Thou Shalt Not

I

July 1897

M ary Meier studied her reflection in the mirror above her bureau. Although she had passed her thirtieth birthday, she liked what she saw: light-brown hair highlighted by the sun, full lips, and long, dark lashes surrounding indigo eyes. Stepping back, she smoothed her bodice and fluffed out her long skirts as her husband slept fitfully nearby.

Sunday mornings were her only free time. If they wished, the hotel clients could grab a piece of fresh fruit or a slice of dry bread from the kitchen on their way to church. Dinner would be their first mealtime—a meal Mary had started to prepare on Saturday evening.

Picking up her Bible and gloves, she tiptoed to the door and headed down the steps where her three children, dressed in their best, waited for her.

Got you last, one of them said, poking his brother.

Did not, his brother replied while returning the poke.

Their sister swung her legs aimlessly back and forth from her seat on the chair, stopping once in a while to check the shine on her patent-leather shoes.

Ready? their mother asked.

As the reverend established his position in front of the church, DeForest Fairbanks scanned the congregation from the back of the church. It was what he did every Sunday. At the pulpit, the reverend assumed that his parishioners came to hear the Word; however, DeForest had other intentions for attending the David Community Church. Prior to being called the community’s church, it was Free Will Baptist Church—a name DeForest preferred—with services held in the Liberty Township Schoolhouse. In 1895, the group divided. Some members moved to David, Iowa, where in due course they formed a building committee and went to work.

DeForest studied the church framework and felt a sense of pride. Although involved in a few minor controversies during the construction and painting, he had played a vital part in the final result. Struggling to stand still as he remembered how Mr. Pingry had berated him for being too slow with the paint priming, DeForest was brought back to reality as the reverend cleared his throat noisily and continued with his sermon.

Proverbs 6:15 reads, ‘These six things doth the Lord hate; yea seven are an abomination unto him: a proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren.’

Sowing discord? Speaking lies? DeForest considered Mr. Pingry and how the old farmer had tried to slander his name during the building of the church by saying his work was not up to snuff.

Throughout time, the reverend said, many have attempted to pin down what is good and what is evil and to find some way to explain why there are some in our midst who choose outright to sin.

Forgetting Mr. Pingry and blocking out the reverend’s pronouncements, DeForest surveyed the congregation for Mary. Feeling a sense of relief, he spotted her near her usual spot. As was customary, Mary’s husband, Henry Meier, was absent—probably due to his excessive consumption of alcohol. Examining the back of her dress and the fall of her hair, his thoughts were again disrupted by the reverend.

Sin and the Devil himself hinder our life with God and affect our ability to be whole and at peace …

Psalm 62 speaks to us. ‘Truly my soul waiteth upon God: from him cometh my salvation … How long will ye imagine mischief against a man? Ye shall be slain all of you … Trust in him at all times.’ And then, in a booming voice, as if God Himself were speaking, the reverend ended his sermon by saying, God hath spoken once; twice have I heard this; that power belongeth unto God.

In spite of these ceremonious recitations, DeForest Fairbanks was preoccupied. He looked at his watch piece, left his normal spot, and strode to the exit door so he could nod a good-morning to those who passed by after the service. One might have thought him to be an usher or elder; however, he held no position of responsibility in the David Community Church. Truth be told, his main purpose was to make eye contact with Mary Meier.

Surely, there were other women in the congregation—even a widow or two—probably closer to his age. At one time, he had had romantic intentions for Miss Jennie Bloomhagen. As the proprietor of her own millinery and dressmaking shop, she would have been a good match. Jennie was tall, dressed to perfection, and had business sense. DeForest had attempted to befriend her at one time but found her to be standoffish. She walked about with a sense of self-importance, which he didn’t care for.

Mary Meier shuffled her three children in front of her as she said her good-mornings and shook the reverend’s hand with a thank-you for his sermon. The sound of her voice weakened DeForest. Fearing she would pass without even a glance, he produced a shallow cough, causing her to look up into his face. It was the way she looked at him that made DeForest want Mary Meier. She didn’t just look; she held his gaze. He wished he could read her mind. He knew there was something she wanted him to know.

Good morning, Mrs. Meier, he offered.

Mr. Fairbanks, how nice to see you, she replied.

May I walk with you?

Certainly, she answered. We’re all headed in the same direction.

They passed David McLaughlin, Creamery and Co-op Dealer proprietor, and founder of David, Iowa. He was quite a character. David was laughing with his wife and teasing his young son. Mr. Poorte, General Store owner and postmaster, and his wife stood under a nearby tree and eyed DeForest and Mary skeptically. DeForest nodded in their direction and quickened his step to keep up with Mary and her children on their walk to David’s main street and the Meier Hotel.

Sure smelled something good for dinner when I left for church this morning, DeForest mentioned, hoping to engage Mary in conversation.

It’s just a roast. She looked at him gently. His heart did little flip-flops, and he wondered if he could keep walking without being out of breath. A pot roast, Mary continued. You know—potatoes, onion, carrots. I’ll make gravy later, and there’s slaw in the cooler.

You’re a wonderful cook. He complimented her as a blush crept ever so slightly above his white, starched collar. As he spoke, the eleven children of George Robbins swarmed the Meier family. DeForest, distressed, wondered if Mary had heard his flattering remark above the clatter and energy of the children. What a nuisance, DeForest thought. George’s brother had passed away only months ago, and George and his wife had taken in his seven boys. DeForest soon found himself lost in a crowd of children with Mary twenty yards or more ahead of him.

Arriving at the Meier Hotel, Mary Meier warmly prodded her children to change their clothes before coming down to set the table. She then disappeared into the kitchen, slipped on her apron, and pulled the roast from the oven. Placing it besides the rhubarb pies, she removed the cover to check on its doneness.

DeForest situated himself on a comfortable chair in the Meier Hotel parlor as the smell of pot roast drifted through the dining room. Up the steps, in the bedrooms on the second floor, he heard the children’s giggles, and then came Henry Meier’s thunderous voice.

Quiet down! Can’t a man have any peace around here?

DeForest heard the thumping of children’s footsteps over-head and a few doors thudding shut. Except for Mary’s humming in the kitchen, the hotel quieted down.

DeForest considered Henry Meier and wished him elsewhere—in another town, in another family, anywhere but in Mary Meier’s bed. Smiling to himself, he considered the possibilities. An often-inebriated man such as Henry had to be accident prone. He could pass out and fall on the Chicago Great Western Railroad tracks and die a horrendous death. DeForest had spotted potassium cyanide in both the General Store and George Robbins’ blacksmith shop. He imagined how easily it could be slipped into one of Henry’s many drinks. DeForest took a deep breath as he envisioned a dramatic ending with Mary and him riding in a horse-drawn carriage to the railway station where they would leave this town and start a new life elsewhere. He could buy a farm. He would want Mary to stay at home and be his full-time wife. The children’s prattle brought him back to reality as they noisily set the table.

How many plates we need? the little girl asked one of her brothers.

Can’t you count? he prodded.

Sure, I can count. I just don’t know. I never know. It always changes. Ella, at age five and with two brothers, was good at defending herself.

Well, there’s five of us and three boarders. What’s five plus three? Eddie, her older brother, asked.

Ella ignored him and placed eight plates on the table and soon added glassware, silverware, and freshly laundered and pressed cloth napkins from the parlor cupboard.

Picking up the weekly newspaper, DeForest pretended interest. An advertisement inquired Does coffee agree with you? If not, drink Grain O….Get a package today from your grocer. The obituary page told of Mrs. Annie Potter who had died Tuesday night at 11:30 and was laid to rest in the cemetery the following week.