Big Decisions (20 page)

Lizzie didn’t say anything and only watched him eat, thinking he had an awfully big mouthful of food and that she didn’t like him very much.

That was the trouble with having a husband. He was the one who made the decisions; not you. What if you knew better? What if that lawn could be seeded right now?

Stephen took a sip of water, then tipped back his chair and looked at her.

“Besides, we can’t afford to pay someone to spread the topsoil, and the best time to seed a lawn is late August or September. Not the beginning of summer.

“How do you know?”

“I asked.”

“Who did you ask?”

“A guy that was planting shrubs at the house we’re building.”

“Oh.”

Well, there wasn’t much Lizzie could say to that since he had asked the landscaping fellow. He probably knew what he was talking about.

She sighed.

“But, Stephen, I’m terribly bored. I have nothing to do. Not one thing. If I had a lawn and flower beds and a garden, I’d be busy all summer long.”

“Lizzie, you have to give up on having a lawn this summer. You’d make it a lot easier on yourself if you would.”

“I should get a job,” she said glumly.

“Why don’t you?”

“I hate to think of grading eggs again.”

“It would give you something to do, and we could save money and buy all kinds of nice shrubs this fall.”

That did it. If there was anything Lizzie loved more than a nice house it was a beautiful lawn. She would get a job, even if it meant going back to grading eggs.

The following morning she marched resolutely down the hill to the phone shanty they shared with Mam and Dat. She dialed Darwin Myers’ number and waited anxiously till his wife answered the phone. Yes, they would be glad to have her work part-time, they really would. Yes, they could come pick her up, although Mrs. Myers was almost sure Lizzie could make arrangements with Fred Martin’s wife, Dorothea, who had just started working there the week before.

Lizzie hurried in to the farmhouse to tell Mam, who was busily planting a few late purple and white striped petunias in her flower bed by the sidewalk.

“Good for you, Lizzie!” she commented when Lizzie told her she was going back to work. “That’s a good idea. You know in Proverbs there’s a chapter that speaks of a woman who is an honor to her husband by making things and selling them in the marketplace. Stephen will be glad if you help with the income.”

Lizzie nodded happily.

“Yes, he will. He’s the one who suggested it to me.”

“Well, I’m glad. Idle time is the devil’s time, Lizzie.”

Lizzie’s eyes narrowed, not sure how she should take that comment from Mam.

“You mean, if I have nothing to do, it’s the devil’s fault?” she asked suspiciously.

Mam laughed.

“No, no, no. I mean, to sit around doing nothing is not good for our minds. It’s a time when, being human, we tend to think of ourselves, have dissatisfied thoughts, or whatever.”

“Hmm, maybe that’s why I become miserable because Stephen isn’t finished with his brick-laying and we can’t have a yard. Mam, you know how happy I’d be if I could mow lawn.”

“Knowing you, Lizzie, you’ll mow lawn three times a week with the mower set much too short.”

Lizzie laughed. “Probably.”

Mam bent to her task, and Lizzie decided to go home.

Dat and Jason were at work and the twins in school, so there was no one to talk to other than Mam, and she was, by all appearances, terribly busy planting her petunias.

“Do you need help?” she volunteered.

“Now Lizzie, you know I like to plant my own petunias. Did you see these ‘cheraniums’? These new pink ones? Aren’t they the prettiest color? I found them at the new greenhouse in town. They were a bit too expensive, but I love my ‘cheraniums.’”

Lizzie nodded, knowing Mam’s flower beds well. A complete mixture of colors, every petunia and geranium she could find for miles around, planted in a profusion of brilliant hues. Mam spent hours with a wheelbarrow, a bag of peat moss, and a bucket of water, planting flowers until her face became almost as red as her geraniums.

So Lizzie began a routine of working for the Myers three days a week, standing at the egg-grading machine sorting eggs. Since she had worked there before, the Myers had built a new chicken house, installed an updated grader, and hired more people.

The second week, Lizzie thought she saw a new and different car parked in the parking lot. It was a small black car with blue stripes along the side.

“I wonder if someone new started,” she said to Dorothea, who picked her up in the morning.

“Looks like it.”

Sure enough, when Lizzie walked into the egg-grading room, a new girl stood by the egg-grader, looking a bit uncertain. Lizzie felt suddenly a bit shy, mostly because this new woman was very pretty. Her dark hair was cut neatly and swung in glossy smoothness down her back. Her eyes were brown, and her mouth looked different than any Lizzie had ever seen, maybe because her teeth were perfectly straight and white. She wore a beautiful blue sweater with a navy blue skirt, and looked quite English. She seemed to be a woman of the world and very sure of herself, except on this first day at a new job, when everyone felt a bit ill at ease.

That bit of uncertainty helped Lizzie to move toward her.

“Hi, I’m Lizzie,” she said.

“Hi! I’m Julie Morton. It’s nice to meet you. I guess we may as well learn to know each other, as close as we’ll be working together.”

Lizzie laughed, Julie smiled, and a friendship sparked that instant.

At lunchtime, Lizzie was amazed to discover that Julie had just gotten married in a long white gown and veil with all of the English wedding traditions at her parents’ home, even though her parents were members of the German Baptist group, or River Brethren, as they were commonly called in this immediate area.

Her parents were plain! How fascinating. Her mother wore a large white covering, and her father cut his hair and beard almost like Dat. As Julie talked about their way of life, Lizzie was reminded that there are lots of different denominations, different groups of plain people who were, really, much the same, with only a few differences. Although Julie’s parents dressed plainly, they drove black cars and trucks and had electricity and other modern conveniences that Lizzie was not allowed to have. Yet they had basically the same views and values as the Amish.

The lunch hour flew by, and they both gasped to realize they had already talked five minutes past the allotted time. They hurried back to work, still smiling as they reclaimed their positions at the egg-grading machine.

Throughout the summer, their friendship deepened. Lizzie looked forward to her days with Julie. One day while they sat side by side eating lunch, Julie told Lizzie that she and her husband, Gary, had decided to give their lives to God and join the River Brethren. They would dress plain, as their parents did.

Lizzie blinked, surprised. She could see Julie was very serious.

“You mean you’ll dress with a covering and a long dress? Completely different than now?”

Julie nodded soberly.

“But then … You’ll be different? You won’t laugh and talk the way you do now?”

Julie laughed. “Of course I will!”

Lizzie was hugely relieved. She had been afraid Julie would no longer be the same talkative, fun-loving person she was now when she started to dress plain.

At work that afternoon, Lizzie kept glancing sideways at Julie, at her beautiful dark hair and her pretty sweater, and wondered if she wouldn’t turn out to be one huge disappointment, becoming so pious and holy that she would think that Lizzie no longer qualified to be her friend. It made Lizzie nervous, thinking about someone becoming a much, much better person, going from a carefree young English woman to being a good plain one. That evening she fretted about this to Stephen, telling him everything about Julie and her church.

“Why are they called River Brethren?” she concluded.

Stephen shrugged his shoulders, turning back to his
Outdoor Life
magazine.

“Stephen, you’re not listening to me again.”

“I’m listening.”

“But what if I come to work and she’s almost like, well, like an angel? She’ll be all freshly baptized and good and pure, and her clothes will be so different, and I’ll be … well, the same sinner I always am.”

“Lizzie!” Stephen scolded.

“I mean it. I did so many wrong things since I was baptized and gave my life to God, that sometimes I’m not sure if I did.”

“What?” Stephen said absent-mindedly.

“Gave my life to God when I got baptized.”

“Well, if it’s as hard as you make it sound, we’d never make it.” he said dryly.

Lizzie didn’t know what he meant by that remark, and he soon laid his magazine aside, tilted back the recliner, and closed his eyes, after which Lizzie knew the discussion had ended then and there. That’s how Stephen was. He didn’t keep rambling on about nothing in particular, so she got up and sighed, knowing the conversation was over.

When Julie came back to work the following week, Lizzie was very nervous about her again. She tried to be polite and not stare at her or ask rude questions, but she studied Julie a lot when Julie wasn’t looking at her.

She was still pretty, only in a subdued way. Her white covering covered most of her hair and all of her ears and tied snugly beneath her chin. Her dress had a cape over the shoulders and a belt around her waist and hung in folds almost to her shoes. She seemed sweet and old-fashioned, almost like she imagined the characters in the Laura Ingalls Wilder series of books looked. Thankfully, she was the same Julie, her smile coming quickly and easily. She seemed, like her clothes, a bit subdued and serious, but friendly and welcoming.

Lizzie had tried to comb her hair flatter than ever that morning, jerking her covering as far over her ears as it would go, feeling as if she would be more equal to Julie if she was well within her church’s
ordnung
. It was just something she wanted to do to make herself feel better, since she definitely wanted to appear more pious herself. She didn’t know whether Julie noticed her flat hair—she just hoped she did—and believed that Lizzie was with her on the road she had chosen to get to heaven someday. But the thing that really bothered Lizzie most was when Julie mentioned the fact that they would be farming her father-in-law’s farm soon. Lizzie’s eyes became big and round, and she swiveled her head instantly to stare at Julie.

“You mean milk cows?” she squeaked.

“Oh, yes. Gary is a real dairy farmer. He loves cows.”

“Then … then … does that mean you will, too?”

“Oh, yes!” Julie said happily. “I’m looking forward to milking cows.”

“Oh.”

“Why, don’t you like cows?”

Terribly afraid that she would fall way on behind, as far as being a good person, Lizzie assured Julie that yes, she liked cows, just not milking them. She thought Julie gave her an awfully funny look but had the good manners to let it go at that. Lizzie wondered how much sinning was involved in hating cows. She had never enjoyed milking cows at home with Dat, but maybe if Stephen became a dairy farmer she would learn to appreciate them. Although, if she was very honest with herself, she doubted that she would like Stephen very much if he wanted her to milk cows with him.

A
LL SUMMER LONG, STEPHEN
came home from working with Dat and Jason, ate his supper, and then went outside and laid the white brick with brown mortar around the base of their house. He enjoyed his work very much. In fact, he told Lizzie they should have planned to brick the whole house. Lizzie didn’t say anything, but she was extremely glad he hadn’t thought of that, thinking how frightfully ugly that would look. Like a prison, or something. But, since Stephen hadn’t planned for that, there was no use saying exactly what she thought.

All summer long the weeds grew around the house and on the piles of topsoil heaped beside it. There wasn’t a thing Lizzie could do about it, as long as Stephen meticulously laid his bricks, one by one, in perfect succession. Fortunately, since starting her work at the egg-grading room, she was no longer bored, so the days flew by.

One evening after Stephen had laid the very last brick, Lizzie helped him sort the few remaining ones, rinse the wheelbarrow well with the green rubber hose, and stack the few leftover bags of brown mortar. Then she went to the house to make a pitcher of lemonade. The sun was beginning its descent, dipping below the mountain, and a small flock of blackbirds fussed and twittered their way across the evening sky, the way blackbirds did when they started to sense the end of summer.

Stephen watched their flight, drank his lemonade, and said nothing. Lizzie clasped her hands around her knees, pulling her skirt down till only her bare toes were visible, and sighed happily.

“Oh, Stephen, I’m so glad those bricks are finally finished,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“Why not?”

“I enjoy laying brick.”

“I know, but … weren’t you even, not even once, a bit impatient to have the job done?”

Lizzie was incredulous, watching Stephen with narrowed eyes as he shook his head back and forth.