The perfect wife(Darrell Case) Darby breezed into the house; his nose tilted for the smells of his dinner. Nothing, just stale air. Lora wasn’t in the kitchen, living room, or anywhere in the house. He wanted to apologize for last night. And this morning. The fight had lasted far longer than he intended. He said she smelled. Actually, she didn’t. He was just trying to get her attention. He got it alright. Her cheeks reddened; her eyes narrowed. He thought she was going to cry. Instead, she grabbed a tissue, wiped her eyes and lit into him like a house afire. Good thing he waited until after dinner or he would have had no dinner. She jumped from the bed and fled to the bathroom. He heard the shower running. When she returned to bed, he pretended to be asleep. She sniffled a few times.

 He left this morning without resolving the conflict. Six months from their wedding. Old enough to be called a married couple, short enough to still be newlyweds. He found her in the backyard, weeding the small garden he had set up for her. He stood for a few minutes, watching her. A woman of 19 almost 20. Her birthday was next month. Even in blue shorts and an old white blouse, she looked good. Her trim figure and brown hair swept up in a knot on her head. She was the picture of what a wife should be.

When he married her, he was sure he could turn her into the perfect wife. For a time, everything was perfect, then one night everything went wrong. She wasn’t waiting at the door for him. Dinner was late. The in-laws came for a visit when the house was filthy. He held it together until they left, then blew up. He was right; she was wrong, and that’s all there was to it. She fled to their bedroom crying. The next time, it was something else, and then something else again. She quit weeping and dug in her heels and fought him face to face. He wanted a perfect wife, yet what he got was a perfect wildcat.

 Now he watched her work with the vegetables. Maybe he should just start over. Could he ever find a perfect wife? One who thought he was a gift to her. She straightened, got to her feet, bent her back and picked up a tray of vegetables and turned. Seeing Darby, she stopped, then walked forward. She halted before him. She had been rehearsing what she would say all day. A glint of tears in her eyes, she said. “I know I will never rise to the expectation of what you want in a wife.” She took a deep breath. “I’m leaving tonight.” She rushed by him. He stared at her, his mouth moving, no sound coming out. Pausing at the door to the house, she turned back to him. “I…I hope you find what you are looking for in the next wife. But…but I doubt it.”

He stood looking after her. What could he say? He was losing his wife and didn’t know how to stop it. He felt a pain in his heart. Not a physical pain, but one that was tearing his life apart. He heard the engine on her car start. He came around the house to find her backing out of their driveway. He wanted to run after her. To beg for forgiveness. Instead, he stood rooted to the spot.

His mouth moved too late. “Come back, I didn’t mean it. Please…please forgive me.” He whispered.

Lory drove down the country road about a mile. Out of sight of the house, she pulled to the side of the road. Quietly, she wept. She had tried to alter her life. To be the perfect wife. Raising her head, she stared at the surrounding fields. A wave of loneliness hit her. She had tried really tried to make their marriage work. But Darby wanted something she would never be. A perfect wife. One without aspirations, no dreams, no goals. In other words, no plans for life. Whatever he said went. That wasn’t going to happen. Darby wanted a robot. Not a living, breathing wife. Starting the car, she drove to her parent’s home.

Darby opened the refrigerator. Inside, setting on a shelf, was a fully loaded plate and a note:

Dear Husband

Here is the food I cooked for your dinner. It is ready. You just need to put it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. I hope you have a wonderful life. And I hope you find the perfect wife.

I still love you

Lory

Darby poured himself a tall glass of tea. He set down at the meal his wife had prepared. He drank half the glass, but had no appetite for the food. Indeed, nothing seemed to catch his interest. Everything seemed dull and uninteresting. Putting the food away, he heard a knock at the door. His father-in-law stood with his back to Darby. Paul seemed to be studying the field crossed the road. Sealing himself for a fight, Darby opened the screen door, joining Paul on the porch.

“You know, I was never able to grow a perfect field of wheat or corn or soybeans. There always seemed to be something wrong. A corner was wet here or there. The rains came too early, too late. Yet I always had a good crop. Things evened out when I harvested, even in the poor years. The good years made up for the bad years.” He looked at Darby. “Kinda like marriage. You might think about that.” Without another word, he stepped off the porch and walked to his elderly pickup. He backed out and drove away. Darby stood on the porch, the screen door handle still in his hand. He watched the cloud of dust raised by the pickup.

Returning to his empty house, Darby decided to take a walk. He stood by the pond at the edge of the woods. Fish and frogs thrived in this environment. At his feet was an outlet. Through it came all the filth from the pond. The builder knew there would be filth in the pond and so he had fashioned an outlet for the overflow, and in doing so, cleaned the pond. Darby took an unwanted look at his own life. Was he perfect? Or were there flaws in his life too? He knew the answer. There were things in his life his dear wife overlooked. She loved him, despite his faults.

He remembered something his pastor said last Sunday. “People aren’t perfect, just forgiven.” His mind went back to when he received Christ. Why did he expect something from his wife he couldn’t produce? Walking fast, almost running, he reached the house. Ramming his hand in the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out the keys to his pickup. Jumping in, he started the engine and jammed the truck into gear.

Lory heard him coming. She had a good cry while her mother, held her hand. Darby skidded almost to a stop and turned into his father in laws driveway. He was out of the truck almost before it stopped rolling. Lory stepped out onto the porch. The young couple stood looking at each other, then ran into the other’s arms.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry.” Darby said, tears misting his eyes.

“No, no, it’s my fault. I’ll try to be more perfect.” Lory said against his shoulder.

Holding her at arm’s length, Darby said. “No, honey, it’s my fault. I love you just the way you are.”

Together, they went home. Neither one of them perfect just forgiven.

50 years later

Lory fluffed the pillow for her husband. His time on this earth was drawing to a close. Darby, his hair white, his eyes on the heavenly kingdom, smiled at his wife. For 50 years, she had stood by his side in thick and thin. In good times and bad. Now he was dying. Could he hold on until their children and grandchildren arrived? He wasn’t sure.

“I love you,” he said, his voice low and cracking. “You have been a perfect wife.”  

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