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ZONDERVAN
Insight
Copyright 2011 by Diana Greenwood
This title is also available as a Zondervan ebook.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Greenwood, Diana, 1956 Insight / Diana Greenwood.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-310-72314-1 (hardback)ISBN 978-0-310-72315-8 (softcover
[1. GuiltFiction. 2. Voyages and travelsFiction. 3. Christian lifeFiction.
4. ProphetsFiction. 5. Family problemsFiction. 6. SecretsFiction. 7. United
StatesHistory20th centuryFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.G8529In 2011
[Fic]dc22
2011004544
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the King James
Version of the Bible.
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the prior permission of the publisher.
Cover design: Jeff Gifford
Cover photography: iStockphoto
Interior design: Sherri Hoffman
Printed in the United States of America
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far enough from the Wisconsin River and the canals to confuse the mosquitoes, she pointed out to back up her decision. But the real reason was my mother liked to keep an eye
on my father. She figured living out here would keep him
home. She was wrong. Now Grandma lived with us in our
tiny house, and she took up more space than he ever did.
Grandma still looked pretty young, no gray hair and
hardly any wrinkles. Having had her only child at the ripe
age of eighteen, she was done with that early. Unlike my
mother, birthing her second right now at the age of thirtyeight, ten years after I was born.
To prove we were all alone, Grandmad haul me out
back when the switchgrass was dry, stand overlooking the
rocky dell, and scream Fire! as loud as she could. Wed
hear Fire, fire, fire, growing fainter and fainter. Shed
wait a bit as if someone would rush right up to save us.
Then shed say, See? Not a soul within earshot.
Sometimes shed shout my name to the sky, calling
Elvira! at the top of her lungs, and shed say it bounced
off the clouds with nowhere else to go and came right back
to stick in her throat. Shed clear her throat to get my name
out and even that echoed.
But Grandmas shouts were nothing compared to the
noise of having a baby, and my mothers next yell was
much louder than her last. While she suffered behind her
door, my job was to keep the washtub filled so Grandma
could keep everything clean. My mother was birthing that
baby without the midwife, as she couldnt get here, and
it was too late now to try to get to town with snow to the
eaves and no man to shovel us out.
I lugged the kettle from the sink to our old Wedgewood
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her head out and shrieked, Elvira Witsil, get that water in
here. This babys coming foot first.
She slammed the door in my face, forcing me to put
the big iron kettle down on the oak-plank floor, sloshing a
few scalding drops that spread and stained and looked like
beads of blood in the red glow from the last of the coals in
the fireplace. Id have to get more wood next.
Behind the door, Grandma said in her fed-up tone,
Trust you to have a baby backwards, Connie. Its going to
be long and hard.
I went in, trying not to look at my mother, who was
acting feverish. Her wavy brown hair, usually in a braid
like mine, was all matted with sweat, her face was purple,
and there was a lot of mess I didnt want to see between her
legs where that baby was trying to get out. I saw the foot,
though, blue as a bruise, with Grandmas hand around it
about to give a pull.
Dont stand there with your mouth hanging open like
youre trapping flies, Grandma said. Pour that water in
the tub.
I am, I said, but the kettle was heavy and my arms
shook. Steaming water slopped over the edge of the washtub, splashing my feet and burning like a bee sting right
through my wool socks. At this rate, I was going to need a
baking soda bath to treat my burns.
Now look what youve done, Elvira! Go get the mop
and sop that up. And get some more wood. This babyll die
before it takes its first breath, its so cold in here.
My mother sat up like she was a puppet and someone
had just yanked her strings. Will you stop talking? she
screamed. God, oh, God, I cant bear this pain!
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my ears. I clicked the door shut, filled the kettle, and put it
back on to boil. The wind was a high-pitched whine, as if
it were a poor lost thing looking for a place to settle. I shivered, the mudroom icy as I grabbed a stack of wood for the
fireplace. My fathers old boots were by the back door. No
one had noticed when I placed them side by side, laced and
polished and buffed the way he liked them. My mother was
right. I was a self-centered daughter. My father was missing
because of me. No Lutheran Ladies remedy would soothe
that ache. It burned from the inside out.
It didnt seem real, my father gone for good, especially
when hed been gone so many times before. But he came
back those other times. Hed be a little worse for wear,
maybe a bruise or two turning yellow around his eyes, but
my mother always let him back in. The house would be
silent, the air thick and crackling with too many nerves on
edge, until his smile would finally break my mothers will.
My father was unpredictable. You never knew what he
might do. I liked that best about him and I missed it most.
But my mother needed him to come home on time from a
regular job and stuff dollar bills in the savings jar behind
the bread box. She needed him to fix the step on the back
porch and stop disappearing for days on end. She needed
him to pour his own whiskey down the kitchen sink so she
wouldnt have to.
With him gone for good, my mother was a fire ready to
light but missing a match. Grandmad stepped right in and
taken over. We watched my mothers stomach grow and
grow and worked ourselves into a routine of eat, chores,
sleep, eat, chores, sleep, with arguments for entertainment.
Then my sister struggled out and all that changed.
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I made Jessie a little rag doll out of scraps from Grandmas sewing basket so shed have something to do besides
trail my steps. Lets name your doll, I said, making the
doll dance on the arm of the sofa. How about Betsy? Do
you like that name? No answer, of course. Jessie hummed
a tuneless ditty but wouldnt say a word. How about Jane?
She looks like a Jane. She has nice blue-button eyes.
Actually, the doll looked more like a Mabel who needed
the beauty parlor. Id had trouble attaching the yarn hair,
and it stuck up every which way in orange spirals. Grandma
had helped embroider the mouth, but shed made the lips
pursed as though the doll had sucked something sour. Jessie
liked Mabel, though, I could tell. She carried her everywhere.
But Mabel didnt stop Jessie trailing me, and Mabel couldnt
make Jessie talk any more than I could.
By the time Jessie was almost two and shed still done
nothing but grunt and point, dragging Mabel around but
not calling her by name, my mother started to worry. Her
precious, perfect baby wasnt so perfect after all.
Jessie should be talking by now, she said about fifty
times a day.
Shes an unusual child, to put it mildly, Grandma said.
Most children chatter a mile a minute by the time theyre
her age. She probably can talk and was just born disobedient. Like that fool you married. Ask him to do one thing
and hed do the opposite.
My mother ignored that comment.
Somethings wrong with her, she said, twisting the tail
of her braid around a finger. I can feel it. What two-yearold stands at a window all day long? From the second Elvira
leaves to catch the school bus until she sees her coming up
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;
It took us a long time to get ready. Even though the snow
was light, it was bitter cold. The kind of cold that makes
your nose run just thinking about it. I pulled on woolens,
overalls, thick socks, and my mothers old coat that hung
almost to my ankles. I wrapped a knitted muffler twice
around my neck.
My mother wore my fathers old brown parka, which
had a hood lined with rabbit fur. Although hed been gone
over two years now, I could still picture my father wearing it. On him the parka had looked right, proper, like
beige and a badge on the Columbia County sheriff. I used
to notice how green his eyes were when the hood was up.
Once, when I was small, hed zipped me inside to keep me
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Grandma saw that smile and voiced her own conclusions about Jessie. Shes stubborn, she said. Stubborn as
a mule on a rainy day. She hears fine.
My mother glared, picking at the white paper on the
doctors table, smoothing it, picking it, smoothing it.
What do you think it is? she asked the doctor.
He frowned, rubbed his chin, and then folded his arms,
the sleeves of his doctors coat rolled up to show hairy
wrists and a silver watch.
Shes never said anything? he asked.
My mother shook her head.
She hums when she follows me around, I said, and
everybody looked at me. I felt my face go hot. But I kept
going. Well, she does. Im the only one who ever hears her,
because she never leaves me alone. She hums all the time.
The doctor nodded. Shes stubborn, he said, looking
at Grandma, returning her satisfied smile. Everything
God gave her seems to work. Nothings wrong I can find.
Let her be. Shell talk when shes ready.
Grandma paid, scowling while she handed over five silver dollars, picking them out of her black coin purse one
by one as if it pained her to part with them. Which I suppose it did. She and my mother thumped out, leaving me
to gather Jessies pile of clothes and get her dressed.
I tugged her sweater over her curls, static electricity
sending the spirals every which way. Jessie squirmed, her
woolens bagging at the knees as I grabbed her snow pants.
Jessie stared at me, her brows raised in a curious expression. Her mouth curled in an impish smile like the fiftycent Kewpie dolls at the corner Rexall on Cook and DeWitt.
Then she stared at the white linoleum where a little yellow
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puddle formed, a trickle flowing down her leg and over her
sock. It figured. The elastic was worn out in every pair of
rubber pants that Jessie owned, and there was no money
to buy any new ones. I wiped up the puddle with a wad of
the doctors tissues and pushed them down to the bottom
of a metal garbage can. Id brought an extra diaper. Since
school was out for winter vacation, my mother had shoved
the changing-Jessie chore off on me. Refusing would only
invite another lecture.
The cloth diaper still smelled faintly of bleach as I
pulled it from my pocket, folded the white square into a
triangle, and plopped Jessie back up on the doctors table. I
yanked off her damp socks, woolens, and the stretched-out
rubber pants, then pinned the fresh diaper, not caring if I
stuck her and drew blood. Jessie didnt struggle, not even
when I tugged the wet socks back over her toes, which were
so ticklish she usually couldnt stand me touching them.
I zipped up her snow pants and laced her boots. She lay
unmoving on the examination table, staring blankly up at
me the whole time as if shed died with her eyes open.
The door squeaked on its hinges and Grandma stuck
her head in. Elvira, what are you waiting for, the first
thaw? Get a move on. She shut the door so hard my teeth
rattled. Jessie didnt even blink.
I stuffed the dirty diaper into the doctors garbage can
too. I knew it was wasteful but I wasnt walking home with
that in my pocket. Jessie flopped over my shoulder as I
picked her up, her body limp and heavy.
For a second, I wanted to pinch her.
For a second, I wished shed never been born.
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