The Douglas Farm

Lisa awoke the next morning awoke to discover that her husband had already left to begin another days work. She sighed deeply, half out of remorse and half out of relief. One the one hand, she was glad that she had avoided being yelled at and insulted that morning, but on the other hand, she was brooding over the fact that he didn't even bother to wait to wish her good morning, good bye, or anything.

I remember vhen ve vere first married, she reflected, he vould lie in bed and vait for me to vake up. She chuckled at the memory of Oliver being an hour late to work one time, just because he said that he wanted to be the first thing she would see when she would awaken so she could feel the joy he had felt when she was the first thing he saw.

But soon, the sound of the popping noise of the old tractor and her husband's steady stream of curses snapped her back to reality and she sighed again. She realized with a great feeling of sadness that things may never be that way again.

Not unless I make them be that vay, she thought, I must find a vay to bring Oliver back to his old self again. But how?

As she got up from bed and dressed, Lisa racked her brain for ideas as to what she could do to cheer him up. Finally, an idea struck her. Oliver was always complaining that she never did any real work around the house like real farm wives do. Maybe she could do something that would prove to him that she could be a good farm wife after all. But what could she do that was simple enough for her and her lack of domestic skills?

As Lisa walked into the kitchen, she glanced at the washer and dryer. Suddenly a sly smile spread across her face and an idea began to take shape in her mind. With new found energy, she bolted into the bedroom and began rummaging through her husband's clothes. Finally she came across what she was looking for. Oliver's favorite sweater; the sweater that she had bought him for an anniversary that had matched his eyes, the one he claimed he would never part with.

She pulled it out and fingered the blue cotton fabric thoughtfully. If she were to wash it and maybe sew it a little and make it look like brand new, Oliver would realize what a wonderful farm wife she could really be, thus altering his entire mood and changing him back to his old, sweet self. The plan was perfect.

Eagerly, Lisa ran into the kitchen and quickly threw the sweater into the washer, being careful to use cold water so as not to ruin the sweater. She couldn't wait to see the look on Oliver's face when he found out what she had done. With a new giddiness, she turned to the sink and began to wash the dishes she had neglected; glad for once that Oliver hadn't bothered to come home for lunch.

About an hour and a half later, Lisa was done to her last dish and scrubbing vigorously at it. For some reason, the special meal she had made a couple of days before refused to come off the plate. Finally she gave up and nonchalantly tossed it out the window.

"Lisa, what have I told her about throwing plates out the window" someone exclaimed from behind her, causing her to jump. She whirled around to see Oliver standing at the threshold of the kitchen door.

"Olivah," she exclaimed, "I didn't expect you to be back so early."

"Neither did I," Oliver replied bitterly, "but that tractor is just impossible to work with. I ought to march up to Mr. Haney and demand for my money back on that piece of junk he sold me."

"Speaking of vhich, that vas a terrible thing you did to Mr. Haney yesterday. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"What, the vase thing? He had it coming to him. It was about time someone taught him a lesson about trying to take advantage of good people."

At this comment, Lisa rolled her eyes. "That still doesn't give you the right to destroy his property. After all, he didn't do anything that bad. He vas just being his usual self," she argued.

"Yeah, well his usual self needs to be taught a lesson," he repeated grumblingly as he slumped down into a chair.

At this point, Lisa figured it was useless trying to argue with him. Instead she just shook her head at his sadness and poured him a cup of coffee that had been preparing. For a while, both individuals went about whatever they were doing in silence, until Oliver took note of the strange whirring noise in the background. He turned around to see what the source of the noise was.

"Lisa, did you wash something," he asked as he glanced at her and then back to the dryer.

"Vell, it vas going to be a surprise, but I might as vell tell you," she said. A hopeful smile spread across her face as she continued to explain. "I am vashing you favorite sweater and vas planning on mending it as a sus-prise."

"Surprise," Oliver corrected out of habit. "You mean, your washing my cotton sweater? My pure cotton sweater."

"Vell, technicalality, drying it now, but yes."

"Technically," he corrected again. "Lisa, please tell me you didn't use hot water," he said warily.

"Of course not, dahling," she replied indignantly.

"Oh good," he said as breathed a sigh of relief. "Where did you say my sweater was?"

"In the dryer," she stated.

"Oh…..in the dryer," Oliver cried as he jumped up from his seat and switched the dryer off. He opened it, reached in, and slowly revealed a miniature version of his favorite sweater, about the size a two-month-old would need. Lisa's eyes grew wide as saucers as she caught sight of the sweater and she let out a small gasp.

"Dahling, I am so sorry," she said as he held out the sweater for her to see with a less-than-amused look on his face.

"I vas an accident, I swear," she said as he continued to stare.

"I vas only trying to make you feel better," she explained sheepishly under his stern gaze.

"You were trying to make me feel better," he finally exploded. "How is this supposed to make me feel better," he demanded to know as he held up the tiny sweater for emphasis.

"Vell, I didn't know you're not supposed to put that sweater in the dryer!"

"Lisa, its pure cotton! Of course you're not supposed to put it in the dryer! It even says it on the label!" He pulled out the now tiny label and read it. "See! Machine wash in cold water, do not put in dryer!"

Oliver paused and looked at Lisa as she cowered before him. It was several seconds before she managed to say something but she was finally able to croak out, "Vell, at least I got half of it right."

"Half of it…" Oliver began, but trailed off. "Lisa, you're supposed to know ALL of it by now! When are you going to learn what it takes to become a good farm wife!"

"Vell, you know I'm not so good vith the domesticals…" she began, but he interrupted her.

"Domestics, Lisa, domestics. When are you going to learn to speak proper English, for that matter? How long have you lived in America!"

"You used to find my malo-po-prisons cute," she said.

"Well now I just find your maloproprisms irritating," he cried.

"Olivah," Lisa exclaimed in shock.

"Lisa, next time you want to cheer me up….forget it, okay? Just leave me alone," he said. At that, he threw the miniature sweater down on the table and stormed out of the house. Lisa was left alone, gaping at his terrible behavior.

She couldn't believe what had just taken place between them. In all their years of marriage, her husband had never spoken to her so cruelly before.

Or so truthfully, she thought. No matter how insulting his words were, Lisa knew he was right. After so much time living in this country and on a farm, one would think that she would pick up the skills that seemed to come so easy to the locals. But no, she was just as unskilled and un-American as she ever was.

But none of that should matter; he should love you for who you are, a voice in the back of her head that she assumed was her conscience said. She knew this was true and seemed true in the past. No matter how much she messed up around the house and with her words, Oliver had always reacted with much more understanding than anger, but now it seemed his patience with her had run out.

Lisa glanced over at the tiny blue sweater lying on the table and sighed, seeing it as a symbol of all her failed attempts to bring her husband back. Suddenly, she realized that her amateur attempts to prove that she could be the kind of wife Oliver wanted wouldn't work anymore. He wanted a real farm wife, something she knew she could never be. She had never felt so utterly useless in her life.

With her head hung low in defeat, Lisa trudged to the bedroom and changed into her nightclothes, not caring that it was only five in the afternoon. She then climbed into bed and burst into tears, wishing she could close her eyes and wake up in New York, as if they had never moved to a farm in the first place. She then rolled over on her side and cried herself to sleep.

Hello my readers! I am so sorry for such a long delay. You see, when I got back from Dallas, things life school and family issues and junk like that got in the way of my writing, and when all that finally settled, I had to get sick! I was going to wait for my illness to go away to write another chapter, but that would mean delaying this story even more and I felt terribly guilty, so I just decided to write it right now. So please forgive me if this chapter doesn't make sense, my judgment is a little cloudy from the meds and my head and throat are killing me, so please bear with me. Oops, now the meds and the pain are making me ramble. Sorry! I hope you don't lose patience with me and I hope you continue to read and review my story! Bye!