Eleanor sat at the picnic table under the cooling shade of a maple tree in their yard, reading a letter she had just received from Doretta. Things seemed to be going along well for her friend. After saying that she felt concern for Eleanor and Vic and would continue to pray for them, Doretta mentioned that she’d been working on the dress she would wear the second Tuesday in November, when she and William became husband and wife. Eleanor was glad for her friend, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit envious. She and Vic had been so happy when they’d first gotten married, and now their marriage was in shambles. She felt thankful, at least, that her dear friend had been praying for her and had not condemned Vic.
Things hadn’t changed like Eleanor had hoped. The bishop had talked to Vic a while back, but if anything, Michael’s talk with Vic had made things worse. Vic was angry with Eleanor for having told the bishop’s wife about his drinking problem, and he had continued to drink. Eleanor had remained silent, not wanting to stir up anything more with her husband. It seemed that rather than things improving between them, their relationship had become even more strained. Vic was more distant than ever and didn’t engage Eleanor in much conversation unless they were quarreling about something. At least when Eleanor’s mother-in-law came by she could have quality conversation with her. Eleanor missed the old Vic, the fun-loving man she once knew, before the alcohol had taken him hostage.
Eleanor’s nausea had been bothering her less, which made the days a bit easier. Her pregnancy was otherwise going well, and Eleanor’s weight was right where it needed to be. When she ate her meals, she tried to avoid as much sugar as possible and use less salt in her diet. It wasn’t easy cutting back on those two items, since she had been used to eating them before she’d become pregnant, but if it meant keeping her and the baby healthier, it was worth the sacrifice.
Attending Al-Anon meetings for the past two months had helped Eleanor see things more clearly, and she’d learned a lot concerning what to say or not say to her husband, with the hope that he would quit drinking. During Eleanor’s first meeting, she’d been told that alcoholism was an illness, and that some of the things she’d been saying and doing may have hindered her husband’s recovery. She’d been surprised to learn that when the spouse of an alcoholic says or does certain things, it can enable the one with the drinking problem, which only makes things worse. She was reminded that her husband was not a bad boy who deserved to be punished; he was a sick, confused, guilt-ridden human being.
Eleanor fanned her flushed face with the envelope Doretta’s letter came in as she reflected on one of the meetings she’d attended when someone in the group mentioned the topic of covering up for the alcoholic so his family and friends wouldn’t find out about his drinking problem.
I did that before, but not anymore, Eleanor told herself, flapping the front of her skirt to cool the lower half of her body. Up to this point, she had only told Bishop Michael; his wife, Letty; and Doretta about Vic’s addition. She’d been ashamed and afraid to admit it to Vic’s parents or hers, believing they might think less of him, or even her for putting up with it and trying to hide the truth.
Trying to shield the alcoholic from an inevitable collapse as his disease progressed was an impossible task. Eleanor had learned that it would be far worse if she tried to protect Vic than to allow him to face up to his mistakes, free from her interference. So toward the end of last week, she had written a letter to her parents, telling them what had been going on, asking for their prayers, and explaining about the Al-Anon meetings she’d been attending weekly. Eleanor had not heard anything back from them yet and wondered if they’d received her letter. Last Wednesday, when Vic’s mother came to help Eleanor clean the house and do laundry, Eleanor had opened up and told her about Vic’s addiction to alcohol. Surprisingly, Susie hadn’t seemed that taken aback by the news. In fact, Vic’s mother had stated that both she and Ethan had sensed something serious was going on with their son, and they thought it might involve alcohol. Her suspicions were in part due to the way Vic had acted around them lately—nervous and like he had done something wrong. Susie had also shared with Eleanor that a friend of Ethan’s thought he’d seen Vic and an English man coming out of a pub in Lancaster. When Vic’s dad had confronted Vic with what he’d heard, Vic had said he wasn’t the person the man saw. Ethan, however, did not believe him, telling Susie that Vic had the look of guilt written all over his face.
During Susie’s visit, Eleanor had told her about the Al-Anon meetings she’d attended, and Susie agreed that it was a good idea and should be helpful for Eleanor. She did show some concern, though, that Vic wasn’t interested in attending AA meetings. Her parting words to Eleanor that day were: “Ethan and I will definitely be praying for both you and Victor, and especially that he will see his need to get help and do it soon. As you know, others in our family have also struggled with grief over Eddie’s death, but none of us have turned to alcohol to squelch the pain.”
Eleanor had agreed with her mother-in-law’s final statement, but since Vic had already acquired a taste for beer during his youth and knew that drinking seemed to help him relax and forget about his troubles, he was a prime candidate for becoming an alcoholic. She’d learned that at one of her meetings. And although it didn’t excuse her husband’s behavior, it did shed a better light on things.
Well, at least now the truth was finally out in the open, and Eleanor felt relief because she no longer had to hide Vic’s drinking or make excuses for him. Her biggest concern, as it had been when she’d first married Vic, was that now her parents really would think he’d been a poor choice for a husband. It was quite possible that her mom and dad might never again have anything nice to say about their son-in-law.
“Well,” Eleanor murmured, blotting her damp face with a tissue she’d taken from the band of her apron, “that’s just the chance I will have to take. Maybe after they’ve read my letter about some of the things I’ve learned so far at Al-Anon, they’ll have a better understanding and not be so quick to condemn.”
Grabill
Lydia looked away from the harsh glare of the sun and turned her face toward the faint breeze coming from the eastern side of her garden. It was another hot and humid day, but she wouldn’t quit weeding until the chore was done. Nothing grew well when it was crowded with weeds, and she was determined to get every single one. Working in the garden had always been a good stress reliever, and this morning Lydia’s stress was at an all-time high. She’d received a letter from Eleanor today with some shocking news. Vic was addicted to alcohol, and Eleanor had been attending Al-Anon meetings.
“Why am I not surprised?” she muttered. “I knew even before they were married that Vic would not be a good husband.” He had always seemed too sure of himself to suit Lydia, and she hadn’t liked the rumors she’d heard about some of the things he’d done before joining the church.
She gritted her teeth and gave another handful of weeds a good yank. It would be wrong to suggest that Eleanor should divorce her husband, but Lydia worried what it would be like for her daughter once the baby came. She wanted to shield Eleanor from the agony of dealing with a man who had a drinking problem. Lydia had to wonder just how long this had been going on and why Eleanor hadn’t said something before now. She also wondered what Al would say when he got home from work this evening and she shared Eleanor’s letter with him. Would he suggest, like she hoped, that they invite Eleanor to move back home to have her baby and remain there with them until Vic straightened out his life? The muscles in her arms tightened as she pulled another handful of weeds. If he ever quits drinking, that is.
Paradise
As the weeks passed and the summer months had grown hotter, Vic’s drinking had gotten worse. He’d said he could quit, and he had made a feeble attempt, but the closer Eleanor’s due date came, the more frightened he became about becoming a father. He’d tried on his own not to think about Eddie’s death and the responsibility he still felt for it, but self-talk wasn’t working for him, and he wasn’t about to see a counselor or attend AA meetings where he’d be expected to sit around with a bunch of people he didn’t know, talking about why, when, or how often he drank. If Eleanor wanted to keep going to the Al-Anon meetings she’d been attending on Thursday evenings, that was up to her, but Vic didn’t want anything to do with it.
“Before you go home, I need to talk to you, Mr. Lapp,” Vic’s boss called as Vic started to gather up his lunch pail and thermos.
Vic stepped into Ned’s office. “Oh sure, no problem. Did you want to tell me something about the work you have lined out for tomorrow’s job before Tom and I head for home?”
“It’s not about the house we’ve been remodeling. This concerns you, and the way you’ve been showing up for work here of late.”
Vic rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Tom and I are on time most days. In fact, we’re rarely ever late.”
Ned nodded his balding head. “I’m not talking about getting here late. It’s the condition you’ve been arriving in that has me concerned.”
“What do you mean?”
“On several occasions, you’ve had all the indications of having a hangover.” Ned stood in front of his desk and shifted his weight. “On top of that, some of the guys have complained to me about you sleeping on the job.”
Vic put both hands firmly against his hips. “That’s not true. I’ve never slept while working on any jobsite.” His cheeks warmed as hot as if he’d been sunburned. “Well, maybe I’ve dozed off during lunch break a couple of times, but then who hasn’t?”
“What about the headaches you’ve complained of?”
Vic’s only reply was a brief shrug.
Ned looked closely at him and frowned. “Your eyes are dull and bloodshot, and there are times when you’ve had an unfocused gaze. I can’t have a man working for me who isn’t fully focused on his work.”
Vic’s features tightened. “What about Tom and all the other guys who work for you? I’ve seen a few of them doze off during break times. Have you gotten on their cases, or are you just picking on me?” Vic’s voice had taken on a challenging tone, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“I am not picking on you.” Vic’s boss lowered his voice, looking at Vic through squinted eyes. “But if you don’t get your act together and improve that attitude of yours, I’ll have no choice but to let you go.”
“What?” Vic’s gaze flitted around Ned’s office, never settling on one place very long.
“You heard what I said. I won’t tolerate any worker who doesn’t pull his own weight, and I don’t appreciate your tone of voice, either.” Ned pointed at Vic. “I could fire you right now for that alone.”
A vein on the side of Vic’s neck pulsated, and his face became warmer. “Well, if that’s how you feel about it, then go right ahead. I’m sure I could get a job working for one of the other contractors in the area. Or for that matter, I could even start my own business.”
“There you go with that attitude again.” Ned lifted his hands, holding them palms up as he shook his head. “You know, I had previously thought that hiring an Amish man was a good idea, because it’s been my understanding that most of them are honest, hard workers, with good principles and proper manners.” He pointed at Vic one more time. “You’re forcing my hand, so therefore—”
Vic knew he had pushed his boss too far, but he wasn’t about to back down now. He pulled his shoulders straight back, and looking Ned right in the face, he said, “You don’t have to worry about firing me because I quit!”
“Fine, then, you can pick up your personal tools and go. Oh, and you can come by for your check from this week on Friday. Or, better yet, why don’t you ask your buddy, Tom, to get it for you?”
“Great! I’ll just do that!” Vic whirled around and stomped out of the man’s office. He couldn’t remember when he’d been this angry at someone.
After Vic gathered up his lunch items and all his personal tools, he stepped outside and spotted Tom in the parking lot, waiting by his truck.
“What was up between you and the boss?” Tom asked. “I saw him talking to you through the open door of his office and heard your raised voices.”
Vic’s facial muscles quivered as he ground his teeth together. “He was on the verge of firing me, but I quit before he got the words out. I’d like you to pick up my check on Friday.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. I didn’t like the things he accused me of.” Heat spread throughout Vic’s body. “And who needs this job anyway? I can do better on my own.”
“You think so?”
Vic held his hands up and took a defensive stance. “Yeah, I sure do. I am not bragging here, but I’ve been told many times that I’m an excellent carpenter.”
“Never said you weren’t. There must be some reason, though, that Ned was on the verge of letting you go.”
“Yeah, he stated that there’s been some indication of me coming to work with a hangover on several occasions. He also said that some of the guys have complained to him about me sleeping on the job.” Vic grimaced and shook his head. “It’s not true. I told the boss that I’ve never fallen asleep while working on any jobsite.”
“What did Ned say about that?”
“Not much. He just mentioned the headaches I’ve complained of. Can you believe that? I mean, who hasn’t come to work with a headache sometimes?”
Tom nodded. “That’s true.”
“Oh, and the boss also said that my eyes looked dull and bloodshot, and that there were times when I’ve had an unfocused gaze.” Vic scuffed the heel of his boot across the pavement. “That’s when he said he couldn’t have a man working for him who wasn’t fully focused on his work.”
“Is that all?”
“No. He threatened to let me go if I didn’t improve my attitude. So I told him I quit, and after he said I should pick up my tools and either come by for my check on Friday or ask you to get it, I walked right out of his office.”
Tom expelled a breath so hard that it raised the hair on his forehead. “Whew! You really blew it, buddy.”
Vic offered no response, just stared at the ground and breathed deeply.
“What are you gonna do now?”
“If you don’t mind stopping at one of the taverns on the way home, I’d like to have a few beers to help me relax and think things through. Then tomorrow morning, I’ll either look for another job or figure out some way to start my own business.”
“You’d need money to start your own business.” Tom put his hand on Vic’s shoulder. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but do you have the knowledge of what it takes to open and run a contracting business, hire enough employees, advertise, and—”
“It doesn’t have to be a full-fledged contracting business. I can do some woodworking jobs on my own, and I’m sure I’d get along fine.” He shrugged Tom’s hand off his shoulder. “Are you gonna stop somewhere so I can have a few beers or not?”
Tom, slowly, almost unwillingly, gave a brief nod. “Okay. Throw your tools and lunch box in the back seat of my truck, and let’s go.”