As Lambs to His Fold

by Kurt F. Kammeyer

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Cast Thy Burden Upon The Lord....

  It is a Sunday morning, sweet and golden. Opening exercises are almost over. We have sung, prayed, partaken of the Sacrament, listened to the bishop speak. It is time for the last song before we march out to our Sunday school classes.

  Our chorister, Sister Doberman, announces a stand-up hymn. She raises her baton; Aunt Mabel plays a chord; we rise, and open our mouths, and proceed to make a joyful noise.

  “The Spirit of God like a fire is burning,

  The latter-day glory begins to come forth.

  The visions and blessings of old are returning,

  And angels are coming to visit the earth”.

  We are aware of a beautiful voice caroling a descant, soaring above the other voices.

  “Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest!

  Hosanna in the highest! Amen and amen!”

  It is Aunt Francie. She is wearing a pretty, flowered hat. Roger’s arm is around her as she raises her voice in song. In three months time she will be a mother. Her eyes sparkle; her cheeks are pink; she is caroling glad tidings.

  The congregation joins in the chorus:

  “We’ll sing, and we’ll shout with the armies of heaven,”

  A tenor voice, Roger’s, joins Aunt Francie’s.

  “Hosanna! Hosanna! to God and the Lamb!

  Let glory to Them in the highest be given,

  Henceforth and forever! Amen! and amen!”

  Aunt Mabel pulls out all the organ stops and ends on a thundering diapason. We are all wonderfully, spiritually filled.

  But sorrow was not finished with us yet. It was poised to make one more strike.

  __________

  It is the following Sunday afternoon. The entire family is gathered at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s. We are fond of one another and like to visit. Only Roger and Aunt Francie are missing. They have gone to Salt Lake to see Roger’s parents.

  The adults are sitting in the parlor. Our sisters are off riding their bikes. Leatrice and I are wearing our beach pajamas. We have never seen a real beach, but beach pajamas are all the rage — one piece suits with flared legs. We had coaxed our mothers until they bought us some. Mine are blue-spotted and Leatrice’s are red-striped.

  Left to ourselves, we have wandered out to the back pasture to look at Mooey Moocher’s calf. A teenager now, it is not as cute as it was several months before. Mooey Moocher, the concerns of motherhood behind her, doesn’t seem to care whether we pay attention to her child or not.

  She plods off to crop some grass. The calf trots after her. We climb up on the wide gate and lean over it, swinging it back and forth as we contemplate the pastoral scene before us.

  The cows aren’t doing anything particularly interesting; so Leatrice suggests, “Let’s go make hollyhock dolls.”

  We jump down and stroll off to where hollyhocks grow by the orchard fence.

  We pluck some of the frilly blossoms, turn them up-side-down, tie threads of grass around their waists to give them some shape, then fluff out their pink, ruffled skirts.

  Tiring of that, we stroll to the front lawn. As we sit on the grass, pretending that our dolls are ballet dancers, Leatrice jumps up, letting her doll fall to the ground.

  “Aunt Francie an’ Roger!” she squeals, and runs down the sidewalk.

  Some distance up the highway we can see a car approaching, and we recognize it as Roger’s yellow convertible. Soon it will turn a curve where the highway comes down to meet Welcome Road. For a few moments it will be hidden from view by a large box elder tree that grows near the corner. Then the car will appear again, travel a little distance, and slow to a stop in front of the house.

  We stand by the side of the road, watching. The car is beginning to round the curve. In a moment, it will be hidden by the tree. When it appears, we hope that Roger will see us and slow down so that we can jump on the running boards and ride to a stop.

  The car disappears behind the tree — the tree of which Grandpa had said, “That box elder has got to go. It makes the curve dangerous — you can’t see as you come around the bend.” But the tree is not on Grandpa’s property, and so it has stayed.

  We run forward, waving so Roger will see us and slow down when his car emerges from behind the tree. But something comes thrusting past us — Mooey Moocher with her calf trotting behind! They have somehow escaped from the pasture, marched across the front lawn, and are now heading down the road looking, possibly, for greener pastures.

  Too late, we remember that we had forgotten to push the bar across the pasture gate. Yelling, we run forward, waving our arms, trying to turn cow and calf back toward the pasture. But they are headed determinedly forward.

  Roger’s car comes into view. Surprised, he sees the animals and us, He gives a blast on the horn. We jump back. A startled Mooey Moocher leaps and swivels right into the path of the car. Roger gives a sharp turn to the wheel. The car swings across the road and into a dry ditch, where it comes to an abrupt stop against a large rock.

  Mooey Moocher is in her fighting mood. She lowers her head, paws the ground, and charges into the back of the car with a loud “bang”! Then, satisfied that honor has been served, she turns and heads back for the pasture, the calf at her heels. We breathe a sigh of relief; but it is short-lived. When Mooey Moocher charged at the car, the door, which Aunt Francie had half-opened, swung wide. With a startled cry, she has tumbled out and now lies on the ground. Roger is out of the car and rushing around to help her to her feet.

  The noise has brought the family pouring out of the house and down the road. They stream past us to where Aunt Francie is leaning on Roger. As she walks, she is limping. There is blood on her knees. I feel just awful. I love Aunt Francie so much, I would feel bad if she even stubbed a toe.

  We stand beside the road, too shocked to move. Other family members are trying to help. Aunt Mabel is brushing the dust from Aunt Francie’s dress. Grandma, one arm around her daughter, is stroking her hair with the other hand. Uncle Jack is saying, “It’s O.K., babe. Just relax. We’ll get you in the house, and you can lie down.”

  My parents hover on either side. Uncle Roland has hurried on ahead to open the door. Roger holds Aunt Francie closely, his cheek against her hair. No one pays any attention to Leatrice and me. We stand where we are, caught in a bad dream that we are afraid to awaken from, in case it should prove true.

  This is Grandma’s party all over again — only worse. Now, instead of merely a ruined dessert, there is Roger’s car before our eyes, the front end pushed in. In my trembling thoughts, I wonder how much it will cost to fix it. I have a dollar in the bank and forty-five cents in the jar on my dresser. I had intended to give the money to Miss Biggs; but if Roger needs it, I’ll give it to him.

  And what about Aunt Francie? She’s hurt her knees, and her stockings are ruined. Can a bandage fix her hurts? How much will it cost to buy her another pair of silk stockings? Our sisters appear, riding their bikes. They pause, stare at the car, drop their bikes, and break into a run toward the house.

  Presently, we see the whole family coming out. Roger and Uncle Jack are carrying Aunt Francie on a dining room chair. Roger helps her into our car. Uncle Roland carries the chair back to the house. Daddy pauses and says to Irene and Dorajean “Girls, go home please. We’ve called Dr. Lindblum, and he wants Roger to bring Francie to the hospital so he can make sure she isn’t injured. We’re going along to see that she’s all right.”

  The adults pile into cars and leave. Our sisters take off on their bikes. Leatrice and I continue to stand where we are. The shock hasn’t yet worn off. We see Welcome’s policeman, Brother Sheen, approaching in his car. He walks around the wreck, writes things in a notebook. Will he arrest us for causing the accident? But, no, he ignores us.

  Sunday drivers come by, slow down, stare. Brother Sheen assumes the pose of a traffic policeman, motioning drivers to move on. After Brother Sheen, there is Ben Gracey, who owns the Mile-a-Minute Garage. He has come in a to
w truck to lift the back of Roger’s car and haul it away.

  I remember Brother Nickelbee’s story of when his “pardner” broke his arm and Brother Nickelbee found some juniper berries to help with the pain. Aunt Francie looked as though she was in pain. I’ve had skinned knees before, and they hurt something awful. Will Doctor/Bishop Lindblum give her some juniper berries?

  Leatrice and I are left alone in the late afternoon twilight. At last, we shake ourselves, turn and begin to walk home, close together, hugging each other for comfort. We pass the homes of our neighbors. Most of the houses have only a porch light on. I remember that it is Sunday, and almost everybody, except our family, is in church.

  I recall the last time we had carelessly let Mooey Moocher out of the pasture. Great-Aunt Salina May Roundtree Gillis had said jokingly, I was pretty sure, that no one was going to sell us to the Gypsies. Would they feel like selling us to the Gypsies now? We turn into our respective yards. I climb the porch steps, enter the house, sit down on the sofa. Maybe — maybe everyone will forget that Leatrice and I were there. Maybe they’ll say, “Oh, there you are, Beth,” as though I’d been at home the whole time. And it won’t exactly be a fib if I don’t say anything.

  Irene comes home from Dorajean’s place. She goes into the kitchen and I hear her stirring around. She puts her head in the parlor door and says, “I’ve made some scrambled eggs, Beth. Do you want some?”

  “No”, I answer. I am not hungry. After some time, Daddy and Mamma return. I relax against the sofa pillows, pretending I’ve been there the whole time. But my thoughts are pumping like anything. I have to know about Francie. Will her knees be all right? Did Doctor/Bishop Lindblum give her some juniper berries for the pain?

  “How’s Aunt Francie?” I ask as casually as I can; but the question gives me away.

  Daddy asks, “What were you doing there, Beth?”

  I shrug casually. “Nothing,” I say; and technically, it is true. At the moment Aunt Francie tumbled from the car, I was just standing and staring.

  Daddy explains: “Aunt Francie’s hands and knees are bandaged and she doesn’t seem to be too badly injured; but she is experiencing some abdominal pain. Dr. Lindblum is keeping her at the hospital overnight.”

  Abdominal pain? That was in your stomach. I know, because that was what Dr/Bishop Lindblum had called it when I ate too many green apples and got the collywobbles. Abdominal pain. How could skinning her knees give Aunt Francie abdominal pain?

  I creep into a corner of the sofa and make myself as unnoticeable as possible. In about half an hour the telephone rings. Daddy answers it, then turns with concern to say, “Francie has gone into labor. Apparently, that fall from the car did it. We must pray that she won’t lose the baby.”

  I sit up, puzzled. How can you lose a baby that isn’t even born yet? I have a feeling juniper berries wouldn’t help. We sit and wait for further word. I am not told to go to bed; so I sit in my corner and make myself small.

  __________

  Near midnight, the phone rings again. Mamma answers it this time. When she hangs up, she says with surprise, “That was Mother. The babies were delivered a little while ago — twins! Two girls!” Then she adds, “Almost three months premature. Just two-and-half-pounds each. They’re giving them the best care possible, I’m sure. But — only two-and-a-half pounds! That’s very small. We can only pray and hope that they’ll do well.”

  “Do well.” What does it mean if they don’t “do well”? Does that mean they could die? Tears roll down on my beach pajamas. I can’t bear it. With a sob, I rush from the room, up the stairs, and fling myself down on my bed.

  Mamma and Daddy follow me, wondering, I am sure, what has caused my outburst. They sit down on the bed beside me. Daddy takes out his handkerchief and wipes my eyes. Then he says, “Beth, you mustn’t grieve like this. Yes, it’s a worry that the babies have been born too soon, but it’s just one of those unfortunate things that happen sometimes.”

  Mamma says, “Apparently, Grandpa’s hired man carelessly left the pasture gate open, and the cow and calf got out into the road.”

  I am sobbing, shaking my head.

  Daddy says, “Beth, what is the matter? I can understand your concern, but why so much grief?”

  I gulp down my tears. “Leatrice an’ me did it. We left the gate open.” There is silence for a moment. Then Mamma says, “And we were blaming the wrong person.”

  Daddy shakes his head. “Beth, you and Leatrice should have been more careful about shutting the gate.”

  Mamma adds, “That was very careless of you.” That is the final stab — having them point out what I already know.

  Daddy lingers a moment after Mamma leaves, trying to give me some comfort. “At least,” he says, “you’re wiser now, Beth. You won’t make that mistake again.”

  Adults see mistakes as errors to be overcome. Then they go on. But, for me, it was like the end of the world. I have to ask, “How about Roger’s car?”

  “His insurance will cover the repairs,” says Daddy. So that is one load off my conscience. I can save my money to give back to Miss Biggs. After Mamma and Daddy leave, I try to sleep. But I am brought wide-awake by the sound of another voice downstairs. I go to the top of the stairs and look down. Roger is sitting on the sofa. He has left Aunt Francie sleeping and has come to let us know further what has happened. He says that Aunt Francie is tired but doing fine.

  “But, twins?” Mamma says again in surprise.

  Roger manages a tired grin. “We suspected there might be two; but Francie wanted to surprise everybody.”

  Daddy speaks. “What does the doctor say about the babies’ chances?”

  “He’s optimistic. They seem healthy; but they are very small — about the size of dolls.”

  Roger hesitates. “We’ve already named them, and I’ve given them a father’s blessing — in case — you know — Their names are Emily and Clare.”

  “We’ll certainly pray for them,” says Mamma.

  “Yes, indeed,” says Daddy.

  Back in bed, I draw comfort from two thoughts: the Dionne quintuplets: there were five of them, and they all lived. And I remember that Mamma and Daddy had mentioned prayer. That should do it. Heavenly Father always answers prayers.