Authors: LaVyrle Spencer
But when she was closed inside the bathroom with the tool in her hands, the idea of applying it to herself seemed profane. She could not believe that a benevolent God wanted her to punish herself for something as human as feeling love for another human being. For if she truly was falling in love with Mr. Olczak, wasn’t that love itself a gift from God?
The odd thing was, once she’d made the decision to set the Discipline aside without using it, she forgot to pray the Miserere. She remembered later that night, when she was lying in bed thinking of Eddie Olczak and reaching the conclusion that living as his wife would be as noble a way of life as this she was living: raising children and teaching them to be good people, being part of a union in which love was a driving force.
Oh, Mr. Olczak
, she thought,
kind and good Mr. Olczak, what should I do?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On Thanksgiving Eddie’s mother butchered three turkeys she’d been raising all summer, roasted one herself and had a couple of her daughters roast the others. She peeled about a washtub full of potatoes, everybody brought side dishes, and forty-seven people piled into her house for dinner.
Hedy and Cass still lived on the home place east of town, where they farmed a hundred and sixty acres, milked a dozen cows by hand twice a day, raised about ten or fifteen pigs each year, had their own laying hens and put in a vegetable garden about the size of Horseshoe lake.
When people asked Cass when he was going to slow down, he’d lift off his stained blue Osh Kosh B’Gosh cap by its threadbare bill, scratch his pure white head between the eight stringy hairs still there, and reply, “Hell, I don’t know. Ain’t had enough time to sit down and think about it.” Then he'd settle his cap back in place, covering up the white and leaving a windburned red below.
Every year Hedy said, “I ain’t puttin’ in so big of a garden this year. My knees just can’t take it no more.” But the garden never shrunk, her knees always managed to hold up just fine, and at the end of the summer her root cellar was filled with about a thousand pounds of potatoes, and rutabagas and squash and a few hundred jars of home-canned jams, and jellies, and vegetables, and pickles, and relish and sauces of every kind imaginable. She also canned beef, pork and chicken, and ended up giving most of it to her married kids, because Hedy could never send anyone away from her door empty-handed.
Cass and Hedy’s kids came flocking home for Thanksgiving on a day with lowered skies and a nasty wind. What remained of the early November snow lay in crusty bands between the rows of tarnished corn stubble. It stippled the tops of the new haystacks that hunkered near the oversized red barn with its immense gambrel roof. The farmyard had frozen in ruts, and the garden, which Cass had plowed under, looked like lengths of broad black chain, each bordered by white snow. The kids had all come home in mid-October and helped Cass put up his winter firewood. It stood in orderly rows halfway down the path to the outhouse. Woodsmoke rose from the chimney and blew eastward in fragrant ribbons as Eddie parked his green pickup among a half-dozen vehicles already there.
“Come on, girls,” he said, swinging them down from the truck seat and slamming the door.
The kitchen door flew open when they were halfway up the path, and his mother leaned out, dressed in a flowered housedress, bibbed apron and black Cuban-heeled shoes. “Theeeere’s my girls!” she yelled exuberantly. “Get in here before you catch your death, you two!”
“Hey, Grandma, guess what!” They barreled right at her and got hugs and kisses and told her, “Grandma Gaffke’s teaching us how to make doll clothes on her sewing machine!”
Eddie came next, and got his hug in the open doorway with the cold swirling into the kitchen around him.
“There’s my Eddie-boy,” she said, softer, giving him a tighter hug than usual, and a kiss on the cheek. They both knew this day was going to be difficult for him, his first holiday without Krystyna.
“Hi, Mommo,” he said and squeezed her plump waist.
He drew back and looked into her eyes, and neither one of them had to say it: each knew what the other was thinking. So they hugged hard, wordless, one more time before she backed up and wiped her eyes inside her rimless glasses with the skirt of her apron, and said, “Come on inside. Cold air’s gettin’ in.”
Inside it smelled like turkey and dressing and roasting garlic, and there were people everywhere. Potatoes were boiling on the stove and the windows were white with condensation. The cast-iron stove was as big as a ’49 Ford, and covered with so many kettles you couldn’t see the top of it. Kids were running everywhere, their clothing still clean so early in the day. The grownups were drinking beer and at the kitchen table a foursome was already playing cards. On top of the woodbox a skinny striped cat nervously watched the hubbub with dilated pupils.
Lucy said to one of her cousins, “We brought doll clothes to dress Stringbean. Let’s get ’er!” They dove for the cat and hauled her off upstairs.
Eddie’s dad found him, and put a beer in his hand and gave him a slap on the back, then stood for a while with his hand there, between Eddie’s shoulder blades, rubbing a little.
They might not be glib people, his family, but they had feelings, and understood his.
He'd needed a day like this, a gathering of people he loved who loved him. Play some cards, tell some jokes, eat Mommo’s cooking, drink a few beers, and in the late afternoon go out with all his brothers to help Poppo with the chores.
That’s what they were doing, Eddie and his brothers, helping with the milking late in the day just before dusk, when the teasing began. In the barn, where they’d all had to help as boys, they became boys again, tossing insults, ribbing each other, falling to the milking with nostalgic vigor.
“So, Eddie,” his brother Vernon said from someplace behind Eddie while Eddie sat with his forehead against a black-and-white cow, sending pulsating streams of milk into his pail, “when you gonna give that little Irene Pribil a tumble?”
From down the line of cows came a wolf call. “Woo-woo! That Irene, she’s waitin’, that’s for sure!” That was his brother Romaine.
“Who called Irene little?” came Clayton’s voice from the other direction.
“She’s little all right, a sweet little piglet!”
“You know what they say about the plump ones, don’t you?”
About four voices chorused all together, “Yeah... warmth in the winter and shade in the summer.”
Then Clayton’s voice again. “Anybody know how you find the right place on a fat girl?”
“How?”
“Roll her in flour and look for the wet spot!”
Eddie laughed right along with all the rest of them. “Hey, Eddie, you got any flour at your house?” his brother Bill called.
Romaine answered. “He buys it in hundred-pound bags.”
A bunch of howling laughter, then, “Irene’ll be at the dance Saturday night. Last one before Advent starts.” Church tradition forbade dancing during Advent and lent, so the dance halls closed down then.
“Who’s playing?”
“Rainbow Valley Boys at Knotty Pine.”
“Ruth and I will be there.”
“So will we.”
“Hey, Eddie, why don’t you bring your flour and come?”
Cass’s voice came next. “You boys lay off Eddie, now.” And Eddie’s. “It’s okay, Poppo. I know a bunch of jackasses when I hear ’em braying.”
It was a sign of his healing that he could take their teasing this way, and everybody in that barn knew it.
________
On Saturday night Eddie hired Dorrie Anderson to watch the girls, and he got spiffed up in a white shirt and tie, and his brown wool suit, and went to the dance at Knotty Pine. A whole slew of his sisters and brothers were there, and so was Irene, with lots of curls in her hair, straight seams in her nylons and bright-red lipstick to match her bright-red dress.
His damned brothers danced with her, one after the other, and flashed him grins from the dance floor as if to say, You’re next, Eddie, so you might as well give in. When Romaine led Irene off the floor they went right to the booth where Eddie was sitting with a bunch of others.
She was warm, her face shiny as she pushed back her hair and fanned herself with one hand.
“Hoo! Hot!” she said.
“Here, sit down, Irene,” Romaine said and pointed to an empty space next to Eddie. Eddie jigged over, making a little extra space for her, and she sat down.
The waitress was there taking orders and Romaine said, “Buy you a drink, Irene?”
“Sure,” she said. “A Grain Belt.”
“Make that two. Anybody else?”
When the waitress went away the table talk continued quite loudly. Under its cover Irene said quietly, “How’re you tonight, Eddie? You’re not dancing much.” She got out her compact, flipped it open and checked her face in the mirror.
Eddie said, “What is it about girls that they can’t stand to see a man not dancing?”
Irene got out a Kleenex and dabbed her forehead, then flipped some curls into place and put the compact away in her pocket.
“Advent starts tomorrow. That means no more dances till after Christmas,” she said. “Last chance for four weeks, that’s all.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “If they play ‘Goodnight Irene,’ I’ll dance with you.” It was a popular song that year and you could hardly turn the radio on without hearing it.
“I’ll make sure they do,” she said, flashing him a saucy smile.
It was a crowded booth. Eddie put his arm along the back of it and Irene’s curls brushed his wrist. Someone came and pushed into the open end, forcing her closer against his side. Their beers arrived, and everybody touched bottles and said, “Bumps,” then took long swigs. Irene never went back to her own booth. She stayed and laughed at the Olczak boys’ jokes, and visited with their wives, and remained hip-to-hip with Eddie.
The Rainbow Valley Boys saved “Goodnight Irene” until the very end. Truth was, Eddie had expected this, for the song had fast become the traditional last dance of the night, its words so simple everyone ended up singing along with it.
Irene was a good dancer without trying to be. She never made a misstep and followed so effortlessly she made a man feel masterful leading her. Dancing with her was a lot like dancing with Krystyna, except she was shaped differently. She smiled all the while they waltzed, staying her distance, enjoying the dancing for dancing’s sake. They waltzed quite imposingly, taking wide, sweeping steps on every first beat. He liked that she didn’t try any coy snuggling because if anything started between them, he wanted to be the one to start it. And stop it, too, as the case may be.
“Gosh-dang, I sure love to dance,” she said. “I’d rather dance than play cards, and I
love
to play cards.”
“I know. You’ve beat me enough times.”
She laughed and asked, “You have a nice Thanksgiving, Eddie?”
“Very nice. And you?”
“We tried. It was hard without Krystyna. But just about everybody was home, and that helped a lot. All of your sisters and brothers come home?”
“Only about half of them, thank heavens. The house can’t hold many more.” They danced awhile, then he asked, “So who did you come with tonight?”
“Mickey and Dolores.” Her brother and sister-in-law who lived in Sauk Center and were undoubtedly home for the holiday.
“So you riding back to your folks’ with them?”
“I guess so.”
They danced a few more steps before he suggested noncommittally, “I could take you.”
She looked up at him. “You want to?”
The truth was, he didn’t know if he wanted to or not. The song ended and they stepped apart, dropping their hands. “Sure. Get your coat and I’ll tell Mickey you’re riding with me.”
“Okay.”
It was one o’clock in the morning when the dance ended. Dozens of cars pulled out of the parking lot at Knotty Pine, lifting dust from the gravel and dispersing to the north and south along State Highway 71. Eddie’s truck was in the line heading north. Irene sat squarely in the passenger seat as he drove through the main drag of Browerville and out the other end—six blocks of sleeping village beneath a few dim streetlamps. The line of cars petered out the farther they got from town. He turned right onto County Road 89 and bumped over the railroad crossing where Krystyna was killed. Without looking at him, Irene reached over and caught his hand and squeezed it so hard his wedding ring cut into his finger.
“I’m trying real hard to get over her. To move on,” she said.
“So am I.”
“So I’m not going to cry right now, are you?”
“Nope,” he said.
“Good for us.” She tried to release her hand, but he held it there on the seat between them and could feel her thumb stroke his while she stared straight ahead at the dried weeds whipping past on either side of the gravel road. Up ahead they could see a set of taillights; behind them, none. He drove holding her hand, wondering if he was merely responding to his brothers’ teasing or if he really wanted to start something with Irene. It had been nearly three months since he’d had any physical contact with a woman, and it was good just holding a hand. The movement of her thumb was so welcome it began to work its way into his vitals. The great swell of his loneliness was relieved by the knowledge that she had a crush on him and had for a long time. He realized he could probably do anything with her that he wanted.
Her parents lived up ahead about a half mile, around a sharp left-hand curve, and as they drew closer, the tension in the truck increased. He slowed down and released Irene’s hand so he could shift into second before turning right onto a field access, where he stopped between a line of trees and a stubbled cornfield. The cornfield disappeared when he shut off the headlights, and as he killed the engine some bright autumn moonlight came streaming through the windshield.
Irene didn’t say anything. Neither did Eddie. Something like this—loveless—he thought, was better done without words.
He turned and put a hand on the back of Irene’s neck and they met in the middle of the seat, tilting to fit into each other’s arms. Her lips were warm and plump and somewhat shy, and he sensed her tentativeness matched his own. He played with her lips awhile before nudging them apart and when he touched her with his tongue her breath issued in a gust against his cheek. He felt her relax and sensed that she was as relieved as he that they’d taken this first step at last, a step that everyone had expected from them.