Big Decisions Page 7

  John was awfully good-looking, though, in his straw hat and everyday work clothes, and his small dark beard. She told Mandy about her observation after chores were done, and Mandy laughed agreeably.

  “Of course, Lizzie, he’s the most handsome man in Cameron County, you know.”

  As Lizzie drove out the driveway to start her long trek home, she looked forward to the time alone, driving Bess. She needed to think. No use looking back, that was one thing sure. Life went rolling along like a gigantic wheel, and all human mortals had to go along, whether they wanted to or not. But did she really want to go back to when Mandy and Emma were still at home, before Joshua and John were part of the family? Probably not really.

  She did so look forward to the time when she would live in her own house with Stephen, even if she was worried about marriage sometimes. If there were trials and troubles, everybody got through them. Well, Amish people did anyway. Some English people were divorced, but they were allowed to be, and Amish people weren’t. Although when Mam heard of some far-off people who were having marital problems, she would shake her head and say, “They should live apart for awhile.” Stephen was quiet, that was one thing, so Lizzie would probably do most of the talking, but that was all right. She did that now, and Stephen listened. He liked to hear her talk.

  Oh, there were countless things to look forward to when she got married. Stephen would buy her a set of china, a water pitcher and tumbler set, and silverware in a nice wooden chest. Mam would go furniture-shopping with her. It was all just too good to be really true. Already, Mam was piecing two quilts for her, and one was a yellow and white Dahlia pattern that she would put on her guest bed. If she had one. She didn’t know how many bedrooms Stephen was planning on having in the house.

  She missed her pupils, thinking back to the last day of school a month earlier. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to try and keep on teaching in spite of getting married or not. They had asked her to return in the fall, but she really hadn’t decided. The money she made would be nice, but maybe it would all prove to be too stressful with the new house underway and planning her wedding.

  Mam was really the one who carried most of the stress when it came to having a wedding. Lizzie often wondered what kept her from popping like a balloon when you blow it up too far; that’s how nervous she became about the day before the risht-dawg. Oh, well, a lot of Emma and Mandy’s wedding-day tensions could have been avoided if they hadn’t cared so very much about things like the amount of guests they invited, the menu, or who did what.

  It didn’t matter a whole lot to Lizzie, because a wedding was just a wedding, and then it was over. Who knew or remembered who was invited and who was not, or what they ate, for that matter. She slapped Bess and told her to hurry up. It was time to get home.

  Chapter 7

  STEPHEN SPREAD OUT THE sheet of paper with blue markings all over it. After he turned it the proper way, it resembled a rectangular pattern of sorts, the lines running every which way, outlining walls, doors, and windows.

  “There. Hold that corner,” he said.

  Lizzie held down the one side of the drawing to keep it from rolling up and peered eagerly at the sketch of their house.

  “Here’s where the front steps go up to a small porch,” Stephen explained. “This door goes into the kitchen. You said you wanted the floor plan open—kitchen, dining room, and living room in one, or almost. What do you think?”

  Lizzie drew down her eyebrows, concentrating intently on the small squares that were rooms.

  “Do that porch and door face the road?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Oh.”

  Two bedrooms made up the back of the house; the bathroom sat on one side with the basement stairs across from it. An open stairway in the living room divided it from the back bedroom. The dining room and kitchen seemed like one room except for a small wall on each side that separated them, and the living room was off to the left, creating an L-shaped living area.

  Lizzie loved the sensible house plan. For a small house, it was very open, the space flowing together in a way that allowed for the maximum amount of light and air on summer days.

  “We don’t need two bedrooms, though,” Lizzie said doubtfully.

  “I thought we’d use the one to put my desk and gun cabinet and all my hunting and fishing things in until we need it,” Stephen said.

  “How many bedrooms are upstairs?”

  “Three small ones. It’s only a story and a half, you know. The dormers out the front allow for extra space for windows.”

  “What color is our house going to be?” Lizzie asked eagerly.

  “What color do you like?”

  “Brown.”

  “We’ll have brick halfway up to the windows, so we’ll need to decide what color we like. I like white bricks with brown mortar. I think that will look nice with that brown siding that resembles wood.”

  Lizzie looked at Stephen. She was incredulous. White bricks! White! He couldn’t be serious. He liked white bricks. She knew in one swift moment that she shouldn’t say anything, but she so desperately disliked the idea of ruining her dreamed-about little brown house with white bricks, that she blurted out, “White? I hate white bricks.”

  Stephen turned to look at her, his eyes narrowing. “You do?”

  He was surprised at her outburst, Lizzie could tell. Well, he’s just going to have to be surprised, because I won’t have my dream house ruined by that strange idea.

  Her own will overrode her common sense, even the things Mam had tried to teach her about being submissive. Like a gray storm cloud across the sun, the atmosphere between them became a bit chilled as Stephen cleared his throat.

  “Yes, I do. They look like a prison or a doctor’s office,” she said emphatically, completely sure of herself now that Stephen was wavering.

  Her heart sank as she saw Stephen turn to the drawing, his jaw setting as he worked the muscles along his face.

  “Well, that’s too bad, Lizzie. I happen to like them. The light-colored bricks set against the dark brown mortar look neat.”

  Lizzie’s mouth literally dropped open in disbelief. He was openly disagreeing, without considering her point of view at all! How could he do that? Wasn’t he supposed to love her enough so that her every whim would be his command?

  She panicked. She didn’t want to have white bricks on the house, so she burst out, “Well, then I guess you’ll have to live in it alone, because I won’t live there if you use white bricks.”

  “Lizzie!” Stephen said sharply.

  She crossed her arms in front of her, leaning back against the chair. Stephen stared at her, and she glared back defiantly. Silence stretched between them like a taut rubber band, ready to snap in either direction.

  Stephen sighed.

  Lizzie breathed quietly, her heart hammering in her chest. She knew she was hurting his feelings, but she so hated the idea of white bricks that she didn’t care how he felt.

  He rolled up the drawing, stood up, and said, “Well, I may as well go home then, if we’re going to disagree.”

  “No! No! I don’t want you to go,” Lizzie said, gazing up at him with eyes that she hoped would melt his heart. Maybe if she whined and begged, even shed a few tears which were very close to the surface anyway, he would give in to her.

  “I’d better go. It’s getting late. Your parents will think I shouldn’t be here anyway, the middle of the week like this.”

  “Are … Aren’t you going to talk anymore about the … the bricks?” Lizzie implored him.

  “There’s no use. Lizzie, I’m a builder, and I know what looks nice. You aren’t used to building houses, so how could you understand what I’m talking about?”

  That was like throwing kerosene on an already smoldering fire. Lizzie completely lost all sense of right and wrong, of caring whether she hurt his feelings, of anything at all. She was so angry she leaped to her feet, her eyes flashing as she faced him squarely.

  “Oh, you! You
make me so angry. You don’t have to be a builder to know what looks nice and what doesn’t. Women have more taste than men, and they always know what looks pretty. Men don’t, and you don’t either.”

  All he said was, “I think white bricks would look best,” and then walked out to the kitchen, through the door, and out to the barn, while Lizzie fumed and sputtered all by herself.

  All right. Let him go. She was not going to go help him with his horse or say good-bye. Good for him if he had to go home like this. She watched, barely breathing, as he backed the horse and buggy out of the forebay and gathered up the reins. Switching on the headlights, he climbed in, and gravel spit against the wheels as he turned to drive out the lane at a fast pace.

  He meant what he said! Surely he’d turn around and come back to her. He’d pity her and tell her brown bricks were the best choice just because she thought so, and that he loved her much more than the house, and that she was the light of his life and he would do anything in his power to make her happy. Then she would feel so adored and be so happy in her little brown house that would look exactly as she had always pictured it.

  She stayed by the window, watching and peering anxiously into the darkness for a glimpse of the bluish white lights of his headlights as he returned to apologize to her. Crickets chirped steadily, and the night sounds remained exactly the same with no horse’s hooves clopping on the road. Sighing, she smoothed back her hair in agitation, chewing on her lower lip as a lump began forming in her throat. Her nostrils burned and quivered, and tears stung her eyes.

  Turning, she marched up the steps to her room, determined not to give in to her absolute misery with a display of emotional tears. He was completely out of his rightful place. She had every right to choose the bricks for her house. She was the wife, or soon would be, and who would live in the house the most? She would. He would be away at work over half of the time anyway.

  See, that’s how Dat was, she thought angrily. If he wanted to move somewhere, he just said he was moving, and it was up to Mam to go along. Men were all alike. Gros-feelich. Conceited. How could he think that just because he was a builder, he knew what looked good?

  Lizzie fairly snorted as she buttoned her nightgown and turned down the covers of her bed. Climbing in, she pulled them up to her chin and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.

  Dear God, she tried to pray. Please make Stephen see his big mistake.

  That didn’t work.

  Her prayer seemed to bounce against the ceiling and come back down, landing like a great crushing weight on her chest, making her feel worse. She was so miserable that she didn’t feel like getting married at all, especially if he was going to be so stubborn about bricks.

  She rolled over, punched her pillows, and squeezed her eyes shut. Then, like cold, hard little hailstones, she was accosted by doubts and fears. Her thoughts ran completely rampant, as she lay all alone in the dark with only her own will and anger to keep her company. It was not a peaceful or restful kind of company.

  How much were you expected to give up after you were married? Bow before your husband, the king, and say in a quiet, hushed, humble tone, “Oh, of course, Your Majesty, white bricks are beautiful.” Stuff all your own wants and desires in a deep recess of your brain, like a garbage bag full of forbidden fruit, stuck away into the darkest corners of the attic?

  And so her rebellion raged, fighting off any hope of ever falling asleep. What was best? Living in a house that didn’t even come close to what she had imagined and submitting to the will of her husband. Or, like a fiercely determined warrior, sword and shield drawn, hack her way through until he finally relented? Oh, she so wanted to have her little brown house encased in brown bricks with pretty shrubs growing around it, exactly as she had always pictured it.

  Maybe her whole life would be easier if she never married but remained single and taught school until she was 70 years old. She could hold Emma’s and Mandy’s babies and eat all she wanted, because she would not have to worry one tiny bit about her figure if she had no boyfriend or husband. For one thing, she could do exactly as she pleased. If she ever saved enough money from teaching school, which was highly unlikely considering teachers’ wages, she would build her own house and use brown bricks. Just like the last little pig in the “Three Little Pigs” nursery rhyme, she thought grimly. The wolf could not get in.

  Maybe I’ll just break up with Stephen, she thought. Immediately his dark face and long brown hair with blond streaks in it, his blue, blue eyes, and just him, the image of Stephen, appeared in her mind. She knew without a doubt she could never be happy without him. A quiet sob tore at her throat as she buried her face in her pillow and cried great tears, soaking the pillowcase in the process.

  Suddenly there was a soft knock on her bedroom door. No, it couldn’t be. Nobody knocked on bedroom doors in the Glick household, especially in the middle of the night.

  Knock, knock.

  Her heart leaped to her throat and cold shivers chased each other up and down her spine. Grabbing her woolly housecoat, she wrapped it tightly around her body, her arms crossed over the front protectively.

  “Who is it?” she called weakly, her mouth as dry as if it were full of cotton.

  There was no answer, then in the space of a few seconds, a quiet, “Me.”

  Stephen!

  Lizzie drew a sharp breath, and in one rush, she was at the door.

  “Stephen!” she gasped, “you’re not supposed to be up here.”

  “I know. Can we talk?”

  Placing her hand firmly in his, she crept down the stairs, carrying the kerosene lamp from the bathroom. She set it carefully on the kitchen table and turned to face him with red, swollen, questioning eyes.

  “What is it?”

  In a gesture of helplessness, Stephen raised his hands beseechingly, then let them fall to his sides.

  “I … I’m not real good at expressing my feelings,” he said in a quiet tone of voice, “but … well, I got home and just couldn’t unhitch my horse. I had no right to be so bullheaded. You know how much I love you, and I want to be able to do anything for you. But I’m self-willed, too, and if I want something, I think that’s how it has to be. I’m sorry. That wasn’t right.”

  Lizzie tried to laugh softly, to float lightly over the top of his unaccustomed deep emotion. But her tears were still too close to the surface, and her laugh, when it did emerge, was more like a sob, followed by more dreaded tears.

  “It’s all right,” was all she could manage before she walked across the kitchen to the box of tissues.

  Stephen sank into a kitchen chair, then looked at her across the lamplight. “No, it isn’t all right. I was being mean to you.”

  Lizzie wiped her eyes, and this time her low laugh was genuine. “No, Stephen, I was the one being mean. I should have tried to picture the house the way you did. It really is not so significant, either, whether we live in a house made of white or brown bricks.”

  “Why did we have that senseless disagreement?” Stephen asked.

  “Because we’re us. You and I are so much alike.” Lizzie shook her head, feeling very wise at that moment.

  Stephen leaned forward.

  “Lizzie, you pick the color for the bricks,” he said. “I don’t mind either way. Honestly, I don’t. I don’t know why I acted so sure of myself in the first place.”

  Lizzie watched his face, his eyes soft with emotion, and thought that if he ever did seem like a king, it was at this moment. She loved him with her whole heart and knew without a trace of doubt that white bricks were going to look absolutely fantastic. Oh, she wanted to be a sweet, submissive wife when he was so unbelievably kind and good.

  “So,” he finished, “it’s up to you.”

  Clasping her hands in her lap, taking a deep breath of pure happiness, she said, “I think white bricks would look very nice.”

  Stephen laughed. “You don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. Stephen, when you are so kind, it’s easy to want what you wan
t. Don’t you think that’s very important after we get married? We just have to remember to consider each other’s feelings instead of saying outright anything we want.”

  After a while, Lizzie asked him how he even got up the stairs without waking Mam and Dat.

  “You have the creakiest stairs in Cameron County,” he grinned. “It took me a long time to get to the top step, believe me.”

  She laughed. “I’m sure Mam and Dat never heard you.”

  How different she felt as she hung up her housecoat and climbed into bed. Her prayers were now of thanksgiving and praise. It felt as if God beamed down on the old farmhouse, straight through the ceiling to her heart and soul. How light her heart felt!

  Finally, she understood this submission thing, this giving and taking, and it seemed very possible that she would be able to be happy and submissive at the same time. Oh, they would have their flare-ups, their disagreements and sad times, same as all couples who were married, but wasn’t it just something? Wasn’t it just unbelievable?

  She bounced onto her back, patting the covers into place. Imagine! He said he couldn’t unhitch his horse until he drove all the way back, he felt so bad because he was mean. He wasn’t really being mean, just … well … And here she was, thoroughly miserable, unable to sleep because they had parted coldly, without wishing each other well. She felt as if she had been rescued out of a pit of quicksand full of despair, her feet planted now on firm ground while birds and butterflies twittered and darted around her.

  A house made of white bricks, filled with love and understanding, with peace and submission, was so much better than one with brown bricks, filled only with her own determination and her lack of love. Maybe she would be as old as the hills before she understood everything or learned to be submissive in all things, but this much she understood. It was easy as pie to submit to a kind, loving husband.

  The following morning she hid her smile when Mam said she declared there were some strange creaks in the night. Dat told her when the nights became cool, the aluminum siding on the new part of the house expanded and contracted, causing creaking sounds.