“You look mighty pretty in that bonnet,” he said. “I think your ma’d be pleased!”
I couldn’t help wondering and hoping that Ma was somewhere watching all this, our first Christmas without her. And I did hope she’d be pleased—not only with me, but with Pa too.
When we got back inside, Pa gathered us together and told us all to sit down, then said, “There’s one other thing we gotta do, this being Christmas and all. Your ma and me started doing this the first Christmas after Corrie here was born, and we did it every year after that, ’til . . . well, you know—’til I had to leave.”
He reached up to the mantle above the fireplace and took down Ma’s little White Bible, opened it to Luke’s Gospel, and began to read. I don’t think I’d ever realized what a nice voice Pa had. But now as he read, a deep recollection of his voice stirred in my memory—not just Ma’s—reading this very scripture. I had heard Pa read this before! Knowing that somehow made this reading all the more special.
“And it came to pass in those days,” he read, “that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world—”
“Ma always read us this,” interrupted Becky.
Pa kept his eyes on the page, but I knew what he was thinking. Usually he was quiet for a spell after someone mentioned Ma.
“Yeah . . . I reckon she did,” he said at length, then continued: “that all the world should be taxed. And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem. . . .”
No one said another word. We all sat quietly, even Uncle Nick, listening to Pa read. When he was finished, he closed the Bible, and stood to place it back on the mantle. I think we all felt, even without Ma, that it was really Christmas. I didn’t say much for the rest of the morning. The other kids were running around excitedly, all wearing their new hats, and Emily and Becky dressing up their dolls.
But it was a quiet morning for me. I felt a little like Mary, with a lot of things to ponder in my heart.
Chapter 30
Christmas Dinner
A little before noon we all dressed in our Sunday clothes and headed into town to Mrs. Parrish’s.
I was already happy about the way Christmas had turned out, but when we walked into Mrs. Parrish’s house, it was like tasting it for the first time all over again. She had a lovely decorated tree in the parlor, strung with fine lace and beads, and covered with delicate glass ornaments. Tiny candles clipped to its branches gave it a special glow. I could have stood there for an hour gazing at it.
Around the rest of the house were garlands of holly and evergreen branches, and the fragrance of cloves and cinnamon filled the air. With these pungent scents mingled the delicious smell of roast goose, fresh-baked bread and pumpkin pie.
It was all too wonderful! I just couldn’t help thinking of Ma, and how she would have enjoyed being here with us!
Mrs. Parrish praised the neck scarves I’d made. I blushed, but for once was glad for the color in my cheeks to hide that I was feeling overwhelmed by the day. Then she kindly complimented our new hats and bonnets.
“Santa left them in the shed,” said Becky.
“You don’t say!”
“Uncle Nick and Pa even forgot it was Christmas,” said Tad, still incredulous of the fact.
“My, that is serious,” she said, glancing up at the two men in mock disbelief.
Mrs. Parrish warmly welcomed Pa and Uncle Nick with handshakes, and they exchanged a few pleasantries. “I hope you won’t mind,” she said, “but I have taken the opportunity to invite someone else—”
Before she finished another knock came at the door.
“—who would have otherwise been alone today,” she added, “and it seems that he is here now.”
She excused herself and went to open the door. When she returned, the preacher was with her.
“Rev. Rutledge,” she said, “I don’t believe you’ve had the opportunity of being formally introduced to my friends here.”
“This is Nick Matthews,” she said, turning to Uncle Nick.
The two men shook hands.
“And Mr.—uh, Mr. Drum. Mr. Drum, may I present Avery Rutledge.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Pa said.
“You’re one of the men from our first church service,” said the preacher.
“We were all there,” replied Pa nonchalantly.
“Oh, but you were more than just there, Mr. Drum. Why, you saved my hide! I’ve been hoping to meet up with you ever since to thank you.”
Pa shrugged. “I just thought you deserved a fair shake, that’s all. Weren’t nothing special.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Drum,” broke in Mrs. Parrish. “You saved the service. I too have wanted to thank you.”
“A regular hero!” said Uncle Nick with a grin.
“Look, it was nothing!” said Pa, a little testily. I could tell this was getting under his skin. If there was one thing he didn’t want to be, it was a hero in a church service. I was fairly certain he regretted speaking out like he did.
“Well, nevertheless, we’re very appreciative,” said Rev. Rutledge. “I’d hoped to find one or two strong men in the community who would ally themselves with me in my cause to bring Christ to the lost lambs in the mining camps.”
Pa said nothing more.
“Let me also introduce Nick’s nieces and nephews,” Mrs. Parrish said lightly, changing the embarrassing subject for Pa. One by one she said our names, and we all curtsied and bowed appropriately to the Reverend.
“I’m very pleased to meet all of you children,” he said, smiling.
“Well,” said Mrs. Parrish, “as soon as Marcus gets here, we’ll be able to—oh, there he is now,” she said, just as we heard another knock at the door.
As she went to let in the blacksmith, I saw Uncle Nick sidle up to Pa, give him a jab in the ribs with his elbow, and whisper, “So, you’re the preacher’s new ally to bring religion to us lost lambs, eh, Drum?”
“You keep your nose outta it, Nick, ya hear?”
“Now, if you’ll all gather around the table, we can begin our meal,” Mrs. Parrish said.
When we were seated, she served everyone a cup of hot cider. “Corrie, would you like to help me bring out the food?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered, happy to be able to help on this festive occasion. Then while the others sipped at their cider, we brought out platters of food from the kitchen, all piled high and steaming.
Rev. Rutledge sat there politely waiting, and if it hadn’t been for him, Uncle Nick and the kids would probably have just dug into all that food in front of them. But with the preacher’s patient example, everyone else waited too. At last Mrs. Parrish and I sat down.
“Reverend, would you give thanks for us?” Mrs. Parrish asked.
“I’d be honored, Ma’am,” he answered.
He bowed his head, and all the rest of us did the same. As he prayed, I wanted so badly to open my eyes and see what Pa was doing, not to mention Uncle Nick. But I didn’t dare.
“Almighty God our Father,” he began in his solemn preacher’s voice, “we thank thee for this most holy of days, when thine only Son Jesus Christ became incarnate, entering the world as a little child. Make us ever mindful, O Lord, of thy wondrous gift to us, on this day and on all days, and let us live lives acceptable in thy sight, always striving to do thy will in all things. We thank thee for this provision out of thy bounty, and we pray thy special blessing on the loving hands that have prepared it for us. Through Christ our Lord we pray . . .” Then after some hesitation he added, “ . . . Amen.”
Within seconds the table was a commotion of passing plates and reaching hands, the grown-ups doing their best to help the children who were seated next to them. When our plates were heaped with more food than we kids had seen in a long time, we set about to eating. We kept qu
iet while the grown-ups talked, enjoying every bite of Mrs. Parrish’s fine cooking.
“It’s too bad about Mr. Larsen’s cabin,” said Mrs. Parrish as she passed the plate of steaming goose again.
“Was he plumb burned out?” asked Uncle Nick. “I ain’t seen him since the fire.”
“To the ground, Mr. Matthews,” answered Mrs. Parrish. “From what I understand he lost everything.”
“I shall have to make a call on him,” said Rev. Rutledge. “Perhaps later you might tell me where I can locate him, Mrs. Parrish.”
“You’re probably too late for that,” said Pa.
“It is never too late for a Christian word of comfort and sympathy, Mr. Drum,” said the minister.
“I was just meaning that Tom Larsen might already have pulled out.”
“Just like that?” asked Mrs. Parrish.
“Royce made him an offer on the place a few days before the fire,” answered Pa. “He turned him down then, and from what I hear it was none too friendly a meetin’. Though word is now that he’s gonna take Royce’s money while he can and get outta town.”
“That’s a shame. Tom Larsen is the sort of man we need around here.”
“Not too bad for Royce. He’s gettin’ the place for a song.”
There was a lull for a few minutes while we all concentrated on the meal Mrs. Parrish had prepared.
“It is so wonderful to have children present for Christmas dinner,” said Mrs. Parrish at length.
“It sho’ is!” remarked Mr. Weber. “Why, Christmas back home was nuthin’ iffen it wasn’t a day fer de chillens all scurryin’ roun’ de place! An’ this goose, Miz. Parrish, it puts me in sech a mind o’ Christmas when I was a little chile’!”
“I’m happy you are enjoying it, Marcus,” said Mrs. Parrish. “And we are all honored that you could join us too, Reverend,” she added, turning to the preacher.
“The honor is all mine, Almeda,” he returned. “I must say, after the first few weeks I’d begun to think I’d made a mistake coming here. But a festive day like this helps restore my faith again.”
“Surely you’re not serious, Avery?” said Mrs. Parrish with concern.
I couldn’t help noticing that they used each other’s given names.
“I’m afraid I am serious, Almeda,” he replied thoughtfully.
She continued to look at the minister questioningly.
He acknowledged her concern with a brief smile, but then went on, “I have to admit,” he said, in a down-to-earth voice, “that I was quite shaken by what that fellow said the first Sunday—that is before Mr. Drum came to my aid. Do you remember his comment that religion may be all right for the folks back East, but that out West it was different?”
Mrs. Parrish nodded her head.
“Well, what if he’s right, and I’m not cut out for preaching in this setting? What if the religion I bring isn’t going to mean anything to these men?”
This was an altogether different Rev. Rutledge than the man I’d heard preaching that Sunday. Different, too, from the man who’d just prayed before the meal a few minutes ago. His preacher-voice was gone, and he sounded like—well, just like a regular person, not someone who planned everything he was going to say ahead of time. I’d never thought about a preacher having feelings before now.
“Nonsense, Avery!” said Mrs. Parrish. “God’s truth must be carried to all men and women everywhere, and it’s the same Gospel here and in the East and everywhere.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” he mused, “But I’ve been doing more thinking this last month than I ever have before in my life. Whatever else comes of it, I realize I’ll have to modify my methods some to ever reach men like the wild bunch who have inhabited this place.”
I saw Uncle Nick glance quickly at Pa. I guess Rev. Rutledge saw it, too. “The kind of men who were trying to disrupt the service,” he quickly added, “nothing like the fine examples of Christian manhood we’re blessed with in our midst today.”
It was his preacher voice again, and it was Mrs. Parrish’s turn to look down at her plate without replying. A brief awkward silence followed.
“Well, Reverend,” said Uncle Nick, breaking the quiet, “I hear you came West across Panama way. There’s been some discussion as to which be worse—the mosquitoes in them jungles, or the savage Apaches on the plains. I dealt with my share of Indians, and I reckon at least once in a while a body can reason with them, if push comes to shove. But I suppose them ’skeeters bite first and ask questions later, eh?”
Everyone chuckled. Pa broke into a grin at Uncle Nick’s humor, and glanced in my direction with a quick wink.
But the minister, who dabbed his mouth carefully with his napkin, seemed suddenly offended after so cordial a beginning to the conversation, and focused his eyes solemnly on Uncle Nick.
“Crossing the jungle was a harrowing experience for many in my party,” he said sternly. It looked like his preacher voice was back for a while. “Several of my traveling companions succumbed to yellow fever, Mr. Matthews, so please excuse me if I find little amusement in your comment.”
Our laughter stopped at the sharp rebuke, and I could tell Pa was irritated. He pursed his lips and cocked his eyebrow disapprovingly.
“You should have tried your luck with the Apaches then, Reverend,” he said dryly.
“I do not believe in luck, Mr. Drum,” rejoined the minister. “The Lord’s divine providence is my stay and my salvation.”
Pa opened his mouth to shoot back a reply, and by the look in his eye I didn’t think it would be any too pleasant. But Mrs. Parrish broke in.
“Avery, I’m sure everyone would be so very interested to hear of some of your plans for Miracle Springs.”
All talk of his doubts had vanished now, and he spoke with that commanding voice we’d first heard at the Gold Nugget church. “This is truly a field ripe unto harvest,” said the Reverend. “A man of God should find no end of avenues for ministry. My first project, of course, shall be the construction of a proper place of worship. Meaning no offense to you, Almeda—I know you meant well, and perhaps it was the only place available, but it is nothing less than a travesty to be forced to gather for worship in such a vile place as that saloon. It makes me quake within to think of God’s displeasure.”
“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Parrish, with a touch of hurt at his comment, “but you will find that out West we must sometimes make do with what we have.”
“But we must never degrade ourselves to the level of the ungodly. The Word of God says, ‘Be not yoked with unbelievers.’”
“It does indeed,” replied Mrs. Parrish. “But I think the scripture you’re referring to says not to be unequally yoked, Avery. It seems to me that makes a world of difference. As you quote it, Paul would have been saying not to associate with sinners, and that is something our Lord would never condone.”
“I was only trying to make the point—” rejoined the minister, but before he could finish Pa cut him off.
“The lady’s right, Reverend,” said Pa with just enough edge in his voice to make me feel uneasy at what was coming next. “I ain’t no Bible scholar, but it seems to me that Jesus spent a lot of his time out meetin’ people where they were. I expect if he was livin’ in Miracle, you might find him in the saloons as much as any other place. That’s where you’re gonna find most of your sinners, Reverend.”
“It is one thing to go out on the highways and byways of life to win sinners,” returned Rev. Rutledge, his face reddening a bit, “but quite another to expect them to find spiritual succor in the very den of iniquity wherein they first fell.”
“I think it was in a church, not a saloon, where I first fell from grace,” muttered Uncle Nick.
“You are baiting me, are you not, Mr. Matthews?”
“Well, I’ll tell you like it is, I seen just as many hypocrites in church as I ever did in the Gold Nugget. At least in the saloon they wasn’t pretendin’ to be what they wasn’t.” I was surprised by Uncle Nic
k’s boldness.
“So you consider all churchgoers hypocrites?”
“That wasn’t what I said,” replied Uncle Nick.
“Would anyone like another helping of anything?” asked Mrs. Parrish, trying her best to redeem the uncomfortable situation.
“This is the best goose I ever et, Ma’am,” put in Marcus Weber.
“Indeed it is, Almeda,” added the minister. “A mighty fine meal . . . mighty fine indeed! I know we’re all very appreciative.”
“Yessir,” went on Mr. Weber. “The Rev’rend here, he sure be right, Ma’am.”
“Thank you, kindly. I’m glad you could all come. And I do believe the pumpkin pies are ready. Avery, would you mind helping me take them from the oven?”
The two rose and left the room, Mrs. Parrish seeming to breathe a sigh of relief that the conversation had gone no further.
But the break proved only temporary. I could feel the tension building as we ate our pie a few minutes later. I didn’t follow the gist of everything that was said, but it was clear neither my uncle nor my pa thought too much of all the Reverend’s smooth-sounding words.
“I have been quite pleased with the turnout at the services,” said Rev. Rutledge as he sipped his coffee. “What with the contributions I brought from the faithful in Boston and the generosity of local offerings, I believe it will not be long at all before we can begin construction on a church building right here in Miracle Springs.”
“That’s wonderful, Avery!” exclaimed Mrs. Parrish. “And I don’t think we will have any difficulty finding a site.”
“I’ve spoken with Mr. Royce at the bank, and he assures me he will be able to help us secure property at a good price, and possibly assist with the financing as well.”
“That be land he’s stolen from hard workin’ sinners, if you don’t mind me saying it, Reverend,” said Uncle Nick. “If Royce builds your church, you ain’t likely to get much of a flock.”
“He strikes me as one concerned for the welfare of the community, and as ready as anyone to extend the hand of brotherly kindness. A fine Christian man, I would say.”
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