Back Roads to Bliss

by Ruth Glover

  “And the house,” Georgina said, “small though it may be, will have one end divided into bedrooms—one for us, one for you. So say you’ll stay, Allie. Say you’ll stay!”

  Georgina’s plea was difficult to resist. Especially when she added, “Perhaps that’s one reason the Lord sent you to us—we need you!”

  Never having been needed in her life, Allison was powerfully moved. Besides, she really had no other place to go, nothing to do, no one else to care.

  “It sounds like a good solution for all of us, put that way,” she said. “So let’s think and pray about it.” She knew her funds, once they began arriving, would be a tremendous help as she found ways to apply them on the homestead. Never in her life had she appreciated money; never had she been concerned about it or the lack of it.

  Allison turned from the hole in the ground—cellar and storage place for their winter food—and felt an excitement, an expectation of things to come, things to overcome.

  “I’ll go write my father,” she said, turning away. “If you could let me have some paper?”

  “And we’ll get it to the post office and do a little shopping at the same time. Oh, Allie,” Georgina said, changing the subject, “it’s such an experience, shopping in Bliss’s one store. It seems like a treasure trove when you need everything. I love browsing, dreaming of the things we’ll get when we can. And when I make my purchases I pick and choose as though I were deciding between diamonds and rubies. Never have I been so careful, so selective. So thrifty! If red beans are cheaper than white beans, we eat red beans. And when it comes to buying flour, I get the hundred-pound sack and make sure it has the pattern I want so that eventually I’ll have enough material to make something. It’ll seem like getting something for nothing! We’ll really feel like pioneers, Allie, when we wear flour-sack dresses.”

  Rather than being dismayed at the prospect, Allie found herself anticipating the new experiences, the simpler garb. Her own garments, removed from the trunk and shaken out, seemed pitifully inadequate for the tasks at hand. Hoeing in the garden, she hiked up a dress of french chelsea; kneading dough, she shoved up cuffs of foulard percale; a silk moire skirt, gathered up in her hands, served as a basket for eggs.

  Her Creme Riviere, a “healing, cooling and penetrating ameliorative cleanser of the skin,” and her Poudre Merveilleux, “this preparation gives the nails a splendid, lustrous and rosy appearance, which enhances so greatly the charms of a lovely and beautiful hand,” were powerless to help her now. She got dusty and bathed in a zinc washtub; she got mosquito-bitten and uselessly dabbed on soda; she got sunburnt and applied kerosene.

  Because of the sunburn, Allison decided against going to church, reluctant to meet the people of the district for the first time with a flaming nose.

  It had been a week of firsts: first dishwashing, first baking, first chicken plucking, first bean stringing, first jelly making.

  “I’ll take the day to rest,” she pronounced, “and recuperate. There’ll be a busy week ahead, I’m sure. I’ll try and use a little sense and protect myself from the sun. That way, I’ll be fit to be seen next Sunday.”

  Georgina and David were anxious to go, eager to worship, looking forward to meeting their new friends. “And what’s more,” Georgina said, “David is hoping to approach the men of the church about raising the house.”

  “How exciting! I’ll look forward to hearing all about it when you get home!” Allison said as she watched the wagon trundle off happily enough; there would be plenty of time for getting acquainted. She admitted to herself that she was showing unusual signs of reticence; she hesitated to think of it as shyness. Probably—she thought honestly—it was a reluctance to sit among blood-bought, born-again, heaven-bound people, contemplating her own unworthiness. A remittance girl! What would people think of her if they knew?

  Allison squirmed uncomfortably. She knew she was forgiven; she didn’t doubt it. But her humiliation at being thrust from home and hearth was profound. It was something she’d have to deal with, sooner or later.

  It was a good time to wash her hair—she decided, turning her thoughts deliberately to other things—to sit in the sun and let it dry, to comb it and twist it and fasten it up.

  Studying her shining head and her shinier nose in the mirror, she gaped at herself and hardly recognized the sunburnt face as the Allison Middleton—well-coifed, smooth-featured, self-assured—of a couple of months ago.

  “If Mama could see me now—” she thought and almost shuddered for her poor mother’s sake.

  She managed to feed the range and keep the fire going, burning herself only once, which she counted an accomplishment. She managed to pull up the pail from the cold depths of the well, a well dug and lined by the absent Stanislas Mikovic, without tipping the bucket and losing the contents. She managed to combine the remains of last night’s supper—a roast and potatoes and carrots—into a savory stew.

  She managed, without any trouble at all, to burn it.

  And didn’t know it until Georgina and David were home, their clothes changed, and the three of them were sitting at the table in the shade of the poplar. Allison proudly filled three plates. Her first clue to the disaster was the grimace, quickly hidden, on David’s face, and the warning signal flashed to him by Georgina, who, undaunted, took a bite and chewed valorously.

  Tasting the concoction gingerly, and with difficulty swallowing it rather than spitting it out in disgust, Allison raised tragic eyes to her friends, to be met by their bursts of laughter.

  “Don’t look so miserable!” Georgina said. “It isn’t a tragedy of major proportions!”

  But to Allison, who knew the state of the cupboard, it seemed so. What else was there among the skimpy supplies that could be fixed quickly and easily—porridge took a long time; chickens took forever to chase down, butcher, pluck, and . . .

  “We have plenty of bread,” Georgina continued, “so we’ll splurge and have bread and syrup. It’ll be a treat.”

  Poor David, kind David. He gallantly ate most of a loaf of Georgina’s good white bread, which was dripping with Rogers’ Golden Syrup and accompanied by massive cups of tea, and declared himself “full as a tick” and just as happy.

  Later, indulging in the ritual of the Sunday afternoon nap and realizing for the first time in her life how blessed it was, how necessary, how satisfying, Allison wisely counted the stew fiasco another learning experience and closed her eyes with a genuine feeling of satisfaction for a week’s work accomplished.

  At the table, David had announced that arrangements had been made: The men of the Bliss church would show up Tuesday for a log-raising bee.

  It seems we’ve been having a terrible lot of meetings lately,” Brother Dinwoody complained as he settled himself into one of the school’s desks. Outside, in the family wagon, waited his wife and children, impatient for their dinner. Alongside were the conveyances—buggies and wagons—of Angus Morrison and Bly Condon, their wives waiting with composure, satisfied the Lord’s business was being transacted inside the church/school building. Herkimer, the bachelor, would find his rig hitched to the railing of the school fence and would make his lonely way homeward for his silent meal.

  Herkimer, if he regretted his bachelor estate, never complained; in fact, it seemed he had given up seeking a wife. The single ladies of the district, always in short supply, were wooed by many another; Herkimer Pinkard found none to his taste. Or more likely, none of the available ladies found Herkimer Pinkard to their taste.

  But no one could complain of his devotion to the church and its needs. Therefore, he and the other three members of the board gathered together as soon as the Sunday morning congregation had dispersed, the minister among them.

  “This won’t take long,” Angus assured them, and they looked at him expectantly. What now? their expressions said. They had finally got the parsonage built, and the preacher here and in it. What could possibly need their attention now?

  “Is there a problem, Angus?”
Bly asked, checking his pocket watch and patting his rumbling stomach. “Was the offering down this morning?”

  “No, not that. It has to do with the future of the church, particularly when it comes time for Ben Brown to leave—”

  “Months away,” scoffed Brother Dinwoody. “So what’s the hurry?”

  “Planning ahead,” Herkimer offered, seldom in a hurry, “seems like a good thing. Remember, it wasn’t raining when Noah built the ark.”

  Angus was accustomed to Herkimer’s interjections and continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted by the little exchange between two of his board members. “I’ve had a letter from Parker—”

  “How are he and Molly getting along?”

  “Fine. Just fine. Now if you’ll give me your attention, brethren, we can conduct this business in proper manner and get on home.”

  “A hungry stomach cannot hear.” Herkimer couldn’t resist piping up one more time. The obscure quotation seemed to fit the occasion nicely.

  Angus, usually the most patient of men, clenched his jaw and breathed deeply—it would be most surprising if he allowed his name to be presented for chairman of the church board another year.

  “Go ahead, Angus,” Bly Condon urged, while Brother Dinwoody frowned at Herkimer and clucked a disapproving tsk.

  “Parker writes,” Angus finally resumed, “that one of the teachers at Bible School of the Dominion has suffered a severe illness, and it will keep him from filling his position this year. At this late date, it’s difficult to replace him—”

  “Oh . . . oh.”

  “Oh, no, not that.”

  “I was afraid of something like this.”

  So responded the board members without ever hearing the remainder of the letter.

  “Perhaps,” Angus said, and who could blame him if he sounded a little testy, “one of you would like to take it from here?”

  “Sorry . . .

  “Sorry . . .”

  “Aw, you go ahead.”

  “You seem to be ahead of me, as usual,” Angus said dryly. “Now where was I? As you have suspected, they’ve asked Parker to fill the position. It will be a one-year commitment. Since he had already arranged to be absent from us for about half that time, he asked that we consider giving him the extra time away, still with the option of returning to the Bliss pulpit at the end of the school year.”

  There was silence for a moment, but no one seemed too surprised; they had felt from the beginning that Parker Jones was meant for bigger things, better places than Bliss.

  “How does Molly feel about this?” Bly Condon asked. “She seemed dead set against leaving Bliss at one time.”

  “She’s agreeable to the one-year commitment. After that, she, as well as all of us, will need to make some decisions. Well, gentlemen?”

  “Lucky we have Ben Brown already here—”

  “Would he stay on, do you think? And are we agreed on asking him?”

  There followed a lively discussion concerning the abilities of the young man to lead the church an entire year. His preaching ability was not in question; they were enjoying his lively spirit, his refreshing manner of speaking, his honest joy in the Lord.

  “You’re the one to lead the church, Angus,” Bly pointed out. “With you at the head of the board, what fear do we have for that part of it? The kid—that is, Brother Ben—is doing a great job of preaching, and you’re doing a great job as chairman. I say let’s give Parker the permission he wants and then approach Ben about extending his time with us. If I’m not mistaken, he’s enjoying himself.”

  “I certainly don’t want to go through more weeks and months of waiting for another pastor,” Herkimer spoke decidedly.

  “It would mean we’d have to fill the pulpit again,” Brother Dinwoody noted, and he was off and dreaming, scheming how he might expound on “Wives, be in subjection to your own husbands.” A twittering mouse at home, Brother Dinwoody was a roaring lion in the pulpit.

  “I agree with Herk. Let’s ask Ben to do it,” Bly said hastily, noting the speculative look in Brother Dinwoody’s eyes and wanting to avoid any further harangues from the pulpit.

  “I understand now why you didn’t want him in on this meeting, Angus,” Herkimer said. “I had thought, at first, that he should be here.”

  “I felt we’d be more free to express ourselves—”

  “Well, I move we ask Ben Brown to fill out the year,” Bly Condon persisted, amiable but hungry.

  “I second it,” Herkimer said immediately.

  “How about you, Brother Dinwoody?” Angus asked, and all eyes turned on this unpredictable member of the board.

  Brother Dinwoody lingered over his answer, savoring the moment. Perhaps his eventual “It’s all right with me” reflected his disappointment concerning the night Ben Brown had eaten supper at his house and showed not a whit of interest in Eliza. Never one to give up easily, he could see that this new arrangement would give him time to resume his campaign for a husband for his daughter. He hadn’t given up on the preacher.

  But he had heard there was a new girl in the area—a prospective threat where a young, unmarried man like the preacher was concerned. Already Brother Dinwoody’s devious mind was at work.

  “I suppose,” he said with an innocence so overdone that they were all immediately alert, “we’ll all try to spend some of the day Tuesday at the log-raising for those new people, the Abrahams?” and got a chorus of assurances, somewhat hesitant, it’s true, since his intentions were suspect.

  “I understand they have a girl living with them,” he said, adding craftily, “an unmarried girl.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Just as Brother Dinwoody had hoped, the shaggy red head of Herkimer Pinkard turned toward the speaker. But so did the heads of Bly Condon and Angus Morrison, both happily married men.

  “You love sayings so much, Herk,” Brother Dinwoody said, quirking an eyebrow toward the district’s number one bachelor, “you should know the old one, ‘First come, first served.’” It would solve things if Herkimer engaged the attentions of the new girl, leaving the appealing pastor free for . . . for someone else.

  Angus’s face was a study; he obviously felt it was not fitting for an elder of the church to speak thus.

  “She’s a child, Herk, half your age,” he said, and Herkimer, relieved of the expectations of one and all that he get himself a wife, relaxed visibly.

  Foiled again! Brother Dinwoody sighed and wondered how he could develop and deliver a sermon on “Children, obey your parents in the Lord; for this is right.”

  Just think,” Georgina said at the breakfast table, a very early breakfast table, “this is the last day I’ll cook a meal in the dugout!”

  Her emphasis revealed the struggle and misery it had been and the pleasure and satisfaction she was anticipating.

  “Whoa!” David cautioned, stirring his porridge. “We may not have the furnishings in the house by tonight. It probably won’t be finished. Logs raised, yes; roofed, yes; floor in, I think so. How far we get depends on how many men show up. Some will be roofing while others will be flooring, I expect. Perhaps the women and girls will work away at the chinking at the same time—”

  “Busy as bees! Isn’t it good of these folks to do this for people they really don’t know? I’m so very, very grateful.” Again Georgina’s voice betrayed her emotions. It was going to be a moving day, in more ways than one.

  “I believe that some of them,” David said, “feel a sense of guilt over the Mikovics and the sad conclusion to their stay in Bliss—there’s one instance when the experience was far from blissful. Folks wonder, I’m told, if they might have done more to help. But it was wintertime, and winter separates people, keeps them to themselves, even more than the work does in summer. Blizzards keep them hibernated in their own home, just trying to survive. Your neighbor could starve or freeze, and you might not know it—it’s happened more times than one would like to think. That’s one reason, Allie, we want you to stay over winter, to be compa
ny for Georgie. I know it’s selfish—”

  “Not a bit!” Allison said. “I’m the one who is grateful, thankful—to you and to God.” Tears threatened. “I look around me and can hardly believe all that has happened. That I’m where I am, with the expectations, hopes, that I have.”

  “And what are those?” Georgina asked gently.

  “Of course I can’t know exactly, at this stage—it’s all so new, so promising. I only know that somewhere along the way I’ve come to the realization that I’ll only be happy and fulfilled if I do something for others. Quit being selfish and self-centered, and, well . . .” Allison hesitated, reluctant to expose her feelings, perhaps unable to express them satisfactorily, “serving.”

  There was silence at the breakfast table, broken only by the sweet song of a nearby bird.

  “Is it like a . . . calling?” Georgina asked.

  “It’s like,” Allison said simply, “a stake driven down in my heart. Just a knowing, a certainty, even a . . . a burning desire.”

  Georgina’s hand, work-roughened but expressive, was laid over Allison’s. “I think we understand,” she said. “And I’d call that a calling.”

  All three laughed at the alliteration of her words, and the serious moment passed, for the time being.

  David and Georgina had set up what they called “the family altar,” and now, before they separated for the day, David read a passage of Scripture and prayed. God’s blessing was requested on the day’s activities and on all who participated; Allison’s “call” was voiced, along with a request for enlightenment and fulfillment. “Help her understand it more fully, Lord,” David prayed, “and, in Your time and way, bring it to pass.”

  At the amen David rose from the table and headed off to chores. Soon the wagons of the district would be pulling in, the men equipped with axes, saws, hammers, levels, mauls, ready to go to work, and David needed to have all things in readiness.

  Allison lingered at the table; her face, which had been eager, had darkened, as though a cloud had passed over the sun.