“Well, I reckon I ain’t got nothing to lose but my pride—what do I say?”
“Would you like me to help you tell him?”
“I reckon I would.”
“All right. Then, I’ll say some words, and you repeat them—but say them to God, do you understand?”
“Don’t sound too hard.”
“Dear God,” began Christopher, “I want to tell you that I’m sorry for the life I’ve lived. . . .”
Mr. Harris closed his eyes where he lay in the bed.
“Dear God,” he repeated, “I reckon I’m sorry—” his voice broke momentarily, “fer the kind of life I lived.”
“I repent of it, and I ask you to forgive me.”
“I repent, God, and I ask you to forgive me.”
“Forgive me both for the things I have done and for the sin itself which lies in my heart.”
“Forgive me fer the things I done and fer the sin in my heart.”
“I ask you to wash me clean by Jesus’ blood. . . .”
“I ask you to wash me clean by Jesus’ blood.”
“ . . . and to make me be born again.”
“ . . . and to make me be born again.”
“Most of all, God, I thank you that you love me.”
“I thank you that you love me, God, though I got a hard time believin’ ye do, but I will ’cause these four men here say it’s so.”
“Help me to live from now on like you want me to.”
“Help me to live like you want me to.”
“I am ready to make Jesus my Savior.”
“I am ready to make Jesus my Savior.”
“I am ready to make Jesus my Lord.”
“I am ready to make Jesus my Lord.”
“Help me to learn to think of myself as your son, God. . . .”
“Help me to learn to think of myself as yer son—”
Here his voice choked.
“ . . . and to think of you as my Father and Jesus as my elder brother,” said Christopher.
“And to think of you as my Father and Jesus as my elder brother.”
“Help me to do what you want me to do.”
“Help me to do what you want me to do.”
“Amen.”
“Amen.”
The four men around the bed were all smiling. In the midst of them, still weak but looking noticeably less pale, a thin sheepish, childlike smile now breaking upon his lips, lay Jesse Harris.
It was the first full smile his face had felt in years.
Chapter 58
A Surprise Offer
Two days later, Sheriff Rafferty and Mr. Harding, the mayor of Miracle Springs, came out to pay a visit to Pa.
When I saw them ride up, I figured it had to do with Mr. Harris, who had continued to improve and who was now eating and drinking as if he only had two or three days to make up for the whole week he’d been unconscious!
Pa had said that the sheriff would have to be brought into the situation and that if Mr. Harris recovered he would probably have to go to jail since there were still warrants out on him. I shuddered to think that he had actually killed people, but I knew it was true, and becoming a Christian didn’t remove the consequences of his past. We didn’t know what would happen. In the meantime, he continued to recover in my old bed.
As it turned out, though, the visit of the two men wasn’t about Mr. Harris, at all—at least not directly.
They came up to the house and asked if they could talk to Pa in private. Almeda and Becky and I happened to all be in the kitchen at the time, getting some things ready for lunch. So Pa took them outside, and they walked off toward the pasture and talked as they went.
“I ain’t as young as I used to be, Drum,” Mr. Rafferty said. “I’m fifty-six. And I got a nice little spread started down in the valley west of here.”
“I know, I know,” laughed Pa. “You been talking about retiring for six months.”
“I think it’s time I settle down and enjoy what I worked for. There’s more people coming in every year, and I reckon it’s time for a younger fella to take over this job.”
Pa nodded. If anybody could understand, he could. I’m sure he’d felt much the same way when he decided not to run for the legislature anymore.
“I hear what you’re saying, Simon,” he said. “Things change when a man gets older. Happens to all of us. You got anybody in mind to replace you?” he asked, looking at both men questioningly.
“That’s what we came out to talk to you about,” said the sheriff.
“Hmm . . . I don’t know who’d be good,” said Pa. “You been talking it around town—no takers?”
“Nobody in town,” said Mr. Harding, though Pa did not seem to notice his emphasis.
“What about Duncan, the feller that lives in Almeda’s place,” said Pa, still oblivious as to what the men were driving at. “He’s pretty handy with a gun.”
“The respect of folks is what’s needed even more. I can’t remember the last time I had to pull my gun on someone. This is California, Drum, not Texas or Kansas. But, I think Duncan’s got his mind set on doing some farming and raising beef of his own.”
“After what happened out here last week, it may be that a gun’s more necessary than you think,” laughed Pa.
The sheriff and the mayor glanced at each other. They had clearly been thinking exactly the same thing, despite Sheriff Rafferty’s words to the contrary.
“Duncan was just out looking at the old Perkins place yesterday,” added Mr. Harding. “No, I doubt he’s our man.”
“Well, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” said Pa.
The two men just stood there. Finally Pa realized they had something else on their mind.
“We was wanting to know what you’d think of us asking Zack,” said Mr. Rafferty finally.
“My Zack!” exclaimed Pa. “He’s nothing but a kid!”
“He’s only two months or so shy of twenty-nine, Drum. What were you doing at twenty-nine?”
“Yeah—hmm . . . I reckon I see your point there.”
“Zack’s got the respect of folks, and he’s showed clear enough that he’s plenty handy with a gun,” said Mr. Harding.
“Well,” sighed Pa, “I don’t like it. But at the same time I don’t reckon I got much right to object. Zack’s a man, like you say—gotta be his decision.”
“You want to talk to him first?”
“Yeah, give me a day. Why don’t the two of you come out again tomorrow.”
They shook hands and the sheriff and mayor returned to Miracle Springs.
Later, we all listened as Pa gathered us together to recount his conversation with the two men. He paused for a long several moments.
“So then,” he said finally, “they asked me what I thought about them offering the job . . . to Zack.”
Exclamations and shouts and not a few concerned looks spread around the table.
“As sheriff!” exclaimed Tad excitedly.
“Why not?” said Zack with a big grin. That he could not be more pleased at the prospect was just as obvious as that he was trying his hardest not to show it.
“You think you could do it, son?”
“Sure, Pa—why not?”
Pa thought for a moment, then began to nod his head slowly back and forth.
“Yeah, I reckon you could at that, Zack, my boy,” he said.
“It could be dangerous, Drummond,” said Almeda with concern in her voice.
“I don’t reckon it’s no more dangerous than the Pony Express or the Paiutes that were after him that time . . . or—” he added in a low voice so he wouldn’t be heard in the bedroom, “when Jesse was trying to kill him out there in the desert. Not to mention what just happened last week. I reckon Zack’s pretty well able to take care of himself. He’s been up against the worst,” he added, nodding toward the bedroom.
More discussion followed, but mostly among everybody but Zack.
“What do you think, son?” asked Pa at length.
<
br /> “I’d like to do it, Pa,” replied Zack. “Can’t say I wouldn’t. But I’ll have to find out if it’s what I’m supposed to do before I say one way or the other.”
“Well, however the Lord leads you, it’s your decision,” said Pa, “and we’ll all back you up.”
Chapter 59
Two Decisions
There was a spirit of jubilation about the place for a couple of days. It was one of those times when life seemed especially good and everyone was happy. Mr. Harris was very weak but able to get up on his feet and had begun to take meals with us.
As yet there had arisen no unpleasant discussion of his future, and Sheriff Rafferty did not seem inclined to press the point. I think he might have been hoping Mr. Harris would just ride away so that he could ignore the past warrants.
If Zack became sheriff, what would he do?
In any case, there was a happy feeling about. If only I had known what was coming I might have felt differently.
Two or three days after the announcement about Zack and the sheriff’s job, Christopher turned silent again.
I didn’t notice it too much the first evening. Christopher was reading, and I figured he was just preoccupied. But the next morning when I woke up, he was gone, and I didn’t see him all morning. He was quiet at lunch, disappeared again all afternoon, and hardly said a word the whole night.
I knew something was wrong, but I was afraid to say anything.
I was afraid I already knew what it was.
We had not talked any more about the possibility of moving from Miracle Springs. In all the excitement over Mr. Harris, I guess there was part of me that hoped Christopher had forgotten all about it—even though I knew better. Now I just waited, scared and nervous, for Christopher to tell me what I had guessed.
The following afternoon I saw Christopher and Zack off walking together. I did not know it at the time, but they were discussing and praying together about their two respective decisions over the future. In the past, both would have turned to Pa. But each felt, on this occasion, that the decision was something they had to make between themselves and the Lord. But both felt keenly the need for a friend close to the same age to talk the factors over with.
Finally that evening, after we were alone in the bunkhouse, Christopher unburdened himself and told me what it was that had been plaguing him.
“This is not easy, Corrie,” he began, then let out a great sigh. “I have been struggling and struggling over it, hoping that I was not hearing the Lord correctly, begging him for any other answer.”
I sat listening in dread, not saying anything, willing him not to say what I feared was coming.
“Believe me, this is not what I want,” he went on. “But I feel it to be what the Lord is saying, and so I cannot ignore it.”
A long silence came. Finally I couldn’t stand it another second.
“But what is it, Christopher? Is it about . . . about leaving . . . ?”
Slowly he nodded.
“You heard what your father was saying a while back—about the mine, about the future. He is absolutely right; there is no future for me here. Financially we are a drain on your family. We simply cannot stay indefinitely as things presently are.”
Now he was pacing about the small room in obvious turmoil.
“Don’t you see, Corrie?” he said, “We’ve got to think about your father and Almeda and what is best for them. And I have to think about what I’m going to do with the rest of my life—and what is best for us.”
He stopped pacing and looked at me with pain in his eyes.
“I feel the Lord saying it is time for a change. I have been asking him what he wants us to do, pleading with him for clarity, for a sense of direction—for months. You know how I’ve been struggling over this.”
“Yes . . . yes, of course. We talked about it way back at the beginning of the summer. And then . . . you wouldn’t talk to me. . . .”
“I’m sorry it has been so hard on you, Corrie. But I couldn’t talk with you about it. And when I tried, it came out all wrong.”
“But that’s what I don’t understand!” I said. “I thought we promised to talk with each other about everything.”
“This is different, Corrie. I just . . . I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to tell you what I have been feeling we are supposed to do.”
Christopher stopped momentarily from pacing about the room, then sighed.
“Do you remember when we prayed that night in San Francisco?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“We asked God to show us what to do.”
I nodded.
“Well . . .” he said, turning now toward the darkened window as if looking out. “I think he has been showing me,” he went on with his back to me, “ . . . and that’s what I haven’t been able to talk to you about.”
“But why, Christopher?” I said yet again.
“Because—” he said, then blurted it out. “—because I believe the Lord wants us to return to the East.”
The words fell like a thunderbolt out of the sky onto my ears.
Now he turned and faced me.
“I like it here, Corrie,” he said, almost in a pleading tone. “But I have sought the Lord’s will, and I’m feeling like he might want me to work in a church again, and I really believe this is the right decision.”
I was devastated. It felt like my whole world was crumbling around me. Even though I knew there was a chance we might have to leave Miracle Springs, I had never in my wildest dreams imagined we might have to go so far!
Part of me felt angry, too, and that made the tears start to flow. “So I don’t have any say in it at all!” I blurted. “You weren’t even going to talk to or pray with me about it?”
By now I was sobbing. Christopher looked stricken. He came over and sat down beside me and took me in his arms. I cried even harder from being angry with him and yet needing him all the more.
“Oh, Corrie, I’m so sorry,” he kept murmuring over and over.
We sat together like that for probably fifteen or twenty minutes.
“Can you tell me why, Christopher?” I finally said. “Why do we have to go East? What will you do there that you can’t do here?”
He sighed.
“I don’t know if I can tell you. I’m not sure I know myself. I just . . . it seems to me that this is what the Lord is saying.”
Again it was quiet for a long time. Again I was the first one to break it.
“I made you a promise, Christopher,” I finally said, sniffing and wiping at my eyes, “that I would love you and go with you whatever came to us and wherever the Lord sent us. I meant it, and I do love you so much. But leaving my family will be the hardest thing I have ever done.”
“I wish it hadn’t come to this, Corrie. I love it here, and being with your family.”
Again we sat for some time in silence.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, “if it sounded like I wasn’t trusting you to do what is best. I love you more than I love any one place. My home is with you, wherever the Lord leads you.”
“That means more to me than you can know, Corrie.”
“I do love you, Christopher—so very much.”
“And I love you, Corrie.”
Chapter 60
Another Long and Prayerful Ride
The first snows came early to the lower regions of the Sierras that year.
One morning in the first week of December we suddenly found ourselves blanketed in white. We’d felt the chill in the air the previous day, and the wind whipping up should have let us know something was coming. But the sky had been clear, and no one guessed such a big storm would move in so quickly.
Then, just as quickly, the storm was gone. The weather warmed right back up, and within days the snow was gone, too.
I knew what it would be like up in the higher elevations—bright and fragrant, the ground wet, snow still lying deep in the shadows and woodsy places. It was one of those ra
re times when, if you got high enough, everything would be white and bright and glistening, yet when the sun beat down, the air would be warm enough to ride in without a coat.
I knew I needed a long ride by myself, and this was the perfect opportunity for it!
Being married meant I’d had a lot less time alone, for myself. But marrying Christopher hadn’t changed who I was and what I was like inside. There were times when I had to retreat back into the quiet places that had before been reserved only for the Lord and me.
Now Christopher shared my heart. In a sense, three people lived inside of me: myself, Christopher, and the Lord. Yet sometimes I still found that I had to go down there and talk something over with the Lord that I couldn’t even let Christopher in on.
I would tell him when it was all over, of course—we were committed to talking to one another about everything. But there are certain inner battles you must initially fight alone . . . and this was one of those for me.
Once I realized that, I understood a little better why Christopher hadn’t been able to talk to me when he was first wrestling with the question of whether we needed to leave. At the same time, I really wished he’d been able to talk to me sooner. I suppose we still had a lot to learn about communicating with each other.
The main part of my struggle now was: I didn’t want to go to the East.
There is just no other way to say it.
Try as I had ever since Christopher had told me of his decision, and as much as I had prayed, I could not come anywhere near being happy about it. I still didn’t want to go.
For years I had done what I’d wanted. Of course, I had tried to do what God wanted. But all my life since coming to California and since Ma had died, I’d really been answerable to no one else.
Now all of a sudden here was someone else telling me what we were going to do—something I didn’t want to do. Of course I trusted Christopher, and I loved him more than I could have imagined loving anyone. But that didn’t change the fact that I didn’t want to go. It was hard to be told what to do, even by the man I loved and trusted more than anyone in this world.
The Braxtons of Miracle Springs Page 24