by Leisha Kelly
“Is Daddy okay?” Sarah suddenly asked me.
“Of course, he’s okay. He just went with Rorey’s daddy to do the milking and such.” Of course, that was all it was. The men would explain their delay as soon as they got here, which was bound to be any minute.
But Sarah just looked me, less than satisfied. She had no reason, no reason at all, to seem so worried all of a sudden. But she was. And Rorey had no reason to be crying like this. At least no new reason. I caught myself impatient with the both of them and took a deep breath. Lord, we’re all in your hands. Wherever the men are, they’re in your hands too.
Suddenly a song seemed to be filling me from the inside. Like it was Emma singing it, like we were back to the day she’d sung it before, coming home from church in the sunshine, with me knowing how poorly she’d felt that day.
“Great is thy faithfulness, O God my Father…”
She’d started so quiet. But she seemed to just gain strength as she went on, and she wasn’t quiet for long. “Thou changest not, thy compassions they fail not! As thou hast been, thou forever wilt be…”
I could almost hear her resonant voice singing the glorious hymn. “Great is thy faithfulness! Great is thy faithfulness! Morning by morning new mercies I see! All I have needed thy hand hath provided! Great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me!”
How Emma had loved that song! It summed up the way she’d looked at everything, her answer to anything that came her way. God’s presence. God’s provision. God’s mercy.
Why can’t I be more like her, Lord? After all you’ve done to bring us through such terrible trials so smoothly, why haven’t I rejoiced? Oh, God, you know what the future holds. You know our days and all the good that you have planned. I rest in you. The way I should have been doing all along, I rest in you. We’ll manage, no matter how long the kids are here, no matter what happens. Because you are here, faithful Father God. You are here, and I cannot doubt it. I cannot doubt the goodness that brought us here, that put so much of Emma in my heart and made me love this sometimes difficult family.
I wasn’t prepared when the boys came bursting in, carrying someone between them. I thought it was George. But George came in right behind, shouting out orders, taking charge.
“Get him by the fire! Quick! Get them wet clothes off him! Get blankets! Go on! Hurry!”
He was talking to everybody more than anybody in particular. For one quick, irrational moment, I thought, Where’s Samuel? And then I saw that the icy gray figure they were hustling past me was Samuel.
“Mommy!” Sarah screamed.
“Get towels,” I told her. “Run now.” She was scared, but I couldn’t address it. “Robert,” I ordered, “you run up and bring down every blanket you can carry!”
I saw myself then in Emma’s room, yanking all the covers off her bed, without even knowing how I’d gotten in there. And then I was running to the fireside, where George and his big boys were pulling off Samuel’s dripping coat and boots.
“He broke through the ice, ma’am,” George was saying as I struggled to pull the covers around my Samuel. Oh, God, how could this happen?
“I—I shoulda been watchin’ where he walked to,” George said on. “But tell the truth, I wouldn’t a’ known neither that the ice weren’t solid. Awful sorry, ma’am. Truth told.”
He looked pretty pale himself and was at least partly wet. He must’ve managed somehow to pull Samuel out, God have mercy.
Mercy. Faithfulness. Yes.
“Sammy? Can you hear me?”
He was shivering. He was breathing. But he didn’t answer, and I couldn’t be sure he’d heard me. He hadn’t opened his eyes.
“Lay a couple a’ them towels right along the edge of the screen here, right close to the fire to get ’em warm,” George was telling my daughter. Then he turned to me. “Got to pull ever’thin’ off him, ma’am, ’fore the fire an’ the blankets can do their job. He’s soaked clear to the skin.”
“Yes.” Feeling numb, I helped him pull the wet things off my husband, cover him again completely, and start rubbing warmth into his arms and legs.
Oh, God, I thought. Emma rubbed Wilametta so fruitlessly. We tried so hard. And now Sammy is laying here all pale.
Sarah came up at my shoulder, her teary eyes just glancing at mine before she started in rubbing her father too. Robert was throwing more wood on the fire. Seemed like everybody was doing something.
“He gonna die?” Rorey asked timidly.
“Nah,” George answered immediately. “Nah, he’s a tough bird, this ’un. He’ll be up again afore long, keepin’ an eye out for me.”
There was something about the way he said it. And the deep look in his eyes. I wouldn’t have imagined it to be so, especially after the way George had been lately. But he really, really cared.
“Was he under long?” I dared ask him.
“Didn’t seem like long, ma’am, but I can’t say. Done the best I could. Breathed on his own, he did. That was the most a’ my worry.”
To think of Samuel in that icy pond! It was shallow enough around the edges, but ten feet in, it was deep enough to baptize, and in the middle easily over a man’s head. He might’ve been lost. He might’ve slipped beneath the ice, where George couldn’t reach him.
“Thank you,” I managed to tell him. “I’m so glad you were there.”
He shook his head. “He wouldn’t a’ been there if it weren’t for me. Dad blame it all if we ain’t some kinda brothers after today.”
Samuel didn’t wake. And I kept thinking, Shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t he have already, even before they got him to the house? In a near-drowning, once the person’s breathing, doesn’t he wake up?
“Sammy?” I tried whispering to him.
“You know,” George told me, “if it weren’t for those two-by-sixes stuck out there to the post, I couldn’t a’ reached him without falling in my own self. Give us a safe track clear to the shore. Lucky there was snow knocked off, or I couldn’t a’ even seed where they was.”
Two-by-sixes jutting out over the water instead of a dock. The Hammond boys fished from them in the summertime. But snow knocked off? Maybe Samuel had tripped on them. Or worse.
“Was he right next to them?”
“Yeah. Arm’s length. Good thing too.”
A chill working through me, I reached my hand ever so gently to the back of Samuel’s head. Under his thick, dark hair behind his left ear I felt what I’d dreaded. A welt, long and swollen, where he must’ve struck his head. Pulling my hand away, I saw just an inkling of blood across my fingers, and it turned me cold.
“George, see if you can get Barrett Post to fetch the doctor for us.”
He looked at me first in surprise, then with a sturdy sort of resolve. “Yes, ma’am.”
He was up and almost out the door when Joe stopped him. “Your coat’s wet, Pa. I’ll go.”
George shook his head. “I’ll be fine. But you can come with me.”
It seemed like hours before they returned. Samuel didn’t stir, and we were all pretty restless in the interval. Sarah cuddled up against her daddy, crying. I felt like crying too, but strangely for her pain more than for Samuel. He’d be fine. He had to be.
“Mom?” Robert was asking. “Why does bad stuff keep happening?”
I didn’t really have an answer for that, but I had to tell him something. “I don’t know, honey. But your father’ll be all right. I know he will.”
“We better pray for him,” Franky said.
“Yes. That’s the thing to do.” I looked around at the little faces around me. “Don’t be afraid, all right? God is still here with us.”
“That didn’t help Mama,” Willy said cynically.
“Yes, it did. She had perfect peace.”
I prayed with children gathered all around me. Lizbeth was giving the baby a bottle, and Sam Hammond was holding little Berty in his lap.
“I don’t want my birthday cake,” Rorey said for the second time. “Don’t want tu
rkey pie neither if he don’t wake up.”
“He’ll wake up,” Robert insisted. “He’ll be up before the doctor gets here.”
We were all relieved when George and Joe came back. Of course, the doctor wasn’t with them, not yet. But that he was sent for was some comfort at least.
“He any better?” George asked right away.
“He’s warmer,” I told him, but there wasn’t much else I could say.
“Barrett’s gettin’ a move on pretty quick. Weather’s good an’ clear now too. His sleigh’ll get through no problem. Doctor oughta be here some time this afternoon.”
I just nodded.
“Why don’t you sit down, Mrs. Wortham?” he suggested. “You’re lookin’ kinda tired or somethin’.”
I shook my head. “I’m not the one that just walked all that way through the snow.”
Just the same, he brought me a chair, but I didn’t sit in it. “I have to get dinner for all of you.”
“I’ll set everything out, Mrs. Wortham,” Lizbeth said quickly. “Don’t you worry about it.”
I went over to the fire where Samuel still lay with pillows propped under his head and shoulders. Sarah was at his side, and I knelt beside her. “Sammy,” I said. “It’s time you wake up. You’re worrying the children.”
“Why’s he sleepin’ so long?” Sarah asked.
“Sometimes that happens when someone hits their head, honey.”
“Berty didn’t sleep at all when he fell on the steps. And he bumped his head.”
“That’s some different.”
“But, Mommy—”
Samuel moved his hand, just a little. Sarah saw it too and didn’t finish what she’d started to say. He opened his eyes slowly, looking first at her, then at me.
“Daddy!” Sarah squealed. “Is you all better?”
Sam looked a little confused. “Did…George…”
He couldn’t seem to finish.
“Yes. Two of the boys helped, but he already had you out of the pond.” I took his hand, delighted beyond measure that he was conscious and talking.
“You okay, Daddy?” Sarah asked.
“Head’s pounding, pumpkin.” He looked at me. “Ice wasn’t solid.”
“I know. George told me.”
“Bet you didn’t know…you married somebody so stupid.”
“Oh, hush. I’m just glad you’re still here.” Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I wiped them away, but he’d seen.
“Sorry, honey. For worrying you.”
“It was just an accident, Sammy! You don’t have to be sorry! I’ll make you some tea a minute.”
He didn’t answer me, just seemed to be looking around the room. “Where’s George?”
“Right here…” He’d been behind me, but when I turned around, he wasn’t there.
“On the porch,” Franky reported. “I seen him go out.”
“He went and sent Barrett Post after the doctor for you,” I told Samuel.
He tried to sit up, but I saw the pain in his face.
“Please lie back, Sammy. He’s all right.”
Kirk went to the back door, and I knew he was checking, just to see. But I didn’t expect to hear what he said when he came back.
“He’s cryin’.” He didn’t seem to know what to think.
Lizbeth nodded, as if she had more of an understanding on it than the rest of us did. “Maybe he’ll be ready for some birthday cake afore long. If he can cry, he can feel better after, and then we can go on with today, like we’re s’posed to.”
“He ain’t gonna feel better!” Willy protested. “It ain’t fair, that’s what! For Mr. Wortham to get better when Mama didn’t!”
Lizbeth shook her head. “Hush! Folks is funny sometimes. They can cry happy an’ sad at the same time. Sure, he’s hurt over Mama! But he’s glad it’s comin’ out okay today, an’ so am I. Our Pa’s a hero, ain’t he, Mrs. Wortham? He saved Mr. Wortham’s life! Mama would be proud a’ him. She’d want him to stay right here an’ be a protector for every one a’ us—you all too. Ain’t that right, Mrs. Wortham? Mr. Wortham?”
I looked at Samuel, and he looked at me. “He’s a hero all right,” I told her.
Samuel managed a nod. “Looks like I could use all the help I can get.”
“Pa!” Rorey hollered, suddenly excited by such words. She picked up her doll and raced for the porch. “You’s gonna be our portector, Pa! You’s gonna be a hero!”
I had to smile, and Sammy squeezed my hand. “Thank you, Jesus,” he whispered.
Much to Samuel’s delight, the children were all over George for the rest of the afternoon. And when Barrett Post and the doctor finally came in, we were all in one big circle spread across the sitting room floor, eating Rorey’s birthday cake.
I’d gotten dry clothes for Samuel. He wasn’t quite feeling like eating yet, but he was strong enough to hold Sarah on his lap. And for a moment, Barrett and the doctor just stood there looking at us.
“Feeling better, I take it?” the doctor asked Samuel.
“Yes, sir. Hurting still. Light-headed if I try to get up. So I haven’t moved much.”
“Pa’s a hero,” Harry carefully pointed out.
Doctor Howell barely glanced his way. “I heard some such.” He knelt beside Samuel, took a good look in his eyes, and carefully examined the goose egg on the back of his head. “Shouldn’t move much for a few days,” he told Sam. “Got you some concussion here. Doesn’t seem to be any ill effect from the ice water, though. You’re a lucky gent, you are.”
“Wasn’t luck,” Samuel told him. “Providence. We’ve had God’s help this whole day.” He looked at George. There wasn’t a word between them, but somehow there didn’t need to be.
“The Almighty has a way a’ showin’ his hand,” George said in agreement. “Even when we’s too dull to wanna look.”
I saw Mr. Post swallow hard and look down at his boots. He didn’t say anything, not until the doctor was done and gone back out the door.
“Mama said once…” he started, and then hesitated. “Mama said when things is hard, that’s when God does his miracles, ’cause there ain’t nobody standin’ in the way thinkin’ they can do better.”
“Your mother knew what she was talking about,” I agreed with him. “He does the most for people who know they need him.”
“Want some cake?” Rorey offered. “It’s my birthday.”
Barrett looked like he could almost sink into the floor. “I been angry forty years, George Hammond, an’ here you sit eatin’ cake an’ celebratin’! Blast it all! I unnerstood what you was going through before, but…but—”
“Had to lay it down,” George said. “Or die.”
“But how d’you lay it down?” Barrett asked, looking truly shaken.
“I dunno. An’ I ain’t sayin’ I’m doin’ so well. But if God can handle Wilametta up there, maybe he can handle the rest a’ us too. Maybe there’s some reason me still bein’ here.”
Barrett shook his head. “I didn’t know how long it’d be afore I’d hear you in your right mind.”
“Don’t know how my mind is yet,” George admitted. “But I’m here. Gotta be a pa again too.”
Barrett turned his eyes to me. “You been prayin’ for us, ain’t you, Mrs. Wortham?”
“Yes,” I admitted, wondering why he would think to ask.
“Louise said you’d take it up, now Emma’s gone. Shoot, Louise said she’s feelin’ like prayin’ too, just thinkin’ a’ Emma takin’ so much stock in it.”
“Can’t hurt ya,” George told him. “Maybe you’ll quit bein’ s’ angry, you ol’ cuss.”
His words surprised me, but then I remembered how they’d bantered in easier times, in the summer and at harvest, ribbing each other like enemies though we all knew they were friends.
“Maybe I’ll come to church one of these days,” Barrett said. “See what all the fuss is about.”
“Thanks,” George told him then. “For the Christma
s turkey.”
“An’ the fixin’s,” Lizbeth added.
“Yeah,” said little Harry. “Yummy!”
“Our pleasure to do it,” Barrett said and turned to go.
But Sam Hammond, leaning against the door frame, suddenly spoke up. “Maybe you oughta pray while you’re here. Seems like in this world there ain’t nothing sure.”
His words so surprised us that the whole room got quiet.
“I know one thing,” Sam continued. “Mama wanted me to believe, an’ it sounds like your mama wanted the same thing from you. It prob’ly ain’t gonna set real well either one a’ us decidin’ we know better.”
“You all plan this out ahead?” Barrett questioned.
“Nope.” It was Willy that answered, and Barrett just looked at the boy a while.
“I do gotta do it,” Barrett said finally. “I know I gotta do it.”
Franky suddenly rose up on his knees, excited. “Mrs. Gray says you jus’ tell Jesus you wanna be his instead a’ your own. Jus’ tell him you’s glad he died for ya.”
Barrett just stood and stared. “What are you doin’, George? Raisin’ up a whole passel a’ preachers?”
“Nah. That was Wila’s doin’. Always said it sure would be nice if one or more of ’em took to the cloth.”
And just like that, Barrett prayed. Right there in front of all of us. He prayed and accepted the Lord and told George how much he cared and Samuel how glad he was that he was doing all right.
“Keep up the good work,” he told me as he left. “I’ll tell Louisey ’bout this. Don’t know if she’ll laugh or cry.”
George went out with him to the sleigh. And when he came back inside, he stood in the doorway for a minute, shaking his head. “Barrett praying,” he said, looking at Samuel. “If that don’t beat all.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Samuel
Albert Graham came two days later and got his car stuck in a melting drift about a quarter mile down the road. I was asleep on a pillow when the noise of the door and the commotion woke me and set my head to throbbing again.