by Davis Bunn
The evening air was bitingly brisk, the sky turned a ruddy gold by trails of lingering dusk. Nathan watched the trees and the sunset play across the old man’s face. Poppa Joe’s eyes were bright and wide-open, drinking in all he was able to see. Especially the sky.
Word had clearly gotten out, for the yard in front of the church was packed to overflowing. The crowd grew so quiet a baby’s whimper seemed out of place, as together Duke and Nathan lifted the stretcher and carried it from the truck.
Then the murmurs washed over them all. People stood in the manner of country folk, the women with hands crossed at the middle, the men with hands in their pockets or fiddling with the brims of their hats.
Their passage toward the church was slow but steady. People reached out to touch the stretcher or Nathan’s arm, murmuring words of welcome. He felt as though the greeting kindled a flame in the center of his chest.
Will Green was there by the door, nodding his welcome with the others. Then Will said to Nathan and Connie both, “Me and the boys, we were wondering if maybe we could come by and play some of the old favorites for Poppa Joe.”
Connie responded, “I didn’t know you still made music, Will.”
“Don’t hardly play for nobody but the fellers and the dogs these days.” The old hat did a steady nervous revolution between his fingers. “But we got to talking last night, and were just wondering if maybe we could stop by this weekend with the instruments. Be our way of giving this season a proper meaning, if you see what I’m after.”
Connie glanced down at her uncle, who responded with a single nod. She said to Will, “Sunset is his best time.”
“We’ll be there Saturday, Miss Connie. Poppa Joe.” He turned to Nathan and nodded. “Good to see you here, Doc.”
Inside the church they met yet another crowd, all of them on their feet to give quiet homage to a fine old man.
The front pew had been saved for them. They settled the stretcher there in front of the altar, and waited as Reverend Brian Blackstone and his wife came over to welcome Poppa Joe. The old man had trouble guiding his hand into that of the pastor’s. That was the only moment when the women lost control.
Even as the choir led them through a rousing series of Christmas hymns, the church remained caught by a more somber tone. Nathan sang along with the others, and knew he shared with them the mood and the moment. From time to time he glanced about the church, wondering at the seeming lack of disharmony. This was Christmas Eve, yet the people did not seem reluctant to show a melancholy side. In their faces he found the same stolid acceptance they showed in facing their illnesses. As though here and now, when life struck in ways that others might call unfair, they showed the strength which was truly all their own.
Nathan heard little of what the pastor had to say, at least at first. His attention was held by the old man lying there before him. Poppa Joe kept his eyes fastened upon Reverend Blackstone with a force that belied his body’s weakness. He did not hear the words, he consumed them. He listened with a hunger so fierce there was scarcely strength left for him to draw breath.
Nathan found his heart pulled out of shape by conflicting desires—part of him wanting to retain the shattered fragments of all he once had been, yet another part hungering for what he scarcely could identify. There was more to this than simply giving Poppa Joe something to carry to heaven— he was not even sure he understood what the old man meant by that. Rather, he sought something worthy—something which would help give form to all the transformations he was discovering inside himself, all the mysteries taking shape.
He was pondering hard on this when the pastor’s words shot into focus. One moment it was a calming background drone, a cadence almost in keeping with his own thoughts. The next, and the pastor glanced Nathan’s way. Their eyes locked, and Nathan felt a shiver run through him. There was a sense of sharing something beyond the realm of words. And in that moment Nathan knew that now was the time. He knew.
“Many of the lessons God wishes for us to learn,” Reverend Blackstone then said, “are based on the principle of release. We need to learn how to take our hands off the controls. When we are at our most desperate, and our desire to cling to control is strongest, this is when we most need to let go. To be willing in faith to take our hands off, and put the experience and the circumstances under the control of God.”
Nathan’s sense of knowing did not arrive in an explosive flash. The mystery was too great to be touched with power. Otherwise he would probably have been blinded. It came with the natural growth of a seedling which pressed up through the dark earth to finally find the light.
Reverend Blackstone continued, “Yet we desperately want to direct our own lives. It is fear which keeps us from releasing control. It makes us skeptical. It keeps us from believing in the goodness of God. Friends, a moment given over to fear is a moment lost from God. We are lost in that moment, trapped by fear and doubt and a desperate desire to cling to what we know.”
Nathan looked down at Poppa Joe and studied the old man’s clear gaze. Untainted by age or hardship or loss or illness or pain. Even as the light now dimmed, still the power was there. And for the first time in his life, Nathan understood that the reason was because the power was not his own.
“And yet at these times we can do ourselves the greatest harm by trying to forge ahead alone, governed by fear, blinded by our terrors and our pains and our past. It is at this moment when release of control to God is vital. This is no senseless casting everything to the winds of fate. This is trusting God. This is putting action to the theory of faith.”
Nathan knew. It was time. All the changes and all the mysteries which had swirled like tendrils of invisible fog through the days and nights since his arrival, all snapped into a focus so strong he knew the vision was not his own. It was time. He had been shown the door, he was invited to enter. His friends had gathered to help him, the old man had asked in the kindest way anyone ever would. There would never be a moment less trammeled with doubts and hesitations. It no longer mattered that he did not understand everything, or that so many of his questions remained unanswered. The comfort and peace and power he felt were more real than anything else his entire life had contained. It was time.
“Remember when the Israelites were trapped between the forces of Pharaoh and the impossible sea? Moses turns to them and in Exodus fourteen, verse thirteen, he says, ‘Do not be afraid. Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will accomplish for you today.’”
Nathan’s heart hammered in his chest. His hands grew so clammy, he wiped them continually down the sides of his trouser legs. Connie cast him an odd look, but he remained caught by what was about to come. He had not been this frightened since his final exams in medical school. Frightened, and yet excited. Excited, and yet incredibly calm. It was amazing how he could be all of these things at once.
“In our impossible times, when our human frailties are greatest, that is when God’s power can be strongest. If only we can release the impossibilities to God, He will work His miracles. Free yourself from the deadly assumption that you have the strength and the wisdom and the capacity to make the right decisions yourself. That you can find your way through this alone. Give it up. Turn it over. And then, once you have given it over, leave the circumstances and the problems in God’s hands. Release control to God, and step off the cliff of comfort into the unknown.”
For the first time since beginning the sermon, Pastor Blackstone looked down at Poppa Joe. His eyes lingered there on the man, a sad smile creasing his features. “Some of you might be wondering why I chose to speak about fear on a night of rejoicing over our Savior’s birth.”
The pastor held Poppa Joe’s gaze a moment longer, then seemed to gather himself with a great breath that drew him up to twice his normal size. “I do so because we celebrate here tonight the conquest of fear. Friends, I stand here tonight to proclaim the good news to all the world. Fear is vanquished! Death is conquered! Tonight we celebrate not only the S
avior’s birth, but His death. Why? Because the Lord was made flesh with one purpose in mind—to come so that He might die for us and for our sins. Because through Christ’s death a door was opened. An eternal invitation was made. To all who suffer and worry and hurt and know fear, our Savior says, ‘Come! Come and I will give you rest! Come and drink the cup of eternal healing! Come and sing at the holy feast of life! Come and celebrate! Why? Because I, your King, have conquered death. I, your King, have conquered fear.’ The door is open, our way made straight. The King reigns in the eternal Kingdom, and we are His people! Hallelujah, Amen!”
When the sermon ended and the final song began, Nathan stepped into the aisle. He walked forward and met the pastor’s outstretched hand, said words he could scarcely get around his oversized heart, and nodded when the pastor asked if he was sure he wanted to bring Christ into his life.
Nathan knelt there with the pastor at the edge of the podium, feeling the hand on his head and listening to the words spoken over him. He heard the music and the voices welling up around him. And he found himself reaching out, joining with the town and the valley and the Spirit which dwelled there in those hills. Binding him together with love.
When Nathan returned to his seat he found himself unable to meet anyone’s eye. Except, that is, for Poppa Joe.
The old man signaled with another feeble movement. Nathan bent over the stretcher, glad for a reason to lower himself from the stares of the congregation. The organ and the music and the hymn almost took away the weakened words. Almost, but not quite.
Poppa Joe murmured to him, “I’m ready now. I done found the answer I’ve been looking for.”
Twenty-Five
Christmas Day was a subdued affair. Nathan allowed the hristmas morning visit with Poppa Joe to stretch into an early lunch with Connie and the Campbells. No one tried for a false sense of Christmas spirit, which was good. No one mentioned the previous evening’s events at the altar, which was better. Nathan did not regret his actions. Not at all. But he was by nature a very private man, and such a huge change required a period of settling in. Somehow these new friends of his seemed to understand. Not even Poppa Joe felt a need to mention it, except for one time. As Nathan helped him settle into the wheelchair so that he could eat lunch with the others, Poppa Joe gave him a look that pierced straight to his heart, and simply said, “I’m much obliged, son. Much obliged.”
The remainder of the week strung out hard and long. Nathan seemed to spend all of Friday and much of Saturday running from one emergency to another. So it was that he did not arrive at Connie’s until just before sunset that Saturday evening. And was surprised to find it necessary to park half a block away.
The day held to a coolness more in keeping with spring than winter. Even with the sun creasing the western hills and sending farewell streamers out over the sky, still he was comfortable walking down the street in shirtsleeves. Connie’s driveway and the spaces directly in front of her house were packed with five pickups and seven cars and a cluster of easy-standing hillfolk. The women had a hard-scrubbed look, their print dresses and fancy aprons washed until the colors had faded. The men were in starched coveralls or the bottom half of dark suits and their best white shirts buttoned up to their collars. Nathan counted two dozen visitors in all, plus about as many dogs. The animals sauntered around or sat in the back of the trucks or stood by their masters, showing the easy companionship of well-trained hunters.
Nathan walked over, greeted the assembly, and was welcomed in turn by a smile from Connie. The expression tugged at his heart. The gathering seemed to have drawn her out from beneath her covering of fatigue and worry. Whatever else these people were here for, Nathan decided, it was for the good of all concerned.
“Hey there, Doc.” Will Green stepped from the circle and offered a hard slab of a hand. “How you keeping?”
“Fine.” Nathan continued to be surprised how these country people managed to match hands like granite with grips as soft as feathers. Will’s hand barely squeezed, just took his own, held it a moment, then let it go. “All these people are in your band?”
That brought a chorus of smiles from the gathering. “Shoot, Doc, we don’t have nothing so fancy as a band.”
“We heard Will here was gonna come over and play for Poppa Joe,” a pinched-faced woman said quietly. “We asked if we could come too.”
“We’s all friends of Poppa Joe’s,” another voice said.
“And kin from way back,” Connie added.
“Shucks, Miss Connie, ain’t hardly nobody in this valley who’s not kin, you go back far enough.”
“You’re all welcome,” Connie said. “But Poppa Joe’s been coming and going all afternoon. He’s here one minute, and asleep the next.”
“Don’t matter none,” Will offered. “We’ll just fill in the spaces best we can.”
“When he woke up earlier I reminded him you were coming to play,” Connie went on. “He said to tell you it’d be nice to have you bring the mountains down close to where he could touch them one more time.”
That brought a pause to the group. One of the women raised her starched apron and wiped at one corner of her eye. Will heaved a sigh and said, “Guess we might as well set up.”
They waited until the instruments were unlimbered and tuned before disturbing Poppa Joe. Hattie and Dawn had arrived by then, there to keep Connie company through the slow hours of another lingering dusk. Together with Nathan they lifted the old man, under-quilt and all, and settled him back on the stretcher. Poppa Joe was far too weak to use his wheelchair. With Connie and Dawn at the feet and Nathan taking the head, they walked him out to the porch.
Poppa Joe was wide-eyed and silent as he took in the people. There were four mandolins, three fiddles, two banjos, a bass fiddle, a washboard, four tambourines, and six guitars. Two men who clearly had no interest in either playing or singing rose from their seats on the front steps to greet Poppa Joe. Those there to sing and not play formed a little semicircle beyond the trellis.
They settled him at the corner of the porch where he could see both the players and the singers. Once he was down and those who had carried him had found comfortable spots around the stretcher, a silence gathered. No one seemed able to speak. The day’s warmth continued to linger, even as the sun stroked the western peaks.
The assembly waited, their gazes fixed upon the old man. Their emotions were a palpable force. Then a bird sang a single note, clear as the sky. A sound of crystal promise, a swift chime of hope.
A voice as soft as a breeze through the last of autumn’s leaves whispered from the stretcher, “Evening, all.”
The group smiled as best they could, and breathed easier. Will asked, “You got any favorites, Poppa Joe?”
“I like ’em all,” he murmured, and waved a feeble hand.
“Well, then,” Will said, “Let’s start with them what everybody knows.” He hefted his fiddle, and swung into “She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain.” The beginning was a little scratchy, as people found their places and their voices and began concentrating upon the music and not what had brought them there.
The second song got them moving, and the third had the chorus doing soft little hand claps, alternating one hand on top of the other.
By the fourth, doors were opening up and down the street, and people were walking over. While a few joined the choir, the others seemed content to stand along the edge of the street and smile and nod and weave in time to the music.
The musicians ran through a host of old favorites—“Just As I Am,” “When The Saints,” “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” “I Saw The Light,” “Amazing Grace,” “I’ve Got A Feeling,” “This Train.” The longer they played, the happier and larger grew the crowd, the stronger the voices, the more commanding the rhythm. Smiles blossomed like flowers on an early spring field.
Poppa Joe stayed with them most of the time. His eyes touched face after face. The smiles which greeted him were so sad Nathan could not watch for long.
So much emotion within these quiet simple people. So much caring. Such a noble way to say farewell to one of their own.
When they started on a rousing chorus of “The Tennessee Waltz,” the old man was smiling and Connie was rocking from side to side. Nathan rose from his seat, at first planning to get the two ladies some cushions to soften their places on the porch planking. But he caught sight of young children spinning and giggling in the lawn. Then he saw Connie’s eyes opened wide, half in fear and half in hope. And it was the most natural thing in the world to reach out his hand for hers.
There were a few good-natured chuckles. But not many. Neighbors and musicians watched and smiled as Nathan waltzed around the open space at the center of the porch. It was not like him to be the focus of attention. But just now, in the dimming light of a lovely Shenandoah winter’s dusk, he did not care. Connie blushed her way through the dance, meeting his eyes only once. But that look was all the reward he needed.
When they stopped, a quintet of smiles welcomed them back to their places by the stretcher. Hattie and Chad and Duke and Dawn all mirrored Poppa Joe’s quiet satisfaction, their approval given equally to them both.
The old man’s eyes began to droop, yet he did not ask for his injection. Nathan kept a careful watch, but felt there was no need to press. Poppa Joe would ask when he was ready. Every once in a while, the gaze would strengthen, and he would look first at his niece, and then at Nathan. He found himself waiting for those glances, drinking in all that was unsaid. All the mysteries.
Hattie drew Dawn inside. A few minutes later they came back with candles and set them around the porch. Someone joined the assembly with a pair of Coleman lanterns. Their glow added to the dusk’s fading gold, backlighting all the people gathered around the house.