by Leisha Kelly
She turned her eyes to me, and the fear was in them again. But she didn’t answer.
“Don’t have much food, do you?”
She shook her head.
“How long’s your husband been gone?” The question must have sounded fierce. I could feel the anger inside me, hard as I tried to squelch it.
She lowered her head. “Six days. He—he’s bringing groceries too. Surely he’ll be here tonight. We’ll be all right until then—”
“You almost weren’t all right!” I burst out. “Do you understand that? It was so cold in this place I don’t know what might have happened—”
“I know . . .”
Her voice broke again, and I knew I shouldn’t be scolding her. It wasn’t her I was riled at anyway, but her husband, for leaving them so unprepared. But who was I to know his circumstance? Maybe he was held up by the storm. At least he’d be bringing food and coal. Soon, hopefully. But what if it wasn’t soon?
“Are you hungry?” I asked Bennie. Instead of answering me, he looked at his mother.
“I can make a pot of soup with what I saw in your kitchen,” I told them. “Plenty enough for all of you. Just like my mama used to make. Creamy tomato with the rest of the milk and the juice I saw. Hits the spot when it’s cold like this.”
Vera Platten reached a shaky hand in my direction. “God bless you,” she whispered.
I didn’t linger for no more words than that. I just threw a couple more logs on the fire and then went for the kitchen to find a pot and start mixing the soup. It’d boil too fast over the fire if I set it close, but I wasn’t about to let the fire die back when it was the only heat they had. There was still a awful chill in the place anywhere but right near.
Bennie followed me and watched me open their last quart of tomato juice. “Are you some kind of angel?”
“No, sir. Just a frustrated fella tryin’ to get to Camp Point, Illinois.”
“Where’s that?”
“Maybe eighty miles west a’ here.”
“Did your truck break down?”
“Had fuel pump trouble. I got it fixed though. Just got to tighten my wheel nuts to get back on the road.”
“Please don’t leave till my papa gets here.”
I looked at his pleading face.
“Mama’s been sick all of yesterday and today. I was scared.”
I tousled his hair a little. “I can understand that. I would a’ been scared too.”
“When you was out choppin’ wood, Mama told me you oughta be going, that you was a stranger an’ we couldn’t keep you from your travels no longer.”
Stirring milk into the pot, I sighed. “She’s right. I don’t belong to stay. Don’t you think it’d be better if I drove into town and sent somebody to look after you? Or maybe another house close by? Haven’t you got kin?”
“Not around here.”
“You must know somebody. Don’t you?”
“Miss Mendelson, the schoolteacher. I know her, but I ain’t been in her class since before Christmas.”
“Where does she live?”
“I don’t know. I only seen her at the schoolhouse. I ain’t been goin’ back yet because of the weather an’ Mama needin’ my help.”
“You’ve been good help today. Where’s the schoolhouse?” It was a thought, a hope. It was maybe noon on a weekday. But would school be in session?
“I don’t think there’ll be nobody there today.”
“Is there a farm close by? Who’s your nearest neighbor?”
“The Clarks. But they ain’t very friendly. I don’t think they like us much.”
“Which way?”
“Down the lane away from the road and into the timber about a half mile. I know because I walked there with Papa once. We offered to work for ’em fixin’ fence or whatever they wanted. But they shooed us away.”
Half mile. So close. “You tell me if there’s anything else I need to know ’bout gettin’ there. After I get your food made, I aim to pay ’em a visit. Maybe they’ll come till your father gets home.”
“Papa wouldn’t like that. Mama neither. They never been nice before.”
“You need help right now, from wherever you can get it.”
I took the soup pot to the fire. With salt and pepper and rosemary and a touch of cornmeal to thicken it, it wouldn’t be exactly like Mama’s, but it’d be passable good and plenty creamy. Thank the good Lord they’d had that much in the house. With a slice of the bread from the cupboard, they oughta all be satisfied for a while. Then with the fire built up and more wood handy, I could head to the neighbors and beg their help with all this. I had to be going. I had to. The day was progressing, and I didn’t wanna be another night on the road, especially without gettin’ to a telephone.
I served all of ’em close by the fire. I think Mrs. Platten was expecting me to claim a bowl of soup for myself, but I couldn’t do that. I pulled my collar up and my hat down and headed out. A half mile. Down a snowy side road I could hardly see. Taking the truck would be impossible, so I’d have to walk it in the cold.
I felt bad steppin’ off the porch and seeing little Bennie’s face staring out the window. I was sure he was scared I’d leave them. Maybe he’d rest easy seein’ I wasn’t goin’ near the truck. They were better off now than they’d been before, that was sure, but it wasn’t near enough.
I wished I coulda drove. It woulda been so much faster. But the drifts were bad and there was no way I coulda got back there. It was hard enough on foot, and my leg started bothering me, making my limp that much worse.
Down a hill and on the other side of some trees, I saw a house with smoke trailing from the chimney. Deeply relieved, I hurried my pace the best I could. And somebody must have seen out the window. The door opened before I got to it. An old man with a white beard stood starin’ at me like I was some kind of creature he’d never seen before.
“What’re you doin’ down our lane?”
“I come from your neighbor’s house, sir. They’re sore in need a’ help.”
“Which neighbors? Who sent you?”
Please, Lord. Please give him a heart of sympathy.
“I come from Plattens’. Mr. Platten ain’t home, and the Mrs. and kids are all sick ’cept the one little boy—”
“Well, what do you need from me? Who are you? Some kind of kin of theirs?”
“No, sir. I was stopped along the main road, fixin’ the fuel pump of my truck, when the little boy come out of the house wavin’ and yellin’. They’re out a’ coal. The house was cold. And he was scared because the rest of ’em are sick—”
“What kind of sick?” a woman’s voice asked me. A teeny white-haired lady stepped up behind the man.
“The little ones have the chicken pox. The mama too, but she’s got a awful cough and a sprained ankle from a fall on the ice. I split ’em some wood to get a fire goin’ in the fireplace. They’re expectin’ Mr. Platten back tonight with coal and groceries. But they need help till then. Somebody to sit with the little ones and keep ’em warm so that mother can rest up and mend. They were in a bad way, and they hadn’t oughta be alone.”
I looked right at the lady, begging her in my heart to respond. But it was the man who spoke first.
“Norman Platten don’t have a lick of sense, leaving his family without coal nor wood, and them sick too.”
I’d thought the same thing, but still I felt I had to defend the man. “They might not a’ been sick when he left. And he’s aimin’ to bring back what they need when he comes. Could be he had to go take care of that, and he didn’t realize how things’d get while he was gone.”
The woman disappeared behind the angle of the door.
“Please help them,” I begged. “The little boy tells me you’re the closest neighbors.”
The man was still looking at me pretty straight. “And you’re just a stranger off’n the road?”
“Yes, sir, and needin’ real bad to get goin’ again. I was supposed to be to my brother’
s yesterday, but the storm held me up at Auburn.”
“Yep. Pretty fierce piece of wind we had.”
I stared at him. He only stood in the open doorway, not answering a word to my plea for help.
“Marvin Clark, you can get your coat on or stay here alone,” the woman said from somewhere I couldn’t see her. “There’s a sick mother with a sprained ankle and ailing children to think about. I’m going to go with this young man if he’ll help me, and do what I can till the father gets home.”
“God bless you, ma’am.” The relief was so deep in me I almost couldn’t say anything more, but I thought of something real sudden, and I knew I had to ask it. “Can you spare a sack of food? I made ’em some soup just now, but they ain’t got much a’ nothin’ else left if Mr. Platten’s held up gettin’ back to ’em. Not even enough for a decent supper tonight, I don’t think.”
“God love you, young man,” Mrs. Clark answered me. “You always this concerned for strangers?”
“Don’t usually need to be.”
She hurried to the kitchen to fetch some food to bring along. Mr. Clark just stared at me. “My wife hadn’t oughta be walking a half mile through them snow drifts.”
“I understand. An’ I’m sorry, sir, but I didn’t know who else to ask.”
“It’s cold in that house?”
“Not as bad as it was. I got the fire goin’ good and wood enough to keep it that way for a while. I’ll split some more before I leave.”
“Shouldn’t be our affair to see to another man’s family. Seems like he could’ve taken care a’ things better than this.”
“I don’t know, sir. Maybe he’s been short of work and had to go some distance to find anything. I’m trying not to judge. I just don’t want to think of that family sufferin’.”
Mr. Clark looked down at his boots. “My wife’s liable to have her hands full with all them sick youngsters. Maybe I best come along to keep the fire up for her and see to anything else. They got chores done?”
“I milked for ’em. But there may be more needin’ done. Mrs. Platten’s feeling awful bad to need the help. But she can’t do much of anything right now.”
He got his coat. Mrs. Clark joined us, looking almost twice as wide as she had before, bundled in her big coat with two scarves—one for her neck and one for her head. I took the sack of food to carry for her, and we trudged back through the snow. The Clarks were both a lot shorter and older than me, and we didn’t move as fast as I would have liked, but I thanked God the whole way that they were willing. Bless them. Oh, Lord, bless them and send Mr. Platten home quickly. Let this be the start of good neighbor relations between these families. Thank you!
I felt released. I felt free, certain that everything would be all right now and I could go. But I still needed to split some more wood, just to be sure, and I worked at it as fast as I could as soon as I got back. Mr. Clark couldn’t work so fast as I could and there wasn’t but one ax, but he took the hatchet and split up kindling and a pile of smaller stuff while I worked. He and Bennie shook my hand when it was time to go. Mrs. Platten asked my name, and that was the first I realized I hadn’t told them till then. She seemed to think I must be a minister, like the Ensley relatives had thought, and I wondered what there was about me to give folks that impression. I hadn’t even prayed with these people. Not out loud, at least.
All I had to do was tighten down a wheel on the truck, and I could go. Thank the Lord. I prayed I could find a telephone and get through to the Marathon station in Dearing before Mr. Wortham left for the day, if he’d been able to get there at all. I prayed Sam wasn’t stewing too bad over not hearing any more word since the first message. And most of all I prayed that Sarah would have peace, because I knew she’d be scared for me if she had any idea I hadn’t called.
My brothers would prob’ly think I’d gotten lost, but not Sarah. She surely had more confidence in me than that. But that would have her thinking far worse things. About the storm. And some of the awful wrecks we’d heard about.
Give her the peace that passes understanding, Lord, I prayed. Help her remember that perfect love casts out fear.
7
Sarah
Charlie Hunter came to the station about three in the afternoon so Dad could go home. I’d known it was almost that time, but when I saw him march through the door my heart sank into my shoes and I didn’t want to leave. Frank’s got to call! He’s just got to!
Dad had some work to finish up on Mrs. Patterson’s old Ford, and Charlie didn’t mind him staying till he got the job done. It was a little relief, even though I knew it wouldn’t take long. I couldn’t concentrate to embroider anymore. I just sat by the telephone. Call, I begged Frank in my head. Oh, please. Be able to call.
I stared at the map of Illinois pinned on the service station wall. Mentally, I’d traced Frank’s route across it several times today. How far had he gotten? Where could he be? A thousand jumbled thoughts raced through me, a hundred explanations, almost all of them bad. One painful understanding just wouldn’t leave me alone. He would have called already, if he could have.
I could feel the awful pinch of dread deep inside. I tried to push it away, but I wasn’t sure I could. Everything about this hurt right now, my heart most of all.
Peace.
Just one word. But it rolled inside me along with the words of that familiar hymn. Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God, born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.
I didn’t stop and figure out why that hymn would enliven me just then. But I felt so much better just to let it float over my mind and heart. Frank is still in God’s hands, and that’s the safest place to be. He’s all right. He’s got to be all right.
I hummed the hymn out loud, needing it to soak even further into me and dispel the gloom of fear with the light of praise. I could trust. I could. That God works all things for good for those that love him. And Frank and I both loved him. We were “born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.” And that made us safe. Blessed. Eternally. No matter what happened. I could rejoice for that, and believe that everything would be all right.
“This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long . . .”
I sang the chorus softly to myself while my heart thundered seeing Dad wipe off his hands. He was ready to leave. But I didn’t want to go. Not yet.
In just a minute, Dad was getting his coat and bringing me mine. That choked feeling of dread tried to come back, but I pushed it away. This is my story, this is my song . . .
Dad hugged me. I could see the concern in his eyes, and I knew he’d been thinking about Frank the same as I was, and that he’d loved him even longer than I had. Frank was family already, and had been for years, in Dad’s eyes. “Believe,” he whispered. “He’s all right.”
We put on our coats. We stepped out into the cold air. Dad took my hand, something he hadn’t done in a long time, and I recited his words again in my mind. Believe. He’s all right.
I took a deep breath, letting the hymn float over me again.
And the phone rang. I could barely hear it. I wasn’t sure I really had. But Dad and I both spun around and saw Charlie through the window, rushing to answer. He waved us in, and we ran. It felt like the sun breaking through storm clouds, like a ton of lead being lifted off my heart.
8
Frank
I wished I could hug Sarah right over the phone. She cried, she was so relieved to hear from me, and I felt awful bad to have scared her. I told her about the wreck and the snowstorm and the family with practic’ly nothin’, and she said I’d done the right thing bein’ a help.
“Maybe God had you there for them on purpose,” she admitted, though I knew she wished I was back home.
It’d be late now before I got to Sam’s, and Sarah and her father were already ready to go home. So I promised to call the service station tomorrow just to leave word that I’d gotten in all right. Sarah was rel
ieved by that. She was worried that the weather might give me more problems, or who could tell what else, but I assured her I’d be all right. Wasn’t easy gettin’ off the phone, but I had a lot more miles to put under me.
“I love you, Sarah Jean,” I told her.
“I love you too. Please be careful.”
It still seemed a marvel that Sarah would have such feelings for me. I was incredible blessed, no doubt about that. And I hoped I wasn’t stretchin’ her love and tolerance by doing what I was doing. But I had to be the best I could for her, and I didn’t think I’d ever really discover what that was at home.
Right after the call to Sarah, I talked to Sam at his uncle’s store, and it was a good thing I did. They’d been worried sick that I was wrecked along the road somewhere. I knew they was anxious for me to get to them tonight. And I was just as anxious to have this trip settled.
But I’d barely eaten anything that day. I drove till the hunger drawed me to a roadside café in Jacksonville, where I ordered tomato soup because I was still thinking of the Platten family. With the soup in front of me, I prayed for them and the Ensleys. The Lord works in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform. And it struck me as mysterious that he’d have me meeting up with two families in need thataway. Sarah was surely right that he’d led me on purpose.
Felt good to have hot soup and coffee in me, but I was in a hurry to be back on the road. I crossed the Illinois River at a town called Meredosia and got gas in Versailles. It was gettin’ dark around me, but the road stayed passable and I kept on through Hersman and Mt. Sterling. I was near to the end of my memorized route.
Before the next town, I saw a fella walking on the road in an army uniform. My gut feeling was to stop, but I almost didn’t do it. After all that had happened so far on this trip, who knew what I’d be letting myself in for?
But he stuck his thumb out, and I couldn’t pass him by. Here was a young veteran, maybe not even home for long, out here along the road on a cold night. Wouldn’t be right not to at least take him a few miles.