by Leisha Kelly
Eliza pulled my sleeve and pointed out a small herd of cows grazing placidly within a fenced pasture. So quickly we were across the river and into the colorful leaves and drying cornfields of Illinois farmland on the other side. I did my best to smile and nod pleasantly for my daughter’s sake, though the train’s steady speed was unnerving. Thirty miles an hour? I couldn’t be sure. It might have been even more. What would happen should one of those cows escape its fence and wander onto the track? I shuddered to think about it.
Ellie looked into my face for a moment, as though she sensed the unrest inside me. But she broke into a tender smile. “This is fun,” she said softly. “Ill’noy’s gonna be lovely.”
There was that word again. So many things were “lovely” to Eliza lately. But that was better than “blessed,” her favorite word just a few short weeks ago. Hearing “blessed” so often had been a trial for me, a dismal struggle with my faltering faith because it constantly reminded me of God and what he could do, or should do. Or should have done.
John and I had wanted a big family. I’d always wanted a big family. And despite our hopes and prayers, that dream had been brutally stolen away. Now Eliza and I had nothing but lack. How long would it be before she grew hungry, if she wasn’t already? Hopefully, her excitement with the trip and the sights would keep her from noticing. It was long past lunchtime. But we hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and I’d had no money to provide food to bring along, nor even a penny to purchase any once the train was stopped. We’d be leaning on Aunt Marigold’s mercies indeed.
Eliza should have been able to enjoy a day at school like other children and then come home to a warm house and generous supper. But I couldn’t give her any of that yet. She would’ve started school in St. Louis if we hadn’t become homeless. But the beginning of first grade could be such a crucial time. I just couldn’t send her off for such a new thing when I didn’t know from one day to the next where we’d be. Hopefully, she could begin in Aunt Marigold’s town. And hopefully, missing the first few days would not be a problem and she wouldn’t be set back a year.
Taking Eliza’s hand to hold, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back again. I really should pray. The way Mother had taught me and John had always encouraged me. The compulsion was strong, but I still resisted. I’d been able to believe in prayer once. But I was afraid now. If I dared try again only to find disappointment, I wasn’t sure how I could take it. I hadn’t been able to pray aloud since John died for fear that Ellie would be hurt if the prayer weren’t answered. That was bad enough. But I hadn’t prayed at all since losing the baby. And silence toward heaven grew increasingly painful. Why should I pray? What had it gained us? And yet my guilt only grew stronger over not doing so. It wasn’t fair.
Eliza was quiet, looking out the window, leaving me to my thoughts. But eventually, the weariness of the day won out as she turned and snuggled with her head on my lap. I stroked her generous curls, wondering if she already knew that asking about dinner would gain her nothing. She seemed so content, so at peace. How was it possible? She was an amazing child, to be without her daddy and yet to remain so cheerful, so appreciative of everything around her.
If I could just be more like her! Maybe I could get past our losses and find real hope in making a new life.
I combed through her pretty hair with my fingers, at the same time watching her face. So peaceful, so trusting. She did not seem to have the slightest doubt that Marigold would welcome us and everything would work out beautifully for us there. She’s not like me. She’s like her father. Fearless and confident. Unshaken even in hard times.
I could see out of the corner of my eye that someone had approached in the narrow aisle, but I did not look up.
“Excuse me.”
The unexpected voice was jarring, and I found myself resenting the interruption. Who would disturb my solitude with my daughter or have reason to seek my attention on the train? Reluctantly, I looked up into the face of an elderly woman from a seat a few rows in front of us.
“Excuse me,” she said again, passing a large orange between her hands. “We get off at the next stop, and we just won’t be needing this.” She extended the orange in my direction. “My husband and I thought your little girl might like to have it.”
I could barely respond. I’d have liked nothing more than to claim the orange before the woman changed her mind. I’d wanted desperately to be able to offer Eliza something to eat. But a gift from strangers?
“Are you sure?” I asked the woman quickly. “Wouldn’t you use it later if you took it with you?”
“No. If we eat it now, it’ll spoil dinner with my niece. And if we take it along to that household, it’ll cause a ruckus over how to split it among her seven children. Better to share it with someone who might need and appreciate it now. Does your little girl like oranges?”
Eliza had opened her eyes and was looking up at the woman with a smile, but she didn’t respond.
“Y-yes,” I answered, receiving the gift with a shaking hand. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Have a wonderful trip.”
The train was beginning to slow, and the old woman and her husband made their way to the end of the car. I watched them, still holding the orange. How could they have known our need? Did we look so poor? Could complete strangers read our situation that well?
Eliza sat up, her eyes shining and her face aglow with excitement. “Mommy! God is good to us! I prayed! I asked him for something to eat, and he sent us this orange right away! Can we open it up? Right now?”
I stared at her, barely able to keep back tears. God had answered her prayer so readily? Sure, it was a good thing. The dear child needed a decent meal, and this would at least keep her from going completely hungry. But I felt anger stirring in me, deep and bitter. You think this is enough, do you, God? One orange? In the face of all our need? I begged you! I cried and prayed that you wouldn’t take first her grandmother, then her father, then her baby brother! And now you decide to send us one orange?
“Mommy?” Ellie repeated. “Can we open it?”
She looked so happy, so hopeful, her joy tempered only slightly with concern for the look that must have been on my face. I was practically shaking inside, afraid of my own feelings, yet unable and unwilling to change them. But I must not let her know. I must not pass along to Ellie the worry of my resentment and ingratitude when she was feeling so . . . blessed.
“Of course,” I told her, careful to smile. “I will peel it for you right away.”
“For us, Mommy,” she corrected. “I prayed for us both to get something to eat.”
I could not stop the tears from filling my eyes now as I tore into the orange rind with my fingernails. My precious, saintly daughter intended to give me half. And for fear that the tears would take charge, I could not tell her that I couldn’t eat what she alone had gained by her prayer of faith. I had no right.
“Isn’t God good?” she went on. “I never, ever seen a prayer answered so fast before.”
Neither have I, my restless, embittered mind answered, fortunately not aloud. Ellie was watching my face, keenly aware of my tears.
“Have you got real hungry since this morning?” she asked.
I shook my head, miserable with the understanding that she’d probably been suffering in silence. I was hungry. But I couldn’t admit it to her now. Setting the bits of rind aside, I pulled segments of the orange apart and gave her the first one. It looked so juicy and sweet. I expected her to eat the first bite quickly, but she paused, her face lit again with a smile. “Thank you, Jesus, for sending an orange when we needed one.”
Now she was ready to eat. But not quickly as I’d expected. She took small bites, savoring, making it last.
“You have some, Mommy.”
I shook my head again and kept passing her the orange segments, one by one. “I’m not really hungry, dear.” It was a lie, but she’d have no way of knowing that. I was glad for her to eat it. I wanted her to eat
it all, though some fire of indignation still burned hotly within me that God would do this – send just this little gift now, as though that could make up for all the pain, all the negligence, of the last months.
Today you hear? my mind raged on. Where were you in November when John was killed? Where were you in the winter when the baby and I became so sick? You brought John through the war only to come home and die the way he did! And you brought little Johnny James through a difficult childbirth only to die such a few short months later! You left Ellie and me alone, not knowing how to go on! And now – now you hear?
My own depth of anger frightened me. I didn’t know the Scriptures very well, but there must surely be a warning there about railing and complaining against God. I knew it wasn’t right. It scared me to be in such a place, yet I couldn’t let it go. It’s not fair, God! You’re not fair!
How dare I be this way? Mother would be horrified at me. John too. They would think that I should cheerfully accept everything that had happened and keep on thanking God.
Eliza was down to the last orange piece. She had tried to offer me several others, but I turned them down. “Please, Mommy,” she suddenly begged. “Please eat this one. I want you to know how sweet it is.”
Her bold words seemed almost like the voice of God telling me to open my heart and listen. I was missing something, something he wanted me to know. I swallowed hard.
“Please, Mommy.”
How could I continue to refuse? She looked very near tears. Because of me. Finally, I nodded. She’d prayed for food for both of us. She did not want me to deny her answered prayer and make it only half complete. “All right,” I acquiesced. “It would be nice to have a taste.”
I ate the orange slice slowly as Eliza watched my every move. “Wonderful,” I said when I was done. “Imagine such a sweet orange in the middle of the country in September. I wonder where they got it?”
She laughed. “It doesn’t matter, Mommy. We got it from God. Isn’t he good?”
She was waiting for my answer. I nodded, knowing it was the best I could do to respond. I would not be able to argue the point with her. In a way, I still wanted to believe it myself. But my pain had built a formidable wall that grew broader and higher with each passing day. I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel the presence of heaven unhindered again.
2
Leah
It would have been nicer had we been able to arrive in Andersonville in the daylight. But fortunately it was such a small town that I’d surely be able to find the proper address without much trouble even at night. Ellie had dozed on the train and was dreadfully sleepy when it came time to step off. That bothered me considerably. How could I manage a drowsy girl and two large bags? What if one of us tripped on the step or caught our skirt on something? What if the train was in too much of a hurry to notice and started moving before we could step away?
I needn’t have worried. One of the railway workers apparently had a home in this town. He was getting off the train at this stop and offered to carry my bags to the station platform when he saw me struggling with my arms so full. “Thank you so much,” I told him.
Eliza stared up at the stranger but didn’t say a word. I was glad to have my hands free. She was so groggy she nearly stumbled as we left the railcar. I took her in both hands and guided her safely down.
This station was nothing like the one in St. Louis. It was much smaller, and no crowd stood waiting. No one at all. I’d expected that, of course. Though I’d written Aunt Marigold weeks ago to say that we might come, I’d had no idea whether it would be practical for her to meet us, so I hadn’t asked. I hadn’t even told her the day of our arrival, because when I’d written her, I wasn’t sure about the whole thing. If there’d been any way for us in St. Louis, I might have taken it.
I couldn’t see much of the little town beyond the depot, but the moon shone almost full, and it was such a beautiful evening that I told myself this would prove to be a pleasant place. A very large windmill stood not far away. A row of businesses lined the narrow street in the opposite direction.
The stranger had just set my bags down, and I was wondering where Malcolm Street might be when he looked around a bit and shook his head. “Someone coming to meet you? Doesn’t look to be anyone here yet.”
I wasn’t sure at first how to respond. But he could see for himself that nobody was hurrying to greet us. And I did not want to appear the least bit troubled by that. “No, sir. We’re not expecting anyone. But we’ll be fine from here alone. Thank you very much for your kind help.”
Still holding one of Ellie’s hands, I leaned and picked up a bag.
“Um . . .” He reached to lift the second bag again before I could get to it. “You mean to walk to wherever you’re going?”
I did not like his persistence, nor his bold reluctance to turn loose of my luggage.
“We’ve made it this far, sir. I’m sure it won’t be difficult for us to walk the rest of the way.”
He tilted his head sideways a bit. “What street you headed for?”
What if he followed us? What if he refused to give up my bag? The train was already beginning to move away, and there was no sign of anyone on these sleepy streets. How could I get this man to leave us alone? “I am not in the habit of telling strangers my personal affairs,” I told him coolly.
He smiled. “Maybe not. But I daresay you could use some help out here with so much to tote. I don’t mind packing the baggage if you’re not going far. Too many blocks, though, and I’d bang on Melvin’s door right across the street there and ask him to take you in his truck. Save you both some walking.”
“No, thank you, sir,” I said as firmly as I could. “There’s no need to disturb a complete stranger. And we’ll be quite all right without your help, though I do appreciate the offer. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your family. Good night.” I tried to take my bag from his hand, but he wouldn’t turn loose of it.
“Don’t have much family to speak of. Just an elderly aunt. And I’m trying to save you some trouble, ma’am. Your little girl there looks awfully tired.”
I was well aware of Eliza’s exhaustion as well as my own. And I knew we would be far more exhausted by the time we reached Aunt Marigold’s door. It wouldn’t be difficult once we found the right street, but that could take a while in the dark. Oh, why hadn’t the train schedule brought us here in daylight? I had considered trying to rest the night right here at the depot and locating the boardinghouse in the morning, but I couldn’t admit such a thing to this forward fellow.
“We’ll be fine, I assure you,” I insisted again. “It was very kind of you to help us off the train, but you’ve no reason to concern yourself further.”
He was quiet for a moment, but he still didn’t let go of my bag. What now? I had not expected such a predicament as this. Could I trust him to help us? How could I be sure he didn’t have something less chivalrous in mind?
“Look, ma’am,” he finally answered. “Maybe you’re perfectly comfortable, and maybe I ought to leave you and the youngster to find your own way. But I’m walking home from here myself. Forgive me for saying – it wouldn’t seem right to leave you and your little girl out after dark without any help. So just point the way or start walking. Your bags aren’t heavy, and it’s a small town. I’ll pack them for you. Won’t take long for me to see you to whatever door’s waiting and go home from there. Or if you won’t let me do that, I’ll just have to follow to make sure you make it where you’re going all right.”
His response may have been sincere, but it rankled me nonetheless. “I told you. We’ll be fine. I am not in the habit of – ”
“Taking help from strangers. Obviously.”
I stared. Eliza pulled at my wrist, but when I turned to her, she didn’t say anything. I leaned to take her into my arms for a moment, and before I could speak, the man was saying something more.
“Maybe you’re scared of me. I understand. But if you’re really frightened of a stranger out h
ere at night, all the more reason not to be walking alone. That might not make sense to you, but it does to me.” He set my bag down, but then he sat on it. “Look. I’m willing to help you. But if you won’t have it, I’ll knock on Mel’s door. Maybe you’d let him and his wife take you home. Maybe you’d be more comfortable then. It’s your choice.”
I could tell he was stubborn and I was stuck. He was going to have his way, one way or the other. But for some reason, that made me less apprehensive than I was before. “Well, if you must insist, we are going to Malcolm Street. To a boardinghouse there.”
“Really?” He cocked his head again in the moonlight. “That’s easy. No sense bothering Mel and Dotty for that. They’d think I’d lost my mind.” He stood up and lifted my bag, then took the other from me and threw it over his shoulder. “Can you and the little girl keep up all right? It’s only four blocks.”
I pretended I’d known that all along. “Of course.”
He started off toward the row of businesses with long strides, and Eliza and I indeed had a struggle to not be left behind. For a moment I worried that he might purposely abscond with my bags and lose us, but he soon glanced behind him and slowed a bit.
“So what brings you to Andersonville?” he quizzed. “Can’t say we get travelers here every day just to stop over at our illustrious boardinghouse. How’d you even hear of the place?”
“The proprietor invited us,” I told him, feeling generous to share even that much information.
“Really?” he asked again. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t say.”
He walked on a few steps and then laughed. “All right, then. What’s your name?”
“I am unconvinced that you need to know any more of my business.”
He smiled. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Unconvinced. My name is Josiah Walsh.”
I suppose he thought he was being pleasantly funny. I might have told him otherwise, but he spoke again before I had the chance. “So tell me, the proprietor you were talking about – is she expecting you tonight?”