Just Dessert

by Heather Gray

  Long before Mary was ready for it, the service was over and people were exiting. Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes were watching her closely. Mary wanted to speak to Reverend Green. She had some questions but didn't cotton to the notion of having an audience. Her brothers and sisters were depending on her to lead this family, and that meant she needed to be sensitive to all their needs. Some of them wanted to be in church learning about Jesus, and some of them didn't seem to want anything to do with it. Mary departed the church building with nothing more than a handshake and smile for the reverend.

  As she stepped out into the bright Idaho sun, she heard someone calling her name. When she looked for the sound, she saw the brawny shape of Sheriff Spooner moving toward her, a serious look on his face. She nodded as he joined her and said, "I got some news from a marshall over in Wyoming Territory."

  "Is this about Pa?" she asked, trepidation jittering like a herd of crickets through her middle. Sheriff Spooner nodded and took his hat off, rolling its brim between his fingers. "Go ahead," Mary encouraged him, sure the man must be thinking about how badly she'd handled it the last time they spoke.

  "Once the bank robbers left here, they went on a bit of a spree. They finally got caught over near the Black Hills. All told, almost a dozen men were taken into custody, but some of them got picked up by the gang after they left Larkspur. Eight of the men confessed to being involved in the attempted robbery here." The sheriff paused, concentrating hard on the hat in his hands.

  He finally looked up and said, "They all say your pa was involved. One of the men confessed to shooting and killing him."

  Mary wasn't as surprised – or upset – as she thought she'd be. Perhaps this would help her to put Pa into the past. That thought hadn't fully formed yet when she blurted out, "What happened to the man who killed him?"

  Sheriff Spooner met her eyes and said, "He was hanged, along with eight other men who were involved in the robberies. Two men ended up sentenced to prison instead of death. They'll be serving out their sentences at the Wyoming Territorial Penitentiary."

  "Okay," Mary said, unconsciously nodding.

  "Did you ever," the sheriff started to ask and then stopped.

  "Say what's on your mind," Mary said. "I intend to."

  The sheriff shoved his hat back down on his head and asked, "Did you ever go through your pa's things?"

  She shrugged. "I've looked through some things, but not everything. I haven't come across anything that seemed out of place. If I do, though, I'll let you know."

  "I appreciate it."

  Mary asked, "Was that everything?" When the sheriff nodded, she said, "I need to apologize for the way I acted last time you came out." He started to say something, but she cut him off. "I don't actually remember if I said anything to you, but I know I was angry, and I might have. It's not your fault Pa was a lousy father, husband, or man, and if I acted like it was, I'm sorry."

  Looking about as comfortable as a sturgeon swimming in boiling oil, the sheriff held out his hand. Mary reached to shake it. Sheriff Spooner's grip was firm and solid as he said, "Your Ma would be right proud of you, Mary. You and those young'uns are going to make it just fine."

  The sheriff left then, and Mary was left wondering at the odd light in his eyes when he'd talked about her ma.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mary waved her brothers and sisters off to school and then quickly cleaned up the breakfast dishes. Then she washed her hands and headed for the front door. There was something she needed to take care of in town today.

  When she opened the door, Mary let out a shriek. Reverend Green stood there, hand raised to knock, his eyes wide with surprise. "Oh Mary, I'm so sorry to have startled you. I was hoping you would have time for a visit." Hand over her thumping heart, Mary stepped back and allowed the reverend to enter. "Did I catch you at a bad time? Were you heading somewhere?" The reverend was politeness itself.

  "Actually," Mary said, showing the reverend to the one chair in the living room that didn't desperately need to be recovered, "I was coming to see you."

  A gentle smile lighting his face, the reverend said, "I'm delighted to hear that. Tell me what I can do for you."

  "I'm not sure exactly," Mary said. "That is," she stumbled over her words. "That is, I don't know that I had a specific question for you. There are lots of questions in my head, but I'm not sure how to put them into words. I guess this doesn't make much sense, does it?"

  Chuckling, Reverend Green said, "Nonsense, Mary. I've heard many things stranger than that. Sometimes we get stuck and can't find a good way to express what we're thinking and feeling inside. That's perfectly normal. Is it okay if we visit for a bit, and then maybe the words will come to you?"

  When Mary nodded, Reverend Green sat back in his chair, got comfortable, and began asking Mary questions. "So tell me, is the new coop working out for you? Will it be big enough?"

  Nodding, Mary answered, "It's wonderful. I still can't believe all the men that came out here and built it for us. It's plenty big and leaves us room to grow our little flock if we decide to."

  "Ah," he said, his eyes twinkling, "so that means you have a rooster!"

  Mary, a light-feeling dancing around inside her ribcage, returned the smile and nodded, "You're a fast learner."

  The reverend chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, a nervous action she wouldn't have normally associated with a man who speaks from a pulpit each week. After a moment, he said, "People in town have wanted to help you and the kids at different times. Many a person has come to me over these past few years and asked what they could do. I haven't always known the best answer to give them."

  "Sometimes the kids would come home from school with special treats. Things they would find in their meal tins or in their jacket pockets. Fruit, rolls, things like that. A couple of times it was coins. Were you part of that?"

  Looking embarrassed, the reverend nodded. "I wasn't alone. One time I slipped into the schoolhouse to put something into Clive's jacket pocket only to find both pockets were already full, one with an apple and one with an orange. Bobby's and Gigi's jackets were nowhere to be found. When I recognized Lizzie's jacket, I went for it, but her pockets were full too. I slipped back out and went home. A couple days later I returned and got to Clive's jacket before anybody else."

  Mary spoke up, "I recently learned the kids often ate on the way home those things they were given. They were afraid of Pa finding their treasures. Sometimes they'd bring things home, but more often than not whatever they found never made it this far. It seems they worried about me, too, and whether or not I was taking care of myself. They figured if they ate on the way home, they wouldn't be as hungry at dinner, and that would leave more food for me. There was a conspiracy this whole time." At the pastor's raised eyebrow, Mary clarified, "A conspiracy to take care of me. And I didn't even realize it."

  Reverend Green had a caring face with kind blue eyes that put Mary at ease. Compassion in his voice, he said, "I know things here weren't funny, and I know there were times when you guys had little or no food, and you had to find a way to feed all those mouths. The little bit I could do by slipping items into jacket pockets now and then, it seems like such a small thing in light of how terrible your situation was. And there were a couple times, like that day when I couldn't find an empty pocket, where it seemed no matter how much I wanted to help, I was going to get thwarted at every turn."

  "We did okay," Mary said, wanting to trust him with this part of their story. "I didn't realize it then, but people in town helped us quite a bit. There were times when the kids would come home with things we desperately needed, some winter nights when I didn't even have bread to feed them, when I would spend the day rummaging in the woods trying to dig for roots or something I could turn into soup, and the boys would come home with rice or flour."

  With a half-smile for the reverend, Mary told him, "Our favorite was beans. You cook them and they grow. One pocketful of beans could be turned into a meal for all of us. If someo
ne had beans in their pocket, we'd turn that pocket inside out, chasing every little bean. Bobby dropped his jacket this one time, and beans went everywhere. We were down on hands and knees chasing those little dried morsels. On that particular night, those beans were the difference between eating or not eating. Pa had found and taken our money, and I couldn't buy any food. That was a long winter, and I was new to taking care of the family. I hadn't known how much to can for the winter, and what I did can had long-since been eaten. It's kind of funny now when I think back on it, all of us down there on the floor chasing beans and yelling in triumph each time we found one, but at the time it felt like life or death."

  "It's great you can find something to laugh about in all you went through."

  Mary shrugged, "Life happens. That part of our lives happened. I plan to see to it that the rest of our lives are different, but I can't change what was." When Reverend Green nodded but didn't say anything more, Mary asked, "Why do you think those things happened? Why did Ma die? Why did Pa turn mean?"

  Steepling his hands under his chin, Reverend Green said, "The Bible tells us 'All things work together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.' That doesn't exactly answer your question, but it tells me, whatever happens in our lives, God is taking it and making it into something good."

  "But why did God take Ma from us. We needed her. We still need her." After all these years, the thought of how desperately she missed her mother still clogged her throat with a rush of emotion and broken dreams.

  Sorrow etching into the lines of his face and darkening his eyes, the reverend said, "Mary, the Bible tells us God will meet all our needs. You want your ma, and I can't blame you a bit, but God had a purpose. We may not understand the purpose until we get to heaven, and we may not always like the way things turn out, but we can trust God's character. We can trust that God knows what He's doing and that He loves us very much."

  "Isn't there something in that Bible of yours that will tell me why He took Ma?"

  Leaning forward in his seat, the reverend said, "That would make things simpler, wouldn't it? God wants us to have faith in Him, though. To trust Him, even when we don't have tangible evidence that He's trustworthy."

  "Your message yesterday was about trust." Mary's voice was soft, contemplative. She held her hands loosely in her lap as she watched the reverend.

  "What did you think of the three types of trust I talked about? Did you think of any other types I may have overlooked?"

  Shaking her head, Mary answered, "I couldn't think of any others. I thought you did a fine job of explaining trust. I'd never thought before how we either trust or don't trust people's reactions. That made sense to me."

  Smiling, Reverend Green said, "A lot of people didn't understand that one. I'm glad it made sense to you."

  "When people don't understand what you talk about, do they ask you?"

  With a soft chuckle and a lifted brow, the reverend answered, "Every now and then someone will ask me what I meant or ask me to explain something. Unfortunately, though, when people don't understand, they mostly complain about it."

  Horrified, Mary exclaimed, "How rude!"

  Still chuckling, Reverend Green said, "I'd much rather have someone ask me a question than complain about my message, but I've gotten used to it over the years. Some people are never happy, and that's the way it is." When Mary didn't say anything further, he asked her, "Was there something you didn't understand? Something you wanted to ask about?"

  Confusion swirled through her, making her chest feel tight and her thoughts jumbled. Taking a deep breath, Mary finally said, "Yes, but I don't know what exactly. Ma brought all of us to church each Sunday. I remember that we went, but I don't remember being there. When I walked into the sanctuary last week, it felt so comfortable and familiar, and that confused me."

  When Mary paused, Reverend Green nodded in understanding, his brown and grey hair bouncing slightly with the motion. "Sometimes, Mary, we forget certain things. I'm not sure why this is, but I've seen it before. People who have been through something difficult will forget events leading up to the trauma. Maybe it's God's way of protecting that person from crippling memories. I'm not sure why you don't remember being in church with your family, but I can tell you that you were there, every Sunday, without fail, from the time you were in nappies."

  Mary continued to watch the reverend, wanting him to continue but not sure what to ask. When he did speak again, relief washed through her. "You used to sing with us during the hymns, listen during the message, help your ma with the younger children. You had bright inquisitive eyes, and there was almost always a smile on your face. Then one day, after service was over, you asked me about Jesus."

  Leaning forward in her seat, a strange sort of excitement coursing through her, Mary said, "I asked about Jesus?"

  Smiling sadly, Reverend Green nodded. "I wish you could remember that day, Mary. If you had to forget things from before, I'm sorry that memory was a casualty. You committed your life to serving and honoring Christ when you were ten years old. It was winter, and we had to wait until the spring thaw before you could get baptized. You were excited about it, though, and your ma was so proud of you."

  Sitting back in her seat again, Mary said, "I think I remember that. Everyone at the river east of town. It was frigid. I guess I thought I was remembering some kind of swim party, but that doesn't make sense, does it?" Puzzled, Mary asked, "My memory is hazy, but it seems there were a lot of people jumping into the water, which is why I thought they were swimming. That doesn't make sense for a baptism, does it?"

  Surprising Mary, Reverend Green laughed out loud as a blush stole up his neck. "My dear child, that's not your baptism you're remembering. That was Clive's. The most disastrous baptism in all my years leading a church."

  "Clive was baptized?" Mary felt the skin on her face tightening as her eyebrows rose and her mouth widened in shock.

  "I think he was ten, too. It wasn't too long before your ma took sick. Clive stopped me after church and, much like you, said he wanted to learn more about Jesus. He dedicated his life to Christ that day. The spring thaw was upon us, so we scheduled his baptism for the following Saturday out at the river. A strong current came rushing through. We would have been fine, but Clive panicked and twisted out of my grasp. Every able bodied man there jumped into the river trying to grab him. He, however, was a slippery little fellow. The riverbed was slick, too, and men kept losing their footing on the rocks and going under."

  "Who saved him?"

  "Your friend Grady came to the rescue. He raced ahead of us all on land and got a long limb to throw out into the river. Clive was able to grab a hold of the limb as he was passing by. Grady wasn't strong enough to tow him in, but he braced himself against a tree on the river's bank and held onto that limb for all it was worth until help arrived. Had it not been for him, we probably would have lost Clive that day. Now when I baptize in the river, I make sure I've got a row of men standing downriver so nothing like that ever happens again."

  "Grady saved Clive?"

  Looking at Mary gently, the reverend asked, "I'm guessing you don't remember this either, but after everyone was safe, you gave Grady a big hug and told him he was the most noble man you'd ever met."

  Mary, sure she had to be blushing, tried to think of a way to change the subject. Reverend Green was having none of that, though. "I remember it because Grady said, 'I have to live up to my name,' then ran off to do something else. His granddad had to explain. The name Grady means 'noble' and had been passed down through the family for generations. Don't know why, but I've always remembered that."

  "I don't remember saying it, but it's still true. He's the noblest man I've ever met." Truth be told, Grady was everything a girl could want in a man. In all the times she'd treated him badly, bellowed at him or accused him of trying to steal her brothers and sisters, he'd never once yelled back at her. He'd proven time and again she could trust his reaction, but she'd be
en so afraid to let anyone close that she'd not seen it.

  "He is a good man. You'll get no argument from me there."

  Finding words for the questions that weighed on her heart, Mary finally asked, "So you believe, although I don't remember it, I committed my life to Christ when I was younger?"

  "I do indeed," Reverend Green answered.

  "Since I don't remember it, do I need to do that again?"

  "Well," he answered with a relaxed smile, "I suppose that depends. People feel different ways about this. The Bible tells us once you accept Christ, you are His for all eternity and no one can take that away from you. So, technically, I don't think you need to do it again. But I was there the first time, and I remember it, whereas you don't. There's no harm is recommitting your life to Christ or getting baptized again. I don't think it's necessary, but I also don't think it will hurt anything. You need to do what you feel is best."

  "Oh." Then, looking at the reverend, hope in her heart, Mary asked, "The same would be true for Clive, right?" When he nodded, she asked, "Did any of my other brothers and sisters accept Christ?"

  "Before your ma passed, no. Over the last few months, though, yes. Both Bobby and Lizzie have prayed to commit their lives to Christ."

  "But they haven't been baptized?"

  "No, they haven't. They're trying very hard to be thoughtful of you and the rest of your family who weren't even going to church with them."

  "They're worried about upsetting me, aren't they?"

  "I think they're more worried about hurting your feelings. It doesn't seem likely to me they're worried about angering you. You would need to ask them directly. I can't speak for them."

  "Do you think Clive will ever remember?"

  Reverend Green let out another hearty laugh. "Honestly, Mary, I don't see how he could have ever forgotten. He might not want to remember. Perhaps he's angry at God. I'm not sure. And maybe he doesn't remember praying about it, but I don't think there's any way that boy could have forgotten his baptism. I think most of the people in this town will still remember it a hundred years from now. I'm telling you, half of the town was soaking wet and freezing cold by the time it was all said and done. Kept Doc Billingsly hopping for a good long while afterward, that's for sure. Nearly every house in town had someone come down with a cold, pneumonia, or something."