s panic, wanting to be there, but she couldn’t without a pho
ne call from Orva.
Emery did not get in till the sun had already slid behind the horizon. He was sunburned, exhausted, and went straight to the shower. He would have disappeared into his bedroom if Edna had not waylaid him in the hallway.
“We need to talk.”
“We do?” The mockery plain as day.
She felt an utter calm. She spoke quietly, unhurriedly.
She was going home. She was breaking up, ending the relationship. She said nothing about his conversation with the coffee shop waitress, to spare him the embarrassment. If she forgave him, then why rub it into his face? They needed to part on peaceful terms. Childish accusations just weren’t a part of this.
Emery seemed to become angry at first, then relieved.
“But I did love you. I do. I still do.”
Edna bristled but kept back the harsh words.
“We had a good thing for a while, Emery, but there’s no sense committing our lives to each other without the real thing, which I think we both know is sadly lacking.”
She told him then about the accident, and that she was needed at home. His eyes narrowed, and suspicion crossed his face.
“So it’s Orva?”
To admit her longing would only serve to infuriate him, to deny it would be a lie, so she merely shook her head.
“He needs me. The girls need me. Neil is like my own son. He’s a troubled boy who was deeply affected by the loss of his mother. I have to see him, if he lives that long.”
Emery nodded. His eyes softened. Edna could almost have loved him.
“Alright, Edna. I have to let you go. I’ll get over it.”
You already are, Edna thought. You always were.
There was nothing left to say.
They sat in silence, both staring at the floor, both aware of the fact that more should be said, such as discussions of past feelings, gratitude, or the possibility of a reconciliation. But there was nothing either one could bring to the surface.
Edna got up, went out to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, anything to get away. Emery sighed, got up, and let himself out the front door. Edna listened, then went to the window to watch him walk away, his hands in his pockets, his head bent.