Big Decisions (12 page)

“Mm-hmm.”

“Stephen and Lizzie’s house!” KatieAnn exclaimed.

Lizzie sat down at the kitchen table, eyeing Mam eagerly. “Mam, how long—usually how long, anyway—does it take to finish a house? I mean from the time the bulldozer starts digging until we can move in?”

“Ach my, Lizzie, I forget. We only built one house, and I can’t remember the actual time it took. But, my goodness, you’re not married yet, you know. You still need to have a wedding and buy your furniture and lots of other things.”

“But I want time to go faster. Mam, do we have to live at home here with all of you in this house all winter? Why is that an Amish custom? Stephen doesn’t say anything, but I guarantee he doesn’t want to do that. Why do we have to?”

Lizzie got up and lifted the lid from the kettle, taking a deep sniff of the bubbling contents. “Mmmm!”

“Chicken and dumplings,” Mam said. Then she sighed and said, “Ach, I don’t know why either. It’s not done that way where I come from. In Ohio, the custom is to move right after the wedding, and you don’t have to run all over the creation ‘young married visiting’ either. Whoever thought up that scheme must have wanted an extension to the wedding. Same as Easter Monday.”

“Now, Mam!” Lizzie chided.

“I know. You can’t change an old chicken, can you?”

“‘You can’t teach an old dog new tricks’ is the actual saying.”

“I’m not old. It’s just hard for me to conform sometimes. Guess I’m too thick-headed, as Melvin would say.”

She got up and headed for the stove, taking up the wooden spoon. She peered closely through the steam and held it lightly over the dumplings. Lizzie knew exactly what she was doing. She would insert the spoon into a dumpling to test the middle of it, and when it was light and fluffy the whole way through, it was done. Mam made the best chicken and dumplings in the world. Not that Lizzie had ever traveled very far to taste many other varieties, but she knew Mam’s were just delicious.

A week later, the footer for the house was poured and the first concrete blocks laid. Dat and Jason, as well as Stephen’s father and brothers, helped Stephen with the construction. Stephen’s dad was a thin man, about Dat’s age, who owned a farm and raised lots of pigs. He enjoyed farming, working hard from sunup to sundown as most dedicated farmers do.

Stephen’s two brothers, Daniel and Henry, were a merry twosome, especially Henry who was always laughing about something. Dat said when Stephen’s brothers were both there, it was almost less help than if there were only a few people working, because they were always distracting everyone with their stories.

Lizzie discovered she had one huge problem, which quickly ballooned quite out of proportion. Her eyebrows were drawn up in the middle, which is what happens if frustration is allowed to rule your face, she thought. She wished it wouldn’t take so long to lay the block basement walls. Every time she walked up to the top of the hill, the brothers were either sitting somewhere talking, or Henry was throwing mortar at Stephen, which caused Lizzie’s eyebrows to shoot straight up.

At the rate they were going, they wouldn’t move into that longed-for house until next summer. With all the stress of the upcoming wedding and no furniture, or hardly any yet, this was ridiculous. How could Stephen be up here on the hill acting like a 12-year-old with his brothers?

So she became increasingly irritable, trying to keep her lack of patience from showing, especially when she was around Stephen. She tried to keep her eyebrows straight, which was an awful job, giving her a constant headache. She had to think continually or remember to flatten them, pasting a make-believe smile on her face when Stephen was near. Lizzie’s impatience turned the much-anticipated time of building their house into a long, weary ordeal.

Lizzie’s undoing came that Friday evening when they were sitting on the hillside, Stephen covered with dirt and mortar, his eyes tired. He took off his hat and ran his dirt-covered fingers through his hair, sighing wearily.

“Guess I’ll take tomorrow off and go squirrel-hunting with Daniel,” he said, replacing his hat and turning to look at her.

Lizzie was caught totally off guard. Her eyebrows shot straight up as an alarming note crept into her voice. “Why?” she squeaked, determined not to become hysterical.

“Why? Because I’m tired, Lizzie. I work during the day, go to the livestock auction on Tuesday evenings, and then work some more, besides spending every spare moment over here building the house. So don’t ask why,” he said flatly, a bit irritably even.

Lizzie knew instinctively what to say. Of course, he worked too hard and was tired. He deserved at least one Saturday off to go squirrel-hunting. But her impatience had taken over her life, and like a bird flying out of its cage, and Lizzie making only a half-hearted attempt at catching it, she turned to look at him

“Aren’t you worried one bit about getting this house finished? At the rate you and your brothers are going, we won’t live in it until next summer,” she said.

The look in Stephen’s eyes drove home the fact that she had said something awful. It was a lot worse than letting Mam’s parakeet out of a cage; it was more like throwing some precious item into a deep, swiftly-moving river where it could never be retrieved. She knew her words had done a lot of damage, and she could not bring them back. They were out. Said. Done.

“You think I’m not working fast enough?” he asked, disbelief in his eyes. “Well, if you’re going to act like a regular taskmaster, then I’m going hunting for sure.”

Lizzie sat up straight, fuming. She didn’t care if she had said something to hurt him now. He was being ignorant. Throwing all caution to the wind, she burst out, “Oh, go ahead. If you think I’m so difficult, maybe you’d better not marry me at all.”

Stephen snorted. He actually snorted, and it was not a nice snort.

“As tired as I am, maybe I won’t.”

“Fine.”

Stephen turned and headed down the hill in the gathering darkness with short, swift strides, so that Lizzie knew he was very angry. Quickly she got up and followed him, hurrying, knowing she had to make this right. He had only told her innocently that he was going squirrel-hunting. He had not intended to get into an argument. It was all her fault, all her own stupid fault, because she had no patience.

Catching up, she caught his arm, but he shook her off.

“Stephen!” she cried.

He walked straight ahead, down to the drive and into the forebay of the barn. There was nothing for Lizzie to do but stand there like some senseless person and watch him go.

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear,” she said out loud to no one in particular except herself. “He is really mad.”

That thought spurred her into action, and she ran after him, stumbling on some rocks at the bottom of the hill. Before she reached the barn, she slowed to a steady walk so that he wouldn’t think she was really racing after him. She had her pride, after all, and he was not going to see how worried she was.

He was placing the bit in his horse’s mouth when she sauntered into the barn. She put her hands behind her back and cleared her throat for attention. Stephen said nothing, just fastened the chin strap on the bridle as if his life depended on it. Turning to walk past her, he never slowed or looked at her, so she had no choice but to step out of his way.

Turning, she held the shafts for him while he backed his horse between them. She helped him hitch up, fastening the proper straps to the proper hookups. She watched in disbelief as Stephen climbed into the buggy and without as much as a “Good-night” or his usual “See-ya,” he was gone.

They had just argued like this before about the white bricks! A giant wave of despair washed over her until she felt tumbled about, soaked, drowned in the maelstrom of feelings that encircled her heart. She wasn’t fit to become his wife. Well, he wasn’t acting very mature either. Big baby!

Turning on her heel, she marched across the gravel driveway and up the steps, yanking open the kitchen door before throwing herself into a chair. Jason looked up from the magazine he was reading.

“What gives?” he asked.

“O … o … h, that
Stephen
!” Lizzie said, two red spots in her cheeks showing her anger.

“Why?”

“He plumb went home without saying good-bye or good night because he’s all upset about me saying something or other about him going squirrel-hunting. Can you imagine? He’s going squirrel-hunting, and those concrete blocks will never, ever be finished. Does he care? Oh, no. Not as long as his silly brothers are around.”

Lizzie looked up to see Mam in the doorway, her thin white scarf tied around her head, wearing her old light blue housecoat, smelling as she always did of soft, flowery talcum powder. Mam smiled a very small smile and shook her head ruefully. Turning to sit in the chair opposite Lizzie, she looked straight into her eyes until Lizzie flinched, dropping hers.

“What did you say to make him mad?” she asked softly.

“Nothing!”

“Yes, you did.”

“Just that … well, how can he go squirrel-hunting when the house isn’t coming along as fast as it should? He doesn’t even
care
!” she burst out.

“Boy, Lizzie!” Jason said loudly. “Big baby. I wouldn’t marry you if I were him. Can’t you see how hard he works? I mean, he looks almost haggard. He sleeps so little from working two jobs besides trying to get this house built.”

“Jason’s right,” Mam said, softly and not unkindly.

“So you’re both on his side?” Lizzie burst out.

“Now you listen to me, Lizzie. I saw your eyebrows go steadily higher all week, and I figured it would come to this. You’re going to have to learn to give up if things don’t go exactly as you plan. I know I can talk about it until I’m blue in the face, but you’re going to have to learn the hard way if you don’t listen to me. Stephen is doing more than enough, and to have you nagging at him about hurrying with this house is simply not going to work. You’re going to find out after you’re married, mark my words.”

“It takes a long time to build a house, Lizzie,” Jason said.

“I know that. I do. I guess I’m just panicking.”

“Now, if Stephen said he wanted to take you shopping for your china and silverware on Saturday, would you have said ‘no, the house is being built too slowly’?” Mam asked wisely.

“Of course not.”

“See, it’s called being selfish, Lizzie. How can we enter marriage and figure it’s going to work as long as we hang on to our own selfishness? Never wanting Stephen to go out and do something fun, because you think he should stay home and please his little princess.”

“Stop it, Mam. You’re being mean.”

“No, I’m not being mean. I’m being truthful.”

Jason got up and stretched, running his fingers through his mop of curly hair, yawning. “I’m not going to get married for a long, long time. Girls are a big bother.”

Lizzie said nothing as he slapped her arm playfully, peering closely into her face, saying in a high, singsong voice, “Good night, sweetheart!”

Lizzie punched his arm and laughed in spite of herself. “You better fix that hair of yours before you ask anyone for a date,” she teased.

Mam sat quietly after Jason went upstairs. The clock ticked steadily as a warm, companionable silence settled over the two of them. Lizzie caught a soft whiff of Mam’s talcum powder and was instantly transported back in time when she was a very worried little girl, checking on her kitten, Snowball, in the middle of the night, certain that she was hungry or scared. Then Mam had smelled the same, a warm, comforting, clean Mam smell that never ceased to make Lizzie feel loved and comforted, secure and safe in the middle of a very uncertain world.

“Mam, am I going to make a decent wife for Stephen, if I have all this impatience and—what do you call it—‘Wanting what I want and wanting it right now’?”

“Why, of course, Lizzie. I don’t doubt for one moment that you and he are meant for each other. I always felt that way. He’s the perfect one for you. You’re not going to walk all over him. You might not have the easiest road, which, for some reason, we mothers want for our girls. I mean, we’ve had some tough times, your dad and I. Yet I think that each daughter, as she gets married, will have this perfect little love story and live happily ever after, when I know real life just isn’t that way. We struggle; all of us do.”

“Well, if it’s so tough, why bother getting married in the first place?” Lizzie asked, a bit wearily.

“It isn’t tough. It’s what we make of it. Getting along with a brand-new husband is the first serious step in putting all that love and romance to the test. We
think
it’s all roses, and we’re so in love. But just wait until he does something, like now, squirrel-hunting, that you think is absolutely unnecessary. So what do you do? You tell him, and probably not in a very peaceful or kind tone of voice.”

“Whatever is a ‘peaceful voice’?” Lizzie snorted.

“Not exactly ‘peaceful.’ More like a ‘peace-making,’ understanding tone of voice. I do it too, Lizzie. You’re not alone in this. I hurt Dat’s feelings at times by being critical or unsubmissive. But once we learn, and often, actually, by trial and error, we see that our unkindness is often what starts an argument in the first place.”

“That’s quite a speech, Mam, and it comes dangerously close to that dreaded king and his humble servant theory.”

Mam laughed deeply and genuinely. “Yes, I guess it does, Lizzie, but at least it brings a lasting kind of happiness. The kind of happiness where you start singing in the middle of doing something you don’t even want to do, not knowing or understanding why. You’re just happy. That comes from doing God’s will, which is more often than any of us care to admit, from submitting to our husbands.”

“Who are out traipsing around in the woods shooting squirrels while the house is on hold?” Lizzie asked.

“Exactly.”

“Hmmph.”

“Well, if you don’t believe me, try fighting against Stephen and everything he does, and see how often you feel like singing.”

Lizzie looked at Mam, clearly understanding what she meant. The difference between the white bricks and the coveted brown ones.