Read Running Around (and Such) Online
Authors: Linda Byler
Lizzie stiffened slightly, going a little queasy in her stomach as she thought about any babies, but especially two at once. Lizzie still didn’t like babies. But that would appall Amanda. Emma didn’t understand Lizzie’s feelings about babies either. She loved to sew, whistling under her breath, which indicated that she loved what she was doing. And anywhere there were babies, Emma was watching the mothers, hoping for a chance to hold one.
Lizzie figured that she didn’t like babies because she had been around them too much when she was younger. After all, Jason was still a baby when the twins, KatieAnn and Susan, were born. Emma and Mandy had been much more excited about the new babies than she was, Lizzie remembered.
“Are we really going to have another one? Jason is still a baby, sort of. And besides, he’s finally cute, and now we don’t have to have more, do we?” Lizzie had asked.
“Lizzie, you just aren’t normal! Why don’t you like babies more? You should be ashamed of yourself,” Emma said.
“I guess,” Lizzie said slowly.
“You could grow up and be glad. It’s a blessing to have children,” Emma told her.
Lizzie sighed as Amanda showed her around the kitchen. Maybe she wasn’t normal, like Emma said. Oh, she knew she was normal as far as her brain working well because schoolwork was not hard for her. But maybe she wasn’t normal where babies were concerned. That was something new to worry about, seeing that Emma seriously thought so.
But sometimes babies screamed for a very long time, their faces looking awfully contorted. Some babies opened their mouths so wide you could easily see their tonsils, all bright red and looking like kidney beans. Babies were just not something Lizzie was very happy to think about.
But she had learned to hold a baby and figure out which end was up. Emma was a much better helper, because Lizzie got tired of babies quickly. But Mam told her she did well and that she would be a good mother someday, which made Lizzie feel considerably better about babies in general. Well, now Amanda needed her. Maybe she’d discover that babies and toddlers weren’t nearly as annoying as she used to think they were.
A
MANDA’S CHILDREN LOOKED JUST
as charming as their mother. Two boys with reddish brown hair and large brown eyes full of mischief bounced around on Darwin’s lap. And littlest of all was a wee child of about two with a riot of reddish curls all over her head, a face peppered with tiny little freckles, and huge blue eyes. She was so tiny and looked so fragile that she reminded Lizzie of a porcelain doll. She hid behind the recliner, and when she thought she wasn’t being noticed, peeped out at Lizzie. She resembled a rabbit, blinking her eyes without moving otherwise.
Amanda watched and smiled at Lizzie. “They’ll be a handful for you. The oldest one is Timmy, then Martin, and the little girl is Bethany.”
What an adorable name for an adorable child, Lizzie thought. Her ruffled dress had lavender daisies strewn into the fabric, which now, Lizzie thought, made her seem like a fairy.
Suddenly, Lawrence appeared. A husky farmer, he wore a red bill cap with a seed corn logo on it, muddy jeans, and a green work jacket. He smiled appreciatively at Lizzie and invited her to make herself at home, just as Amanda had done.
After peeping at Rosanne, the tiny newborn, Lizzie followed Amanda upstairs. Amanda showed Lizzie where she would sleep and apologized for the fact that she had to go through the children’s room to get to her own.
The upstairs was freezing cold, but Lizzie was quite accustomed to a drafty old farmhouse, so it didn’t bother her much at all.
She was just grateful to have a room of her own, even if it was cold. The tall, dark four-poster bed had a clean white quilt on it, and plenty of thick pillows made it look very comfortable. She hung her dresses in the closet and unpacked her suitcase as Amanda returned to the children.
Lizzie took only a moment to part the white curtains and gaze out at the barren, lonely-looking fields. Her longing to be at home with her family only deepened, but she resolutely turned and, with a deep breath, made her way downstairs and to her duties.
She rolled up her sleeves, washed dishes, emptied garbage, burned trash, swept, dusted, scrubbed floors, and prepared meals. The hardest part was making meals, because Mam did almost all of the cooking at home. Amanda helped her get each meal started, but then Lizzie was on her own to figure out how to fix everything and get all the food on the table at once and on time.
The kitchen had never been Lizzie’s favorite place, except for eating, of course. Lizzie would need every ounce of resolve today. At home, they mashed potatoes by hand, plunging a sturdy hand-held masher into a steaming stainless-steel kettle filled with soft-boiled potatoes. But Amanda brought out a strange contraption that she plugged into an electrical outlet. She pressed a button and the beaters began to spin at an alarming speed.
“Here, use the mixer to mash the potatoes. It’s so much easier,” she said, heading into the living room as the baby’s shrill cry sounded through the house.
Carefully, Lizzie held the mixer in what she hoped was the right position and pressed the button. Instantly her hand vibrated and chunks of soft, hot potato flew out of the bowl, landing with soft, sodden plops at her feet. Lizzie quickly bent to pick them up, hurriedly rinsing the globs of potatoes under running water before returning them to the bowl. Grimly, she repositioned the mixer, pressed the button, and tried again. This time the potatoes hit the back of the countertop and slid behind the glass canister set.
Her face turning red, and her mouth tight, Lizzie returned the steaming potatoes to the bowl, held the mixer as straight as possible, and pressed the button only halfway. She was rewarded by the beater starting more slowly. The potatoes began to mash, and then all at once, the thing stopped.
Oh, dear, Lizzie thought wildly. Now I’ve clogged everything up. She pressed the button as hard as she could and was horrified to hear a high, thin whine. The potatoes flew first around the bowl, and then out onto the countertop, onto Lizzie’s shoes, and onto her apron. Some even landed in the sink.
She was almost in tears when she heard Amanda’s giggle directly behind her.
“The mixer giving you a hard time?” she asked as she patted her baby’s little bottom, a diaper draped across her shoulder.
Lizzie turned sheepishly, her face red with embarrassment. “I just can’t seem to get the right speed,” she said nervously.
“It takes some getting used to,” Amanda said easily and handed the baby to Lizzie. With a skill born of practice, she pressed the button lightly, finding the proper speed. The potatoes whirred into a fluffy mass. She added salt and butter and a small amount of milk at regular intervals until the mashed potatoes were finished.
With Amanda’s easygoing, good-natured attitude, Lizzie learned to relax, ask questions, and take her time discovering the whole world of electricity. Toasters, blenders, automatic washers, dryers, and even the steam iron, which she used to iron Bethany’s small ruffled dresses, were all new and strange to her.
Every evening she was bone-weary, grateful for a good hot bath and her warm bed with the heavy quilts which kept her snug and warm through the long winter nights. The children’s chatter kept her awake a few nights, but not for long, she was so tired.
Lizzie’s sixteenth birthday fell on Thursday of her week at Lawrence and Amanda’s. She woke up feeling much the same as always, although she knew she was crossing a big threshold into a new chapter of her life. Turning 16 was a long-awaited moment. Now she could be with the youth every Sunday. She could even start dating. How thrilling to wake up on a Thursday morning and realize that she had become a young woman.
Lizzie sat up in bed and stretched, wondering if Mam and Emma were remembering her birthday, and if they had gifts ready to wrap for her. She missed Mandy terribly, and the thought of being with her whole family made her giddy with anticipation.
Only two more days and I’ll be going home, she smiled. Home had never seemed more dear to her than at this moment. She had often been away from home, but never over a birthday, and certainly never for her sixteenth.
Lizzie dutifully went about each task, whistling lightly under her breath as she hurried along. Two more days, two more days, she hummed in rhythm to her movements. The children could sense her lively mood and teased her playfully. They kept getting in her way and being generally annoying with little mishaps that wore on her patience.
Later that afternoon the door burst open and Lawrence stepped into the kitchen, shaking his hands and blowing on them to warm up. His cap was pulled low over his forehead, his collar was turned up, and his ears were red from the cold.
“We better get ready!” he announced in his usual enthused manner. “Feed man says there’s about two feet of snow on the way with high winds.”
Lizzie dropped the towel she was folding and opened her eyes wide in absolute disbelief. How could he come in like that, as if this was the most exciting event of the year? Didn’t he know how desperately she wanted to go home?
Lizzie’s mouth turned dry with fear and anxiety. She walked quickly to the kitchen window, parting the ruffled white curtains to survey the sky anxiously. Oh, mercy! The sky was a flat, leaden gray with not a glimmer of sunshine or any puffy clouds to dispel her fears.
Amanda talked animatedly with Lawrence as the children skipped and sang about the coming snow.
Lizzie fought back her fear, trying to hide her feelings from the family. No one even noticed her, so she went on folding towels, trying to conjure up enough courage to mention the fact that she would like to go home sometime before the storm hit.
She opened her mouth a few times, glancing edgily in the direction of the living room where Lawrence and Amanda stood talking, only to lose her nerve and resume her towel-folding. Her confidence melted like an ice cube in hot water. They talked so long that she panicked, certain that they had forgotten she existed, let alone even thought about taking her home.
Lizzie set her mouth determinedly, waiting for a lull in the conversation. “Do…do you suppose you could take me home before the storm arrives?” she asked loudly. I said it too loudly, she thought. Now they won’t take me home for sure.
Lawrence looked at her, considering her request before shaking his head. He raised his eyebrows at Amanda and said, “We really need you until Saturday afternoon. No use worrying about getting home before the storm gets here.”
So that was that. Lizzie spent a long evening trying not to think dismal thoughts. She wished with all her heart Lawrence would change his mind after the snow began to fall in earnest, but she knew there wasn’t much hope. She wondered if it was all right to ask God to wait to let it snow until she got home.
That evening she knelt beside her bed, her knees on the braided rug and her bare feet on the cold wooden bedroom floor. Lizzie prayed as urgently as she had ever prayed in her young life. She felt like Emma, but she was so desperate to be with her family, that this time she wasn’t self-conscious about being on her knees. She begged God to get her home safely, and please, please not to make her stay for another week without seeing Dat, Mam, Emma, and Mandy.
But who knew if praying really made a difference? Emma believed it did. She always had, even when they were still poor and Dat wanted to move to the worst ramshackle farm ever. Back then, Lizzie had tried to pray for help even though she was barely 10. How could God resist a 10-year-old’s prayers?
She remembered lying awake, listening to Mam and Dat talk way into the night. Dat’s voice would rise, followed by a soft murmur from Mam, until her voice would yank Lizzie to reality again as she talked fast and loud, almost as if she could cry at any moment. It had been quite an ordeal, listening to their conversation. Dat had bought an expensive piece of equipment from a salesman, which Mam felt they could not afford. Lizzie knew they were poor, but she didn’t know it was as bad as Mam said.
The thing that struck terror in Lizzie’s heart, that caused her to lie awake deep into the warm night, was when Mam said she just didn’t see how they could hang on any longer. Dat had answered Mam in the most awful, loud voice, stomped across the living room, and went out on the porch, the door slamming behind him. Lizzie thought she would surely die when she heard Mam crying softly, sighing, and blowing her nose. She thought of crawling out of bed to get on her knees to ask God to please come help them all. Dat and Mam didn’t know what to do because they had so many bills and no money.
But that would have made her feel too dumb, so she didn’t. She did turn on her back and clasp her hands over her chest and think a loud thought to God, asking him to help Dat and Mam. Later she thought maybe Jesus would have heard her better, because he was much smaller and not nearly as fierce-looking. He didn’t look one bit scary, except he wore a long, white dress, which was very strange. So Lizzie thought the same thought, except this time she directed it to Jesus.
She felt strangely quiet and not so scared after that. Maybe it was because the light went out in the living room, and Dat and Mam went to bed. Or maybe it was really that God had heard her, or Jesus. She was pretty sure that one of them had because she felt so much better.