Big Decisions by Linda Byler Page A

with white bricks, that she blurted out, “White? I hate white bricks.”
    Stephen turned to look at her, his eyes narrowing. “You do?”
    He was surprised at her outburst, Lizzie could tell. Well, he’s just going to have to be surprised, because I won’t have my dream house ruined by that strange idea.
    Her own will overrode her common sense, even the things Mam had tried to teach her about being submissive. Like a gray storm cloud across the sun, the atmosphere between them became a bit chilled as Stephen cleared his throat.
    “Yes, I do. They look like a prison or a doctor’s office,” she said emphatically, completely sure of herself now that Stephen was wavering.
    Her heart sank as she saw Stephen turn to the drawing, his jaw setting as he worked the muscles along his face.
    “Well, that’s too bad, Lizzie. I happen to like them. The light-colored bricks set against the dark brown mortar look neat.”
    Lizzie’s mouth literally dropped open in disbelief. He was openly disagreeing, without considering her point of view at all! How could he do that? Wasn’t he supposed to love her enough so that her every whim would be his command?
    She panicked. She didn’t want to have white bricks on the house, so she burst out, “Well, then I guess you’ll have to live in it alone, because I won’t live there if you use white bricks.”
    “Lizzie!” Stephen said sharply.
    She crossed her arms in front of her, leaning back against the chair. Stephen stared at her, and she glared back defiantly. Silence stretched between them like a taut rubber band, ready to snap in either direction.
    Stephen sighed.
    Lizzie breathed quietly, her heart hammering in her chest. She knew she was hurting his feelings, but she so hated the idea of white bricks that she didn’t care how he felt.
    He rolled up the drawing, stood up, and said, “Well, I may as well go home then, if we’re going to disagree.”
    “No! No! I don’t want you to go,” Lizzie said, gazing up at him with eyes that she hoped would melt his heart. Maybe if she whined and begged, even shed a few tears which were very close to the surface anyway, he would give in to her.
    “I’d better go. It’s getting late. Your parents will think I shouldn’t be here anyway, the middle of the week like this.”
    “Are … Aren’t you going to talk anymore about the … the bricks?” Lizzie implored him.
    “There’s no use. Lizzie, I’m a builder, and I know what looks nice. You aren’t used to building houses, so how could you understand what I’m talking about?”
    That was like throwing kerosene on an already smoldering fire. Lizzie completely lost all sense of right and wrong, of caring whether she hurt his feelings, of anything at all. She was so angry she leaped to her feet, her eyes flashing as she faced him squarely.
    “Oh, you! You make me so angry. You don’t have to be a builder to know what looks nice and what doesn’t. Women have more taste than men, and they always know what looks pretty. Men don’t, and you don’t either.”
    All he said was, “I think white bricks would look best,” and then walked out to the kitchen, through the door, and out to the barn, while Lizzie fumed and sputtered all by herself.
    All right. Let him go. She was not going to go help him with his horse or say good-bye. Good for him if he had to go home like this. She watched, barely breathing, as he backed the horse and buggy out of the forebay and gathered up the reins. Switching on the headlights, he climbed in, and gravel spit against the wheels as he turned to drive out the lane at a fast pace.
    He meant what he said! Surely he’d turn around and come back to her. He’d pity her and tell her brown bricks were the best choice just because she thought so, and that he loved her much more than the house, and that she was the light of his life and he would do anything in his power to make her happy. Then she would feel so adored and be so happy in her little brown house