The Kingdom Land

by Bart Tuma

  Uncle Henry reached across the table and placed his hand on Erik’s. The unforgiving farm work had twisted Henry’s fingers, but Erik only felt its warmth. It reminded him of the warmth of God’s touch last night. “Erik, thank you for telling us. It’s good to hear,” Uncle Henry said.

  Erik recounted the events of late Saturday night and Sunday morning to his aunt and uncle. They had hoped for this day ever since they had taken Erik into their home. Their goal for Erik had always been for him to learn the reality of Christ’s love. They had almost given up hope as Erik had gotten older and more hardened in his isolation. They listened carefully as Erik erupted with an outpouring of words for one of the first times they could remember.

  Erik went through every event carefully, making sure he didn’t miss a detail. He explained his conversation with John, a man the Coopers were familiar with and trusted. Only when he came to the part of forgiving his mother did darkness seem to come over their faces.

  “I realize now that I need to forgive,” Erik explained. “John said that God can’t heal something if we keep tearing it apart. Like picking at an old scab. That makes sense. He also said that Jesus would help me as I tried to forgive them. I want to try. I’ve thought about it on the way home, and I know I need to try. It might be good if I went to Dad’s grave and talked to him there. I don’t know.

  “I might have to think about this, but I think I need to find her, my mother, Maggie.” This was the first time Erik had used her name in years. “I though about it coming home. At first I doubted if I should see her, but the more I thought about it, the more I got excited. I guess the reason it’s so important to me is I can’t talk to Dad. I can go to his grave, but I can’t talk with him. But, my mother… It seems important that if I really have changed that I should be able to share that with my parents, and my only parent is Mother.”

  “I sure agree with John,” said Uncle Henry. “It’ll be important to forgive, but don’t rush on how you will carry out that forgiveness. Forgive them in your heart and the other outward statements of forgiveness can come with time. A lot has happened and a long time has passed, so nothing needs to happen in a day. I’d be glad to go with you this week to your father’s grave,” he offered.

  “Yeah, I know a lot has happened, but I have blown it for so long. I need to make things right. I’ve never known her, but maybe I need to know her now. Maybe that’s part of showing that a difference really did happen in my life. Maybe I could even start over again and be a son to her, but I need to see her first.”

  “Erik, let’s talk about this later,” Henry replied. “First, let’s get you cleaned up and you can get a good night’s rest. You must be exhausted. You can make those decisions when you’re rested.”

  “No, Uncle Henry. I need to know about her now. The more I thought about it, the more excited I got. I need to do it now. I need to finish what started last night.” Erik took a steadying breath. The lack of sleep was catching up with him, making him on edge. Added in was the feeling that his uncle, although sincere in his joy that Erik had come to Christ, seemed strangely uncooperative in regards to Erik’s mother. His uncle’s attitude made Erik all the more resolute. He tried to explain, “I made a big step this morning, but I don’t think it will be a complete step until I’ve talked to my mother face to face. If I’m going to change, I want to change completely.”

  “Good, Erik, but let’s talk about this after you get some rest.”

  “No,” Erik set his jaw and tone with firmness. “What’s the matter? Is there something you don’t want me to know? I’m not leaving you folks. I just need to talk to my mother.”

  “Henry, maybe it would be good if we talked with Erik today,” suggested Aunt Mary. “He needs to know, and tomorrow won’t be any different from today. I don’t think he is going to give up, and he’s ready.”

  Erik didn’t know what to be ready for, but many thoughts quickly ran through his mind. Henry hesitated, but finally gave a slow nod.

  “Okay, we’ll talk, but before I do, I want you to remember things can be different now. Things are different now. There is a God, Jesus Christ, that loves you. It’s not a hopeless world, and you’re not caught in a hopeless situation. No matter what other people do, God will never change. When things don’t make sense, don’t just shut people off, turn to Him.”

  Erik clasped his hands again and looked away from his uncle. I don’t need a lecture I just want to know about my mother.

  Uncle Henry began, “After your mom left we found out she went to San Francisco. We only found that out by chance when a bill collector called on a loan we had co-signed with her. We didn’t directly hear anything from her for years. We tracked her down when your dad died since they were officially still married. We talked on the phone for maybe ten minutes at the most, but she just hung up on us, saying that your dad had been forgotten. That her marriage to him was long ago and a mistake. She gave her address in case your dad had left her anything in his estate, which of course there wasn’t. We sent her several letters so she could know how you were doing. After the first one they were just returned to us unopened and marked, ‘return to sender’.

  “Then when you were a Sophomore in high school we got a letter from the state of California with a death certificate asking if we wanted to be responsible for burial costs. Erik, your mom can’t be found, she’s—she’s dead. At the time, you were going through so much we were afraid that it would only drive you further away if we told you.”

  Erik sat stunned. He was silent for many moments, only aware of the two faces looking at him, concern and distress etched into the work worn crevices of their features. “How did she die?” Erik’s finally spoke.

  “That’s not important. She’s gone, and we’re your family,” Henry firmly but gently stated.

  “How did she die?”

  “Erik…” It was obvious Henry was again reluctant to go further.

  “Don’t’ try to hide anything else from me. I want the truth. How did she die?” Erik’s voice wasn’t tired. It was angry. It was no longer just about his mother. It was about respect.

  Henry looked down. “She died of a heroin overdose. Things hadn’t worked out for her. She was never able to find a place of happiness. It’s a shame, but some people just can’t cope with life. Now that you’ve found His life, it’s time to move on.” Henry didn’t know how else to state the facts.

  Erik didn’t know what to think. More emotions were thrown on top of all that he already felt. There had been so much elation and relief and now reality. That mother that he had only referred to as “her” had truly abandoned him. She had been given a second chance to take him when his dad died. She may as well said, “What kid, I don’t want any kid.” His mother was nothing better than a dope-head who didn’t care about anyone, even herself. His dad was a drunk and his mom a doper, and he came from them. He carried their genes, which said a lot about his worth.

  Why would he expect anything else? He was a fool and only had empty dreams. A day ago he thought a barmaid would be his future. What a joke. Today he had dreamt of finding his mom ‘cause she’d love him. Why do I even bother? When am I going to realize that No One wants me. Suddenly the arms of God seemed far away.

  He now knew why Henry had lectured him before he started. He had been right, but Erik didn’t want someone to be right. Tears began to well up. He redirected his energy in an effort to fight the tears.

  “No wonder you lied to me all these years. What else haven’t you told me? You think I’m such a basket case you can’t even tell me the truth. You needed to tell me. This is the second time you lied to me. You told me when I was a kid that she left to get well and she really loved me. She never loved me. She never even cared about me. What else have you lied about? How am I supposed to believe anything you say?”

  As soon as he said the words he knew he was wrong, but he also knew he had been wronged. He was too tired to know what else to do. “Now I’m supposed to forgive people who I can’
t even talk to. What’s next?”

  His aunt and uncle had no reply. They could have suggested that he spend some of his newfound faith on forgiving them for the honest mistakes they had made, but they felt so profoundly guilty in the face of his bitterness that they could not even speak.

  Chapter Eight

  There was little sleep that evening, neither in the main farmhouse nor the bunkhouse. Mary and Henry didn’t get up from the table once Erik left. There was no discussion. They both simply sat and prayed in silence and thought in earnest.

  “What a great day!” they thought, but following on the heels of that thought was the irony that instead of bringing them healing, it seemed as though Erik’s going to Christ had caused a greater rift between Erik and themselves. They felt helpless to know what to do, how to make things right between them. They could only rely on God.

  They knew the Lord had answered Erik’s call. In actuality, Erik had answered God, who had called to him for years. They had seen so many times that Erik had a tender heart, but it was also a heart that he kept closely locked so that it couldn’t be hurt again. Now their fear was that he would once again feel betrayed by God and close his heart forever.

  Erik was so hard to read. Even as that eleven-year-old boy at his father’s funeral, it was hard to tell how he would react. He was so quiet and if confronted he would shrink back into even greater silence. He would talk about things, but he would talk at his own time of choosing. Months would pass after a big event in Erik’s life and only then would he explain how he felt and how much it meant to him. That is why they were so excited to see him so open about Christ and his excitement about serving Him. Now neither of them knew how Erik would react, but they both knew they couldn’t force an answer from him.

  Finally, Mary got up and did needless chores around the kitchen. She cleaned and organized the lazy susan, which was already clean and organized. She cleaned the cabinet tops. She scrubbed with the dishrag so hard it looked as if she was trying to remove the top layer of laminate. Mary worked to clear her mind of despair. Maybe it was all her fault. Maybe she could have changed everything. She was the big sister to Erik’s dad. She should have done more when she had the chance. She thought of her time with Jimmie.

  As a kid, Jimmie was mischievous and fun loving. He loved a practical joke and loved to tease his sister. Mary also thought she took great care to look after her younger brother, but now she wondered if she could’ve done more. He took great delight in watching her eyes as he did daredevil tricks out of her reach. He knew, once she was assured that he wasn’t hurt, that she would shake her head and say, “You’ll be the death of me yet, if you don’t kill yourself first.”

  There was a seven-year gap between the two, but somehow the gap seemed like twenty-seven years, at times. Mary was serious and focused. Jimmie was fun loving and cared only about the next weekend.

  As he got older he began to change. It seemed like the farm did something to Jimmie as he got into his teens. The long summer hours of work seemed to dull his spirit and his practical jokes came less frequently. He became part of the other men’s conversation about the farm and the weather and the fear of drought and hailstorms. Many of the men talked this way to pass the time.

  Jimmie took these conversations to heart. When an older farmer would talk about a past drought the next man would tell a story worse than the rest. To the men, story telling was a game, a social event. Unfortunately, a teenaged Jimmie believed ever word and thought their reality would be true of his farm. He felt his only chance to survive was to work harder than the rest. Soon he became obsessed with the weather and the health of his crops.

  When he met Maggie, Mary was excited to notice that he had once again picked up his zeal for life, and he now played the tricks on his wife rather than Mary. Maggie gave him a chance to think of something besides the farm. His obsession soon turned to her. He did everything he could to keep her happy and be in love with him. The only thing he couldn’t give her was a return to Denver. He was a farmer and the land was his life. Soon Maggie realized she was stuck on the farm, and Jimmie’s attention only suffocated her more. She wanted her freedom and excitement and Jimmie no longer gave her either.

  His new zeal for life ended when Maggie left. He became completely wrapped up in the life of the farm since the land was the one thing he knew would never change. He worked longer than he had to, and when he did take a break, it was to get drunk.

  Mary saw the effect on Erik’s life. A boy matures faster on a farm, and by the time he was nine he seemed nineteen. Since he had little attention from his dad, Erik became quiet and went out by himself when other people were around. Whenever she went over to visit she would bring a toy or a game or anything possible to give fun to Erik’s life and to show that someone cared. It was only after Jimmie died and Erik moved to their house that she realized how much he had become like his dad.

  When they were young, both Mary and Jimmie attended the one-room schoolhouse located just a mile over the hill from their farmhouse. Mary was in the eighth grade and Jimmie was in the first. The county didn’t have buses so each family was paid transportation money to get the kids to school. In turn, Mary’s dad offered them half of the money if they walked themselves over the hill. It was a way for the kids to get an allowance and for the family to use the money saved towards other necessities. The two jumped at the opportunity to get money and walked whenever the weather allowed.

  Because of the age difference and because the school was only to the eighth grade, they only walked together one year.

  This was the time Mary remembered most about Jimmie. On those walks, Jimmie would open up like he never could at home. He was full of dreams of being a fireman or a soldier like any typical six year old. But he also had stories he had created in his mind that Mary would never have guessed a six year old could hold.

  Since the Winters’ farmhouse only had two finished bedrooms, Mary got one, the parents the second and Jimmie would sleep in an unfinished room in the basement. On the walks to school, Jimmie would talk about the nightmares he would have in that basement room. He would talk about the dream of being buried alive when the family left him behind while he was sleeping. He didn’t know they were gone until he woke to the sound of the basement beams mourning as if to fall. He would try to go upstairs, but his legs wouldn’t walk, and when he finally crawled the stairs to the door, the door was locked. He screamed for help, but no one would come. No one had remembered Jimmie. The beams cracked even louder until they crumbled under the weight of some unseen force. Tile and furniture and kitchen appliances came falling down as the beams collapsed. The debris fell and fell, and Erik could only wait for himself to be engulfed.

  Only later did she realize these were not nightmares he had in his sleep, but horrors he feared as he lay awake in his basement room waiting for sleep to overtake him. These were not dreams of sleep, but fears Jimmie faced every night.

  Mary knew an eighth grader shouldn’t have such dreams, but she didn’t know how to help, but she made sure she said goodnight to Erik in his basement room.

  After Erik arrived, she would wonder if that was why Erik slept in the bunkhouse, even though he never knew about his father’s basement room. Somehow it seemed Erik had inherited more than the same colored hair from his dad. She wondered what nightmares Erik must be having now.

  As she waxed the floor for the second time that evening she wondered if she should have done more.

  “If only I had given Jimmie more attention. Mom and dad were too busy, but I had the time. Maybe he wouldn’t have had those nightmares, and maybe he wouldn’t have felt left alone so often. Maybe Jimmie wouldn’t have shut himself up and escaped to his work. Maybe Maggie wouldn’t have left him and maybe Erik wouldn’t be facing what he is today. Maybe I could have stopped all this from happening if only…”

  Her guilt was without bases. She had been a girl, but in the ‘40’s the farm demanded as much of her time and attention as anyone else. She sti
ll drove a tractor and a truck during harvest. Their family had been poor and only rented most of the land they worked. There was little extra time to look after a younger brother since they couldn’t hire extra hands. Mary was the hand that filled in when needed, and she was often needed.

  She enjoyed the farm life. It gave her a sense of accomplishment to see the fields she had planted and worked to produce a bumper crop. A farm kid with her responsibilities matured fast and they become single-minded in their lives. Her life was working on the farm to help the family.

  Going to a one-room schoolhouse with six kids in eight grades does not allow for a social life. The farm life itself is not designed for companionship. It is designed to work the land. Once a month there was a dance at the Haylake Hall, and this was Mary’s chance to socialize. There was no lake in the area, but someone must have thought it made the place sound better so they built a grange hall and invited a couple musicians, someone to call the square dances, and invited everyone for a potluck.

  It was a very basic shell of a building with no definable features. However, once Mary opened one of the two large entry doors and heard the music and the people, her heart would jump with excitement. To the right were long rows of tables with fried chicken and black beans and garden grown squash. To the left was a row of young men looking across the way to a row of young women waiting to be asked to dance. They would wait all night. On the dance floor were only the much older parents and grandparents and an odd combinations of young kids. The kids attempted to follow the directions of the caller but mostly they would bump into each other and anyone else close to them. Some of the kids were short, some awkwardly tall for their age; and all carried big smiles of excitement.

  The middle-aged men would gather together and talk about the crops and the price of wheat and what they thought they would plant next year. The man with the largest farm would quiz the others, “Would it be a good year for winter or spring wheat? Would any of them take a gamble and hope for malting barley, knowing if the conditions weren’t right that barley would have to be sold as feed barley for a fraction of the price? How about mustard? I hate harvesting mustard with its small seeds; the combine has a terrible time.” The men had come to leave the farm behind and enjoy the dance, but they quickly fell back to its talk.