When Want Consumes

Contains the loss of a child.

Robert exhaled a long breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The dingy handkerchief was already soaked despite the sun having set hours before. It was going to be a hell of a summer, he thought looking at the dry, clumpy ground.

“Betty, I’m gonna go in for a bit,” he called to his wife. She gave a responding wave but didn’t turn from her work.

Robert entered the unlit kitchen of their single-story home with entirely too few rooms to hold them all. He intended to get water but instead leaned against the worktop and palmed his face in his dry, callused hand.

The smell of dirt overwhelmed him, and a sharp sting bloomed behind his eyes. Dammit. He wasn’t going to break and let a little setback reduce him to a sobbing child.

Setback? He scoffed at himself. This was more than a setback. Their root cellar was nearly empty, and Betty’s dress was so loose she’d had to take up.

The kids’ laughter grew closer, and he wiped his eyes expecting them to be dry. They weren’t. He spun away just as Elizabeth, their overly energetic middle child, barreled through the door ahead of Betty and the boys.

To appear busy, he picked up the nearest item. The Emporium, a home shopping catalog where one could buy anything and everything they desired. Rolling his eyes, he tossed it down. It fell open, inner pages exposed. Staring up at him was a circled, slim-fitting, pinstriped hooverette. Just the kind of dress Betty loved. He wished desperately that he could not only get her that dress but a comfortable life as well.

“I’m gonna go back out. I’d like to get the whole field plowed by nightfall,” he said, trying to hide his discontent.

“Oh, Bobby, can’t you stay in for a bit?” She slid her arms around him suggestively. She always called him Bobby when she was feeling spirited. For a moment, he and his body submitted but feeling worthless, he pushed her away.

“I have to tend the field.”

Without another word he left. These encounters always made him feel inept as a man, and a husband. He bent to pull plugs of withered grass from the blades of the tiller. Yet another thing he felt a failure for. Only a few months before, he showed Betty the tiller in the Emporium and convinced her that if they bought it their life would change.

Removing the weeds, he noticed a piece of fabric poking from the ground. How had it gotten there? He knew every inch of this ground and had never seen it. He tugged at the dark piece of rayon. Whatever it was, it had to come up. He pulled until the gold-striped fabric slowly worked free.

No way in hell this was what he believed it to be. He sat back on his heels, staring at the very same pinstriped hooverette his wife had circled in the Emporium. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Other than the thick layer of dust, the garment was entirely intact. Had she bought it, felt ashamed, and buried it in the field? Surely not. Betty was frugal with money and careful with her belongings. Could someone else have bought it for her. He pushed the thought away, refusing to accept the possibility.

The peal of his children’s laughter startled him, and he quickly wound the dress into a tight ball. He’d stash it and wash it while Betty slept then present her with either the gift he’d found or the regret she’d discarded. Eager to end the day, he left the tiller where it sat.

Robert anxiously awaited sunrise and busied himself with cooking breakfast while the dress hung out to dry. A couple of fried eggs and a few potatoes were all he could find.

“Did you cook?” Betty asked through a yawn as she shuffled into the kitchen.

“I did,” Robert said, pulling out a chair and placing a plate in front of her. She stared at him surprised.

“Are you gonna to watch me eat?” she kidded. Robert barely reacted to the jest before he darted outside and returned with the poorly folded dress in hand.

Betty dropped her fork. “Robert, what is that?” She asked and to his relief, her surprise was genuine.

He cleared his throat. “It’s yours.”

“Don’t play games with me.”

“I’m not.” He extended the dress toward her. She took it with shaky hands. Standing, she unfolded the bundle, letting the dress unfurl before her.

“How did you—”

“It’s not important. Please.” He fought to keep his words free of supplication. She stared at him for a long moment. If she pressed, he’d be honest, but he doubted she’d believe it. Hell, he barely believed it.

“I’ll try it on now,” she said at last, hurrying off to their room.

Robert waited, pacing the floor, worried that it wouldn’t fit when Betty appeared in the doorway. The belted waist hugged her form perfectly. How was this even possible?

“What do you think?” she asked.

Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled her in and she accepted his kiss. With the kids still asleep, he’d not spur this advance.

With less time spent on each other than he would’ve liked, they both reluctantly roused themselves from bed. Betty checked on the kids, while Robert ate the breakfast he’d forgone. The catalog he’d tossed onto the counter caught his eye and he flipped it open, curious as to what else she may have circled.

A pair of black heels that matched seamlessly with the mysterious dress. He felt Betty’s arms slide around his waist and he spun around to hold her.

“The new tiller makes things easier, but I still have a lot to do.” He sighed, resting his chin on top of her head.

“That’s fine.” She gave him a quick squeeze before pulling away. “It seems Elizabeth is running a fever, so I’ll be tending to her the rest of the day.”

“I’ll be sure to be in by dark,” he said, letting her go.

Robert made little headway that day. His thoughts frequently went to the dress and how it had gotten there when the plow suddenly listed and stopped. Robert groaned. All he wanted was to hurry back inside to Betty and the kids, yet it looked as though he’d be out half the night if he wanted to make any progress.

A root protruded from the ground and Robert squatted to tug it away, but it came free with little effort.

Robert’s head swam. The shoes. The very ones Betty had picked to match the dress. He fought with himself to think rationally. There had to be a logical reason for not just one but two of the items from the Emporium turning up in the field. Again, their only blemish was a thick layer of dust. He knocked free the packed dirt. They just needed a good cleaning. He ran to the pump and washed the earth away easily. He was determined to give them to her now, although he didn’t know how to explain having them. Maybe she’d accept his plea to not question their good fortune like before.

He hurried in and wordlessly held them out to her. She stared back at him.

“Robert. I really wish you wouldn’t spend our savings like this,” she said without taking them.

“I’m not really,” he said, but she stared at him questioningly. “I’m not.”

“They are lovely,” she said, finally taking them with some hesitancy. She slipped them on. They fit perfectly.

“I’d like to thank you properly, but I need to finish dinner if we want to eat tonight.” Her eyes dimmed when he asked what she’d prepared.

“It’s just a bit of vegetable stew from the potatoes this morning.” She looked to the floor as though embarrassed.

Robert pulled her chin up. “I bet it tastes amazing.”

 Dinner was quiet. Elizabeth, who usually made dinners a noisy affair, was distant. Her eyes red and her face pale. She hardly ate, struggling to swallow the few bites she did take. Robert’s thoughts however lingered on the Emporium. They’d had plenty of them come in the mail before and Betty had shown him several products she’d wanted. There were things even he wished to have but nothing had shown up in the field until this season. What was different? He wondered as he pushed bits of stew around in his bowl.

“I’m thinking I should take Elizabeth to see the physician, Betty said breaking the silence. “But we still owe him so much from Benji’s birth.”

“Have you phoned him?” Robert asked still pondering the phenomenon.

Betty shook her head.

“It’s probably just a cold anyway,” Robert offered.

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.” She said rising to clear the table.

Preoccupied, Robert was surprised to find he’d slept at all. He woke well before dawn to Betty’s side of the bed empty. He called out and she appeared in the doorway.

“It was a rough night. Nothing more.” She assured him then disappeared toward the nursery. Her demeanor was strange, though her words composed.

Eager to find the catalog, he dressed and went to the kitchen. It was open on the table. No doubt Betty had sifted through it as she comforted Elizabeth.

He flipped through page after page with nothing circled. “Betty, you don’t have anything else marked in this catalog,” he called. She came in with a whimpering Elizabeth clinging desperately to her.

“I’d only marked the shoes and dress and since you’ve clearly found a way to get them, I thought I’d better stop.”

Robert sighed. Could you pick something, please. Something small at least.”

She responded at first with a long stare but then obliged, looking over the pages he had open.

“This coin purse is pretty.” She tapped the page with her finger, becoming distracted when Benjamin woke from sleep and began crying.

“Fantastic.” Robert kissed her quickly and rushed out the door.

He searched the field up and down, the hard dirt turning his fingers raw and his neck blazed by the time he’d finished. But he found nothing. He sat back on his heels.

What was different this time? He wondered and he got painfully to his feet, exhausted from the hours spent searching and digging. A few stars twinkled in the darkening sky by the time he entered the house. The day had been a complete waste.

“Did you get a lot of plowing done?” Betty asked as she set the table. He thought he caught a hint of suspicion.

Robert merely shook his head as he passed. He just wanted sleep. He’d thought he’d found what . . . magic? He laughed at himself as he crawled beneath the sheets.

His sleep plagued with thoughts that seemed to wake him often, Robert barely slept. His brain worked while he tried desperately to rest.

“She had circled them.” He uttered as the revelation woke him. “Betty.” But his wife wasn’t there. Why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? He cursed and yanked the blankets away. His blistered neck seared as it peeled from the pillow.

He ignored the pain and rushed to retrieve the catalog and a pen. He found Betty in the nursery bleary-eyed and cradling Benjamin. Elizabeth lay eerily quiet in her bed.

“Her fever broke sometime in the night and now Benji’s feverish.” Betty’s voice was a horse whisper, but Robert barely heard a word as he presented her with the pen.

“Circle the coin purse.”

“What?”

“Circle it,” he demanded and thrust the pen toward her.

She eyed him indignantly but obliged and he hurried away without a word or offer to help.

It was barely daylight, as Robert went to his knees begging no one in particular for such a miraculous event to happen once more. It took only minutes for his sore fingers to find the metal chain.

Gleefully, he dug until the pouch came free, dirty but otherwise unblemished. He cleaned it, pocketed the prize, and ran in to have her pick another item. Now that he knew the trick, they could have anything they wanted.

“What now?” Betty asked as he thrust the catalog and pen at her. She waved him from the nursery, her youngest babies finally resting.

“Circle this.” He tapped his finger on a Daisy Air Rifle. “Wouldn’t James just love it?”

Betty stared at him, cross and confused. “I don’t see the point, Robert.”

He pressed her further, relief washing over him when she finally relented. The moment the item was circled, Robert hurried out.

He searched the field but found nothing. The field must only give once a day, he surmised and rose to his feet. A single gift a day was still impressive.

Robert woke the next morning desperate to search the field. He dressed and rushed out and quickly found the Daisy lying mere inches below the hardened dirt. Robert knocked away as much caked earth as he could before taking it inside to clean.

“Where did you get that?” Betty cried, finding him at the table with the Daisy and his cleaning kit.

Robert didn’t know what to say. He shrugged indolently.

“Robert, how could you? You’re spending all this money when the babies are sick and the cellar’s empty.

“You didn’t seem to mind when it was a nice dress and a pair of shoes,” he snapped, immediately regretting the words and their bite. She looked so hurt, her eyes glassy with fatigue and fresh tears.

“I thought Elizabeth’s fever had broken?” he asked, trying to rectify the insult.

“I thought so too but it’s back and much worse.” She sighed and sat beside him. For the first time since he’d known her, Betty seemed distant, cautious.

“I’m worried Robert. I called the doctor. He’ll see the kids. He said he’d take the tiller in exchange for payment.

“Betty, are you out of your mind?” Robert shot to his feet. Betty stared up at him with a mixture of shock and concern.

“We won’t owe them anything,” she started but Robert cut her short.

“You don’t understand. I have to keep the field turned.”

“Really? That plow hasn’t moved for days .”

 Robert gripped the barrel of the Daisy. Had she been spying on him? Watching him dig around in the dirt?

“We’re keeping the tiller,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Why, Robert?”

“None of this started until I used that tiller.”

“None of what, Robert? What are you talking about?” she asked then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done. I wanted to talk with you yesterday, but you kept fussing over that catalog.”

“Are you saying this is my fault?” Robert’s voice rose to a pitch he had never used with anyone much less Betty. “If I catch him anywhere near my field or tiller…” he stopped when James’ appeared in the doorway. Seeing this, Betty stood and rushed him from the room.

Cursing, Robert shoved the Daisy across the table. It cleared everything in its path as it crashed to the floor. Everything except the catalog, which lay closed where Betty had sat only moments before.

They could have a tiller, he thought. He’d just have Betty circle one. Snatching up the pen along with the catalog, he rushed to her. She stood in the nursery feeling Elizabeth’s fevered head.

“Circle a tiller,” Robert demanded, flipping frantically through the pages until he reached the home and garden section.

“I don’t have the time. Robert, please.” Betty pushed the proffered pen back toward him.

“But it’ll save our babies.”

“It won’t, but giving Dr. Thompson the tiller will.”

“It will only take a second.” He held the pen and catalog out once more—his anger mounting.

“Why are you fighting this?” Betty snarled and yanked the book from his hands, tearing it in half.

 “How could you?” Robert screamed as what little grip he’d maintained on his composure shattered. His fist raised, still clenching the pen with knuckles as white as bone.

Betty shrank away and placed herself between him and her babies.

Oh, God. What had he done? Would he have hit her? Visibly shaking, Robert staggered away and into the connecting mudroom. He wasn’t sure of his purpose, but he knew he had to put an end to it all. He gripped the hammer in his hand as he made his way toward the field, to where it all started. He hadn’t even been aware he’d taken it from the mudroom shelf and with more force than should’ve been possible, he slammed the hammer down. The valve system shattered. Again and again, he pounded, bits of the yoke and crosshead flew in chunks like shrapnel.

“Bobby!” He heard his name like a siren behind him and he turned to see Betty wailing as Elizabeth lay limply in her arms.

He started toward her gaining only a step or two when bile erupted with little more than water and stomach lining. He fell to his knees, retching though nothing more would come.

Robert and Betty sat in the darkened kitchen, a candle flickering between them.

“Just try it…once more.” He slid a piece of the catalog toward her. Just as she had done in the beginning, she obliged without complaint. Through quiet sobs, her pen marked an oval around the small pink casket. Robert pulled the slip back toward himself wondering why she’d stayed.