The streak of fatalism that made up part of Winslow’s character would not permit him to hope for any mercy from Arrow, but he put the thing out of his mind.
They arrived at the small frame building just off Main Street as the congregation was gathering. Dan leaped to the ground and helped the women out, then resisted the impulse to give Zane a little help. He let the family go in, standing outside to watch the people arrive and file in, then entered and took a back seat. It was a small building, no more than twenty feet wide and perhaps twice that long. Two rows of pine benches ran from the back to the low platform that held two chairs and a simple pulpit, and most of them were full. Yellow sunlight filtered through the high windows that broke the front wall, and the smell of sawdust and rosin hung in the air.
Several people spoke to Dan, and he was somewhat puzzled as to his presence in the place. He had not been to a service more than five times since the war, but somehow he had wanted to come to this place. Part of the reason, he understood, was his admiration of Amos Jenson, for the man was genuine to the bone. But other than that, he was aware that something in his life was out of joint; and over the years he had thought often of the simple faith of his parents, what a completeness it brought to them—and it seemed to him that he saw that same simplicity in Amos and Hope.
He especially enjoyed the music, which was different. Amos played the fiddle and Hope the dulcimer, and the two had played together so long they complemented each other perfectly. There was a charm in the sounds of the instruments, and Hope’s clear contralto voice blended perfectly with the accompaniment.
The rest of the congregation joined in heartily, singing, “Nothing But the Blood of Jesus,” “Shall We Gather at the River?” “Amazing Grace,” “Rock of Ages,” and other favorite hymns. To his surprise, Dan discovered that he knew the words of most of them, that after all his years of wandering, the songs he’d sung in church as a boy had not left him. He began singing quietly, unaware that Hope saw this, as well as Amos.
When the singing was over, Hope took her place with Zane, Cody, and Rosa. A silence fell over the congregation as Amos stood up, his worn black Bible in his hand. He was not a shouter, but spoke in a warm, casual manner—which had displeased some of the congregation at first, those who liked the fiery evangelists who came from time to time. But over the months most of them had come to realize that Amos Jenson was a man who heard from God—and who would deliver fearlessly any message that God gave him.
Amos looked calmly over the room. He was not an impressive man to look at. He wore a simple, worn black suit, a white shirt, and a string tie. His face was thin, and there was a fragility about him as he stood there quietly, but when he spoke his voice was clear.
“All over this country people are meeting to worship God. Some in humble buildings like this, others in big, expensive buildings. Preachers are standing before their congregations, just as I’m standing before you, and I suppose texts will be preached on from every book in the Bible. There’ll be sermons on heaven, on hell, on infant baptism, on the beast in Daniel rising out of the sea that looks like a bear with three ribs in his mouth—and on just about every other subject the mind can imagine.”
A big black bug chose this moment to fly in through the window. It flew to Amos, circled around his head with a loud buzzing hum, and Amos paused to brush it away with his hand. A smile appeared on his lips, and he said, “A preacher friend of mine was giving his message once, and one of those big black bugs flew right into his mouth. Well, sir, he had to decide to make a spectacle out of himself and try to cough it up and spit it out—or to just swallow it and go on.” He scratched his head, ignoring the giggles of the young boys, and said, “He finally decided to just swallow it—which he did—and went right on with his preaching. But after the sermon one of his deacons came to him intending to have some fun out of the pastor, and he said, ‘Now, Pastor, you’ve always got a scripture from the Bible to fit anything that happens to you. Now what scripture you gonna find about swallowing a bug?’ ”
Amos paused, then smiled, “My preacher friend didn’t even have to think about it. He said, ‘Deacon, he was a stranger, and I took him in!’ ”
Laughter swept over the congregation, and Dan Winslow grinned broadly. He admired Amos as a preacher, and was aware that few men had the ability to put the gospel in terms that these unpretentious people could understand. The simple jest won them over, and they settled down to listen as Jenson began to speak seriously.
“This morning, I want to speak about the most important thing that ever happened on the face of the earth. It changed everything, and I mean, of course, the death of Jesus Christ on the cross. You’ve read the story of that death many times, but it makes me tremble every time. Turn to Luke’s gospel, chapter twenty-three, beginning with verse thirty-three.” He waited until those who had Bibles found the place, then read slowly:
“And when they were come to the place, which is called Calvary, there they crucified him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand, and the other on the left.
“Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do. And they parted his raiment, and cast lots.
“And the people stood beholding. And the rulers also with them derided him, saying, He saved others; let him save himself, if he be Christ, the chosen of God.
“And the soldiers also mocked him, coming to him, and offering him vinegar, and saying, If thou be the king of the Jews, save thyself.
“And a superscription also was written over him in letters of Greek, and Latin, and Hebrew, THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS.”
Amos looked up and began to tell of the miracles Jesus did, of the holy life led by the Savior. He spoke of the hardships Jesus suffered, and of the poverty He endured.
Then he described the betrayal by Judas, the unjust and illegal trials that Jesus suffered through. And finally he described the crucifixion, dwelling on the agony of the nails that crushed the fragile bones of the hands and feet, the terrible jolting as the cross was dropped into the hole, and the awful torture that forced the crucified to pull himself upright on the nailed palms in order to catch a breath. He described the swarm of flies that must have been drawn to the scene, the mockings of the crowd.
“What was this man doing on that cross?” Amos asked, and there were tears on his cheeks. “Was He a criminal? A vile sinner? No, He was the only perfect man the world had ever seen since Adam fell.”
The crowd was absolutely still, and Winslow was beginning to experience a strange sensation, not fear exactly, but not far from it.
“Jesus was there,” Amos declared in a ringing voice, “to put back together what Adam had torn apart. Not since the sin in the Garden had man been able to go to God. He could sacrifice and pray, but the scripture tells us that the blood of bulls and goats can never take away sin. For thousands of years devout Jews had taken a lamb and slain it, the Passover lamb. But not one sin had the blood of those thousands of lambs ever taken away!
“But when John the Baptist saw Jesus,” Amos lifted his voice, “what did he say?”
One of the older ladies in the church could not contain herself. “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world!” she cried out with tears running down her cheeks.
“That’s it, Sister!” Amos nodded as amens echoed the woman’s statement. “Jesus is the Lamb of God. It took innocent blood to take away the sin and guilt of man, and that’s why we sing:
“What can take away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
“Oh, precious is the flow,
That makes me white as snow,
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.”
Dan Winslow had heard those familiar words a thousand times. He could not remember a time when he hadn’t known them, for it was his mother’s favorite song. He had been rocked to sleep hearing those w
ords, but as Amos spoke them, it was as though he’d never heard them before. Nothing but the blood of Jesus. He had a sudden thought that swept all else from his mind. “Why, that’s true! There is no other way to get to God except by Jesus!”
He appeared calm as Amos continued to preach, but he felt as if every nerve in his body had been laid bare. He’d taken religion to be a thing a man did—such as joining a church, being baptized, paying his tithes. Now he saw that all those things were nothing in themselves, mere activities that a bad man could do just as well as a good man. It was as if he’d come to a sudden drop-off in the middle of a road, and he was about to plunge off into some unknown and awesome chasm.
He dropped his head, stared at his feet, and did not know that his fists were clenched so tightly that the fingernails cut into the flesh. Nor did he know that Amos Jenson saw this, though he did not let his gaze linger on Winslow.
Finally Amos said, “What does all this mean? The death of God’s own Son on a terrible cross? Let me read you verses thirty-nine to forty-three of this same chapter. They tell us why Jesus died:
“And one of the malefactors which were hanged railed on him, saying, If thou be Christ, save thyself and us.
“But the other answering rebuked him, saying, Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation?
“And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward of our deeds: but this man hath done nothing amiss.
“And he said unto Jesus, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.
“And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto thee, Today shalt thou be with me in paradise.”
Amos closed his Bible and put it down gently on the pulpit. Then he said, “A man can’t run away from God. He may go as far as a horse can take him, then get on a ship and go as far as the ship can take him. But when he’s gone as far as he can go—he’ll find out that Jesus Christ is right there.” He paused and bowed his head, and a stillness came over the room. “Some of you have heard about Jesus for a long time. But you’ve run from Him. He wants to do you nothing but good, but you’ve acted as though He was your enemy.”
A young man sitting halfway down to the front suddenly bent forward and put his head on the bench in front of him; muffled sobs rose from his chest. An elderly man with silver hair sitting next to him put his hand on the boy’s shoulders, leaned forward, and began to pray.
Amos said, “What will you do with Jesus? That’s the only question that’s of any eternal importance. Get the answer to that right, and all the other things in life come around right. Some of you have made every mistake in the book, done everything you shouldn’t have done. Well, you’re like that thief. What did he do? Nothing! He just knew he was a sinner, cut off from God, about to face judgment. But he did one wise thing in his life—maybe the only wise thing he ever did. He asked Jesus for mercy—and he got it!”
The young man got up and staggered to the front of the building, falling on his knees; the older man was right beside him. Another came, a girl of no more than fourteen with tears streaming down her face.
As Amos urged anyone who needed salvation to come, Dan Winslow sat on the bench, feeling as though he were being torn in two! Part of him wanted to go, to fall on his knees and cry out to God. But there was something else in him, a pride that held him in his place. Finally, able to stand it no longer, he rose and stumbled over the feet of those sitting beside him, then turned and left the building.
Amos watched him go, and a sadness came to his eyes. He wanted to run after Winslow, to beg him to give in to Jesus Christ—but he was too wise for that. He knew well that it was the one decision that no man can make for another, so he began to pray with those who did come forward.
After the service there was a dinner on the ground prepared by the ladies of the church, but Winslow was not present. He had walked out of town as quickly as he could, taking refuge in a grove of cottonwood trees that lined a small pond. But he found no rest in the place; a heaviness like lead had come over him. Thoughts of his past deeds swirled through his mind, most of them deeds that were better left undone. He saw his mother’s tears—his father’s as well—and shame ran along his nerves.
Finally, he walked slowly back to the church and saw that the dinner was over. Most of the people had left, and he would rather have taken a beating than to face them. But when Amos saw him, he merely smiled, saying, “Ready to go, Dan?”
The ride home was long, and Cody did most of the talking. Hope was aware of Winslow’s silence. Her father had told her briefly of the spiritual struggle the man was having. She turned once and examined him. But she could not read his expression. The sun caused him to narrow his eyes, so they were half-hidden behind the drop of his lids. His features were solid, with nothing to show that he was going through some sort of turmoil. She knew he was a man who could conceal his feelings, and wondered if a man like Winslow could be touched by great emotion.
And Winslow was trying to force his thoughts away from Amos’ sermon. But he could not, and over and over he kept hearing the words: A man can’t run away from God!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CABIN RAISING
For days after Winslow’s experience at the church service, he was quieter than usual, but as far as Hope could tell, there was no other change in him. When she spoke of it to Amos, he replied, “Don’t rush him, Daughter. When you plant a seed in the ground, you don’t go digging it up in two or three days to see how it’s doing. Remember the parable in Mark chapter four, the one that says a man casts seed into the ground and goes on with his life, but that seed comes to life? Well, I know God spoke to Dan, but we’ve got to wait.” His thin face grew more thoughtful, and he spoke reflectively, “The seed’s got to die before it can bring forth new life and growth—and I’m thinking something in Dan Winslow will have to die before God can do what He wants to with him.”
“Have you noticed how Cody follows Dan around?” Hope asked.
“Sure. The boy is starved for a man’s attention. I’m not able to go places and do things with him, and Zane’s been too busy. Boy needs a father.”
His words caused a flush to rise to Hope’s cheeks, and she said quickly, “That can’t be, Pa.” The two of them were sitting in the kitchen, and she rose to go to the sink. Agitation stirred the smooth surfaces of her cheeks, and she kept her face averted. “We’re doing fine as we are.”
Amos said, his voice tinged with sadness, “It’s troublesome to me, Hope. I can’t be around too much longer, and I’d give a lot to see you find a good man. A woman needs a man, just like a man needs a woman. You’ve missed the best thing God’s given to us on this earth—but I’m praying that you’ll find it sometime while I’m still around to see it.”
Perhaps it was the memory of that scene—Hope could never decide afterward if that were the case—but two days later when Hope let Cody persuade her to go fishing with him and Dan, she discovered that her feelings concerning Dan were not simple.
The three of them had gone late in the afternoon to a deep pool that lay sheltered within a grove of tall firs half a mile from the house. Cody, never patient with his fishing, had stated, “I’m gonna go down to where I caught the big catfish last week,” and had departed carrying his pole and a can of worms.
Hope sat on a fallen log beside Dan, and in the cloistered silence of the grove, broken only by the gurgling of the stream, she remembered what her father had said. The memory made her uncomfortable, and she stirred restlessly, drawing a look from Dan. She had little knowledge of men, but she knew when men looked at her with admiration, and she saw something of this in Winslow’s eyes now.
As for Winslow, he had been going through a difficult time, the words of Amos Jenson echoing in his mind almost constantly. He had managed to put God out of his thoughts for years, but the sermon had brought a stirring in him that was somehow uncomfortable—yet at the same time not completely unwelcome. And as he looked at Hope, it was not her physical attractiveness that drew him—though
that was part of it—but the calm serenity that lay beneath her physical graces. She was wearing a pair of Zane’s faded jeans and denim shirt, which surprisingly flattered her figure, giving her paradoxically a more feminine air than if she had been wearing a dress.
“Zane’s doing well,” Winslow said. “He’ll be able to ride soon.”
Hope nodded, and they spoke of the ranch for a time, but it was only surface conversation. Suddenly she felt a jerk on her fishing pole and saw the cork bobber taking off across the stream. She cried out with excitement, yanking hard on her pole, and a small catfish flew out of the water and plopped on the ground behind her. Scrambling to where it lay flopping, she made a grab at it even as Dan called out a warning, “Watch out for the fins!”
But one of the sharp spines pierced her palm as the fish flung his head around, and she cried out with pain, dropping the fish. She held her wounded hand with the other as the agonizing pain from the poisonous spine hit her. Dan came to her at once, took her hand and looked at it. The puncture was already turning red, and he pulled her to the side of the creek, where he scooped up a handful of cool mud and smeared it on the wound. “This helps a little.” He held her small hand, pressing the mud against it, adding, “Nothing hurts much worse than poison from a catfish.”
Hope had her eyes closed, and her lips were drawn into a straight line. The throbbing pain seemed to run all the way up her arm to her brain, and she grew faint with the agony. Unconsciously she leaned against him, and he held her with his free arm. It was an involuntary gesture, and there was comfort in leaning her head against his chest.
Finally the pain grew bearable. She lifted her head and he released her at once. “Better?” he asked, his eyes filled with concern.
“Yes, it’s not so bad.” She gave him an embarrassed glance, adding, “Sorry to be such a baby.” She had no way of knowing how appealing she was at that moment, or how the touch of her slender form had stirred Winslow.
House of Winslow 14 The Valiant Gunman Page 24