Big Decisions (26 page)

Lizzie nodded soberly.

“But…you and Laura are all right, and that’s what matters most.”

Lizzie blinked back tears of gratitude as she hugged Stephen, thankful that he was not angry and that it had not been her fault. Well, at least not completely.

That evening Dat and Jason helped Stephen install a new stainless steel chimney. Stephen explained everything to Lizzie. He showed her the instructions, and how black soot, the buildup from burning green wood, couldn’t accumulate on the sides of the chimney.

When the whole setup was complete, Lizzie could not believe how thankful she felt as the fire crackled and popped, and the heat spread throughout the cold house. Everything felt safe and secure, cozy and homey again. She was so grateful that they were here in their own little house with their possessions intact, and with the danger that had threatened to take everything extinguished.

That spring, after the harsh winter winds had slowed to a warm, gentle breeze and the melting snow ran in little rivulets into the spouting, splashing onto the ground and turning it into soft, spring mud, Stephen built a barn. The nice little building with brown siding matched the house and had a roof that wasn’t straight, but was bent in the middle—a hip roof Stephen called it.

Lizzie loved the little barn. It completed the property, making it look much more like an Amish homestead and not just a house on top of a hill. Stephen built stables, one for George and one for an extra horse when company came, or in case they ever decided to buy a new horse, which Lizzie doubted would ever happen. Stephen thought one horse was enough. She would have loved to fill the barn with miniature ponies like Teeny and Tiny, the ponies Dat bought when Lizzie was little. But Stephen did not like ponies at all, saying they were stubborn little creatures, and why would she want a pony? If she wanted a pony, she could just walk down over the hill and drive her parents’ ponies.

He would get a dog, he said. Lizzie said, no, she didn’t like dogs. If she couldn’t have ponies, then he couldn’t have a dog. She didn’t feel very virtuous after she stated that a bit too forcefully, but she figured it didn’t hurt Stephen to hear it. Otherwise, he’d become too selfish and just walk all over her, and didn’t the marriage books say the wife shouldn’t be a doormat? Lizzie figured she was coming pretty close to being a doormat, not being allowed to have ponies. Stephen wanted to go and buy a dog that ran all over the neighborhood and dug in her flower beds and barked up an insane storm every time someone came for a visit. She didn’t like dogs, and that was that.

She thought Stephen was being very quiet after she said that, so she kept watching him out of the corners of her eyes when he wasn’t looking. Was he angry, or just thinking about buying a pony for her?

Probably that’s what it was. He was planning a surprise for her, putting a cute pony in that extra stall when she least expected it. But when she asked him a question at bedtime and he didn’t answer, she figured it didn’t take that much thinking to decide to buy a pony. He was mad.

Oh, well, he’ll get over it, she thought unhappily. We’re not having a dog. In fact, she so desperately didn’t want a dog that she didn’t care if she was being virtuous or not. Dogs were annoying.

L
IZZIE LOVED TAKING HER
baby to church. There was just something about it that made her feel quite capable, so much like a real mother who knew what she was doing, even if she didn’t. Every two weeks, on Saturday evening, she would get out the little straw basket with a lid on it, called a
kaevly
in Pennsylvania Dutch. Stephen’s mother had ordered it for her and had given it to her as a baby gift.

In this little basket, Lizzie put a neat stack of snowy white cloth diapers, smelling so fresh and clean, she loved to bury her nose into them and take a deep breath of the scented softness. On top of this stack of diapers, she folded a pair of rubber panties, the stretchable little outer garment that held the wetness against the diaper, a clean pair of white tights, and a clean T-shirt, just in case she might need them.

Beside that pile of baby necessities, she placed one little jar of baby food, usually fruit-flavored. Lizzie’s favorite flavor was Tutti-Frutti. It tasted so good she probably ate half of it, licking the spoon while she fed Laura. She also had a small container of rice cereal with a tiny bit of sugar sprinkled on top, a small baby-sized spoon, and a bottle containing a wee bit of apple juice mixed with water. She also added bottles of soy formula, two extra bibs, and the best part, baby toys.

It was fun to pick out the cutest toys to put in her
kaevly
, because she felt classy when other mothers watched what she gave her baby to play with during church. A string of pink and white glass beads with small key chains attached and little plastic rings kept Laura entertained for awhile.

She picked out a dress for Laura the evening before, sometimes pink or navy blue, just whatever she felt like. Often she would match the color with her own, especially if she was wearing a pretty color, like burgundy or forest green.

She completed Laura’s outfit with one of the little homemade bibs Lizzie had bought at the dry-goods store in Lampeter. The bibs were usually crocheted or surrounded by lace of the same color as the baby’s dress. Oh, it was all so much fun and exciting to take your baby to church, that she wished they would have services every Sunday instead of only on alternating ones.

In the wintertime, she dressed Laura in a little pink sweater set with a pretty blanket to match. On top of that Lizzie pinned a little black, woolen shawl securely around her that was just like her own, except it was baby-sized, of course. On Laura’s head, she placed a stiff little royal blue bonnet, just like her own, except baby-sized as well, and tied it securely under her chin.

She thought the shawl and bonnet were the cutest things she had ever seen, with Laura’s little brown face peering out from the dark shades of fabric. So cute, in fact, that she squeezed and squeezed her before putting her own shawl and bonnet on. She carefully held Laura beneath the folds of her shawl when they went outside to protect her from the cold. She carried the
kaevly
with the other hand and went down the steps to where Stephen was waiting with George and the buggy.

When they arrived at church, Mom or KatieAnn or Susan would come with their arms extended to take Laura. Lizzie felt so loved and important and so Amish and motherly. Stephen’s mother would fuss over her, making Lizzie feel happy and cuddly and warm inside, secure in the fact that she belonged to a group of family and friends. A complete circle of contentment.

Sometimes Laura would have a genuine crying spell, when nothing seemed to pacify her. Lizzie would take her away from where the service was being held, often upstairs, and rock her or feed her or do whatever it took to get her to stop crying. Often a friend and her fussy baby joined her, and they talked about babies, their sleep patterns, how much they weighed, or whatever.

Church wasn’t nearly as boring when you had a baby to take care of, especially when a minister droned on and on and wasn’t very interesting. Then Lizzie just up and took Laura upstairs, whether she was crying or not. People didn’t know what was wrong with her baby, and really, they didn’t need to know.

Sometimes she would put a package of cheese crackers in her
kaevly
and eat them while she fed Laura, because it got late and she became very hungry. The thing was, when they served lunch, she was never able to sit at the first women’s table because they were seated according to their ages. So she had to wait with the younger women and girls till the older ones had eaten. It seemed as if that table of older women always took their time, drinking coffee and talking way too much.

On this fine spring morning, Stephen brushed and brushed George with careful attention, put the glossy black harness on his back, and then attached all the buckles and straps before putting the horse back in his stall. He went to the house to dress in his traditional white shirt, black broadfall pants, and black vest with hooks and eyes that closed down the front.

Humming under his breath, he opened the back door. He was amazed to find Lizzie hunched over the table with a small dish of water. She held a fine-toothed black comb, called a
shtrale
, in Dutch, and two tiny pieces of metal he remembered his mother using at home.

Lizzie did not look up when he entered, so he walked over to the table, peering down to see how she was faring.

“Bobbies?” he asked.

His wife nodded grimly, intent on parting Laura’s silky baby hair in the middle and creating a wet strand on each side of Laura’s forehead. Lizzie intended to roll the tip of each strand upward and around a sliver of soft bendable metal. With that action, she would form a small roll of hair on each side of Laura’s forehead, called bobbies. It was an old traditional way of keeping a baby’s thin hair from hanging in her face without cutting it.

Stephen soon sensed that Lizzie was pretty close to panicking, so he walked quietly away, down the hallway and into the bedroom. Lizzie wet the
shtrale
once more in the tiny dish of water and pulled it through Laura’s hair on the left side of her part. Carefully holding the small bendable piece of metal, Lizzie began rolling upward, just as Laura turned her head, leaving Lizzie holding the metal, but no hair. She glanced with apprehension at the clock. Only 15 more minutes and they would have to leave, no doubt about it.

“Hold still,” she hissed, putting her fingers on each side of Laura’s cheeks and pulling her face to the desired position.

Once more, Lizzie tried, rolling upward until the bobbie was at the right spot on the side of Laura’s forehead. Sighing with relief, she patted Laura’s cheek and said, “Good girl.”

“Now hold still,” she murmured, and began the other one. That was when Laura decided she had had enough. She clearly saw no sense in putting up with these atrocities. She pulled her little body into a cramped position and howled shrilly.

Instantly, Lizzie bent over her, whispering, “Shh-shh-shh.”

But Laura was indignant now, and she was not about to be lulled into submission by anyone. She kept screaming, one bobbie firmly in place and the other pieces of hair becoming drier by the second. Scooping her up, Lizzie held her distraught baby. They would never make it to church on time. She felt like crying but knew that would only make matters worse. She had to get that other bobbie in place.

“Sh-sh, you’ll be all right. I know, it’s not nice. Sh-sh-sh,” Lizzie kept saying, bouncing Laura up and down.

Finally, with only five minutes to go, Laura quieted enough for Lizzie to lay her back down on the table top. She gave her a bright little toy to play with, anything to get her mind off whatever Lizzie was doing to her hair. Swiftly, she wet the comb, raked it through her hair, adjusted the soft piece of metal, and began rolling, just as Laura twisted her little body to roll over.

“No, Laura! No!” Lizzie wailed. Laura promptly began crying again.

“Stephen!”

In the bedroom, Stephen jumped, then rushed to the door, adjusting his suspenders, alarmed at the panic in Lizzie’s voice.

“Stephen, I can’t make bobbies! She just turns her head! We’ll be late for church!”

“It’s not that bad, Lizzie. We still have a quarter of an hour.”

“We don’t! Remember last time? We left at eight-thirty and were last.”

“We weren’t last. Some of the youth were.”

Lizzie turned her back without bothering to answer. They were the last ones to arrive, she knew that.

“Hold her still,” she barked.

“How?”

Stephen looked helplessly at his screaming daughter, then at his upset wife, and wondered if this was the way things were going to be from now on.

“I have to make the other bobbie. Just hold her head on each side so she can’t turn it. Sh-sh, Laura. It’s not that bad!”

So Stephen bent down, his elbows on the table, his hands gently cradling Laura’s head, while Lizzie concentrated on the bobbie. He wasn’t prepared when Laura suddenly turned her head hard to the right, twisting her entire body.

“Stephen!” Lizzie shrieked.

It really irked him when Lizzie yelled at him like that. He was doing the best he could. But he said nothing.

“You have to hold her head firmly,” she ordered, wetting the comb for what would be the twentieth time.

“Why don’t you just stick her head in a vice?” Stephen asked sarcastically, as he bent to his task.

Lizzie shot him a withering glance but said nothing, returning to her task with desperation now.

Laura screamed, but Stephen held her head more firmly, murmuring to his daughter. Lizzie deftly rolled the hair and clipped it into place, standing back to view the two bobbies.

“They’re crooked!”

Straightening up, Stephen picked up his wailing daughter and patted her back, soothing her over and over while glaring at Lizzie.

“You’re not going to redo that bobbie,” he said firmly.

“But they’re not straight, Stephen. I have to.”

“Give it up Lizzie. She looks fine to me. It’s time to go!”