by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis
“You’re awake, Lori?” Mama whispered.
“Yes, Mama.”
“I dreamed of your papa reading the Bible to us. Remember how he smoothed the ribbon back into the pages when he was done?”
“Every time.” The memory made sorrow wash over her.
“I was thinking about how I wished the ribbon on that Silver Star medal the government brought us for your Papa was smooth, deep blue satin instead of striped grosgrain.” Mama rolled over. Tears glossed her eyes. “I decided to put blue satin in the box the medal came in.”
Tears spilled down Mama’s cheeks as Lorelei reached over and pulled her into a tight hug. When she found her voice again, she whispered, “That’s a nice idea, Mama.”
A little while later, when they’d regained their composure, Mama sat on the bedside and combed her hair as she said, “Russell’s mother tells me he got a medal, too—the same as your papa’s.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s a man of honor and courage.” Lorelei bent to tie her shoes and added quietly, “But I don’t think we’d better ask him about his medal. He doesn’t want to talk about the war.”
“His eyes hold much hurt, Lori.”
“So does his soul.” She straightened. “Which makes me wonder, what shall we do for worship today?”
“I know just the right verses.” Mama gave her a watery smile. “And Rose Diamond has a lovely voice. She can help us decide on some hymns.”
They slipped downstairs, and Mama stirred up the fire she’d banked in the stove last night. Lorelei opened the kitchen door and pulled in the milk Mr. Rimmon had delivered. Before the epidemic, he’d delivered a single half-gallon bottle to each house twice a week. Now he left a half-full, ten-gallon tin milk can each dawn. He’d already strained it and left half a gallon of cream, too, so they could churn their own butter.
“Hi!” Arnie skipped through the kitchen, accompanied by Mutt. Only a step behind, Russell nodded and turned the knob to let them out. The three of them were nearly inseparable, and Mama and Mrs. Diamond both thought it slightly scandalous that Russell allowed the dog to sleep at the foot of Arnie’s bed, but no one dared interfere since the three of them seemed to need each other.
Soon the kitchen smelled of yeast from the bread dough and cinnamon from the rolls. Beatrice sat in a chair over by the window, using the Daisy paddle-wheel churn. Mrs. Diamond had Adele setting the table as Lacey rearranged the parlor for “church.” Alan and Philip went to muck out the stable. The routine in the household hadn’t taken long to establish, and it carried with it a comfortable air. It didn’t take much longer before everyone sat down to breakfast.
After the meal, Russell ordered the boys to carry their chairs to the parlor for worship. Everyone found a seat, and Mrs. Diamond led the singing. True to form, Russell didn’t sing, but he played his harmonica.
Russell lifted Arnie onto his lap to stop him from squirming as Mrs. Goetz started reading from the second chapter of Nehemiah.
Wherefore the king said unto me, Why is thy countenance sad, seeing thou art not sick? this is nothing else but sorrow of heart. Then I was very sore afraid, and said unto the king, Let the king live for ever: why should not my countenance be sad, when the city, the place of my fathers’ sepulchres, lieth waste, and the gates thereof are consumed with fire? Then the king said unto me, For what dost thou make request? So I prayed to the God of heaven. And I said unto the king, If it please the king, and if thy servant have found favour in thy sight, that thou wouldest send me unto Judah, unto the city of my fathers’ sepulchres, that I may build it.
Russell stared at the worn Bible in her lap. He couldn’t recall hearing that passage before now. Sorrow of the heart. Yes, that said it well. And I’m also rebuilding what belonged to my ancestors. Nehemiah felt this way, too?
“Russell is rebuilding.” Adele smiled at him.
Arnie waved across the room at her, which seemed to serve better than the stingy smile Russell himself barely managed. What am I doing with all of these tenderhearted children here?
Alan cleared his throat. “I’m thinking of that verse about building a house. I don’t recall where it is.”
“The one about whether you build a house on rock or sand?”
“That’s a nice one, but not the one that I had in mind. It’s about laboring in vain if God isn’t building the house.”
Russell cleared his throat. “That’s Psalm 127:1: ‘Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.’ ”
Mom patted Alan on the arm. “Russell’s mind is like a camera. He need see something only once, and he remembers it forever.”
And there are things I wish I’d never seen and wouldn’t remember…. He stared at the floor. The autumn sun streamed through the stained-glass window Lorelei had restored, and the golden segments she’d cleverly borrowed from the border and stretched to fit by using the amber jewels he chose ended up casting a golden cross on the far wall.
Lorelei suggested, “Let’s finish with sentence prayers. Anyone who would like can join in.”
The prayers and the glass-cast golden cross don’t bother me, he realized with shock. When he’d first come back from France, those things would have set him on edge. Now, after weeks of quiet worship and hearing Lorelei read the Word of God aloud, he’d let go of most of his anger. At times it still surged, but for the most part, a profound emptiness replaced the rage.
Their faith is touching, innocent. I was like that once. A sense of loss swamped him. He held Arnie and rested his chin on the little boy’s soft hair. Wrapping his arms tighter, he realized how much he wanted Arnie to grow up believing that Jesus loved him. Lorelei’s sweet, husky voice chimed in with a word of prayer.
Russell’s leg ached, but his heart ached more. Even if I can’t patch together my own faith, I want this little guy to have the assurance and security Lorelei has.
“Russell, I brought you your jacket.” Lorelei knew she needed to speak before she approached him. He’d been lost in thought, and sudden sounds and movement always resulted in startling or angering him. The past week had been particularly bad. He’d been going to town and digging graves, coming home only to get the bread and soup, then returning again late in the evening. The bleakness in his eyes and the groans in his sleep bore testimony to the great cost of the work he’d done.
“The air, it is chilly much of the day now. It is good that we have so much wood piled up for the winter.” Slowly, she walked across the veranda and out into the yard.
Russell pushed away from the tree and shrugged into his jacket. “Thanks.”
“You are troubled.”
“I’m not decent company, Lorelei. Go back inside.”
An undertone of anguish in his voice made her stay. “I didn’t ask if you were good company. If I wanted pleasant companions, there are plenty in the house.”
“Are they getting under your skin?”
She laughed. “I just said they were pleasant companions, Russell. Your mother is a wonderful woman, and your cousins are delightful. My place is not with them right now; my place is to be with a friend who is hurting.”
“Who’s hurt?” He stiffened as he barked the question.
Lorelei paused a moment, then quietly answered, “You.”
Chapter 19
Lord, I felt led to come out to Russell, but I feel so unsure of why You have me here. I have no understanding of the pain he feels or what to say to him.
“My leg’s never going to get better.” He snorted. “I’m going to limp for the rest of my life. The shrapnel left in there is too close to the nerves and arteries to mess with, so the ache’s permanent. I’m a cripple. There. Did that clear the air?”
“The ache, this I am sorry for. The limp—it has gotten better over the months you have lived here. It does not keep you from doing the things you wish. Your body serves you well, Russell, and you use your strength and talents for others. I hold no pity f
or you, only gratitude. You have a battle raging inside you, yet you had the kindness and courage to think of others.”
“Don’t fool yourself. I came out here because I was thinking only of myself.”
“You need time alone. What is wrong about that? There have been days when I sought solitude in my sorrow and confusion.”
“Buttercup.” His voice sounded ragged. She liked how he occasionally called her such a pretty name, even if he said it in a jaded tone. Somewhere deep inside, it meant that he still longed for good things, even if he denied himself.
“Yes?”
“I’m as splintered and jagged as the broken glass you sweep up. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“What I know is that even when glass is shattered, the pieces can be fit together in a new way to make something beautiful.”
Russell shook his head. “Not me.”
“You must be patient. Papa used to patiently fit the pieces of a window together. He refused to hurry. These things take time. He taught me that if something is to last, it must be tended with diligence now—whether it is a window or a soul.”
“You still believe in fairy tales, Lorelei.”
“I’m a grown woman, Russell. I didn’t fight in a war, but I have lost my father, and I’ve worked hard to make a living and provide for my mother. I believe in God’s love. I believe in family. I believe in friends. The pattern I envisioned for my life was shattered, but I chose to put the pieces back together. The picture is different, but the Source of my light never changed.”
He smashed his fist into the trunk of the tree. “My friends died! Don’t you get it? All around me, my friends bled and died. I used my rifle, my trench knife, even my bare hands, and killed Germans—men who had families and friends back in their hometowns. I’ve seen slaughter, I’ve slain, and I’m sick of death.”
Lorelei quietly reached over and curled her hand around his wrist. He yanked free, but she persisted and took his wrist again. Gently, she brushed bark off his skinned knuckles. “You are hurting enough on the inside, Russell. Don’t hurt yourself on the outside, too.”
“There’s blood on my hands and in my soul.” He pulled free.
“Only the Living Water can wash that away.” She folded her arms around her ribs. “Once, I told you the red glass was the most expensive. Right now, the only color you see in the window of your soul is red. Christ already paid the price to purify it. Regardless of the color, though, know that I care for you as a friend. Your pain doesn’t frighten me away.”
Russell sat at the head of the supper table long after the meal was over and everyone had left the dining room. Arnie didn’t want to leave his side, but Adele promised to teach him how to play checkers. Laughter and chatter drifted across the marble entryway and into the dining room. The swinging door to the kitchen sat ajar, allowing a wedge of light and the musical conversation between Lorelei and their mothers.
At the first lunch they all shared, Mom, Mrs. Goetz, and Lorelei had created a schedule of chores. They’d all insisted on taking a turn at dishes, too. Mom and Mrs. Goetz spent a couple hours each day in the library, clearing off bookshelves and oiling the wood. In another day or so, that room would be an inviting haven of peace.
The girls rotated into the kitchen for a day, then sewed for two. They hadn’t decided on any particular room—they’d stitched in the parlor, in a bedroom, on the veranda—so no matter where he turned, Russell seemed to run into someone. Simple, gathered cotton curtains hung from the windows in the kitchen, bedrooms, and washroom, and the duvets in the girls’ rooms bore new, matching covers. A lacy, tatted doily lay in the center of the dining table beneath the mum-filled Heisey crystal vase.
The boys eagerly traipsed through the house and over the estate, then voiced which projects appealed to them the most. After the first day, Russell had decided he’d make assignments so he’d know where they were and what they were doing; finding Philip “fixing” the stairs to the attic reinforced the need for that decision.
So far, the washroom and four bedrooms sported fresh coats of paint, a wobbly chair’s legs now measured even, and two doors that used to sag and stick had been planed and rehung. The stable sported a fresh coat of barn red paint, and most of the shrubs had been cut back to manageable level. Once set to work, the boys did fairly well. Their exuberance sometimes eclipsed their judgment, but overall, they hadn’t been too much trouble.
How did I ever end up with this troop in my barracks? He stared at the hodgepodge of chairs about the table. Counting Lorelei, Mrs. Goetz, Arnie, his mother, and five cousins, he’d taken on responsibility for nine other people. And to think I came here to get away from everyone.
He let out a burdened sigh. His father hadn’t asked him to take on these guests; he’d simply revealed how bad things were in Buttonhole and asked how Russell was doing since he lived so far on the outskirts of a town. Survival: the first rule of war—and they were fighting a deadly enemy in the form of an epidemic. Russell knew he’d made the right decision. It didn’t make it any easier, though, when he craved solitude.
Suddenly rifle fire split the night air.
“Sniper!” He dove out of his chair and crawled to the doorway. “Down! Down! Everybody down!”
His pulse thundered in his ears as feet pounded on the floor.
“Russell? What’s wrong?”
Someone burst through the front door. Russell grabbed Lorelei and yanked her to the floor. She tumbled over him, and he shoved her into the corner where she’d be safest.
“Alan bagged a buck! Come see!”
Sweat poured down Russell’s temples, and tension made him jump as Lorelei gently rubbed his back. “A deer, Russell. Alan hunted a deer. In your yard in Virginia, Russell. You’re home, not in the war.”
A shudder rippled through him. It took another second or two to fully understand her. He bolted to his feet, yanked her upright, and strode as fast as his limp allowed him out to the front yard.
Alan stood over a buck on the far side of the hedges, chest thrust out and shoulders squared with pride. “How do you like this?”
Russell grabbed the rifle from him. “I don’t.”
“We’ll have venison roast, and Mrs. Goetz can make stews for the folks in town.”
“That’s no excuse. None at all,” Russell bit out. Memories of what a rifle shell could do to a human being burst through his memory, making his voice harsh. “In this light, you couldn’t be sure what you were shooting. Do you understand me?”
“Hey, I was just trying—”
“No excuse,” Russell repeated himself through gritted teeth. He stared at Philip. “If you have a weapon, you’re to give it to me now. No one hunts without my permission.”
Arnie started to sniffle. Lorelei stooped, pulled him into her arms, and rose. She patted his back and cooed, “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. He’s not mad at you. Russell worried that someone got hurt because he cares about us.”
“You children go back inside.” His mother gave the order firmly. Spreading her arms wide, she herded them toward the house and didn’t leave any chance for objections.
Alan stood belligerently over his kill. Russell’s hand curled tighter around the stock of the rifle he’d carefully kept aimed at the ground. He stared at Alan until the teen looked away, then commanded, “This is your kill—you dress it.”
“I … um … don’t know how.”
“Then it’s time you learn.”
“I could help.” Lorelei’s soft, husky voice startled Russell. He shot her a strained look. She set Arnie on the ground and gave his little backside a pat to send him on his way.
The last thing I need is for her to weaken my stance with the kids—if that’s possible.
Russell shook his head. “This is Alan’s mess. He’s not a child; he’s a young man. A responsible young man handles his own affairs.”
The next evening, Mama and Mrs. Diamond declared it was a celebration night. All the rooms on the secon
d floor and the three maids’ bedrooms in the attic were painted. The occupied rooms all had curtains; refurbished furniture; spreads, duvets, or quilts; and pictures. Beatrice had shown remarkable artistic flair, and her works hung here and there.
Mrs. Diamond fixed a big venison roast while Mama used bread crumbs to make dressing. Lorelei passed the okra over Arnie’s head to Russell and teased, “Now aren’t you glad you gave us that garden?”
“He’s more likely to be thankful there are a bunch of us at the table to eat the okra.” Mrs. Diamond laughed. “Russell doesn’t care for it.”
Lorelei gaped at him.
He cleared his throat. “I’d like some of your beans, though. Between the corn and beans you canned, I’m still glad you garden.”
Mrs. Diamond took the bowl of green beans from Philip and passed them to her son. “Like father, like son. Did Russell ever tell you I have a fruit orchard?”
Lorelei nodded. “He shared the apples you sent.”
“Mom makes peach everything—jam, tarts, pies,” Russell began.
“Don’t forget her cobbler!” Philip tacked on.
“Yes, well, Russell’s father had me fooled about liking peaches for the longest time. It wasn’t until he asked me to marry him that he confessed he can’t stand the taste of peaches!”
While others laughed, Lorelei felt a twang of worry. “Did you give me the apples because you don’t like them? Is that why you want cinnamon in your applesauce—to hide the flavor?”
“Love them.” Russell tipped his head to the side and gave her an assessing look. “That apple I’m smelling—it’s not the cider you’re drinking?”
Arnie piped up, “Nope! Lorelei made apple doodle. It’s a s’prise.”