by Janette Oke
And He did—through Shad’s Aunt Moll. Mrs. Reilly was shopping at the mercantile when the trucks pulled in and the men busied themselves setting up their ladders. Quick to assess the situation, she hastened to Emily’s door and rapped hurriedly.
Emily answered, still a bit flustered by the situation.
“I see you have a whole crew out here,” said Mrs. Reilly.
“Yes,” responded Emily.
“And I suppose you’re expected to feed them?” asked the woman.
Emily nodded, her face showing her concern.
“I guessed as much,” the woman went on. With a hint of apology she lowered her voice, “Can you cook?”
Emily nodded and smiled.
“Good!” said the older woman. “So many of the younger generation ...” But she stopped and changed direction, “Well, you fix something for their noon meal, soup and bread—or whatever you have—and I’ll fry a couple chickens and make some pies for their supper.”
Emily couldn’t believe her ears. “Oh-h, but—” she began, but the woman stopped her with a wave of her hand.
“You have vegetables?”
Emily thought of the garden produce her father had sent along. She nodded.
“Then you take care of that. I’ll see to the other.”
And she was off before Emily could even find the words to express her relief and gratitude.
As Emily watched Molly Reilly hasten down the broken walk, a thought flashed through her mind. I wonder where you were on Sunday? but she quickly checked herself. That was none of her business. She was not sent to judge the people—only to present truth and lead them to the Lord.
Emily was just about to reenter her little home when she saw Sophie waving a tea towel from down the street. “Yoo-hoo” came the call. Emily hastened across the dusty road, hoping nothing was wrong at Sophie’s place.
“Is—is anything the matter?” she exclaimed when she was within earshot.
Sophie laughed with unchecked hilarity. “No. No. Nothin’ like thet. Jest saw yer big crew and figured ya might not have a coffeepot big enough to serve ‘em all. Why don’t ya send ’em all over here at coffee time? I’ll supply the coffee—you send the men.”
Emily stared open-mouthed. She hadn’t even thought about coffee time.
She nodded her agreement, thanked Sophie and asked what time she would like the crew to come.
“Tenish,” the woman responded. Emily scurried back to the house to get some cookies in the oven. At least she could supply that much to go with the coffee.
At ten the crew was called from their labors and sent over to Sophie’s cafe for morning coffee and cookies. At noon, Emily served thick vegetable soup and sliced bread. In the afternoon, Sophie again served coffee, and Emily had time to bake a chocolate cake. And, right on time for the supper hour, Reillys’ truck pulled up in front of the building and Mrs. Reilly came in bearing her dishes of fried chicken and apple pies.
When the long day had come to a close, the roof was repaired and the walls repainted. One older man had even found time to replace the broken boards in Emily’s walk, while a younger member of the crew worked a scythe in her backyard, taking down all the tall grass and garden weed patch. Emily couldn’t believe how much had been accomplished in such a short time.
Deeply thankful, Emily lay on her bed that night. The little church and her small abode were now in good order. She could concentrate her efforts on reaching out with love and truth to the people of the community.
Emily’s days were mostly taken up with her calling. At times she came home weary and disappointed. There just didn’t seem to be much interest in her little mission church. With difficulty she left her burden with the Lord and tried to sleep in spite of her anxiety.
A letter from Ruth was filled with excitement and good news. She loved her community, she loved her boarding place, and she had crowded twenty-five people into one little country schoolhouse on her first Sunday of preaching—twenty-nine in the other and the numbers had continued to grow. Now the attendance had settled in at thirty to forty at each service.
Ruth is such a good preacher that they are sure to come to hear her, thought Emily, holding the pages loosely and staring out at the vacant lot. She was happy for Ruth—but in comparison, Emily did seem to be a total failure.
She went to bed feeling discouraged and lay tossing restlessly. Finally she crawled out and knelt down on the braided rug by her beside.
“Lord,” she prayed, “I was sure I heard your call to serve. I don’t seem to be very good at it. I can’t preach like Ruth. I know that. Maybe I misunderstood the feeling I had in chapel. I don’t know, God. I’m so mixed up.” Emily paused a moment to think. “But that strong desire to serve you in some way was there even before I went to Bible school. Surely that was from you, Lord.” She paused again. “If you really want me to start this little church, then I need your help. I can’t do it without you. Please, dear God—give me wisdom and direction.
“I’m willing to work here—for as long as it takes—if that is your will. Show me, Lord. Show me what to do.
“And help me to be patient. I know I’m always in a hurry. I know I push. I’ve always pushed myself, Lord. I’m not good at learning things and I’ve had to work harder at it than others.
“But help me to not push other people and to understand that this is your work, not mine. I don’t need to push here. I need to obey. And I need to wait for you.”
Emily continued praying, the tears wetting her cheeks. At length she felt a peace steal over her heart and she rose from her knees, brushed her tear-stained face with a sleeve of her nightgown and climbed back into bed.
She slept then. A restful, much-needed sleep.
Whatever happened at Wesson Creek Mission was up to the Lord. Emily was only an instrument for Him to use.
The next morning Emily arose with better spirits. It was Sunday and she expected to again welcome Mrs. Travis and her children to the service, intending to use the time together as well as she was able. But when the Travis children arrived at the door of the little church, they were alone.
“Mama’s not well,” they informed Emily in quiet voices and selected the same seat they had occupied the previous Sunday.
Emily was about to begin the lesson when the door opened again and Mrs. Reilly scurried in, her face red, her hat slightly akimbo. But she flashed a smile at Emily.
“The cows got out. Just when we were ready to leave. George is still rounding up the last of them. Neither of us would have made it to church if we’d had to drive all the way to Tomis like we’ve been doing. It’s nice to have our own church here in town.”
She slid into the seat beside the Travis children, still panting slightly. “Don’t know why such things always happen on Sunday,” she puffed, drawing a white handkerchief over her perspiring face.
Emily smiled, welcomed her little audience and began her lesson.
She had just announced the story of Noah and the ark when the door opened again and Sophie stuck her head in. “Sorry,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “They was scared to come alone the first time.” She pushed four children with shiny-clean faces and slicked-down hair into the room, withdrew and closed the door again.
Emily, happy indeed for a congregation of seven, greeted the four newcomers.
When it was time for the morning worship service, three more people joined them—two country women, one leading her child by the hand.
That’s ten! thrilled Emily, but she did not pause long to rejoice. It was not her doing. God had sent them to her. Now it was her responsibility to teach from His Word.
As soon as Emily had eaten her simple dinner, she placed some cookies and a loaf of bread in a pail and set out for the Travises. She knew there wasn’t much she could do about the illness itself, but at least she would express her concern and see if there was any way that she could help.
She expected to find the woman in bed, or at least in the house wrapped in blankets and
drinking broth. But when Emily arrived Mrs. Travis was in her garden, pulling carrots. She straightened and her hand fluttered to her face. She looked surprised at Emily’s visit, and Emily knew she had caught her off guard.
Emily almost blurted out, “The children said you were not feeling well,” but said instead, “I brought some cookies. Thought we could have tea. How are you? I—I missed you at the service.”
Emily noticed that the woman turned sideways when she answered.
“That’s—that’s kind. Come in. I—I wasn’t feeling so well this morning. Better now.” And she led the way to the house.
It wasn’t until they were seated at the kitchen table having tea and cookies that Emily noticed a large discolored area on the left side of the woman’s face. Mrs. Travis seemed to sense immediately that Emily had seen the bruise.
“I fell,” she offered quickly. “It’s nothing.” “But it looks ... shouldn’t you see a doctor?”
Mrs. Travis shook her head stubbornly. “No need,” she insisted.
“Did you faint?” asked Emily. Perhaps the woman was sicker than she realized. But Mrs. Travis brushed aside the question.
“No. No. Don’t think so. Just—just clumsy, I guess.”
Emily let the matter drop. She could sense that the woman was agitated.
While Emily was on her way home, she tried to puzzle through the situation. Perhaps she has seizures and doesn’t want to admit it, she reasoned. But there must be some kind of medication that could help her. But, then, maybe not ...
Maybe Mrs. Travis would not visit the doctor because of lack of funds. Or she might just refuse to admit the seriousness of her illness because of the children. Mr. Travis was hardly able to care for them with his own ill health.
Whatever the situation, the Travises needed her support and her prayers. She hoped that other members of the community were aware of their circumstances and ready to help as well.
After another busy week of calling in all kinds of weather—hot one day and a cold rain the next—Emily awakened early on Friday. She lay in her bed staring up at the ceiling while it seemed to sway and tilt every which way. She felt flushed, her throat hurt and her body ached.
“Oh no!” she groaned. “I can’t be sick. Lord, please don’t let me be sick.”
She pulled herself into a sitting position and willed herself to get up. But as the day dragged on she felt worse and worse. At last she had to concede defeat and take to her bed.
Maybe if I rest today, I’ll be fine by tomorrow, Emily hoped.
But she wasn’t fine the next day. Her fever increased and her pulse raced. It was all she could do to make it from her bed to the kitchen.
I must drink fluids, she reminded herself, but it was difficult even to swallow.
She placed a pitcher of water and a glass beside her bed and again lay down.
“Please, God,” she prayed feverishly, “make me well for Sunday.” But when the first of the children arrived on Sunday morning, Emily was not there to open the door. They stood on the walk, wondering what to do.
Mrs. Reilly was the next to arrive. She greeted Sophie’s four youngsters and chatted while they waited for Emily.
“It’s strange,” she murmured as the minutes ticked by. “I wouldn’t expect her to be late.”
“Maybe her cows got out,” quipped young Nicky, and all the little cluster shared in the laughter.
Mrs. Travis arrived, her two children close behind her.
Mrs. Reilly greeted her warmly and then said, “It’s strange, I wouldn’t expect Emily to oversleep. It’s past Sunday school hour.” She fidgeted a few moments more and then moved resolutely toward Emily’s gate.
“I’ll just go see,” she told the waiting group, and off she went to Emily’s door.
There was no answer to her knock, and since there was no lock on the door Mrs. Reilly opened it and let herself in.
She found a very ill Emily. She could scarcely lift her head from her pillow, but she still fussed over the fact that she was not there to open the church building.
Mrs. Reilly sent Nicky for Dr. Andrew and tried to make Emily more comfortable in the meantime by putting a wet cloth on her forehead. There was nothing for Emily to do but to accept the ministrations. There would be no service that Sunday.
It took me nearly a week to get back on my feet, Emily wrote to Ruth. I don’t know what I would have done without Mrs. Reilly. She came every day to see how I was and to make sure I ate her nice, hot soup. Even Sophie from the cafe sent her Nicky over with a sandwich, and Mrs. Travis baked a loaf of bread for me.
I don’t dare write to my father about how sick I was, she continued, or he would really be worried. Emily finished her letter with words of enthusiasm for Ruth’s fine progress and continued hope for her own situation.
Chapter Sixteen
Autumn
Other than the handful of women who had become her friends, Emily’s adoption into the Wesson Creek community came slowly. She wished that Big John, as he was known in the area, didn’t treat her quite so gruffly and that the young fellows did not loiter about the doors of the blacksmith shop staring at her as she walked to the post office or did her shopping. She wished the neighborhood women were more free to drop in for a cup of tea and that the young children didn’t still dip their heads in shyness when she spoke to them.
“Be patient,” she kept insisting to herself, but sometimes it was very hard to do so.
Gradually the attendance in the little church picked up. But just when Emily began to exult over the possibility of higher numbers, others would drop out.
“How do I keep them faithful? Consistent?” she lamented to the Lord. “I know I’m not a good preacher—but I try to make it interesting.”
Letters from Ruth still included glowing reports of the growth in her church, though she too acknowledged a setback or two.
Things were even more difficult for Verna Woods, Emily concluded after reading her letter. The community where Verna served seemed to have less interest in church and spiritual matters than Wesson Creek. In fact, Verna was already admitting that she often thought of giving up and going home. Emily sent her an encouraging note and prayed daily for Verna.
Emily knew several households quite well by now and that encouraged her.
Whenever she was passing, she dropped in on the lady who had no interest in “religious peddlers.” She seemed so lonely that Emily ached for her. Emily didn’t mention anything about church when she called there, though she longed to do so. She was sure she knew the cure for Clara’s lonely heart. It was found in the pages of the Book Emily carried, tucked protectively in a corner of her buggy.
Soon the community was astir with harvesting activity. In the fields along the road, Emily observed teams of draft horses or chugging tractors from morn to dusk as she made her calls. Womenfolk took over the choring and cooked hardy meals, drawing on their abundant gardens. The children scurried to the fields with pails of fresh water or beef sandwiches and lemon tarts. Everyone was busy and Emily observed all the productive commotion as well as tension in the air as she visited the farm families. Every cloud was viewed with alarm. Would rain bring the harvesting to a standstill? Could there be a chance of snow?
Emily continued calling on folks, but she respected the harvesting situation. She certainly did not expect a farmwife to turn away from the pie crusts to prepare her visitor a cup of tea. She did not pause for polite conversation when a farmer was on his way to the granary with a wagonload of grain. Emily had grown up on a farm. She knew the pressure of the harvest.
Thus Emily decided to concentrate her efforts in town for the present. Sophie always seemed glad to see her, and cheerfully served her coffee and sat down to chat when she wasn’t busy. Big John’s sister at the mercantile, too, didn’t seem to mind an occasional chat.
Also there was much to do around her own small place. While the harvesting was being completed, she busied herself cleaning up the weedy garden, patching her
broken fences, repairing seams in aging dresses, and securing buttons on her winter coat.
She had more time for Bible study in preparation for future Sundays and caught up on her letter writing, baked cookies for an elderly lady down the street, and sewed a new, much-needed winter skirt.
She even took time for the luxury of a few walks in the woods. Beneath her feet the fallen leaves rustled with each footfall. Above, those that remained danced joyfully in the autumn breeze. Still higher in the sky, the Canada geese honked their goodbyes in V-formation as they flew their way to warmer climates. Other birds that would stay for the winter fluttered anxiously about to locate each berry tree, each rose bush, for future use. Squirrels scolded and bush rabbits ducked for cover when they saw her coming. Emily found great pleasure in the life of the woods.
Her feet always found their way back to the same spot—the cluster of trees along the creek where she had been resting the day she met Shad Austin. The creek had slowed further with the passing of summer. In some places it barely moved at all, but here, at the place Emily was sure was a favorite fishing hole, it still gurgled and played over stones as it left the small pond. Dragonflies zoomed in and out, and hornets settled on fallen leaves to ride a moment on the water.
Emily loved this restful little hideaway. Its peace refreshed her with each visit. On some days she brought her Bible and read as she basked in the serenity. Occasionally she wondered about the man whom she’d accidentally met in that place.
Mrs. Reilly had not mentioned the young man again. Emily did not wish to pry, but she often found herself trying to imagine what had brought about the change in his life. Why had he given up his calling and seemingly deserted his faith? What had happened to both of his parents that he was alone? When had it happened? Emily mulled over the questions as she watched the pond’s activity.