Mary Ann Lanier had led a life of ease, but suddenly she knew all that was over. She knew that if she did not answer this call, somehow life would be over for her. God was inviting her to the greatest adventure of all. With a sob, she stood up and joined the small group that had gone to the front. When she got there, she could do no more than stand, and then she felt hands on her shoulders. She looked up through blurred eyes to see the face of Barney Winslow. He said nothing for a moment, but then he reached over and pulled George Camrose with his free hand. He took both of their hands, and said, “God has told me that you will serve Him together in Africa.”
Mary Ann began to sob, and she felt George’s body trembling. Looking up, she saw tears rolling down his cheeks, and then Barney said, “Let us all kneel. Let us kneel right here and commit your lives, George and Mary Ann, to Jesus, as He leads you in the path that He has chosen.”
The three knelt, and both Mary Ann and George felt the hand of the missionary on their heads. He prayed a marvelous prayer, calling down the blessings of God upon their lives, and finally, when he lifted them up, his own cheeks were wet with tears, but his voice was triumphant. “You are committed to God’s work in Africa.”
Many of the congregation came to encourage those who had surrendered their lives to God’s service, and George Camrose was as happy as he had ever been in his life. Something had changed, and he knew that God had moved in a powerful way during the service. His eyes met those of Mary Ann, and he saw a soft glow of assurance in them that had never been there before.
Finally the last of the worshipers left, and Barney said, “Well, George—quite a miracle, eh?”
“Yes! I know that God was here.”
Barney put his hand on the minister’s shoulder, his eyes filled with joy. “Let’s get home. I want to write about this to my family.”
“You go on, Barney, and would you please take Mary Ann home? I . . . I want to stay here and pray for a time.”
“Sure. I know how it is. We can talk about it later.”
Barney and Mary Ann left and George walked back and forth in front of the pulpit praising God for His mercy. He was so filled with the joy of the Lord that he was startled when a voice broke into his prayer.
“Reverend Camrose . . . ?”
Turning quickly Camrose faced the young woman who stood before him. “Why . . . Miss Devorak! I thought everyone had left.” He stepped closer, noting at once that her face was pale and she was twisting a button on her coat nervously. Camrose had been a pastor long enough to recognize the symptoms of spiritual disturbance and quickly asked, “What’s the trouble, Miss Devorak?”
“I . . . I can’t—!” Abruptly tears sprang into her large eyes, and she stood before him unable to speak.
Jolie was not a young woman who wept easily—indeed, she had prided herself on being able to control her emotions under difficult circumstances. She had come to the service out of curiosity, for Peter’s remarks about Barney Winslow’s interesting background had intrigued her. She had come alone, taken a seat in the rear of the church, expecting to be “entertained” by a good testimony from the former boxer. However, as Winslow began speaking, a vague discomfort began to grow within her. At first she was merely uncomfortable without knowing why, but as the sermon went on, a sense of misery and emptiness took the place of that. Although the missionary spoke little of hell and the punishment of sin, a sense of guilt began to trouble her. As the speaker continued, Jolie fell under a weight of conviction.
Memories of past misdeeds long buried seemed to float to the surface of her thoughts—things she had long forgotten. Desperately she sought to evade them, but nothing seemed to drive them away. If the church had not been so crowded, she would have risen and left, but so awful did the guilt in her heart swell that she feared everyone would see the signs of her past written on her face.
Clenching her hands until they ached, Jolie had yearned for the service to end. She had sat through the invitation, and then afterward as people began filing out, she wanted to leave with them—but something had held her in her seat. Her plan had been to wait until everyone had left before slipping out, but then the pastor had remained, praying as he walked back and forth at the front of the church. Finally the storm of fear and guilt that swept though her was too great—she had to talk to someone! Rising from her seat, her limbs trembling, she moved slowly toward the front of the church and finally found the courage to call the pastor’s name—only to find that she was helpless to say more.
“Come and sit down, Miss Devorak.” Camrose took Jolie’s arm and led her to the front row of chairs. She was almost as helpless as a puppet under his direction, and as soon as they were seated, he asked quietly, “Have you had bad news about your family?”
“No. I . . . I have no family.”
“Are you ill, then?”
Jolie turned her face toward Camrose, and her voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t think so, but I feel so . . . so awful!”
Instantly Camrose discerned that the young woman’s trouble was spiritual, and he asked directly, “Are you saved, Miss Devorak?”
The question seemed to strike Jolie with a force that was almost physical. She shook her head, then spoke raggedly. “N-no. I’m not!”
“But I think God must be calling you.”
“Calling me?”
“Why, yes, God does call people.”
“But I haven’t heard Him!”
Slowly Camrose led Jolie into the Scriptures. Pulling a small New Testament from his coat pocket, he began to read to her. She listened to the words with an avidity he had never seen, and after a time she asked, “What do I have to do be saved? Keep the Ten Commandments?”
“No man or woman has ever kept them, Miss Devorak—except the Lord Jesus Christ. The Law was given, according to the book of Romans, chapter seven, to show us what sin is. ‘I had not known sin, but by the law: for I had not known lust, except the law had said, Thou shalt not covet.’ Earnestly Camrose spoke and was pleased to see that the Scripture was having its way with the young woman. “You see, the Law can only tell us what we should do. But we can never keep the Law—none of us. In this same chapter God shows us a picture of an individual who struggled to keep the Law—and utterly failed!”
Jolie listened as Camrose read. “ ‘For the good that I would I do not, but the evil which I would not, that I do.’ ”
“Why, that’s what happens to me!” she exclaimed.
“Certainly, but don’t think you’re different, because I think everyone of us tries to get to heaven by keeping the Law. In fact, there are multitudes who are members in good standing of churches who are lost because they are taking this false way.”
“But . . . if I can’t get to heaven by being good . . . what’s left?”
“Jesus is left, my dear Miss Devorak!” Camrose’s face glowed and his tone was exultant. “Romans chapter three gives us this glorious word—’But now the righteousness of God without the law is manifested, being witnessed by the law and the prophets; even the righteousness of God which is by faith of Jesus Christ unto all and upon all them that believe. . . .’ ”
Jolie listened as the young pastor spoke of Jesus, Scriptures rolling from his lips, his eyes alight with love. Finally she asked, “But . . . how does it happen? I mean, what do I have to do?”
“In the book of Acts, the sixteenth chapter, a man asked exactly that same question: ‘What must I do to be saved?’ Now the apostle Paul might have told the poor fellow to keep the Law—or he might have instructed him to join the church and be baptized. But he did not! Here, I want you to read his answer to the man for yourself.”
Jolie looked down at the line that Camrose indicated, then read haltingly, “ ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.’ ” Fixing her gaze on the words, she read them silently. Suddenly, a peace she had never known filled her heart. Lifting her face, she whispered, “I believe in Jesus.”
“Are you ready to give Him your life? T
o obey Him as your Lord?”
“Yes!”
“Then we will pray—and as we pray, I want you to ask Jesus to speak to you. I believe that He will—and when He does, you must do exactly what He commands—no matter what it is. Will you do that?”
Jolie didn’t answer but slipped to her knees. Her shoulders were shaking and sobs came from deep within. Camrose knelt beside her and began to pray.
When Jolie left the church sometime later, she was radiant with joy. Stepping outside, she looked up at the sky and it seemed much more vibrant with color, and as a songbird poured himself out, the sounds seemed more alive than any she’d ever heard. As she moved along, she could not speak, but in her heart she was saying, “Lord, whatever you ask of me—I will do it!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Speed!
The following Sunday, as Phil Winslow came out of the storefront church, George Camrose pulled him aside. “If you’ve got a little time, Phil, I’d like to talk with you.”
“Why, of course, George.”
“Go back to my study. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Right.”
Waiting in the small study, Phil looked over the books that lined the walls. He had picked out a volume of sermons by Charles Haddon Spurgeon and was reading it with interest when an agitated Camrose came in. “Always liked to read Spurgeon,” remarked Phil, replacing the book.
“Probably the greatest preacher of the century,” George said, but his mind was not on the merits of Spurgeon. He paced the floor nervously for a moment, then turned to Phil, his face tense. “Did you hear what happened when Barney Winslow spoke at the evening service earlier this week?”
“No. I wish I could have been here. What happened?”
“When Reverend Winslow gave the invitation asking for volunteers for the mission fields, Mary Ann came forward.”
Phil stared at his friend and whistled softly. Then he smiled and came over and slapped Camrose on the shoulder. “Why, that’s wonderful, George. That makes things much simpler now.”
“Simpler?” George Camrose stared at Winslow. “Do you know what her father will say when he hears about it?”
“I can imagine.” A wry smile touched Phil’s lips. He thought of the bullish force of Oliver Lanier and shook his head. “He’ll probably lock her up in her room for the next ten years like he has Cara.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him! He’s a good man, but he doesn’t have the right idea about raising his children.”
“You’re right about that. What are you going to do, George?”
Camrose looked down at the floor as though studying the intricate pattern in the faded carpet. The silence ran on so long that Phil prompted him, “You’ve got to do something.”
“I know it, but what?” When George looked up, anguish filled his gray eyes. He stared at Phil. “What would you do?”
“Run off with her, George.”
Phil’s abrupt answer startled the minister. “Why, I can’t do that!”
“Why can’t you do it?”
“Well, because it just won’t—” Camrose broke down then and could not seem to finish his sentence. “Well, maybe you could do that, but I don’t think I can.”
“I don’t think advice is much help in a case like this,” Phil said thoughtfully. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then said, “You believe that God’s called you to Africa, don’t you?”
“Of course!”
“Do you believe that God’s called Mary Ann to go to Africa? Is this call real?”
“I’m convinced that it is. You should have seen her, Phil. The glory of God was in her eyes.”
“Well, it seems to me if God’s called you, then God will make a way to bring about the fulfillment of that call. I don’t know how right now, but I believe that if we’ll pray about it, as I know you will, God will open a door.”
Camrose was startled by Phil’s words. “Well, it seems that you’re the pastor and I’m taking your advice.” He put his hand out and said, “This is very important to me.”
“I know it is. It’s a big step, George, and I will pray with you about it. Let’s do it right now.” The two men bowed their heads and committed the matter to God. When Phil’s short prayer was finished, George said huskily, “Thanks, Phil. You’re a help.”
“Now, maybe you can pray about my problem.”
Quick understanding leaped into George’s eyes. “About Cara?”
Phil lifted his eyebrows and shook his head. “Is it that obvious?”
“When you speak of her there’s something in your voice that gives your thoughts away. In a way,” he said, “your problem is worse than mine. She’s an invalid, after all.”
“I’m not sure but what much of that is a state of mind. She’s been told so often that she’s an invalid, I think she believes it. There was a lady like that back home. Every time I’d go see her, she would open the door, and say, ‘Why, Phil, what’s wrong with you? You look sick.’ Before I left there, I’d actually feel sick.”
“I know. The power of suggestion, and Oliver Lanier makes some mighty strong suggestions. But we’ll pray for Cara, and God can do any miracle. . . .”
“I’m telling you, Peter, you’d better not let her get in that car!”
Easy Devlin waved the cast on his right arm before Peter Winslow’s face. He could not work yet with the hand, but he had stayed constantly beside Peter, who had spent hours working on the Jolie Blonde, and during most of that time, Easy had doggedly argued against letting Avis Warwick ride in the race.
“Sing another tune, Easy,” Peter said impatiently. He was wearing a pair of white coveralls stained with grease and was bending over the engine. “I’m tired of hearing about Avis and this race. She’ll be all right.”
“That’s what you think!” Easy grinned. “You know what happened this morning?”
“I don’t know. What?”
“A bird got in the room. Flew right in through my bedroom window.” Easy reached down with his left hand and pulled Peter out from under the hood. He was much shorter and had to look up at Peter as he demanded, “So what do you think about that?”
Peter was exhausted and could not think clearly. He rubbed his forehead with his sleeve, looked up at the sun which was very hot, and said wearily, “So a bird got in your room! So what?”
“Of all the ignorant people I ever heard! Don’t you know that’s the worst luck in the world, for a bird to get in a house? Why, back when I was a kid a bird got into our house, flew right in through the front window, and two days later my oldest brother got trampled by a wild horse. Broke both of his legs. Now, you see?”
“Easy, you are the most superstitious human being I’ve ever met!” Peter jerked his sleeve away from Devlin’s grasp and said, “Why don’t you go somewhere and do something else? The car’s in as good a shape as it’s going to be. We’ll win the race, and Avis will give up after one ride. You’ll see. The new thrill will wear off, and you’ll be all right soon, and it’ll all be over.”
Easy shook his head. “Well, I didn’t intend to tell you this, but now I see I’ve gotta.” Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “Last week I was helping Jolie clean up—and I dropped the broom. And then before I could pick it up, why that girl stepped right over it! Now, that tears it, don’t it? Even you gotta know there ain’t nothing to bring bad luck more than doin’ a thing like that!”
Peter glared at Easy in disbelief and then shook his head. “Go away, Easy. I’ll see you later.”
Devlin stared as Peter turned and walked away to the house. He shouted after him, “All right, but you’ll see! You’ll see!”
Avis met Peter as he came out of the house the next morning. She was wearing a dashing new outfit: fawn-colored jodhpurs, black boots that sleekly followed the curves of her calves, a crimson silk blouse, and a dark blue corduroy jacket.
“How do you like my racing outfit, Peter?” she asked demurely. Her eyes were shining with
excitement and she turned around once like a model, then waited for his admiration.
Peter stared at her, then grinned. “Well, you’ll be the best-looking woman in the race. I’ll say that, Avis.”
“I’m the only one. I guess that’s kind of a left-handed compliment.” Avis came forward, reached up, and threw her arms around Peter. “It’s going to be great! We’re going to win! I just know we are!” she whispered. She pulled his head down and kissed him. There was an abandon in her gesture, and she never seemed to care who was watching, for nothing she did ever embarrassed her.
It embarrassed Peter, however, and he pulled back, protesting, “Avis, for crying out loud! Don’t be kissing me in the streets!”
“Well, let’s go in the bedroom, then. Would that be better?”
Peter’s face reddened. He could never tell how serious Avis Warwick was. He did know she was the most forward and free-speaking woman he had ever met. Perhaps this accounted for the fascination he felt for her. “Well, I guess that wouldn’t do. Mrs. Mason is very strict about such things. And don’t say we can go to your bedroom, because I won’t do it.”
“My Puritan,” Avis smiled. She reached up and touched his cheek, then whispered, “I don’t know what I see in you. I’ve always liked dashing men. You’re nothing but a plodder, Peter Winslow.”
“You’re right about that, but that’s what it takes to get a racing car ready.”
Avis took his arm and said, “Come along. Let’s go for a trial run.”
“All right, but you’re going to get that pretty outfit dirty.”
“That’s all right. I’ll buy another one.” Avis laughed up at him. Her eyes were sparkling, and a vivacious smile lit up her face. “It’s going to be fun,” she said, “and we’re going to win.”
Some of her excitement seemed to pass on to Peter, and he grinned. “We’d better. If we don’t, I’m out of the racing business, it looks like.” He put his arm around her and they walked away, speaking of the upcoming race. Looking down at her, he was thinking, What an exciting woman she is. But even as he thought this, he had a quick vision of Jolie’s face as she had warned him not to let Avis ride. Quickly he shook off the memory, saying, “It’ll just be for this one race. It’ll be all right. . . .”
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