Mother Of Prevention

Armed with baseball bats and a butterfly net, my daughters and I climbed the creaking attic stairs. A single overhead bulb lit our way; a bare oak branch scraped the roof. The creepy scenario reminded me of a scene out of a low-budget horror flick. I rarely came up here, but Kris and Kelli played among luggage pieces, old trunks, dress forms and seasonal clothing on occasional rainy afternoons. And of course decorations—Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July. Madisons were into decorating for every occasion; our house was old and rambling, but always festively lit.

The three of us wore sober expressions; my five-year-old clung tightly to the fabric of my sweats. We made the steep climb, and then stood at the head of the stairs while I flipped on the lone hanging lightbulb that lit the attic itself.

I flashed the light beam across the open rafters. I’d heard snakes like to hang by joists. I swallowed and asked exactly where Kris had spotted the snake. Maybe she’d been mistaken. A seven-year-old’s imagination was fertile ground. I felt relieved. That was it—Kris thought she’d seen a snake. It could have been anything or nothing. I mean, how would a snake get in the attic this late in the year? Weren’t reptiles dormant now? I wasn’t sure. Kris pointed toward the stored Christmas decorations. Warning the children to stand back, I crept closer to the danger area. Boxes of bulbs, tinsel and outdoor lights blocked my view. I’d have to move a few to see behind the shelving, but first I took the bat and whacked each box, notifying the snake of my presence. Something darted out. I shrieked and scrabbled for cover, lunging for the nearest refuge. I climbed aboard an army trunk and shouted, “Kelli! Kris—go back downstairs!”

Kelli broke into tears, and Kris, the color of putty, grabbed her sister’s hand. I yelled again. “Get away! Run!”

Kris raced toward the stairs, pulling her sobbing sister after her. I could hear their leather soles clattering down the wooden stairway.

I forced myself to think. What had run out at me? The snake? A roach? I hadn’t gotten a good enough look to identify the source, but the way I reacted must have made Kris and Kelli think a tyrannosaurus rex was loose in the attic.

Instantly I regretted my emotional outburst. My poor children were going to be paranoid wrecks by the time they were grown. Neil had often accused me of passing my fears onto the kids, but I didn’t mean to—after all, how did I know what was slithering around on my attic floor? In my hasty flight, I’d dropped the flashlight. I spotted the beam shining on the floor. I saw nothing but dust bunnies in the intense light.

I eased off the trunk and cautiously approached the enemy zone. When I didn’t see anything of the snake, I banged on a box of tinsel and scrambled back onto the trunk. Nothing happened. I could hear Kris and Kelli at the bottom of the stairway, crying.

“It’s okay, sweeties!” I called. “Don’t let anybody in the house!”

Quivering, high-pitched voices replied in unison, “We won’t, Mommy.”

I doubted perverts kept these late hours, and I’d drummed into the children repeatedly not to accept rides from strangers, and to never, ever let anyone in the house without permission, including friends and neighbors. Of course, not taking candy from strangers was a given.

Minutes passed, and the snake failed to show its—whatever. I debated my options, worrying my lower lip with my upper teeth. I could lock the attic door, seal it tight with duct tape and call the exterminator in the morning, but I knew neither I nor the girls would sleep a wink knowing what lay in the attic.

Buck up, Kate. You’re a big girl now.

I took a swipe at unanticipated tears and could almost hear Neil saying, You’re head honcho now, babe. Take care of the ranch.

Head honcho. Head coward was more like it. I didn’t want to be head anything. I stepped off the trunk and carefully approached the largest box. I tugged and slid the carton away from the wall, then grabbed my bat and waited.

Nothing.

I tackled the next box.

Nothing.

I systematically moved boxes, poised for swift justice. Would I actually beat the thing to death? I’d never gotten close enough to a wild animal to be lethal. My insides churned with hot tar. Soon all the Christmas decorations were sitting in the middle of the attic floor, and still no sign of the snake.

I sank back down on the trunk to think. The kids’ crying had fizzled to an occasional hiccup. I pictured my sweet, innocent children huddled below, confused. Worried. Lord, why am I such a poor role model?

Why such a wimp and worrywart? Maybe being an only child had created the condition. Mom and Dad had been protective—overly so. Maybe I came by the trait naturally. I thought of all the imagined horrors of my youth, and I cringed. I didn’t want Kelli and Kris to grow up afraid of their shadows. Without Neil as a stabilizing force, I would be responsible for how my daughters reacted to fear the rest of their lives. The thought scared me to death.

I had to overcome my uncertainties. I’d prayed about them, but then I would almost immediately revert to my old state. Now that I was alone, I had to change. I had to get a grip. Starting with the snake. Okay. I would shut the attic door, seal the crack and tell the kids not to worry: the snake couldn’t harm us. I didn’t know beans about snakes, but this one sounded as if it might be a common breed. A cobweb grazed the top of my head, and I reached up to brush it aside, praying a black widow wasn’t lurking somewhere in the web. Or brown recluse—that would be more likely.

Stop it, Kate. You didn’t ask to be a widow at thirty-two, but you are. It could be Neil left alone, with two children, and I knew, deep in my heart, between Neil and me, God had chosen the right one to take home. Why? Because he couldn’t have taken care of kids, the house, baby-sitting and his job. Oh, he could, but it would have been so foreign to him.

I stood up and reached for the butterfly net and flashlight. And then I felt it—something heavy dropped from a rafter, right at my feet.

Peering down, I tried to locate it. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. The snake lay directly in front of me.

Faint now. I was too scared to scream. Hysteria rose, my mouth moved, but nothing came out. Instead, I jumped back, batting at the reptile with the butterfly net.

Stumbling across the attic floor, I engaged in a silent one-on-one war. My heavy shoe trapped the head and I stood frozen. Yewoooooo. I knew I was going to be sick. The snake squirmed and wiggled, thrashing its long body.

“Mommy?” Kris called.

“Yes,” I squeaked. The reptile’s tail thrashed and whipped back and forth.

“You okay?”

Get a grip, Kate. You don’t want them scared of their own shadows.

“Fine,” I chirped. My hand tightened on the butterfly net. I couldn’t hit the snake—it wasn’t in me. Besides, if I missed I would panic and go to pieces.

God, You’ve got to help me. I cannot do this alone.

I bent over and carefully draped the mesh around the reptile’s head and then scooped the writhing snake into the net. Once I had him trapped, I gained power. What now? I could hear Kelli and Kris clumping up the stairs.

The snake was still an alarming sight, even net-trapped.

With a false calm, I snatched the net up and hurried to the east window. Paint had practically sealed the pane, but I discovered strength I didn’t think existed. Kris and Kelli reached the top of the stairs about the time I jerked the window open and flung the net, snake and all, outside, praying the mesh wouldn’t lodge on the shingles. I slammed the window shut and turned around, smiling as they hit the doorway.

“Hey, guys.”

Kelli and Kris hesitantly crept toward me. “Did you find the snake?”

“Taken care of,” I said, pretending to wash my hands of the disdainful matter. “Anyone interested in a cup of hot chocolate?”

The kids stared in wonder, relief filling their faces. Kris smiled, and I realized I hadn’t seen her smile in weeks. “You got it?”

“I got it.”

And I prayed that I had it. A lifetime, my children’s lifetime, was an awesome responsibility. I hoped I was up to the challenge.

It was after eleven o’clock before the house settled back to normalcy. I switched out the lamp and climbed into my pallet. Kelli’s soft breathing reassured me I was richly blessed, even if I cursed my circumstances.

Streetlight filtered through the eyelet curtains. I rolled to my side and covered my ears with my pillow, hoping the action might blot out my thoughts. No such luck. Worries fought with my need for sleep. Despite my comatose state, I had continued to work. I had a six-o’clock flight; without Neil to help, I’d have to drop the girls and their luggage at Mrs. Murphy’s on my way to the airport. My heart ached as though someone had welded the valves shut.

What if I got sick and couldn’t work? Neil’s insurance should cover the next few years, but the money wouldn’t last forever.

I should go back to church; so many of the congregation had supported us, prayed for us, sent encouraging cards and letters. I tried to recall the last Sunday Neil and I were together—couple-together. We’d gone to church, and then taken the girls to Chuck E. Cheese’s for a special treat. That night we had taken the family to the local zoo. The kids had delighted in the animals and fall decorations. Neil and I had strolled hand in hand beneath a full moon, admiring giraffes and elephants, their habitats decked in colorful lights. I never once thought that would be our last official outing together, but then, who would ever think that? Bad things didn’t happen to us.

I tossed my blanket aside and rolled to my back, staring at the ceiling. I knew by heart exactly how many tiles it took to stretch across the room and the number it took to run to the opposite wall. Two hundred and forty.

The house was old, dating back seventy-five years, but it had been the best Neil and I could afford on our budget seven years ago. I was expecting Kris, and Neil was relatively new at the fire station. With a baby on the way, we knew we’d need more room than the efficiency apartment we’d moved into after our honeymoon. We’d found the house on a lovely spring afternoon, and even though it was old and run-down, we saw all kinds of possibilities. We’d painted and wallpapered and made a small nursery downstairs adjoining our bedroom. We’d loved this home, but recently we’d talked of buying one of the ranch styles in a new, moderately priced subdivision a few miles away. Kris could stay in her school district, and Mrs. Murphy would still be close.

I rose on an elbow and peered at the clock. Twelve-thirty. I had to get some sleep. Without medication, the hours dragged, but I would not take another pill. I had to resume life. For my children’s sake, I had to make an effort to restore normalcy.

One o’clock came.

Then two o’clock. I had to be up and functioning in two hours.

Sleep refused to come. Finally I got up, padded to the kitchen and sat down at the table. A house was so empty this time of night. The furnace was turned low; the floor was cold and unwelcoming to my bare feet.

I stared out the window onto the quiet street. Neighbors were asleep, couples lying next to each other in their beds. I closed my eyes and recalled the years I had taken Neil’s presence for granted. Of the hundreds and thousands of times I’d curled next to his warm body, felt his heart beat in sync with mine, and never once thought of the woman or man who lay that same night in an empty bed, alone. Hurting. Pain so intense you wondered if your heart wouldn’t succumb to the blackness, and you prayed that it would.

I knew I had to talk to someone. Anyone.

Quietly I walked to the desk phone, not having the slightest idea whom I’d call. Not Mom—I loved her dearly, but she didn’t understand, thank God, how deep the pain cut.

If I had a sister…but I didn’t. Or a brother. Not even friends close enough to call at this hour of the morning.

My eyes focused on the prayer sheet I’d brought home Neil’s and my last Sunday together. The pastor’s home phone number stood out. Did I dare? A moment later I picked up the receiver and punched the numerical pad.

Two rings later a man answered. I don’t know if Joe Crockett recognized my voice. I don’t see how he could have, because I was sobbing by now, incoherent, but he managed to single out who I was.

“Pastor Joe…I…need you,” I managed.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Kate.”

I got dressed, and when I let him in it was close to two-thirty. Surely the church didn’t pay him well enough to climb out of a warm bed on a cold winter’s night and come to a distraught female’s rescue.

He handed me his topcoat and hat, then quietly followed me into the kitchen. We sat across the table from each other. I didn’t know where to begin. So I just admitted the truth.

“I can’t do this alone.”

“You are not alone,” he said. “You feel alone, but God is with you, Kate.”

“God.” I shook my head, resentment welling up in my throat.

“He’s promised never to leave us, Kate, but He hasn’t promised that we’ll always feel His presence. I know you feel utterly alone and forsaken right now.”

“Why did God take Neil?” I looked up, tears running down my cheeks. “I begged Him not to take Neil—for years I’ve begged Him. Why did He do this to me?” My voice broke, tears obstructing my voice.

He shook his head and sighed. “I can’t answer that. But I’m here. I care—the church cares. God cares.”

I didn’t care.

Pastor Joe was kind and the church had been supportive, but Neil was gone, and there was nothing anyone could do or say to bring him back. I knew the next thing he’d be telling me was that God uses our bad experiences to make us stronger, and I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to be stronger. I wanted my husband back—in this house—laughing, playing with Sailor, teasing Kelli, helping Kris with her homework. Loving me.

We sat in the silent kitchen and he clasped my hand in comfort. The warmth of another living, breathing adult helped, made the dark house feel less threatening and cold.

“Tell me how I go on.” I thought of the Colorado flight in a little under three hours. Leaving my girls for the first time since we’d become a family of three. Three was an uneven number….

“It will take time, Kate. Days. Weeks—maybe years. The grieving process is different for all of us. It will be time you won’t want to give, but eventually you’ll be able to go on. You’re a strong young woman. I have utmost confidence in your ability to survive.”

I don’t know where the conversation would have taken us if the pastor hadn’t heard Sailor scratching at the back door. I’d forgotten to let him in before I went to bed.

“That’s Sailor. He wants to come in,” I said.

“I’ll take care of it.” He got up and walked to the back door, unlatched and opened it. Sailor entered the house on a rush of cold air.

“Drop it!” Pastor Joe shouted.

Startled, I sat up straighter. “Pardon?”

“Drop it!” He backed up, keeping his distance from the dog. I rose slightly and peered over the edge of the table. My jaw dropped. Sailor had the snake in his mouth. A black tail wildly gyrated back and forth.

“Sailor! Drop it!” Pastor Joe repeated sternly.

“No! Don’t drop it!” I sprang up, wondering what I’d done with the bat. This snake was like a plague!

Sailor wagged his tail and dropped it. The snake was badly injured but still alive.

“How in the world?” I breathed.

“Yow.” Joe’s eyes focused on the disappearing reptile.

“Mommy?” Kris came into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.

“Kris! Get back!”

My daughter jumped, her eyes darting to the pastor, then back to me. “What…?”

“The snake! Sailor carried it into the house.”

What had I done? Committed the unpardonable sin? Was God punishing me? Could I expect a plague of grasshoppers or a swarm of locusts next?

“Where’s the ball bat?” I asked.

Wide-eyed, Kris pointed upstairs. “You left it by the attic door.”

“Stay where you are,” Joe commanded. “I’ll take care of it.” Joe sidestepped me, grabbed the snake behind the head and took it briskly outside. Kris and I continued to balance on top of a kitchen chair.

Sailor stood in the middle of the floor, obviously proud of his show-and-tell display.

“Sailor. Bad dog,” I scolded.

Kris clung to my robe. “Mommy, you said you’d gotten rid of the snake.”

“I know, dear. I thought I had.” That snake had nine lives—all intended to test me.

When Joe returned, it was close to 4:00 a.m. and time for me to get up.

He had disposed of the snake—where or how I didn’t ask. I only hoped this was a permanent riddance. I dragged Kelli out of a warm bed and dressed her. Pastor Joe helped carry two sleepy children outside to the garage.

After stowing our luggage in back, he wished me well, and casually assured a worried Kelli that Mommy would be coming back. He stepped back and watched as I backed the van out of the garage and sped off in the gray dawn.

As I adjusted my rearview mirror I suddenly realized he’d never answered my question. How did I go on?

I guess no mere human held the secret. No one could explain how anyone lived through times like this and kept their sanity. Or their faith. I realized that I was mad at God. Livid. He’d taken the best part of my life, other than Kelli and Kris. How could I be anything but bitter?

Chapter 4

Since Neil had died I had been knee-deep in paperwork. I had no idea there was so much involved in dying. Not for the deceased, but for the ones left behind. It was like mopping up after a public disaster; only, this tragedy was private and mine. I had signed papers, taken care of trusts, filed insurance papers and I still wasn’t finished. I couldn’t believe that Neil died and left me to cope. I gazed out the kitchen window at the two holly trees he had planted six years ago. They’d been just twigs back then. Now they were at least five feet tall and one of them sparkled with bright red berries. He had planted a male and a female tree, explaining that was necessary if we wanted berries.

I blinked back tears. It seemed as if everything came in pairs. Everything except me. Alone was a terrible word. The Colorado trip had gone surprisingly well. I had another trip coming up tomorrow—Arizona this time. The girls had made it all right without me, thanks to Mrs. Murphy, but I had still felt guilty about leaving them, and now I was getting ready to leave them again.

The phone rang, jerking me out of my thoughts. I reached for the receiver on the second ring.

“Kate? That you?” It was Nancy Whitaker, one of the stylists I worked with at the salon. Why would she be calling on a Sunday night?

“It’s me.”

“I stopped by the shop for a minute and found you had forgotten to take your briefcase. Won’t you need it on your trip?”

I groaned. My teaching material. Of course I’d need it. How could I have been so careless? “Rats. I’ll have to detour by in the morning and pick it up. Or if you’re going to be there for a while I can run over now.”

“Don’t do that.” Nancy paused. “Tell you what. I’ll drop it by on my way home. Will that work?”

“That would be great. I still have to pack, and the kids haven’t eaten yet.”

She promised to drop by and we broke the connection. I dug a pizza out of the freezer. Junk food again. I had zero interest in cooking. I fed the girls whatever was handy, and sometimes the meals weren’t exactly balanced. Corn chips and baloney sandwiches. Boxed macaroni and cheese. As for me, I’d lost ten pounds I didn’t need to lose. My appetite was gone.

I wandered into the bedroom trying to decide what to take with me, although by now I had narrowed my travel outfits down to a few that would pack well with the least amount of wrinkles. I shuffled aimlessly through my side of the closet, not really caring what I wore. I made a few selections, folded them and plopped them in the suitcase.

Kris hovered in the doorway. “You never did bake those chocolate chip cookies.”

I stared at her, trying to remember. What cookies?

“For my school party,” she prodded.

I shook my head to clear the fog. “Honey, that’s long over.”

The color in her cheeks heightened. “I know that. I’m not a baby.”

“Well, then, your point is?”

“We could still bake cookies.” She met my gaze, looking defiant. “I sort of promised.”

I sat down on the bed trying to figure out what we were talking about. “Promised what?” I asked gently.

She lifted her eyes to meet mine. “I told Mrs. Harrison that I could bring cookies tomorrow. We don’t ever get anything special in class for just because.”

I swallowed hard. “Just because” was a catchword in our house. Anytime we did something nice or bought a present for someone for no particular reason, it was a “just because” gift. Just because I love you. My eyes touched a well-known brand of perfume in a cut-glass bottle. Expensive and unexpected. My last just because gift from Neil.

I looked at Kris, noting the flush staining her cheeks, the hesitant expression. Had I actually sent her to school wearing that purple-and-black-plaid skirt with a golden-yellow-and-black-striped shirt? She looked like a walking ad for crepe paper. What had I been thinking? Or more to the point, why wasn’t I thinking? I seemed to be lost in a fog most of the time. And had I, in my preoccupation, caused her to look so insecure?

I realized she was still waiting for an answer. “Okay. One batch of cookies coming up. Chocolate chip okay?”

She grinned, relief crossing her youthful features. “That would be great, Mom.”

I nodded. “Consider it done. I’ll finish up here and then we’ll get started.”

My daughter took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “And can we go back to church next week?”

Well, now. I hadn’t seen that one coming. We hadn’t been back to church since Neil’s funeral. I knew the girls missed their friends and church activities, but I wasn’t yet ready to face our favorite pew where Neil and I had sat together. Besides, I was uncertain right now that there even was a God. He had ignored my pleas to keep Neil safe. How could I trust Him again?

Kris was still waiting for an answer, and I forced a smile. “We’ll see. Run along now and let me finish packing.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. Judging from her expression, I hadn’t fooled her. “We’ll see” probably meant “no,” and she knew it. I sighed. Life had gotten complicated and I wasn’t mentally equipped to handle complicated. Maybe I wasn’t spiritually equipped, either.

Kris left and I glanced around the room for forgotten items before closing my suitcase. When I got back I’d have to tackle Neil’s personal belongings. So far I had kept his side of the closet closed, unable to face the thought of getting rid of anything.

The doorbell rang and I answered, to find Nancy holding my briefcase. Tall, slender, with a head of silver-blond hair she wore in a tousled mop, she looked like the typical feather-brained blonde. Behind that pretty face resided a sharp intellect and a friendly compassionate manner. She was a favorite among La Chic customers.

“You okay, girl?” she asked.

I dredged up a smile. “I’m okay.”

“Look, if traveling is too much for you to handle, you need to tell Maria. She can work it out.”

The idea sounded tempting, but I knew giving up traveling would amount to a cut in salary, something I wasn’t prepared to accept. What if I became incapacitated and couldn’t work? We’d need everything I could earn now to get us by without dipping into the insurance money. Maria, the elegant manager of La Chic, would probably be flexible, but for now I’d try to carry on.

Nancy and I attended the same church, and she was aware I had been staying away from services. She didn’t mention it, though, probably thinking that I didn’t need the pressure right now.