Hearts at Home (23 page)
“I know, Stan.” What'd he think she was, thick as a plank?
She bent low to scrub a particularly dirty spot. Amazing, how a floor could go from clean to filthy in the space of a few hours. Things got especially bad in mud season, a phrase she'd never heard until they moved to Heavenly Daze. The state of Maine had five seasons, the old-timers insisted, mud season being accompanied by fall, winter, spring, and July.
Backing up to her bucket, she nudged it with the heel of her shoe. When it stuck to the wet floor, she nudged it harder, sending a splash of gray water over the side but effecting no movement whatsoever. In no mood for bucket defiance, she turned and kicked the darn thing. The pail tilted for an instant, then fell, splashing a stream of sudsy water over the floor . . . and down the basement stairs.
She froze as Stanley's warning came back to her:
“I'm
working with electricity down here.”
Oops.
“Fire in the hole!” Stanley shouted. “Aeeiiiiiieeeeeeee!”
Sounds of frantic movement rose from the basementâ Stanley's shouts, the splash of water, and the clunking sound of something heavy smacking the top of her clothes dryer.
Wading through the puddle, she approached the stairs and looked down. To the right of the staircase, Stanley crouched on the dryer, his face white and his cigar protruding from a pair of tightly clenched lips.
“Sorry, Stanley,” she said weakly. “I was mopping and the bucket tipped over.”
Stanley's hand trembled as he reached up to remove the cigar from his mouth. “Confound it, woman! You could've boiled me like a lobster.”
“I said I was sorry!” Edith bit her lip, resisting the urge to burst into tears. Dieting was making her crazy! If she hadn't been so testy and impatient she would never have spilled that bucket.
She dared to look into the basement again. “You did cut the power, didn't you?”
“Not yet!”
“Oh. Just a minute, then.” Grabbing a towel, she moved down the stairs until she found the circuit panel on the wall. She quickly flipped the breakers for the basement, then ducked to give Stanley an apologetic smile. “Okayâand no harm done, right?”
Stanley gently eased himself off the dryer, then bent to gather his tools. Ramming the cigar stub back into his mouth, he gave her a look of wide-eyed wonder. “Not even Vernie's ever tried to electrocute me. I'll be back when the floor's dry.”
“Okay. Thanks, Stan. I'm so sorry.”
He brushed passed her as he climbed the stairs, and as he pulled his coat from the chair on the table she heard him mumble something about dumb luck and fried handymen.
As the strength ran out of her legs, Edith sank to the steps and pondered what else could possibly go wrong.
O
n day two of the Wiener Diet, Edith ate three frankfurters for breakfast and three for brunch, deliberately planning to plead that she wasn't hungry when the other women brought out their casseroles and desserts. Vernie had called last night, announcing an emergency rice-bag-making session in the church basement, and could Edith come?
Of course she could come, and she wouldâbut she would not eat the goodies that always seemed to accompany these public service events.
Wearing a pair of stretch pants and a heavy sweater, she paused by the full-length mirror on her closet door before slipping into her coat and heading out. She hadn't lost much weightâonly a few poundsâbut she thought she could see a difference, especially in her face. Her jaw line seemed sharper now, her double chin a little less evident.
Surely someone would notice.
When she came down the stairs that led into the church fellowship hall, Cleta glanced up and smiled. “There she is. We were beginning to worry about you, Edith.”
“Worry?” Edith laid her purse on the table, smoothing her sweater over her slimmer frame. “Why would you worry?”
“Well, you and your diet. We don't want you getting sick so close to the wedding.”
Edith stifled a groan. She had wanted the women to notice that she looked good, not that she'd been on a diet. Now everyone would know, and everyone would want to talk about food.
Sinking into a chair before a mound of lilac tulle, she sent a smile around the circle, then covered her mouth and burped lightly, tasting wieners. “Birdie, how is Salt doing today?”
“He's raring to go.” Color flooded the bride-to-be's cheeks. “I mean, he's feeling fine. Better than ever.”
“Good.” Edith picked up a square of tulle, then looked at the mountain of rice on the table. The women were dropping tablespoonfuls of rice into the square, gathering the edges, and tying the packets with white ribbon. Simple.
Dana Klackenbush leaned forward to grin at Edith. “What diet are you doing? Low fat? High carbs? Sugar Busters, Pound Pinchers, Dr. Atkins, Pritkin, the Zone, or the Blood Type?”
Edith sighed, resigning herself to the conversation. “I've done a little of this, a little of that. I'm pretty close to reaching my goal.”
Babette gave Edith a rueful smile. “I'd love to take off a few pounds, but I don't think it's going to be possible for a while.”
Edith lifted a brow, waiting. This was the perfect time to announce Babette's good news . . . but the younger woman only lowered her gaze and dropped another spoonful of rice into lilac netting.
“Well,” Cleta said, unable to resist adding her two cents. “I know thin is in, but I think too many women are obsessed with weight. It's as if they're telling God he created a faulty product and it's up to us to correct it.”
“But too much weight can be dangerous to one's health,” Bea inserted.
“I don't think I've ever heard of anyone dying of thirty extra pounds,” Birdie said.
Bea tossed a finished rice bag at her sister. “But there's the blood pressure factor associated with weight.”
Cleta thumped the table with her scissors. “I know people skinny as fence posts with high blood pressure.”
“What about cholesterol?” Dana said. “Cholesterol is a big problem these days with all the red meat and junk food we eat. Even small children are showing signs of high cholesterol.”
Vernie dropped a handful of ribbon pieces into the center of the table. “Do you know what the average cholesterol level was just a few years back?”
“Two hundred?” Edith guessed.
“Two fifty,” Vernie answered. “Then some expert decided two hundred was ideal. Today, doctors want it below one-sixty. Most folks can't get their cholesterol below one-sixty without cholesterol-lowering medicine, and I hear that eats up your liver. Beef and eggs have become forbidden foods in our society. And butter?” She heaved a sigh. “A sure death sentence.”
“But you can't dispute facts,” Babette argued. “They say type two diabetes is reaching epidemic proportions among young kids because of the French fries, bread, and junk food they eat. I don't let Georgie have sugar. He eats sugar-free desserts except for the occasional cookie he wheedles out of Birdie or Abner.”
“You give that boy desserts made with
aspartame?”
Birdie shook her head. “I'm leery of artificial sweeteners. They can cause all kinds of side effects.”
“But refined sugar is bad for you.”
“Artificial sweeteners are killing us.” Vernie let another load of ribbons fall onto the table, causing Edith to wonder just how many rice bags they were supposed to make. She sighed. “I understand white bread, potatoes, and rice are harmful to your system. They raise the glycemic level or something. The experts say you should eat only whole wheat, nonprocessed food, sweet potatoes, and brown rice.”
“I can't eat like that,” Birdie said flatly. “I'd be in the kitchen all day, and my bread loaves would weigh twenty pounds.”
Comments erupted from all around the table:
“God made sugar, didn't he? How could he be wrong?”
“It wasn't refined when he made it.”
“What about caffeine? It'll shorten your life, too.”
“That's an old wives' tale!”
“I'm an old wife!”
“Well, I'm not giving up my coffee. Eventually they say everything is bad for you. I don't know who to trust anymore, so I'm going to eat what I like.”
“They say diet soda will rot your bones and hasten osteoporosis.”
Cleta grinned. “Then you're a goner, Vernie, with all those diet vanilla cokes you drink.”
Vernie snorted. “The world needs more vanilla cokesâ most folks could use a little sweetening.”
Cleta laughed. “What about all the hormones in our milk and poultry? No wonder I've got all these ugly coarse black hairs sprouting on my chin. They'll be coming out of my back before long.”
“I believe that's caused by
lack
of hormones, Cleta.”
“Whatever. I still have to pluck every day.”
Edith glanced up. “If we can't eat refined sugar, meat, or soda . . . if we can't drink the water because of the fluoride and chlorine, eat fruits and vegetables because of insecticide, or eat fish because of the mercury, what are we supposed to eat?”
The women babbled in confusion until Birdie nodded decisively. “We eat all things in moderation.” She looked around the table as if daring someone to contradict her. “The good Lord made each of us different, and that includes bodies and metabolisms. We enjoy the things he has given us, the things available to us, and we don't worry about things we can't help.”
She tossed a beribboned rice bag into the basket at the end of the table, then stood to drive her point home. “Animals, vegetables, fish, fruits, and grains were given to us for nourishment. It's only when we abuse our abundance that problems arise. And I speak for myself, ladies.” She patted her stomach. “With all the good food I've been eating, if next Thursday doesn't hurry and get here I'm not going to be able to squeeze into my wedding dress.”
Edith sighed in relief when the topic shifted to the upcoming wedding.
Dana clapped her hands. “Did your dress arrive?”
“Yesterday,” Birdie said, beaming. “Floyd brought three bags of mail over, and my dress was sitting in a big box right on top!”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it!”
Babette waved to break into the conversation. “By the way, how many of these rice bags are we making?”
“Well,” Birdie stopped to count on her fingers. “Fifty ought to do it.”
“Fifty?” Vernie dropped her jaw, then pointed to the mountain of tulle on the table. “Birdie, you've got enough stuff here to make three hundred.”
Birdie's eyes twinkled above an impish smile. “Well . . . you never know. We might be having another celebration before long.”
She winked at Vernie, who promptly threw up her hands.
“Oh, no. I married Stanley once already; that was enough.”
“Come on, Vernie. If any couple ever deserved a wedding renewal ceremony, you and Stanley do.”
“Nope.” But Vernie smiled as she picked up another piece of netting and spread it on the table.
Babette fluttered her fingers. “Maybe we could use them for Annie and A.J.”
“I wouldn't hold my breath for
that
one.” Vernie brought her scissors down on another hank of ribbon with a decisive
snip
. “I asked Caleb how A.J. and Annie were doing, and he said they weren't.”
Birdie squinted. “Weren't what?”
“Weren't
doing,
weren't getting along! Apparently things have cooled between those two.”
“I wouldn't blame Annie for giving that particular young man the heave-ho.” Cleta sat straighter in her chair. “After the funeral, I offered him a room at the B&Bâfor free, mind youâand he said that although the place was nice and rustic, he had to be getting back to New York.” Her nostrils flared as she snatched a square of netting from the table. “Rustic! Our place is anything
but!
We have all the modern amenities but cable, which, I understand, is nothing but a pipeline for pornography these daysâ”
“Still,” Dana interrupted, her voice dreamy, “I was hoping Annie and A.J. would get together. They were such an attractive couple.”
Vernie snorted. “What's looks got to do with anything?”
“Indeed.” Edith nodded her agreement. “Besides, if Annie married A.J., she'd have to move to New York. Now, tell the truthâcan you see that girl living in New York?”
Dana bit her lip as Edith tightened the knot on another rice bag.
Young people. At times you had to wonder if they could discern glitter from gold.
A
t the weekly Sunday evening angel meeting in the church basement, Abner pulled out a white pastry box and opened it with a grand gesture.
“Astounding!” Sniffing the rich aromas drifting from the box, Zuriel rose out of his chair. “What is it?”
“It is a calzone,” Abner explained, slipping his hands into plastic gloves. “A hand-held pastry pie filled with pepperoni and cheeses. Birdie is thinking about selling these during tourist season.”
“They smell heavenly.” Gavriel winked at Caleb, who smiled in response. In honor of this special occasion, the angel captain had taken the seat next to Caleb, and Abner had baked a special treatâwhat more could a ministering angel ask of his farewell party?
“Everyone, please enjoy them.” Abner began passing out the calzones. “Take one and wrap it in a napkin, no forks needed. Enjoy them while they're hot.”
Mingled murmurs of appreciation filled the fellowship hall as the angels filled the bellies of their mortal bodies. As Caleb ate, he studied his fellow ministers and realized how much he would miss these fine servants of the Most High God. Gavriel had been a just and honorable captain, Zuriel had never failed to offer a wise word, and Abner had been a delicious delight. Yakov, with his firsthand knowledge of European history and God's chosen people, had taught him many things, and Elezar's patient nature had blessed not only Vernie Bidderman but Caleb as well. And while all angels had strong voices with which to praise the Creator, Micah had been given a special musical gift. His melodies could lift the souls of men and angels to the heavenlies with one refrain.