by M. Mabie
We paid, and before I knew it, we were driving past the big white gates leading into Lancaster. It was almost dark, and the streetlights had already began coming on. It was a Monday evening, and the streets were nearly bare.
I chill ran up my spine as we passed the academy where a woman about my age stood out front with a sign.
I’M DISOBEDIENT AND IMPATIENT.
Her head hung low like her long prairie dress. I’d always hated Service and Testimony. It frightened me. We’d been taught when we saw someone serving that we should pray for them. For their wrong doings. For God to forgive them. To contemplate if we were also defiant in the same way, so we could atone to our Fathers or Band holders, the Pastor, and the Heavenly Father.
Once when I was a girl, there’d been a young man on the church lawn with a sign that said he was impure and weak. His face was red from crying, and I remember praying that God would comfort him instead, not forgive him.
Abe too studied the woman as we passed, and his jaw rocked back and forth. Had he been standing he would have shifted his feet. Those were the ways he showed annoyance. He released a haggard breath and cracked his neck as he turned down the street in front of the church to go to Yakle’s.
“It looks so different,” I said, seeing the village through new eyes. “It’s melancholy here.”
Abe pulled into the funeral home and parked the car around back in a shadow where the streetlight didn’t reach. He faced me in his seat before getting out.
“Do you want to do this?” He reached out for me and ran his fingers over the hair above my ear.
“I have to.”
“Only for you, Myra. For your closure and nothing else. You don’t owe anyone anything.”
Closure. That thought gave me peace. Maybe this trip to Lancaster would give punctuation to the life I lived before, separating it from the one I was building with the burly, hard-working, handsome, and kind man beside me.
I nodded.
Twisting, he grabbed his jacket and my sweater. “It’ll be cool when we come out. Here.”
It was already brisk, and I put mine on as we walked to the back door of the large brick building. It looked like a home, I guess that’s why they called it one. A funeral home.
He opened the door for me and together we walked down the brightly lit hallway.
“Andrew,” he announced. “It’s Abe and Myra.”
Through a door a few feet down, came a thin man in more formal clothes than the ones we wore. Dark navy dress pants, vest, and tie with a crisply pressed ivory shirt. He held his hand out to Abe and froze in his tracks, his blue eyes wide.
After blinking a few times, he greeted, “Hello. I’m sorry. You just look so much like Jacob.”
I glanced over at Abe. No he didn’t. Not that I recalled anyway. To me Abe was the complete opposite of his brother. Aside from hair and eye color, those were similar.
Squinting to see it, I got lost searching to find what the younger Mr. Yakle saw.
“We did when we were kids,” Abe replied. “You know Myra.”
Their attention shifted to me, and I snapped out of it.
In Lancaster, it wasn’t common for women to shake hands with or touch men who weren’t their band holder or family. But recently, I’d come to notice women in Fairview did it all the time and had begun to do it myself. I stretched my arm out and extended my palm to the man who was allowing me to see my father in private, something he didn’t have to do. Something I suspected would get him into hot water if anyone found out.
“Of course, it’s good to see you Myra. You look very well.” Andrew glanced between us and added, “This marriage suits you.” Then a faraway look crossed his face, he cleared his throat, and he turned on his heel. “Your father is down this way.”
We followed him through a lobby area and down another hall. Town photos and scriptures decorated the walls.
“I brought him to this room for you. It’s a little more comfortable than downstairs.” He stopped and waved us through the door. “Take your time. Please let me know if you need anything.”
Abe placed his hand on my back, and I trudged to the modest wooden casket. I’m sure Abe was studying its quality and craftsmanship, but all I saw was a brown box with my dad sleeping in it.
The lights were tinted and dim, so he didn’t look pale or sickly. The suit he wore was pressed and his shoes were polished. That made me smile. His tie was straight and one I remembered him wearing often. My father’s hands were over lapped—left over right—and his legacy band glistened like it had been buffed up that very day.
I loved how it felt having Abe’s hand across my back, holding my shoulder, and in this way, he gave me strength. So quietly, until I was strong enough to do what I needed to, I absorbed all the power I could from his love. I savored its warmth and let it sooth me until I was ready.
“May I please have a few moments alone with him?” I finally asked.
He pulled me closer, kissed my head, and said, “I love you,” into my hair.
When I was alone, I took a deep breath and although it was low, I found my voice.
“Father, I’m here.” I gripped the edge of the coffin where its wood met satin. “I don’t know if you can hear me, I’m almost certain you cannot. I’d like to believe you’re in Heaven with mother and Maureen. I hope they were waiting for you like you always told me they would be.”
I did what I could to steady my breathing and continued.
“I think you were a good father. I don’t remember a time when you were cross or cruel to me. Outwardly, anyway.” Guilt weighed heavy in my stomach for saying and thinking such distrustful words at such a time, but it wasn’t enough to stop me from letting them out.
That was the trade I’d made with myself. I’d speak the truth, and then I’d forgive.
“I’ll never know if you were manipulated like me, but it’s possible. All I am sure of is: you were part of the Legacy Board, you undereducated me, you didn’t value my life the same way you did my brothers’.” He’d been too far gone in his later months to prevent Pastor Hathaway from arranging my marriage to Jacob, and I was uncertain whether he would have been approving of it, regardless.
“I want you to know I’m going to be fine, because I think that’s what a father should want for a daughter. But what you did was wrong.”
My bottom lip was salty and wet, and I closed my eyes to find my balance before my emotions could rob me of getting through the moment. I imagined Abe’s hazel eyes and part of my resolve returned.
“But, Father, I’m going to forgive you. I choose to. Because I’ve just now learned how to choose things on my own, and the best thing I can do for myself is love you and say goodbye with a peaceful heart. I can’t pretend that I feel that now, but eventually I will.”
For the first time in weeks, scripture came to mind. A Psalm. The Lord also will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble. Although dim, my faith still flickered inside me.
“I love you, Father. Goodbye.”
I wiped my eyes and face with the sleeve of my sweater and left the room. Down the hall, standing in the light was Abe. My partner. My future.
Good or evil. Black or white. Fate or God. Something had led me to where I was. Guided me to the life I was slowly building.
How could I not be grateful? I’d gained so much.
6
Abe
I flipped through the handout with Mr. Fox’s photo on the front, noticing memorials were to be made directly to the church.
Figures.
“So ten a.m. across the street?” I asked to make small talk with Andrew in the lobby as we waited for Myra. It was all I could do to stay away and give her the space she asked for. My instincts were to stay and support her, but as she requested, I’d left her alone.
Straightening the stack of memorial handouts and putting them into a box, he answered, “Yes.” Lifting the cardboard into his arms, he stood tall. “You know, your brother and I were gr
eat friends.”
“I wish I would have known him better,” I admitted. I often wondered if he’d hated me for leaving.
He looked at me and then cleared his throat. “He was a good man, and I—”
“Abe, I’m ready,” Myra said a few feet away, her eyes and cheeks red.
I glanced back at Andrew, apologetic for breaking off our conversation, and strode toward the back door where Myra was headed. “Thank you,” I called to him as I trailed her.
When I caught up, just as she reached the door, I extended my arm over her shoulder to open it. Her pace was clipped as she marched to the car, and I unlocked her side and let her in before I went around to the driver’s side.
“Are we going home?” I asked, unsure were to point the Festiva. “The funeral is in the morning. We could stay somewhere tonight, and then leave tomorrow.”
She pulled her phone from her purse on the floorboard. “I need to be there.”
That was all she had to say, and I put the little blue car in drive. A few blocks down the road toward the Good Shepard Inn, she spoke again still looking at her cell. “I don’t want to stay in Lancaster though. There’s a place back in Brashear where we can spend the night. It costs about a hundred dollars, but I’ll pay. I’ll drive back there too, if you don’t want to.”
I had no objection. In fact, I was relieved and made a left-hand turn to change directions.
Myra had changed so damn much. I couldn't believe the woman telling me what she needed in the seat beside me was the same person who had blindly left the only home she’d ever known because some men told her to.
She held her phone up for me to see the Holiday Inn she’d found one town over. Her eyes were puffy but held a bounty of determination.
“Then that’s where we’ll go.”
After we passed the gates, she sighed and relaxed in her seat. Then she placed her hand over mine on my lap. “Thank you. It means a lot to me that you don’t tell me what to do.”
In a normal world, there’d be few reasons for a woman to ever speak such words, but ours was different. Having her acknowledge the difference was validation.
I wasn’t like them, and neither was she.
However huge the moment, I wanted to put a smile on her face. Wanted to wipe away the turmoil in her brow, and as basic as it sounded, cheer her up.
“Well, thank you for telling me what to do. Sometimes a man needs direction.” I hoped my sarcasm came through.
“I’m beginning to see that,” she replied and kissed my fingers. “It’s nice being understood.”
She didn’t laugh like I wished she had, but I’d try again later. Sometimes you have to swing two or three times before hitting it out of the park. Honestly that evening, I would have settled for a solid grounder.
I’d offered to let her sit in the car while I got the room sorted, but she didn’t want to, so we took our bags with us and walked inside together. In minutes, I was heaving our luggage onto the extra queen bed in our room. It was a newer hotel and a massive contrast to the Sheppard Inn motel in Lancaster.
She stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders, again tense.
“A shower sounds good,” I said as I unzipped our bags and tossed the lids open.
Myra sat on the bed and kicked her shoes off without neatly setting them together like I’d seen her do almost every time before.
“Go ahead,” she answered.
I picked our toiletry bags from our luggage, and as I walked by her, I nodded toward the large bathroom we’d passed on the way in. “You’re welcome to join me,” I said as I walked by.
Before the shower’s water ran hot over my fingers, she was embracing me from behind in the bright room. I turned in her arms.
Her eyes weren’t as bloodshot as they had been earlier, but the pinkness that remained made her blue eyes even bluer.
Her fingers tugged at the hem of my shirt, and I let her pull it over my head. She stripped me, and I waited, unsure if I should undress her too, until she began at her neck and slipped the buttons of her shirt through their holes.
I helped by holding her sleeves as she pulled her arms through them, and after she let her skirt fall from her hips, I removed her bra and underwear.
Barefoot, we walked into the glass shower. I yielded the water to her first, and as it streamed down her back, I gathered her long hair in my hands and placed a kiss on her neck.
She let me wash her body, watched how I touched her, and then did the same for me. With suds at our feet, our two clean bodies held onto each other under the warm spray. Her cheek to my chest, she played with the ring around my neck and said, “They may never leave us alone, and we may never have a normal relationship or marriage like Chris and Ashley, but you’re all I have.”
I lifted her chin and her wet lashes blinked up at me.
“We can have whatever the hell we want.”
“Will you tell me more about the money?” she asked. “In the letter you wrote me, you said the check was just some of my money. Is there a lot more?” She took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t want to sound greedy at a time like this, but I’ve been thinking, and it might make a difference. The money you gave me is more than I’ve ever imagined having—and of course I’ll share it with you—but if there’s a lot more, then I don’t want them to have it.”
Myra was smart, brighter than most gave her credit for.
“I don’t have a number to give you. I only know that Jacob probably had some savings, a life insurance policy, and his home was worth money and therefore another asset that would legally be left to you. I also believe my father is holding onto most of the money that came along with you from your family when you married Jacob—and then me.”
She looked at me, again with determination in her eyes. “An estimate?” She was transforming into a stronger version of herself every day. Like water breaking rocks, stress had caused changes in Myra. She was lovely and cracked, but far from broken.
I answered as best I could. “I’d guess well over a hundred thousand, probably more. My father only gave me that twenty grand as a bribe to fall in line. To tempt me into coming back to the flock.” He was a stupid man if he thought he could buy my freedom. I’d rather die penniless.
“If he thought you came back to the flock—even just a little—would he give you more?”
I wasn’t sure where she was going with that and smoothed the wet hair out of her face.
“He might, but I won’t ever go back to that life, Myra.” I sounded defensive, but no amount of money would be enough to change my mind.
“We don’t have to. I can’t go back either.” She cocked her head to the side, and added, “But what if we let them think we were. We are married—banded—that’s no lie. If we lived in Lancaster, we would have moved our bands, just as they’d want us to. Have a reception even. We’ve been together, biblically. They don’t need to know when it happened, how, or what our love is like—what our life is like. It’s none of their business.” She looked up into the steam above my head. “But that money could help people, Abe. Others who might want to leave. It would mean you can finally have your store. We don’t have to lie to them. They’ll just see what they want to. They always do anyway.”
Before my eyes, Myra had become a fierce woman. Someone they couldn’t manipulate or take advantage of anymore—or ever again.
She was clever.
She was beautiful.
She was all mine.
There, naked in a hotel bathroom, she unhooked the chain around my neck where it had been since Ted gave it back to me for her and slid the band off it. Before putting it on she brought my right hand up and tugged the ring from my finger.
“It’s not a lie,” she said like she was reading my thoughts. I fundamentally didn’t believe in the changing of the bands, but there it was.
I gave her my left hand and she pushed the metal over my knuckles.
It felt wrong. It felt right.
I took her ring from h
er palm and put it on her left hand too.
It was real, but too pretend for my liking. She deserved more... and she’d get it.
I lifted her into my arms and carried her to the bed with her legs wrapped around me. I pulled the sheets down and then sat on top with her on my lap.
She kissed my mouth, my neck, and rocked against me until I couldn’t take anymore, and I guided myself to her entrance. Slowly, she sank onto me and then lifted. As she became familiar with the sensation and as she grew slicker against my flesh, she found a pace.
Her damp hair clung to my arms around her back, and my hair stuck to her lips as she pulled back and looked into my eyes.
“I love you, Abe.”
My hips bucked into her. “God how I love you. Tell me it’s real.”
She shivered in my embrace. “It’s the only thing that’s real.”
I fell back against the mattress and she toppled with me. My hands at her hips, she found a new, even deeper position and although her rhythm slowed, it took me over the edge.
THE NEXT MORNING, MYRA put on her old prairie dress, stockings, and fixed her hair the way she used to. She wore no makeup, but I saw the real her. Not just the her without makeup and accessories, the her she was breaking free from. The her they’d forced her to be. No matter what disguise she put on for them, I’d always be able to see her through it.
I brought my new suit, the one I’d wore when I attended the Legacy Board on Myra’s behalf, and wore it. Again that morning, I trimmed my beard even closer to my face, and pulled my hair back, wishing I would have asked Ashley for a trim before we left.
Unlike Jacob’s funeral, they were having a small visitation before the service and then it was off to the gravesite. It didn’t matter to me how much Myra wanted to participate or not, I’d be by her side and follow her lead.
If she wanted to keep appearances to help others, kind of like how I’d wanted to help her all those months ago, I’d do whatever it took.
However, I had no doubt I’d have at least one run-in with my father.
So be it.