Читать книгу Mother Of Prevention - Lori Copeland - Страница 8

A what? My heart jolted, and started beating for the first time in weeks. I was still sleeping on the pallet, unable to return to the bed Neil and I had shared. I jumped up, wide-eyed, hair standing on end. Kris, evidently the calmest Madison, wet a paper towel in the adjoining bath and slapped it across my forehead. I sank back on the pillow, feeling cold water running down my neck.

Snake.

In my attic.

When I found my voice, I asked if Kris was certain.

“Real sure, Mommy.”

The snake had slid behind the cubbyhole where we kept Christmas decorations. My natural instinct was to call Neil; my second was to break into frustrated tears.

Kris patted my hand. “Don’t cry, Mommy. I’ll get the snake.”

Although I was tempted, I couldn’t let a seven-year-old engage in an attic snake hunt. I had no idea what kind of snake resided in my home other than Kris’s description: big.

And black.

Maybe.

“We’ll call Ron Fowler,” I said. “And what were you doing in the attic so late?”

“Playing.” Kris glanced at the clock. “Mr. Fowler will be asleep by now.”

Worry kicked into overdrive. If Neil was here he’d dispose of the snake and that would be that, but Neil wasn’t here, and this was just the first of a series of problems I would face without him. I couldn’t call on my neighbors, the Fowlers, in every crisis. Kris pressed a tissue into my hand, and I tried to get a grip on my fear.

I hated snakes about as much as I hated toads. Both repulsed me, especially toads. One had gotten in my bed when I was a kid. We’d lived in a rural area, and near a pond, so snakes and toads were plentiful, but the critters kept me paranoid. I tried to shake off fear. I had been in a state of shock for, what—weeks? I glanced at the wall calendar—the one Neil had given me last Christmas. Twelve months of sexy, bare-chested firemen. Hot tears filled my eyes.

“What day is this?” I asked.

Kris rolled her eyes pensively. “October, uh, maybe the middle.”

Dear Lord. I had sleepwalked through half of October!

I was appalled. I had to pull out of this. I threw back the sheets and told Kelli I was going to shower and wash my hair before we tackled the snake.

I stood under the hot water until the heater ran dry, but I felt more human now. Toweling off, I spotted the bottle of sedatives I had been downing like chocolate-covered almonds. I’d lived on doctor-prescribed medication for the past few weeks. I uncapped the bottle and stared at the blue pills and knew the next few weeks were going to be unbearable, but I had to keep it together for Kelli and Kris. As soon as I was dressed in sweats and clean socks I carried the pills downstairs and crammed them into a jar of sardines, then threw the sardines in the trash. I detested sardines. I knew I wouldn’t touch the pills again.

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?