“I think I'll have you take the rocking chair from the parlor— you have so much more need of it than I do,” Maureen said, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the room.
Then she walked into the little bedroom at the back. “I still have the old ticking for this bed.” Her voice carried from the room. “Hopefully by tomorrow John William will have threshed enough to have some good, fresh straw to stuff it with. Ed never did like sleeping on ropes—always wanted a firm foundation to sleep on—so you'll need plenty of cushioning because that slab of wood is woefully uncomfortable.” Her head appeared from behind the wall just long enough to treat Gloria to a wink. “But I guess you already know that.”
“Maureen, please,” Gloria said. She'd been tapping the broom against the open doorway to shake off the last of the dirt and gave a resounding smack as the woman's cheerful chatter went beyond the point of bearing. “How can you talk like that after Kate.
“Oh, now dear,” Maureen said, leaning against the dividing wall, “you and John William shared Kate's life. And you shared her death. But your life—yours and his together—it isn't over.”
“I don't know that we ever had a life together. Not like you and Ed had, anyway. You started together with nothing. You built this place together. But John and I…”
The fatigue of the day's labor took its toll and Gloria sank onto the bench at the table.
“You and John what?” Maureen asked.
“Do you know what I am? I'm King David's woman. Bathsheba. Bringing the great man down to sin.”
“Well, I'm sure it wasn't anything… completely improper. After all, I believe John William to be a man of great restraint.”
“Of course you do,” Gloria said, her voice full of disgust.
“Now wait a minute,” Maureen said, walking into the room and sitting on the bench opposite Gloria. “Are you telling me that he tried to force—”
“Nothing like that. He would never, never force himself. In fact, when he first touched me, I was perfectly willing…but after a while, well, it just seemed…wrong.”
“Ah.”
“It was just awkward and…humiliating. And it's the reason God took Kate away”
Maureen took Gloria's hand in her own tiny one. “Now child, is that what you really believe?”
“It's what John believes.”
“You know he's out of his head right now.”
“You know what I wish?” Gloria said, surveying the room. “I wish the same thing could happen to me as what we did to this little house.”.
“What do you mean?”
“It was just so easy. A few hours’ work, some soap and water, and just like you said—spankin’ new.” She adopted Maureen's characteristic singing tone. “Fresh as a daisy.”
Maureen laughed at the imitation.
“I wish there was just some way to do that to me. To my life. Because that's why I couldn't stand for him to touch me. I just felt…dirty And I know that's what he—”
“Now, Gloria, darling—”
“He—and you—always talking about God and forgiveness. Is that what happens? Is that how it feels?”
“Yes, child, it is.”
“How? How do you know?”
“Just think about King David. He committed a great sin, arranging the death of a woman's husband so that he could have her as his own. Even though he was God's own, he was not protected from sin.”
“God's own,” Gloria said, whispering.
“Yes. And because he did have a heart for God, he recognized that what he had done was terrible, and he cried out for God's forgiveness. Wait here, I have one more thing for you.”
Maureen got up from the table and left the cabin, returning within minutes with a package wrapped in clean white paper.
“I was going to save this as a wedding gift,” she said, “but I think we need it now. Open it.”
Gloria took the package and untied the pretty blue ribbon wrapped around it. Carefully—savoring the rare occasion of opening a gift—she unfolded the paper to reveal the present within. A Bible.
“Every home needs God's Word,” Maureen said.
“John has a Bible.”
“You need your own.”
“I can't read,” Gloria said, handing the Bible over to Maureen.
“You'll learn. For now, just listen.”
“Are you going to read the same story Reverend Fuller read at the funeral?”
“Not quite.”
Gloria watched with envy as Maureen flitted through the gilt-edged pages. She leaned forward, breathing in the smell of a new book, preparing herself to understand the words that were often so confusing.
“Here it is,” Maureen said. “Psalm 51. This is what David wrote just after that great sin of his. ‘Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.'”
“Transgressions?”
“Sins," Maureen said, looking straight into Gloria's eyes. “All those mistakes we've made. Now, he goes on, ‘Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.’ See? Just like you were saying. He's asking God to wash it all away”
“Show me," Gloria said, suddenly greedy to see the words for herself.
“Of course, dear.” Maureen turned the Bible toward Gloria, her finger leading her eyes to the place on the page where she had been reading. “Here.”
Gloria's eyes raked the page, the print largely meaningless. But the odd moments spent looking over John William's shoulder brought a few words to clarity, and she struggled to bring them to life.
“Ag—in—st thee on—lee have I s—sin—sind…”
“'Against thee, thee only, have I sinned,'” Maureen said, sending Gloria a proud smile. “That means that yes, we have all sinned. But it's God and God alone that we sin against. You see? Not against each other. Not against our children. I know your heart is badly broken now, my dear, and there's nothing we can say to make any of that hurt go away. Not really. Only God can do that for you.”
Gloria slid the book across the table to her friend.
“Read it to me,” she said. “All of it.”
“All right.” Maureen began reading again at the beginning of the psalm.
Much of it, still, was lost to Gloria's comprehension. She remembered the night of Danny's birth, and how the rush of blood in her ears blocked so many of the words Sadie spoke, but bits and pieces of the ancient writing of a sin-ridden king fell upon her heart.
“For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me…”
With every waking breath. In every dream.
“In sin did my mother conceive me…”
Mother What if you had a chance to hear these words? How would your life have been different? And mine?
“Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow…”
White. Pure. Virgin. Can it be?
“Create in me a clean heart, O God…”
Because now, I feel I have no heart at all.
“Cast me not away from thy presence.
So many others have thrown me away Left me alone. If I become Yours, will You keep me?
“For thou desirest not sacrifice; else would I give it…”
I would. 1 would give anything.
“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit…”
Broken.
“A broken and a contrite heart.
Broken.
“O God, thou wilt not despise…”
How could You not despise me? When I so despise myself.
'Then shall they offer bullocks upon thine altar.”
Maureen stopped reading, letting the final phrase hang in the air. So many thoughts and questions fought against each other in Gloria's mind, but she couldn't share them now. They were too new. Too raw. But the last words of the Scripture begged an answer.
“Bullock?”
“It's an animal. A bull used as a sacrifi
ce to God.”
“But he just said that God wants no sacrifice.”
Maureen smiled warmly “You have a quick mind, Gloria. Yes, God requires only that we offer the sacrifice of our hearts, ourselves. But King David lived in a time when God still required a blood sacrifice—the killing of an animal. But when Jesus Christ, God's Son, died on the cross, He became the final sacrifice. No man would ever again need to shed blood in order to seek forgiveness from God.”
“His Son.”
“You know the pain of losing a child, Gloria. Imagine if the only way to save the life of someone was to take away the life of your son. Sweet little Danny. Imagine how much God must love you that He did that for you.”
“Tor God so loved the world…'” John William's words from so long ago crept through her memory.
“The world, yes. But you, too, dear. God loved you that much.”
“It's not believable.”
Maureen giggled and gave Glorias hand a squeeze across the table. “It seems that way, doesn't it? But, dearie, all He asks is that you do believe. Believe that Jesus died for you and that He will forgive you, and He will.”
The little cabin was growing darker with the afternoon waning. Maureen had been holding the Bible closer and closer to her face with each verse, and now there was not enough light to continue reading, even if Glorias head and heart had the stamina to go on. The effort of the day's labor infused her entire body, her head throbbed with questions, her stomach felt tight with hunger and something else she couldn't quite identify. It was long past time to nurse Danny.
But she didn't want to leave this place. There was magic here at this little table, two friends talking, words of Scripture lacing their conversation. A longing had been satisfied here in this cozy little room. Everything she had ever been seeking—peace, a home, a mother—all of it was wrapped up in these solid four walls, simple and new and given so freely
“Thank you, Maureen,” Gloria said softly, her voice barely a whisper. “1 never expected when John—when he brought Kate to me, when he asked me to—1 never thought I would have so much. I can't bear the thought of losing it all now.”
“Let me tell you one more thing, dear, before we head back.” Maureen's tone was serious. Imperative. “You could have all of this—a home, a man who adores you, beautiful children. But unless you pray, my child, until you free yourself from this burden you have, you'll never really enjoy it. You cannot truly love or feeltruly loved without giving yourself over to God and His love.”
Gloria loved this woman—loved her to bursting. She looked at the soft, warm face—-just on the verge of wrinkles—and wished she had grown up in her loving care and wisdom.
“I wish you were my mother,” Gloria said, and her voice trembled with the fear of rejection.
“Oh, my child,” Maureen said with a sigh. “You had a mother, for good or for ill, and she made you what you are today Not what you were in the past, but the strong, seeking woman you are right now. I cannot be your mother, but, in Christ, I can be your sister.” The most beautiful smile Gloria had ever seen spread across Maureen's face. “Wouldn't you like for us to be sisters?”
“I'd love it. I—I love you,” Gloria said, her speech nearly impaired by the unfamiliar words.
Maureen stood up and walked around the table to place a soft kiss on Gloria's forehead, then on each cheek, before folding her into the softest embrace.
“I love you too, my child,” she said.
They could hear Danny's petulant cries when they were still yards away from Maureen's house.
“Poor baby must be starving,” Maureen said.
“I know how he feels.” Gloria's stomach had been loudly rumbling for much of the walk back.
“You go straight to that baby dear, and I'll fix us a snack.”
Although it was just late afternoon, dusk had settled around the farm. Gloria looked, hoping to get a glimpse of John William, but there was no light coming from the barn, and she was certain he wasn't in the house. He hadn't stepped across the threshold since the funeral. Also, the wagon and team were gone, although it was much too early for the horses to be put up for the night.
“He's gone.”
“What's that dear?” Maureen's voice betrayed how tired she must feel.
“John. He's gone. He's taken the wagon.”
“Certainly not. He didn't say a word about it.”
Maureen and Gloria had reached the cheerful blue door and were greeted by the full-out screaming of Danny, who was being jostled on Big Phil's lap. Anne was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled wonderful.
“Do something with this baby!” Big Phil said good-naturedly
“Now, Phil, stop that,” Anne said. “He's been a perfect angel until just a few minutes ago.” She turned from the simmering supper and smiled at Gloria. “He just needs his mama right now”
Gloria reached down and scooped her fussy son from Phil's grip. She brought him close for a hug and kissed his red, wet cheek. “His mama needs him, too,” she said before leaving the cozy kitchen and taking him to the rocking chair in the parlor to nurse.
“I've made soup!” Anne's cheerful voice called from the kitchen. “It'll be ready when you are.”
“Thank you,” Gloria called back.
The muffled sounds of conversation filtered from the kitchen, and though Gloria longed to hear every word, she contented herself to see to Danny and relax, rocking, staring out the window into the early evening sky. Danny's frantic sucking eased into a comfortable rhythm matched by the rocking of the chair. Soon she allowed her head to loll against the back of the rocker and shut her eyes. Bits and pieces from the voices in the kitchen floated her way
“He went to Centerville…to the mill…”
“Just after noon…he'll camp tonight…”
“…tried to tell him, but he wouldn't wait until tomorrow…”
“Saturday evening…wants to be here for church on Sunday.”
So she was right. He was gone.
But he was coming back.
he wiped the last plate over and over with the now- dampened rag, staring out the window, willing her eyes to see despite the darkness.
“Relax, child,” Maureen chided behind her.
“He said he'd be here this evening. It's evening.”
“He's fine, dear. I'm sure of it.”
She reached from behind and took the plate from Gloria's hand and exchanged it for a very fussy Danny, who had been crying all evening. Gloria dropped the rag on the countertop and brought her son to her shoulder, bouncing and shushing him as she walked the circumference of the kitchen. Maureen returned the plate to its place on the shelf beside the window before lifting the basin from the countertop to toss the water out the door.
“It's cold outside,” Gloria said, turning her body to shield Danny from the chill that rushed into the room. “Did he take a coat?”
“I'm sure he did. He's a sensible man.”
The two women retired to Maureen's cozy parlor. A fire burned in the fireplace, casting a warm glow throughout the room. Gloria sank into the rocking chair, opened the buttons of her blouse, and brought the cranky baby—now nearly screaming—to her breast. Danny fell immediately into contented silence.
“I think he misses his sister,” Maureen said softly “He's been much fussier since she…”
“I think so too,” Gloria said, looking into the little boy's half-closed eyes. “You know, the first night he brought her to me, we—well, 1—thought she was dead. But the minute 1 first heard her cry, 1 just had this needfor her.”
“And she needed you.”
Thirty minutes passed and Danny fell asleep. Gloria gathered him up and laid him in the bed he had shared with his sister.
Maureen's little clock continued to tick, tick into the night, emitting its low chime every half hour. The darkness outside became deep and complete, the light inside flickered with the flames of the fire.
“Well, we won't do any
good sittin’ up and worrying,” Maureen said. “All kinds of things mightVe happened—a delay at the mill, a broken wagon wheel. He may have stopped for supper with Anne and Phil.”
“He wouldn't do that.” Gloria spoke with certainty “He knows we'd be worried.”
Maureen had no reply and the two sat in companionable silence until the clock struck again.
“We should go to bed, child,” Maureen said finally.
“You go on,” Gloria said, her eyes fixed on the window where they had been all night. “1 won't be able to sleep.”
“He wouldn't want you up worrying, you know.”
“Do you think he would stay up worrying about me?”
“That he would, dearie. But he'd be praying for you, too.”
“So pray”
“Come join me,” Maureen said, patting the seat of the couch beside her. “Come, Gloria, and pray with me.”
Gloria got up from the rocking chair and crossed the little room to sit beside Maureen. Maureen turned towards her, their knees touching, and took Glorias hands in her own.
“Father God, we pray Your guiding hand on John William tonight, that he is safe on his journey, traveling under Your protection.”
We pray? Gloria had never prayed for anybody. She'd been an observer of many prayers—for safety, for blessed food, for healthy children—but she'd never been named as an active participant. How cold was her heart, she wondered, that this prayer for John meant nothing more to her than those other ramblings? How could she not join Maureen's sincerity, her obvious ability to be an agent of safety between John William and the evils and dangers that awaited him? She remained lost in this reverie until one phrase of Maureen's prayer startled her back to attention.
“And please, dear Lord, bring him back to Gloria…”
Of course. Back to Gloria. Back to that sin-filled woman who could only bring him to the brink of lust? Back to that woman who would steal his thoughts away from the godly woman who died giving birth to his child? Back to that woman who has known more men than she could ever count? That woman?
Maureen had stopped praying at some point, and in the settling silence, she gave Gloria's fingers a slight squeeze.
Gloria sat, still as stone.
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