The Yoke of Obedience

                                                By Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy
 

            On the last day that Brother Daniel Wilson lived, he was late.  His young wife, of only eighteen months, waited for him outside with their baby in her lap.  Amanda sat outside in the summer heat because it was slightly cooler outside than in their home.  She sat a kitchen chair carefully on the sharply sloping yard.   It sat solidly enough but it still felt precarious.  She was afraid too move much, fearing she might tumble down the long, rocky slope to the graded gravel road below.  

            More than the heat aggravated her:  One of the first lessons learned in her marriage had been that her husband lacked any sense of time.   He was erratic and would arrive when he felt like it, not before.  Clocks didn’t concern him and he was easily sidetracked.   Daniel refused to even attempt to meet any curfew that Amanda tried to set.   Even on church nights (there were many), she had no idea when or if he would arrive home.   Many times she and the children had gone ahead to church.  Amanda was resigned to his disregard of time but she had not learned to like it and would not.

            Amanda spread the baby across her knees and called to her stepson, Cowboy, to bring a bottle.  She had to call out twice before he appeared in the open doorway.  Named Luke by his long dead mother, he answered only to Cowboy, a nickname that seemed to have no definable meaning.   Sister Wilson – the first Sister Wilson – had given it to him and he felt obliged to live up to it.  Cowboy clomped about in too large cowboy boots, straight leg jeans, and western cut shirts.   He used his nickname as an excuse to beg for expensive western wear that he seldom got.  Money for overpriced duds was not in the budget, largely due to the fact that there was not enough money to have a budget.

            Cowboy tossed her the plastic baby bottle and disappeared into the house.  Amanda chattered to her eight-month-old son with nonsense words.   She popped the bottle into his mouth and watched as he suckled eagerly.   She sighed, thinking he was probably just as hungry as everyone else in the family seemed to be and that the child was lucky that the WIC program provided his Enfamil.    Had it not been, young Enoch would have likely been breast fed or starved.

            Late evening sun filtered through the trees and pressed her with weighted warmth.  It was so humid that she felt as if she were being baked  in an oven with no escape.   The heat made her half drowse.  Her mind drifted aimlessly like the tiny breezes that stirred only the highest tops of the oaks.   Amanda thought of food first, seeking to sate the hunger that seemed to gnaw endlessly within.   She fantasized about a green salad, cool and colorful.  She imagined the seared flesh of a T-bone steak, pink and juicy.   She unconsciously licked her lips at the thought of a large baked potato rich with butter.    Amanda thought of food with almost sexual abandon and desire.  With a conscious painful effort, she pulled her thoughts back to reality and full wakefulness.

            Her hunger sharpened, as she thought about what she actually had available.  There were a few packages of meat in the freezer but it was far too late to thaw any of them, let alone attempt to cook.  She didn’t want to tackle the huge dinosaur gas stove in the heat.  It was dangerously erratic.   The fridge held old a package of chicken hot dogs, some shaved ham that had gone dry around the edges, half a gallon of milk, and a few eggs from her yard chickens.   Cabinet shelves held a few canned goods but nothing she could make a meal from.

            The reason for her hunger was obvious.  She had drunk most of a pot of coffee for breakfast and eaten nothing but tuna spread on crackers at lunch.  Amanda had not bothered to make supper for Daniel for she didn’t know if or when he might be home.  Cowboy could forage for his own meal from the leavings in the fridge, she thought.  Maybe when Daniel came home, he might take her to the Dairy Queen for a burger.

            Enoch’s small hand pushed the empty bottle from his mouth.  Amanda automatically transferred him to her shoulder and burped him.   She lay him back across her lap once more and he drifted into sleep, as somnolent as she did.   Mother and child remained so until the light began to fade.

            When twilight deepened the shadows at the bottom of the hill and in the bordering woods, Amanda heard a vehicle come over the bridge.   The creaks and groans of the old wooden one- lane bridge always alerted her to traffic on the road below.  By the rattle and apparent speed of the vehicle, she was certain it was her husband.  She did not move, however, or turn her head.

She sat in the position she had occupied for more than three hours and waited.

            The truck careened around the curve and shot up the road.  At the last possible moment, Daniel turned into the drive and hurtled upward at amazing speed.  He slowed at the top of the hill and let it roll to a stop only twenty-five feet from Amanda.  He cut the engine and stepped out.  By the strut in his walk, she knew that he wanted to see if his tardiness had angered her.   Although she was angry, she decided to let it go.   It was too hot and she was too hungry to argue.

            As he approached down the hill toward the house, she thought of the picture she must make with the baby on her lap.  She hoped it was a homey one.   Reality erased the image, though, as she considered how it must truly look.   She was a skinny woman with a too pale baby splayed across her lap on a metal folding chair that perched on the downward slant of a sharp hill.   The yard was junk littered and the house behind her was little more than a shanty.   Amanda felt tears burn her throat but drew deep on her inner resources to find a smile instead.   She succeeded and Daniel returned the smile, relieved she wasn’t going to fuss.

            “Hey,” she said, softly.

            “Hey, girl,” Daniel replied.  He sank to his haunches beside her.  “He asleep?”

            “Yes, asleep and full.  Have you eaten?”

            “Not yet.  You fixed me supper?”
            Amanda felt the lid she’d placed over her simmering anger threaten to rise.  She wondered if he actually thought that in the extreme heat that she would fix a meal and keep it ready to serve until he might return.   She mentally forced her anger away and shook her head.

            “No.  I didn’t know what you would want.  Cowboy already ate but I’m starved.  I thought we might go over to Seneca and get a hamburger at The Dairy Queen.”

            It seemed to Amanda that she could actually see his façade of good cheer crack.  She knew he didn’t want to waste good money on her.  No matter if he spent twice what they could afford running the roads or eating what he liked, a simple hamburger at Dairy Queen was likely too much.   As she watched, Amanda saw that, like her, he pulled himself together despite his emotions.   That encouraged her.   Lately things had not been very good between them and the marriage had seemed shaky.   That was frightening when their church didn’t recognize divorce just as it failed to accept television or pance for women. 

            If she and Daniel tried, though, maybe they could hang onto the love they once shared, the love that had caused her to marry a widower with a surly son.   Softened by his effort, Amanda felt sure that tough times had only sorely tried their love.  Money troubles had sucked love nearly dry but strong love could survive.  She had often doubted they had that kind of strength but she felt hope for the first time in months.

            “How ‘bout I go bring the burgers back?” he said, smiling.  “I hate for you to wake up that fella, he's sleepin’ good and it’s awful hot.”

            She agreed and he kissed her with warmth that had been lacking.  Amanda knew then what they would do in the waning hours of the night.   Despite the heat, she felt her own pulse race and her body blossom at the thought.   They would be hot and sweaty but she still felt eager for intimacy.   From Daniel’s grin, she realized he knew her thoughts.   She watched him drive away, heard him cross the bridge, and smiled.  Maybe she did still love him after all.   Life would be simpler if she did.

            An hour later it was fully dark and he had not yet returned.  Although she knew how little time meant to him, Amanda felt some ancient dark intuition in her heart.  She felt wary and nervous.   Each minute that passed made her feel more anxious.   Daniel should have returned in thirty minutes, maybe forty-five at the most.   He might be talking to another of the brothers from church or even flirting with some pretty woman but her heart said he wasn’t.   Something bad had happened for she felt it in every cell of her body, in each beat of her pulse.

            At dark, she had come into the house.   With Enoch put to bed, she sat alone in the bright living room.  Cowboy was in his own bedroom listening to the radio.  Amanda stared at the walls, looked at the ceiling, and watched out the open, screen less door.   Night moths gathered thickly in the doorway, drawn by the light.   Her ears were highly alert to the smallest sound and though several cars came down the road, she knew none of them belonged to her husband.

            She did not pray.   She could not.  Eighteen months in the Apostolic Pentecostal Blessings of God Holiness Church had taken a heavy toll on her spiritual life.   Daniel’s fundamentalist church had taken her fancy before their marriage.   She had felt drawn to the strong, vibrant music and intrigued by its’ old fashioned ways.   Amanda had always had a heart for God, she thought, with a deep faith and abiding belief in the Lord.   In Daniel’s church, it had seemed to flower into something great.   She had shouted with the other women, run the aisles in ecstasy and danced to praise God.   Amanda’s mouth had opened to spill out unknown tongues and she had accepted the heavy yoke of obedience required by church members.  All answered to the pastor, then to God.  Women answered almost as closely to their husbands.

            In recent months, Amanda had felt less of the unspeakable joy and more resentment against the bonds of the church.   She seethed under the control and then worried if she were guilty of heresy or even blasphemy.    Guilt kept her from prayer coupled with a growing conviction that the church was wrong on most counts.

            To ease her concerns as she waited for Daniel to return, Amanda called Cowboy to join her.   She made small talk in an effort to ward off her fears.

            “Your daddy ought to be here any minute.” She babbled.  “He ought to be almost here.  I can nearly taste that cheeseburger.”

            Her words didn’t help her and served only to alarm the boy.  He picked up on her fears and expanded on them.  That made Amanda feel even worse than she already did.

            When Daniel had been gone almost ninety minutes, one of the yard dogs raised his head and howled mournfully.  The dogs were mongrel and more than half-wild.  Amanda didn’t like them and at the sound, hated them.   She leapt from her chair with wild eyes.

            “Shut that dog up!” She screamed at her stepson.  “Make him stop, oh, make him stop.”

            Cowboy hurled a rock and hit the dog soundly on the rump.  The dog whimpered into silence.   Amanda and the boy waited in the thick silence, a hot, humid space that grew heavier and more oppressive with each passing moment.   Her desire to cry became strong but she fought it, thinking that to give into the tears would make her worst fear a reality.

            A car crawled up the drive and she saw the sweep of headlights against the night trees.  Amanda knew it was not Daniel and she knew in her soul that something terrible had happened.  This was confirmation.   Like a deer startled by headlights, she did not move.  She let them come to her and they came.

            Sister Mamie Travis, the pastor’s wife and first lady of the church, stepped through the door.   Her large frame seemed somehow even more ponderous than usual.   Behind Sister Travis, Sister Harris came with a tight set to her usually open mouth.  Behind them, the pastor came marching with intent purpose.   The three came to rest before Amanda’s chair who sat silently in her chair.  They waited for her to ask but she did not and so they told her.

            “Brother Wilson’s been in a bad accident.” Brother Travis said, in the same ringing tones he used to denounce sinners from his pulpit.  “The brothers are there, praying for him, but I reckon you’d best come.  The sheriff’s there too and he wanted to send for an ambulance but it’s not our way so I refused it.”

            Not our belief? Amanda wanted to shriek the question aloud but didn’t.  If it might save my husband’s life, I believe in ambulances and doctors and hospitals.   The church did not, though, nor did Daniel.  They believed in faith as the only means of healing.   She nodded and said she would come, in a weak, unstable voice.   She got her son from his bed, unwilling to leave him with anyone else.   Cowboy, struck suddenly silent and pale, accompanied them as well.

They got into the backseat of Brother Travis’ Lincoln and went to the accident.  No one spoke, not even to pray, en route.

            Just down the road from the church the lights from law enforcement vehicles lit the night sky with an eerie red glow.   The old road that led to Seneca made a sharp curve over a low water bridge.   Daniel had missed the curve for Amanda saw the taillights and headlights of her husband’s truck in the creek.  The vehicle was upside down and at the sight, her hope died and tears began to run down her cheeks.

            As soon as the car stopped, Amanda handed Enoch to his brother and ran.  At the side of the creek on bloodied gravel, she saw Daniel.   He was blood stained and still.   A circle of men from the church, brothers surrounded him.  More than half of them were also preachers, men who had taken up the word of God at an early age.  None had any formal training. 

            Their cries rang loud in the night as they prayed for help and admonished Jesus to save Daniel.   Some spoke in tongues and most waved their hands wildly.   Their voices became a terrible sound to Amanda and she tried hard to block them from her consciousness.

            “Save him, Lord, oh save our brother Daniel.” One of them shouted.  “You walked on the water, you raised the dead, raise him now if it’s your will.”

            “Oh, yes, Jesus,” said another.

            Amanda knew from where she stood that there was no help for Daniel.  He was dead.

His spirit had left his broken body and all the faith in the world wasn’t going to restore it.   He was meaningless flesh now.   His faith had not kept him from missing the curve and flipping his truck.  Jesus had not seen fit to rescue him or save him.   If he had saved his eternal soul, he’d lost his body.    Amanda moved closer and saw her husband’s sightless eyes.   At that, she broke and fell to her knees on the rocks.    She made a harsh, ugly sound.   She was not crying but keening her dead in an ancient ritual, one that long predated the church’s ways.   Her grief for her husband who she’d once loved enough to marry was strong.   It hurt all the more to think that perhaps they had been about to work together toward a better marriage.

           Her anger, though, became stronger than the grief.    If the good church people had allowed the ambulance, Daniel might not have died.   Amanda looked at those who still prayed over his lifeless body despite no possibility of sudden resurrection.   She was furious at herself for becoming part of the strange church where doctors were forbidden along with any other facet of modern medical care.   On the heels of that clear epiphany came another darker one, a guilty feeling that if she hadn’t coveted a cheeseburger that Daniel might not be dead.

            If Brother Travis knew about the cheeseburger, if he knew she had not prepared a meal for her husband, he would preach it from the pulpit to scare all the other wives into submission.

Amanda drew her thoughts together and banished the guilt.  There was nothing wrong in wanting a cheeseburger.  Her want had not killed her husband – his own reckless driving had.   Her emotions were raw and wide open.  Between the grief and the rage Amanda knew that she was finished with the church. She no longer cared what the pastor thought or preached.   She would no longer toe a line that didn’t exist or be someone that she was not.   The knowledge that her husband might have lived with medical care gave her the strength to renounce his church.

            The yoke of obedience was broken apart.   Amanda was no longer Sister Wilson, the second Sister Wilson.   She was just Amanda Wilson, a widow with a son and she would be moving back to town within the week.   With her self-identity restored, she began to weep.
As she wept, she realized that there was absolutely no reason why she couldn’t have that cheeseburger after all.

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