A Second Chance

by Linda Byler

  “It proved to be the opposite.”

  They sat together in shared disappointment, in dashed hopes. They roused when there was a tap on the door, followed by a slight girl who appeared much too young to be an RN.

  “Hi,” she said quietly.

  “How are you?” Orva sked, with a genuine concern, getting to his feet.

  “I’m fine. How’s Neil today? I’m just coming on to the three o’clock shift, so I’ll be in and out. My name is Kerry.”

  “I’m Orva, Neil’s father.”

  He turned to Edna. “This is Edna, my housekeeper.”

  Edna smiled, said hello in a subdued voice. Housekeeper? Was that what she was to him? Why not friend?

  But this was no time to think of herself. It was all about Neil and Orva, the pain of enduring his wrong choices, of bravely going ahead to face the unknown with his son lying so near death at such a tender age.

  She watched the girl tap a keyboard, watch a screen, take Neil’s temperature and blood pressure, before adjusting the light blanket that lay across his chest.

  “Is he still running a temperature?” Orva sked.

  “Yes, he is.”

  There was no more information offered, and nothing for either of them to do but let her go. Questions would have to wait till his doctors came in, which would not be till morning.

  Edna was content to stay here with Orva in this room with Neil.

  She wanted the world to go away, and leave them cocooned in this quiet sanctuary where everything seemed possible. Everything. When he did not speak, she remained quiet, comfortably aware of his presence, the nearness of him.

  “Are your parents allowed in?” she asked.

  “They’ll be in later. Sarah’s parents, too.”

  Edna nodded. She watched Orva get up, lay the back of his hand on Neil’s cheek, then step away, before turning to go back.

  “Neil. It’s Dat. I just want you to know I love you. I haven’t told you since you were a little boy, but I do. I want you to wake up and get better. I need you, Neil.”

  He waited, watching his son’s face with so much heartbreaking concentration as if Neil would blink or lift the corners of his mouth in response. When nothing happened, Orva sighed deeply and walked back to his chair, sinking into it like an old man.

  Edna couldn’t help it; she placed a hand on his arm.

  “It’s O.K., Orva. He’ll be alright.”

  “If only I could feel that way. I’m so afraid I’ll never get another chance to tell him I love him. I’ve been too hard on him. Too jealous of Sarah’s tender care and concern. No one knows how I resented it. In my mind, she babied him terribly.”

  “It’s alright. Not unusual at all. I’ve seen it plenty of times.” Orva nodded.

  “You want coffee?” he asked suddenly.

  Blissful thought. A numbing sleepiness had crept up as she relaxed, and she realized how weary she really was after her long bus ride.

  “I would love a cup of coffee.”

  She walked to the door with him and was rewarded by Orva reaching out to open it, then stepping back to allow her to go first.

  “Which way?”

  She looked up at him and found his eyes, a light of tenderness in them that brought a wave of newfound confidence in her.

  The cafeteria was down two floors, to the right, then left, a confusing array of doors and lights and hallways filled with a variety of nurses and doctors and visitors dressed in winter coats carrying bags of gifts or clothing, or clutching vases of flowers, their faces a mixture of smiles or frowns, frightened expressions or bored ones. Some of them acknowledged Edna and Orva’s presence with nods or tentative lifts of the corners of their mouths, but mostly they stared straight ahead as if they were invisible.

  They walked through a door with the lighted cafeteria sign, found a table, and sat across from each other. Edna thought wryly how she would never enter a restaurant again without sizing up the height of the divider between booths, a painful memory that seared her confidence, even now.

  But she said nothing to Orva.

  Some things were best hidden away, especially the ones that made you feel like a loser, a real bona fide victim.

  Orva found her eyes on his, and asked quickly.

  “Tell me, are you still O.K. with Emery? In spite of not being engaged?”

  Edna shook her head.

  A waitress appeared. She was short, round as a barrel, her curly hair like a metal sponge, and her tablet propped on her protruding stomach.

  “Something to drink?”

  “Coffee for both.”

  Orva turned back to Edna.

  “Tell me. What happened?”

  Edna sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  “Tell me.” More urgent now.

  “I don’t know if I want to.”

  “Edna, I have to know.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes on hers, intently now.

  “You know why.”

  The waitress arrived with two cups of coffee, heavy white mugs that smelled wonderful. Without further conversation, she set down a white dish containing small plastic containers of half-and-half, then left without asking if they’d like to order food.

  Edna took a deep breath, then launched into a vivid account of her stay in Florida, the unraveling of all her dreams. Orva watched her face intently, his eyes going from soft to angry, then back to soft as he absorbed her words of indecision, of self-blame and the Herculean attempt at love by determination, followed by the bitter scene in the coffee shop.

  Their coffee cups long empty, they remained seated as words poured from Edna’s mouth. She finished up with the Lancaster companion on the bus home, his words of warning about second marriages, confusion clouding the emotion in her eyes.

  Orva shook his head.

  “That is a long story, Edna. And one worth repeating. Thank you for sharing all of it with me. You have absolutely been on quite the journey. So, do you feel God has led you so far, only to leave you?”

  “You know, Orva. I have no idea. I only know that I have perfect peace by not wanting anything right now. If God wants me to remain single for the rest of my life, then I’ll be happy in that situation.”

  “Will you?”

  “Yes. I reached that conclusion in Florida, complete with fireworks and a marching band.”

  Orva laughed. “I love your mind. Your way of talking.” Edna smiled at him, lifted one eyebrow, and asked if that was all.

  “Your apple pie isn’t bad.”

  He sobered, then told her quietly that he appreciated her, for so much more, but he wouldn’t rush anything. Neil was the one they would think about now, and his recovery, if there was one. The heaviness on his mind lowered his thick shoulders, followed by a long sigh, his eyes gazing off to the right as if he could find an answer in the noisy, crowded cafeteria.

  Back in Neil’s room, there was no change, his swollen face in exactly the same position as it had been.

  Toward evening, when birds dipped and swooped in the lavender skyline dotted with the jagged outline of buildings, his parents arrived, with Sarah’s parents following a few minutes later.

  Introductions were made, with tears and hugs and well wishes. Edna felt an immediate connection to these loving people, who seemed accustomed to comforting their son and did it easily, genuinely.

  Nurses came and went, voices were quieted, then resumed. As twilight came, they all agreed, it was time to go, and Orva and Edna could return with them. More tears, the bending over Neil, touching his face, speaking kind words of love and encouragement.

  When it was Edna’s turn she said, “Good night, Neil. I don’t have a door to tap on the way I normally do, but good night anyway. I love you.”

  At home, the girls threw themselves at Edna, clung to her with all their strength, told her there would be no more Florida vacations for her, ever. Laughing, Edna folded them in her arms and held them, rocking them back and forth, but found herself fighting tear
s.

  What a difference since that first time, she thought, when they were all belligerence and rebellion.

  Minerva left in a huff of indignation and a train of suitcases, thanking Orva coldly for her check and telling the girls goodbye with no sentiment.

  Emmylou shook her head wisely.

  “She won’t have much hair left by the time she’s old with all the stuff in the bathroom.”

  Marie corrected her, saying half of those bottles were full of stuff to make your hair healthy, then she turned to Edna and wanted to hear about Florida.

  They made grilled cheese sandwiches and opened a bag of potato chips, mixed a pitcher of grape juice, and sat around the kitchen table till Edna said she had to call a driver and go home to her parents.

  The girls protested, but Orva hushed them, saying her parents were old and lived alone, and they needed her.

  He followed her to the laundry room as the headlights moved up the driveway, swept her into an embrace so tender, yet so firm and sure. It was the assurance she needed, the perfect wordless way of saying, “We are more than friends and you are so much more than a maud, and I will be here for you, today and tomorrow.”

  She laid her head on his wide, comfortable chest, wrapped her arms around his waist, and closed her eyes for only a moment. She marveled at the difference in Orva’s embrace. It was so perfect, like finding the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. His arms around her were a completion of something left undone.

  She found the house dark, her parents having gone to bed. She let herself in quietly, then sniffed, grimaced, and groaned inwardly. What was that smell?

  Well, nothing to do about it this late at night. She was numb with exhaustion. She found the battery lamp, made her way across the kitchen before she heard, “Edna, is that you?”

  “Yes, Mam. I’m home.”

  “Wait. I want to see you before you go to bed.”

  “It will have to wait, O.K.? I’m exhausted.”

  “Alright. You don’t have to get up early.”

  “I won’t.”

  Enda took a quick hot shower, then fell into bed and to sleep so quickly she barely remembered covering herself with the quilt. She woke to morning light, a soft, gray fog that blanketed the brilliance of the sun, the white of the light cover of snow, even on the branches of the maple trees closest to the house.

  She heard the banging of pans, the coffeepot, doors opening and closing, her parents, usual morning routine. She stretched, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

  When she did get up, it was close to nine o’clock, and she was ravenous. She could hardly scramble eggs fast enough, or butter toast with enough speed. She found herself nibbling on the crust of a loaf of bread, her mouth watering as she worked.

  Between bites, she told her parents about Florida, her breakup with Emery, and her decision to be happy being single if that was what God wanted. She told them about Neil, in soft, quiet tones.

  Her parents were attentive, kind, cheerfully accepting her decision, and glad to think of having her with them as they aged. Edna nodded, and kept the secret of Orva all to herself, reveling in holding something so precious and so intimate. Her eyes glowed with an inner light; her cheeks bloomed with rosy color, her tanned face became golden, her dark hair streaked with highlights from the sun.

  She whistled as she cleaned. She found everything in lamentable shape, the sink in the bathroom dotted with toothpaste, the mirror splattered with unnamable dots of debris. The commode was disgusting, but she gamely swabbed and scrubbed, and wiped away until everything shone with cleanliness and smelled of Clorox and bathroom cleaner.

  As she backed out of the bathroom, on her hands and knees, Trixie bounced up, cocked her head sideways, and yapped a few short bursts of sound.

  Edna turned her head and eyed Trixie levelly.

  “Git!” she muttered.

  A few more yaps that sounded like “Rack, rack.”

  “Come here, Trixie.”

  Her father clapped his hands.

  Edna got to her feet, grabbed the bucket of soapy water and turned to find Trixie walking calmly into the bathroom, across her wet floor.

  “Hey!” Edna yelled. “Come here, Trixie. Come. Get over here, you little fleabag.”

  Her father laid his head back, his eyes squeezed shut, and his large frame shook with the force of his mirth. He leaned forward, wiped his eyes and said, “Uh, ho.”

  “I mean it, Dat. I don’t like her, and you think it’s funny.”

  It was good to be home, good to hear her father’s laugh, to know they had been well taken care of while she was away. She knew Sadie and Fannie would do their share in the future, as well. Her thoughts rambled as she cleaned, dusted, washed windows and washed the porch floor with a broom and a bucket of soapy water.

  The fog dotted everything with cold moisture. Drops formed on the edge of the spouting and hung like gray teardrops. Tree branches cut through the gloom like a ghostly web, as cars moved slowly on the highway. Starlings were lined up like so many small crows, their raucous cries from the barely visible lines strung between heavy poles. Sparrows twittered in the forsythia bushes along the fence.

  She finished cleaning the porch, then went to check the many birdfeeders that hung from low branches.

  Edna thought they needed refilling, so she took them all down and washed them in soapy water, then dried them.

  “Ach, Edna,” her mother lamented. “You’d wash the porch roof if we let you. Now why did you clean the bird feeders?”

  “They needed it. Don’t you know it should be done occasionally? Birds can get diseases from caked-on moldy birdseed.”

  “You think? Look at this, Edna. My begonias will be blooming in a few weeks.”

  She pointed to a large plastic pot containing a bedraggled plant that appeared to be resurrected on one side, the other side waxy and almost leafless.

  “Wow, Mom. Isn’t that something? You were always so good at overwintering plants. Good for you.”

  Her mother’s face shone with her daughter’s praise.

  Now where did that come from? Edna thought. She had meant to tell her mother she should turn her large plants, so they would grow more evenly, but had said what came from the goodness she felt within.

  Was it the acceptance of her lot in life? Or was it being freed from the hard work of trying to love Emery, keeping that artificial smile on her face until she thought she would be permanently disfigured? Or was it the quiet promise of being Orva’s wife, a mother to his children?

  He’d go slow, he said. Which was a promise, wasn’t it?

  Elmer Stoltzfus’s words cut through her dreams, separating the wishes from reality. He had warned of second marriages with children.

  But did anyone feel about the person they married the way she felt about Orva? Nothing could be too hard, and nothing could tear her away from him, or separate them. If love was wanting to be with him every single minute of her life, to search the light in his eyes, to pour him a cup of coffee and wait for that smile, then she had been blessed by God indeed.

  She had already won over the girls, and could easily live in the same house as Neil, even if he often chose to ignore her.

  Well, always, actually. He disliked her, if she was truthful. But then, he disliked everyone, so she could accept that. It didn’t matter, so long as he was ok. She just wanted him back to his healthy self.

  She hitched up old Dob after the fog thinned and a slow rain began to fall. He stood as quietly as he always did, then backed faithfully between the shafts when she said, “Back, Dob,” while she lifted them high, then lowered them to insert the points into the leather loops on the harness.

  She attached the traces and the britchment to the shafts, unfolded the reins, and climbed into the buggy before slapping his sizable rump with one rein, saying “Gittup, Dob.”

  The horse moved off in his easy pace, his head straight out, held comfortably without being reined up, as the strap that was attached to the bri
dle and clipped to the shoulder pad of the harness kept it up.

  Her father thought them too cruel and never used one.

  She kept to the shoulder of the road to allow cars to pass comfortably, always sensitive to irate motorists who thought horses and buggies an unnecessary nuisance.

  She reached down to check if she had her shopping list in her purse, found it, and then kept her attention on the road. Old Dob was certainly not what you would call a handful, she thought wryly. This horse had to be twenty-five years old.

  She pulled gently on the right rein to turn him to Yoder’s Bulk Foods, pulled up to the hitching rack, climbed out, reached under the seat for the neck rope, and tied Dob to the rail. She was the only team, which was unusual, but the foggy morning likely kept people off the road.

  She said good morning to everyone she met, then pulled a grocery cart from the long line and got out her list.

  Cornmeal. Brown sugar.

  She headed for the items in the baking aisle, selected a five-pound bag of each, before moving on to the refrigerated cases for a bucket of lard.

  Her mother fried all the cornmeal mush in lard, no matter who tried to change her. Olive oil, canola oil, Crisco, all of it was dismissed by a downward wave of her hand and soft snort.

  Whoever heard of frying mush in olive oil? Who said it was better for you? They didn’t know. Not until they ended up with cholesterol levels completely off the charts, Edna thought, shaking her head as she set the white, plastic bucket in the cart.

  But some things could not be changed, and lard was one of them.

  “Hello!”

  A hearty voice boomed behind her. She turned to find Emery’s brother Marvin, the oldest in the family, a tall, overweight man with a booming voice.

  “Oh. Marvin. Good morning.”

  “So how’s it going, Edna? I’m surprised to see you back already.”

  “Emery is still in Florida.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I came back to be with Orva Schlabach’s children. His oldest boy was in a car accident.”

  “Yes. I heard about that. Poor man. Seems as if he just lost his wife, and now this.”

  Edna felt the heat rising her face.

  “So, you getting married?” He laughed good-naturedly. “I thought to myself that if Emery proposes, he’ll do it right. Take his girlfriend to the sunny South, right?”