I swiveled on the bench and watched Mama Carmel, daddy’s senior wife, help Daddy from their room behind the kitchen, to the table.
Daddy looked pale enough to win a contest with a corpse, and sorta yellowed too, what the church midwives called jaundice in babies. He had lost at least another ten pounds, leaving his face saggy and his work clothes hanging on his frame. His hands carried a faint tremor. Daddy still had not been to the surgeon who put him back together after he was shot, when the group of shape-shifting devil dog gwyllgi tried to take over the church. Whatever was wrong inside him was getting worse. “Morning, Nellie,” he said, easing into his chair with a pained sigh. “God’s grace and peace to you today.”
My eyes flicked back and forth between the mamas again in accusation and then I glared at my father. “I’d say the same thing back to you’un, but you’un don’t deserve it.”
My father reared back in his chair. “What did you say, young lady?”
“I said, you’un don’t deserve God’s grace and peace, since you’un clearly been throwing it back into the face of the Almighty for weeks and weeks.” Daddy opened his mouth and I stood up from the table so I could use height for intimidation. Tactics from Interrogation 101 at Spook School. Stuff I’d never expected to have to use on my own father. “You used to tell us to make use of all God’s gifts and not ignore them. Not ever. That ignoring gifts was a sin. And yet, God sent you to a surgeon after you got shot, and gave you the gift of life so’s you could continue to love and be loved and do God’s will. That was a gift. And yet you’un throwing that gift back in his face. I’m rightly ashamed of you, Daddy.”
Daddy opened his mouth, and then closed it. Things were happening deep in his yellowed eyes, too fast to follow. His mouth opened and then closed tight, opened again. He looked like a beached carp, not that I was gonna say that. I had pushed as much as I was likely to get away with. After way too long, Daddy tilted his head to me and looked me over. Me in my work pants and dark suit jacket, bulge of my weapon in the small space between shoulder, armpit, and breast. He looked over at his wives, not a one of them looking at him. He made a disgusted sound, deep in his throat. “So that’s the way of it now? My womenfolk ganging up on me?”
I thought about telling him I was no one’s “womenfolk,” but Daddy needed to see his surgeon and maybe that was more important than me standing up for myself. At least right now.
“Coffee, Cora, if you please,” he said. He pushed away the cup of herbal tea and accepted the cup of coffee, taking his gaze back to me, his interest particularly heavy. He sipped, still staring as he set the cup down on the table with a soft tap. “Carmel, if you would be so kind, make an appointment with that doctor.”
I didn’t dare look away from him, at the faces of the mamas, but I could practically feel the elation in the air. If churchwomen danced, they’d be do-si-do-ing right about now.
“You, Nellie girl,” Daddy said, “will never speak to me in that tone again.”
I raised my chin, knowing it was challenging, but I was a churchwoman no more. Not a woman to be cowed by a man, even my father. I had gotten what I wanted. Now to nail it all down. “You’un act you got sense in your’n head and I won’t have to.”
One of the mamas choked and started coughing. Daddy glared at me, his lower face hidden by his mug, his sickly eyes glaring. “I reckon we won’t be talking about your’n future after all this.”
“What about my future?” I demanded. “I got me a good farm, good land, a good job, and good friends. I got family here and a life out in the world and that’s the way I like it.”
“But you’rn alone, Nellie girl. And the mamas got a young man they want you to meet.”
I blinked slowly and turned my gaze to my mama. I had been set up all right. I had been set up in two different ways at the same time: to harangue Daddy into seeing a doctor and try to get me back into the church.
“You’ll like him, Nell,” Mama said, taking a step back at whatever she saw on my face. She put a hand to her reddish brown bun in a gesture that looked nervous and firmed her lips. Mama was a stubborn woman and she pushed through. “His name is Benjamin Aden and he’s Sam’s age. You been gone a long time, but you’un might remember him as a little’un. He’s one a Brother Aden’s boys, college educated now, with a degree in renewable farming practices or some such. He’s a modern kinda boy and he only wants one wife. And he’s coming for coffee.”
At that moment, a knock sounded on the door. And Daddy grinned as he lifted a big forkful of waffles to his mouth. He looked a lot better than he had only moments past. Amusement at my discomfort seemed to agree with him. Getting back at me for my insolence probably made him even happier.
Mud threw open the door and cold air raced past, stealing the heat of the house. “Mama! It’s Benjamin and Sam!”
I stepped away from the table as the two entered, Sam sturdy and self-contained, peeling out of his jacket. And Benjamin, who pulled off a toboggan to reveal dark hair over deep blue eyes, a full mouth, and a strong jaw. He was pretty. Taller than me. Wearing traditional church-style clothes, but store-bought: plaid shirt over T-shirt; newish jeans that had been ironed to a sharp crease. He had smooth skin and a look about him that said he’d be capable and quiet and kind.
They came across the room and I realized I was still standing, shoulders hunched, wearing smoke-stinky work clothes. Pants. Jacket. My service weapon under my jacket. My hair in a short bob, not bunned up like a proper woman. Tired. No makeup or lipstick left on my mouth, and not sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.
I was horrified at the thoughts I was having. As if any of that mattered. It didn’t. I was the woman I wanted to be. Yet my eyes darted around as if looking for a way out that wouldn’t require me to address Benjamin.
Daddy called the men to come on over, and then called for coffee, sounding hale and hearty, as if he wasn’t actively dying from the damage inside him. Asking . . . asking the womenfolk to serve the menfolk. Just the way it always used to be. Just the way it always would be in the church. That realization somehow settled me, and my shoulders went back to their proper position instead of up around my ears.
“Set a spell, Nell,” Mama said, replacing my cup with a fresh one and pouring a pale tea. This one smelled of chamomile, ginger, and vanilla.
I brought my gaze back from the men, who were settling around the table, being served. Served by the women.
“Don’t you dare be rude,” Mama hissed at me. “He’s a nice boy. You be nice too.”