by Leisha Kelly
“I want to marry him, that’s what,” I snapped. “Go away. And stop sending me letters. I don’t read them. You’re wasting paper.”
He acted as though he didn’t hear me. “Ain’t there no way to make you stop and wonder if you’ve made the right decision? What would it take to get you to give me a chance?”
How dare he? I wanted to throw something at him, but I didn’t. “My father’s waiting for you to pay for your gas.”
“Let him wait. He hasn’t washed the windshield.” He smiled a huge crooked grin. “What are you so riled at? You oughta be pleased that I still think you’re pretty, even if you do act like you hate to see me.”
I took a breath, trying to calm the fire in me. “You haven’t said a decent word since you came in here. Worse than that, you have no right to ask for my attention when you know I’m engaged.”
Dad was starting toward us. I was glad.
“But isn’t Franky still out of town?” Donald asked quick while he had the chance. “I thought you might think things through a little. Are you sure you’re gonna have what you want outta life with him? Let me talk to you some more. Will you just consider going to lunch—”
“Go away! You’re an absolute dunderhead!”
He laughed again. “Even your angry words are cute.”
Dad walked inside then, thank goodness. His voice was quick and somber. “Donald. That’ll be $2.67.”
“Uh,” he struggled finding words in front of my father. “Plus a Coca-Cola. I came in to find a soda and warm up a little.”
Dad got him his soda pop without a word, and Donald paid and left without daring to address me again. But Dad must have seen how agitated I was. Maybe my cheeks had flamed red like they did sometimes.
“What’d he do, pumpkin?” Dad asked when he was gone. “Put Frank down?”
“Yes. But worse! He asked me out. I could have thrown something at him.”
“I’ll be more careful next time you’re here. If he shows up, I can keep him outside with me.”
He got us both a soda pop and came to the desk to write down the sale. He was quiet, but I wasn’t ready to be quiet yet.
“It’s so unfair. People talk about Frank like he’s impaired or something. I could just scream! But it’s not just Donald. Some of Frank’s own family—they talk like they don’t expect much out of him, when I know better. What’s wrong with people?”
Dad sat beside me and sighed. “Lack of understanding, Sarah. That’s all. And Frank is a puzzle sometimes. I don’t always understand him myself.”
“But you don’t put him down! They’re just being dunces.”
Daddy smiled a little. “It probably won’t help to say so to anyone’s face. Or call them dunderheads either.”
“You heard that?”
“At least that part. And his reply. Maybe I should’ve thrown him out on his ear.”
I was relieved to go home that day. Mom would be pleased to hear that Frank was working on his reading. I expected that she would be full of questions about our phone conversation. But when I went in the house, she had news of her own.
Rorey’d sent a letter announcing that she was getting married to Eugene Turrey. And they’d set the date for just three days before our wedding.
“What is she thinking?” I asked Mom, trying to stay calm. “Doesn’t she know how much trouble Eugene has been? He’s never respected her family, or even her all that much. And why so close to our wedding date? Did she do that on purpose?”
“You never know about Rorey,” Mom said with a shake of her head. “We can ask when they get here. They’re coming for a visit. Sometime next week, I guess.”
I groaned. Rorey used to be fun, when we were really little. But Rorey grown up was a whole other story. And Eugene had been an aggravation for as long as I’d known him. They both seemed like spoiled, obnoxious children who wanted to focus everybody’s attention on themselves. Rorey could be downright hateful. And Eugene was as bad as Donald Mueller. He used to torment Frank something fierce, and he’d tried to ask me out on dates when we were younger too. Thank goodness I never went.
It didn’t seem to bother Dad about Rorey marrying Eugene, or them coming here. He just went out to do chores as usual and said I might as well stay in where it was warm. When he came back to the house he told us the big dog had disappeared out of the barn stall, and the news was a disappointment on a day like this. If Eugene Turrey or Donald Mueller were to show up, such a big ugly beast would have been nice to have around.
14
Frank
Sam reluctantly agreed to go to church on Sunday as long as it wasn’t far, so we attended the closest Jacksonville church we’d seen. Thelma served us chicken dinner afterward. But I couldn’t keep my mind off that Camp Point church. Why would the man want me to come? The church wasn’t really in town, just close to it. I’d had Thelma read the address for me, which included directions along a road called the Cannonball. Sam said that was the one going straight north, past Bailey Park. The man had written the service times too, and they had a Sunday evening service.
I decided I’d go. Just for a little visit. Just to quench my curiosity. But Sam was not happy about it.
“Are you crazy? Driving to Camp Point tonight after dark? Come on, Frank. I thought you had good sense.”
“You’re the one that asked me to drive all the way up here,” I reminded. “You must have been confident I could do that. And the road to Camp Point’s familiar now.”
“The Cannonball isn’t. And it’s over fifty miles to get there, Frank. After dark, for no reason.”
“Church is a reason. And I’ve drove in the dark before. At least it ain’t snowin’.”
He shook his head and called me stubborn. And I left without supper so I’d have plenty of time. I didn’t mean to get him upset. I wasn’t sure why I felt so compelled. But I did. I wanted to see that old man one more time and find out what Central Bible Church was like.
Thinking about it while I drove down the road, I guessed it must have seemed like a pretty crazy thing to do. I’d already been to church today, and to a nice one that was convenient to my brother’s house. There wasn’t a shred of logic to going fifty miles tonight. But I wasn’t about to turn back.
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy path.”
There was that Scripture from Proverbs again, jumping in my head. And then I thought of another one. “A man’s heart deviseth his way; but the Lord directeth his steps.”
That was Proverbs too. Chapter 16.
“Do that, please, Lord,” I prayed. “Direct my steps.” It wasn’t hard to find the road I needed once I got to Camp Point, but finding the church was a good deal harder because I had to turn down a side road and it was nigh impossible to be sure which one to take in the dark. I finally asked at a farmhouse for directions. That got me there, and I was still early enough that there was only one other car parked outside. I recognized it immediately. The old man. He was already here. I almost jumped from the truck and run in, but I stopped.
Maybe he liked to be early. Maybe he liked to have a little time for prayer in the church alone. Some folks did. I’d done it myself before. So I waited until somebody else showed up.
They trickled in slow. And I waited, feeling something almost prickly inside. I had to pray before going in. Finally I got up my courage and stepped from the truck.
Several heads turned when I came in. The old man was up front, and he smiled real big when he saw me.
“Young brother Franklin,” he said, walking over and offering me his hand. “What was the last name again?”
“Hammond.”
“Oh yes. Welcome.”
He wasn’t the preacher, he said, but he was preaching tonight. Once the singing was done he did a fine job. But toward the end he suddenly stopped and asked me if I had anything to say.
They were folks I didn’t think I’d see again. Couldn’t hurt nothin’ to share a little of what was on my heart. So
I stood up where I’d been sitting in the back row.
“I been blessed,” I began a little nervously. “Can’t tell you words that’s enough for how good God is to me. When I was little I used to think people’d make fun a’ me all my life and I’d never amount to nothin’. But God’s took hold in so many ways.”
I looked around a little. All eyes were on me, but I wasn’t nervous anymore. “He’s given me gifts in my hands to earn a living. He’s given me the prettiest woman you ever could see to love me and soon become my wife. Even so far from home I find him dealin’ with my heart and directin’ my steps. All the way to this church. I’m glad I come, ’cause I believe he wanted me to. That’s really all I got to say right now, just to express my thankfulness.”
I sat back down and the whole church was quiet. But not for long. Pretty soon a elderly lady got up and expressed her thankfulness, too, for the health she had, and for caring neighbors and friends. After her was a tired-looking mother with five little ones around her. And then more of the folks. Don’t think that church knew there was gonna be a bunch of gratitude expressed that night as part of the service, but it was a good thing, and I was glad I was there. Afterward, before I could get in my truck, the old man asked where I was headed for the night.
“Back to my brother’s. In Jacksonville.”
“Quite a drive for so late.”
“I know. An’ if I don’t get goin’, he’ll be up wonderin’ if I’ve wrecked my truck or got myself lost.”
“It’s nice to have folks who care.”
I smiled. “Thanks for puttin’ it that way. I feel a little too watched over sometimes.”
He almost laughed but changed the subject immediately. “Are you a war veteran? I hope you don’t mind me wondering—a young man with a limp.”
“No, sir. But I would a’ liked to gone.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “The limp was older than the war.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, thinking that an odd way to put it, and strange for him to think he needed to know.
“I appreciated the church service,” I told him. “You had good words.”
“So did you. It’s been a very long time since we had such sharing. Thank you.”
I didn’t see any special reason I oughta be thanked, but I didn’t argue.
“Would you come back and share a message next Sunday night?”
I should’ve known he might ask, even though there was no reason he should. “I’m not a ordained minister,” I told him plainly.
“I understand. And it’s all right. The church won’t mind a lay minister as guest.”
He was persistent for some reason, thinking I oughta speak. I hardly knew what to tell him. “Uh—I’m not really a minister at all. An’ I don’t know if I’ll still be in the area next weekend.”
He didn’t seem to hear the first half of what I said. “Well, let me know, will you? If you haven’t gone, we’d love to have you come and share from the Word.”
He handed me a piece of paper again. This one I presumed would have a telephone number or his address.
“Uh—I’ve got to pray about this.”
“Very good.” He smiled at me. “That’s a smart response.”
I drove away, not sure what to think. I’d felt so absolutely directed to come here tonight. But now this? I’d been a nervous fool speaking at my own church. How much worse would it be here? I kept hashing the notion over in my mind, all the way home, so much that I didn’t even notice going through some of the small towns on my way back to Jacksonville.
Sam was put out when I got back because it was late and he’d stayed up to watch for me even though he had to get up early.
“You coulda gone to bed,” I told him. “I made it fine.”
“It’s not so simple as that,” he complained. “You’re a little brother, and I needed to stay up till I knew for sure. I hope you never decide to do that again.”
Maybe that was my answer. What good would it do to drive all the way over there and rile Sam? I wasn’t a minister. Why did people keep gettin’ such a notion? They needed to find a real preacher, and I needed to keep my mind on my work where it belonged.
15
Sarah
Sunday night I dreamed that Frank and I were walking in the snow and Donald dropped out of a tree and took my arm. Frank didn’t even notice as we continued along, until Donald had me turned down a side path to his elderly aunt Mabel’s beautiful home, right on the main street of Dearing.
I woke up sweating. Frank had been preaching in the dream. That was the only response he gave over me walking off with Donald. He’d just turned his head and started preaching. I wasn’t even sure to whom.
I felt sick about that dream all morning. Why would my mind play such cruel tricks? I wouldn’t walk anywhere with Donald. And Frank wouldn’t fail to notice. It was all completely preposterous.
I’d almost put it out of my mind when Mom sent me to check the mail because Katie was back to work. Waiting in the box was another letter from Donald. I wished I could twist it to bits and leave it lying in the dirty slush alongside the road. I wished I could kick Donald Mueller in both shins and make him leave me alone. But as I held that letter in my hand on the way to the house, strange feelings, strange thoughts rose up in me like I’d never known before.
What could it hurt just to open the letter and read it? I’d thrown the others away. To be fair, shouldn’t I read just one?
No. It was senseless temptation. Foolishness.
But maybe Frank wouldn’t care. He won’t know. And even if he did find out, he wouldn’t think it was any big deal.
I scrunched the envelope in my hands. How could I be thinking such thoughts? I had absolutely no reason to read the letter. No obligation. I didn’t have to be fair to Donald. He wasn’t being fair to me or to Frank trying to push himself in this way.
He has a job right in Dearing, my thoughts persisted. And his aunt’s house has been up for sale for three months. He could get it easily.
My eyes filled with tears, and I started to run. I couldn’t hold this letter another minute, but I couldn’t just drop it on the ground either. What if it blew around until a neighbor picked it up and read it? What if they thought I’d invited Donald’s attention? Why would I even think of reading it or let it enter my head where Donald might choose to settle?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered as my feet flew across our snowy yard. “Oh, God, forgive me.”
I was sure such thoughts meant that I had an unfaithful heart. A wicked, treacherous heart that would allow me to entertain notions about Donald just because he was likely to stay in Dearing. I bounded onto the porch and flew inside, horrified at myself. I had to get rid of the letter. I had to. Instantly. Because if I held it in my hand much longer I might open it, I might actually read it. Oh, God, forgive me!
I ran straight to the kitchen woodstove, flung open the fire door, and shoved the crumpled envelope inside, almost losing my mitten in the process. And then I slammed the door shut and gulped down a big breath, feeling better already. What on earth was wrong with me? It was like I’d just been loosed from an encounter with the devil himself. I was scared to get such a glimpse of myself.
“Sarah, what in the world is the matter?”
I hadn’t even noticed my mother sitting at the table.
“Uh . . . Mom, I . . .” What could I say? My hands were shaking. Out of breath, I just plopped into a chair.
“What was that letter?”
I had to tell her. To do otherwise would be to feed the doubt, the temptation, that had so horribly thrust itself upon me, real or not. “It was from Donald Mueller. I—I didn’t open it.”
“Donald Mueller? Why would he be writing? You don’t think you should’ve found out?”
Oh, my innocent mother. “No. This was the fourth time. I opened the first one, because that was the only one with no return address. And it was an invitation—an invitation to a dance.”
“When was that?”
“The letter came the day Frank left.” My eyes filled with tears. “Then three more. But I can’t open them. I don’t want to read them.”
Mom got up from her chair and moved toward me. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I felt numb suddenly in the pit of my stomach. Why? Could it be that some faithless part of me had wanted to keep the secret? “I—I don’t know. It was too embarrassing to talk about. He—he knows I’m engaged. I didn’t want anybody to see the letters.”
Mom leaned and gave me a hug. “Under the circumstances, you’re right to throw them away. But there’s no reason to be so upset, is there? If you continue to ignore him, he’ll surely get the message.”
I didn’t answer, and she looked carefully into my eyes. “Why is this bothering you so much, honey? Has he done something to frighten you?”
“N-no. I mean, I don’t know why he’s doing this. I just wish he’d stop.”
“Tell your father. And Frank. A clear message from either of them ought to be enough to put an end to things.” She hugged me again. “All right?”
I nodded, my heart thundering crazily. How could I tell Frank? Would he doubt me?
“If you get another letter, I want to see it,” Mom said then, and I saw the rare flush of anger in her features. She was rightly appalled at Donald’s advances. What would she think if she knew my thoughts today?
I worked alone all I could after lunch. I cried. I asked God to forgive me, maybe fifty or sixty more times, for not only my thoughts about the letter but also my dream. What did it mean? When I thought I was trying to bolster my trust in the Lord and in Frank, was my heart looking for a way out and trying to lead me astray?
Mom told Dad about the letters when he got home. And he was bothered enough to offer to go over to the Muellers right away and warn Donald to leave me alone. But I didn’t want to make trouble for my father. I didn’t want to create a scene. So I told him not to go. It was all right. Maybe the letters would stop. If not, I could just keep throwing them away. Donald’s efforts were pathetic and useless.