A Place in the Sun

by Michael Phillips

  She asked me to go back up that evening to ask about Katie. Emily and I went. Uncle Nick came outside with us.

  “She’s calmed down and is feeling better,” he said. “She slept most of the afternoon.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “Almeda said to tell you that if you think she wants to talk again, to come get her.”

  “I wish she would,” he replied. “I don’t ever know what to say when she’s feeling down and upset like she gets.”

  We took Erich back down to our place with us for the night so Uncle Nick would be free to look after Katie and get some sleep. He looked tired.

  Nothing much happened for another day or two. Uncle Nick was still downcast from worrying about Katie. Doc Shoemaker came out again. He pronounced Katie fit and said she could get up and about for a few hours a day if she wanted. But she remained glum, and stayed in bed.

  He told Almeda to take care of herself. “Only three or four weeks for you now, Almeda,” he said. “Don’t you go getting any ideas about going back into town or doing anything around this house. You’ve got three daughters for all that. You just keep yourself rested, you hear?”

  “Of course, Doctor,” she laughed.

  The next day, early in the afternoon, Uncle Nick came running down to our place. His face looked more full of life as he came through the door than I’d seen it in weeks. Pa was outside, but he came straight to me.

  “She asked to see you!” he said out of breath.

  “Katie?” I said.

  He nodded.

  “Me?”

  “You and Almeda.”

  In an instant I was off to tell Almeda in her room. She was dressed but lying in bed. She got right up and came out to where Uncle Nick was still standing. The look on his face was bright and excited.

  “Did she really ask to see us, Nick?” Almeda asked.

  A sheepish expression crossed his face. “Well, we were talking,” he said, “and I happened to say as how I thought she’d been a mite hard on the two of you last time. She was pretty quiet, you know how she’s been of late. Then she just kinda nodded and said, ‘I suppose I was at that.’

  “So after a minute I said, ‘What’ll you do if Almeda or Corrie comes calling again? You gonna send ’em away like you never want to see them again?’ I reckon it was a hard thing to ask her, but doggone if she wasn’t beginnin’ to try my patience with all her surly scowls and irritable talk.”

  “She can’t help it, Nick,” said Almeda softly.

  “I figured that,” replied Uncle Nick. “Well, anyhow I said it, and she didn’t say nothin’ for a while, then she said, ‘No I wouldn’t send them away.’ I figured that was about as good an invitation as you was gonna get, so I came down when she fell asleep to tell you.”

  Almeda looked at him for a moment with a blank expression. Then her face broke into a laugh. “You are something, Nicholas Belle! You really love that wife of yours, don’t you?”

  “I reckon so. I just can’t cotton to you and her being apart and for her to be angry with my own kin. Will you come?”

  “Of course we’ll come,” she replied with a smile. “You go on home. We’ll come up for a visit sometime this afternoon.”

  A couple of hours later we walked up. I had made some shortbread to take, which I knew was one of Katie’s favorites.

  Uncle Nick met us at the door and took us straight into the bedroom. Katie was awake. I told her I’d made her some shortbread. She tried to smile, but it was one of those smiles that showed there was something on her mind behind it. I think she was embarrassed about what had happened before.

  “How are you feeling, Katie?” Almeda asked.

  “Oh, better, I suppose. You?”

  “Very well.”

  “How much longer?”

  “The doctor said probably three weeks.”

  “I hope . . . I hope it goes well for you,” said Katie. It was hard for her to say.

  “Is there anything you need?” Almeda asked after a minute. Her voice was so full of tenderness and compassion, and her eyes so full of love as she stood beside Katie’s bed. Katie looked up at her and her eyes filled with tears.

  “Almeda, I’m sorry for the things I said before,” she said.

  “Oh, Katie, dear, think nothing of it.” Almeda sat down on the chair at the bedside and took Katie’s hand.

  “It’s just that I was so afraid of dying,” Katie went on, trying to maintain her composure. “When I was lying here having the baby, it hurt so bad! I was more worried about myself than . . . than my little daughter! Every time I screamed out, I was sure it was going to be the last breath I breathed. It was so much worse than with Erich!”

  “There, there,” said Almeda, running her hand gently along Katie’s head and smoothing down her hair. “It’s all right, dear.”

  “And then when she came out, and the doctor told me she was dead,” Katie said, sobbing now, “I felt . . . I just felt so guilty! All I had been thinking about was myself! And all the time, even while she was inside me . . . my poor little daughter was—”

  She couldn’t even finish the sentence, but let out a mournful wail of such bitter remorse that it went straight into my heart and my eyes filled with tears. Poor Katie!

  “She was dead!” sobbed Katie. “Dead, and the whole time I was worried about myself! I can hardly bear the thought of how selfish I was! Oh God, why couldn’t you have taken me instead of her?”

  I could hardly keep from crying. I wondered if I should leave and let Katie and Almeda be alone. But when I looked at Almeda as she stared down into Katie’s forlorn face, I could tell she was praying even though her eyes were open. I had seen her pray for others like that and I always knew when she was talking to the Lord. Then I thought maybe it would be best for me to keep sitting right where I was.

  I closed my eyes and began praying for Katie myself.

  “He wanted you to live,” said Almeda softly.

  “But why? Why should he want me to live, instead of my baby?”

  “I don’t know, Katie. He loves you, Katie. I know that. He loves you, and your baby.”

  “Oh God!” Katie wailed again as if she hadn’t even heard. “How could I think of myself at a time like that!”

  Almeda didn’t reply. Katie was sobbing.

  “I’ve always thought more of myself than anyone else,” she said. “Nick’s so considerate to me, but I don’t show him half the love he does me! I’ve acted dreadfully to you . . . to both of you! I’m so selfish! I hate the person I’ve become! I’d rather it had been me that had died! You’d all be better off without me!”

  “Don’t say such things, Katie. Don’t you know that we love you?”

  “Love me! How could you love me? Look at me! There’s nothing to love!”

  “God wouldn’t have made you if you weren’t special to him.”

  “That’s ridiculous! Why should God care about me? I’ve never given him a thought! Why should he love me?”

  “He loves us all.”

  “You, maybe. But I’ve always told him to keep away from me.”

  “Don’t you remember all I told you, Katie? I used to be further from him than you could ever be.”

  “I don’t know if I believe half what you told me, Almeda.” I opened my eyes. One look into Katie’s face told me the old anger was coming back. Her voice had changed, too.

  “Oh, Katie, I would never tell you something that wasn’t true.”

  “Well, I don’t care anyway. I never had any use for God, and I certainly don’t mean to start now.”

  “Oh, but Katie . . . dear! You need him now more than ever.”

  “I won’t need him! I refuse to need him,” she snapped back. “If he’s going to take my baby, then he’s not going to have me! He took my parents from me! He’s taken everything I ever cared about. I’ve had to make my own way. It’s little enough he’s ever done for me! And now he’s taken my daughter! I won’t need him, I tell you!”

  “Perhaps he too
k your little girl because he loved her so much he wanted to have her near him,” said Almeda after a moment, still speaking calmly.

  “That’s absurd, Almeda!” said Katie angrily. “If there’s a God at all, which I doubt, then what right has he got to toy with our lives like that?”

  “He doesn’t toy with us, Katie. We just can’t see how much he loves us. But everything works for good if we will only let—”

  “There you go again, saying it’s good that my baby died!” interrupted Katie. “I suppose you’ll tell me next that it’s good I’m such a hateful and selfish person! If that’s your God, Almeda, then curse him! I hate him, too . . . I hate you all . . . I hate myself . . . God . . . just go . . . leave me alone . . . just let me die!”

  She turned over in her bed, sobbing bitterly.

  Almeda looked over at me, sick at heart. She closed her eyes again. Then after a moment she sighed deeply, rose from the chair, and together we left the room. Katie was still weeping.

  “Your dear wife really needs you, Nick,” Almeda said to Uncle Nick. “Love her, Nick. Give her all the love you can. She’s more alone right now than she’s ever felt in her life. God is right at the threshold, but she doesn’t know it. That tough self-sufficient outer layer is nearly broken. And when it does break, she’s going to need you there to help her.”

  Uncle Nick nodded. We left the cabin and started home.

  We had nearly reached the bridge over the creek when Uncle Nick overtook us. This time he had a message directly from Katie’s lips.

  “She told me to get you,” he said. Almeda looked him intently in the eyes. “She wants to see you,” he said.

  We turned around at once and walked back up the trail. Almeda took Uncle Nick’s arm, and I followed behind them.

  Chapter 46

  The Angels Singing

  Once again we walked into the bedroom. This time Uncle Nick went in with us.

  Katie was sitting upright, propped up by several pillows. Her face was red and her eyes puffy, but she wasn’t crying any more, and there was a look of determination on her face.

  “Please forgive me, Almeda . . . Corrie,” she said. “Please have patience with me for my rudeness.”

  “You are forgiven,” said Almeda softly, smiling at Katie. I walked over to the bedside, leaned down, and gave Katie a hug. She put her arms around me and squeezed me in return. The feel of her arms around my shoulders filled me with such happiness I started to cry again. I pulled back and sat down across the room. Almeda again sat down next to the bed.

  There was a long silence. Finally Katie spoke again.

  “Do you really believe that God intends everything for our good?” she asked. For the first time her voice sounded as if she genuinely wanted to know.

  “Oh yes, Katie,” smiled Almeda. “He is more wonderfully good, and his ways are more wonderfully good than we have the faintest notion of.”

  “Then why did my parents die . . . why did he take my baby?” said Katie, starting to cry.

  Almeda took her hand. “I don’t know, Katie,” she replied with tenderness. “There’s so much we can’t understand about life. Corrie lost her mother also. I have had to struggle with all of the whys my past life. There are hurts every man and woman has to face and wonder about. There are disappointments. We can be lonely. We lose things and people who are precious to us. But there is one thing I’ve learned in the years since I gave my heart to the Lord, and I think it’s just about the most important lesson our life in this world has to teach us. Do you know what that lesson is?”

  Almeda stopped and waited. Finally Katie spoke up. “I don’t suppose I do,” she said.

  “It’s just this, Katie,” Almeda continued, “that when life’s heartaches and hurts and disappointments come, running to God, not away from him, is our only hope, our only refuge.”

  “Is that what I’ve been doing—running away?”

  “I’m not sure, Katie. I don’t know that it’s my business to say. Only you would know for certain. But you haven’t been running to him.” There could be no mistaking the love in Almeda’s voice, in spite of the directness of her words. I knew that at last Katie realized Almeda loved her and wanted to help her. She began to weep softly.

  “I know you’ve suffered hurts and losses, Katie,” Almeda went on. “But they’ve made you bitter and resentful toward God, when actually he was the one you should have gone to for help. He would have borne the pain for you. But by keeping him away, you had to bear it all alone.

  “Katie, I’m so sorry about your daughter! I grieve with you! But don’t you see, the only place for the pain to go is into the hands of Jesus. Otherwise it will tear you apart inside. Instead of turning from him, and blaming him, and crying out against him, he is the one you must go to. He did not take your daughter to inflict hurt. He loves that precious little girl, who is now radiantly alive in his presence, more than any of us ever could! And he loves you, Katie! His arms are wide open, waiting for you to run into his embrace. He is waiting to enfold you in his arms and draw you into himself, waiting to pour out his love in your heart, waiting to fill you with his peace.”

  Still Katie wept softly.

  “I’m ready to listen to what you want to tell me,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know what to do, how to do what you say, even if I want to.”

  “There’s nothing to do, Katie, except to receive the love he offers, the love his arms are waiting to wrap around you.”

  “How do you receive his love?”

  “Just by telling him you want to be his.”

  “You mean . . . praying?”

  “It doesn’t matter what you call it, Katie,” said Almeda. “God is a friend we can talk to. He is also our Father. We can crawl into his lap and let his arms wrap us up tight, and we can tell him we’re tired of being wayward children and we want to stay close to him from now on. Whatever you say, however you say it, he understands. And once you open up your heart to him like that, he will be with you from that moment on, for the rest of your life. With you, and inside you! The Bible says that he actually takes up residence inside our hearts and lives with us forever. It’s what Jesus calls being born again. That’s what it means to give your heart to God. It’s what Mr. Parrish helped me to do, and it changed the whole course of my life forever.”

  A long silence followed.

  Without another word, very softly Almeda rose from her chair. With the slightest gesture of one hand she motioned for Uncle Nick to take her place beside Katie’s bed. Uncle Nick got up, a momentary look of confusion on his face, not exactly sure what she meant. As he approached Katie and sat down in the seat where Almeda had been, Almeda and I quietly left the bedroom and closed the door. Then we left the cabin and started toward home.

  “I’m glad Erich is down at our place,” Almeda said after we were a ways along the path. “The two of them need to be alone for a while.”

  “Why did you get up so abruptly to leave?” I asked.

  “Was it abrupt? I didn’t mean it to be. I just knew there was nothing else for me to say right then. The next step was Katie’s to make, and I felt it was best she have some time to reflect on everything I’d said. God’s timing cannot be rushed.”

  “I know,” I said with a smile. “You’ve taught me that.”

  “Katie has finally stopped fighting against God. That is a good beginning. How far she goes now, and at what pace—that will be up to her. But I would never want to push someone too fast. We do great harm when we impose our own timetable on the work of the Spirit.”

  We walked on to the creek and alongside it in silence.

  “What do you think will become of Katie and Uncle Nick?” I asked finally.

  “Oh, Corrie,” said Almeda excitedly, “life is just beginning for them! Everything that’s happened up till now has just been preparing them for this time, getting them ready to walk with God in a new way. I truly believe that!”

  “And the baby?”
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  “Sometimes I don’t understand God’s ways anymore than Katie does. But he turns all for good—when we let him. The two of them losing their daughter is no exception. If they allow him to use it in their lives, it will draw them both closer to him . . . and to each other.”

  We walked the rest of the way without talking again. When we got home, Almeda lay down.

  About an hour later I saw Uncle Nick coming toward the house. Pa was out in the barn. I’d been talking to him and was just coming out when Uncle Nick came up. He had a great big grin on his face and his step was lighter than I’d seen it for several days.

  “Where’s Almeda?” he said.

  “In bed.”

  “And your Pa?”

  “In the barn.”

  “Well, get Almeda up and I’ll go fetch Drum. We’ll be inside in a minute.”

  “What for?” I asked, dying of curiosity.

  “Never you mind! I’ll tell you all at once,” said Uncle Nick, heading off in the direction of the barn. “I got news, that’s all I’ll say.” He was still smiling.

  A few minutes later Pa and Uncle Nick walked into the house, Pa’s arm around Uncle Nick’s shoulder.

  Uncle Nick scooped his son up in his arms. “Well son, your ma did it!”

  “Did what, Nick?” asked Pa. “Come on, out with it!”

  Uncle Nick was beaming, both from embarrassment and pride all at once. “She prayed, just like you said she ought to, Almeda,” he said. “Dad blame if she didn’t grab my hand the minute you two left and say, ‘Nick, will you pray for me? I want the life that Almeda and Corrie and Drum and the others have. I don’t want to be like this any more!’ Then she started crying, and I didn’t know what to do. ‘Please, Nick,’ she said, ‘you’ve got to help me! I don’t know what to do, but I want to live with God. I don’t want to live alone in my heart any more.’

  “So I just got up what courage I could muster. Except for that one time with you, Drum, I’ve never prayed out loud before, but I just said, ‘God, you gotta help us, ’cause I don’t know what to do. So I ask you to just help Katie, like she said, and show her how to let your arms go around her.’”