She sniffed again for good effect and waited a few more minutes in silence. Down the street, she could hear the band playing a march. How she wished she were at the picnic instead of sitting in the jail. In fact, she wished she could be just about any place else but here, waiting for her parents to come and show their disappointment in her once again.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be good. She had tried, but it grieved her. There was no fun to be had in being good, and she wanted to have fun. A lot of fun. Mama said it was unnatural the way she was constantly looking for a good time.
“Life is full of responsibilities and tasks that must be done,”her mother often said.“Good times are the reward for the hard times of work.”
Emma recalled just a few weeks back when her mother had declared that once again, and Emma’s response had perfectly summed up her thoughts. “I don’t want to have responsibilities and tasks that must be done. I can hire someone to see to that. I just want to enjoy my life and the good times.”
Mother had just shaken her head.“That would be nice, I suppose, but not at all in the plan for us. Since Adam and Eve sinned in the garden, we have been tasked with hard work. Even before that, Adam was given the job of seeing to the animals and garden. And now we have responsibilities to see to our various roles of work. Believe me when I say it makes the rewards all the more enjoyable.”
But Emma didn’t see it that way at all.
She heard footsteps on the boardwalk outside, and the door opened to admit her parents. She glanced up and saw her mother’s reproving glance while her father looked to Mr. Vogel.
“Edward, good to see you again. Sorry for the circumstances.”
They shook hands, and only then did Papa turn and look at Emma. “What’d she get caught doing?”
“Stealing whiskey.”
“What!” Mama’s tone was one of complete shock. Emma felt bad for having upset her. Genuinely bad. She didn’t want to hurt either one of them.
“Emma, why don’t you explain yourself? Why were you trying to steal anything, much less whiskey?”
“Papa, I couldn’t very well buy it,” she began. “And James and the others ... well, they kind of encouraged me to sneak over and take it.”
Papa rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “James. Somehow that figures. I’ll thrash that boy when I get ahold of him. He knows better than to put his little sister up to such a task.”
Emma gave her most contrite expression and nodded. From the side, however, she could see that her mother was unconvinced. Mama always knew whether Emma was innocent or guilty. She had a special gift that way. She called it discernment, but Emma called it very inconvenient. It seemed impossible to fool her mother.
“Emma has a mind of her own, Rich. She’s fully capable of saying no when it pleases her to do so.” Mama gave her a look that dared Emma to deny it. She knew better, however, and remained silent.
“What do we need to do to make this right, Edward?”
“Hank Gibbons doesn’t want to press charges. He just wanted to make sure you knew what she’d done. He was more upset that she’d gotten a hand on his good stuff.” Mr. Vogel smiled, and her father actually laughed.
“Emma’s always had expensive taste.”
“Yeah, well, she’s all yours to deal with. We’ve got no hold on her.”
“Then let’s just go home,” Mama declared. “I’m in no mood to continue with a celebration.”
Emma started to protest. She wanted to see the fireworks that had been promised. She wanted to have freshly churnedice cream and maybe get a chance to dance at her first grown-up party. But she knew the consequences of her actions had not yet been dealt, and to argue with her mother would only add to the punishment. So, in silence, she followed her parents outside and down the boardwalk.
The sun was hot, as it was most July days, and for once there didn’t seem to be much of a breeze. It was like the world was holding its breath ... watching, waiting, for Emma’s punishment.
Mama didn’t say another word to her until nearly five hours later. Emma was washed and dressed for bed before her mother came to speak with her. What was most startling was that Emma could see from her reddened eyes that Mama had spent a good part of the time crying. And those tears were Emma’s fault. It made her feel a little sick, like the time she’d been walking on the top rail of the fence and lost her footing. She’d hit her stomach hard on the rail, knocking the wind out of her and leaving her wanting to retch.
“Emma, I don’t know why you have to do the things you do. I can understand wanting to have fun, even wanting to run a little wild. But for sure, stealing is beyond the pale.” Her mother’s Irish roots were showing, as they often did when she became emotional. “It oversteps the bounds of wanting to have fun and takes you into breaking not only man’s law but God’s.”
Emma knew that this was more egregious to her mother than anything else she’d ever done.
“You know how your father and I feel about obeying God’s laws. I know you can recite the Ten Commandments by heart. I’ve heard you do it.”
“Yes, ma’am. I can recite them again, if you like.”
“What I’d like is if you’d live by them. You call yourself a Christian, Emma, but you don’t live as one.”
Emma had given this some long and serious consideration.“I don’t think I want to be a Christian anymore. Not if it means never having any fun, and Christians don’t have fun.” Emma’s words spilled out, not considering her mother’s feelings. “Seems to me that Christians just worry about all the ‘don’ts’ in life. Don’t do this, and don’t do that. They hardly ever smile. I don’t want to be like that.”
