After receiving word that her mother is dying and asking for her, Ruth VanderZicht struggles with mixed emotions and conflicting desires as she tries to decide whether or not to respond and finds herself torn between her secular beliefs and desperate longing for a spiritual relationship with God. 15,000 first printing.

A Woman of Salt

By Mary Potter Engel

Counterpoint Press

Copyright © 2003 Mary Potter Engel
All right reserved.
ISBN: 9781582432496

Chapter One

Joys impregnate. Sorrows bring forth.
William Blake, "Proverbs of Hell"

Trance

    By the time I left home at seventeen, we hadlived in eight apartments, five houses, three motels, and one freezinglake cottage we rented after all the summer vacationers had left. I don'tcount the times we stayed with my aunts in Michigan and my grandmotherin New Jersey or the month we slept in a musty camping trailerin the dominee's backyard. As a minister, Dominee VanderTuin probablyfelt obligated to love his neighbor when my mother called uponhim in need. Or maybe Mrs. VanderTuin felt sorry for us, the wanderingmother and her brood: her husband, with his dignified positionand guaranteed salary?brick parsonage included?wasn't always givingup on one business and starting another, dragging his family to anew city or state each time.

    The place all five of us kids liked best was the Villa Serena, a beachmotel north of Fort Lauderdale. Whenever two or three of us gettogether we end up telling stories from our days there. We still jokeabout Mark?the fastidious one?stepping barefoot on a glob of spiton the concrete walkway one morning and screeching hystericallyuntil Mother tossed a pan of water at him. Though he laughs when wetell that story, he's never forgiven Mother for that.

    The Villa Serena was cheap, and off-season rates made it cheaper,but it was the deal my mother worked with the manager?no air conditioningor maid service, Calvin helping in the yard, me in theoffice?that made it possible for us to stay there. We ended up withtwo rooms facing Highway A1A. My parents used the fold-out couchin the sitting area of the kitchenette. In the adjoining room, Calvin,Mark, and Paulie shared the double bed, while Debbie and I slept headto toe on a roll-away jammed against the foot of their mattress. OnceI woke with Debbie's vomit wetting my legs. We cleaned ourselves upand spent the rest of the night wrapped in beach towels on the floor.The three boys had the measles together in their bed. For weeks therest of us whispered and tiptoed around them, kept the room dark sotheir eyes wouldn't weaken. Paulie, the youngest, got rheumatic feverand almost died. We all agree, though: the Villa Serena was a child'sparadise.

    That summer we spent every minute barefoot in our bathing suits,exploring. We would swim across the intracoastal to hunt for manateesnapping in the canals, beg fish from the tour boats that docked onthe other side of the bridge, chase fiddler crabs into their holes, climbcoconut palms. If we managed to knock down a coconut, we'd smashit on the patio to split open the husk, scrounge a hammer and screwdriverto pound holes in the three eyes of the shell, and fight for turnsat draining the sweet milk into our mouths. When it rained we walkedacross the street to the dimestore in search of affordable wonders: floatingkey chains, rubber flippers, hula dolls that danced on dashboards,sets of plastic swizzle sticks chronicling the story of a woman's life-slimbrown body, new breasts and bottom, pregnant stomach, shriveledbreasts sagging to the knees.

    Most days we packed ourselves a lunch and hiked the beach, northto the stand of rubber trees where old straw-hatted men drooled in theshade, or south to the pier where tawny fishermen cast for hammerheads.If they caught one they dragged it down the pier and hung itfrom a piling near shore, the eyes bulging on opposite sides of the monstroushead like twin horns of perception, the belly slit from throat totail so the insides showed?masses of glistening, translucent sacsplump with liquid and suspended like tears. We used to stare at thosebulbed pouches shining purple and orange and yellow until we weredizzy and all the colors ran together. Some days I couldn't speak forhours afterward?it was so beautiful.

    We were always in the ocean playing, even Mark and Paulie, whocouldn't swim. Sometimes Dad came with us on Saturdays. When hehad finished swimming to the horizon and back in his graceful crawl,he'd let us dive off his shoulders into the breaking waves. But mostlyhe was away, having "idea sessions" or finagling start-up loans frombanks. Mother was never around. She was either in bed with one of herheadaches or out combing the junk shops for bargains. Some months,reselling her hard-won finds at a profit, she made more money thanDad. They used to fight about it, my mother sniping, my dad kickingholes in the mover's cartons, banging on locked doors, throwing shoesand furniture. But she wouldn't quit. "Florida's the best place for thisbusiness," she would tell her sisters when they called. "All those oldpeople moving into smaller apartments and getting rid of a lifetime oftreasures."

    Once my mother came down to the beach to bring us cold bottlesof Yoo-Hoo and scream at me for not watching the little kids carefullyenough. Water scared her. She didn't know how to swim.

It was Debbie who called me with the news about Helen. My brotherswould never call. They haven't contacted me in years?too loyal toHelen, who has forbidden them to have anything to do with theirheartless sister. Debbie's call woke me out of a dead sleep. "Ruth," shesaid, "it's Mom. You have to come right away." I was confused andthought she'd said Helen had died.

    Debbie couldn't stop sobbing. When she calmed down, I figuredout that Helen was still alive. Minutes before Debbie called me, thedoctor had pulled her into the hospital corridor and told her to prepareherself and the rest of the family, because Mother could go anytime.

    "She asked for you today," Debbie said.

    "She wants me to come so she can gloat over disinheriting me formarrying a Jew."

    "That was two years ago. She's different now."

    "Sure. Have you forgotten what she said to me when I called hertwo months ago to tell her I was pregnant? `If that baby is not washedin the blood of Jesus Christ, it's going straight to hell.' Fourteen yearswe haven't spoken and that's the first thing she says to me."

    "Please come, Ruth."

    I did my best to comfort my sister. I told her she had done all shecould and that we were all grateful for the way she had cared forMother the past months. I said I'd consider canceling my classes therest of the week so I could drive down and help her and Jake with thekids, that maybe I'd leave for Boca as soon as it was light and be thereby late afternoon.

    Calvin won't show up. He'll call from his fancy house at Lake Tahoeor his office in San Francisco, all charm and cheer, thanking and praisingDebbie until she forgets her fear and the burden of her duties. Thenhe'll smooth his way into apology and regret, leak out that though hehas had his secretary working for hours to rearrange his schedule, hecan't make it to see Mother just now. He's off to Paris or Frankfurt toclose a once-in-a-lifetime deal with a difficult client he has been wooingfor years. Unfortunate timing, he'll tell Debbie, rushing words intothe silence of the sick room, can't be helped, sure you understand, be thereif I could, Mom knows that, give her a kiss and tell her I love her,...