In No Bells Will Ring, Ruth Couch draws on her experiences as an elementary teacher to present the story of a young educator torn between the demands of her career and the needs of her dependent mother. Elizabeth is caught in a web of conflict as her mother continues to engage in behavior that is increasingly troubling. Elizabeth cannot turn to anyone for help without betraying her mother; only faith can sustain and guide her. The author hopes that this story will encourage those who may be struggling with career issues or the challenge of helping a parent deal with the sorrows and frustrations of the later years. The story is a work of fiction. All the human characters are fictitious; the only individual drawn from real life is Oscar the dog.

No Bells Will Ring

By Ruth Couch

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Ruth Couch
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-0433-0

Chapter One

"Mama, that's a beautiful ring in that box on your dresser. Where on earth did you get it? Did Mr. Amati propose?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. There isn't any ring, and there isn't any box on my dresser. You can come up with some of the oddest notions!"

"Mama, I guess I know what I saw-there was a blue velvet box on your dresser. I couldn't have made anything like that up."

"And why were you snooping around in my stuff, anyway?"

"Mama, I don't exactly call it snooping when I go in to clean your room."

"Well, I want you to stop it."

"Fine. You can clean your room yourself."

"Well, that's fine with me. I was cleaning house before you were even thought about. Just isn't right to go through my stuff ... treating me like a child...."

"All right, Mama, come on into your room and I'll show you what I'm talking about, since you're putting on such a surprise act."

There was no box on the dresser.

"See! I told you! You just made that up!"

"But it was right here ... I know it was! I saw it! It's got to be...."

"Elizabeth, you have let your imagination run wild with you. You always were subject to light-headed flights of fancy. I think Edgar dumping you has messed up your mind. You know what? I think you're just jealous because your old mama has somebody and you don't."

"Jealous of you and Mr. Amati!" Elizabeth gasped. "I don't think so. I don't know what you see in that dumpy little fat guy with the greasy dyed-black hair and the gold-capped teeth and that silly, snorty little laugh. When I think of what my daddy was like, with that beautiful silvery hair ..."

"Well, your daddy's not with us any more-bless his gentle heart-and I'm just lucky that I found someone that cares for me. And I suggest you do the same. You can't spend the rest of your life moping around about Edgar and making up stories about people and things. By the way, how is Edgar? Did he get his master's degree? Do the kids still like to hear him play the clarinet at recess? Actually, I sort of liked him. Oh, I'm sorry, Baby. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Come on, now, let's go to the kitchen. I'll fix us 'breakfast for supper'-scrambled eggs and bacon, and flaky biscuits, just the way your daddy liked them."

"That would be nice, Mama." Elizabeth reached for a tissue from the crochet-covered holder on Mama's dresser. This wasn't the first thing that had seemed a little strange lately. The question of the ring would have to be answered somehow, but this wasn't the time. Maybe she would find it in the dresser drawer eventually-maybe one evening while Mama was out with Mr. Amati. Then she could confront Mama and force her to come out with the truth.

A whiff of bacon and coffee brought back wonderful memories of cold winter evenings in the old house when the three of them used to gather around a card table in front of the fireplace and eat a supper like this one. "Now, dear," Mama said as they sat down at the kitchen table, "how was school today? Were the kids good? How is Mrs. Griffin? Here-have some of this plum jelly I made last summer."

"Oh, Mama, I am so fortunate this year! I have the best class! Nothing at all like last year. They're a bright spot in my life. At least half of them are reading way above grade level. And you should see their math scores." "I'm so glad. Is Mrs. Griffin all right? I know she's had some health problems. How long has she been there anyway? Wasn't she your teacher when you were in school in that building? I seem to remember that she was very nice to us when you broke your arm in the fifth grade."

"She's doing pretty well-works every day- but I can tell she's really slowing down. A few people have been whispering in the teachers' lounge that she might retire this year, but she hasn't said anything about it. Boy! I hope she doesn't! I can't imagine who might take her place. She's always been so understanding.'

"Well, I don't want to upset you again, but if Edgar got his master's degree, maybe he ..." "And he did. Got it last August." Elizabeth stirred aimlessly with her fork in her serving of eggs. "Got it the same night I would have gotten mine if I hadn't had to drop out." In control of herself now, she said, "He would really be good-except ..."

"Yes, I know. That would be very awkward for you. Oh, well, maybe they'll hire an outsider or get somebody from another school in town. Eat your eggs; they're getting cold."

"Speaking of the teachers' lounge," Elizabeth continued, "Mrs. Griffin got us one of those new microwave ovens last week. Really nice-right there in the lounge we can warm things up for lunch in just a few seconds. Maybe we should get one."

"Now there you go again with your wild and crazy ideas. I don't want that thing in my house-probably oozes poison airwaves all over the place."

"OK, Mama, we won't get one.... Your plum jelly is really good."

Later that evening, while they were watching Gunsmoke on the black and white television set, the phone rang. The gravelly voice was unmistakable.

"It's for you, Mama."

Elizabeth could not read her mother's expression. Excitement? Pleasure? Maybe a little fear? It was impossible to tell.

Her mother took the phone into her bedroom and closed the door. A half hour passed. Elizabeth got up and headed for her own room to pick out her school outfit for the next day. In the hall she could hear her mother's soft voice. She happened to notice that no light was coming from under her mother's door.

Looking closer, she saw that her mother had rolled up an old housecoat and had crammed it in the small gap between the door and the carpet. Parts of it stuck out beyond the door.

Finally there was silence in her mother's room. With her outfit laid out for the next day, Elizabeth fell into bed and drifted into a troubled sleep; tossing and turning, she woke up and then went back to sleep several times. At last she fell into a deep enough sleep to have a dream, a very frightening one. In her dream, Mama and Mr. Amati were driving down the highway, giggling and talking, elbowing each other in the ribs. Elizabeth watched helplessly as they turned down the old river road, a place where fishermen were the main travelers and everyone tried to get out fast at the first sign of wet weather. As they made the first sharp curve, Elizabeth dreamed that the river was beginning to flood the little rutted pathway. She could see that there was no room for them to turn around. She tried to scream, but all she could do was utter a choked little cry and toss convulsively in the darkness of her room.

Chapter Two

"Well, guess what!" Mama greeted Elizabeth as she came in from school on a cool autumn afternoon.

"You won the grocery drawing for this week!"

"No. Guess again."

"Aunt Laura is coming for a week-long visit."

"You'll never guess, so I might as well tell you. Mr. Amati has invited you to go with us for dinner at Roundtree's tonight!"

"Wow! That is really big of him!"

Mama ignored the sarcasm.

"And we don't have much time because he wants to pick us up at 5:00. We're going to an auction at Emerson tonight, and it starts at six-thirty. So we're eating early. Can you make it?"

"Sure." Yes, I can, Elizabeth thought, but do I want to? "I see you're ready, and since we don't have to fix supper, that won't be a problem. And fortunately I don't...