Before they reached the mauve carpeted staircase to go downstairs, she said, "I really need to talk to you about something, Robert."
Despite the excitement she injected into her voice, she could see her statement made him cautious about what was to come. Robert always tensed about any news--good or bad. News often meant change, and he wasn't fond of that, especially when it happened overnight.
"Come on. It's good, honey. I promise. I want to show you something." She put her arm through his in a reassuring manner, then led him down the solid wood staircase, through the foyer and living room, and into her sunroom. He went along without resistance. She looked at his handsome, dimpled face, the way his thick, champagne blond hair fell roguishly over his forehead. Studying his expression, she could sometimes forget that twenty years had gone by since their wedding. She hugged his arm, praying for the right words to make him love this idea as much as she did.
Like most of the old furniture in the house, the pieces in her sunroom had been bought cheap and restored with a patient and loving hand to fill the octagon shaped space. The room was the epitome of organization. A place where she did the household bills and budget, as well as where she filled out their annual tax forms. Robert had never been a fan of anything with numbers, particularly the kind that required major organization, like a monthly spending plan and account reconciliation. After they were married, he'd agreed with reluctance to let her handle their finances. It was a pivotal moment, considering that Robert's father believed anything concerning money was the sole responsibility of the man. Somehow Robert shook the heavy influence he'd lived under, admitting that both he and his father notoriously botched money matters. Early on, Robert had commented once or twice that she'd done a good job of handling things. She doubted he ever gave any of it a second thought now.
Noting her shaking hands, she tried to still them while she showed him the baskets she'd prepared with the brochures, what she'd uploaded so far of the scanned photos of her previous basket designs, along with the receipts and expected profit from sales.
The uncertain, confused look on his face didn't encourage her, instead making her even more nervous. But then she was discussing money in terms he blanked out on. She'd led him into it backwards, she realized. She should have told him what spurred her in this direction first.
Taking out the hundred dollar bill from her budget box, she brought a chair closer to his and sat in front of him. She held the bill out to him with a small smile. Again, wariness crept into his expression, and he didn't take the money. Stiff as a skunk, he sat in the padded chair, his long legs encased in faded corduroy, a brick red Henley shirt stretched across his muscular chest.
"A woman passing by the house yesterday morning gave me this. She wants me to create a basket for her just like the one I made for Helen's birthday. You know I get a bulk discount on all the basket materials and the supplies I use inside the baskets, so this is a good profit. But I think I might be able to make an even bigger profit, if I can sell a few more of these."
Robert shook his head without enthusiasm, his eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about, sweetheart? What is all this?" He waved his hands around the sunroom as if she'd assembled animals to enter Noah's ark there instead of a little showroom and office for herself.
"After the woman left, I started thinking that...well, that maybe I could do this after the chores are done and while Cora is at preschool. I have quite a few hours to myself now." Her tone was light, with a focus on imparting the fact that she hadn't decided anything yet, despite the fact that she'd already raced ahead by giving Justine and Peter baskets to display in their businesses in town.
Tamara knew the next part of what she had to say would be the shatter point, so she arranged her words in her head one by one before speaking them out loud. "I can do all the work at home, Robert, and we can make a little extra money each month, so you don't have to consider a second job if you don't get the promotion. I already have several of our friends and family willing to help me advertise. Justine and Peter will put out a sample basket with brochures at their work places. And you know Kimberly will tell everyone she knows. Andrew Morgan says he can help me set up an internet store, with automatic forms that will send the orders and customer service issues directly to my e-mail address. I doubt I'd need to get a business phone line, since most sales will probably come over the phone or through the mail until the internet store is set up."
Robert's expression hardened in wariness as she continued in a rush. Kimberly had been right, Tamara realized in shock. His sister knew Robert better in this regard than Tamara was willing to accept. She'd thought once he saw the hundred dollar bill, he'd come around to relief instead of defense. She well remembered how he'd agonized over having to get a second job all last year. He'd been depressed each and every day--a sign to Tamara that a second job would only increase his extreme swings between depressed and elated. After endless prayer, she'd concluded that a second job for Robert wouldn't be a good thing for him, their marriage or their family.
Getting him to agree that God wanted them to nurture their family before their financial situation had been difficult. But helping him see that, if he took a part-time job, he'd be away from home more and would no longer have a strong presence in his own family had taken careful effort. They'd cut back in many ways with Tamara taking the brunt of it so her husband and children wouldn't feel the strain. The only two luxuries she'd kept for herself were her basket weaving and filling, and her weekly lunch with her best friends, since that kept all of them spiritually accountable and connected.
"What are you thinking?" Tamara asked, her tone gentle. She reached toward him with her free hand.
He shook his head, and she could see he was thinking too much to put into words. When he did finally speak, he sounded exhausted. "Why do you even think you need to do this, Tammy? I make enough to support the family. Are you worried a time'll come that I can't do that?"
"Of course not! But we have been praying that God would take care of us, and He has. I've been praying about this since the idea came to me, Robert. I think this might be the way He provides for us--in a way that won't change anything here with our family."
"How could it not change anything?" he demanded in disbelief. "You'd have a job in addition to a thousand other volunteer tasks. How will you possibly find time for this?"
Though, with effort, she kept her voice even, an edge of panic fluttered through her heart. "I told you. Now that Cora is in preschool, I have several hours to myself in the morning and afternoon. Even with all my daily chores, I end up with free time. This is perfect. And I honestly don't expect much to happen at first, not until word of mouth and advertising begin to work. I strongly feel the Lord is leading me in this, Robert."
"What? Like a ministry?"
She hated it when Robert got upset. He'd always been more moody than anyone else she knew. After his mother's death two years ago, the frequency and severity of his depression had increased. The last year had been the hardest. He could also be extremely intractable until he'd had sufficient opportunity to consider all the angles. He'd need a lot of time with this, but Tamara found herself annoyed and overly emotional that he seemed to have set himself against it from her first word. Had she done something wrong by getting so excited about it? Or maybe she'd gone about telling him in the wrong way. Or did his reaction have nothing to do with her but to the level of change he expected? She knew now why she'd dreaded talking to him so much.
Fighting the tears stinging behind her eyes, Tamara covered her mouth with her hand, knowing even her disappointed expression could upset him further and make his acceptance of this more difficult to come by. "Well, in some ways, maybe," she managed. "You know how much I love weaving baskets, and I'll find any opportunity to do it. The fact that they encourage and make people happy is a part of it, but I just love doing it. Designing for people personally--something that they'd never consider providing for themselves--is like a ministry. They feel blessed. That's a good feeling I think is worthy of making a business out of."
Robert had been supportive of her baskets since the first time he'd seen a recipient react to receiving one. Why couldn't he be supportive now? Tamara agonized, watching his irritated expression as he gazed out the bay window. She could feel desperation rising in her. She wanted this, and she wanted his approval. "Tell me...this is a good thing, Robert. Tell me you see that."
His long pause and refusal to turn first from the window, then from the hundred dollar bill he'd at last taken from her, didn't inspire confidence in her any more than his words, when he spoke. "So you want to charge people for blessings now?"
For a startled moment, Tamara couldn't believe he'd say something so cruel and uncalled for. He knew she hadn't meant it that way at all. The sting didn't go away even when he leaned toward her to tuck the money back in her hand and shake his head. "I'm sorry, Tam. I'm just not up for this tonight. It was a long day, and I can't think about anything heavy right now."
Unable to respond, she watched with wide, moist eyes as he left the room, taking with him every ounce of her excitement. Could being tired and overwhelmed with his own problems at work explain why he'd say something so rotten? She wasn't sure. She'd never imagined his reaction would be so...well, selfish. So often he'd said how much it would ease their financial burdens if they could make just a few extra dollars a month.
And, yes, Kimberly's subtle warnings were right. Robert was just like his father, priding himself on being the sole provider of his family. Tamara hadn't realized he would refuse to give up a fraction of his position. All this time, she'd ascribed his unwillingness to let her help out with a part-time job as his desire to hold to their principles of taking care of their own family without paying someone else to. She'd assumed their marriage was one built on mutual submission and equality. Now she knew the truth. The basket business wouldn't change anything--wouldn't change much anyway--in their home or with their family, but the idea nevertheless threatened him to the point that he'd set himself against it.
For an endless time, she sat in her sunroom, stunned and overwhelmed at having her hopes smashed in so brutal a fashion. Does he need time to accept this, Lord? He doesn't like change, especially abrupt change. But he's never been this insensitive before. I know he's going through a hard time about this promotion, and the strong possibility that he may not get it, but how could he say that? "So you want to charge people for blessings now?"
Regardless of how the thoughtless comment stung, Tamara had difficulty getting and staying angry with her husband.
My mother taught me the godly wisdom of modeling myself after the Proverbs 31 woman. I've yielded myself to my husband, given myself to him and my family above my own desires. We've always been equals; he doesn't expect me to a submissive doormat in the outdated and misconstrued idea of submissive wife. I've always worked toward compromises we can both live with...and I take the fall whenever I can to protect the kids from Robert's moodiness. I respect my husband. He's earned it. He's loving and sensitive to me and the children. But right now...
For the first time, anger at him came far too easy and she couldn't shake it.
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