When Strawberries Bloom (12 page)

“I hope you come often, Lizzie. I’m going to miss you,” Emma said.

Lizzie looked at her sharply. Emma still looked happy, but there was a bit of apprehension in her voice.

“Aren’t you glad you got married, Emma?” Lizzie asked, her voice rising sharply.

“Ach now, Lizzie, there you go again, jumping to conclusions. It’s no wonder you don’t have a boyfriend. I honestly think you’re afraid of getting married yourself,” Emma said, sitting on the side of the bed and patting the area beside her for Lizzie.

Lizzie sat down close to Emma, and an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia gripped her. Time moved on, bringing changes, and it didn’t seem very long ago at all that they were little girls. They had been so close.

“To tell you the truth, Lizzie, being married is all I ever dreamed it would be. And today … moving into our own house, and putting my quilts on my own beds … it’s just, well, it’s just the happiest time of my life. Joshua is so good to me, and I can hardly wait for our life to begin here on the farm. But that new beginning still brings wistful feelings of the past, of you and Mandy and Mam. Especially you. I’m going to miss you. Promise me, Lizzie, that you’ll write me a long, funny letter every week. Promise?”

“Promise,” Lizzie whispered around the lump in her throat.

“Don’t you cry, or I’ll start!” Emma said, her voice shaking.

“I’m not crying,” Lizzie said fiercely. “I’m just going to miss you. I wish I had appreciated you more already. Who is going to sweep the kitchen 10 times a day?”

Emma laughed. “I didn’t sweep 10 times.”

“Almost.”

“I feel almost guilty with all I have, Lizzie, and you … you …” she broke off, looking earnestly into Lizzie’s eyes.

“And I’m a pathetic old maid,” Lizzie finished for her, laughing. “Don’t worry about me, Emma. I know now, since I’m here today, that I’m not ready for this. You want to know something? This upstairs gives me the blues.”

“Why? Whatever for? It’s my very best place. The one I always imagined for my quilts. I love my upstairs,” Emma said.

“Well, good for you, Emma. You know how very different we always were.”

“We sure were and still are, I suppose. But yet, in our own way, we always had a special bond, as long as you weren’t too lazy. Remember all the things you did to slip away from the jobs you had to do?”

“Or how bossy you were! Emma, you were so bossy, that’s probably why I don’t have a boyfriend. I have nightmares of him acting as bossy as you used to be.”

Emma slapped Lizzie playfully. “Now, you know better.”

They laughed together as they finished making the beds, and Emma went downstairs to help Mam with the kitchen cupboards, leaving Lizzie to hang up pictures and finish unpacking. She smiled as she came to a box filled with old copies of
Family Life
,
Young Companion
, and
Blackboard Bulletin
, monthly magazines published by Pathway Publishers in Ontario, Canada.

Emma loved the magazines, poring over each story and copying recipes as soon as they arrived in the mail. She saved each issue for future use, and she got upset if someone lost or tore one of her precious magazines. Lizzie enjoyed reading the magazines, too, but she also quickly became bored with them.

After stacking the magazines neatly in a dresser drawer, Lizzie opened another cardboard box, labeled “Spare Bedroom.” Inside she found Emma’s old diaries, letters, birthday cards, and even her get-well cards from when she had rheumatic fever as a child. Lizzie was fascinated. Sifting through all of Emma’s old belongings, she felt a keen sadness, the same feeling she often felt growing up. It was sad that people had to grow up. Why did they have to? It brought so many more responsibilities, decisions, and serious weighty matters that just well … that just made you old. Old and fat and wrinkly.

But then, God made things that way. He invented the whole concept of time, and people had to go along with that because they were just people. And besides, that Peter Pan story about the children going to Never-Never-Land and remaining children couldn’t be true. It was all a fairy tale, and would she even be happy staying a child? She doubted it.

She sat down on the floor, leaned back against the wall, then sat forward immediately as a chill crept up her spine. Cold air wafted in from cracks in the floor and baseboard, and she shivered. See, it’s stuff like this that gives me the blues about marrying, she thought. They should fix up this old upstairs, but they could never afford it, so they’ll just have to live with it. And who knows? Every year these cracks in the floor could get larger, letting in more cold air until their woodstove in the kitchen can’t keep out the cold, and they’ll just freeze. Oh, well, if she did get married, her husband would just have to make sure the house wasn’t too old or damaged, because that would make her nervous.

Lizzie wondered fleetingly how Stephen felt about houses and wondered if he was happy way up north. It was brave of him to leave his parents and family like that. She had thought over and over about their conversation that night at the sledding party. Surely it wasn’t as serious as he made it sound. The thing that really tormented her most, though, was why she kept fighting against his love for her. It had to be love, or he wouldn’t be so serious. Why did she resist him? It should be so easy just to let the wall of defense down and become his girlfriend, and, of course, marry him in the end.

Maybe she read too many novels that made her expect some knight in shining armor to come along, some extraordinary person who would sweep her off her feet with such a great love that it wasn’t even funny. Or, like Mam always said, maybe she was fighting against God’s will.

Mam had always felt that Stephen was the one for her. But how could your mother know? That was so dumb it never failed to irk her. Just as if God could talk to Mam but not to Lizzie because she was too … well, too thick-headed. The whole thing just gave her a headache, so she didn’t think about it too much.

But the thing was, how could Emma and Mandy be so 100 percent certain that this was the right one? They were taking an awful risk in Lizzie’s opinion. Oh, that was another thing. Mam always said it was different for every person, no two situations were alike. Hmmph. That was not very reassuring.

“Lizzie! Where are you?” Mandy called.

“Up here.”

“You’re supposed to come down now. Mam said we’re to rake the yard.”

“I’m not finished with these things for the spare bedroom,” Lizzie said.

“Come on, Lizzie. You have to help me,” Mandy said.

So Lizzie put the lid back on the unpacked cardboard box and went downstairs where Mam and Emma were arranging things in the kitchen cupboards. They were talking and laughing with Joshua’s parents and his sisters who were cleaning the pantry.

Lizzie was hungry, but it didn’t look as if anyone was preparing any food. There wasn’t even any coffee or tea on the stove or cookies for a midmorning snack. She couldn’t remember anyone talking about lunch.

“Aren’t we having coffee break?” Lizzie asked Mam.

“No, we got started a bit late, so we’ll just have an early lunch,” Mam answered.

“Are you finished upstairs?” Emma asked.

“Not quite.”

“That’s all right. I’ll do that next week,” Emma said brightly.

Lizzie looked closely at Emma. Yes, that happy answer was genuine, there was no doubt about it. But when Lizzie thought about being all alone in that upstairs the following week, it just made her heart drop so far she could almost feel it in her stomach.

Lizzie and Mandy headed outside. Patches of snow sat under the large maple trees, but the rest of the yard was bare. Sticks, leaves, and debris littered the brown grass. Mandy and Lizzie grabbed a rake and started cleaning up in earnest.

The brisk, cold air and exercise lifted Lizzie’s spirits as she worked. Mandy’s cheeks were flushed as she raked steadily, her scarf fluttering in the breeze.

“Mandy,” Lizzie said. She stopped and leaned on her rake. “Do you think Emma will be all right?”

“What? Lizzie, of course. She was looking forward to this for a very long time.”

“But … but I’m afraid she’ll get homesick so much,” Lizzie said, her brow creased in worry.

“Not Emma. You would probably, and maybe I would a little, but not her. You know how she is.”

That afternoon, as the Glick family packed their things for the return trip home, Mam was fighting tears. Lizzie couldn’t look at her, certain that she would burst into big, choking baby-like sobs at the thought of leaving Emma.

Everyone piled into the van while Joshua and Emma stood close together, their faces wreathed in happy smiles. Mam put a few boxes under the seat, and Dat rolled down the window.

“Now come visit us soon. Take good care of Emma, Joshua,” he said.

Joshua smiled and said of course he would, while Dat blinked back tears of his own.

“Good-bye, Lizzie! Don’t forget to write! Good-bye, Mandy and Jason!” Emma reached through the window for the twins, hugging them good-bye, and still she did not cry. Lizzie wished the driver would just go now, because her tears might start to roll any minute.

Mam wiped her eyes as the van pulled slowly out the country road. Lizzie bit her lip and blinked steadily to keep the tears away. Her heart felt sad, almost as if a part of her stayed at the farm in Allen County. She would come visit them as often as she could, that was one sure thing.

“Well, there goes Emma,” Mandy said quietly.

“Yep, there she went,” Lizzie answered.

They grinned at each other, a special loving grin, so glad to have each other. Sisters were just the very best thing ever, Lizzie decided. Even better than boyfriends or husbands.

D
URING THE LATE WINTER,
after Emma moved to Allen County, Lizzie struggled to remain enthused about teaching school. For one thing, she thought drearily, it’s constantly raining, and the dismal playground is nothing but one huge muddy pigpen.

She stood on the porch, gazing out over the grayish brown landscape as more rain fell from a leaden sky. The children had already left for the day, collecting their muddy boots and coats before wending their way down the drive to their various forms of transportation—pony carts, buggies, on foot, or to the waiting driver.

It’s high time for school to be over, Lizzie thought darkly. She had more than the usual discipline trouble that week, and her usual methods of control—keeping kids in at recess or asking them to apologize, or to write their misdemeanors over and over on tablet paper—were not solving the behavior problems. An undercurrent of bad attitudes was threading its way through the upper grades.

She sank wearily on a dry spot of the concrete porch, tucking her feet in away from the raindrops. There were patches of white strewn across the playground, evidence that the children were throwing their paper or little plastic bags of snacks on the grass again. She had been giving the children points on the blackboard for littering on the playground, but it looked as if that wasn’t working very well either.

Huge tears welled in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks until they splashed on her black apron. She felt as if the ground beneath her feet was crumbling and she was going to fall headlong into a void of despair. She could not stop the tears, nor did she want to. There was no one to see her, no one to care. Her driver would not be arriving for another hour, so she let the tears flow until she was finished crying. Using the corner of her apron to dry her tears, she sighed deeply and shakily as she continued to watch the rain come steadily down. Rivulets of muddy water trickled over the gravel that surrounded the steps as she thought.

Suddenly her despair was swept aside by feelings of anger. I would love to see some of these housewives put up with all this dirt and mud around the entrances to their houses, she thought. They’d have a fit. I bet they would.

Getting to her feet, she swept into the classroom, yanking open the door with the force of her angry thoughts. I’m going to stop at Jonas Beiler’s house on the way home and ask … no, not ask,
tell
him I need a load of gravel on this driveway and the entrances to the privies.

Then, she thought, as she clenched her fists on top of her desk, I am going to make a speech on Monday morning. I am going to talk to all the pupils and tell them exactly how I feel. This rebellion is going to stop.

Adrenalin flowed through her veins, giving her energy to finish her work while she thought about her speech to the pupils. Climbing up and down the rickety wooden stepladder to hang the student’s new art on the classroom walls, she muttered to herself, thinking of the words she would use to convey her feelings of failure as a teacher.

Where has all the joy gone this winter? she wondered to herself. I always loved my teaching job, but lately something is missing. Maybe it’s me. She didn’t think the problems were entirely her fault, but she knew she had lost some of her enthusiasm, too.

When the van pulled up to the front door, Lizzie was ready to go, her jaw set in a firm line of determination. But as the driver turned in at Jonas Beiler’s farm, Lizzie’s stomach did a flip-flop of nervousness. She soon controlled it, knowing this was the only way to improve the school and hopefully her mood. She hurried up to the door and knocked timidly.