Big Decisions by Linda Byler Page B

that would look exactly as she had always pictured it.
    She stayed by the window, watching and peering anxiously into the darkness for a glimpse of the bluish white lights of his headlights as he returned to apologize to her. Crickets chirped steadily, and the night sounds remained exactly the same with no horse’s hooves clopping on the road. Sighing, she smoothed back her hair in agitation, chewing on her lower lip as a lump began forming in her throat. Her nostrils burned and quivered, and tears stung her eyes.
    Turning, she marched up the steps to her room, determined not to give in to her absolute misery with a display of emotional tears. He was completely out of his rightful place. She had every right to choose the bricks for her house. She was the wife, or soon would be, and who would live in the house the most? She would. He would be away at work over half of the time anyway.
    See, that’s how Dat was, she thought angrily. If he wanted to move somewhere, he just said he was moving, and it was up to Mam to go along. Men were all alike. Gros-feelich . Conceited. How could he think that just because he was a builder, he knew what looked good?
    Lizzie fairly snorted as she buttoned her nightgown and turned down the covers of her bed. Climbing in, she pulled them up to her chin and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.
    Dear God, she tried to pray. Please make Stephen see his big mistake.
    That didn’t work.
    Her prayer seemed to bounce against the ceiling and come back down, landing like a great crushing weight on her chest, making her feel worse. She was so miserable that she didn’t feel like getting married at all, especially if he was going to be so stubborn about bricks.
    She rolled over, punched her pillows, and squeezed her eyes shut. Then, like cold, hard little hailstones, she was accosted by doubts and fears. Her thoughts ran completely rampant, as she lay all alone in the dark with only her own will and anger to keep her company. It was not a peaceful or restful kind of company.
    How much were you expected to give up after you were married? Bow before your husband, the king, and say in a quiet, hushed, humble tone, “Oh, of course, Your Majesty, white bricks are beautiful.” Stuff all your own wants and desires in a deep recess of your brain, like a garbage bag full of forbidden fruit, stuck away into the darkest corners of the attic?
    And so her rebellion raged, fighting off any hope of ever falling asleep. What was best? Living in a house that didn’t even come close to what she had imagined and submitting to the will of her husband. Or, like a fiercely determined warrior, sword and shield drawn, hack her way through until he finally relented? Oh, she so wanted to have her little brown house encased in brown bricks with pretty shrubs growing around it, exactly as she had always pictured it.
    Maybe her whole life would be easier if she never married but remained single and taught school until she was 70 years old. She could hold Emma’s and Mandy’s babies and eat all she wanted, because she would not have to worry one tiny bit about her figure if she had no boyfriend or husband. For one thing, she could do exactly as she pleased. If she ever saved enough money from teaching school, which was highly unlikely considering teachers’ wages, she would build her own house and use brown bricks. Just like the last little pig in the “Three Little Pigs” nursery rhyme, she thought grimly. The wolf could not get in.
    Maybe I’ll just break up with Stephen, she thought. Immediately his dark face and long brown hair with blond streaks in it, his blue, blue eyes, and just him, the image of Stephen, appeared in her mind. She knew without a doubt she could never be happy without him. A quiet sob tore at her throat as she buried her face in her pillow and cried great tears, soaking the pillowcase in the process.
    Suddenly there was a soft knock on her bedroom door. No, it couldn’t be. Nobody knocked on bedroom doors