Unyielding Hope

by Janette Oke

Lemuel fought the urge to join him, lingering at the back lest he be considered childish.

  The horse lowered her head, sniffing at Harrison’s shirt pocket. Then her nose came up suddenly, knocking off his wool cap. He laughed, delighted.

  Miss Lillian touched Miss Grace’s elbow and motioned toward the pair. Miss Grace flashed a smile back, as if they could understand one another perfectly. Lemuel also wondered at the boy’s sudden transformation of spirit. Something about the horse seemed to draw out the best from him.

  Mr. Thompson lifted the flat cap from the ground and settled it cockeyed on the boy’s blond head. “Young man, I believe she’s taken to you. You’ve made a friend.”

  His eyes wide, Harrison stepped in closer, dwarfed by the mottled gray body, and patted her thick muscular shoulder, then scratched a hand under the harness straps. “Do ya ride ’er, Mr. Thompson? What’s ’er name?”

  “She’s Mirabella. We don’t ride her often, but she doesn’t mind. It’s just that we don’t have a saddle that fits her well. And it’s like sitting astride a boulder.” He hesitated, then suggested, “I can lift you up, son. You can sit on her, if you like. Just hold on to this part of her harness. You’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, yes, sir, please!”

  Soon all the children were taking turns. Walter and Mr. Thompson traded off tossing a child high up onto the patient animal’s back. Mirabella shifted in place, causing the harness to jangle and snap a little, the wagon behind her to creak. But the mare seemed as pleased to receive the attention as the children were to give it.

  After Bryony’s turn, Walter lifted her down and set her carefully back on the ground. Suddenly she seemed to realize that the massive animal now separated her from Miss Grace. Lemuel watched the child’s expression melt with fear. Impulsively, Bryony made a dash straight back to safety, stooping directly underneath Mirabella’s broad gray belly. Miss Lillian, who stood closest, grabbed for her arm too late. Miss Grace let out a horrified yelp, catching up the child as she emerged unscathed. But the horse merely smacked her loose lips and nodded as if she understood about unpredictable children and their overly worried caregivers. She lifted her large, wide hoof and set it down again gently, demonstrating how especially cautious she was.

  In the end, even Lemuel allowed himself to be helped onto her back. He placed one foot onto Walter’s hands, and Mr. Thompson helped to steady his injured arm as he swung his other leg over Mirabella’s wide back.

  Taking in the view from so far above the ground, Lemuel felt his chest swell. It was magnificent! Even more than he’d pictured it might be when he was cleaning out stables and looking up longingly from below. But this horse, she was much finer than any he’d seen before.

  He slid from her back at last, determined that as soon as he could gather his nerves, as soon as the cast was removed, he would ask Mr. Thompson if he might help care for his horses. It’d be a pleasure to shovel out a stall if he might be allowed to befriend Mirabella.

  The wagon soon pulled away after a very good visit with Mr. Thompson and his extra-large horse. Lemuel and the children watched them go, waving them off, reluctant to accept that they were truly leaving.

  From the front porch, Miss Grace called them all back. “Saturday chores,” she reminded. “Boys, let’s start with that nasty potato bin down below. Might as well get that task behind us. Girls, the breakfast dishes are still on the table. But once we get everything done, we’ll have some good playtime too. Follow me, please.”

  Lillian watched as the yard began to clear. Walter was deserted where he stood. She moved in his direction, uncertain as to why he hadn’t taken his leave with Mr. Thompson. Hands in his Levi’s pockets, Walter kicked at a clump of grass with the toe of a cowboy boot. Suddenly he was that young student she’d known so long ago, unsure of himself.

  She spoke to relieve the awkwardness. “You got more than you bargained for today. This is quite an active home now, isn’t it?”

  He nodded, a new expression coming into his eyes. “I was just thinkin’ how your mum would have liked that. I remember hearin’ her tell my mum once after church that she and your dad bought the big house with the hopes of fillin’ it with children, but that just hadn’t worked out for them. So I sure think she’d have enjoyed watchin’ all of you today. She’d be blessed to see so many happy youngsters well cared for here.”

  Lillian’s heart stirred. It’s been so long since anyone talked about Mother in reference to anything other than her sickness and death. Walter is remembering her life. She answered him gratefully, “She would have been such a wonderful grandmother.”

  “I’m sure she would. You know, she taught my class in Sunday school when I was only six or seven. I thought she was the kindest person I’d ever met. And she probably really was! Because she was so much gentler than my mum is, believe me.” He shook his head, smiling playfully. “My mum’s more like, well, she’s a lot like Maeve, to be honest. My aunties as well. I got cuffed across the back of the head more times than I can count. But I guess it worked. I sure stayed out of trouble as a kid.”

  “Yes, you did.” Lillian made a dramatic face. “Except when you were—oh, I don’t know—greasing the doorknob with cow manure, or hiding raw eggs in people’s shoes, or putting salt in the sugar bowl. Yes, except for all that, you were quite well behaved.”

  He laughed. “Well, fine, but I’m still kinda proud of those things.” A ticklish pause. And then, “Hey, I’ve gotta get back pretty soon. But I’d have time for a short walk—a trip down memory lane, if you like. Haven’t seen your place for a long time. Would you be willin’ to show me around?”

  Lillian glanced at the house. She could see movement in the kitchen windows, but instead of answering her conscience, she acquiesced. She’d do her share inside soon. After all, there was still one guest remaining.

  It was easy to chat with Walter. They knew the same people, enjoyed shared memories, understood the undercurrent of relationships in town, of old friends. Before Lillian was even aware of how much time had passed, Walter sighed and said, “I’ve gotta go. I really do have a lot to get done today. And Tommy went to pick up those new bulls, so everythin’s got to be ready before he gets back.”

  They walked together toward the back porch. “Say, I meant to ask you. I haven’t seen you in church for a bit. And Roy mentioned you might be plannin’ to go to his church now—to Bucky’s church.” He added quickly, “It’s none of my business, of course. But I’ve been thinkin’ for a while that I might like to try attendin’ there. It’s less formal, kind of suits me better. What do you think of it?”

  Lillian turned away from him a little, dropping her gaze to her feet. Dust and dry grass were along the hem of her skirt. She shrugged in response but didn’t quite look up. “It’s fine. We haven’t made a long-term decision. And to be honest, I’m so worried about the children I don’t really remember the service well. Maybe I can relax a little more soon.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll try it out tomorrow too. If you don’t mind.”

  “Why would I mind?” She permitted herself a quick look up at his face.

  He was smiling softly. “Thanks for the walk and tour. Hope we can do that again sometime too.” He cleared his throat. “Got to go now though. Maeve’ll be cuffin’ me on the back of the head when she sees me.”

  He walked away, stopped beside his car, and looked back. Lillian waved once more and turned briskly toward the house. Best not to stand waiting until he’s gone. Best to let him wonder.

  “Miss Lillian,” Bryony coaxed as she jerked at Lillian’s sleeve. “Can you come play with me, please?”

  Lillian looked up from the account book in which she was carefully noting the week’s purchases. “I’m sorry, dear. I’m busy just now. Can’t you ask Hazel to play with you?”

  It was late afternoon, and the children had completed all their chores and scattered to find their own activities. The sisters sat together at the dining room table with some of their own work.

&nb
sp; Bryony shook her head. “But Hazel doesn’t know how to play.”

  Lillian frowned. They play together often.

  Grace lowered the small sock she was darning and winked toward Lillian. “I think she wants you to play the piano, sis.”

  “Yes, play with me,” agreed Bryony, vigorously nodding her head. “Please, Miss Lillian,” she added as though that was sure to bring the desired result.

  “But I’m . . .” began Lillian.

  “Go ahead. Play for her. She loves the music. I’ll finish up here.”

  Lillian carefully wiped the tip of the pen on the rag and checked her fingers for stray ink. A little music might help her to relax after her long, busy day as well. Taking the little girl’s hand, she headed for the parlor. Bryony pulled away and ran ahead, anxious to find her seat on the bench in time to watch Lillian lift up the magical lid to expose the keys.

  But before Lillian could even settle herself, the little girl asked, “Play this one,” and reached out with one small finger to play three clear notes. Lillian could not believe her eyes or ears. Bryony had just played the first three notes of their favorite song from their devotional time together.

  “Grace,” she called. “Grace—you need to see this.”

  Grace appeared in the doorway.

  “Do it again, Bryony. Show Miss Grace.”

  For a moment she faltered, not certain what had been worthy of added attention. But the little finger came out again. It repeated the three notes, and this time the little girl added two more. “That song, I mean.”

  Grace came closer and leaned on the edge of the piano for a better view. “Play more, darling.”

  “Yes, miss.” Bryony started again, slowly finished the first line of the song. “I worked it out—by myself,” she explained. And then her eyes widened. “I’m sorry, Miss Lillian. Are you cross at me? ’Cause I touched your piano?”

  Lillian encircled the tiny body next to her and drew Bryony closer. “No, dear, not at all. I’m very proud of you. It’s a special thing that you’ve just done.”

  “It is?”

  “Oh yes.” Lillian’s eyes lifted to meet Grace’s, then dropped again to survey Bryony’s face. “It’s a wonderful discovery. God gave you a special gift of music. He gives each of us things we’re particularly good at, and it seems He made your mind understand music particularly well.”

  She tipped her head to one side. “But . . . are you still gonna play with me?”

  “Yes, dear, let’s play it again together.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Doctor Shepherd

  True to his word, Walter was waiting outside Pastor Bukowski’s little church talking with a small group of young men when Lillian, Grace, and the children appeared. This time, Grace and Lillian had managed to arrive a few minutes early so they could enjoy some fellowship before service began. Grace, holding Bryony’s hand, stopped to chat with the Moorelands.

  All smiles, Roxie stooped low so she could converse a little with Bryony. Lillian watched as the woman introduced her two sons, Andrew and Paul. Bryony seemed to respond rather well. As she observed the interchange carefully, it occurred to Lillian for the first time that it was more than just her parents who had been wrenched out of Bryony’s world. She wondered if there had been siblings, and a familiar community that she’d felt safe within. Timid and guarded, Bryony seemed at least to be increasingly comfortable in group settings. It’s just difficult to know for sure, though, since Grace is always close by—usually within reach—as a support.

  Harrison and George hurried off to find friends from school. Hazel, too, was drawn away by a group of girls who stood nearby. Lillian lingered near the edge of the churchyard, watching the children’s movements among those gathered. From time to time she glanced toward Walter’s group of friends. Standing beside her still was Lemuel, his eyes downcast.

  “Lemuel? You look a little peaked. Are you feeling all right?”

  He raised his eyes, and his face looked gray. Lillian reached out a hand to catch his elbow, to steady him a little. “Do you need to go home? You look as if you might need to lie down.”

  “It’s fine. My arm hurts sometimes, but then it passes.”

  “But that shouldn’t happen anymore. It should be well on the way to mending.” Lillian searched for Grace among the crowd.

  “It’s fine, miss,” he insisted. “It’s already starting to feel better. Maybe I worked it too hard this morning or yesterday.”

  The five-minute church bell rang, calling everyone into the building. “Oh, Lemuel, I’m worried about you. I don’t like it at all to see you in pain like this.”

  “Thanks, Miss Lillian.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “I’ll be all right.”

  This is not good, she worried. He needs to see a doctor right away. But she allowed herself to be carried along by the flow of congregants entering the sanctuary. She only found time for a quick word spoken to Grace as they settled the children into their row. Grace’s reaction matched her own. But the piano music was dying away and Pastor Bukowski had taken his place at the pulpit.

  Once again Lillian found it difficult to join wholeheartedly in the singing, to comprehend the prayers shared, to focus her attention on the sermon. Her mind was on Lemuel and why his arm might still be a problem.

  After service Grace moved quickly. She motioned for the children to remain in their seats and squeezed herself down in front of Lemuel, laying a hand on his knee anxiously. “What’s wrong, son? Your arm? Did you hurt it again? How long since it’s felt right?”

  “It just hurts sometimes.”

  “Sharp pain—or more of a dull, throbbing ache?”

  “Not really sharp. But it makes my stomach feel sick when it happens.”

  Her hand moved to his forehead, his cheeks. “No fever,” she said with relief. She stood again, her gored crepe skirt catching and twisting up against the too-close knees. “Lillian, he needs to see a doctor. Where do we find a doctor in town?”

  Mother had seen the town doctor only rarely. Once diagnosed, she’d seen city specialists or she and Father had periodically traveled even farther by train as her health continued to fail. The need for a doctor now made fear prickle along the back of her neck. “I’m not sure who we have in town now. And I’m afraid it’s not unusual here to share a doctor with other places. I can ask Walter. He’ll know.”

  She rose and pushed past Grace and the wide-eyed children. By now their faces were shadowed with worry too. Lemuel seemed to be hurting again. Lillian scanned around her. It was difficult to catch sight of Walter among the many suit jackets and colorful Sunday hats that crowded the small foyer. She changed directions and bumped her shoulder into a brown tweed coat.

  “Lillian? Something wrong?”

  Looking up, she saw it was Walter with whom she’d collided. “I’m sorry, Walter. I was just looking for you. Lemuel isn’t feeling well. I think he needs a doctor, but I don’t know if there’s one in town today. Do you know? Would the clinic be staffed right now?”

  His hand grasped her arm, his eyes reading the seriousness in hers. “Where is he now?”

  “Still sitting down with the others. This way.”

  Moving toward the sanctuary again was far more difficult. It seemed to take forever to politely pass through those departing or chatting in order to get to Grace and the children, who were still waiting on the vacated pew. “Walter’s here.”

  “Hi, Lemuel, I’m sorry you’re not well.” He looked from Lillian to Grace. “How long ago did he break it? More than a week ago?”

  They nodded vigorously. “Oh yes.”

  “Yeah, he shouldn’t still be in pain. I’ve seen a lot of broken bones. If they don’t set up well right away, I’m afraid it’s probably not a good sign.”

  He turned toward the front of the sanctuary. “Hey, Bucky, Doc Shepherd in town today?”

  “’Fraid not, Walt. He’s either in Blairmore or Hope Valley. Whatcha need?”

  “The boy’s not
well. Probably on account’a his broken elbow.”

  “I’ll ask Betsy. She’ll know where to find him.” Pastor Bukowski disappeared quickly, leaving the hymnbooks he’d been stacking abandoned on the front pew.

  Walter turned back to Lemuel. “How ya holding up, boy?”

  “It’s hurting again.” Lemuel’s head was down.

  Lillian understood how little he enjoyed attention. If he’s admitting to pain, it must be more than he can tolerate.

  “I can drive him out to see the doc if need be.”

  “Oh, Walter, that’s so far.” Another look toward Lemuel. Lillian struggled for a better solution. “Can we place a telephone call? Maybe we can get his advice first, whether it’s necessary to see him quickly.”

  “No, sorry. Telephone wires haven’t reached that far into the mountains yet.”

  A commotion toward the back of the room caught their attention. Betsy Bukowski was hustling up the aisle, her hurrying steps clipped short by her long, bunched skirt. “You need a doctor, dear? I’m so sorry. Carson Shepherd is in Hope Valley today. I got word from Rosemary yesterday that he plans to stay until Wednesday.” As an aside to Grace and Lillian, she added, “Mr. Jensen’s son had a fever too. But he seems to be doing much better today. Say, here’s a thought. I’m sure you could send a message to him if you want—Doc Shepherd, that is. Not little Teddy Jensen.” She giggled a little before adding, “Ernest McCray carries the mail out first thing in the morning, and he’ll be back again by evening, Lord willin’.”

  “That seems best. I hate to wait until Wednesday for any advice.” Grace crouched down again beside Lemuel. “Can you walk home, do you think?”

  Walter answered first. “I can drive him. My car’s already here. And then I’ll drive one of you back into town to leave a message for the mornin’ post.”

  Grace’s appreciation was obvious in her voice. “Thanks so much, Walter. You’re very kind.”

  “Not at all.”

  Soon Lemuel was lying comfortably on the chaise in the parlor. Grace gave him two aspirin tablets in hopes it would cut the pain, and Lillian returned quickly to Walter’s car for the drive back into town.