A Daughter's Quest

by Lena Nelson Dooley

  Just as Mary had said, her parents welcomed Constance into their home with open arms. She would have known Mrs. Carter was Mary’s mother without having been told. They looked just alike and more like sisters than mother and daughter.

  Even though they arrived mid-afternoon and the Carters weren’t expecting them, Mary’s mother insisted on feeding them right away. While Hans took care of the horses in the barn behind the house and Constance freshened up in a bedroom on the second story, Mrs. Carter must have been busy. When Constance came down the stairs, a cold feast spread out across the table in the dining room.

  A knock sounded on the back door.

  “Oh dear, I hope it’s not someone coming to take Doc away from us right when we want to get acquainted with Jackson and Mary’s friends.” Mrs. Carter wiped her hands on a tea towel and stuck the end of it in her apron pocket before opening the door. “Come on in, Mr. Van de Kieft. You didn’t have to knock.”

  “Hans.” He still held his hat in his hand. “Please, call me Hans.”

  Constance watched him from the doorway. She could tell that his smile captivated Mrs. Carter almost as much as it did her.

  “Of course, Hans. I hope you’re hungry.” Mary’s mother bustled over to the cabinet and picked up a tray that contained thick slices of ham and some kind of cheese.

  The table already held a platter of some kind of bread. It was darker than any Constance had ever made. Maybe Mrs. Carter would give her the recipe before they went back home.

  A crock of homemade pickles added a piquant air to the room. A hint of spices, vinegar, and even sweetness. Sliced tomatoes and onions covered another plate. Constance hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she looked at all the food.

  The doctor returned from his office in the front of the large first floor, and they all sat down to eat. After he blessed their food, Mrs. Carter passed each plate to Constance first, then to Hans. He must have been hungrier than she was, because soon his plate was piled high.

  Conversation flowed freely here, just as it did at Jackson and Mary’s house. After the Carters asked several questions about their daughter and her husband, they moved on to getting to know Hans and Constance.

  When Mrs. Carter found out that all of Constance’s family was gone, she patted Constance’s hand. “We’ll just have to make you a part of our family.”

  Constance almost felt like another daughter, filling a void she hadn’t known existed in her heart.

  At the end of the meal, Hans pushed back his chair. “I think I’ll go and see about a room at the hotel.”

  “A fine meal, my dear.” Dr. Carter patted his stomach before turning toward Hans. “You don’t have to do that. We have plenty of bedrooms.”

  Red suffused Hans’s cheeks, and he cleared his throat. “Thank you for your kindness, but it would be better for Constance’s reputation if I went to the hotel.”

  Constance widened her eyes. She hadn’t thought about where Hans would sleep. The man was amazing—always thinking about her. Her heart fluttered at the thought. If only she was more than a friend to him.

  “After you return, Hans”—Constance looked down at her hands—“do you think we could go to the cemetery? I’d like to get that taken care of today.”

  He nodded and turned to go. “I’ll be back soon.” He spoke over his shoulder.

  Hans hurried in the direction the doctor had told him. Constance had reacted to his comment about her reputation, but he didn’t know why. Would he ever understand women, especially Constance?

  After obtaining a room for the night, he went to the sheriff’s office. That would be a good place to find out about what had happened.

  It wasn’t a pretty story. The Mitchell brothers did indeed start sowing wild oats after their parents died. He wondered if that loss was the root cause of their wild living or if the war had affected Jim too much. Whichever it was, both brothers had been buried at the back of the cemetery away from the churchyard. Plain wooden crosses marked the place, and their names had been painted on the crossbars with black paint. Already the letters looked weathered. Sometime soon, they would be completely obliterated. What a waste of two lives.

  Hans really didn’t want to bring Constance here, but he knew she wouldn’t rest easy until she saw the graves for herself. He hoped it would end her need to follow her quest.

  He went back to the Carters’ house to get Constance. When they returned to the cemetery, she stood for a long time just staring at the plain crosses. Then, to his surprise, she dropped to her knees in the grass beside Jim Mitchell’s grave.

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “Mr. Mitchell, I’m so sorry my father didn’t come to see you sooner. I wish he had. Maybe your life wouldn’t have ended like this. He wanted to tell you about your need for God. When he couldn’t come because he was too sick, he asked me to tell you. But we both failed. I hope someone else told you about God before you died.”

  The last few words were so faint that Hans could hardly make them out. Constance stayed in that position for a few moments; then she started to cry. At first, tears made their quiet way down her cheeks, but soon she sniffled and then sobbed. Hans felt as if his heart were breaking. He couldn’t leave her there, so he pulled her up and into his arms, cradling her against his chest.

  She continued to cry for a long time. All the while, Hans held her tight with one arm and gave her comforting strokes on her back with the other hand. He occasionally murmured what he hoped were comforting words. The rest of the time, he prayed silently for her sorrow and pain to be eased. How he wished he had the right to do more.

  fourteen

  The next day when Constance and Hans arrived back in Browning City, they went straight to the parsonage. Hans helped her down from the wagon seat and handed her several packages wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. She started up the walkway, and he picked up the last four bundles left in the back of the wagon.

  He caught up with her halfway to the house. “I’ll take your carpetbag by the boardinghouse before I return the wagon to the livery.”

  She smiled up at him. “Thanks. I want to spend a while with Mary if she’s not busy.”

  He nodded. “She’ll want you to be there when she opens all these parcels from her mother.”

  “Yes, she probably will.” Constance stepped up on the porch. “I’ve missed being with Mary. It’s been more than four days since we spent any time alone. We have a lot to talk about.”

  “I’m sure you do.” The twinkle in his eyes carried over to the tone of his voice.

  Maybe it was time for her to talk to Mary about her feelings for Hans…or maybe not. She’d see how the afternoon progressed.

  Mary opened the door after Hans knocked. Her eyes widened when she saw all the packages in their arms. “Come in.” She stepped back and pulled the door farther open.

  “Where do you want us to put these?” Constance smiled at Mary’s look of bewilderment.

  “What are they?”

  “We’re not sure. Your mother gave them to us just before we left this morning…along with a basket of food for us to eat on the way home. It was enough to feed an army.” Constance glanced toward the parlor. “Do you want these in there or on the table in the kitchen?”

  Hans stood quietly and listened to the exchange. Constance welcomed his presence but knew she would wait until he was gone before she asked Mary all the questions that were whirling in her brain.

  Mary turned back toward the kitchen. “Let’s put them on the table. Then we can spread out all the items and see what they are.”

  Hans dropped the ones he carried beside hers on the shiny wooden surface. “I need to get to the smithy and see if I’ve missed anyone. If I’m not there, they just tack a note up on the door.” He turned toward Constance. “Would you like me to come back and pick you up to go to the boardinghouse?”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, Hans, but no. I’ve ridden more miles than I want to remember in the last few days. The walk wil
l do me good.”

  Mary went to the door with him, but soon returned. “Let’s see what Mother sent. I can hardly wait. Why don’t you open some of them while I open the others?”

  She sounded like a child at Christmas. Of course, no one Constance knew ever had this many presents at that holiday.

  Constance started trying to untie the knot on the bundle closest to her. The knot resisted, and she became frustrated with her efforts.

  “Do it like this.” Mary pulled the twine around one corner, then off the package.

  As the paper from each bundle unfolded, the two women ooed and aahed. Baby gowns, blankets, knitted hats, sweaters, booties, safety pins that people had started using on diapers, and hemmed flannel diapers spread across the table. The last parcel contained a soft cotton nightgown and robe for Mary. Pink embroidered roses clung to vines that climbed all the way up the front of both garments.

  Tears sprang to Mary’s eyes. “Mother must have started working on these as soon as we let them know that we were going to have a baby.”

  “They’re wonderful.” Constance knew that the tiny stitches had taken a lot of work. “Your mother really loves you, and she already loves her grandchild.”

  After Constance helped Mary take the items up to the bedroom that was being turned into a nursery, the women returned to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Mary asked all about the trip, and Constance gladly told her the many details. They each drank two more cups of tea before they were through discussing the subject.

  “You have something else on your mind, don’t you?” Mary’s perceptive question caught Constance off guard.

  “Yes. I want to ask you about a thing that happened the day I went out to the farm, when Hans came and helped me fill in the holes.”

  Mary set her cup down and gave Constance her full attention. “I can see it’s important to you. What happened?”

  Constance studied the design worked into the tablecloth before answering, but her thoughts weren’t on the pattern. She was trying to formulate the words into a sensible explanation.

  “Hans didn’t find me immediately. He saw the holes and piles of dirt beside them. When I came back from the spring, he stood near the edge of the bluff talking to God.”

  “That sounds like Hans.” Mary nodded. “He likes to seek the Lord about anything that bothers him. So what did he say?”

  Constance clasped her hands together on the tabletop. “It’s not so much what he said exactly. It’s more the way he said things. … I know this doesn’t make any sense, but I’ve never heard anyone talk to God that way. His head wasn’t bowed, and he sounded just the same as he would talking to Jackson or us.”

  “That’s because he was talking to his best friend…Jesus.” Mary turned concerned eyes toward her. “Constance, what do you believe about God?”

  What a surprising question. No one had ever asked her anything like that. What did she believe about God?

  She stared out the window and watched two birds circling around while building a nest in the branches of the tree. One would go down and retrieve some grass; the other went for tiny twigs; then they both returned to the bower. She needed something specific, like the purpose the birds had to provide shelter for their eggs. Instead, her thoughts flew around without landing.

  Mary waited patiently, allowing her to gather her scattered thoughts.

  “I know that God created the world and all that’s in it.”

  “That’s a start.” Mary smiled at her. “What else?”

  Finally, things started to settle into a pattern. “He loves us, and He sent Jesus to die for our sins. Now they’re both in heaven, and when we die, we’ll go to be with God. Right?”

  Mary picked up her spoon and stirred her cooling tea.

  “That’s right as far as it goes. Have you ever asked Jesus to save you from your sins?”

  Constance nodded. “When I was nine years old.” She remembered the brush arbor meeting years before. What the evangelist said finally made sense to her. She had asked her mother to walk to the front with her, and everyone had come after the service to welcome her into the family of God.

  “Have you studied the Scriptures and grown in your faith since that time?”

  Mary’s question made her squirm in the chair. “We went to church when we could get there, but the circuit-riding preacher only came maybe once a month. The other Sundays, we had all-day singings with dinner on the grounds. I really like the singings and the fellowship of sharing the meal with neighbors.”

  Two grooves formed between Mary’s brows. “Do you read your Bible and commune with Jesus?”

  “I read Mother’s Bible until it fell apart.” Constance traced the pattern in the tablecloth with her finger to keep from seeing the pity she imagined in Mary’s eyes.

  “We can take care of that. I’ll give you an extra one we have. I think I know what your problem is.” Mary sounded decisive.

  Constance looked up. “What is my problem?”

  “No one has ever told you that you can have a close relationship with Jesus right now, have they?” Her eyes probed deep inside Constance, exposing her heart.

  “I’m not sure what that means.”

  Mary took a moment as if gathering her thoughts, too. “When Jesus went back to heaven, He left his Holy Ghost with us. And He wants to be a part of our everyday lives. He wants to be the Lord of our lives and help us with everything we face. Does that make any sense to you?”

  Constance got up and walked over to the window. The bright sunlight and beauty all around reminded her that God loved her through His creation. Could He really want to take part in everything in her life? Didn’t He have enough to take care of? How would it change what happened to her?

  She turned back to look at Mary. “I think I understand what you’re telling me, but how does that work?”

  “What happens when you pray now?” Mary’s question didn’t answer hers.

  “Well, I ask God for strength and help, then hope everything will be okay. Many times it isn’t.”

  Mary came to stand beside her. “You talk to Him way up in heaven, you mean?”

  Constance nodded. “How do you pray?”

  Mary’s smile lit the room. “I imagine I pray much like Hans did. Jesus is my friend. He listens to me, and I listen to Him. He really cares about my life.”

  One thing Mary said caught Constance’s attention. “What do you mean, you listen to Him?”

  A faraway look came over Mary’s face. “Sometimes, He talks to me through Scripture. Other times, He drops thoughts and assurances into my heart. He even speaks to me through Jackson, both as my husband and as my pastor. I have a personal relationship with Him. When you ask Him to direct your life, He will give you peace in your heart. The Bible talks about a peace that passeth understanding. If I’m not certain about whether He wants me to do something, I see if I have a peace about it.”

  Constance sat back down and took a sip of her stone-cold tea. At least it wet her throat, which was dry from all the talking.

  “So how do I do that?”

  Mary studied her intently for a moment. “You just pray and ask Him to show you what He wants you to do in every situation and relationship you face. He’s a gentleman. He won’t force you to involve Him in your daily life and do what He wants.”

  A gentleman. Maybe that’s why Hans was such a gentleman. He tried to treat others as Jesus did. “I’d like that, but I’m not sure exactly what to say or how to say it.”

  Mary sat down across the table from her and reached to take her hands. “You just talk to Him as you would talk to me. Tell Him what’s in your heart. If you want me to, I can say a phrase, and if you agree, you can repeat it.”

  Finally, Constance didn’t feel as if she were wandering through a strange forest without a map or compass. “I’d like that. Should I bow my head?”

  “If you want to, but your head doesn’t have to be bowed to talk to Him.”

  Constance decided she wanted to, beca
use she was sure this would be a sacred time. A time she would want to remember forever.

  “Jesus, I ask You to lead me through my life.”

  Constance thought about this sentence, then repeated it.

  “I want You to take part in everything I do and show me how You want me to live.”

  This time Constance repeated the words immediately.

  “Thank You for loving me and wanting to have a deeper relationship with me.”

  These words tumbled from Constance’s heart as well as her mouth, and something happened. She could feel the presence of Jesus so strong that it invaded every part of her. Tears became a waterfall down her cheeks. Love filled every part of her heart. More love than she had ever known existed. She bowed silently before the overwhelming presence, basking in Him. All her life, she had wanted this, but she hadn’t known exactly what it was that she was looking for.

  She wondered why no one had ever told her about it. Maybe someone had, and she hadn’t understood what they were talking about.

  Constance wanted to share it with everyone in the world, but for right now, she would just spend time with Him, letting Him establish His peace and love in her heart.

  When Hans went to the boardinghouse for supper, he could hardly wait to see Constance. Spending most of three days this week with her made him miss her when they were apart. Lord, what’s going on here?

  Mrs. Barker welcomed him to the table, but he didn’t see Constance. He glanced toward the doorway to the kitchen as she came through, carrying a large platter of fried chicken. One of his favorites. His stomach gave a loud growl in response to the fragrance that filled the room.

  Mrs. Barker cut her eyes toward him and grinned. “So, Hans, did you miss my cooking while you were away?”

  “Ja.”

  He turned his smile toward Constance as she took the seat beside him. Too bad she wasn’t across from him as she had been in Camden Junction. Something looked different about her. He couldn’t decide what. As usual, wisps of hair that weren’t confined into the bun at the base of her neck framed her face. Her eyes were a different thing altogether. They sparkled with an inner light that intensified the golden flecks. Why had he never noticed this before?