Fern’s observation took her by surprise. Had her growing fondness of R.C. been that obvious? And could it be so? Could she have captured his attention?
“Oh, pshaw! Please don’t embarrass your brother.” Gabriella cut a glance to him and noticed he didn’t protest but hoisted himself into the driver’s seat.
Situated in her own seat, Gabriella averted her eyes … and her thoughts. She didn’t want her heart to be anywhere but on her mission.
The trip seemed both fast and slow. Fast because the mild temperature and sunshine helped them along the way. Slow because she was eager to learn the truth about her grandfather—whether he was dead or alive, and, if alive, if he wanted to return to Houston and reconcile with her father.
On the second day of their journey, they neared the old Confederate camp but saw no sign of a wood-carver, or any dwelling where he might live. Gabriella’s eyes misted in distress at not finding Grandfather right away, and in thinking of the suffering soldiers, both sides fighting for what they believed to be right. The contemplation moved her to say a silent prayer. Lord, let brother not fight against brother in this country ever again.
They journeyed down a rough road. Hitting rocky places and holes caused the women to be jostled, but Gabriella ignored the discomfort. She was too busy looking for any sign of life. They rode the next four miles to Tyler without seeing anything promising. By that time, Gabriella wanted to cry.
Fern placed her hand on Gabriella’s shaking shoulder. “There’s time, and we haven’t even begun to ask around here in Tyler yet.”
Gabriella responded with a grateful smile. She could never reward Fern or R.C. enough for their patience and friendship. Even as she thought about her grandfather, she couldn’t help but think about R.C. and what might happen once they returned to Houston. Was R.C. being nice to her because he felt sorry for her? She sensed deeper feelings, that she had touched his heart in some way. She knew he had touched hers with gentle compassion she didn’t realize he possessed.
They disembarked in front of a hotel. Fern looked toward the Smith County Courthouse. “This is a bustling place.”
“I’ll have to agree.” R.C. adjusted his hat. “The population is growing by leaps and bounds. Cotton is king in these parts, but on the way here, I was thinking about something else. A fruit orchard, maybe.”
“R.C. always has his dreams.” Fern shook her head.
Gabriella breathed in the mild air. “Why, I think this is a fine climate for growing fruit. People always need to eat, and who doesn’t love fresh fruit?”
“I might look into acquiring some land here while I’m in town.” R.C.’s interest seemed ignited by Gabriella’s positive response. “You could take lessons from Gabriella, my dear sister. She is an encourager, whereas you always tell me things cannot be done.”
“As if he has anyone to tend to an orchard here,” Fern muttered in Gabriella’s direction.
“I heard that,” R.C. snapped. “I know people in more places than you think.”
“Let’s not argue. I think the best thing for us to do is try to get some sleep.” Gabriella made the suggestion for the benefit of her companions, expecting once again a restless night for herself.
The next day they repeated what they had done in Dallas, with the women waiting while R.C. asked anyone who’d answer if they’d seen a man matching Gabe’s description. Gabriella held out little hope. The old tintype she had lent R.C. showed them an image that, by all accounts, looked nothing like the man as he appeared at present.
As the women waited in the room, Gabriella worked on knitting a red scarf as a gift for R.C., a fact Fern promised she wouldn’t reveal. Because R.C. had been so kind to her and her father, she had begun knitting it a couple of weeks before they embarked on the trip. If she didn’t dawdle, the gift would be ready for presentation sometime during the Christmas season. Meanwhile, Fern sewed the finishing touches on a Sunday handkerchief for her brother, stitching his initials using the satin stitch. The blue thread looked striking against the white cotton.
Every five minutes, Gabriella looked at the little clock locket she wore, but Fern relented first. “I’m hungry. I suggest we find a place to have a bite to eat.”
“But what about R.C.? Shouldn’t we wait for him?”
Fern took her silver thimble off her thumb and placed it in her sewing bag. “He probably got involved in the search and isn’t even thinking about eating. Who knows when we’ll have lunch if we wait for him?”
Gabriella wasn’t hungry, but she had reached the end of a row so she stopped for Fern’s sake. The women checked their appearances in the mirror before heading downstairs to the lobby.
An older woman standing behind the desk looked up at them as they approached. “May I help you?”
“We were hoping you could recommend a good place nearby where the two of us could enjoy a light luncheon.” Gabriella didn’t listen to the answer. Instead, a wood rendition of Albrecht Dürer’s Praying Hands image entranced her. “That carving. It’s beautiful.”
The woman looked at it as though she were seeing it for the first time. “Yes, it is. I bought it from an old wood-carver just a couple of weeks ago. I’m sure if you stay here long enough, you’ll see him. He cuts quite a strange figure even for these parts.”
Gabriella’s heart beat faster and she heard Fern gasp.
“Really?”
The woman nodded. “He’s too thin for his own good and wears cast-off clothing. But I must say, he keeps himself clean and his hair and beard are always groomed.”
That sounded like her grandfather. “He’s an older man?”
“I’d say so. In his seventies, I would guess. And he has wisdom to go along with his years. He told me to remember that I should always pray without ceasing. The carving is a reminder.” “So he’s a preacher?” Fern asked.
“Not so much. I mean, he preaches, but in a way that makes you know he cares about you. He doesn’t preach at you or threaten you. When people are around him, they feel God’s love. He’s touched a lot of people here. I hope you have a chance to see him before he moves on.” The woman looked the young ladies up and down. “You two have plenty of money. Be sure to buy one or two of his carvings for yourselves. He lives off the alms he receives for his carvings. He never charges anyone a set price. They give out of love, and in exchange for his encouragement and wisdom. You know, he’s wise but never critical. That’s not something you find every day.”
Moved by sentiment, Gabriella placed her hands on her chest. To think that her grandfather had touched so many lives in such a positive way made her realize that if she ever held a trace of resentment toward him, it had to be released at that moment. Surely Grandfather was doing the work God called him to do. “Where does he live? Do you know?”
“The last I heard, he was living on the outskirts of town, in a rickety old house that was abandoned after the war of northern aggression.” She clucked. “A lot of us folks saw mighty hard times after that terrible war. We’re just getting back on our feet now, it seems. You know, we’re mighty kind around these parts. Some of the men offered to fix up the house for him, but he wouldn’t have it. I don’t know why he wants to live like that. His wood carvings are popular and bring him fine prices.”
Gabriella could understand what was incomprehensible to others. “Ma’am, we are waiting for Miss Sparks’s brother to join us. When he arrives, do you think someone would take us to the place where the wood-carver lives? I’m afraid we might struggle to find it by ourselves. I’ll pay well.”
“If it means that much to you, I can get my son to show you the place.” She paused, seeming to regret her eagerness to make the offer. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but are you sure he wants to see you? I’d hate to invade his privacy.”
“Oh, he’ll want to see me. I’m his granddaughter from Houston.”
“What? His granddaughter? I had no idea he had any family at all. He never mentioned anyone.” She squinted at Gabriella.
/> That admission hurt, but Gabriella wasn’t surprised. “Why, I do believe I see the resemblance.” Her heart lightened. “I’m his namesake. Gabriella.” “How about that? Well, let’s not waste another moment. Let me get my boy now.”
R.C. could feel Gabriella’s nervousness as they made their way to Tyler. He had already discovered from a blacksmith that a man matching Gabe’s description lived on the outskirts of town, and the women’s information matched his. Thankfully the innkeeper’s son knew where Gabe—or at least the man they believed to be Gabe—lived.
“This is it.” He nodded toward a wooden structure about a quarter mile from the old camp.
Gabriella gasped. She’d been warned that her grandfather lived in a poor state, but reality still shocked her. The one-room house barely stood against the wind. Its roof sagged, and yellowed newspaper covered a square hole where a window should have been. Warped wood had never seen paint. She speculated that the house had been built as a makeshift shelter, or perhaps as a guardhouse. She supposed no one anticipated it would be used this long, especially without upkeep.
R.C. clasped her hand. Grateful for the surprise gesture, she squeezed back, out of growing affection and a desire to hold on to an anchor.
“Is everything all right, ma’am?” Their boy guide wrinkled his brow.
She nodded too quickly. The grandfather she remembered would never have lived in such a place. If anything, he might have brought food and clothing to the occupants out of pity for their obviously distressed state. “I—I don’t think we should bother. Grandfather couldn’t be in there. There’s been a mistake. I just know it.”
“We’ve come too far not to find out for certain.” R.C.’s voice was gentle but encouraging. “To tell the truth, from what you told me about your grandfather, I find this state of affairs hard to believe myself. Let me walk with you. We can face this together.”
“Together.” Just what she wanted to hear. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she wanted a man to walk beside her in life.
She sent a silent prayer to the Lord so that she could cope with whatever lay behind the weathered door.
Their guide remained in the carriage, but Fern and R.C. stood behind Gabriella as she knocked.
Silence.
Her heart dipped. In spite of her disappointment over the sorry state of the dwelling, they hadn’t come all this way just for him not to be home. Who couldn’t have heard a knock on a house so small?
As though he could read her mind, R.C. knocked a second time, with force. The summons produced the sound of shuffling feet. They didn’t have much longer to wait. Gabriella held her breath.
An elderly man answered. Despite the warnings that her richly dressed, paunchy grandfather had lost weight and taken to wearing cast-off clothing, she still wasn’t prepared for the reedy man standing before her. Instead of wavy, dark hair and large mutton chops, this man’s salt-and-pepper tufts barely covered his head, although a long beard concealed a large part of his face. But his gray eyes were unmistakable.
“Grandfather!” She ran into his arms.
His face lit into a smile. “Gabriella? Gabriella? Is that you?”
She stood back, taking in his countenance. “It is.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to find you.”
It was his turn to regard her. “Yes, I do believe you’re my Gabriella. I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see the family resemblance with my own eyes.” He looked beyond her to R.C. and Fern. “And who are your friends?”
She made the introductions, and he invited them all inside the house. As he spoke, the sound of his voice, with its true cadence, proved to her once and for all she had indeed found her grandfather. The sentiment was just as she imagined their greeting would be. She looked around the tiny room, bare except for a table covered with finished carvings along with a work in progress, a chair, plus a sideboard with a portion of a loaf of bread. She shuddered.
Determined not to let him see her distress, she walked to the table so she could examine his handiwork. “You still have such a knack for carving. Your work is still beautiful.” She shared the story of spotting the praying hands carving in the hotel lobby, and the innkeeper’s glowing words about him.
Grandfather picked up a sheep and rubbed the bumps in the facsimile of wool with his index finger. “I give my work over to the Lord and let Him decide what people will be blessed by it.” He handed the sheep to his granddaughter. “Here. Will you accept this as a blessing from me?”
The sheep still felt warm from his touch. Gabriella would cherish the moment, and its memento, forever. “Of course. Thank you, Grandfather.”
“Remember that you are one of the Lord’s sheep.”
“I will.” Her eyes misted.
Grandfather looked toward R.C. and Fern, then gifted each of them with an angel figurine to represent the Lord’s guardianship. Gabriella could see emotion on R.C.’s face, and Fern’s eyes teared.
“Thank you, Grandfather, for showing my friends such generosity of spirit. We have heard all sorts of wonderful things about you on our way here. People have been touched by your carvings and your wise words.”
“I take no credit for any wisdom I share. It’s all from the Lord. He has been good to me.”
“Good to you?” Gabriella blurted without thinking. Caught in her own truth, she confessed. “I don’t understand this place.”
“It’s humble to be sure, but no one’s laid claim to it, and the landowner gave his permission for me to live here as long as I like. With the money I save on rent I’d pay to a boardinghouse, I can give more food to the poor.”
“But must you go to such extremes?”
He turned stern. “If you’ve just come here to chastise me, just like your father before you, I’ll have none of it. Even though you are my namesake.”
The prospect of losing his approval, even for a moment, was enough to make her retreat. “No, Grandfather. I don’t mean to vex you. I know you are doing the Lord’s work. The people in town have told us so.”
“It must be hard for a pretty young woman such as yourself to understand, but it’s not hard for me. I want to help others. And this is the way I want to do it. I am a happy man. Can you make yourself understand?”
Gabriella wasn’t sure.
“Remember how Christ made Himself poor to come down to earth for us? He gave up anything any soul could want up in heaven and lived as a humble preacher.”
“Of course I remember.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. Not that I’m the perfect example. Far from it. Only Jesus is the perfect example. But I want to try.” A faraway look lingered in his eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make your father understand. Jesus said the gospel message would separate families.”
Gabriella felt led to recite aloud a passage from the book of Matthew that she had learned in Sunday school class years ago. She had held the passage in her heart because its words touched her all too closely. “‘For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law. And a man’s foes shall be they of his own household. He that loveth father or mother more than me is not worthy of me: and he that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me. And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me. He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.’ “
“That’s it. I’m only sorry that the part about family division turned out to be the literal truth for me.”
“I know.” Sadness washed over Gabriella.
“Do you resent the fact that I took away part of your earthly inheritance to pursue the path I think God laid out for me?”
She thought before she answered. “This trip has shown me that I had to let go of any trace of resentment I may have felt. I have learned much in the past few days. For that, and for R.C. and Fern, I am grateful.”
“Father is very proud of the fact he made his own fortune after you abandoned us.” She tightened her lips, sorry she blurted such a candid comment. Perhaps Fern’s blunt way of speaking had rubbed off on her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did, and it’s true. I’m sorry that I left you alone.” He touched his hand to hers. She noticed calloused fingers, a result of years of carving life into wood.
“I’m sorry to see you living in such squalor.”
“I don’t have to, you know. I have given away yet another fortune.”
“Have you?”
“Yes. Wealthy patrons value my work. They pay me well.” “Of course. You are so talented.”
“My talent is not why I am rewarded. I am rewarded because I am doing the Lord’s work.”
Sniffles from Fern caught Gabriella’s attention. She dabbed her lace handkerchief to her eyes. “I’m sorry. You just touched me.”
“And me, too, if you don’t think me less of a man for admitting it,” R.C. said. “Sir, you have inspired me to be less concerned about all the real estate deals I can make and more concerned about my family and friends.”
“Are you as unfeeling as all that? I don’t believe it. You have a heart, you do. And you are strong.”
“How right you are, Grandfather. You would have been so proud if you could have seen R.C. protecting me on this trip. We had to travel through some mighty wild country, you know.”
“Aw, I didn’t do anything.” R.C. shuffled his feet in the familiar way that always endeared him to Gabriella.
“And you’re right in that R.C. does care about other people.” Gabriella hoped he cared about her especially. “I can see now why people credit you with compassion and wisdom.”
“My brother has a heart, but he’s never shown it the way I’ve seen since he met Gabriella.” Fern shot R.C. a knowing look.
The motion made Gabriella’s heart do a little skip.
Grandfather’s eyes took on a kind light as he studied Fern. “You, my girl, are honest and true. I have a feeling you’ll make some man a good wife in the Lord’s time.”
Woodland Christmas Page 25