by Janette Oke
After a formal salutation and greeting, she got to the crux of the matter.
The church looked so nice, she wrote, after Mr. Lowe and Mr. Collins kindly gave me so much aid in fixing the windows and painting the walls. But the recent rainstorm has brought to light the fact that the roof leaks badly.
Is there any way that we could have some aid in fixing it?
I would normally expect the parishioners to care for such, but as yet we have no established church here. The nasty weather over the past weekend made it impossible to hold a service, so I do not even know who my parishioners are to be—or how long it might take to find them.
I would be most pleased if something could be done before the next heavy rainstorm. Of course, I know that funds are not in abundant supply, so I will await your good judgment.
May God grant you His peace and blessing.
Yours sincerely,
Miss Emily Evans.
After posting her letter, she took one more peek into the church building. Water still stood here and there, and Emily knew it would need to be sopped up before it could do further damage. She went again for her scrub pail and a heavy mop.
Emily’s letter had more effect than she had dared to hope. Word came back by return mail that a crew would be there to repair the roof the following week—Lord willing—and might even have time to give the walls another coat of paint. Emily could scarcely believe it. Thank you, Lord. You truly are here with me, she prayed. With quickened resolve she decided to do more calling. As yet she had visited none of the outlying farms. She must remedy that before the next scheduled service. So bright and early the next morning, Emily determined, she would walk out to the Travis farm where her horses were kept, and begin her rural calling duties.
Chapter Fourteen
Visiting
Emily turned her team first toward the west. Consulting her map, she decided she would try to cover a seven-mile radius before the coming winter set in. She knew that it would keep her busy, but once she discovered where the prospective parishioners lived, she would concentrate her calls on those places.
There was no one home at the first farm. Disappointed, Emily drove the team on for another mile down the road to the next place. There she found a bachelor, and he made no bones about the fact that he wasn’t interested in her little church service.
It was almost two miles to the next farm. Emily was pleased to see a woman at the clothesline, hanging out a washing that included a number of children’s articles. Emily thought that home looked like a good prospect and turned the team in at the gate.
The woman stopped and lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Emily could imagine that the lady was studying the horses and buggy to determine which neighbor was calling.
By the time Emily pulled up to the hitching rail, two children had appeared from somewhere. A little girl clung to the mother’s skirt, peeking shyly at Emily. The other, a boy of about eight, flopped a thatch of dark hair out of his eyes and studied her boldly.
“Hello,” greeted Emily in her friendliest voice as she stepped down from the buggy so that she might be on even ground with the woman.
“Lovely day, isn’t it?” she continued.
The woman was hot and damp from bending over the sudsy water of the washtub. She blew a straying wisp of hair out of her face and looked up at the sizzling sun. Emily wondered if she had made a poor choice of words.
“You sellin’ somethin’?” the woman asked candidly.
“Oh no. No,” Emily quickly assured her.
“Come on in then,” the woman invited, nodding toward the door with her head. Emily tied her horses and followed.
“Ed always says that the only people who call on us are peddlers—either of no-good products or unwanted religion.”
Emily’s breath caught in her throat.
“Sit down.” The woman nodded toward a kitchen chair. The cat already had it occupied. Emily didn’t know whether to shoo the cat off and take possession or remain standing. The little girl solved the problem. She stepped forward and smacked the cat off with a pudgy hand. Emily took the seat.
“You new here?” the woman asked while she pushed the teakettle forward and poked another stick into the fireplace.
“Yes—yes, I am,” Emily answered rather breathlessly. She wasn’t quite sure how to handle the situation. “I’ve been here only a couple of weeks, in fact.” There was heavy silence. “I—I decided that I should get out and meet my neighbors,” Emily continued. Well, it was the truth as far as it went, she told herself. “My name is Emily,” she added.
“I’m Clara. Who’s farm you on?” asked the woman.
“Oh, I’m not on a farm,” Emily admitted reluctantly.
Clara frowned as she lifted down the teapot. “In town?” she asked doubtfully.
“Yes. In town,” responded Emily with her best smile.
“Well—I never,” the woman said.
“Pardon me?”
The woman turned to look at Emily. She was shaking her head. “Never a town woman called to make acquaintance before,” she observed dryly.
Emily felt as if she were living a lie. She knew she must clear up the matter quickly or she would not be able to live with herself. Her face reddened as she stood to her feet.
“Actually,” she said slowly, “I am the new—new mission worker in town. My church hopes to start a congregation here. I—I am just trying to get acquainted so that I may find out who—who would be interested in joining us.”
Clara had set down the teapot. She stood with mouth open, staring at Emily.
“Just like Ed says.” The farmwife spoke quietly, a look of disappointment in her eyes.
“You aren’t interested in church?” Emily asked shyly.
The woman turned her back and put the pot back up on the shelf.
Emily did not wait for her answer. “Then, perhaps—perhaps I could call—just as a friend. We wouldn’t talk church at all—just visit.”
The woman said nothing, but Emily noticed that she was taking the teapot down again.
Emily held her tongue for the moment, thinking quickly. She must try hard not to say anything that might jeopardize the delicate opportunity.
“I noticed that you have some lovely flowers, Clara,” she ventured and the woman’s eyes lit up for the first time.
“I’m not familiar with that blue one at the corner of the house,” Emily went on.
“Got those seeds from my mother,” said Clara. “She always had a patch of ’em. Called Blue Cups.”
“They are beautiful,” continued Emily sincerely.
“You can have a few seeds come fall—if you’d like,” offered Clara, then added slowly, “That is, if you’re plannin’ to stay over the winter.”
“Oh, I am,” Emily spoke hurriedly. “I hope I can stay for a long time.”
Clara smiled slightly.
They had their tea together and chatted about flowers, family and housekeeping. Emily did not bring up the subject of church again. Nor did her companion. Emily sensed that Clara was starved for the fellowship of another woman. Although Emily hated to leave, the sun was climbing directly up overhead and she knew she should be on her way. Besides, she was afraid that Ed might suddenly make an appearance, and she was not sure she was prepared as yet to meet the man, who would immediately assume she was a peddler.
When at last she bid farewell, Clara was reluctant to let her go. Then Emily turned her team and called back as she drove off, “You must have tea with me when you’re in town. I live at the back of the old pool hall,” deciding it was wiser in this case to identify her residence by what the building had been.
“Well, I certainly haven’t added many members to my congregation this morning,” Emily mused as she turned her horses onto the road and set off for the next farm.
This one belonged to the Browns, Emily learned when she was cordially greeted, though not asked to come in. Mrs. Brown listened to her invitation, thanked her for her kindnes
s and said she would consider letting her children attend. Emily was afraid she would not see them in her little church. She lifted her heart in prayer for the Brown family.
By the time Emily had taken to the road once again, she discovered she was hungry and decided to break for the light lunch she had tucked beneath the buggy seat.
“Most people will invite the visiting preacher in for a meal if it is anywhere near mealtime,” Rev. Witt had told the students during a school chapel service. “But one is wise not to count on it. Take a bit of a lunch with you if you are expecting your calls to take most of your day” he advised.
As soon as she felt the team had fed long enough, she arose from the grassy shade, stretched, and climbed back up in her buggy.
There were still some bad potholes in the low spots from the last heavy rain, and Emily drove carefully. She had no desire to get mired down while dressed in her best Sunday frock and shoes.
She seemed to drive endlessly before the next farmyard came into view. Emily turned in at the gate and was met by a fiercely barking farm dog. The horses were reluctant to enter the yard and began backing their way toward the gate again. Emily had a hard time keeping the team under control. She knew there was no way she was going to climb down from the buggy until the dog’s owner made an appearance.
But though Emily saw the curtain at the window moving as if some hand were sweeping it aside, no one appeared at the door. Emily finally managed to get her team turned around and back to the road.
It was late by then and Emily wearily decided to head for home. It was a long drive back to town and she wanted to make it over the potholes while there was still plenty of light.
It was close to the supper hour when Emily again passed the farm she had visited that morning but found no one home. Now a small truck stood in the yard and a man carrying a pail crossed toward the barn. Emily could see a woman in a printed housedress coming from the chicken pens, a basket in her hand.
Impulsively, Emily turned her horses in at the gate. She would make a quick call while she was passing. She couldn’t do any worse than she had already done.
At the sound of the approaching buggy, the woman stopped and turned to watch it draw near. A light breeze toyed with the strings of the woman’s apron and lifted wisps of graying hair. There was a slight smile of greeting on her pleasant, motherly face. Emily felt it was the most welcome sight she had seen all day, and responded with a bright smile.
“Hello,” called the woman before Emily had even stopped the team. Emily returned the greeting.
The woman did not wait for Emily to alight, but as soon as the horses arrived at the hitching rail, she set down her basket of fresh eggs and moved forward to tie the team herself.
“You out calling?” the woman asked.
“That’s right,” Emily answered, surprised that she would know. Emily brushed the wrinkles from her skirt, trying at the same time to shake some of the kinks from her back and legs as she stepped down from the buggy.
“I’ll just stop a minute,” Emily said. “I know it is an awkward hour, but you weren’t home when I passed by this morning.”
“You’ve been calling all day?” the woman asked, then quickly continued, “My, you must be exhausted.”
Emily just smiled.
“Come in,” invited the woman, picking up her basket again and shooing away a kitten that rubbed against her leg.
“Oh, but I mustn’t stop now,” Emily answered. “It is almost the supper hour.”
“So join us,” she replied pleasantly. “It won’t be fancy, but we fare quite well—and we love company. There’s just George and me. Come on.”
Emily gratefully followed her into the restful coolness of the farmhouse.
“I take it you are the new church worker.” The woman again surprised Emily. She added, “But I don’t know your name.”
“It’s Emily. Emily Evans.”
“I’m Molly Reilly. I heard you were in town. My, what a job you have—making that old hall into a church,” she chuckled lightly.
Emily nodded. “I thought I had it pretty well in hand,” she admitted, “until that heavy rain over the weekend.”
“It leaks?” the woman asked sympathetically.
“It leaks,” agreed Emily. “Badly.”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Reilly kindly. “What a shame.”
Emily liked her immediately; perhaps drawn toward the woman because of the mother Emily had lost. She was glad she had decided to stop.
“Take off your hat and lay it on the shelf there,” her hostess invited. “The washbasin is right over there and there’s no shortage of water.”
Emily moved to comply.
“I believe you met our nephew,” the woman said off-handedly as Emily freshened up at the basin. Emily wondered if their nephew was one of the young lads who had carried in her trunk.
“Shad Austin,” the lady explained further.
Emily still drew a blank. She shook her head slowly.
“He came back from fishing and said you had met along the creek.”
Emily could feel her face burning. What else might the young man have told about her?
“He thought you looked awfully young to be taking on so much responsibility,” the woman added comfortably as she bustled about her big farm kitchen.
I’ll bet he did, Emily wanted to retort, but she bit her tongue. “Shad’s father was a preacher,” the woman explained, surprising Emily beyond measure. From the young man’s response to her “calling,” she hadn’t expected him to have had Christian rearing.
“At one time Shad planned on being a preacher, too, but that was before—” Mrs. Reilly sighed and her shoulders sagged, and she said no more.
Emily pondered what it all meant. At one time? Before what? What had happened? She wanted to know but of course didn’t feel free to ask.
“He’s a banker now,” his aunt continued. “In Calgary. He still comes to the farm whenever he can. His folks are both gone now, and he’s always been like a son to George and me.”
Then she chuckled. “He came home last Sunday and said, ‘Aunt Moll’—he always calls me Aunt Moll—‘guess what I just found along the creek. A new preacher. A little bit of a girl. Going to start services in town. Maybe you’d better check her out, Aunt Moll. See if she’s teaching the truth.’ ”
Emily’s face flushed deeply. She winced at the thought of being “checked out.” Certainly she planned to teach the truth. It was unkind of the young man to suggest she might do otherwise.
“Well, George gave me a wink, but Shad seemed quiet—almost moody—for the rest of the day. And he’s never like that. After we’d gone to bed, George and I had a long talk. Wouldn’t it be something if our Shad made his way back to God? It would sure be an answer to his mother’s prayers—and ours.” She sniffed and turned back to Emily, wiping her eyes.
“Forgive me,” she implored. “It’s just that we’ve been praying for him for so long. We grasp at any signs of softening toward the Lord, I guess.”
Emily managed a smile and whispered a quiet, though sincere, “I’m so sorry.” Mrs. Reilly returned the smile and went back to her stove.
“George will be looking for his supper,” she said as she worked. “He’s only milking two cows now and it doesn’t take him long.”
“Is there anything I can do?” offered Emily, certain now that she was staying for supper.
“You can set the table,” Mrs. Reilly invited. “You’ll find the dishes in that cupboard right there.”
Chapter Fifteen
Another Week
Emily’s calling continued to be met with varied responses. Very few folks gave her a definite answer, but there were some who said they would consider coming to her little church, or would think about sending their children. Emily found their indecision frustrating, but she had to accept it and keep praying for these families. Those long buggy rides between farms were good times for that, she discovered.
“The weat
her can’t be an excuse this time,” Emily mused as she looked out on a perfect Sunday morning.
Singing to herself, she prepared for the service. Surely today would be very different from last week.
At two minutes to ten, Mrs. Travis and two of her children found their way into one of the pews. Emily smiled her good morning, hopeful that they were only the first of many.
They waited for another fifteen minutes, but no one else came. So Emily, with a heavy heart, started the Sunday school lesson. Maybe others would join them later for the morning service, but she was disappointed in that as well.
Don’t despair, she kept telling herself. This is only the beginning. And perhaps God wants me to spend special, personal time with this woman and her children. Emily endeavored to make Mrs. Travis and her two little ones feel as much in the presence of the Father as she knew how.
When the short Bible lesson and the worship service had ended, the woman took Emily’s hand and smiled her appreciation.
“It is good to be in church again,” she said in a soft voice. “I have missed it so much. Especially since Mr. Travis is—is ill.”
“I’m so glad you could come,” Emily responded, and then impulsively gave the older woman a warm hug.
The woman left with tears in her eyes, and Emily lingered about the room, straightening the few worn hymnals and studying the stains on the walls.
Her first Sunday had not been as she would have chosen. But certainly God cared even more about this community and these people than she did. He would help her get their attention.
On Tuesday a work crew of six men in two trucks pulled up in front of Emily’s little church. She was both excited and concerned when she saw the number of men. She would be expected to feed them. Emily knew her cupboards didn’t hold much in food staples.
She smiled her welcome, reminding herself that she had written the letter asking for help. God had answered her need. And, surely, if He had supplied the men and the materials, He would supply their food as well.