Retribution (21 page)

God, what do You want me to do?
She sat quietly and listened.

The murmured voices of her sister and mother swirled. The garage door rolled up and then down again. The furnace kicked on, sending the hated pine scent across the room.

But no words of comfort or instruction came from God.
God, if you don't want to tell me what to do, don't complain when I mess it up.
Frustrated, she threw her Bible onto the bedspread and strode back downstairs.

The next thirty minutes were busy with last-minute preparations. In spite of fewer mouths to feed, a dozen platters and bowls needed carried to the table: turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, dressing, cranberry sauce, salad.

Her mother lit the orange tapered candles at each end of the table, slid the matches into the pocket of her silk pants, and took her seat opposite her husband. One person graced each side of the table.

Lillian stared at the food—enough to feed the homeless men for a week, and most of it would be tossed out, uneaten.

Her father rubbed his hands together. “Looks good, dear. You've outdone yourself again.” He reached for the turkey platter.

“Dad,” Lillian said quietly, “I would like to thank God for our meal.”

He stared at her.

“She wants to say grace, dear,” her mother added.

“I know what she means.” He narrowed his eyes. “This is why I didn't want you to leave home.”

Lillian glanced at Beth, who sat primly in her place, both brown eyes crossed. Neither parent could see their younger daughter's face. She and Beth had created this secret signal back in their elementary school days. When one violated a family code of conduct, and the other was forbidden to speak in defense, she showed support by crossing her eyes. The message was clear.
This stinks; it will be over soon; I love you.
Lillian's burning anger tempered under Beth's silent sympathy. “Thanking God for our blessings is a good thing.” She tried to keep her voice level. “Dad, if you remember, I've asked to say grace before.”

“Not for the past couple of years.” He crossed his arms over his chest, gold cufflinks sparkling in the candlelight sending incongruent vibes.

“Ralph, perhaps just this time…”

“This all started after she married that husband of hers.” Her father glared, his eyes becoming dark holes in a pinched face. “You marry beneath you, and look what you get.”

She refused to look at Beth, refused to allow sisterly support to compensate for her father's hateful words. Her self-control dissolved under the pressure of the anger releasing through her pores. “Craig was not beneath me,” she said through clenched teeth. “He was a good man. He cared for me, and he showed me God's love, something you never did.”

The single chime of the mantle clock announced the half hour. Its metallic tone sliced through the icy silence.

The muscles in her father's jaw tightened. “I am eating my dinner, which my wife has prepared for me. You do whatever you want.” He grabbed the serving fork and plopped a large piece of turkey on his plate.

Lillian bowed her head.
Father, thank you for this food. I know that You are the source of all things that I have. Please help my family to—

“Lillian!”

She jerked her head up to find her mother handing her the turkey platter.

Across the table Beth crossed her eyes.

“Mom and Dad, I love you, but I can hardly wait to go back to Darlington.”

A mouthful of half-chewed turkey flew from Beth's side of the table.

The words had been unpremeditated, made in the tension of the moment. Had the decision come from God, or from Satan?

16

Late Saturday morning Lillian stumbled down the stairs, her fuzzy, oversized slippers slapping each step. Covering a yawn, she wandered into the kitchen.

Trina turned and smiled. “Hey, I heard you come in last night. Thanks for calling ahead; otherwise I would have sent poor Ted down the stairs with a baseball bat.”

The image of Ted creeping around with a wooden bat played through Lillian's head. Peaceful, non-violent Ted. Now if Trina had sent Bill—that would have painted a different picture.

She glanced toward the dining room. “No guests today?”

“No, I think everyone wanted to stay home for the holidays. We only have one more booking through the end of the year. Do you want some coffee?” Trina reached for a mug on the open shelf. “I baked oatmeal muffins this morning in honor of your return.”

Lillian sat at the table. “You're so sweet.”

“I know they're your favorites.” Trina handed the coffee to Lillian, and then reached for a round bowl covered with a red-and-white checkered dishcloth. She placed the bowl of muffins on the table and added a dish of fruit.

“Lillian closed her eyes as she chewed. “These are so good.” She heard the scrape of the chair on the old floor and knew Trina had taken a seat across from her. Her heart swelled until she had to swallow against the pain. When had she fallen in love with this family? She had never felt so unconditionally accepted, not even in Cleveland. But here, in this sunny kitchen, she, Lillian Hunter, college professor and friend, felt at home.

Trina's arms rested across her expanding abdomen, her attention fully on Lillian, “I really missed you.”

“I missed you too.” She took another bite of muffin. “I thought about not coming back.”

“Why?” Trina's back straightened. “Are you unhappy here? Did we do something? Are things not working out at the college? You never talk about work much. Are you doing all right living here—”

She held up her hands. “Whoa, Trina. It's not you. I thought when I went back to Cleveland I would feel a longing to stay, but all I wanted was to come back here.” She sipped her coffee. “Before I went home, I had hoped that the feeling of alienation would be gone. I actually only got to visit with one friend, and that didn't go too well.” She sighed, pushing out bitter memories. “The tension at home, the expectations of perfection—don't put your glass in the sink, make your bed—all came rushing back to me. My mother's perfection and my father's controlling nature.”

Trina sat silently, her eyes soft with compassion.

“You know, now that I've had time to think about it, I must have carried some of that rigidity to my own home with Craig and Susan. I must have driven them crazy at times with my need for order and control.”

“Do you remember your first breakfast here?” Trina asked.

Lillian spooned chunks of fruit into her mouth.

“You were so nervous,” Trina said. “Usually our guests are on vacation, and in happy moods. But something about you bothered Dad. He said you had a burden of some kind.”

“I remember the looks he gave me that morning, as if he expected me to pull out a gun and start shooting.”

“Nothing that dramatic,” Trina said, a gentle smile curving her lips. “But he was worried about you.”

“I think he still is.”

“Have another muffin.” Trina pushed the bowl closer to Lillian.

“If you keep feeding me like this, I'll look like you, without the reward at the end.”

Trina ran her hand across her abdomen. “I'm really sorry about your Susan…”

She pressed a finger against a crumb and transferred the morsel to her mouth, resting her fingertip on her lips just for a second. “Margaret told me something the last time I worked at the shelter. She said Craig and Susan were a gift from God.” The hot coffee felt warm in her mouth as she sipped. “Margaret said that she rejoices in the memory of her daughter, knowing God provided those memories.”

“I didn't know Margaret lost a child.”

“From a genetic brain disease. She said that she still misses her daughter every day.” Lillian paused. “At the time I wondered how she could still smile.”

“Did you figure it out?”

Ted ambled in through the back door. “Good morning, Miss Lillian.” He glanced at his watch and a smile spread across his face. “I guess it's still morning. Welcome back and hope you had a good Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, it's ‘Miss Lillian' now?” Lillian grinned at the sparkle in Ted's eye.

“We're loaded up and ready to go.”

Trina turned to Lillian. “Will you need me for anything?” She pushed herself off the chair and gathered dishes from the table. “Sandra has a limb on that old magnolia tree in her side yard that needs to come down. Ted and Dad are going to hack away at it—”

“We are going to do more than that, oh, ye of little faith. Your dad has a chain saw.”

Trina's eyes sparkled. “Oooh. A mighty chain saw: the weapon of warriors. Why not come with us, Lillian? Sandra and I are set to supervise.”

“And fix lunch, I hope,” Ted added.

“And fix lunch,” Trina said. “Come with us.”

“I don't want to interfere in family time.” She imagined the fun they would have together, so different from the constant tension at home.

“You're not a guest anymore. After two months at my house, you're my sister.” Trina hugged Lillian's shoulders. “You eat in the kitchen, for goodness sake. Guests eat in the dining room.”

Lillian looked at Trina. “Do you know how to cross your eyes?”

“What?”

“Just a sister joke. Let me get my shoes.” She bounced up the stairs. Was it wrong to enjoy this family while being ostracized from her own? It seemed as if every time she allowed herself happiness, pain quickly followed. Would she bring misery to this family?

She pushed the image away as she tied on her shoes. What trouble could she possibly bring?

~*~

Lillian stared at the six-legged creatures marching up and down the length of the severed limb with the scent of freshly cut wood filling her nose.

Trina picked a stick off the ground and placed it in the path of the parade.

“Trina, let the bugs alone,” Bill said, brushing sawdust off the top of his head.

“I just want to see how long it will take for some of the ants to crawl up my stick.”

“Not very long, Aunt Trina,” Jimmy said. “Look!”

Several ants climbed onto her hand. She dropped the stick and picked the ants off her arm.

“If you hang around Trina,” Bill said to Lillian, “you need to know about her flaw.”

“I know what you're about to tell her, Dad, and it's not a flaw. I can't help it. I just feel sorry for the creatures.”

“It's a flaw,” he replied. “Anyway, back to my story. When Trina was a kid she had a habit of catching the bugs that wandered into the house and taking them back outside. I tried to teach her how to do it right, to squish the little boogers, but even at that age she was stubborn and refused to listen.”

“All God's creatures deserve to live, Dad.”

Jimmy's eyes widened. “Do you really pick up things like spiders?”

Sandra held up her hands. “Enough! What am I to do about these ants?” She folded her arms in front of her.

Ted rubbed his chin. “I suppose we should call an exterminator.”

“I bet those are termites!” Jimmy ran from one side of the tree to the other, and then jumped over the sawed-off limb.

Longing tugged at Lillian's heart, but the ache failed to consume her as in the past. Did Trina hope for a child as wonderful as Jimmy? She thought of the story Trina had told her about Jimmy, how he had endured more in his short six years than any child should when he lost both parents, and more recently, had been at the mercy of a kidnapper for almost a month.

“How do you know they're termites, Jimmy?” Trina asked.

“I studied them in school.” He assumed a rigid pose in front of Trina and counted off on his fingers. “Termites are a form of cockroach. They lived during the time of the dinosaurs. They live,” he threw his arms wide, “in colonies of millions! And they eat dead wood.” He looked at his grandma. “That's probably why they're in our tree.” Jimmy ran and hurtled himself across the limb where he fell among the cast-off branches. “I'm OK,” he said, laughing from the other side.

Sandra sighed. “Jimmy, you're getting in the way. Come and stand beside me.” She grabbed his hand as he tried to dart past her.

Trina winked. “I'm with you on this one, Jimmy. How do all of you know they're not termites?” She bent over the crawling critters.

“
I
know,” Bill said. “They're carpenter ants and we don't want them moving to the house now that their nest has been disturbed. We need to get this limb out of here.”

“Grandma says you know things,” Jimmy said. “You knew where to find me when I was kidnapped. God tells you things.”

Bill studied the exuberant boy.

“Jimmy, we can talk about that later,” Sandra said. “And Ted, I doubt that I can reach an exterminator on Saturday, but I'll go make a few calls.” She pulled the reluctant boy with her toward the house.

“Jimmy can stay with me if it's all right,” Ted said. “He can help drag wood to the curb once we cut this limb into smaller pieces.”

Sandra let go of Jimmy's hand and mouthed a “thank you.”

The chain saw roared and Trina covered her ears. She turned to Lillian and shouted, “We might as well start lunch.” The silence of the kitchen seemed tomblike after the ear-piercing noise outside. “Sandra has a nice house.”

“I forgot you haven't been here before. Did you know her husband built it for her right after they were married?”

The yellow walls looked like sunshine, sort of like Trina's kitchen. White cabinets climbed all the way to the nine-foot ceilings while an old pendant light hung in the center of the room. A window looked over the side yard, framing the busy men. On the far wall, a round wood table stood surrounded by five chairs. White stove and refrigerator. Metal dishwasher. Black microwave. Unlike in her mother's kitchen, nothing matched, but it felt homey and lived-in.