Let There Be Light

by Al Lacy

“Sure did.”

  “Raining out there, I see.”

  “Mm-hmm. The small drops are turning into big fat ones. Looks like we’re going to get a good shower. Any news about my train?”

  “Nothing yet, I’m sorry to say.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder. “Lenny, there, is waiting faithfully at the telegraph key for word.”

  Lorna looked past the agent at the young man in the wheelchair, who heard what the agent said. “Are you booked on the Santa Fe train, ma’am?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, stay close by. I’ll let Charlie know when we get word.”

  The silver-haired man grinned. “I’m Charlie.”

  Lorna nodded. “I had that figured out.”

  A man in a suit came out of a back room, handed Lenny a sheet of paper, and told him to get it on the wire immediately.

  Lenny glanced at the paper and nodded. He began working the telegraph key, and the man returned to the office. Lorna watched while Lenny clicked out the Morse code and let her eyes run over the wheelchair.

  Charlie noticed her glance. “Lenny was in the War, Miss Lee. Union side, of course. Got both of his legs blown off by a cannon-ball.”

  Lorna bit her lips as her mind went to Mogollon. “Oh. I’m sorry. He seems like a nice young man.”

  “That he is, ma’am.”

  “War is such a terrible thing. Not only fills graves, but leaves many a soldier with wounds they will carry for the rest of their lives.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Terrible thing.”

  A customer was approaching the counter. Lorna smiled at Charlie. “I’ll be sitting over here in the section close by, sir. I’ll check with you periodically, but if word comes in, please let me know, even if I should fall asleep.”

  “Sure will. And if nothing’s come by the time I go off duty at six o’clock, I’ll tell the agent on night shift about you. We work twelve-hour shifts, here, so I’ll see you in the morning, even if you get word this evening. At best, your train won’t be in till sometime tomorrow.”

  Lorna thanked him, pivoted, and walked to the nearest section of seats, where a few other people were sitting. She found the hardwood benches less comfortable than the seats in the railroad coaches, but weary, she soon fell asleep.

  Lorna slept until nearly ten o’clock. She sat up straight, rubbed the back of her neck, and looked toward the ticket counter. There was one agent on duty, as well as another man at the telegraph desk. The people around her were all asleep. She rose to her feet, stretched her arms, and made her way to the counter.

  The agent gave her a smile. “May I help you, Miss Lee?”

  Her eyebrows arched. “You know my name?”

  “Yes. Charlie pointed you out when I came on duty. I’m supposed to let you know if word comes in about your Santa Fe train. So far, we’ve heard nothing. Probably won’t until morning.”

  Lorna thanked him and went back to her seat. Once again positioning herself as comfortably as possible, she closed her eyes, and soon fell asleep. She awakened a few times during the night and looked toward the ticket counter. Each time, there was no sign of the agent, nor the man who had been at the telegraph desk. She figured they were sitting where she could not see them.

  She awakened again when sunlight was just beginning to stream through the terminal’s east windows and saw Charlie behind the counter. She could hear the telegraph key clicking. She jumped up and rushed to the counter. “Good morning, sir. Any word, yet?”

  “It’s coming in right now, Miss Lee,” said Charlie, turning to look back at Lenny.

  Lorna glanced at Lenny, who smiled at her and raised a finger to indicate that the message would be completed shortly. Seconds later, the clicking stopped. Lenny finished writing the message, then handed the paper to Charlie.

  The agent read it quickly and looked at Lorna. “The train is on its way, Miss Lee. They say it will arrive at ten o’clock this morning. It is scheduled to leave here at eleven.”

  “Oh, that’s good!”

  “If you will let me have your ticket again, I’ll have Lenny wire the Wells Fargo office in Santa Fe and make new reservations for you.”

  As Lorna handed him her ticket, Charlie said, “You go ahead and sit down. I’ll let you know when we get the message back from Wells Fargo.”

  Lorna returned to her seat. She could hear Lenny tapping out the Morse code on the telegraph key. People were now coming into the terminal, and the other two agents appeared behind the ticket counter.

  Lorna heard the telegraph key clicking, and when some thirty minutes had passed, she saw Charlie motioning to her. She hurried to the counter, and he laid the ticket in front of her. “You’re all fixed up now, Miss Lee. You’ll be in Santa Fe at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, and you have a reservation on the eleven-thirty stage to Albuquerque and the three o’clock stage from Albuquerque. You will spend the night in Gallup and arrive in Mogollon at four o’clock on Friday afternoon.”

  Lorna thanked him, went across the street to eat breakfast at the diner, then headed for the spot in the depot where she would board her train.

  The train came in as promised, and Lorna climbed aboard at the conductor’s first call. When the train pulled out of Kansas City, she was sitting by herself on a coach seat. She watched the landscape for a while, then took her Bible out of the handbag that lay next to her and began reading. A half hour later, she laid her head back, closed her eyes, and spent time with the Lord in prayer.

  On Thursday morning, Lorna pressed her face to the window and watched as the train chugged into the depot at Santa Fe. The elderly woman sitting next to her had boarded at Dalhart, Texas, and had family meeting her.

  They stepped off the train, bid each other good-bye as the woman’s relatives rushed up, and Lorna made her way to the baggage coach where she told a baggage handler she needed her small trunk taken to wherever the Wells Fargo people would pick it up. The baggage handler told her there would be a Wells Fargo wagon right out front. He would bring her trunk, and the wagon driver would take her to the Fargo office, which was three blocks away.

  Some twenty minutes later, Lorna was at the Wells Fargo office where she soon boarded the eleven-thirty stage bound south for Albuquerque.

  Just before three o’clock that afternoon, Lorna boarded the westbound stage in Albuquerque with two men in their forties and a young woman about her age. Her heart pounded with excitement as she realized how close she was getting to Mogollon. She would be there at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon on this very stagecoach.

  Outside, the stage driver and shotgunner were checking the harness, making ready to pull out.

  The young woman and Lorna were seated together, facing the two men. They introduced themselves as George Stallworth and Lester Franklin, explaining that they were government Indian agents. They worked with the Navajo and Hopi tribes in Gallup.

  Lorna smiled. “My name is Lorna Lee, and I’m on my way to Mogollon.”

  The young woman said softly, “My name is Rhonda Clark, and I’m going to Holbrook.”

  Lorna studied Rhonda, telling herself that Rhonda was quite pretty, but she was a troubled person.

  The driver stepped up to the window on Lorna’s side and ran his gaze over the faces of his passengers. “Everybody ready to go?”

  The Indian agents and Lorna nodded. Rhonda looked at him, but did not respond. The driver called for his shotgunner to climb aboard, then climbed up himself. The Wells Fargo agent stood at the door of the office, bid the men up in the box good-bye, and the stage pulled away. Within a few minutes, they were out of Albuquerque, headed due west, and the horses were put to a steady trot. The stage rocked and swayed on the uneven ground as the sun continued its downward slant toward the western horizon.

  Stallworth and Franklin talked Indian business together, sharing papers that each carried in his briefcase.

  Lorna noted that Rhonda kept her face turned toward her window, discouraging any conversation between them. Seated on the north side of the
coach, Lorna stared out her own window at the rugged San Mateo Mountains, lost in thoughts and daydreams about her future in Mogollon.

  At one point, as the stagecoach crossed a bridge over a small stream, Lorna heard Rhonda sniffle. Her sensitive heart was touched when she turned to see silent tears threatening to spill from Rhonda’s closed eyes. The men were deeply involved in their conversation. Lorna was careful not to call their attention to herself or Rhonda as she took a lace hankie from her dress sleeve and extended it to her. “Here, honey.”

  A tear started down Rhonda’s cheek as she looked at Lorna. “Thank you, but I have one.” Even as she spoke, she opened her purse and took out her own hankie.

  While Rhonda dabbed at her cheek, then her shadowed blue eyes, Lorna said, “Are you going to Holbrook to live or are you just going for a visit?”

  Rhonda sniffed. Her voice was strained. “To live. What about you?”

  A smile spread over Lorna’s lovely features. “Permanent. I’m going there to marry a very handsome man.”

  “Oh. I see. And what’s his name?”

  “Jack Sparks. He is an ex-Union soldier. He had been a captain. He now manages the town’s hardware store.”

  “How was he able to get out of the army with the Civil War going so strong?”

  “Medical discharge. Jack was fighting under Brigadier General Nathaniel Lyon in the Battle of Wilson’s Creek near Springfield, Missouri, on August 10, 1861. During the battle, a Confederate cannonball exploded near him. A piece of shrapnel hit his left eye. It destroyed the eyeball. Jack now wears a patch over his eye.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  Lorna pulled a photograph out of her purse and handed it to her. “That’s Jack, standing outside the hardware store. Doesn’t he have a winsome smile?”

  Rhonda nodded. “Yes. Too bad such a handsome man has to wear an eye patch for the rest of his life.”

  “Yes, but the patch isn’t going to make any difference to me. Soon after Jack’s discharge from the army, he went to Mogollon, where his uncle lives. His uncle owns the hardware store. When he learned of Jack’s being wounded and discharged from the army, he offered him the job.”

  “That’s nice,” said Rhonda, handing the picture back to her. “How long have you known Jack?”

  “I’ve never met him. We’ve only corresponded through the mail.”

  A look of pure horror suddenly captured Rhonda’s features. “Oh no! Don’t tell me you’re going to be his mail order bride!”

  Lorna gave her a strange look. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  Rhonda set her jaw and clenched her teeth. “Don’t do it, Lorna. It will only end up in heartache.”

  Lorna frowned. “Were you a mail order bride?”

  “Yes.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  The obvious resentment that was inside Rhonda Clark came out as she told Lorna she was born in Columbus, Ohio. Her life was a lonely one, and a year ago, because of her loneliness, she answered a mail order bride ad in the Columbus Star. The ad had been placed by a Lieutenant Philip Clark, who was stationed at Fort Craig, New Mexico, which was about a hundred miles south of Albuquerque.

  She came to New Mexico, believing that everything was going to be wonderful. She would be married to a handsome young army officer and find adventure in the west. As soon as she married Philip, she knew she had made a mistake. He treated her like dirt and acted like she was his maid instead of his wife. After ten months of this kind of treatment, she went to a judge in nearby Socorro and obtained a divorce.

  Touched deeply by Rhonda’s sorrow, Lorna said, “I’m sorry, honey. So you’re going to Holbrook to live, you said.”

  “Yes. I’m going to live with a cousin and her husband.” Her features twisted. “Lorna, don’t do it. Don’t marry this man you’ve never met. Get off in Gallup and wait for the next stage to Albuquerque. Where’s home?”

  “South Bend, Indiana.”

  “Well, head back to South Bend as fast as you can. Don’t marry a man you’ve never met. This mail order bride system is a failure. An utter failure. Save yourself some horrible heartache, Lorna. Go back home and marry some guy you’ve known for a long time.”

  Lorna was disturbed by the woman’s words but countered, “Rhonda, it’s not going to be that way with Jack and me. Both of us have prayed earnestly about this, and we feel certain that the Lord has chosen us for each other.”

  Rhonda’s mouth turned down. She rolled her eyes. “Praying isn’t going to help either one of you. If there is a God, He doesn’t care what happens to any of His creatures. You’re a fool if you go ahead and marry this stranger.”

  “Oh, but prayer most certainly has already helped us to know that we will be happy together, Rhonda. This is because Jack and I know Jesus Christ as our personal Saviour, and—”

  “Don’t give me any of that Jesus stuff!” clipped Rhonda. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  By this time, the men were looking at them, having heard Rhonda’s outburst. They looked at each other, adjusted themselves on the seat, but said nothing.

  When Lorna looked back at Rhonda, she had her arms folded over her chest and was looking out the window. The stubborn look on her face told Lorna she was not about to listen to anything she had to say.

  The stage arrived in Gallup on time. The Indian agents told the young women good-bye and hurried away. Crew and passengers would stay in a small lodge for the night. They were given supper by the Wells Fargo agent and his wife.

  That night as Lorna lay in the feather bed, she told the Lord that even though she was nervous about going to Mogollon as Jack’s prospective mail order bride, she had peace in her heart because He had given it to her. She knew He was leading her, and that Jack’s letters had strongly indicated that He had also led him to answer her inquiry to his ad in the South Bend Journal, asking her to come to Arizona with the future of becoming his wife.

  “Lord,” she said, “please don’t let what Rhonda told me today put any doubts in my heart about Jack. I’m asking You to guide both of us once we have met and I stay in the boardinghouse while we get acquainted. Both Jack and I only want Your will for us, Lord, and You know the peace You have given me about coming out west to become Mrs. Jack Sparks. We are so sure that You have chosen us for each other.”

  The next morning, after breakfast with the Wells Fargo agent and his wife, the stage driver and shotgunner, Rhonda and Lorna, and a well-dressed couple in their early forties boarded. The young women sat on the seat where they had been the day before.

  When the stage was once again moving across the rolling land, the man smiled and said, “Ladies, I am Pastor David Denison of Mogollon, and this is my wife, Clara.”

  “Oh!” said Lorna, her eyes lighting up. “I know who you are. Jack Sparks has told me about you in his letters.”

  “And you’re Lorna Lee,” said Clara. “Jack has told us so much about you. We’ve been eager to meet you.”

  “We sure have,” said the pastor. “I didn’t realize you would be on the same stage with us.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have been, but my train was delayed getting to Kansas City, so I’m running later than expected. The Fargo agent in Santa Fe told me Jack would be notified of my new arrival time.”

  “I’ll tell you this much,” said Denison, “Jack is one excited young man. He has shown your picture to everybody in the church, and I imagine by now he’s shown it to everybody in town.”

  Lorna smiled. “I’m excited too, Pastor Denison. As you well know, we both have absolute assurance that the Lord has chosen us for each other.”

  “I have counseled him from day one about the mail order bride ad, and he has shown me every letter that came in response. Clara and I have no doubt you are God’s choice for Jack.”

  “I’m so glad. Have you and Mrs. Denison been in Gallup very long?”

  “Just a week. I was preaching a revival meeting for a pastor friend of mine.”

  Lorn
a nodded. “Jack has told me what a great preacher his pastor is.”

  Denison’s features tinted. “Well, Jack may be a little prejudiced since I’m the one who had the privilege of leading him to the Lord.”

  Rhonda kept her eyes out the window as Lorna and the Denisons talked about Jack and their plans to marry. Lorna asked about Jack’s first approach to the pastor about putting a mail order bride ad in eastern newspapers.

  “Well, Jack came to me back in February. He said he felt it was time he was getting married, but there were no Christian young women in Mogollon who were not already engaged.” He chuckled. “Clara and I have twin daughters, Mary and Martha, who at that time, were sixteen. They’re seventeen, now. But because Clara and I had declared that our daughters could not marry until they were at least eighteen, Jack knew they were too young to consider.”

  Clara smiled at Lorna. “Jack asked my husband what he thought of the mail order bride system.”

  Rhonda flicked a glance at Clara, then looked back out the window.

  “I told him of other Christian couples I know whom the Lord had brought together by the mail order bride system,” said the pastor, “and I told him the Lord could do it for him too. I cautioned Jack to make sure he made it plain in his ad that he is a born-again man looking for a born-again bride, and to ask for her testimony of salvation when she responded to the ad.”

  “Well, he did,” said Lorna.

  Denison grinned, nodding. “He received several letters of response, Lorna. And he let Clara and me read them. Most of them were good letters, but Jack just didn’t have peace about responding to them … until your letter came. Clara and I both felt there was something special about you. Your testimony was as clear as could be, and the three of us prayed together about it. Jack had such peace that he immediately had that picture taken in front of the hardware store and sent it with the letter.”

  “And it was some letter,” said Lorna. “Jack didn’t want to keep any secrets from me. He sent the picture because he wanted me to see the patch over his eye. He gave me pertinent information about himself and his family, and told me about getting the wound in the battle at Wilson’s Creek. He wanted me to get the full impact of his disfigurement right off and not to have to face a shock when I came to meet him. He even asked that I seriously consider his handicap before we proceeded any further.”