Chapter 22

Cassie

As it turned out I wasn't pregnant. I'd just finished my period when we got married, and a few days before the end of the honeymoon I started spotting, and then came the full flow. I was disappointed, for I really did want to have a baby. But as Yirmeyah told me, we'd only been married a month or not quite that, and we had plenty of time. While it's possible for a woman to become pregnant her first time it's not usual, and the fact was that I knew that for in Health class we'd learned something of just how difficult it can be for a woman to conceive, given all the barriers that stand between a man and pregnancy.

So Yirmeyah went back to pastoring, and I went back to work, and we adjusted to each other's absences. That first month had gotten us used to being together almost 24 hours a day, seven days a week, but I was at work eight hours a day and sometimes more, if the needs of the department required it, and Yirmeyah's work wasn't on a schedule at all.

I found that we couldn't turn the phone off at night, no matter how much we wanted to guarantee an undisturbed private time, because if someone got hurt in the night he or friends or family had to be able to contact my husband. I learned that it didn't matter what day of the week it was, for accidents and painful events and births and sorrows and arguments don't stick to the weekdays. And there was sermon preparation, and that took a lot of Yirmeyah's time.

I suppose he'd sprawled all over his apartment before we got married, though I hadn't noticed for I'd never been there, his sense of propriety not allowing it, for I found that the room we'd set aside for him to use as a study quickly became an obstacle course of books. He'd pull books off the shelf and pile them on the desk, and then on the floor beside the desk, and then in piles here and there, and I learned early on that I had to ask before reshelving or even moving a single book, because he knew what was where and if he was using it and it wasn't where he'd left it, he blew his stack.

And when he was working on a sermon, he was oblivious to everything. Ernest Hemingway once told a friend that when he worked he didn't notice a thing around him, and Yirmeyah was that way. I didn't have to tiptoe around the house – I could run the vacuum, or bang pans in the kitchen, or even come in and dust and clean and so long as I didn't come between Yirmeyah and his book or computer he'd never notice I was there.

And that led to our first fight.

Yirmeyah

I suppose every marriage involves learning. No matter how close you've been before the wedding, suddenly you're living with each other, and in the new intimacy you find out things that just hadn't come out before. It had never occurred to me to explain to Cassie how involved I get in preparing my sermons. To me it was just natural. I didn't explain to her how I breathed either. I just breathed and didn't think about it. In nearly two years of pastoring the semi-habits of sermon preparation I'd had before, had settled into a routine. And while I can't always concentrate the way I'd like, I concentrate absolutely when I'm putting a sermon together.

I'd been in the study all day, for the text I was working on was difficult, at least for me. I was consulting commentaries and lexicons, and searching through my library for comments in passing, and I honestly don't know whether I ate lunch. I know that I finally came out of my haze to find Cassie shaking my shoulder, and pretty hard too.

"Yeah?" I said, and I suppose I was a bit surly.

"Yirmeyah, I've called you and I've spoken to you right here and I had to nearly knock you out of your chair, and your supper's going to get cold if you don't pay attention to me."

"Sorry, Cass – I'm occupied here."

"Yes, you are, and I understand how important your work is to you. But I'm your wife and I really wish you could give me some consideration once in a while."

"Cassie, I am considerate."

I hadn't meant to set her off, but somehow that did. "Yes, you're considerate – by your standards. But Yirmeyah, when I have to cause an earthquake to get you to even notice that I'm standing right by you, and I'm the woman you promised to love and cherish, I think maybe your standard of consideration is pretty rotten."

"Look, Cass, I'll come to supper—"

"Don't you 'look Cass' me, Yirmeyah Hudson! It's not about whether you come to supper. It's about whether you pay any attention to your wife, and it seems like you just don't want to do that at all sometimes!"

I got out of my chair and took her shoulders in my hands. "Cassie, I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm just trying to be the best pastor I can."

"That's fine, Yirmeyah. I'm sure the church appreciates it. But I would appreciate you making just a little effort to be the best husband you can be." And she whirled and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

I followed, but she slammed the bedroom door too, and locked it. I found that out when I tried to go in after her. "Cassie," I said, beating on the door.

"Go away, Yirmeyah! Just go away and write your stupid sermon!"

I wanted to kick the door down. I wanted to shout at her. I wanted to use all the words that you hear around farmers. I didn't do any of those things. I went back into my study and closed the door and sat down in my chair. And I wept.

Cassie

After a while I stopped crying, and went into the bathroom and washed my face, and realized that supper was now stone cold on the table and unfit to eat. I nearly broke down again, but instead I held myself together and went to the phone beside the bed and called Mama.

When she heard my voice she knew something was wrong, for I couldn't keep the tremors or the tears out of it. "Cassie, has something happened?"

"Yirmeyah and I had a fight, and ... and..."

"Cassie! Settle down and tell me about it."

"I don't know if I can, not over the phone."

"Can you come over?"

I could, and I did, though I had to sit in the driveway for a couple of minutes before I pulled into the street, for my tears broke out afresh. And they started again in earnest as soon as I walked in the door of Mama and Daddy's house. Daddy was the one who answered the door, and he held me until Mama got there, and she took me into the living room while Daddy went back to the den. I knew them, and I knew that Mama must have passed him one of her looks so that he knew she needed to handle it. And as much as I loved my Daddy, I did want to talk to Mama alone.