“Wish we had time to make a brush arbor,” Will said regretfully. He had appeared in a clean pair of overalls and a white shirt that Christie had pressed carefully for him, and now as he lifted Lenora into the wagon, he shook his head, adding, “Don’t seem like a real meet’n just having preaching at night.”
He put the wheelchair into the bed of the wagon, took his seat between Lenora and Christie, and when he spoke to the horses, sending them into a brisk trot, he added, “It’s pretty hot, but I like a meet’n to go all day. This once a night—why, it just won’t hardly do.”
Lenora thought of all the years her father had refused to go to church and now leaned over and squeezed his arm. “I’d like it, too, Pa, but God will use what we have. Brother McGee is a fine evangelist. There’s already been eleven saved—and lots of stumps blasted.”
“You’re right, Daughter, and I’m grateful for what God’s done.” He thought of his wife and was saddened by the knowledge that she had no use for religion—not in any form. He’d tried to get her to attend, but she’d refused. Now he shook off the thought and said, “You’re right about that young preacher—he is a man of God.”
They arrived at the church a little late. By the time Lenora had been placed in her chair, they could hear the choir singing a familiar old song:
I will arise and go to Jesus,
He will embrace me in His arms;
In the arms of my dear Savior,
Oh, there are ten thousand charms.
The three of them made their way into the crowded church, and Will pushed Lenora’s chair right past the platform as the choir leader gave them a welcome smile. The Stuarts were the backbone of brother Ed Sanders’s small choir, and as soon as they joined in, he sighed with relief. Will was an accomplished musician with a fine tenor voice. Lenora sang a clear alto, and Christie had a strong, vibrant soprano.
At the end of the song, Sanders said, “We’ll be favored with a song from Sister Lenora.” He nodded at Lenora, and when Will moved to the piano and struck a chord, she lifted her head and began to sing:
Life is like a mountain railway,
With an engineer that’s brave;
You must make the road successful
From the cradle to the grave.
Watch the turns, the grades, the tunnels,
Never falter, never fail—
Keep your hand upon the throttle
And your eye upon the rail . . .
There were many amens and at Sanders’s request, she sang another—this one about heaven.
Oh, think of the home over there
Beyond the portals of light
Where the saints all immortal and fair
Are robed in their garments of white . . .
Her rich alto filled the church, and her face was suffused with such joy that many in the congregation began to pull out handkerchiefs. When the song was ended, the minister stood up and said, “It’s a glorious thing to be blessed with such a voice as this dear sister—but it is far more wonderful to be blessed with the Spirit of the Lord that flows out of her. Let us thank God for our blessings and ask him to save every man, woman, boy, or girl in this building who know not Jesus Christ as Savior!”
The service was long, but the preacher was inspired. He preached on a short text, “In him there is life,” and for over an hour he moved through the Bible, reading verse after verse that pointed to Jesus Christ as the source of all life. He was a strongly built man of thirty with pale blue eyes and a shock of dark brown hair. His voice was clear, and his manner was proof that he believed what he was saying with all his heart.
When he came to the end, he said, “Who in this building wants life—not just existence, for animals have that! But who wants the best, the finest, the most exciting life that a human being can have? I know the pleasures of the world are strong, but they pass like the grass of the field! But Jesus is the same, always the same. In him is life, and you will either live in him, or you will die. Some of you have been dead for years, filling your life with empty pleasures, but you’re not satisfied, are you? When you’re alone, there’s an emptiness in you that nothing has been able to fill.”
As the minister spoke his urgent plea, Lenora’s eyes were fixed on the face of Denton DeForge. True to his word, he had come and managed to find a seat in the very back. He had been uncomfortable at first and, as the preacher had read the Scripture and preached the gospel, he had dropped his head. More than once he’d made a move as though he intended to rise and flee, but he had not.
Now the choir began to sing,
Come home, come home,
Ye who are weary come home.
Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
Calling, “Oh, sinner, come home.”
Two young women rose at once, coming to fall at the altar, weeping audibly. They were followed by others, and soon the minister and the deacons were praying with those who came. But Lenora saw that Denton was gripping the back of the pine bench in front of him. His face was pale, and his features twisted in what seemed to be agony.
Go to him!
The words came to Lenora’s spirit as clearly as if they’d been spoken aloud. At once she put down her hymnbook and wheeled her way from where the choir stood singing. She had to thread her way through the congregation, but she managed to get to the aisle. Every eye was on her as she rolled the chair to the last seat. She stopped and looked up at young DeForge, who was trembling. “Denton, Jesus loves you,” she said quietly.
At those simple words, tears flooded the eyes of the young man. He put out his hand, groping for hers, and when she grasped it, he stepped out into the aisle. The two made their way forward, and as he knelt, she began to pray, holding his hand with both of hers. “Denton’s coming home, Father,” she said softly, and there was a great victory in her face. “Receive him as your beloved child.”
Christie had been touched by the conversion of young Dent DeForge. After the revival she seemed thoughtful, more so than usual. She had gone about her work with her usual thoroughness, but both her father and Lenora recognized that she was troubled.
“I think she’s worried about getting married and leaving me, Pa,” Lenora said one evening. Mel Tolliver had come to take Christie to a pie social, and Will and Lenora were alone on the front porch. Lightning bugs were making their tiny flecks of yellow fire in the darkness, and the crickets made their monotonous chant, broken at intervals by the hoarse bellow of a bullfrog.
“Appears that might be, Daughter.” Will rocked steadily for a time, then said, “I don’t feel good about her marryin’ Mel.” He had spoken of this to Lenora before, and now he shook his head sadly. “She ain’t happy, Lenora. A girl about to get married ought to be happy, shouldn’t she?”
“I think so, Pa.”
The two of them sat on the porch letting the stillness flow over them. They spoke of the family, mostly of the letter from Amos. He’d expressed his concern for his son Jerry. They’d gotten a letter from Gavin the previous day in which he’d said, “I’m worried about Jerry. He’s running with a wild young woman, and he’s drinking. I can’t talk to him. He’s stubborn as a mule!”
“Jerry’s in poor shape,” Will said. He went on to speak of how his own boys had some problems, then they went inside to avoid the whining mosquitoes. Two hours later Christie came in, and they both saw at once that there was something disturbing her. Her face was flushed, and she spoke in a high unnatural voice.
“Pa—and you, too, Lenora,” she said abruptly. “I’ve got something to ask you.” She bit her lips nervously, then seemed to stiffen her back. “Mel thinks it might be good for me to work some. And he’s got a job for me.”
“Work? Why, you work all the time, Christie,” her father said in surprise. “What sorta job is Mel talkin’ about?”
“He thinks after we’re married that I could help him with the hardware store, doing some of the book work. And he asked Mr. Stevenson if he’d let me work for him—and he said yes.”
“Clyde Stevenson over at Mountain View—runs the general store?” Will asked.
“Yes. I could still live at home. It would only be part-time, Pa. I could learn how to keep books, and I could make some money to help out at home.”
“Don’t need to do that,” Will protested. “But if it’s what you want to do, it might be good.”
Lenora had thought rapidly, and now she said, “It might be better if you get some experience, Christie. Do you really want to do it?”
“I . . . I think I do. But can you get along without me?”
Both her father and her sister made it clear that they could, and finally Christie said, “Well, I’ll do it then. It’ll be nice to be able to help with the hardware store.”
The following day Christie hitched the buggy and drove to Mountain View. She returned that afternoon saying that she liked the work and that Mr. Stevenson was a nice man. She added with less certainty, “His wife is a little sharp, but I won’t see her too much, I don’t guess.”
Three weeks passed, and Christie went to her job three days each week. She said little of her work to her father or Lenora, but both of them discerned that Mrs. Stevenson was hard to deal with. One night at supper, Lenora asked her pointedly, “Is Mrs. Stevenson giving you a hard time, Christie?”
“Well, she’s older than her husband,” Christie said. “She’s very jealous of any woman her husband sees. That’s what everyone says. But I won’t be there too long—and I’m learning a lot about how to keep books.”
Lenora studied her younger sister, saying no more of the matter. But, after they were finished and were drinking coffee, Lenora said suddenly, “I’ve got an announcement to make.” When they looked up at her with surprise, she said, “I’ve been accepted in the Salvation Army.” She laughed at their stunned expressions, and she then reached over and patted her father’s hand. “You know I’ve always wanted to be a missionary. Well, I won’t be going to Africa, but I’ll be going someplace that’s even more in need of the gospel.”
“Where’s that?” Will demanded.
“Chicago,” Lenora said. “Here, let me read you the letter from Major Hastings—he’s in charge of the Army there.” She pulled a letter from her pocket and read aloud. It said that she had been accepted and would begin her service by the first of the new year. Folding the letter, she returned it to her pocket, then laughed aloud at the expressions on their faces. “For once I’ve shocked you,” she said, then grew serious. “I’ve been writing to Major Hastings for several weeks. And it’s of God, my going there. I’ve been fasting and praying, and I know God wants me to go serve him.”
“But who’ll take care of you?” Christie blurted out.
“God will take care of me, as he always has.”
“But you’ve never been away from home in your life, Lenora!” Will Stuart was as shocked as a man could be. He’d pondered over what Lenora would do with herself—but never once had a thing like this occurred to him. “What kinda outfit is this Salvation Army?” he demanded.
“It was founded by William Booth over in England, Pa,” Lenora said. “He wanted to reach poor people with the gospel. And that’s what it does. Oh, it takes care of people who are down and out, but basically it tries to get people saved.”
For the rest of the evening, until nearly ten, Lenora spoke of how the Army was the most powerful force for evangelism in the world. Finally she took a deep breath, and a beautiful smile touched her lips.
“And God’s going to let me be a part of it! Isn’t that wonderful, Pa?”
Will felt a sudden surge of gratitude to God. He’s done this for her—given her what she wanted more than anything else! And then he went to her and put his arms around her.
“I always thought you’d be a missionary, Daughter, but I thought it’d be in China or some other far-off place. I’m proud of you!”
“Christie, why don’t you come with me when I go—just for a visit?”
“When are you leaving?”
“Oh, not until the first of the year. But when I go, I’d like for us to go together.” The thought had been with her that if Christie saw Chicago, she might be persuaded to stay for a long visit—and she might meet someone who would cause her to change her mind about marrying Mel. She said none of this, however, but left the door open. “We’ll see when it’s time, Christie,” Lenora said.
“All right—but I don’t think so. Mel wants to get married before then.” She did not see the look that her father and sister exchanged, but there was a thoughtful look on her face that revealed her interest in such a trip.
JERRY TAKES A WALK
T he biplane dived out of the cumulus cloud, leaving a cool moisture on Jerry’s face. For some reason he thought, It’s the tenth of May—Uncle Pete’s birthday. There was no reason for him to think of that, but he had discovered that when he was about to do a jump or a stunt of any kind, random thoughts seemed to race through his mind. He’d been with the show long enough to get most of the stunts down, the nonflying ones, of course. Gavin had finally admitted that he was getting good enough at flying to even do a few of those—something he longed for desperately.
Leaning out of the front of the cockpit, he saw Tony Pasco’s ship. He could even make out the brilliant green scarf that Cara wore. A thump came from behind, and he looked around to see Gavin give him a nod. He climbed out of the cockpit thinking of how scared he’d been the first time he’d performed this stunt. Now it was just another job. He’d never been afraid of heights and had a veiled contempt for those who were. Another random thought flashed through his mind—more of an image, really. He saw a scene he’d thought of often. He was standing by a creek with Uncle Owen, and a cottonmouth appeared at his ankle. As always, time seemed to stand still, and he could see the snake’s white mouth coming toward his bare leg. He could not seem to move, but Owen had stooped down and grabbed the snake by the tail and sent it sailing through the air.
I never teased Uncle Owen about being afraid of high places after that, Jerry thought as he placed his feet on the footwalk that covered the fabric where the lower wing joined the fuselage. I wouldn’t touch a snake for a million dollars—and he tossed it like it was a piece of rope!
He made his way down until he could sit comfortably on the spreader bar between the landing wheels. Ignoring the ground that lay spread out like a large quilt a thousand feet below, he pulled rosin from his side pocket, took a pinch, and applied it to his hands. He felt the Standard dip as Gavin closed the gap between the two planes, and now he was close enough to see Cara grinning at him as she stood on the upper wing.
Jerry swung down and hung by his knees, as unconcerned as if he were hanging five feet from the earth. Upside down, he saw Cara coming toward him and held his hands down. The ships moved slowly together, and Cara stretched her arms high. Their fingertips touched, and just as they swept by the stands, their hands slapped firmly, Jerry’s hands closing like vises on Cara’s slender wrists.
As Pasco’s plane fell away, Jerry pulled Cara up until her face was inches away from his.
“Hi, good-looking,” he said. “How about some loving?”
Cara’s upside-down face grinned. “I prefer sailors,” she said, “but I don’t see any around here.” She kissed him, their noses bumping, and then they both giggled wildly. As Jerry pulled her up, she lifted one hand and quickly grasped the spar, then pulled herself to sit on it. When Jerry came swinging up to sit beside her, he put his arm around her, and they kissed again. She pulled back finally, gasping, “You can pick the most interesting places to kiss me!”
“Any place is interesting with you,” Jerry teased. “Why don’t we do a double parachute jump and kiss all the way down?”
“You’re crazy!”
Cara climbed up the side of the plane and crawled into the cockpit. Soon Jerry plopped down beside her. Gavin brought the plane in, and the two piled out. Gavin cut the engine, but he didn’t get out at once. He was watching the pair as they crossed the
field, holding tightly to one another.
I don’t like it, he thought grimly. They’re going to get killed fooling around. Neither of them has a lick of sense!
He climbed out of the Standard and went through the tedious procedure of wrapping up the show and making all the decisions for the following day. When he left the field he was tired to the bone, and the steps that led up to the room he and Heather had rented seemed two feet high.
Heather met him as he entered, noting the fatigue that etched small lines across his face. She took his kiss, held him tightly for a moment, then said, “You go take a good hot bath. I’ve got a surprise for supper.”
“I may fall asleep and drown.”
“Go on,” she smiled. “Be sure you wash behind your ears.”
“Us Arkansas hillbillies never wash that part,” he grinned. He went at once to the bathroom, stripped off his dirty clothes, and soaked in water as hot as he could stand it for twenty minutes. It took an effort to get out of the tub, and he wanted nothing so much as to go to bed. “Getting old,” he muttered, pulling on a clean undershirt. “I can remember when I’d put in a day plowing behind a blue-nosed mule from sunup till dark, then ride twenty miles and dance until dawn.”
When he came out of the bedroom, Heather said, “Sit down. You’ve always wanted me to call you Lord Gavin and treat you like a king—well, this is your night, Lord Gavin!”
As he slipped his legs under the small oak dining table, Gavin grinned. “You must want something to be this nice to me.”
“No, I’m just naturally sweet and thoughtful.”
“All you English people think that about yourselves.”
“And you Americans love us for it.”
The table was set with fine china, for no matter how much they traveled, Heather insisted on eating like nobility. “I don’t care so much what’s on the plate,” she often said, “but I will not eat on one of those awful plates!”
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