A Second Chance

by Linda Byler

  The tutor stayed until eight, then had a driver pick her up. Edna walked out with her to pay the driver, intrigued by this wisp of a girl who was so ill at ease around adults, but perfectly confident with children.

  Her name was Carla. Carla Yoder. Edna knew her Uncle Daniel and Aunt Linda but was not acquainted with her immediate family.

  She would be back Thursday, she said.

  Orva said he was glad Marie was getting the extra help she needed. Then stuck his head behind his daily paper and continued with his reading.

  Edna put the girls to bed and listened to Marie’s complaints about having a tutor.

  “But you seemed to enjoy her. She was laughing, and so were you. And Emmylou.”

  Emmylou nodded, giggling.

  “I was not laughing,” Marie insisted, the customary pout put into place.

  “Alright,” Edna agreed.

  With that, Marie seemed satisfied to have the upper hand, to have put Edna back into the place she belonged. But Edna was learning how important it was to Marie, that she stayed one step behind her, and things went smoothly. Needing to be in control of any given situation was perhaps the result of having been thrust into the pain and fear of her mother’s passing at such a young age. At any rate, Edna was learning about stepping back, letting go.

  Tonight, however, she had a plan for Orva and that newspaper. She smiled to herself, then put the plan into action.

  Neil strolled nonchalantly into the kitchen where Edna was washing dishes and leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, one foot slung over the other. He had kicked his sneakers into a corner of the laundry room, and his white crew socks seemed almost endearing, like a schoolboy’s.

  He went to the pantry when no one acknowledged his presence, brought out the chocolate cake and cut a huge square, placed it in a cereal dish, and poured milk over it. The piece he put in his mouth was so big he had to angle it sideways to get it in, and then chewed like a chipmunk with both cheeks full.

  Edna shook her head.

  “What?”

  “You have all evening to finish the cake.”

  “It’s better this way.”

  Edna smiled. She wished he would meet her eyes, smile back, but she had to be content with a dip of his head and another load of chocolate cake going into his mouth.

  When he came up for air, he looked at Marie.

  “Who’s your girl?”

  “What girl?”

  “That girl that was here.”

  “You mean Carla?”

  “Who is she?”

  “I don’t know. Carla. She’s my tutor.”

  Emmylou looked up from her coloring book.

  “Her name is Carla Yoder. Marie can’t do arithmetic, so she’s helping.”

  Edna told him her parents’ names, from over around Nappanee.

  Neil acted as if he hadn’t heard a word she said, so she left it at that. For him to be hanging out in the kitchen with her was miraculous enough, so if he chose to ignore her, it was fine with her.

  She cast him a glance of appraisal. He was no longer the skinny lank-haired adolescent she had met before she married Orva. He was developing into a tall young man, widening in the chest and shoulders, his hair cut short, with well-shaped eyebrows. If the hooded eyes and perpetual pout were replaced with an open, happy expression, he would be quite a good-looking young man.

  She found herself vouching for him, hoping he would be able to rise above everything God had handed him from the moment of his birth to the loss of his mother, and now, the acceptance of stepmother. Adding to that, there was the accident that had scarred him, the peer pressure of the company he kept, and working with a father he could barely tolerate.

  It was a full load for one so young.

  Neil needed a change of heart. A spiritual awakening with Christ knocking on the door of his conscience. Perhaps she was barred from his confidence, but she could pray. She could beg God to spare him the way Hannah had carried on in the temple, begging God to give her a son.

  Since she’d found the origin of his birth in the chest in the attic, she felt a deep connection to this motherless young man, with a father he might never meet. He’d been forced to accept Orva as a stand-in, and now her to take the place of his beloved Mam.

  Well, she would do her best. A visit to the kitchen was a giant step in the right direction. The chocolate cake disappearing at that speed was nothing short of astounding.

  CHAPTER 22

  SOMETHING WAS MISSING IN HER RELATIONSHIP WITH ORVA, EDNA decided. She no longer felt as close to him, not wanted to tell him everything, feeling free to express herself on every subject she chose, or anything that worried her.

  It was Neil, that chest in the attic. It was Orva’s disapproval of him and the fact that he was unwilling or unable to talk to him. All of the inappropriate connections snowballed in Edna’s mind until she could think of nothing else.

  It was time to talk.

  She waited till the children were in bed, the way she always did, then simply sat beside him on the sofa and began to talk. She told him about the chest in the attic, nervously toying with the belt on her robe.

  “I was snooping, I suppose. A locked chest was simply more than I could stay away from. I hope you won’t be upset.”

  For a long moment, Orva was silent, staring at the opposite wall with a white, stricken face. The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, the pendulum swinging inside the glass door, catching the light as it swung from left to right.

  “So now you think less of me for marrying a single mother,” he ground out, his voice gravelly with emotion.

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Why did you do it?” he asked, still staring at the opposite wall.

  “Orva, believe me. I had no idea. I was curious, is all it was. I know I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

  He shifted his weight, adjusted a pillow. Still, he would not look at her.

  “No need to be sorry. It’s done now.”

  Edna did not know how to answer to this, so she stayed silent.

  Orva breathed deeply, shook his head, and began.

  “Alright, Edna. We’ve come this far; I’ll just go ahead and tell you everything. If you’re willing to hear.”

  Now he did look at her, with a veil drawn across his normally expressive eyes.

  “I am. Just tell me all of it,” Edna answered, searching to find an expression of love or approval.

  “It all started when I was a small boy. I guess.”

  Here he hesitated, leaned forward and put his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. Edna waited, then reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing in a soothing motion.

  “I don’t know if I can tell you this.”

  “I’m willing to listen.”

  Still he would not say what was on his mind. Edna simply waited. He sat up, leaned against the back of the couch, slumped against it as if the weight of what he had to say pressed him, folded him in half.

  “When I was probably seven or eight, I had an uncle who . . . Well, he did things to me. This went on for many years.”

  He drew in a deep breath, then leaned forward, his shoulders heaving as rough, painful sobs came from his throat.

  Horrified, Edna was shocked into silence. She could not move, could not touch him or comfort him.

  “It’s a long story, Edna,” he said softly, between sobs.

  She waited again.

  “My father was a workaholic. You know, the type of person who is driven from early in the morning till late at night, so he was an absent father. I don’t remember very much about him when I was growing up.

  “My mother was close to this uncle, her favorite brother. So I didn’t think there was anyone who would believe me or care about me, so I had to be strong enough to stand on my own two feet. I fought with every ounce of my strength and remained free. But I was never free.

  “Not for one minute of my life.”

  Here Orva s
topped. A shudder passed through him.

  “The only reason I grew up to be a normal person on the outside was on account of my upbringing. You gave yourself up, and did what you had to do, and went through your days working, going to church.

  “By the time I started the rumschpringa years I knew I was not worthy to ask any girl to be my wife. God seemed very far away, almost like an afterthought, a fierce being in the sky that would strike me to hell when I died. You know. Have you ever felt so awful about yourself that there was no mercy, no forgiveness? So if I pushed God away, He wasn’t really there. It’s an awful way to live, but that’s what I went through for years.

  “The hardest part was being with my family at Christmastime and other holidays and events. He was so friendly, so well-liked and popular, especially by my mother, so I just quit going. I turned against my own mother, hating her for . . . sometimes I don’t know why. Perhaps it was the love and respect she had for my uncle. I felt as if she betrayed me. I don’t know. I only know I was so messed up I couldn’t live with myself or anyone that knew him.

  “So I left.

  “Here is where it gets hard, Edna. I don’t want to tell you everything I went through those few years. But I did meet Sarah. We started seeing each other, then agreed to return to our respective homes, return to the fold, and give our hearts and lives to God. We were married, and had a good relationship, except for Neil. I felt as if he was her first love, her special love, and I was merely a necessity.

  “Now that I’m married to you I often wonder if she loved me at all. I think this Shawn, Shawn Bickel was his name, was her one and only true love, and that’s why she loved Neil with an almost unreasonable love. I would often come into the house to find her in tears, and if I tried to comfort her, ask her to share her feelings with me, she pushed me away. She didn’t like to be held and only slept in the same bed out of her adherence to her Christian duty.

  “I did love her very much, she was my beloved wife, but after a while, I stayed afloat on that raft of my own making, by my own will.

  “The arguments about Neil became worse, and this is to my shame, until I could hardly stand him sometimes, he was so spoiled.

  “Part of me pardons Sarah completely. Can we really help who we are and who we loved with all our heart? It wasn’t me, that’s for sure.

  “When she became sick, I saw the willingness to give herself up, the patience and . . . you know, Edna, if I think back, it was almost as if she harbored a certain joy to think of leaving this earth. She was not happy so much of the time. You know how they say people with cancer fight the disease? They’re battling cancer?”

  He looked at Edna, to affirm his statement, and ask her to understand.

  She nodded, afraid to break his chain of speech.

  “She never fought. Wasn’t interested in treatments.”

  He shook his head as if to clear it of debris.

  “You know, to tell you this brings an even clearer picture to me. It was probably worse than I knew, her desperate unhappiness, her refusal to see a doctor, just everything. I realize all of this much more now since I’m married to you, to a normal woman like you.”

  Edna refused to meet Orva’s eyes and felt herself blushing.

  He reached for her, drew her close. She wrapped her arms around him, laid her head on his chest and sighed.

  “It only makes me love you more, Orva. But there is one question. How are you as well-adjusted as you are? I mean, children are often damaged for life, and you don’t seem to be, other than being absentminded, you know, sort of like you’re in another world at times.”

  “I’ll tell you how. It is only through the healing power of Christ that I have come this far. If we’re sick enough, despairing of our own strength, He steps in, and it’s amazing how He can take over our life when the bad feelings torment a person. I guess you realize, though, that I don’t have much to do with my own family.”

  “I did realize that.”

  “It’s just better that way.”

  Edna’s thoughts raced. She wanted to ask a hundred questions but knew it was a part of his past that was best left untouched, an old decaying horrible thing that could not be dug out and examined. She imagined the power of Christ rolling a stone on top of a burial plot, which was all Orva would need, as long as he lived.

  “Did you ever meet this Shawn?”

  “No. Sarah was a single mother when we met, living in a second-story apartment above a garage in a squalid little town beside a heavily traveled interstate highway. She worked at the desk, and kept Neil in a playpen behind it.”

  “Poor thing. I guarantee she was so scared. So alone.”

  “She was.”

  “And too proud to return to her home.”

  Orva nodded.

  “She had a lot of spunk, back then.”

  He shook his head, a wistful expression in his eyes.

  “But a year into our marriage she was like a sputtering candle. The flame eventually died, for me, and for her two baby girls. It was only lit for Neil.

  “But Marie and Emmylou seem like well-adjusted girls. They don’t really give me more hassle than any normal little girls would.

  “I tried to give what Sarah wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. I’m never sure which one it was.”

  He spread his hands, shrugged his shoulders.

  “There was so much helplessness, at that point. Sometimes I would come home to find her on the floor, playing with Neil, while Marie screamed and cried in her little swing. I could tell by her red face, the heat in her tiny body, that the crying had been going on far too long. That first time, we had an awful row. I’m not proud of how angry I was. She never breastfed Marie, so I changed her diaper, fed her, and cuddled her most of the evening.

  “That was pretty much the order of my days. So if I protect those two girls, that’s the reason. I was their mother and father both.

  “But . . . they loved their mother.”

  “Of course they did. Children will always seek for love in their parents, no matter how those parents mistreat them. It’s a natural sense we all have. Without the love and approval of a mother and father, there will always be a missing link to your emotional well-being.”

  Edna was confused. Was the portrayal of a nearly perfect marriage all a hoax? He had her believe everything had been healthy, above normal.

  His beloved wife.

  “Why did you never let on? When . . . well, before we were married, you gave me the sense that your marriage was just perfect. You did love Sarah.”

  For a long moment, he said nothing.

  “You know, Edna, it’s in our culture. It’s our way of hiding the raw deals that come along. I don’t know if it’s pride or simply Amish etiquette, but we present a shining picture of normalcy to those around us. It’s the way we are raised.”

  Edna thought of Sadie and Fannie, the constant drama, the well-voiced opinions that reverberated through the community and bounced back to bite them again and again. They took no offense. Life was real, it held disappointment and plenty of folks who rubbed them the wrong way, and they both had no qualms about airing their assessment of any given situation.

  Edna burst out laughing.

  “I know two people who don’t fit into that category at all.”

  “Who?”

  “My sisters.”

  “And you.”

  Edna boxed Orva’s shoulder. He laughed, grabbed her hand.

  “I have been through plenty of trials this year, so I’ve quieted down quite a bit.”

  “I hope you don’t, Edna. I enjoy your outspokenness; you know that.”

  After the talk they had, Edna had an easier time with the children. She understood Orva’s lack of discipline with the girls when she thought it necessary, and she was also patient with his view of Neil’s arrogant ways.

  Edna realized he wasn’t always arrogant.

  Like this morning.

  Neil was usually late to make an appearance, and Orva was pacing
the floor, watching the clock, knowing the driver would show up any minute, and that Neil still had not donned his three or four sweatshirts or his work shoes that needed to be laced. His bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich that Edna had wrapped in aluminum foil was often eaten in three bites or grabbed to take along.

  Why couldn’t this boy hurry upstairs? How long did it take to use the bathroom, brush teeth, and get dressed? And so Orva paced, watched the driveway and fumed, like a hissing radiator.

  When Neil finally made his appearance, his eyes hooded, and his mouth in a perpetual scowl, Orva had to say something, anything, to remind Neil that he was late and why couldn’t he get down sooner?

  Edna gritted her teeth, busied herself at the sink, and thought Orva would never get it.

  Neil didn’t bother answering, but merely slumped through the kitchen, grabbed his shoes and brought them in to sit on the recliner to put them on his feet. After he laced them, he left chunks of dried mud and a trail of residue to the counter, where he picked up his lunch. He clutched the sandwich between the palm of his hand and the handle of his lunchbox and slammed sloppily out the door.

  Edna had learned early on to withhold the good morning or the “Bye” as he went out the door. It was like bouncing a foam ball against an iceberg. It was only a waste of a perfectly good foam ball, and if this was the way he wanted it, then this is how it would be.

  On Tuesday evening of the following week, Carla Yoder arrived in her own cart and horse, which was nothing short of breathtaking. The cart itself was a masterpiece, with outsized wheels, natural wood polished to a glossy sheen, the seat high, and a sturdy back upholstered in red. The horse was unlike anything Edna had ever seen.

  Very unusual, she thought. Like a miniature workhorse with the black and white markings of a paint. He was gorgeous, this compact animal with a heavy, arched neck, a mane and tail so thick and flowing it was like poetry when he moved, his knees lifted high. Carla was dressed warmly, with a lap robe across her legs, but when she brought the horse to a stop, she leaped out to calm him as the garage door was lifted from the inside and set up the usual clatter on its way up the steel tracks.