Almost Eden (17 page)

T
he best thing about painting is that a person can paint and think at the same time.

After all the kafuffle when we turned up safe and sound, I was awful glad to get a paintbrush in my hand the next day. I had a lot to think about. Everyone had made such a big deal over us, hugging and crying and thanking God and whatnot. You’d think they’d given us up for dead already after only one night missing. We were like Tom Sawyer showing up at his own funeral or something.

The wet paint glistened as I brushed it on, back and forth. Back and forth. Pretty soon the thoughts spinning around in my head slowed down enough to sort out a bit.

There were Tommy thoughts, which were sad thoughts. After everything we’d been through, our search had come to
nusht.
I might as well face it. Tommy had disappeared a week ago already. The fresh milk I’d put out last night
hadn’t been touched. Probably we’d never see him again. Probably Lena and I should make some kind of funeral for him.

Other thoughts in my head were about Jillian and Sadie. Jillian had phoned me up yesterday, while I was sleeping still. Once we finally got home, Lena and I had slept pretty much all day.

But Beth, she took the message for me. “I told her you and Lena were fine. She said for you to call her back.”

Beth opened her mouth like she had something else to say yet, only then she didn’t. She hadn’t been on my case once since we got home.

It took till this morning for me to work up the nerve to phone Jillian back.

“You have some ’splaining to do, Lucy,” she joked.

Right away I knew we would be all right. Only there was way too much to explain on the phone. I didn’t know where to start even. So I wasn’t exactly sorry Dad was making us stay home and take it easy today.

“Oh,” said Jillian, when I told her.

“But will you come pick me up to go swimming tomorrow?” I blurted. “I’m not allowed to leave the house unless I’m with someone, like my parents or Beth or my friends. I’ll tell you all about it then.” Hopefully I wouldn’t have to have a babysitter everywhere I went for the rest of the summer, but for now I figured it was a small price to pay.

“For sure!” Jillian actually sounded happy to be asked. “But you have to tell me everything.”

“Everything,” I promised.

“Els,” she added.

“Yeah?”

“I would have gone with you, you know.”

Uy uy uy.
I knew I had to still come out with it and tell Jillian and Sadie I was sorry. I was pretty sure I could do it now. All I knew for sure was I wanted my two best friends back. I wanted things to be halfway normal again.

Even though I seriously doubted life would get back to normal that easily.

For one thing, that
bay del
Mark Giesbrecht was being almost nice. A whole bunch of the thoughts whirling around in my head were about him. When he’d seen who it was lying in the dirt in his farmyard, he’d laughed right out loud.

“Elsie?! Is that really you?!”

If I’d had bristles like a porcupine, they would have been standing on end right then. So what if Lena and I were covered in dirt and mice turds and cobwebs? Maybe even a little blood, too. So what if our hair looked like we’d slept in a haystack and we stunk to high heaven. I was sick of Mark making fun of me all the time. I jumped to my feet, ready to go at it.

“What are you laughing for!?” For once I had a good one handy. His
vota em kella beksen
were so short already
his ankles were sticking out. But then his eyes widened and he actually looked kind of surprised.

“I’m not laughing. I’m sorry. How–?” He laughed again. “Everybody’s been looking all over the place for you!”

You bet he was laughing, but maybe only because he was glad to see us. He didn’t seem to give a care how disgusting we looked. He didn’t ask us a pile of questions even. He just took our bikes and set them against a tree. Then he held his hand out to Lena. “You’d better come inside once. You look like you could maybe use something to eat.”

I couldn’t help it, I started crying my eyes out. Right there in front of Mark Giesbrecht, who sure didn’t seem one bit like the Mark Giesbrecht I knew. He didn’t call me a wimp or say a word about it. He just went about helping Lena limp to the house, with me walking beside trying to stop snivelling like a baby.

I knew things couldn’t be the same between us after that. I just wasn’t sure yet if they’d changed for better or for worse.

For another thing, the police weren’t done with us. There had been no end of fuss when they drove up to the Giesbrecht’s farm. Dad had jumped out of the car while it was still moving yet. He’d grabbed Lena and me, giving us each a one-armed, headlock kind of hug, holding on tight without saying anything at first. There was someone else in the backseat, too. For a second I got my
hopes up that it was maybe Mom. Then Beth got out and came running around the car. As soon as Dad let go she swept Lena up in her arms. “You’re okay, right? They said you were okay. You’re not hurt or anything? Oh, look at your leg!”

“We’re fine,” I said. “Just tired and sore.”

“I need a bath,” announced Lena.

And then everyone was crying and laughing and hugging and praising God all at the same time. And in the middle of it yet, the police were trying to ask questions.

Then above the din, Lena piped up. “A bad man followed us. But he didn’t get us.”

Just like that it got awful quiet. No one was smiling anymore. Mrs. Giesbrecht put her hand over her mouth.

“What do you mean, a man followed you?” asked one of the cops. And then people were all talking at once again and asking about the guy and what he looked like and what kind of truck he was driving and everything. I was trying to tell them what had happened, about how he’d waited at the farmyard and the bull had protected us and everything, and Lena was making sure I didn’t leave out anything. She got more and more flushed, and made less and less sense, and hung on to Dad tighter and tighter all the time.

Finally Dad growled, “That’s enough. My girls need to go home.”

The police said they would finish getting our statements after we’d rested up a bit from our ordeal. So we left our
bikes at the Giesbrechts to pick up later and the police gave us a ride home. Only first they made us stop at the hospital to get checked out. Dad thought that was a pretty good idea, too. The doctor cleaned up Lena’s scrapes.

“They’re a little dehydrated, but otherwise no worse for wear,” he said. “Make sure they drink lots of fluids and get plenty of rest for the next few days.”

That sounded okay by me. By the time we got home, I was too bushed to do anything but fall into bed. I barely had time to wonder when the bomb was going to drop and how big an explosion it would be, and then I was asleep already.

There was still something else yet that wasn’t anywhere near normal. My family wasn’t acting like my family. No one was being loud. No one was yelling at anyone.

While we were sleeping, Grandma Redekop had made roast chicken with
bubbat
for supper, because Beth told her how it was my favorite. My favorite was really lasagna like I’d had one time at Jillian’s house, but I was pretty sure Grandma didn’t know how to make lasagna and anyways, it was nice of Beth to remember for once that I liked
bubbat
, and for Grandma to cook a special supper and everything.

So I said, “Thanks, Grandma.” And I gave her a kiss on her cheek.

“
Och vaut!
” Grandma hustled me out of her way and to the table. “Sit you
doy
, O’Lloyd,” she said. She was blushing and everything.

Beth had made Lena’s favorite, which was angel food cake with seven-minute rainbow frosting, which Mom usually only made for birthdays.

I started to wonder if we were in someone else’s house or if aliens had maybe taken over our family. Beth ran hot baths for us after supper–one for each, so we didn’t even have to share the water. She put clean sheets on our beds and everything. Dad came upstairs to tuck us in like he used to when we were still little. I figured for sure now our luck had run out and the bomb was about to drop. Dad was awful quiet, as if the explosion that was coming was so big, it was still working up steam.

But instead of exploding, all Dad did was tell us how disappointed he was that we could be so irresponsible. He talked so soft that I felt way worse yet than if he’d torn a strip off us. At least if he’d yelled, then I could’ve been mad back at him. Now I could only feel lousy for making everyone worry so much and for doing something so reckless that might have ended up a lot worse than it did.

This was one time Reverend Funk’s sermon about using soft answers to turn away wrath really worked.

Dad made us promise that we would never go off anywhere alone, and never ever go anywhere unless adults knew where we were and all that. But he didn’t ground us.

Grown-ups can be hard to figure out. But what I was thinking, while I was brushing wet paint on the siding, was that maybe the reason Dad didn’t ground us was because he felt bad, too. I think he felt bad about giving
Tommy away. Not grounding us this once was his way of making it up to us. Plus he was pretty happy that we were all in one piece and everything.

Dad never did come right out and say he was sorry about Tommy. But I knew he was. He’d taken the whole rest of the week off work, hadn’t he? He was at the other end of the scaffolding right now helping me paint, wasn’t he?

The biggest thoughts spinning around in my head, the most important ones, right there in the middle of all the other thoughts spinning around, were about Mom. They were the most anxious thoughts, too, the kind that made my stomach feel sick.

“Daddy,” Lena had whispered last night, half asleep before Dad finished talking. “Is Mommy mad at us?”

Dad smiled and said something in Plautdietsch. “Of course she’s not mad at you,
schnigglefritz.
Whatever gave you that idea?”

What else should she think? No one had even said anything about Mom.

Lena pushed herself up on her elbow. “Then how come she didn’t come with to get us?”

Exactly. I had the same question as Lena, but I’d already guessed what the answer was. I’d already guessed that if a person was getting shock treatments, they probably didn’t just let them walk out in the middle of it. Not even if their kids were missing.

“Mom wants to come home,” Dad sighed. “But she has to get better first. She’ll be home soon, you’ll see.”

Soon.
Fuy.
I was tired of hearing that word. It didn’t mean anything.

Lena didn’t think much of it either. “But maybe she’s forgot about us,” she said.

“Mom could never forget about you.”

I could’ve told him different.

Dad chewed on his lip when he was thinking just like Lena did all the time. “It’s just that, at the hospital they give her that special medicine, remember? But the medicine needs some time to work. So we have to be patient. We have to help Mom by taking care of things at home so she doesn’t worry about us so much, until the medicine has time to work. And then she’ll come home again.”

It was a long speech for Dad. Lena lay down again and pulled the covers under her chin.

“If you want, we can go see Mom tomorrow.”

Lena nodded.

“But we won’t tell her about your adventure yet,” Dad added. “We’ll wait until she gets home, okay?”

“Okay.”

Dad kissed her forehead and put out the light. “Now say your prayers and go to sleep,
schnigglefritz.
You’re all worn out.”

And then I got it. Dad hadn’t told Mom we were gone even. I mean, what could she have done anyways? Except worry. If she got all worried, then maybe they’d have to give her more shock treatments or pills or something, and then it would be still longer before she came home.
And now we were back safe and sound, there was no point in getting her all worked up over it.

All of that made perfect sense. But it didn’t make me feel any better.

I had to smarten up already. We were doing okay. Lena and I had Dad and Beth and Grandma and Auntie Nettie. And each other. Who did Mom have in that place?

Mom was the one who needed someone to rescue her.

Leave it in God’s hands, Reverend Funk had said.

Uy uy uy.
In between all the other thoughts were a ton of thoughts about God, running around in my head like chickens with their heads cut off. I couldn’t even keep track of all the questions, never mind think what the answers might be.

The thing was, I didn’t know anymore what I believed, whether I really didn’t believe in God, or whether I did. Mostly I didn’t want to think about it right then. One thing at a time, and right now, the most important thing to think about was Mom.

So I pretended to shove all my thoughts and questions about God up in a closet; I shoved them all in there and closed the door.

I tried to concentrate on painting. I liked dipping my brush in the creamy paint. I liked how the paint glided on with long smooth brush strokes, and how the roller spread the paint into the grain of the wood. I was getting the hang of using the exact right amount and not too much, so it wouldn’t run or drip.