Joe

Joe had slept soundly the first few nights at home. He’d opened the windows and enjoyed the chorus of sounds. The scent of summer rain, the heat against the grass, and the earth bursting with life brought peace. No sulfur. No gunpowder.

Esther brought Daisy over each day, and they had at least one meal together. He still had no indication as to whether Daisy would find her way back to him. He was as nervous as his daughter looked.

“Has she started school yet?” Joe asked Esther as she cleared their lunch plates to clean.

“The children in our communities start at seven. She could start this fall. Isn’t that the same at the school where you taught?”

“Yes,” Joe agreed. He was failing in his effort at conversation.

“No one knows how to sign well enough, though. I wasn’t sure if I would send her if I . . .” Esther’s eyes grazed his face, then diverted quickly. “I don’t know—”

“Then how will she learn to read and do arithmetic?” Joe interrupted. Panic rose in his chest because he was lost when it came to how to teach a child who couldn’t hear.

Esther set down the stack of plates she was about to carry to the kitchen.

“She has actually learned quite a few words by sight in order to finger-spell,” she offered. “I’ve done my best, Joe.”

“That’s not reading.” Joe knew he was picking a fight, and bit back his frustrations, which had nothing to do with Esther herself but his own insecurities. “I didn’t mean—I just . . .”

“I know what you meant. No, I can’t teach her all those things. I don’t know what’s next for her.” Esther picked up the plates and left Joe sitting alone at the table while she cleaned his kitchen. Daisy played with the paper dolls that Esther had brought for her—and likely made herself as well. Joe was, as usual, expendable.

Angelica insisted again that Joe go to her house for supper. All Angelica could talk about was Joe getting a job and getting a new wife. His sister was right that he needed a job, but he didn’t want to remarry. After supper with Angelica’s family, he took a drive up to the graveyard where his wife lay in her eternal sleep, but he couldn’t bring himself to visit her grave. The gate at the entrance of the cemetery looked the same, but that was where the similarities ceased. This time the moon spread its glow across the overgrown grass. Four years ago, there had been new spring grass with morning fog hanging in the air—exactly the kind of day that Irene loved.

He sat in his truck and didn’t return home until after dark. He went through the front door and into the blackness of the living room. When he reached to turn on the lamp, he kicked a beer can from earlier across the room. The unexpected sound from the ricochet startled him, and a surge of adrenaline shot through his chest. He began to sweat instantly, reminding him of the heat on the Pacific Islands. He grappled toward the lamp again and twisted the small knob, but after a flash and pop, the bulb died.

Death followed him.

It was too real and too palpable in the house. He stood in the dark for several more moments and made an effort to slow his breathing. His hands shook. He knew he wasn’t at war. He was at home. It frightened him, however, how quickly his mind returned to war even when it was so far from his new life. He wouldn’t let those memories win. He moved quickly through the house and out the back door to the barn where there were extra bulbs stored.

He pulled a long string that was just inside the tall sliding barn doors, exactly where he remembered it. The hanging bulb above him turned yellow and bright. The light glared in his eyes and he quickly looked away. He pulled another string, shining two bulbs in the barn.

Joe took in his dim surroundings. His father, also Joe Garrison, though he’d gone by Garry, had used the old barn as a repair shop and woodworking garage after the Great War. Joe used to love to watch his dad work on a variety of items, from radios to farm equipment to cabinets and chairs. Before Joe started his own schooling, his dad had added repairing automobiles to his roster. This was where Joe learned the difference between a wrench and pliers, how to change a tire, and how to drive a nail with one blow.

Old lumber and tires were piled high in a small mountain on the right of the barn. A heavy wooden table on the left was littered with old tools covered in cobwebs. A 1917 Stephens Touring auto was in the back. The black roof was ragged and the green paint nearly all peeled off. His dad had taken it as payment from a customer in the 1920s and had always planned to fix it up. Garry died before that could happen. Looking at it now, Joe realized it was little more than a step up from a horse and buggy.

He sighed aloud. He couldn’t do fine work like woodworking or work with cars. But he also knew he couldn’t go back to teaching at the small country school either. His pupils had always been ready to learn, even when their stomachs were empty. Angelica said that the school district was planning on asking him to teach again in the fall. It wouldn’t work. No one would want a man like him teaching their children. Too broken. Too weary. Haunted. Was he even safe to be around children? What about Daisy?

He pushed the thought away and looked on the shelf near the entrance only to find that the box of bulbs was empty. He tossed the box into the garbage barrel with frustration. Why had he assumed that his cousin who had rented the house would’ve continued to keep a stock of bulbs waiting for Joe’s return?

Suddenly, large menacing shapes played over the old wooden slats of the barn. The dark and light flickered, moving quickly. His heart pumped, and his hand went over his head, feeling for his helmet. It wasn’t there. Where was his helmet? Where was his M1? When he swatted against the moths that dive-bombed him, he realized he was in his barn. The moths that fluttered around the hanging bulbs had been the foreboding threat? Though it was only a momentary adrenaline rush, his breathing quickened, forcing his hand to his chest. His hand found the long light string again and he ran from the barn as if a consuming darkness chased him.

As the sun peeked over the tree line, Joe startled awake and found he was still in his clothes from the night before. He’d spooked himself in the barn and hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that someone was after him. Now he quickly showered and changed. With the first swallow of his coffee, he decided to leave the house. The coffee was worse than normal and the house was too big and empty.

A twinge of guilt settled into his gut when he passed the Detweiler house and saw Esther cutting her lawn. Her mower, of course, lacked the engine to make it efficient. Daisy appeared to be weeding their small flower garden. Neither looked up as he passed, even though he slowed. It shouldn’t bother him that she didn’t have a better mower. The Amish, as well as anyone else, could make a choice to buy a powered one. It wasn’t his fault that she followed their rules to the letter.

But when he got to the corner of Sunrise View Road, he made a U-turn, spraying gravel as he did. He was frustrated with himself for not letting things be, but there was something about Esther. While Esther’s melancholy eyes lingered in his mind, Irene’s bright smile and melodious giggle trumpeted in. The view of Esther struggling through the same plot of grass she’d been working on when he passed the first time tore the image of his pretty wife from his mind’s eye.

This was the woman who had been so loyal to Irene and wouldn’t leave her side no matter what the doctor said. She had suffered almost as much as he had. But she’d stayed. He’d left.

He pulled into the drive and got out of the car. Esther turned to look at him and then returned to the mower. A quiet grunt escaped her lips with every other push, and sweat had accumulated at the back of her neck. Her skin glistened. He’d never met a harder-working woman.

“What are you doing here?” Esther asked him as she kept mowing. The dress she wore was clearly meant for working but it fit her too snugly, and he had to divert his gaze to her face. She was shapely, but she was his daughter’s caretaker and his deceased wife’s cousin. He should not see her as anything but that. She wasn’t wearing her ususal white covering either, but a thin blue headscarf tied at the nape of her neck beneath a thick mound of hair. Though she didn’t turn around to look at him, he could see wisps of black curls around her hairline that gave her an almost childlike, innocent appearance.

“I want to help.” He said it hesitantly, then cleared his throat and tried again. If only he could get his own motored mower, but he didn’t want to cause any further issues at this point. “Let me help.”

“I don’t need help,” Esther said between grunts. There was a stubborn patch of grass with weeds that didn’t want to budge, even after the blades ran over it several times. When Esther took a brief pause to run the back of her hand over her forehead, Joe stole the moment and put his arms around the back of her and his hands on the handle. Esther’s hands tried to peel his away to keep control of the mower.

“Joe,” Esther scolded when he wouldn’t budge.

Joe didn’t let go of the grass cutter. He tried to push it against the weeds and grass while she still hung on, forcing their bodies to move together.

“Let me do this.” He could hear that she spoke through gritted teeth. He paused. The back of her body was against him. How long had it been since he’d had a warm body against his own? The pleasure he had in the closeness of a woman suddenly made him release his hands and back away. He could not relish it. His change of heart made her turn around and look at him. Their eyes connected.

“Please, let me,” he whispered. “I just want to help.”

Esther bit her lower lip and turned to look at the grass ahead of her. She stepped aside and held one side of the grass cutter out to him.

“Okay,” she said breathlessly.

He inhaled deeply and took the handles into his hands. Esther turned to leave.

“Esther,” he said, and she turned. “See, maybe we can work together.”

She held his gaze for several moments before she gave him a soft nod and went to her next task.

The strenuous labor of cutting the grass brought new energy to Joe. By the time Sunday had come around a few days later, he had worked on every home repair that he could do without buying more material. Staying busy was all that kept him from finding Irene’s ghost in every corner of the house and the muddle of war memories that cluttered his mind. How far back did he have to go to find memories worth reminiscing over? His sleep had become plagued with a heavy darkness, and many nights he woke to find himself out of bed and standing or crouching somewhere in the house. He would wake when he tripped over a rumpled rug or after the crash of a vase or a dinner plate that had been left out. Though he had no memory of throwing the object himself, how else could it have flown across the room and shattered into pieces?

The nightmares and terrors made him want to stay busy and out of the house. He was repainting the barn when he saw Esther and Daisy walking up. The evening was fair and he imagined what a nice walk it must be. Esther’s head was covered with the large black bonnet she always wore, though she removed it when she entered the house. He understood it as a practice of modesty. Daisy skipped near her until the little girl’s eyes caught Joe’s, then she stopped and, like a magnet, attached herself to Esther’s side.

This was the tenuous routine they’d settled into. It was often made more stressful by the abrupt appearance of Angelica. Almost regularly, before he and Esther could even greet each other, his sister would knock loudly at the door or pop into the drive. And today was no different, except that Angelica seemed ready to burst with excitement and he felt his head begin to pound.

“Angelica, what brings you around?” He hugged his sister and kissed her sunken cheek.

Angelica looked around, and the two of them watched as Esther and Daisy passed them in the drive and went into the house. Her smile drifted from her face, and a frown cut in. Her pointy jaw jutting out reminded him of an aunt he’d been afraid of as a child. As soon as Angelica refocused on Joe, her smile returned.

“I have news.” Angelica grabbed his arms.

“News?”

“I got another job, and I think I found one for you. I interviewed with Mrs. Wayne Good about the housekeeping job at the apartments her husband builds, and I got the job. What do you think about that?” Her smile grew toothy, and Joe smiled back. “She even has a pretty housekeeping uniform for me, and it pays more than double what I’m making now.”

“That’s great.” Joe smiled, meaning it. Angelica cleaned a few houses now, but with Donald unable to work and requiring expensive medicine, they were struggling more than usual, especially since Joe wasn’t sending money anymore.

“And,” she held the word out long as she winked at him, “she said she thinks that her husband would hire you on one of his carpentry crews. You heard about all those houses going up on this side of town? Well, Mr. Good is the one putting them up. If you’re not going to go back to teaching, this would be a great new start.” She patted his cheek like his mother used to do. “Think about it.”

He watched Angelica leave and stood in the drive until her truck lumbered out onto the road. Would it even make it as far as her new job? He walked toward the house wondering if Angelica was onto something. A construction job could be perfect. Working with his hands kept him as busy as he liked.

When he entered the house, he could see Esther looking over the broken pieces of china on the table. He watched as she pulled the small trash can over and began pushing the pieces into it.

“What are you doing?” Joe walked in long strides across the living room and into the kitchen.

“I’m cleaning up.” Esther stood, her brow laced with confusion. “There are several broken plates and beer cans laying around. Really, Joe.”

“Don’t throw them away.” Joe grabbed the trash and began picking the pieces of the rosebud china out. “We didn’t have enough for a set of china so I bought her two plates. One for her and one for me.”

Joe placed pieces on the table, some of them dripping with the beer that had leaked from the cans Esther had thrown away.

“How’d they break?” Esther asked, and while her tone wasn’t laced with suspicion, her eyes narrowed as he stood and caught her gaze.

His face grew warm. He didn’t want her to know how the plate had broken. She could not know that when darkness fell, his demons came out.

“I dropped it,” he lied.

“Both of them? They were all over the living room, Joe. I think I know how it happened.” She inhaled deeply then tossed another empty beer can into the trash.

She was wrong. It had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Listen, you came to help me with my lawn. It was good of you. I want to help you too. If you even think you want to be a father to Daisy,” she said without looking at Joe, “then you can’t drink.”

“That’s not how the dishes were broken,” he blurted out.

“Then how?”

His heart was pounding, but he had to keep his secret. He hated that she assumed the worst of him, but he had to let her believe the lie. It was better than the truth. It made him angrier than it should. The speed of his heart heated his blood.

“I’m just thinking about Daisy.” Her voice was firm, yet she spoke quietly. She threw another empty can into the trash.

“You don’t understand,” he started. How could he begin to convey to her how desperately dark he was on the inside and how he didn’t like the man he was either. He didn’t want to be the kind of man who needed a beer to numb the visions in his head and help him fall asleep. He wasn’t getting drunk, but the beer did have a calming effect on his sleep.

He held her gaze, and the strength it bore enticed him. What was it like to be so self-assured? He suddenly wanted to touch her again, not just because he had mowed her lawn, but because he wanted to be a part of whatever made her so confident. His hand reached to her, and she flinched. He put his hand back at his side.

“I don’t need you to take care of me.” He matched her quietude. This was true. Esther did not need to mother him. But he was drawn to her caring ways.

Esther looked away and down at the broken pieces of the plate.

“Someone has to. You’ve been home for a week and a half and the house is already a mess—and these plates. Irene would—”

Why, even when speaking softly, was she such a force?

“Do not bring up Irene.” He meant it. She shouldn’t bring up Irene. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t reminded at every moment how he had failed her years earlier and every day since her death.

“Do you think this is what she would’ve wanted for you? For Daisy?” She picked up a piece of the plate, using it as evidence against him. “You weren’t like this—before.”

He could feel the resistance in her words.

“That man isn’t here anymore. He’s gone.” He leaned toward her when he spoke. There was anger laced in his words, but he meant what he said. Their bodies were close as they faced each other. She didn’t quake at his nearness, but traces of the clean scent of homemade soap and the outdoors moved around him. His focus returned when she spoke.

“But you’re still Joe. Irene’s Joe. And you abandoned your daughter.” She was so close that he felt her breath on his face. “You just left her. I had to put the pieces back together. I was the one who figured out that she was deaf and fought against everyone who told me I was wrong.” She stopped briefly, and her breathing was heavy. “I was just as scared as you were, Joe. But I stayed and you left. Irene would be so disappointed.”

“What?” He stepped back.

Her eyes grew rounder and larger than he’d ever seen them.

“I didn’t mean—” Esther shook her head but didn’t finish her thought. She moved to return the trash can to its place.

Daisy walked into the kitchen. Esther signed something to her, then promptly left the room and gathered her things. The two of them left Joe standing in the kitchen, and once the hammering of his heart slowed down, he surrendered to Esther’s opinion. She was right about everything. He had turned and walked away from his child and Irene would be disappointed.

Joe knew that he’d never be a good enough father. He was sure Daisy could forgive him for leaving her, but she would never forgive him for returning.