by Janette Oke
Mrs. Trent had been right about the neighborhood mothers and daughters. Anna had never seen so many new bonnets and new frocks turn up as she did the second Sunday the young interim pastor preached. Some girls had even discarded their simple braids and had their hair pinned up in becoming fashion. Anna looked at her lifelong friends and blinked in unbelief, but they only smiled coyly as though quite unaware of what they were doing or why they were doing it.
It didn’t matter to Anna, but she wondered how the young man felt about all the flurry of excitement and silliness.
After the morning service—which included another fine sermon, this time on the young man Joseph—Anna waited, books in hand. She had finished both of them, reading the one to as many of the family members as wished to listen. The second one she had pored over after she had retired to her own bedroom at night. It was a wonderful book about Bible times and people, and she had learned so much about the culture of the day.
Now she was waiting for an exchange. But she could not interrupt the conversations of other parishioners.
“You may wait until you get your book,” her mother had told her. “We’ll go on ahead, and I’ll get dinner on the stove.”
Anna waited—impatiently, for every moment of delay cut into her afternoon reading time.
Finally the last family took departure, and the young man turned from the steps of the little church and moved toward the front of the small sanctuary. He did not see Anna waiting until she cleared her throat.
“Anna. I didn’t realize you wished to speak with me,” he said quickly.
“Not speak,” faltered Anna. “I . . . I just need to . . . to exchange these books—with your permission, please.”
He eyed the books she held out to him.
“You didn’t like it?” he asked, indicating the second volume, the thicker of the two he had given her.
“Oh, I did—very much. I would have read it over and over again—if I’d had the time. But I would like to get on to the others and—and—”
“You did read it?”
Anna nodded.
“All of it?” His eyebrow raised in surprise.
She nodded again.
For a moment he seemed to question if the young girl was telling the truth, but her eyes returned his gaze, honest and open.
“You are a remarkable youngster,” he said with admiration and then continued. “Did you understand it?”
“I . . . I think I did. At least most of it. I . . . I wasn’t sure when I came to the part about . . . about the Incarnation. About the way they explained it. I mean, I know Mary was Jesus’ mother, and God, by His Spirit, was His father, but I couldn’t understand some of the words they used. I mean—well—I guess I find it hard to understand—but—but easy to believe.”
He smiled. One of his full, approving smiles. “That is faith,” he said to her. “Sometimes it is much easier to just believe without trying too hard to understand—at least all at once. God’s ways are so far above man’s ways that we can’t always understand them with our finite minds. We need to just accept things as He gives them to us.”
Anna nodded. She was sure he was right—but she wasn’t sure just what he was saying, either.
“So you want a new book?” he was asking.
“If—if I could please,” she answered.
“Come,” he invited. “You can pick your own.”
Anna would have liked to linger over the choosing, but she knew her mother was by now needing her help with the Sunday dinner. She let her gaze slide over the titles and settled quickly on a new book.
“Do you read this to the family?” he asked in surprise.
She shook her head. “I—I don’t think the little ones would—would understand some of these words,” she admitted.
He smiled softly. “I don’t think they would either,” he agreed. “Why don’t you pick another of those from the top shelf. Maybe this one. Stories of Jesus’ Ministry. Might they like that?”
“Oh, I’m sure they would,” breathed Anna as she reached for the book. She had almost, in her eagerness for knowledge, chosen selfishly. Now she would have a book to study and a book to read to the rest of the family.
She thanked the young man profusely and turned to go.
“Anna,” he called after her as she was about to leave. “What can you tell me about the Sturgeon family? I’m invited there for dinner.”
Anna turned to him. “They live on the Main Road . . . about—”
“I know where they live,” he explained gently. “Tell me about them.”
Anna didn’t know what to say. She moistened her lips and thought for a minute. What did he wish to know?
“They—they have four girls—” she began, but before she could even go on he was nodding his head.
“I thought as much,” he said wryly and suddenly she thought he looked weary. Perhaps he had been spending too many hours over the stack of books on his kitchen table, concentrating too hard on his Sunday sermon preparation.
Chapter Four
A Brief Summer
Anna spent the summer listening to soul-stirring sermons and drawing deeply from the well of knowledge in the books she regularly selected from the young interim pastor’s library. He knew as he shook hands with his parishioners that when he turned from the last one, she would be quietly waiting for him. Always he had a question or two about the last books she had borrowed, and she often amazed him with her perceptive comments and hunger for knowledge.
“What does it mean to be sanctified?” she asked him one Sunday. And another Sunday, “What is your position on pre-destination?” And still on another, “Do you believe that Christ will return pre-tribulation, mid-tribulation or post-tribulation?”
He scarcely knew how to answer some of her candid questions, but he was always honest and straightforward. If he was in the position of still sorting through some issue for himself, he told her so. Then he invited her comments on her studying. Anna was hesitant to share her opinions, and he had to draw her out. There was so much she didn’t know. She was thankful for books that could give her enlightenment, even though the authors often disagreed between them on interpretations. Still, they did give insight.
But Anna was panicky that she would never make it through the big stack of books before the summer ended. Soon the interim pastor would be leaving for the city, wherever it was, where his seminary was situated, taking his supply of books with him. She hated to let them go. But of course she would welcome back the elderly pastor and his wife. Maybe she would even be able to discuss with them some of the things she had learned over the summer months.
More than ever, Anna wished she had been born a boy. If she had, she was quite sure she would have chosen to be a preacher. That way she could just go on studying and studying throughout her entire life. He had said that—and had told her on more than one occasion—a pastor must never, ever consider that he knows all there is to know.
“The more we study and want to learn, the more God reveals about himself,” he had told her. “That is how we grow and mature in our Christian walk. One must walk in the light of God’s Word, but how can we do that unless we know what the Word says and understand its meaning?”
He had written down verses of scripture that she was to look up in her own Bible when she reached home. She had found the verses. In fact, she had committed to memory some of them because she had considered the portions to be of such importance—and she would recite the verses softly to herself as she picked up a new book to study.
“Study to show thyself approved unto God” was one of her favorites. She was more than willing to agree with the scriptural admonition, throwing herself into the study books with heart and mind.
Anna was completely unaware of the glances that were cast her way as she waited for the young minister each Sunday. Girls older and prettier than she wished there were some way they could get equal attention. But neither Anna nor the young seminary student took notice. Their interest lay
only in the knowledge that they both sought and shared.
“This will be my last Sunday,” he said hesitantly. “I will miss our conversations. You have forced me to dig deeper than I have ever dug before.”
Anna looked up with surprise showing in her eyes. She didn’t understand the comment.
“You’ve asked some tough questions,” he explained. “I had to really study to find some satisfactory answers.”
“I—I didn’t know,” she began. “I’m sorry.”
He laughed then, a soft chuckle of amusement. “Oh, don’t be sorry,” he hastened to say. “It was good for me. I sort of feel like—well, like I’ve got a head start on the year of studies. This has been a great summer for me. I feel—well, blessed that I was asked to take over Reverend Angus’s work for the summer.”
Anna wished she could ask him when he would be leaving, but she felt that it would be improper.
“When will the Anguses be back?” she asked instead.
“Wednesday. Then I will leave the next morning. I start classes a week from tomorrow.”
Anna nodded. She had her answer. He and his books would soon be leaving. She dared not exchange the two she held for new ones. She wouldn’t have time to finish them and return them.
“Thank you. Thank you so much for sharing your books over the summer,” she said softly, holding out the two she held.
“You are more than welcome,” he assured her. “Just wait till I tell the fellows at seminary that a young girl kept me on my toes all summer. They won’t believe me.”
Anna smiled shyly. She wasn’t sure if his words were a compliment or merely teasing.
“I will miss you, Anna,” he said simply. “I’m sure that I’d get more out of my seminary classes if I had you at my elbow, urging me on.”
Anna found herself blushing. She knew she had no place in his seminary classes, and even the idea of being there made her embarrassed.
But he changed the topic quickly and surprised her by saying, “Would you like me to send you a new book now and then?”
“Oh . . . I couldn’t—” she stammered.
“I could mail one now and then—or send it out to you with the Anguses when they come to the city. They come in every now and then for a convention or meeting. Take one now and send it back with them sometime.”
“Oh, but I—”
“Go ahead,” he encouraged. “The Anguses will be glad to act as courier. Send it back with them whenever you are through with it, and I will send you something else.”
“If—if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Anna breathed, hardly able to believe the possibility.
“No trouble at all. I’ll be glad to,” he promised.
Anna chose a book as quickly as she could make her decision, then turned to him, unable to express her deep gratitude.
He held his hand out to her. “Goodbye, Anna,” he said simply. “I’ll be in touch.”
Anna went home, a book tucked beneath her arm. The summer hadn’t ended her study after all. She had a new book to read—and he promised that he would send another as soon as she was done with this one. Anna felt blessed indeed. The more she learned, the more she wanted to learn.
A busy fall and winter kept Anna busy with canning and taking in the garden, cooking for the harvest crew, and long days of tucking things in for winter. Evenings often found her with old mittens and socks to be darned or new ones to be knitted. Then her mother spent a few weeks in bed. The doctor called it pleurisy. Anna worried, but carried on the double burden of looking after the household.
She did not have as much time to spend reading as she had wished. The winter days were much shorter now, and even the long evenings seemed to get taken up with necessary activities.
But when she could, Anna returned to her books. True to his word, Austin Barker sent new books periodically. And with the books came brief letters telling of his seminary studies. Occasionally the letters asked questions of Anna. What did she think of such and such a chapter? What position did she feel one should take on a certain issue? What was her understanding of a certain text? Anna always answered as best she could, but she felt so inadequate even to be discussing such important topics with a seminary student.
Anna always returned the previously borrowed book immediately upon receipt of a new one. She didn’t wish to take advantage of his generosity.
Spring came. Anna heard the call of killdeers, the song of the robin. It would soon be time to plant the garden again. She loved the spring. Even loved the hard toil that it brought with it. It seemed to invigorate her—give her a new purpose in life. But she knew instinctively that it would mean less time in the books. Her mother needed her for the many household and garden tasks that awaited them.
Anna wondered that she had been humored for as long as she had. No other girl her age was given time to spend reading and studying. She felt deep indebtedness to her mother—and thankfulness to her father that he hadn’t interfered with the arrangement. She determined that she would not presume on her parents. She would allow herself one hour of study—at night—after the usual duties had been accomplished. And she would work doubly hard at the many tasks that needed to be cared for.
Anna did indeed work hard in the kitchen, the garden, and at the scrub board in the yard under the spreading Manitoba maple. Some nights she was much too tired to spend even one hour in reading. But she tried to make up for it on other evenings.
The boys were growing. Adam, having completed his eighth grade, was finished at the local school. He was now doing a man’s work at the side of his father.
Horace, the next in line, had taken over Adam’s chores, and each boy shifted up the line, taking on added responsibility. Even young Petey, now three, had been given some simple tasks to perform.
And Mrs. Trent leaned increasingly on Anna. Both as co-laborer and as companion. She talked while they worked together, her mind skipping from one topic to another. Anna’s active mind, often busy with her own thoughts, tried to concentrate so she might follow the conversation.
“That young minister isn’t coming back this summer. Mrs. Angus told me. I guess that means Nettie won’t get another chance at him. Mrs. Angus is slower than ever on that poor leg. Guess she won’t get time off this summer though. Expect she doesn’t have a granddaughter getting married this year. Too bad. The poor soul looks like she could use another rest. She works too hard. I told Mrs. Shehan that it isn’t right for the church to expect so much of her. We should have a younger pastor’s wife. ’Course that would mean a younger pastor. Wonder what his plans are when he finishes his seminary.”
Anna soon realized that her mother had gone full circle.
“You know his plans?” Mrs. Trent asked Anna abruptly.
Anna shook her head.
“He doesn’t mention them in his letters.”
“No,” said Anna.
“What does he write?”
“He tells about his studies. We—discuss the books. The teachings. What we think about certain ideas,” explained Anna truthfully.
Mrs. Trent seemed to dismiss the comment as either too deep to be understood or too boring to consider.
“This is his last year?”
Anna agreed that it was.
“Then he must plan on taking a pastorate next spring.”
“I would expect so,” said Anna, then continued. “He hasn’t said.”
“Wonder if he’d consider coming back here,” pondered Mrs. Trent. “He was a good preacher. Suppose he’ll be lookin’ for a big city church. Or they’ll be lookin’ for him. Even boys listened. Didn’t squirm nearly as much. Poor Pastor Angus. He is a dear, dear man of God—but he loses his train of thought every now and then.”
Anna’s thoughts returned to her mother’s earlier statement. It was true—some of her brothers had sat and listened to Austin Barker.
“Well, it would be worth looking into,” continued Mrs. Trent. “One never knows unless one tries. Why don’t you just sorta ask
him what his plans are in one of your letters?”
But Anna could never feel free to probe into the plans of the young minister. If he wished to share his thoughts regarding his future, he’d do so in his own time, she reasoned.
The second spring since Anna finished school drew near. Life continued on in the same way that it had, full of work that changed only with the season.
Anna still delivered the milk to the parsonage, taking full advantage of those enjoyable visits with the elderly parson and his wife.
And then one day she was surprised and confused by a turn in their conversation.
“We are going to the graduation ceremonies,” Mrs. Angus told her. “Mr. Barker has asked if it would be possible for us to take you with us.”
“Me?” exclaimed Anna incredulously.
“He said that you have a real interest in learning and might find it interesting to see a graduation ceremony. Would you like to go?”
“Well, I—I—I’ll have to ask Papa and Mama!” exclaimed Anna.
She was excited and scared at the same time. It would be wonderful to see a real graduation ceremony. It would be wonderful to visit a seminary—even for a few hours. It would be wonderful to see another small part of the great big world. But she wouldn’t fit. She really had no business going. She didn’t know how to conduct herself in such circumstances. She didn’t know what to say or how to say it. What to do. What to wear. Why, she likely didn’t have one thing in her closet that would be fitting.
“I . . . I don’t suppose—” she began.
“Mr. Barker will be writing a letter to your father and mother asking for their permission,” the kind woman continued.
Oh no, thought Anna. Mama would be just likely to say yes. She—she thinks that—that I—that I would just jump at the chance. But—Anna looked down at her faded cotton. She hadn’t done much growing over the last few years, but her dress was definitely too short—and too tight. Whatever would she wear?