5

Unable to sleep, Rebecca lay awake, and stared into space. A small night-light in the bathroom illuminated the darkness. She’d dozed fitfully since retiring late the evening before. Her body ached from the cleaning spree she’d embarked on.

After she’d finished defrosting the freezer, she’d tackled the kitchen cabinets and then the utility room, after which she stripped and waxed the floor of both. She’d stretched and climbed and scrubbed more in those few hours than she had in over a year.

Christian music interspersed with teaching programs had kept her heart focused while her hands worked. At odd little moments, the memory of lunch with Raymond would come to mind, making her smile. The day had been full, taxing, but she had enjoyed it.

Her evening hadn’t been as productive though. She’d tried to continue her Bible reading but couldn’t seem to get past the Gospel of John. Her prayer time had been interrupted with thoughts of the letter she’d received followed by memories of her conversation with Raymond.

Even now, he crowded her mind, the softness in his eyes, and the thrill of his touch. What would it be like to be married to him?

Climbing from beneath the covers, she walked to her dresser, lit the candle there, and then returned to her bed. Rebecca propped the pillows behind her, folded her hands and bowed her head. God, is this what You want from me, to be a wife again?

Part of her thrilled at the idea of having a husband once more…someone to cook for, someone to look after, possibly another baby or two. Being a wife and mother was all she knew how to do. Rebecca prided herself on the fact that she’d been good at it, but part of her cringed at the thought.

Though Jim had been a wonderful husband, they’d had their share of problems. Twenty years in the Air Force instilled in him a strong sense of order. He, in turn, expected the same of her. Things had to be in their place, the house had to be clean; clutter was unacceptable.

Many times, Rebecca had thought she would suffocate from his constant need for order. But she’d loved him and tried her best to make him happy. If there were times when she was vaguely dissatisfied, wondering if there was more to life than being a wife and mother, she’d squashed those feelings with ruthless determination. She tried always to be grateful for the gifts God had given her.

Despite his need for order, he hadn’t been abusive in any way; he’d never verbally or physically struck her or the children. Jim had been a good man and a good provider who loved, honored and cherished her. He’d been faithful, gentle and respectful.

Could anyone compare to that? Would marriage to another be the same as before? Better? Worse? Once again, Raymond’s face rose in her mind followed by a nagging sensation that—though he may be a part of it—God had something different in store for the rest of her life. But what?

Restless, she got out of bed, blew out the candle and went into the kitchen. Putting the kettle on to boil, she dug through her box of herbal teas for a bag of chamomile, hoping its calming qualities would help her relax and get to sleep.

She ran a tub of warm water adding bath crystals that were supposed to induce relaxation. She lit an aromatherapy candle then returned to the kitchen, fixed a cup of tea and carried it back into the bathroom.

While the tea steeped its soothing flavor into the cup, Rebecca twisted her hair on top of her head and secured it with a clip. She remembered how Jim had insisted they get back to nature, and sank into the water with a smile. Herbal teas, herbal baths, and aromatherapy candles were just some of the ways they did so. Others included using fresh herbs in place of processed seasonings, drinking filtered water instead of tap and implementing massage therapy to aide each other in relaxation.

“God put those plants on earth for our benefit,” he’d said, and as usual, she had listened. Healthy though they were, herbal teas were an acquired taste, but it hadn’t taken long for them to reap the benefits.

Rebecca closed her eyes and slid further into the tub as she sipped her tea. Her body began to unwind; her mind wandered back over the years to the many nights Jim had fixed her a cup of tea and a bubble bath, how he’d carried her from the tub to the bed and rubbed scented oil into her skin. The warmth of his hands, the scents of the candles he’d lit and the intimacy that always followed brought blissful memories. Being a wife and mother, Rebecca never thought of herself as a sensual creature. Jim tried hard to show her otherwise.

Shocked at the path her thoughts had taken, Rebecca’s eyes jerked open. She sat upright. Her hand trembled as she put down the teacup. Though she’d wished many times that her husband had taken her with him on that fateful day when he died, Rebecca was now very much aware she was far from deceased.

God, thank You so much for reminding me I’m still alive. But Lord, I don’t think these are the kind of feelings I should be having considering the fact that I am a widow and currently alone.

Embarrassed at her thoughts, Rebecca rose from the tub, reached for a towel, and draped it securely around her. “Now I need a cold shower,” she grumbled, and then laughed out loud.

She’d often wondered whether the benefits of a cold shower were fact or fiction, but even with her body on fire, she dared not try it. The idea of being cold and wet on purpose was distasteful.

She reached for pajamas. Sleep would be impossible now, so she bypassed the pajamas, walked into the bedroom, dug out a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Ingrained habit had her scrubbing the oily film from the tub before she left the room. Even on those nights when Jim had swept her up in his arms and carried her from the bathroom, once the romance was over and the passion spent, she would climb out of bed or get up early to make sure the tub was clean for his shower the next day.

Edgy and restless, Rebecca roamed through the house. The clock chimed. Three o’clock in the morning—too early to get up, too late to go back to bed. She wandered into the living room, sat in her recliner, and picked up her Bible. Once again it opened to the Gospel of John, chapter 15...I am the vine and my Father is the vine grower...I am the vine you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit because without me you can do nothing...

“Jesus, what are You trying to tell me?” Too jittery to calm her mind or spirit enough to hear from God, she put down the Bible with a sigh and got up to roam the house once more. Within moments, she found herself in the room her husband had used as a gym.

Though she had always been careful with her diet and had regularly joined Jim on walks and hikes, she was never keen on exercising. Jim was the workout fanatic. She ran her hand over the equipment as she walked around the room., A bow machine for strength training, an exercise bike, treadmill and rowing machine for cardiovascular.

Tears pricked her eyes. How on earth had a heart attack killed her husband when he’d taken such excellent care of himself?

She sat on the stationary bike, pedaled a few strokes. Boring. Though she’d enjoyed biking with her kids, Rebecca couldn’t imagine how anyone withstood the monotony of pedaling for hours and going nowhere. Getting up, she walked over to the bow machine then cringed at the thought of adding insult to injury on her already aching muscles. The treadmill beckoned.

Before she could change her mind, Rebecca hurried into the bedroom, put on socks and tennis shoes and returned to the workout room.

Barely understanding the basics of operating the electric walking machine, she put the key into the slot and slowly adjusted the speed until she was moving at a brisk pace. Now this I could get used to. She laughed when she realized that instead of pedaling a bike, she was walking without going anywhere.

The benefits of jogging came to mind—improved cardiovascular health, lower cholesterol, increased metabolism, and the rumored ‘runner’s high.’ The most running she’d ever done was chasing after kids. Rebecca coaxed the speed up a notch.

As her heart rate increased, the tension in her body lessened and her spirit soared. Lord, this is great! All these years and I never knew how wonderful this could be. Add a little music and visual imagery and even the stationary bike might be a pleasant thing. She increased the speed yet again. Sweat poured off her brow and her lungs screamed for air.

Rebecca gradually decreased the speed to a slow steady pace once more. She grasped the handrails, closed her eyes and took deep breaths until her heart rate and breathing returned to normal.

The clock chimed four. She’d been on the treadmill for a little more than half an hour. Not wanting to over-do it, Rebecca decreased the speed until it was slow enough for her to hop off the belt and stop the machine.

Coated with sweat, her heart pumped and muscles quivered, but Rebecca couldn’t recall a time in the past year when she felt more alive.

Jim had told her it was important to cool off gradually and stretch those warm muscles, so she took the time to do so. Disliking the sticky feel of cotton clinging to her flesh, she decided to take a shower.

Rebecca stood under the spray of hot, pulsating water and marveled at how good she felt, energized and relaxed all at once. She emerged from the shower warm, cozy and refreshed.

She donned clean clothes then moseyed into the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot and watered her plants while the pot brewed. Pouring a cup, she went into the living room, curled up in her chair and turned on the television.

She awoke sometime later to the sound of someone pounding on her front door.