“The place where we say our prayers may be different,” Father Cooper had said in his gentle way, “even the way in which we pray, but we serve the same God. He requires only that we come unto Him. Matthew 11:28 says, ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ You are tired from your burden, but God will lighten it and give you rest and in rest comes strength, Joelle. Trust our Father to give you that need.”
“But what of this life?” she had said with a hand upon her swollen middle.
“All life is sacred, Child. Just as I said, you could no more snap your fingers and create a life, than I could.”
“But people create children all the time,” Joelle had said rather indignantly. “I’ve known of many folks who’ve spoken of surprises they received in children they’d not expected.”
“Man and woman do not create the life. They are but the receptacles of God’s gift. God creates that life. He alone has the power to breathe spirit into flesh and blood. Joelle, be reasonable and forgive me for my bluntness, but people often join together in a marriage bed and no children come forth from that union.”
Joelle had thought on Father Cooper’s words for a moment. “I suppose that is true. I just never thought of it much. I guess I just imagined that husbands and wives would naturally have a child most every time they came together.”
“But that is the glory of it, Joelle. It is never our decision or our predetermination. We cannot choose one time to create a life and another time to snap our fingers and choose against it. God is the One Who determines our paths. Just as He created your life, He also created the life you carry within.”
“But this child was created out of sin. Out of violence and all that is unholy, this baby came into existence. How could that be something of God?” Joelle had questioned in earnest.
Father Cooper had placed his hands upon Joelle’s shoulders. “My child, you may seek God in all things or you may seek the world. If you choose the world, you may find that you completely miss the blessings and wonderment of the Father’s touch. And that, Joelle, is the true tragedy.”
Joelle had stared back at the priest in silence. His words had pierced the hardness of her heart. Turning without a word, Joelle had begun to walk again. When they had reached her little house, Father Cooper had taken her hand and patted it ever so gently.
“God’s blessings upon you, Joelle,” he had said. “I am praying for you.”
“Thank you,” Joelle had whispered, then placed a kiss upon the weathered cheek of her friend.
America moved closer to the November presidential elections with one concerned eye on the Mexican border and another poised on the war in Europe. President Wilson’s campaign promoted his reelection by saying, “He kept us out of war!” People could only ask themselves, “Yes, but can he continue to do so?”
Black Jack Pershing had been called in shortly after the Villa raid on Columbus to head up the “Punitive Expedition.” This affair called for three brigades, two cavalry units and one infantry, supported by field artillery, engineers, wagon companies, ambulances, and the First Air Squadron out of San Antonio, Texas. Their objective was to go after Villa and his troops. But late into 1916, Villa was still leading Pershing on a merry chase, and Mexico was growing ever more angry at the U.S. invasion of their country.
Joelle heard very little of the news. She liked it that way, and she never really went out of her way to learn any more than what Father Cooper shared with her. To know more only caused her to worry about those she loved. Whenever she thought of war, she remembered John and J.D., as well as Daughtry’s brothers and scores of old friends from home. She hated to imagine them marching off to war and hated even more to imagine them never coming home again.
As was her routine, Joelle went to Father Cooper’s little church and prepared to clean it. It was a very unassuming building of adobe with a flat roof and dirt floor. The walls were four feet thick, and the windows were small but remarkably glassed with colored panes and artistry that captivated the imagination.
Inside, Joelle really had very little to do. The altar was simple, unpainted wood, and it was her duty to dust it for the services to come. Before her arrival, Father Cooper generally saw to the matter himself, but Joelle wanted to make herself useful, and so he conceded this task to her.
As was the custom, the church had no pews. The families of the area were mainly Mexican and, because of this, the men would stand and the women kneel throughout their mass. Joelle had watched the mass once and had found it most fascinating. The women while praying, crossed themselves frequently in the Spanish tradition and kissed their thumbs after each sign of the cross. She did not understand the reasons behind what the worshipers did, yet she found their sincerity and devotion admirable.
From her days spent with these women, Joelle knew she could never have asked for better neighbors or friends. She was never in want for anything, so long as someone knew she had need. Joelle had but to express a desire to Father Cooper, and inevitably, some dark-eyed woman would show up on her doorstep. With a smile and a string of explanations that Joelle was only coming to understand in bits and pieces, the desired item would be deposited into her hands. It made Joelle cautious in speaking her mind, but her love of these people deepened in the face of her own adversity.
Without realizing it, Joelle also came to see that the actions of men like Villa’s did not necessarily constitute the support of an entire people. Of course, she knew these people lived in the United States, but their ties were strongly and quite obviously connected to old Mexico.
Stepping into the coolness of the building, Joelle was met with a deep sense of spirituality that she had not expected. The wooden cross that graced the front of the church drew her eyes, and Father Cooper’s words came back to her in a rush of emotion.
The child inside her kicked hard as though compelling its mother to listen and heed the loving priest’s words. “All life is sacred,” Joelle remembered aloud. She ran her hand across her stomach as if noticing for the first time the way it bulged out in front of her.
“We cannot choose one time to create a life and another time to snap our fingers and choose against it. God is the One Who determines our paths. Just as He created your life, He also created the life you carry within,” Father Cooper had told her.
“The child,” Joelle said slowly, “this child. . .frightens me.” She raised her eyes to the cross and paused to reflect on the symbol. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know whether to go home or stay here and bear this shame alone. I don’t know what to do.”
Tears began to fall down her cheeks, and Joelle felt as though her legs could no longer support her weight. Going to the altar, she came to her knees and sobbed. “This is my fate, my destiny. But, God, what of Your will? What of Your protection and comfort and,” Joelle paused to take a ragged breath, “and love? What of Your love? How can I find it in this?”
She gripped the altar and pleaded for direction. “Show me what to do. I have no one.”
As if a warm blanket had been placed around her shoulders, Joelle felt the presence of God’s love surround her. There was no immediate revelation. No simple answer to guide her in the complexities of life’s mysteries. It was just a quietness of spirit that descended into her heart and gave her peace.
“I will do what You guide me to do,” she whispered.
Getting to her feet, Joelle stared out across the room and startled when a flash of three gruesome faces came to haunt her memory.
Forgive them, a still, small voice told her heart.
“Never!” she said with a shake of her head. Looking back to the cross, she was still shaking her head. “You ask too much.”
Chapter 12
John’s arrival into Columbus, New Mexico was considerably calmer than the one he had made back in January
. He was overwhelmed with the sights that greeted him and realized just how few memories he had made in the small community. Most of his time had been confined to bed and, outside of Joelle’s lengthy descriptions of her day or his mother’s prattling about her shopping ordeals, John had not seen much at all.
His first order of business was to go to the headquarters at Camp Fur-long. He had friends there and knew, too, that it was here he would get his best information.
Leaving his bag at the train station, John limped slowly through the sandy street. His destination was less than a block from the depot, but the sand made his progress difficult. John knew better than to curse his condition. He was quite grateful for the progress he had made. Even though he could not walk with ease and might never again walk without a cane, he was happy just to be on his own two feet.
At the camp headquarters, John introduced himself and was soon directed to the officers’ mess shack, where he was told he could find one of the commanding officers. A brief discussion with the officer in charge resulted in John’s being given a place to bed down and the news that his friend, Flipflop, was quartered nearby.
“Private Campbell is working behind the stables,” the officer instructed. “We have some problems back there, and I’m certain you’ll find yourself quite interested.”
“Thank you for your help, Sir,” John said, raising his hand to salute. The habit died at midpoint, as John remembered he was no longer a part of this life and its requirements.
John limped silently from the tent. His leg was hurting him, and the aching in his back had grown from a tolerable dullness to a dedicated throbbing. Still, he moved on and prayed for the strength to continue.
Past the long row of stables, John could already make out the structured frames of biplanes. His breath caught and his chest tightened as he cleared the last obstacle and stood in full view of the airfield.
This had been his world and he had loved it more than most anything else in his life. He loved the droning noise and the oily smell of the engines. He cherished the feel of exhilaration when, after a jolting run down the sandy runway, the Jenny would lift herself into the air and blow a kiss good-bye to the ground below. Then of course, there was the flight itself. The feeling of being above all the mundane and routine things of the world. The feeling that in flight, one came just a little bit closer to God.
John shuddered the images away. It was no longer his world. Never again would he work the rudders or feel the stick in his hand. It was someone else’s world now.
“That you, Preacher?” the voice called out from somewhere to John’s right.
Turning, John spied Flipflop and grinned. “So they promoted you to corporal? Who did you have to pay off to get that?”
Flipflop laughed and double-timed his steps to give John a bear hug. “It is you. I thought I’d never see you again. You back to join us?”
John shook his head and nearly moaned under the strength of Flipflop’s embrace. He set the younger man away from him and eyed him carefully. “Those days are over for me.” He held up the cane. “This is the only stick I get to handle now.”
Flipflop sobered with a nod. “I heard they mustered you out. Heard, too, that you’d never walk again, but here you are.”
John smiled. “Just as stubborn as I ever was.” He looked beyond Flipflop and motioned to the Jennys. “So why are they on the ground?”
“We’re in bad shape, Preacher. Those machines just can’t tolerate what the army wants to put them through. We’ve messed around with the loads. We’ve given her more power and trimmed down her weight, but the air is too dry here, the sand too harsh. Why, there’ve been storms that ripped holes the size of baseballs in her fabric. I have to wonder if we’ll ever get it right.”
“Oh, they’ll get it right. Flight is going to forever change the military, you just wait and see. Once someone figures out how to give us an air machine with enough power to go the distance and carry the loads, you’ll see wars ending overnight. Why just look at what they’re doing with them in France. Some good American pilots are over there flying in their corps.”
“I know you’re right, Preach,” Flipflop replied, “but, down here, we just ain’t havin’ much luck. They try to put up a few planes to figure out where the Villistas are and inevitably they get knocked back down. We’ve lost quite a few to sandstorms and such, and at five thousand dollars a machine, I don’t think the army’s real eager to keep it up.”
John stared thoughtfully across the field. He could see it all in the future. Row after row of airplanes, lined up, waiting for their duties. Flipflop could see only the frustrations of the early years at hand, but John knew there was a bigger picture that stretched beyond the problems of the present.
“Say,” Flipflop said with a sudden revelation, “I had a letter from J.D. the day before yesterday. His unit has joined Pershing in pursuit of Villa. Did you know that?”
“No, I haven’t heard from J.D. in some time. I suppose he’ll write to Mom and Dad about it, but in case he doesn’t, why don’t you fill me in on it, and I’ll send them the news.”
John learned all that he could about his brother, then shared his search for Joelle with his friend. He left nearly a half-hour later, feeling somewhat better for the renewal of his friendship, yet no closer to knowing the whereabouts of Joelle.
For the next few days, John paced out every square foot of Columbus. He asked questions of everyone and showed Joelle’s photograph to anyone who would stop long enough to look. No one had seen the dark-eyed young woman.
Stopping at the bank, John questioned the tellers and even requested to speak with the man in charge, before he felt satisfied that Joelle had not come there to receive money. He moved around to the businesses, always receiving the same shake of the head and negative response. In complete dejection, John decided to leave Columbus and work his way along with the rail lines.
He reasoned that perhaps Joelle had managed to keep aside enough money to take the train from Columbus. He questioned the ticket agent at the train station, but the man could scarcely be held to account for the purchase of tickets way back in March. He had not even held the job then and was of no help to John. Buying a ticket, John felt utter hopelessness engulf him. His father had told him not to expect too much; after all, Joelle’s own father had hired professional men to search for her. The police were notified throughout the state of her disappearance, and her photograph had been hand carried to law enforcement people in all the surrounding large cities. If all of these people combined could not locate her, how could John expect to pull off the deed?
The train took him east, and when John realized that he had learned very little pursuing the matter in this manner, he got off at the first small town and went in search of a horse.
“This horse is a fine animal, Señor,” the dark-skinned man told John. “He is very gentle,” the man added, noting John’s cane.
“I’ll take him,” John replied and began bartering for a saddle.
The man counted out his money, while John saddled his new acquisition. He glanced up from his task to look around the small town.
“I’m looking for a young woman,” he said to the man. “She’s my fiancée, actually. We were separated after a tragedy, and I’m afraid she might be lost and not know how to get back home.”
“Who is this woman?”
John left the horse and brought out his photograph of Joelle. “Ahh, she is muy bonita,” the man said, noting Joelle’s beauty. “But, I have not seen this woman.”
“If she were here, would you know it?”
“Sí, we are a very small village here,” the man replied. “There are no strangers.”
“I understand,” John said and tucked the photograph back into his pocket.
Within the hour, John was back on his way, and although he had to r
est often and had found the ride most challenging, he strengthened his mind with the hope of finding Joelle.
After a week of searching and spending his nights out on the open desert plains, John was ready for a hot bath and a hotel bed. The desert was a harsh companion even in this late time of the year. He was constantly eating and wearing more sand than he had ever imagined existed, and he had run-ins with several rattlesnakes, making his horse a most unhappy companion. Wearily, John made his way to Las Cruces, the largest city in the area, and prayed he might find someone, anyone, who had seen his beloved, Joelle. If nothing else, however, he would rest here and regain his strength.
He was still some miles away from the town, when up ahead he spotted an automobile. A wizened old man stood staring down questioningly, when John came abreast of the vehicle.
John immediately recognized the man as a priest and slowed his mount. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon to you,” the man said with a smile.
“Having trouble with your car?” John questioned, gingerly getting down from his horse. He pulled out his cane from where others might have carried a rifle and limped to where the old man stood.
“It seems I have managed to get off the road, and the sand has quite inconveniently trapped me here.”
John sized up the situation. “I think between me and my horse, we can pull you out of this spot. By the way,” John straightened and extended his hand. “I’m John. . .John Monroe.”
“I am Father Cooper,” the old man said. “I was on my way to Las Cruces. I must make the trip periodically,” he added as an explanation. “I borrow this automobile, the only one in our village, for the journey, and up until this day, I have never had any problem with it. But now, alas, you see it is no longer so.”
“Well, it won’t cause you a problem for long,” John said assuringly.
It took only a few minutes to free the vehicle, and Father Cooper was most delighted. “I thank God for sending you my way, Son,” he said with a beaming face that John could not help but like. “Where are you bound now?”
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