A Marriage Carol (4 page)

“What were you doing out there?”

“There was an accident,” I said, teeth chattering. “I can’t find my husband. He didn’t come here, did he?”

“We haven’t had any visitors with the storm. What type of accident?”

I explained and he listened intently, putting my shoes and socks over the heating vent. He stood with some effort, his knees cracking, and looked at the scratches on my face.

“I suspect he went to look for help or a cell signal, like you suggest,” he said. “He’s probably worried about you.”

If he was so worried, why would he abandon me?

Water dripped from my hair onto the shiny wood
floor. I tried to stay on the welcome mat so as not to leak all over the entry. His face seemed warm and kind.

“Don’t worry about the snow. It’s just water, after all. Now come on over to the fire. We’ll get you warm and cozy.”

I slipped on the wet floor and he took my arm and guided me to the living room. He walked with a noticeable limp and when we reached an overstuffed, leather chair, he turned it toward the fireplace. Three huge logs burned and crackled, and their warmth and aroma gave me a fresh vision of welcome that covered me as well as the afghan.

He sat me down and pulled a footstool close, then draped a blanket from one of the couches over my legs and feet. “I’ll be right back with something to warm you up on the inside.” He left and the little dog returned, a teacup Yorkshire terrier that sniffed at my shoes and socks, then padded toward the chair, its ears up and eyes searching my face, as if it understood pain.

“Hey little guy,” I said, reaching out a hand. He was reticent at first, backing up. He licked his nose and yawned, then crept closer as I held out my hand. He sniffed at it and sat again, looking into my soul, into all
the hurt and coldness. Something about that dog caused the tears to well up inside me, something I didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. Jacob said dogs cause too much trouble. Too much mess. He couldn’t stand hair on the furniture and the scratches on the floor and doors.

“I see you’ve met Rue,” the man said when he returned with a towel. I dried my hair and kept the towel on my shoulders for any stray droplets. He also brought some woolen socks and I slipped them on.

“He’s gorgeous,” I said. “Such a wonderful color and shine to his coat. And a sweet disposition.”

He patted my blanket and Rue jumped up on my lap and sat, wiggling his stubby tail and arching his back into me like we had known each other forever. I laughed at the feeling of something so pure and innocent excited to sit with me. He licked at my hands, then settled into a curl on my thighs and put his head toward the fire, content.

“Do you mind if I use your phone to call my children?” I said.

He gave a pained look and retrieved a handset from an end table. He clicked it on and listened. “The phone’s been out all afternoon. Probably ice on the lines. And the
cell phone reception is almost nonexistent up here.”

“What about your computer? I could send—”

He chuckled. “Sorry, ma’am. We don’t have access to that either. Decided a long time ago to cut that from the budget. But I’ll go right out and look for your husband.”

“His name is Jacob. And I’m Marlee Ebenezer. Thank you for taking me in like this.”

The teakettle whistled from the kitchen. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

I stroked the dog’s fur and looked around the room. Other than my leather chair, two other couches and a loveseat were arranged around the fireplace. On the mantel was a simple wreath and below it, a snow globe with a cross inside. Bookshelves flanked the fireplace. It was all I could do not to get up and examine the hundreds of volumes there, but I was too content and too warm with Rue on my lap. There were pictures, as well, of smiling couples standing together, posing for the camera. Most of the pictures were taken in front of the fireplace or in the backyard by the lattice.

A coffee table held a single candle, a Bible, and a purple book underneath. On the hearth were fireplace utensils—a poker, shovel, tongs, and broom. Beside it
was a long-handled pot with two other smaller pots inside with the same size handles. They were gold and looked barely used.

The fire popped, and Rue gave a head-jerk and then settled again. The screen kept any stray embers from flying.

The tree made quite an impression at the bay window, but there was something strange about the room, something I couldn’t pinpoint. Then it hit me that it was what
wasn’t
in the room: a television. There was no sign of one.

“I have some three-bean chili cooking,” the man said as he returned. “It’ll be ready in a little bit. This should be a good start.”

He shakily handed me a mug and saucer. The tea bag tag hung over the side and I recognized the familiar colors of my favorite tea.

“It’s Ginger Lemon with just a drop or two of honey,” the man said.

“Just the way I like it. Thank you.”

The mug spread warmth to my whole body, and Rue sniffed at the saucer when I placed it on the arm of the chair.

“What are those pots?” I said.

He paused a moment, searching for the words. “Family heirloom. I’ll tell you about them when I get back. Let the tea warm you, and I’ll get your chili after I find your husband.”

“This is very kind of you. Thank you.”

He smiled at me as he put on his coat and hat and disappeared into the garage. The smell of the tea brought back memories, ones I didn’t want to dredge up. Fights with Jacob; arguments and outbursts from me and the silence of a man resigned to something other than love. I hated associating those memories with the tea, but some things you can’t control.

My mind raced through the possibilities of what had happened on the road. Sure, Jacob could have gone off on his own, looking for help, but what if someone wasn’t paying attention while they drove along? What if someone had skidded into him somewhere up the road? Or perhaps the truck driver had taken him for help.

Something creaked above and Rue’s body tensed, his ears pricked. In a flash he was off my lap and up the stairs, his little legs churning. He disappeared at the top of the stairs and his nails clicked over the hardwood.

The old man returned and hung his coat and hat on the hall tree. “I found your car, but there’s no sign of Jacob. Checked with the neighbors, too. It’s nasty on the roads. Almost got stuck even though I have four-wheel drive.” He picked up the phone but it was still dead. “Maybe he got a ride down the hill. I left a note on the front seat telling him where you are. Put the emergency flashers on, too, but that battery is pretty weak.”

“I suppose that’s all we can do now,” I said.

“Other than pray,” he said.

I nodded. “I suppose there is that.”

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a steaming bowl of chili with cornbread that tasted so sweet it melted in my mouth. He headed upstairs with another bowl and Rue met him at the top, wagging his tail and dancing on the hardwood like a trained circus animal.

I had finished my bowl when he returned and he offered me another, but I was content. He pulled a chair beside me and settled in, cradling his own bowl and warming both hands with it.

“Who else is here?” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“You said, ‘we’ when I first arrived. That ‘we’ haven’t had any visitors. And I heard noise while you were gone.”

“No one is here but my wife and me. She’s resting upstairs.”

“Is something wrong with her?”

“Nothing time and life haven’t done.” He paused and there seemed to be a bit of sadness in it. “And what brought you out to these parts?”

I told him we were on our way to an attorney’s office to sign divorce papers. No sense beating around the bush. I let that sink in and expected some kind of apology for prying, but he didn’t seem shocked.

“Have you been planning this long?” he said.

I told him more about us. More than I wanted, but it just seemed to spill out. And he didn’t stop me.

“That’s a lot of years to be married. What’s the main reason? Has Jacob abused you in some way?”

“No, there’s no abuse.”

“Is there another woman?”

“I don’t think so. His other woman is his work.”

“Have you tried counseling?”

I nodded. “A few times. A pastor once. A psychologist. Went to a marriage seminar one weekend a few years ago.”

He reached toward the coffee table. “Have you tried—”

“The books? Let me tell you about the books I’ve read. Stacked on my nightstand. I listened to them on CD in the carpool lane. Don’t give me another book. I’ve tried everything. Even called a radio program once asking for advice. Nothing works. We’re just not right for each other.”

“But you were, at one point?”

“In the beginning, sure. Anyone can stay in love at the beginning, I think. But through the years, and with the kids, we just grew apart. He threw himself into his work and hobbies, and my heart turned toward the children.”

“And here you are twenty years later, strangers.”

“Exactly.”

“Tell me about your children. How old are they?”

As he crumbled his cornbread into his chili, I told him everything. All the way down to what David said in the bathroom while he was sitting, studying the patterns in the tile. The man laughed with me and shook his head
like it was his own grandchild.

“You mentioned a pastor,” he said as he finished his chili and placed the bowl on the coffee table. “What about your spiritual life?”

I laughed, though it wasn’t funny, and stared at the fire. “I know it’s not true, but it almost feels like I don’t have any right to talk to God.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I know it’s a sin to get a divorce. That’s how I was raised. And once God is ticked off at you, He won’t listen to your prayers.”

“Well, it’s true that God hates divorce. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk with Him. He’s a forgiving God. And part of the reason He hates divorce is the pain and heartache it creates in the people He loves.”

“You sound like a pastor.”

He smiled. “I guess in a way I am. You came across the field, didn’t you? You didn’t see the sign in front.”

“What sign? I couldn’t see ten feet in front of my face.”

“Years ago this place was a funeral home. Didn’t get much business way out here, so they sold it. We turned it into a retreat center. For struggling couples. People
who’ve given up or those who just want to grow closer.” He pointed at the pictures in the bookshelf. “Some of our graduates.”

I couldn’t hold back the laughter. “That has to be the definition of irony. I take shelter at a marriage retreat that used to be a funeral home.”

“I don’t think it’s by chance that you’re here.” He spoke with an edge of certainty.

“You saved all of those marriages?”

“Not me. And sadly, not all of them were saved. People make their own choices. We can’t control what anyone does, but we can be there to walk with them. Many were right on the brink, like you. From where I sit, I’d say you were allowed this divine appointment for a purpose.”

“Or maybe that eighteen-wheeler was God’s way of punishing us for what we were about to do.”

“I prefer to think of it as a wake-up call. It’s never too late to do something good for your marriage.”

I shook my head. “We’ve made up our minds. There’s no hope left.”

He folded his wrinkled hands and looked at the pictures. “I’ve heard that a few times over the years. And I’d like to suggest something about hope. Why don’t you
and your husband hold on to the hope I have for you?”

“A man we can’t even find?”

“A man who probably doesn’t want to go through with this any more than you.”

“How can you say that? You don’t even know him. You don’t know me.”

He pursed his lips. “I’m going on experience. Most people don’t want to throw away their marriage. Working together for twenty years and giving a lot of money to lawyers doesn’t make sense.”