Our marriage finally collided with the world of responsibility following graduation. Professional degrees in hand, we left the ivy halls and survival level jobs to make our way in the adult world. David found a teaching position at the beginning of January. With great optimism we moved across the state. Within a few weeks, pessimism had overtaken us. David discovered that he did not like teaching. It wasn't so much the idea of teaching that he despised. It was putting up with bratty kids who did not care to learn and keeping tedious records of every minute of every day.
I became a substitute teacher. I grew to dread the early morning shrill of the telephone. I knew a roomful of preteens awaited my arrival with schemes designed to see how long it would take the sub to exit in tears. I never gave them the satisfaction, but I did lose my cool on more than one occasion. Daily I managed to stand my ground, staring them down and counting the seconds until the bell freed me from junior high purgatory.
Disenchantment with life on the other side of the desk led us to flee the state in search of employment heaven. We visited friends in far-flung cities. We followed leads to dull opportunities in what seemed to be uninhabitable regions, like the barren windy plains of Wyoming, which were surely God's warning of what awaits sinners on the other side. Finally, we wearily landed on David's brother's South Carolina doorstep in hopes of finding a respite from the exhausting search.
David came in one afternoon after spending the day with Daniel on the golf course.
"How would you like to stay here?" he asked. "One of our foursome owns a tobacco farm, and he offered me a job."
"Doing what? I've watched those tobacco harvesters. That's backbreaking labor, bending all day in the hot sun."
"I won't be picking tobacco, Syd. I'll be part of the administrative staff."
I soon learned that administration involved delivering drinks and snacks to harvesters as they labored under the scorching sun, and later, hauling tobacco to the sales and standing around shooting the breeze while the auctioneer sealed the fate of your load. His managerial position was to start at 4am the next morning.
"I'm going to be working long hours until the harvest is over," he said. "I guess that means you're going to need to go back to the apartment and pack our stuff and bring it out."
We had already moved three times in our short marriage. This was to be our fourth, but hardly our last. We would move 11 times in our first ten years together.
I drove back to Louisiana and packed everything we had managed to accumulate in two years. Before I left, David called his grandpa and convinced him that a visit to his grands and greatgrands in South Carolina was just what he needed. He would serve as escort and trailer-maneuvering expert. I had no idea how to back the rental trailer I would use to haul our belongings.
I was looking forward to my time with Paw Gilbert. When David first took me home to visit, his Grandpa and his Mama welcomed me with open arms. His Dad was already pretty sick, and his communication skills were lacking. Only his Grandma was a tad cool. I simply ignored that and acted like I expected everyone to love me. It seemed to work, because Maw Gilbert warmed up to me. Only later did David tell me about his conversations with Maw that weekend.
"You better watch that little girl, David," she told him when she managed to get him alone. "She's got her sights set on you."
"I hope so, Maw," he answered. "'Cause I've got her in my crosshairs, and I plan to get her to the altar one way or the other."
"You can do better, Shot," she said.
"She makes me go to church, Maw."
David knew that was the defense most likely to win over his Grandma.
"Don't try to scare her away," he added. "I'm still trying to get her to realize she loves me."
"Well, if she don't know that then she's none too smart. It's as plain as the nose on her face to me. Yep, she's got those 'goo-goo' eyes that you youngsters call love, but it ain't nothing but lust. You mark my words."
They had that conversation in the afternoon before David took me out and ventured to tell me that he loved me. He said Maw's certainty gave him the courage to say those three words that both of us considered a sign that we were ready to commit to a long-term relationship. The last time a boy had told me he loved me, I had laughed at him and told him he didn't even know what love was. This time, I looked at David and responded with six words: "I think I love you too."
For David, that was enough. When he got home, he told Maw, "I told her I love her, Maw, so you might as well get rid of your suspicions. She's going to be your new grand-daughter-in-law."
"Well, Shot," Maw said. "If she has sense enough to love my grandson, then I reckon I'd better get to work trying to love her. Even if she ain't the one I'd of picked, she does make you go to church with her."
Maw never said another negative word about me, and her cool reception warmed right up. When she asked me if I wanted to help her shell peas the next day, David said that was a sign of favor. She was particular about who she let touch her garden produce.
#
Faith remembered when she knew that her mother accepted Aaron as a prospective son-in-law. It was the day Mama chose to have a little chat with him. Most suitors get the third degree from the girl's father, and that is the extent of the formality that signals indoctrination into the family. In the Lander family, initiation was not complete until Mama Sydney had her tête-à-tête with the affianced.
Faith and Aaron stopped by Mama's house for a visit. After they were comfortably seated in the porch sunroom, Faith was dispatched to the kitchen.
"Why don't you fix us some tea while Aaron and I get better acquainted," Mama said to Faith. "There's a fresh cobbler ready to come out of the oven, too."
Taking her cue, Faith dutifully went into the kitchen, leaving Mama alone with Aaron. Curious as to what Mama might say to her fellow, Faith stayed as close as possible to the window that was open behind the swing where her mother held court.
She didn't know what she expected Mama to say, but what she heard was a surprise.
"Faith is a special person," Mama said. "I can see that you love her, and she loves you. I know the last thing you want is advice from a meddling prospective mother-in-law, but I'm going to give it anyway. I've had this conversation with Ivy and the spouses of my nieces and nephews whose mother died when they were young, so I've got it down to a science."
When Aaron tried to say something, Mama wouldn't let him.
"Shush, young man," she said. "It doesn't take that long to make tea, so let me have my say. When you marry my daughter, you're going to promise to love her until death do you part. I expect you to keep that promise, but I can tell you it won't be easy. For a marriage to last, both partners have to mean that commitment when they make it. You two love each other, and love is a noble emotion, but without the obligation to work through the instances when life numbs love, the relationship will falter. You do not believe you will ever betray Faith or that she will ever mislead you, but deceit in some form enters each marriage. Every marriage ceremony should include the vow to love despite betrayal and the promise to work together to offer forgiveness in the face of treachery. But I suppose that is too much to ask. It's probably a little too much negativity."
As Sydney took a quick breath before plunging on in what was obviously a practiced monologue, Faith thought, "Wow, I've never heard Mama talk so fast."
"Now that you think I'm a paranoid old bag, let me give you some constructive advice that is guaranteed to keep any relationship healthy and vital. Tell Faith you love her in all five of the love languages, often. By that I mean tell her the words – and not just the three-word phrase; hide love notes and write poetry, but buttress the words with action. Do something for her that you know has to be done but that she abhors doing. I suggested my David clean his own tub. Give her your time. Schedule a weekly date and give her your undivided attention. Offer caresses that are motivated by love rather than lust. Kiss her palm, or run your fingers through her hair, or give her a shoulder massage. Give her presents on all the usual special occasions, but make sure they show that you have put some thought into the gift; sometimes give her something 'just because.'"
Picking up a book off the coffee table, Mama concluded, "Now that you are confused and overwhelmed, I'm going to give you a book to read that I think every person contemplating entering a relationship should study. I hope you and Faith will both read this book and apply it to your marriage. Read it again when you have children and employ it with each one individually. Read it and think about your friends, your siblings, your parents. If you apply its principles to all of your relationships in life, I guarantee that your funeral will be well attended."
With that Mama held out a beautiful leather-bound volume. Aaron's eyes were glazed. He looked down at the tome. With his fingers he traced the gold letters embossed on the front, almost like a blind man reading Braille. Faith almost giggled out loud watching him. Finally he opened the book and read something.
He looked at Mama and said, "I will cherish her, Mrs. Lander – I mean, Mom," he sort of hesitated and then added, "Lander." He looked down and cleared his throat. "Faith has told me a little bit about the love languages. And I will read the book. I intend to make her happy. I really do."
As he stopped, I called out, "It's soup. Someone want to come help me carry the tray out?"
Aaron jumped to his feet, obviously glad to be freed from his talk with Mama.
Later when he showed me the book, he said, "Your Mama's sweet, Faith. She's just trying to look out for you."
"You mean you don't think she's a meddling old bag?" I said with a laugh.
"Naw. Read what she wrote."
He handed me the book. In the front she had penned:
Aaron,
I entrust my beloved daughter to you to love and cherish for the rest of her life. If you let it, this book can help you to love her in a way that is guaranteed to fill her love tank so that it overflows into your life and the lives of your children. I hope you two will discuss the five love languages and that you will learn to speak each other's languages fluently. David and I didn't discover this book until we had been married 20 years. Even then it enriched our marriage. Take care of my girl and love her well.
Syd Lander (I hope you'll call me Mom.)
"There's no one to look out for me now." Faith thought. "I'm just going to have to look out for myself."
Since she only had a few pages of the first book in the journal left, Faith decided to finish it and then get some shuteye before heading to Monroe.
#
Everything fit easily in the back of a small U-Haul. Starving college kids do not amass a lot of material possessions while in school. The only reason a trailer was needed at all was that after David got a real job, we had traded the orange vinyl love seat we found at Goodwill for a brand new living room set. Had we known that there was not enough money in Louisiana to pay him to teach, we might have kept the orange eyesore and saved the cash.
When Paw Gilbert and I arrived, David had secured us a rental to call home. It was half of an old house with high-ceilinged rooms and hardwood floors. We didn't have to worry about disturbing duplexed neighbors, though. The other half of the house was closed off and used for storage. Adjacent to the backyard were some grain bins, so we had relative privacy in the middle of small town USA. Not long after we set up housekeeping, though, we learned that there were some unexpectedly nosy neighbors.
David and I were snuggled cozily in bed. As usual, he was asleep five seconds after his head hit the pillow, while I lay counting sheep. My shepherdess duties were interrupted by a noise in the kitchen on the other side of the glass doors leading into our bedroom, a converted formal dining area.
I peered into the dark and listened. The noise came again. Whoever was in there was on the other side of the cabinets that separated our breakfast nook from the kitchen proper.
I nudged David and whispered, "Wake up, Hon; there's someone in the kitchen."
"Huh?" he grunted, too loudly for my taste.
"Shh! Listen."
We listened. Another noise from the kitchen.
David got up. His country pajamas, a pair of whitey-tighties, with his pale belly above gleamed in the moonlight. He donned my pink bathrobe that was hanging on the bedpost, picked up his belt from the floor, and headed bravely into the other room. Despite my fear, I stifled a giggle, wondering if he planned to whip the prowler into submission.
A half-a-minute later, he returned to bed.
"There's no one in there," he said. "You're letting your imagination run away with you. Go to sleep."
Five seconds later even breathing emanated from David's side of the bed. The noise came again. I nudged David awake.
"I hear it again. Whoever's in there must have hidden from you."
"What do you think someone's doing in there?" he murmured in my ear. "If it's a food bandit, let him raid our larder. He probably needs it more than we do."
"David," I pled. "You have to go check again. I can't sleep with an intruder in the house."
"Okay," he said. "But if he has a gun and shoots me, you'll live with the guilt the rest of your life."
As David stealthily opened the glass door, I breathed a prayer for the safety of my brave protector. I heard a plop, plop coming from beyond the cabinets. I saw David disappear around the divide. A few seconds later, the light came on in the kitchen.
"Syd," David called. "Bring me my boots."
Was he insane? Why did he want boots? Was he planning on pursuing the burglar through the back alley dressed in a woman's bathrobe and wearing boots?
I dutifully threw a long sweatshirt over my p.j.s and headed into the kitchen carrying his boots.
"It's a mouse. He was in the pecans," David said, pointing to the torn bag of nuts sitting near the kitchen door. "I have him cornered behind the sink." He shone a flashlight into the dark cabinet underneath it. I could see something grayish sticking out of the space between the sink and the wall. "I'm going to scare him out, and you bash him with a boot."
"How are you going to do that?" I asked. "Holler boo?"
Rolling his eyes, he said, "I'll just spray a bit of bug repellent up there. That'll flush him out."
Pointing the can of insect spray into the gap where his quarry was hiding, David squirted the enemy. Mouse guano fell onto his hand, while David collapsed in a fit of coughing.
"I'll get that bugger," he said. "Bring me a clothes hanger, Syd."
He untwisted the improvised mouse-flushing machine. Brandishing the wire like a brave warrior going into battle, he bent over and began jabbing viciously upwards in the space behind the sink. A huge wharf rat came bounding out.
Barefooted, David began to jump up and down like a man running across a bed of hot coals.
"Give me my boots, give me my boots," he commanded.
I jumped up onto a kitchen chair, clutching the items in demand.
"I'm not getting down with that thing on the loose," I schreeched, tossing the boots in his general direction.
As the boots loudly clattered on the floor, the terrified rat ran into the bedroom. I jumped down and slammed the door to the room.
"I'm not going to bed until you get rid of that thing," I said.
David had pulled on one boot. Picking up the other one, he hoisted it like a weapon.
"I'll take care of that thing, Syd," my macho hero said.
He limped into the room, his balance thrown off by his mismatched feet. I watched from beyond the glass. The rat cowered in a corner. My fierce warrior advanced with boot held ready. As he approached, the rat took off. Whack, down came the boot. He missed, and the rat ran under the bed. David shook the bed and bellowed. The rat ran out the other side.
"He's behind the dresser," I shouted.
David manhandled the dresser away from the wall. The rat made a mad dash for the open door of our tiny bathroom. Thump, went the boot. The now tailless rat continued his flight. David slammed the bathroom door behind the fleeing varmint. He waved me in.
"New battle plan," he said, sitting on the end of the bed and removing the single boot. While he talked he began to get dressed. "Can't use a gun. How would we explain a bullet hole in the bathroom to the landlord? I'll go to Daniel's. His cat is a fierce mouser. I'll put Atlas in the bathroom with the rat, and he'll make short work of him."
In a few minutes David returned with Atlas, followed by an additional reinforcement, Daniel, hobbling lopsidedly with his broken right leg in a cast. Opening the bathroom door, David threw the unsuspecting cat into battle. Absolute silence reigned as we all craned our ears toward the latrine, expecting to hear the sounds of hissing and screeching as Atlas went into combat mode. Unable to contain his curiosity, David cracked the door and peered in. The cat cowered against one wall, while the rat stared malevolently back from the other. Seeing his chance for escape, Atlas made a beeline for the door.
"That rat doesn't scare me," Daniel offered. "Give me the boot, lil brother."
Armed with boot, Daniel entered the rat's lair. He positioned himself on top of the toilet, saying, "He can't get my toes if I'm up here."
Wrong. Even as Daniel spoke, the frightened and enraged rodent bounded into the tub and back out. He started up the side of the toilet. I have never seen an injured man move so fast. Daniel leapt out of the bathroom, crashing the door shut behind him.
David was not about to be bested by a rat.
"Give me the boot," he said to Daniel. "I don't have bare toes he can nibble or a broken leg to hinder me."
Straightening his shoulders and mumbling a prayer, David opened the door and stepped into the arena. I had no idea a rat could squeal like a pig. David eventually emerged holding the comatose rat by the stub of his tail. My boudoir was safe. David was my conquering hero.
#
"Every woman needs a protector, her very own white knight," Faith thought. "Daddy may have been more of a Don Quixote than a Sir Lancelot, but he was Mama's personal knight. Even after 30 years of marriage, she looked at him with eyes of love. He stayed her conquering hero."
She laid the first of Mama's journals on the nightstand and snapped off the lamp.
"Maybe that's why I'm afraid to marry Aaron. His armor is already tarnished."
Faith turned over restlessly.
"Every knight has his flaws, though," she reminded herself. "Lancelot certainly had his. Having an affair with Qwenevere while serving King Arthur was not the stuff of white knight chivalry."
She turned onto her back and stared up at the red numbers illuminated on her ceiling by her projector clock. It was already midnight. She needed to get some sleep. She forced herself to take deep breaths and empty her mind. As she drifted into sleep, a final notion floated into her consciousness, "Is it fair to expect a man to conquer all of a woman's emotional rats? If I charge Aaron with protecting my heart, am I setting him up to fail?"