Bossy Bridegroom (2 page)

“I’m not leaving. I’m here and I’m going to stay. I’ve changed, Jeanie. I’m a new man. I’ve become a Christian, and one of the things I’ve learned is that I
never
loved you like I should have. I was a terrible husband, a worse father, a sinner, a complete waste of human flesh. But I’ve changed.” And he could prove it. “I sold my business.”

Jeanie gasped.

He’d finally gotten her attention. That contracting business had been the only altar he worshipped at. He’d started it right after college graduation, and he’d been gone more than home for the six years of their marriage. Well, the marriage was over ten years old, but they hadn’t seen each other since Sally was just past her first birthday.

“You didn’t!”

“I’m here to stay. If it takes the rest of my life, I’m going to convince you to love me again.”

“Go get your company back. I’m making a life for myself here.” Jeanie grabbed a handful of his hair and tipped his head back. “I’m never going to live like I did when we were together. I spent my life begging for crumbs of affection from you. I learned to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ like a trained poodle. I’m surprised you didn’t toss me doggy biscuits when I said it. I’m done with that, Mike. I’m a Christian, too, and I’ve read enough of the Bible to know a husband doesn’t come to his wife screaming, beating her door, scaring her to death, and then pretend he’s changed. I have no intention of divorcing you. If you want that, it’ll have to be your choice, but I will
never
live with you as your wife again.
Never!
”

She released his hair. Michael saw her rub her fingers together unconsciously. He remembered that she’d loved to touch his hair. She’d always been a sucker for his looks. It made him sad to realize what a shallow reason that was to love someone.

She stood, and Michael grabbed her knees, but she shook him off. “You cost me
everything
.” Her voice broke, but she squared her shoulders and went on. “I gave up my daughter, my home, my heart, and—most of all—my
soul
to you. God has forgiven me for that, but I’ll never forgive myself.”

He heard her voice break again, but she didn’t crumble. “I’ve lost my daughter, but I have found a home. My heart is my own. And my soul belongs to God. And to live under your thumb, I’d have to give all of that up.
I won’t do it!
” She reached for the door.

Michael was upright before she could get out. He turned her around, pushed her back against the door, and leaned over her, knowing the thrill he’d always gotten from dominating her. She’d gotten a thrill from it, too. Such a messed-up excuse for a marriage.

It was sick. He was sick. A sinner.

God, God, God. Forgive me
.

He released her, raised his hands, and stepped back. He looked at her, expecting that same familiar twisted pleasure at his bullying. He saw only contempt
.

Shocked, he backed off another step.

Good for you, Jeanie
.

She swung the door open and walked out. Once outside, she turned toward him on the landing of the outside stairway that led to the alley below. The only other way up to her apartment was through Farrens’ Pharmacy on the ground floor, but she never used that.

“Are you leaving?” She crossed her arms and glared. “I won’t let you drive me out of my home for long. People in this town will protect me. I’ve been here long enough and worked hard enough that they won’t believe your lies when you tell them I’m lazy and a liar and not worthy of your
greatness
. So leave, or I’ll get the sheriff and have him throw you out.”

He’d blown it. He hadn’t lost his temper in three months, ever since he’d made his commitment to the Lord. The peace that had washed over him had overcome all of the old demons that goaded him, and he’d thought he was healed.

You don’t have to put up with that
.

Satan whispered lies justifying his anger.

Your employees are stupid
.

He’d believed he was superior to everyone.

She’ll shape up or she’ll lose me
.

But those lies had faded, and God had sent comfort like warm rain, hydrating the cracked soil of his heart, drenching the raging fire of his arrogance.

He’d been fine … until today.

God had deeply convicted him of the sin of his marriage. The way he’d treated sweet, malleable, beautiful little Jeanie. The way he’d abandoned his baby girl. His rage had been healed in the instant he’d been born again, replaced with conviction of his sins and the desperate need to make things right. He’d set out to find his family with a humble heart.

And now, after a few minutes with Jeanie, that sinful nature awoke like a hungry beast. He felt controlled by his need to vent his temper and always, always blame her.

He prayed as he stepped out on the landing. “You’re right again. Is there a pastor in this town that you like?”

“You won’t be able to turn him against me, Mike. I’ve done a lot of counseling with him, and he knows me well enough not to believe your insults.”

“Good, then he’ll know it’s all my fault and we can save a lot of time. What’s his name?”

Jeanie hesitated, but there was a depth to her expression that had never been there before. Yes, she’d changed. She was stronger, more confident, and if possible, sweeter than ever. She wouldn’t deny him a chance to talk with her pastor.

“He’s Pastor Albert Lewis. He’s in the phone book.” She gave him a level stare as she slipped past him and stood inside her wretched apartment. “We’re not saving this marriage, Michael. I’ve fought too hard to stand on my own two feet and live a life God might—just might—respect. I’m not letting you denigrate me until you pull me back down to the level you need in a wife.”

Michael returned that level look. The moment stretched. So sweet, so submissive, so pretty. He realized with a start that she was nearly thirty but she looked like a kid. She wasn’t wearing a bit of makeup, and he saw freckles scattered across her nose. He’d always harassed her about covering them with makeup.

Her hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. It was straight and honey blond, not the flashy, permed platinum he’d goaded her into. He’d called her hair mousy brown or dishwater blond. She had lost all of her curves, as if she’d starved away her womanhood. He’d goaded her about being fat once she’d gained an hourglass figure from giving birth.

He’d been a nonstop bully, and he deserved her contempt. Deserved to be alone for the rest of his life.

God, please forgive me. Help me to make Jeanie forgive me
.

She looked like the girl he’d fallen in love with. His Jeanie. Before he started “fixing” her.

Tears burned his eyes, and he blinked, not wanting her to give an inch. He knew the kindness of her heart. She might give him another chance just because he cried, and he didn’t want that.

Not when he’d just discovered it was within his power to destroy God’s miraculous healing of his temper.

“I’ll go talk to him. But I’m not leaving town. I’m here to stay. I love you, sweetheart, and we are going to heal this marriage. I promise you that before God.”

He turned and trotted down the squeaking, protesting iron steps.

At the bottom, he looked up and saw her leaning over the railing, staring down at him as if she were looking right into the eye of the devil himself.

He turned and jogged away from her, knowing he had only the slimmest control over his need to go back and convince her, by force if necessary, that they could be together again.

Her mind had chased itself around and around until she thought she’d go mad.

Jeanie rolled out of bed the next morning, grateful for the first blush of sunrise that put an end to this farce of sleeping.

She should have gone down to the Cold Creek Manor to see if the night shift needed any help. As it was, she’d be three hours early for the senior center. She didn’t usually show up until eight.

Showering in the tiny bathroom, she tried to get the cobwebs to clear from her aching head.

Michael was back. Mike.

God what can I do?

She stood in front of her miniscule bathroom mirror and stared at the scripture she’d claimed for a life verse. It was taped there as a reminder to start her day with God. Taped there to remind her that strength had never come easy. Quitting, depending, and blaming were more her style—along with living with shame.

“We want you to be very strong, in keeping with his glorious power. We want you to be patient. Never give up. Be joyful” (Colossians 1:11)
.

Pulling on khaki slacks, white sneakers, and a light blue cotton sweater because the kitchen at the Golden Days Senior Center was always cold, she spent a quiet time with her Bible, searching for new verses about being strong in the Lord. She studied ones she knew and made notes when she found another one. She’d been doing that since she accepted the Lord.

She prayed and claimed that strength. When she felt in control of her roiling emotions—something that would probably last only until she saw Mike again—she left her apartment. As she descended the stairs, she continued to reach with her soul for communion with God.

“We want you to be strong.”

God, please make me strong
.

“Never give up.”

That’s what Michael makes me want to do. Give up
.

“Be joyful.”

That one she could never manage. Oh, she was happy enough. She enjoyed her work and the friendly people in Cold Creek. And she felt joy in the Lord. But she never felt joy deep inside where she knew she’d failed at her most fundamental calling—motherhood.

She could feel her will slipping. She had it in her to be a doormat. She wanted it. Letting a man be in charge meant she had no responsibility. In exchange, she had to allow herself to be demeaned night and day for her whole life. And that was easy. She’d learned it at her father’s knee.

Jeanie’s father and Michael’s father were matching tyrants. Their mothers—perpetual victims. Jeanie and Michael had created a home exactly like the ones they’d been raised in.

Jeanie quickened her pace, trying to escape her thoughts, until she was running the two blocks to the Golden Days Senior Center. But she couldn’t outrun her mind.

Once inside, she fought to regain her calm. She was so early she could bake bread in plenty of time for lunch. There were twenty-five people who came to eat, a wonderful group of elderly who treated her as if she were their own daughter. That meant they meddled and nagged and gave her endless advice. But it was all done with love. And she’d never felt such love before.

Except from Buffy. Her little sister had tried to love her.

And Sally. Her daughter had endless, unconditional love to give, but Jeanie had thrown away what Sally so innocently offered.

Neglecting Sally, rejecting her daughter’s love, then giving her up was a sin for which Jeanie couldn’t forgive herself. No matter how fully God had forgiven her.

She began her busy day by slipping a roast into a slow cooker and adding seasoning. She usually baked the meat in the oven, but it wasn’t yet 5:00 a.m. There would be plenty of time for it to cook. Her seniors would enjoy the especially tender meat.

This was Monday. She usually got here close to 8:00, got dinner started, then ducked out just before 9:00 to help with Peaceful Mountain’s church service at the Cold Creek nursing home. Then she came back to the senior center and worked until 1:00. Next she went to her second part-time job as a nurse’s aid at the nursing home. She was training to be an LPN through a program at the nursing home, and she was enjoying that.

Well, she didn’t enjoy the textbooks. She’d never been good at her studies. Her grades were good, but she had to work hard to keep them up. Nevertheless, the hands-on work was an easy fit, and she felt a wonderful sense of accomplishment.

Jeanie spent her supper hour as a hospice volunteer. She currently had two patients at the manor whom she was helping escort into the next life with dignity, offering support to distraught families. Working with these families instead of eating had shaved twenty pounds off her overly round frame.

She had Bible study on Tuesdays and choir practice on Wednesdays. On Thursday evenings she worked her third part-time job, four hours at the Cold Creek library. She led a 4-H Club on one Saturday morning a month, helped with Girl Scouts the next week, and filled in at the local mini-mart the third and fourth Saturdays, for her fourth part-time job.

Saturday afternoons Pastor Bert gave her a ride out to the Peaceful Mountain Church she attended. She practiced the piano for Sunday services. It had taken hard work to remember those rusty lessons from childhood, but she was good enough now to play for church. After she practiced, she cleaned the little clapboard country church, mowed the lawn, and tended the flower beds when needed.

She still didn’t do enough to make up for abandoning her daughter.

Kneading bread in the empty kitchen at the run-down senior center, she prayed, trying to get her mind to settle down so she could think.

“Hi, Jeanie.”

A scream ripped out of her throat. She jumped and knocked the huge circle of dough sideways.

Mike snagged it in midair. He’d always been good in an emergency. Quickly, he set the dough back in front of her.

Heart hammering, she waited for the cutting remark.

Clumsy, jumpy, nervous, daydreamer, stupid, stupid, stupid
.

“I’m sorry I scared you. I went by your apartment and you were gone. Pastor Lewis said you work here mornings.”

Jeanie snapped, “What were you coming by for? I told you to stay away from me.” Suddenly, kneading the bread was a perfect excuse to take out her frustrations. She turned all of her anger loose on the defenseless loaf.

Mike turned and leaned his back against the counter. He crossed his arms and ankles and looked at her.

She glanced up and saw his eyes shift to the pummeled dough. It was possible he got the message.

“I know you, Jeanie. Even if I never gave you any respect, I had to know you really well or I wouldn’t have been able to hurt you like I did.”