The Calling of Emily Evans

by Janette Oke

  “Calling? That’s the part I like most,” Emily said in amazement.

  “Oh-h, I dread it. I put it off—and put it off for as long as I can. I would much sooner be pouring myself into my next sermon.”

  Emily began to laugh softly.“We should be a team,” she decided.“I would do the calling and you could do the preaching.”

  Ruth joined in her laughter.

  “I do have some problems, though,” confided Emily.“One in particular that really troubles me. One of my parishioners has a drunkard for a husband. When he drinks, which is often from what I can gather, he beats her. He would likely beat the children, too, if he could catch them, but they usually run and hide and the mother takes the brunt of his fury. It just sickens me. I don’t know what to do.”

  Ruth sympathized but had little advice to offer.“Why don’t you ask Rev. Witt?” she said at last.“He might know of some way to deal with it.”

  Emily decided to talk with him at the first opportunity.

  Then the conversation changed direction.

  “Do you have a…a friend?” asked Ruth hesitantly.

  “Well, I guess Sophie is my best friend, even though—”

  But Ruth’s chuckle stopped Emily.

  “I meant a male friend,” she informed Emily.

  Emily blushed and was glad for the darkness that hid her embarrassment. Immediately her thoughts flew to Shad. But she had not heard from him for months.

  “No,” she answered in the darkness.

  There was silence for several minutes. Then Ruth spoke softly into the night and even though her voice was low, Emily could sense the excitement in it.

  “I do.”

  “You do? Oh, Ruth!” squealed Emily and had to be shushed by her old roommate.

  “You’ll awaken everyone in the dorm,” cautioned Ruth.

  “Tell me about him,” pleaded Emily. It was almost unbelievable that Ruth—Ruth who never seemed to care about fellows, who seemed oblivious to their existence—was actually confessing to being interested in one.

  “Well,” said Ruth and the tone of her voice betrayed her, “he is a farmer. He comes to all the services—been a wonderful help to me. He’s taller than I am by about three inches, has dark hair and really pretty eyes. At least I think so.”

  Emily squealed again but quickly pulled a blanket up around her face to muffle the sound.“Are you getting married?” she asked her old roommate.

  Ruth hesitated.“I still want to preach,” she replied at last.

  “Doesn’t—doesn’t he want you to?”

  “He—he says it’s fine with him, but … Well, it’s hard work directing a church. I don’t know if I could be both a wife and a—a pastor. And if I wasn’t a good wife, I’d feel guilty. And if I didn’t preach, I would feel cheated. And if we had children—then I’d really have a hard time trying to do it all.”

  Emily understood Ruth’s dilemma.

  Again there was silence. Emily spoke softly.“You are really going to have to pray this one through.”

  “I’ve prayed and prayed,” admitted Ruth, “and I still don’t know what to do.”

  “I’ll pray with you,” promised Emily and inwardly added Ruth’s situation to her prayer list.

  Emily did talk with Rev. Witt about the Travis family.

  “This is a really tough situation,” he said sadly.“One must move cautiously. Has she ever indicated that she needs or wants help?”

  “No,” admitted Emily, shaking her head.

  “Are the children frequently abused as well?”

  “They usually run away and hide,” Emily answered, “but emotionally, I know they are damaged. I felt little Rena shiver with fear when I held her.”

  “One could report him to the authorities—but then, Mrs. Travis could do that herself.”

  “I—I honestly think she still loves him in some strange way. She doesn’t want interference, but I just can’t stand by and see—” Emily stopped for a moment and then continued.“She speaks of him as ‘being sick.’ ”

  The minister nodded again.“And so he is,” he agreed, “very sick—in body and soul.” He was quiet for a while, then looking up, he said, “It puts the church in a most difficult situation. We do not wish to break up families, but to allow a woman and her children to continue to suffer at the hands of such a man—that is unthinkable.”

  Emily nodded, sorrow shadowing her eyes.

  “Offer the woman and her children all the love and support you can,” the kind man went on.“And watch for an opportunity to talk with her frankly about her situation. Maybe from that discussion, something will become clear to you and to her. And keep praying for a change of heart in this man. The next time I visit you, I will look further into the matter.”

  He placed a fatherly hand on Emily’s shoulder.“I know this is difficult,” he said sympathetically.“We’ll all be praying that God will give you wisdom beyond your years or experience.”

  Emily thanked him and, with tears threatening to spill over, excused herself.

  “Emily! How are you?”

  At the sound of the voice and the light touch on her arm, Emily whirled to meet Ross. She hadn’t expected him to show up at the conference.

  “Ross! What a surprise,” she managed as she extended her hand.

  Ross grinned.“I had to see all my old school friends,” he said easily.

  “Well, the last session dismissed about a half hour ago. Some of the people already left,” Emily told him. But there was no disappointment on Ross’s face.

  “Well, you’re still here,” he countered and laughed at Emily’s surprise.

  “My train doesn’t leave until morning,” she explained.“I’ll stay in the dorm another night.”

  “Good,” he responded.“Then how about a meal with me at the Royale tonight?”

  Emily was surprised. How many were the times she had longed for such an invitation? She stammered now, “That—that sounds like—a wonderful idea.”

  “Good! I’ll pick you up around six then. We’ll do all our catching up over a Chinese dinner.”

  Emily nodded dumbly. She couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

  Emily wanted her hair and her dress to be just right, and prepared carefully for her evening out. She actually had a date with Ross, something she used to dream about. She smiled as she worked at her hair nervously.

  Just before leaving, she automatically reached for her black bonnet and then laughed at herself. I certainly don’t need that tonight! she decided. And Emily carefully laid the bonnet back on the dresser.

  Ross was prompt. He offered his arm and Emily took it shyly.

  “You have a car?” she asked as he led her to the waiting automobile.

  “Of course. I’m a man of great wealth now,” he teased and they chuckled together.

  “Well, I’m not,” admitted Emily.“I still use a poky old team and buggy. But then, an automobile would never make it through Wesson Creek’s mud holes anyway.”

  They laughed again.

  “You really drive horses—through mud?” asked Ross seriously.

  “I do. Some of the women still have to walk when they make their calls. I am blessed with transportation—thanks to my father,” admitted Emily.

  “You shouldn’t have to do that,” Ross argued firmly.“The men should be out there preaching.”

  “But there aren’t enough men called,” Emily countered.“Or, if they are—they aren’t answering,” she added slowly.

  “Well, let’s not talk about work tonight.” Ross changed the subject smoothly.“Let’s have a night of fun—and fellowship—as we used to say at school.”

  Emily laughed. She was ready for a night of fun and fellowship. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed the company of someone her own age.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Back to Work

  Emily had been back at her small parsonage for only six days when another letter came from Ross.

  I had a del
ightful time the evening we went out for Chinese food, he wrote. It made me realize that we have so much in common. I do wish I would have discovered it earlier. It was a shame to have wasted those two years at school.

  Emily frowned. Her two years at school had certainly not been wasted.

  I was wondering when you might be this way again, Ross continued. I really would like to see you. Until then, I guess I will just have to be content with writing—but a letter leaves so much to be desired.

  “Oh, my!” breathed Emily.“Exactly what is Ross trying to say?” she wondered.

  Then Ross’s letter told about his work managing a hardware store and his family and the town where he lived.

  The man who owns the store lives in the next town and he says he may even sell it to me someday, Ross enthused on paper.

  Emily frowned slightly. It seemed that Ross had forgotten about his possible call to the ministry. He appeared to be making future plans with no thought of that call.

  Emily decided she needed a diversion—a busy diversion—and deemed it a good day to get to work on her small garden plot. She hoped she would not need to go through another winter on such scanty fare. Mrs. Witt had thoughtfully provided each of the young deaconesses with seeds from her own garden. Emily reached for them now and sorted the seeds out on her kitchen table. Then she slipped into her rubber overshoes and went out to check her backyard. It was much too wet for digging. Keenly disappointed, Emily decided to go visit Sophie instead.

  Sophie was pleased to see her.

  “Sit down,” she said.“I’ll get us some coffee.”

  Sophie brought two cups to the table and lit a cigarette.“So how was yer trip?” she asked with interest.

  “Great,” answered Emily and felt her face flush. Why was Ross the first thought she had in connection with her trip?

  “Good,” responded Sophie. Then added rather listlessly, “Things ain’t been all thet great here.”

  “Why, what’s wrong?” asked Emily with concern.

  “It’s Nicky. He’s been sick. At first I thought it was jest some little bug—but he didn’t get no better, so I called Doc yesterday. He don’t know what’s the matter either.”

  An unnamed fear twisted a knot in Emily’s stomach.“It isn’t serious, is it?”

  “Don’t know. I hope not. But Doc says he don’t even know what medicine to give.”

  Sophie’s expression gave away her worry.

  “Oh, Sophie,” said Emily softly, “we need to pray.”

  Tears ran down Sophie’s cheeks. Emily reached for her hand and bowed her head, “Dear God,” she began, “you know all about Nicky and his need. We don’t know what is wrong. Even the doctor doesn’t know yet what is wrong. Give the doctor wisdom as he seeks for the right medicine, and help Nicky to be better soon. And be with Sophie. It hurts to see a child ill, Lord. Help her to trust you and to be able to rest at night. Thank you, Lord, for all you do on our behalf. Amen.”

  Emily lifted her eyes. Sophie was still crying softly, but there was a crooked smile playing about her lips. The ash of the cigarette grew longer and longer, some of it spilling onto the table top.

  “Thanks,” muttered Sophie.“I was about beside myself. Thanks. It’s such a relief. It’s been worryin’ me sick.”

  Emily was a bit surprised. She gathered from Sophie’s simple words that she considered her son as good as well. Perhaps Sophie’s faith was stronger than hers. Emily felt a bit of shame. She also felt some fear. She had known the Lord long enough to realize that God’s answers sometimes did not come quite as one had asked.

  “May I see Nicky?” Emily asked hesitantly.

  Sophie smiled.“Sure,” she said.“You can take him some of this chicken soup. I made it especially for him, but he ain’t been able to eat a bit. He’s likely half starved now.” And Sophie busied herself with preparing food for her son.

  But Emily found a very ill Nicky. His face was flushed a deep pink, his eyes were bright with fever. He moaned as he tossed restlessly on his pillow. Emily sat beside him and bathed his face from the basin on the stand beside him. She tried to coax some of the broth into him, but he could not swallow. Emily now became fervent in her praying.

  “Oh, God,” she pleaded, “I didn’t know how sick he is. Please, dear Lord, we need your help. Nicky needs your help. He’s lost weight. He’s so sick. Help the doctor. Show him what to do. Touch Nicky’s little body, Lord. We need you. Please, God.”

  Emily stayed all day with Nicky. Sophie, looking puzzled, came and went as her customers allowed. Emily had prayed. Why was it taking so long?

  Emily did not go home even that night, except to care for Walter and then slip back.“You try to get some sleep,” she urged Sophie, but Sophie paced the room restlessly until Dr. Andrew made a late call and left two tablets that would allow Sophie to rest.

  The next day Sophie attached a sign on the cafe informing customers that she would not be opening, left her door locked and her blinds down, and stayed the day with Nicky.

  Emily was concerned about the other three children. They too lived with fear. Emily did not know whether to offer to take them to her house and thus leave Sophie alone, or to stay with Sophie and leave the frightened children exposed to the anguish of the illness.

  Again that night, Emily stayed with the family. Around one o’clock she slipped into her coat and let herself out the door. Nicky was worse. They needed Dr. Andrew.

  Nicky died at quarter to three. There was nothing any of them could do to save him. Emily reached for Sophie to give all the support she could, but Sophie stepped back and pushed Emily’s hands away.

  “No!” she hissed.“No! No, ya prayed. Ya asked God. Why? Why did He let it happen? How could He? How could He? I was the one who was bad—not my Nicky.” Sophie threw herself on the bed and gathered her son into her arms.

  “Leave her,” Dr. Andrew said softly to Emily.“She must express her grief in her own way. You go home now.”

  Emily went, dragging her tired body and her confused mind.

  Over and over her own thoughts echoed those of Sophie. Why? Why did it happen this way? Why didn’t you heal him, Lord? You could have.

  You could have.

  Emily’s faith had never been so shaken. She sobbed long after she should have been asleep, and when she finally did drift off she was totally spent emotionally. Will I ever be able to reach out to Sophie again? Will she ever let me?

  The funeral was held on a sunny spring afternoon. Rev. Witt came for the service. Sophie sat stoically in the small church, holding her three children close to her. Her eyes were sunken and red-rimmed, but she did not weep at the funeral.

  Emily wept, sobs shaking her slight frame.

  “Oh, Nicky,” she cried, “you were such a sweet child. We are going to miss you terribly. And Sophie. The pain of Sophie. I can’t imagine the pain!”

  After the graveside ceremony was over, Sophie placed a small pink rose on the coffin of her son and turned to go back to the cafe.

  Emily wanted to speak to her, but the retreating back was straight, stiff, and the head held defiantly high.

  I’ll slip over later, Emily promised herself and turned to invite the Witts to the parsonage for tea.

  Emily visited Sophie three days later. The woman welcomed her cordially enough, but the coldness did not leave her eyes.

  They sat at the corner table, their coffee cups before them, each with her own thoughts.

  Emily wished to offer some words of hope, but she didn’t know how to express them. Silently she prayed for wisdom—for guidance.

  “I … I would love to have the children stay for dinner after church on Sunday,” Emily began slowly.

  Sophie’s eyes lifted then. Emily could see the hardness there.

  “They won’t be in church on Sunday,” she replied sharply.

  Emily’s eyes showed no surprise, but she asked softly, “Will you be—be away?”

  “No. No, we’ll be right here. They’ll jest not
be goin’ anymore, thet’s all.”

  “Oh, Sophie,” breathed Emily before she could stop herself.

  “Look, Emily,” Sophie said frankly.“I don’t mind callin’ you a friend. Ya stayed with me and Nicky night an’ day when he was sick, but don’t—don’t ever try to shove yer religion on me again—understand?”

  Emily looked into the cold, dark, angry eyes.

  “As I see it, either He couldn’t do anythin’ to save my son—or He wouldn’t. Either way, He’s not the kind a God I want or need.”

  “Oh, He could have—” began Emily.

  “Then why didn’t He?” spat Sophie, and she rose quickly from the table, her eyes flashing.

  “I—I don’t know,” replied Emily helplessly.“I just don’t know.”

  “Then don’t do yer preachin’ in here—to me or to my children—ever again!” snapped Sophie, and she turned her back and walked briskly to her counter.

  Emily arose and slowly left the small cafe, her shoulders drooped and her eyes brimmed with tears.“I don’t know,” she wept softly.“I really don’t know.”

  Emily, numb with sorrow, hardly was aware of what she was doing the rest of the morning. But that afternoon Mrs. Woodrow surprised her at her door. Emily welcomed her warmly and hurriedly set teacups and a small plate of cookies on the table.

  “I didn’t come to sip and chat,” the woman said gruffly.“I came to find out how to get ready to die.”

  Emily did not know exactly what the woman meant.“You mean you—you want to arrange for your funeral service?” she inquired.

  “Lands no!” exclaimed the woman.“I don’t care none if they throw my body in the lake. I need to be ready to die.”

  Emily understood then, but she could not have been more surprised.“I see,” she said slowly, feeling the enormous weight of the responsibility that was hers. She lifted her Bible from the shelf and began to turn the pages. She knew all the appropriate scriptures. She had carefully trained for this moment during her Bible school preparation. Please make the truth come alive to Mrs. Woodrow, she prayed as she came to the book of Romans.