The Measure of a Man

by Carol Cox

  “All right, I guess,” she mumbled, wondering frantically how much he knew about her disgrace. Without thinking, she blurted out, “Did my mother send you to talk with me?”

  His eyes widened and he chuckled. “Actually, I was just making the rounds and greeting everyone here. I hadn’t intended to single you out. It seems like you have something on your mind, though. Would you like to talk about it?”

  Talking about how foolish she’d been was the last thing Lizzie wanted to do, but something in his tone softened her heart and before she knew it, she asked abruptly, “Why doesn’t God keep His promises to me?”

  If she thought she’d shock Brother Webster with her question, she was wrong. His face was calm as he replied, “What makes you think He doesn’t?”

  Lizzie hesitated for a moment, then decided to plunge ahead. The question had been burning in her heart for weeks, and if anyone could give her an answer, this man could. “The Bible says He’ll direct our paths. Isn’t that right?”

  The minister nodded in agreement. “I can’t argue with you there.”

  “It also says that He’ll give us the desires of our hearts.” When he continued to nod, she drew a deep breath and ventured. “Then why doesn’t He do that for me?”

  Brother Webster regarded her thoughtfully, then said, “Instead of my answering that question for you, why don’t we let God speak for Himself?”

  He laughed gently when Lizzie frowned and looked around as if expecting some sort of divine announcement right then and there. “I don’t understand,” she confessed.

  “You don’t have a Bible here with you, I suppose?” She shook her head, shamefaced. Things went all wrong when she read the Bible and tried to put it into practice. She had decided to leave that to people wiser than she.

  Brother Webster didn’t seem put off in the least. “Then let me give you a verse to look up when you get home. Can you remember the reference that long?” She nodded, hoping she wasn’t overestimating her abilities. “It’s Jeremiah 29:13,” he told her. “Spend some time thinking about that, and if you still have a problem understanding, come back and we’ll talk again, all right?” He pushed himself up off the blanket and continued circulating among the crowd.

  “Jeremiah 29:13,” Lizzie repeated to herself. The verse suddenly took on the importance of a lifeline, and Lizzie was determined to keep a firm hold on it.

  Brother Webster hadn’t sensed anything wrong with her, she remembered. It was her own guilt that made her assume her inadequacy was plainly visible. She lifted her eyes and scanned the crowd, wondering if that might hold true for the rest of the people there. Was it possible she’d be able to pick up her life and go on, in spite of making such a monumental fool of herself?

  Occasionally she caught the eye of one of the picnickers, who would smile in her direction. Lizzie would force a smile and nod back, feeling a tiny flutter of hope for the first time since Tom Mallory rode out of her life and her world came crashing down around her.

  When the call came to line up to eat, Lizzie abandoned the pretense of holding down the blanket and made her way to the table. Shaking her head at several offers to let her slip into the line, she took her place diffidently at the end. Being here at all was a first step, she told herself. Getting in line was another. For now, she’d take things one step at a time and see if it was possible to regain some of the normalcy of her life.

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see her father rounding up the children. She supposed she ought to be helping him, but just now she wanted to savor the tiny bit of progress she had made. Her mother, helping to serve the food, beamed at her when she reached the table and handed her a plate. “Help yourself,” she said gaily. “There’s plenty for everyone.”

  Then, looking over Lizzie’s head, she cried, “Why, Adam, how nice to see you! We didn’t think you were going to make it.”

  Lizzie felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. She turned stiffly to find Adam standing right behind her, plate in hand.

  “I wasn’t sure I’d make it, myself,” he said, answering Abby. His brown eyes, though, were focused on Lizzie, and that tingly feeling was raising goose bumps along her arms again. “But I hurried as fast as I could. I didn’t want to miss this.”

  He looked behind him, where the line was backing up. “I guess we’d better move along,” he said, smiling at Lizzie. “It looks like we’re holding things up.”

  Lizzie came to herself with a start, and moved quickly along the table, scooping various items onto her plate without regard for what she was selecting. Her cheeks were warm and she hoped she hadn’t made a spectacle of herself in front of all those people, just when she had begun to believe she might one day be able to hold her head up again.

  Mercy, what was wrong with her? She had stood there, staring like a ninny at Adam McKenzie before everyone in the whole church. Maybe they hadn’t noticed. Maybe they’d assumed she had been talking to her mother. Yes, surely that would be reasonable, she thought, breathing a sigh of relief.

  But what was the effect Adam had on her? He had been a part of the ranch ever since she was a young girl, and there had never been anything about him to set him apart from the rest of the ranch hands.

  Adam had always been. . .just Adam, steady and dependable and always there, but nothing more.

  Lately, though, any time he was near her it seemed that every nerve in her body stood on end, and when he held her gaze with his, it was almost like a caress. Lizzie shook herself angrily, as though by doing so she could shake off that feeling. She ought to have learned by now that she couldn’t be trusted to discern a man’s feelings about her. She certainly couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes whenever they rested on her. Was it pity? Censure? She couldn’t tell, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Either one would be impossible to bear.

  Lizzie reached the blanket and cast a furtive glance behind her. Thank goodness! Adam had waited to speak to Charles and was helping him fill plates for the children. That was supposedly what she’d come along for, she reflected, but at the moment, she needed some time to regroup.

  She could be civil to Adam, she decided, but not overly friendly. There must be nothing in her demeanor to lead him to think she was throwing herself at him. After her disastrous experience with Tom, she wouldn’t leave herself open to charges of improper behavior again.

  Lizzie watched Abby leave the table and approach their spot with Charles, Adam, and the children, each adult carrying two plates and trying to herd their rambunctious charges toward the place Lizzie had chosen. Apparently Adam had been invited to eat with them. It was all right, Lizzie reassured herself. She’d had time to pull herself together, and she would handle the situation with grace and dignity. Beginning today, Adam and everyone else would see a new Lizzie Bradley, one who could be trusted to behave as a proper young lady.

  When the children descended, giggling and squealing, on their picnic spot, Lizzie settled them firmly on the blanket near her and had them more or less subdued by the time the adults arrived. Charles and Abby sat opposite her, stifling sighs of relief, and Adam took his place next to Charles.

  ❧

  “How did we ever manage to keep up with Lizzie and Willie at this age?” Abby asked, shaking her head and laughing.

  “I think the fact that we were a few years younger may have had something to do with it,” Charles answered with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Charles Bradley!” Abby’s tone was ominous, although it was belied by the sparkle in her own eyes. “Are you implying I’m getting old?”

  Charles gave an exaggerated sigh and looked ruefully at Adam. “You see what it’s like being married? A man has to watch every word he utters.”

  “I’ll try to remember,” Adam responded with mock solemnity. His gaze rested once more on Lizzie, seeking the response he was sure he had sensed at the table only moments before.

  Instead of the welcome he expected, she met his gaze serenely and included him in the conversati
on, although he could just as well have been one of the children, for all the attention she gave him. Just like one of the family again, he thought in disgust. The anticipation he had felt all week at spending the afternoon in Lizzie’s company faded away like a morning glory blossom at high noon. If I had any sense, he told himself, I’d have stayed with the horses. Was he ever going to be able to make any headway with this woman?

  ❧

  On the way home, Lizzie rejoiced in her newfound dignity. Finally, she thought, I can be the person I’m supposed to be.

  She jumped out of the wagon and gathered the food baskets before her parents set off to take the children home. All three had been worn out from their frolicking and had fallen asleep on the drive.

  Leaving the baskets in the kitchen, Lizzie hurried to her room, where she opened her Bible and eagerly sought the verse Brother Webster had given her.

  There it was, Jeremiah 29:13: “And ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.” Lizzie blinked and read it over again, slowly. The last four words burned into her soul as if placed there by a branding iron—“with all your heart.”

  Lizzie thought back over the assumptions she had made concerning Tom. Had she sincerely sought the Lord with all her heart? The answer came swiftly, unequivocally—no.

  Truth and conviction swept over Lizzie in a consuming tide, and she dropped to her knees beside her bed, tears pooling along her lower lids and spilling over to stream down her cheeks. What had she done? She tried to assess her actions ruthlessly. In all honesty, she had looked for passages that had conveniently spelled out the answers she wanted, without paying much attention to what the Lord desired. As long as He had seemed to agree with Lizzie, she had been content to assume that she had found His will.

  With all your heart. . . The words pounded through her brain. Where had her heart been? With Tom Mallory and his easy, empty promises, she admitted, writhing in shame. Hadn’t her parents raised her to believe that she mustn’t be unequally yoked? That marriage should only be to another believer, a godly man? How had she dared to take God’s Word, that sacred Book, and twist it to mean that Tom was the right man for her?

  She flipped back to Psalm 37, searching for the verse that promised her the desires of her heart. Yes, that’s what it said; but this time, she also read the words before it: “Delight thyself also in the Lord. . . .” Not a blanket promise that “I’ll give you anything you want, Lizzie,” but “Delight yourself in Me, and I’ll fulfill your desires.”

  It made sense, she thought miserably. If she was walking with the Lord, her desires would be His. Then He could give her what she wanted most, because it would be in accordance with His will. How far short of that necessary condition she had fallen!

  Lizzie groaned under the weight of conviction, and the tears poured forth anew. “I’m sorry. So very, very sorry,” she wept into her coverlet. “I want to listen to You. Please speak to me.”

  It occurred to Lizzie like a flash of lightning across a dark sky that in pointing these words out to her, God had spoken, and very clearly. “Thank You,” she whispered, and the tears came again, but this time in relief and gratitude.

  eighteen

  Whap. Whap. Whap. With a final blow, Adam drove the last nail into the porch railing and stepped back to view his handiwork. The railing now stood tight and firm, where before, it had sagged slightly. Sufficient for a bachelor getting on in years, perhaps, but not good enough to set up housekeeping with a view to raising a family there. Not good enough for his Lizzie.

  The porch was one of his final projects, the major structural repairs having been finished earlier. He walked slowly around the house, surveying the tight clapboards, the newly painted shutters, and—his particular pride—the addition.

  There he stopped, hands on his hips, a lump of joy and pride swelling in his throat. The original house had contained one small bedroom situated next to the kitchen, with two even smaller bedrooms upstairs. After judicious planning, Adam had torn out an outer wall and revamped the design. Now the enlarged kitchen boasted a roomy pantry where the original bedroom had been. And upstairs. . .

  Adam had to see it once more for himself. He entered the front door—noting with approval that it hung true and no longer caught on the floor as it swung inward—and bounded up the stairs with boyish exuberance. The landing opened onto three spacious bedrooms. Adam entered the largest one and made his way to the window. Leaning against the sill, he took in the sweeping view of plains, hills, and distant mountains. It was as beautiful as any painting he’d seen back east during his boyhood, he thought, only this scene was alive, vibrant and constantly changing. He knew he could be content to view its grandeur for the rest of his life.

  Turning, he surveyed the rest of the room. It needed a woman’s touch, he knew, but the basic work had been done, and done well. In his mind’s eye he could picture lacy curtains framing the window and the scene beyond, a braided rug on the floor, maybe a rocking chair in one corner. Yes, he thought, it would make a fine home. A fine home to share.

  He needed some time to put on the finishing touches—a coat of paint here and there—and once more he was thankful for Charles’s and Jeff’s generosity in allowing him time to work on the house. After all was in complete readiness, he planned to lay his vision of the future before Lizzie. Surely by then she’d be ready to hear of his love for her.

  Time to head back, he reminded himself. Better do something to earn your keep. The prospect didn’t bother him. It was a pleasant ride back to Double B headquarters, and he could fill the time with thoughts of Lizzie.

  ❧

  Lizzie glanced up at the ruffled curtains hanging limply at her bedroom window. Not so much as a breath of air disturbed them, though her window was wide open, inviting whatever breeze there might be to waft inside. She sighed and reluctantly closed the Bible on her lap. She had spent a wonderful time with the Lord, pouring out her heart to Him and digging deep into His Word, but now the room was growing unbearably stuffy, and she could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

  Even though she had made halfhearted efforts over the years to learn the domestic skills expected of a young lady, Lizzie was an outdoor girl at heart. Today the house seemed more confining than ever, and she hurried outside where the wide vistas and smells of summer beckoned. Her temples throbbed slightly, and she decided the effort required to saddle Dancer was too much, so she set off languidly on foot.

  Settling herself under an enormous cedar within sight of the house, she decided that today even the outdoors wasn’t much less stuffy than her room. Heavy clouds had massed overhead, but instead of delivering rain, they only loomed oppressively over the landscape. No breeze stirred, yet the still air took on an almost tangible quality of its own. Lizzie loved the summer rains that brought freshness and renewed life; this sense of tension, of violence waiting to break loose, was something else altogether.

  She turned her mind deliberately to the time she’d spent in Bible study. Had all those wonderful promises really been there all the time? Why had she never seen them before? Trying to be honest with herself, she admitted that she’d never done much looking before now. Even though she had become a Christian as a child, she had coasted along all these years without giving much thought to growing spiritually.

  A passage about new believers being babies in Christ had sprung out at her during her reading. She had become a newborn babe in Christ the moment she had asked Him to be her Savior. More than ten years later she could still remember the feeling she’d had that night—like she’d been washed clean. And yes, it was very much like she’d been reborn.

  But babies, precious as they are, are supposed to grow. She tried to imagine what it would be like ten years from now if baby Susannah still lay helpless, wrapped in her blankets. Why, if that happened, she reasoned, Jeff and Judith—all the family—would be grieved beyond measure. Susannah was supposed to grow, to learn, to become less dependent on her parents and able
to take care of herself.

  The comparison struck Lizzie like a physical blow, startling her into wide-eyed awareness. For all her years of being a child of God, she had stayed a spiritual infant, dependent on her parents and others for her feeding and nurture, never bothering to learn to grow on her own. In a spiritual sense, she was little older than Susannah, still waiting to be fed and diapered. She shifted uncomfortably at the thought. How much had she grieved her heavenly Father by this lack of growth? she wondered somberly.

  Lizzie scanned the panorama before her, where the sense of anticipation hung heavy. Even the slender blades of grass stood motionless, waiting for the release the storm would bring. God’s creation was spread out before her, vast and unending, and she felt as though God Himself was focusing His attention on the tiny speck that was Lizzie Bradley. The Creator and creation alike seemed to be waiting with breathless expectation. Waiting for what? For Lizzie to make the choice to end the years of infancy and take her first feeble steps toward growth?

  Instead of bowing her head, Lizzie prayed with her eyes open, the better to fix this scene and this moment in her mind forever. “Father,” she said aloud, “I’ve never really understood before. I know I’ve been Your child for years, but I never once thought about going beyond that. And I never thought about it hurting You.” She paused a moment to order her thoughts, then went on. “I’ve been riding along on my parents’ relationship with You, depending on their knowledge of You and not thinking that I needed to develop my own.” She sighed, knowing the hard part was to come, but that beyond it lay forgiveness and release.

  “I’m sorry for taking You for granted all this time. Please forgive me for letting You down. With Your help, I’ll learn to grow like You want me to. Thank You,” she said as the sweet feeling of freedom washed over her, cleansing and restoring her soul more than any number of summer rains ever could.