by Janette Oke
Charles and Mandy Lawes had four young children. Anna made friends with them immediately. The three boys brought a longing to see her own brothers again and the little girl captured Anna’s heart, chattering as though she had known her all her life.
The supper hour was friendly and sociable. The children were well behaved at the table, and the adults were able to visit easily. When the meal finally ended and Anna had helped with the dishes, Austin announced that they must get started back to town. It was a long drive and they would be making part of it by moonlight.
No mention was made of the little congregation that desperately longed to reach out to those who did not attend church.
“Just a minute,” said Mrs. Lawes as she scurried about her kitchen. “Have some of this fresh milk. And some eggs—Charles, get some eggs from the milk house.”
Anna felt tears sting her eyes.
“The next time we’re in town, we’ll pick up the pail and bring you more,” promised the woman, and Anna was afraid that the tears would spill over.
“Thank you so much,” she murmured sincerely as she accepted the gifts.
“They are nice people, aren’t they?” Anna commented as they drove toward the small town. She held the eggs in her lap, unwilling that even one should be cracked or broken.
“They are,” nodded Austin.
“They’ve asked us back again,” Anna went on.
“Do you think we did wrong in not talking about the Lord or the church?” asked Austin soberly.
“I don’t know,” said Anna quietly, shaking her head. Austin was the one who knew such things. “I—I think that if you should have spoken—God would have shown you. I—I mean—you didn’t hold back because—because you were ashamed or—or uncaring or anything.”
Anna hesitated.
“Every other call, we’ve made our position clear,” went on Austin. “I would hate to think that I failed by not expressing my faith now.”
“I think that it’s important for them to feel—loved—accepted—as they are. As God gives us opportunity we will share our faith. We’ll pray for that.”
Austin nodded and clucked to the mare.
Chapter Ten
Reaching Out
Humming contentedly to herself, Anna lifted the sweet-smelling custard pudding from the oven. She couldn’t wait to taste it. It had taken the last of her eggs and milk, but it would be worth it. It had been so long since she had been able to serve her husband a dessert. She could hardly wait to see the look on his face.
Her mouth responded to the delicious aroma. But she steeled her resolve to wait till she and Austin could taste it together and put the bowl in the kitchen window to cool.
Before she could turn from the window, she noticed Mrs. Paxton hobbling down the street, her cane thumping the board sidewalk and her face set in discontent.
“Poor soul,” breathed Anna. “I have never seen such a living picture of misery.”
Just as the thought raced through Anna’s mind, she saw the woman stop and turn slightly. Her head lifted and Anna saw the wrinkled face wrinkle even farther as the woman sniffed the morning air. She stopped, turned farther, and sniffed again.
She smells my custard, thought Anna and reached to remove the dish from the window. It seemed cruel to torment the woman with the smell.
“I wish I had more eggs and milk,” she said to herself. “I’d make her some.”
As the custard cooled, Anna could not get the face of the old woman, her nose lifting to inhale deeply, from her mind. It was almost time for Austin to return for supper before Anna made up her mind. She lifted two dishes from the cupboard and filled one as full as she could. That would be for Austin. Then she spooned the remainder in the second dish, laid aside her apron, and started across the street.
Mrs. Paxton answered the knock, her usual scowl on her weathered face almost making Anna back away. But she held her ground, her smile determinedly in place.
“I—I made some custard for supper,” Anna said simply. “I brought you some.”
The expression on the face before her did not change—though Anna thought she might have glimpsed a brief light flash in the eyes and she definitely saw the nose twitch. Without a word the woman reached out, accepted the dish, and closed her door.
Anna turned and walked back through the dust of the street to her own kitchen. Though her mouth had been watering all day, Anna willed away all longing for the dessert. She really didn’t need it. Stew would do just fine.
“It’s an eyesore, that’s what it is,” Anna heard Mr. Parks say as she entered his store.
“A broken-down mess,” agreed Mr. Werner.
“And right in the middle of town like that, too.”
“Was a day it was a pretty good building,” added an old gent Anna did not recognize.
“Be a choice location if it was worth anything.”
“What is it?” asked another who was unknown to Anna.
“You mean what was it?” said Mr. Parks. “It was a store—and a good one. Now it’s empty—or full of junk, I don’t know which.”
“I’ve thought it would be a good idea to put a notion in some prankster’s head some Halloween to sorta put a match to the thing.” That comment came from a younger man near the door.
Mr. Parks’ head came up, a shocked look on his face. “You do that and you might burn the whole town,” he cautioned.
Other heads turned, some of them spotting Anna hanging back hesitantly. “Mornin’, Mrs. Barker. Help ya?” asked the storekeeper. Anna came forward.
“Just a few potatoes—and an onion,” she replied, offering her coins.
There was complete silence until she had made her purchases and picked up the small bag. Just before she slipped out the door the conversation picked up again.
“Can’t anything be done?” Anna heard someone ask.
“We’ve tried,” said Mr. Parks with a sigh. “The whole town has tried. Ain’t no reasoning with that woman. Can’t even have a civil conversation with her. She refuses to sell and she refuses to spend a penny to fix it.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have the money,” someone asked sensibly.
“Mrs. Paxton?” Mr. Parks snorted. “Money ain’t what she’s short of. He was a good businessman. Sort of a shyster, but a sharp businessman. When he died he left her rich. I mean rich.”
Anna closed the door softly behind her. It was hard to believe that the shabby old woman across the street was rich.
Anna let her eyes rove over the building in question. It truly was an eyesore. About the worst-looking mess Anna had ever seen on a main street. The roof was beginning to sag, shingles were missing, the door would have swung on one hinge had it not been nailed in place with large spikes, the windows were broken and patched with chunks of rotting board. Even the walk up to the door that ran the few feet from the town boardwalk was rotting and broken. It was a sad mess. A disgrace to the town. Anna didn’t wonder that other businessmen were concerned about it.
But her thoughts went back to the woman. In a way, the building was much like its owner. Worn. Defeated. Unloved and uncared for. Broken and seemingly discarded. Anna decided to drop her groceries off in her kitchen and then cross the street to pick up her custard dish.
Anna had to rap twice before she heard the familiar thumping of the cane.
The woman shoved her face out the crack of the door without comment.
“I—I just came to see if—if you wished me to pick up my dish,” said Anna, wondering if her bright tone sounded forced.
“Oh,” the woman murmured, turning from the door and leaving it on its own. It must have been on a slant, for as soon as she released it, it swung farther open. Anna was able to see into the room.
She had not consciously formed the thought in her mind, but she realized that she had expected the inside of the woman’s house to look much like her tumbledown main-street-vacated store. Instead, she was looking into a neat and tidy kitchen. The furniture was old but cared f
or, the table and cupboard cleared of all clutter. Dishes gleamed on the wall shelves, reflecting the afternoon sun. But most surprising to Anna was the off-street window. It was filled with blossoming violets.
“Oh, you have violets!” exclaimed Anna before she could think.
The old woman stopped mid-stride and turned to face her. “You like violets?” she growled.
“I—I—” Anna stumbled. Had she made another blunder? Then she contained her nervousness and went on with a smile. “Our pastor’s wife always had violets. Beautiful ones. Whites and pinks and blues—every color. Ever so pretty. I always used to admire them. I—I’ve never had any myself, but I’ve always wished—well, that I had gotten some slips from her.”
“Ain’t so easy to do—slip violets,” the old woman said as she turned and thumped her way toward the cupboard.
“Come in—and shut the door,” she threw over her shoulder.
Trembling, Anna obeyed.
“Did yer pastor’s wife have one like that one?” asked the old woman, pointing with her cane.
Anna followed the direction. Apart from the others, as though sitting on a throne among commoners, was the most beautifully formed violet Anna had ever seen. Its petals were creamy white, lined with a delicate purple fringe, frilly and full and perfectly formed. Anna breathed in slowly.
“No,” she almost whispered, approaching cautiously. “No, she never had one like that.”
The old woman had a difficult time hiding her smile.
“It’s wonderful,” breathed Anna. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“I did it myself,” said the woman. “Took years—but I kept crossing and mixing until I got that.”
“You must be very proud,” breathed Anna.
“Proud?” The old woman snorted. “No one left to be proud to. Ain’t nobody who cares what an old woman does putterin’ about in her kitchen.”
Anna didn’t know what to say in response, so she took what she hoped was a safe course. “Are you working on others?” she asked.
The woman nodded.
“I—I would love to see them,” Anna said hesitantly.
“Haven’t bloomed yet. You never know what you’ll get until they bloom.”
Anna nodded. “Well, when they do—would you—would you mind if I—if I see them?”
“You can see ’em if you like,” the old lady responded. “Won’t hurt them none to be looked at.”
“Thank you,” said Anna.
The old woman handed Anna her custard dish. Anna waited for some comment but none was forthcoming.
Anna walked toward the door and heard the cane thumping behind her. She saw a heavy chain hung listlessly on the doorframe. Anna assumed the woman would surely put it into place the minute the door closed behind her.
As she stepped outside, she turned with one more smile before the woman could push the door shut. “I do hope you enjoyed the custard,” she said.
“I did,” said Mrs. Paxton, and the door swung shut.
Anna smiled. It wasn’t a “thank you” but it was enough.
“Those boys are making trouble again,” said Austin as he put the mail on the kitchen table. Anna turned over the letters to see if there might be one from her mother. There was none. Both envelopes were addressed to her husband and looked official.
She lifted her eyes to Austin’s, questioningly.
“They were tormenting poor old Mr. Fischel again. And when I arrived and scolded them a bit, they turned on me.”
Anna’s eyes darkened. She knew which boys her husband meant. They seemed to have time on their hands and were always hanging around the streets looking for some kind of trouble and making it if none was readily at hand.
She was sorry Austin had been placed in a position where he’d had to scold. But of course he couldn’t stand by and watch the boys bother the nearly blind Mr. Fischel.
“What happened?” asked Anna in concern.
“Well, there they were on the south street, two of them crouched on each side of the walk, a rope between them, and the others were taunting and calling and telling Mr. Fischel that he had dropped something behind him. Of course, they were trying to get him to retrace his steps . . . and then trip over the rope.”
“Oh no,” breathed Anna. “He could be badly hurt. How could they be so cruel?”
“I don’t think that cruelty comes with difficulty for that bunch,” said Austin shortly.
“What did you do?” asked Anna.
“I told them they should be ashamed of themselves. Then I walked Mr. Fischel home.”
Anna nodded.
“But they called after me, ‘Goody, goody preacher. Thinks God is up there chalking up points.’ I didn’t make any comment and they finally tired of their game. But I feel bad. I had so hoped to help them, and now . . .”
Anna thought of the troublemakers. They had never bothered her as yet. But she had seen them teasing younger children and even town dogs and cats.
“Last week they had the Parks’ cat up a tree throwing clods of dirt at her,” said Anna.
“I don’t know why their parents don’t watch them more carefully,” commented Austin.
“That’s the trouble,” said Anna. “Two of them are from the family at the edge of town. From what I hear, their pa is far too busy to know what they are up to. And one is the Collins boy. He doesn’t have a father. Another is a Fallis. He lives with his elderly grandmother. They are the regulars, I believe—and the worst of the pack. Other town boys, with nothing to do, get drawn in from time to time.”
“Well, something should be done about them,” insisted Austin. “Mr. Fischel could have been seriously injured.”
Anna nodded. She knew it was true, but she also worried about the boys. Something certainly should be done—before they got themselves into serious trouble.
The next morning when Anna started out for the store, she stopped in horror at a message scrawled on their front yard fence. “Hey, Preach,” it said. “Drop dead.”
Anna’s breath caught in her throat. She wondered if Austin had seen the words. Embarrassment flushed her face. She felt as if she had been publicly disgraced, slapped, slandered.
Instead of proceeding to the store, she returned to her kitchen and got a pail of hot soapy water and an old brush. She scrubbed and scrubbed to remove the ugly words.
Oh, dear, she fretted. What can we do? We’ll never be able to help them if we make them our enemies.
All day she prayed and thought. She did not wish to bother Austin while he was buried in his books, but when the supper hour came and they raised their heads from the table grace, she took a deep breath and began.
“What those boys need is something to do,” she started. “Papa always said that it is idle hands that find trouble.”
Austin cocked his head slightly, then smiled. “So you are going to put them to work hoeing town gardens?” he teased her.
“No,” said Anna. “I had play in mind rather than work.”
“Play?”
“They have nowhere to play,” Anna informed him.
“So where can they play?”
“We have an empty lot behind us,” said Anna.
“It’s a weedy mess. No one could play there.”
“Exactly!” agreed Anna. “It has to be cleaned up.”
Austin had stopped eating to listen.
“So . . . you think they will clean it up?”
“No,” said Anna. “We will.”
“We will?”
“Why not?” asked Anna stubbornly, her eyes holding his.
“It belongs to the town,” Austin reminded her.
“Then we need to ask the town for permission,” said Anna. “Do you wish to put in a request—or do you want me to?”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” said Austin curiously.
Anna only nodded.
Austin laid down his fork. “Then you’d better share your plan with me. Entirely. So I know what I’m asking for when I go to t
he town fathers.”
Anna placed her fork beside her plate and reached to take her husband’s hand. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes glowing with the excitement of her plan.
“Well, first we have to get permission to use the lot. Then we need a cleaning crew. At first it will be just you and me, but when others see that we are really serious about helping the town youngsters, then maybe they’ll pitch in, too.
“We’ll need a sign—right away—so that the children . . . the boys will know what we are doing. ‘Carlhaven Sports Block, a Safe Place to Play, Dedicated to the Town Young,’ or something like that.” She paused a moment to organize her thoughts, then continued.
“We’ll clean it up and put in a ball diamond. Maybe even get donations for a ball and bat—or a football—or whatever. At the far end we could even put in a swing or two for younger children—and a sandbox. We could do all sorts of things if we get enough people behind it. The more we can get involved in it the better our chances of making it a success. Folks will feel that it is their project and they’ll pitch in and lend a hand. We might even have a fund-raiser . . . a picnic or pie social. We could set up a committee. We—”
“Whoa,” said Austin, raising his free hand. “You are way ahead of me. I’m still back there somewhere on the cleanup.”
Anna smiled and took a deep breath. “Oh, Austin. It could work. I’m sure it could. I mean, we . . . the town, has never done anything for the children. No wonder they are roaming the streets.”
Austin picked up his fork and speared a potato from his stew. “I’ll talk to the town fathers,” he promised. “It sure won’t hurt to try.”
The town officials were pleased that the young minister was serious about meeting the needs of the children in this practical way. Anna heard all about the meeting when Austin reported to her at the supper table.
“At first they seemed really hesitant—doubtful—but gradually they saw the advantage of the plan. I guess the mayor started things going our way. ‘It’s a good idea,’ he said. ‘And the lot is just standing empty. Might as well be put to use. It’s an awful weed patch anyway. But it sure is going to take a lot of work.’ ”