Beside Still Waters

by AnnaLee Conti

How drab and cold her life had become! With the coming of spring to the Yukon, everything had come alive except her heart. She felt dead inside. Protecting herself from the pain of further losses by avoiding friendships, not allowing anyone to get close to her, wasn’t working out too well. Unhappier than ever, she felt like she was losing herself too.

  If only she had someone to talk to—someone who didn’t know her story, someone who would not cast sympathetic glances or ask unwanted questions.

  A movement caught her eye. She glanced up and saw a lady about her age, one she didn’t recognize, about to walk by. Surprising herself as much as the stranger, Violet called out, “Won’t you come in and visit a spell?”

  The lady stopped and turned toward the house. “Why yes, thank you!” Her feet crunched on the gravel as she strode up the short path to the porch. “What a pretty log cabin!”

  Violet let her in through the screen door and indicated the matching cushioned wicker rocking chair. “I’m Violet Barston.”

  They shook hands.

  “And I’m Charlotte Childers. Just arrived on the train.” Sinking into the chair with a grateful sigh, she loosened her jacket and fanned herself with her hand. “I never dreamed it could get so hot this far north.”

  “Inland so far from the ocean’s cooling breezes, it often gets quite warm during the summer. Would you like some cold tea?”

  “I’d love some. How do you make cold tea on such a warm day?”

  Violet laughed. “Our water comes cold out of the well. Although right now we have to boil and filter it, I store it in the root cellar. That keeps it as cold as an icebox would.”

  Violet excused herself to fetch the cold tea from her cellar. She felt almost lighthearted. Maybe she needed to reach out to people more often. She didn’t have to fall in love or marry again, but maybe more social interaction would be good for her.

  When Violet returned, she handed Charlotte the glass of tea. “So I take it, this is your first visit to the Yukon?”

  “Yes. I live in Vancouver. I’ve always wanted to see the North Country. I finally saved enough money, and with school out for the summer, here I am.” She drank greedily. “Ah, that was just what I needed. Thank you.”

  “You’re a teacher too?” Violet asked.

  The lady nodded. Their common interests kept them chatting until the clock said it was evening, although the sun still shone high overhead. By then, mosquitoes swarmed all around the porch, buzzing furiously as though they were angry at not being able to dine on the ready-made meal inside.

  Violet didn’t want her visitor to leave. Charlotte knew nothing about her, and Violet didn’t share about her personal life, so there were no awkward pauses or uncomfortable questions. Violet made them a light supper of sandwiches, which they ate on the porch while Violet told more anecdotes about life in the Yukon.

  After they’d eaten and put everything away, Violet glanced out toward the dusty street and noticed a couple she guessed to be in their early thirties walking by, swatting furiously at the growing black cloud around their heads. They too must be newcomers, for locals never went out in the evening during the summer without a thick headdress of black chiffon, which covered the head and hung down tightly around the shoulders. Gloves and thick stockings were also essential so that every bit of exposed skin was covered. Otherwise, being outdoors was hellish.

  Impulsively, Violet called out, “Would you like to come in out of the mosquitoes?”

  For over a year she’d avoided interaction with people, and today she’d invited three strangers to her porch. What had gotten into her?

  The couple looked startled but ran quickly up the short gravel path.

  “Brush off as many mosquitoes as you can and squeeze in fast,” Violet instructed.

  One at a time, they entered. “Thank you!” the lady said.

  “What a relief!” the man agreed.

  Violet introduced herself and Charlotte.

  “I’m Daniel Pennington, and this is my wife, Mary,” the man said. They all shook hands.

  Violet brought out more chairs and cushions from inside and offered them cold tea and cookies. As she served them, she asked, “What brings you to Whitehorse?”

  “We spent the winter pastoring the mission in Klukwan, and—”

  With a look of interest on her face, Charlotte asked, “Where’s that?”

  But Violet’s guard went up, and her smile stiffened. How could she have known she was inviting a man of God into her own home? Just her luck!

  “A little north of Haines,” Daniel answered. “We wanted to see Skagway and Whitehorse before returning to our home base in Juneau at the end of the week.”

  Violet redirected the conversation to safer topics—places in the Yukon, teaching school in Whitehorse, berry picking, gardening. Everything seemed to be going well until she pointed out the beautiful sunset spreading across the sky.

  “Isn’t it amazing how God begins and ends each day with such beauty?” Mary said. “How can we doubt His goodness?”

  “Don’t talk to me about God.” Violet’s tone sounded harsh and bitter even to her own ears. “Once I believed in a loving God who cares for us, but not anymore. Oh no!”

  “Oh, my dear!” Mary leaned forward and earnestly addressed Violet. “Sometimes things happen that we can’t understand. Perhaps it seems that God doesn’t care, but He is a loving Heavenly Father. Jesus Himself was ‘a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.’ He understands our deepest hurts and can even bring good out of our every heartache—if we let Him.”

  Violet said nothing in response. The rest of the evening she no longer heard the conversation flowing around her as she mulled over Mary’s words. She knew the stories of Jesus—how He healed the sick and fed the hungry multitudes, how He wept when His friend Lazarus died, how He suffered and died on the cross to take away our sin. She could maybe believe that God loved some people, but did He really love her?

  If He did, why did He take everyone she ever loved? What kind of love was that? What had she done to deserve such heartache?

  In spite of her unanswered questions, something stirred deep in her spirit—something she hadn’t felt for a long time. Something she hadn’t realized she missed until now. Was it a desire to enjoy life again? Or was it more than that? Maybe it was hope? Or faith? She didn’t know.

  A verse John had often quoted dropped into her mind: “All things work together for good to them that love God.” Bitterness welled up in her spirit. How could anyone bring good out of her losses? Could God? No, He’d taken everyone she loved.

  Back and forth, she argued with herself but found no resolution. Maybe she needed to ask Mary her questions. The urge became a compelling force she couldn’t resist. Mary seemed so sweet, so gentle, and so sincere that Violet trusted her instinctively. She hadn’t opened up to anyone since John’s death. Maybe talking with Mary would help.

  The sun had set when the Penningtons and Charlotte rose to leave. Everyone said goodnight and slid one by one through the screen door.

  Mary was the last to leave. Violet caught her hand and whispered, “Could you come over tomorrow? I want to talk with you some more.”

  “Of course. I’d be glad to.”

  Chapter 24

  THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER BREAKFAST, Mary returned. “Come in!” Violet greeted her warmly. “Thank you for coming.”

  She led the way to the chesterfield where they sat in front of the fireplace, which she had lit to drive away the chill of the morning. As they drank mugs of hot tea, Violet broke the awkward silence. “All night I wrestled with what you said, but I can’t make sense of anything. The answers to my questions are elusive, always just outside of my grasp.”

  “I hope I can help. In any event, I want you to know that I care. That’s why I came.”

  Violet answered with a grateful nod and began her heartbreaking story. With a hard edge to her voice, she said, “I lost my parents in a carriage accident when I was a child. My wealthy uncle and a
unt in Boston took me in and raised me. When they died, I found myself destitute at eighteen.”

  Mary did not interrupt, but Violet could see she was listening intently.

  “More than anything, I wanted to be a schoolteacher, but with only one year of normal school and no money to continue, that wasn’t an option. The only work I could find was in a garment factory.” Violet paused and swallowed hard to tamp down her emotions.

  “So how did you end up in Whitehorse?”

  “I found an advertisement for a companion and teacher to a sick child in Yukon Territory. I was scared to death to travel this far alone, but the job involved teaching, and the employer paid my way.”

  Mary’s sympathetic smile encouraged Violet to continue. “On the ship from Vancouver to Skagway, I met a wonderful man, a captain of one of the sternwheelers on the Yukon River. We spent every moment aboard ship together—” Violet felt her face grow hot when she realized how that might sound and quickly added, “except for sleeping, that is. He was a perfect gentleman. We fell in love.

  “In Skagway, I learned that the girl I was to care for had died unexpectedly, leaving me jobless. John married me then and there.” Violet grinned. “Summers, we sailed the Yukon together. Winters, we stayed with his parents in Seattle, and I completed my teacher education.”

  A note of sadness crept into her voice. “The only thing that marred our happiness was my inability to have a child. After three years, I was finally expecting. Our Elizabeth Anne was born in late July of 1918. A beautiful baby, so good-natured, and she seemed healthy. At last, we had our family.”

  Tears streamed unheeded down Violet’s cheeks as she told how she’d found Elizabeth dead in her bassinet for no apparent reason when the infant was little more than a week old.

  “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry.” Mary slid closer and put her arm around Violet. “Yesterday, while we walked through the cemetery, we noticed a white grave marker with the name ‘Barston’ on it. When we met you, we wondered if the baby was yours.”

  Nodding, Violet snuffled and withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe away the tears. She picked up her mug and took a sip of tea to soothe her dry throat.

  Mary laid her free hand on Violet’s knee. “By the well-tended plot with freshly planted flowers, we knew someone still mourned that child.”

  Violet smiled through her tears. “I just finished putting them in yesterday morning.”

  “I thought so. I’m a gardener too.”

  Her voice still taut from crying, Violet went on with her story. “After Elizabeth died, I was so distraught I couldn’t eat or sleep. John was so worried that all he could think to do was to suggest a change of scenery. He sent me ahead of him to his folks in Seattle to find a place for us to live. I found a duplex. I’d fixed it all up and was looking forward to his arrival.

  “Being away from John, my focus shifted from losing my baby to how much I missed my husband. The long-awaited telegram finally came: ‘Leaving Skagway tonight on the Princess Sophia.’ Only four more days!”

  “In 1918?” Mary asked softly. Violet nodded. Mary’s lips thinned as she shook her head. “I’ll never forget it—boatload after boatload of victims being brought into Juneau.”

  “I was a widow . . . ” Violet’s voice hitched higher, “at twenty-one.”

  As sobs again engulfed Violet, Mary enfolded her in her arms and cried with her. “Oh, Violet, I’m so sorry! What a tragedy that was! So many lives needlessly lost.”

  When Violet ceased sobbing, she said, “When I received the news, I collapsed. Losing my baby and my husband was too much for me. In my weakened condition, I contracted the Spanish flu. For months, I hung between life and death.” She coughed and tried to clear her throat, but her voice still sounded ragged. “Consciousness brought only grief and agony.”

  “You poor girl!” Mary’s voice was full of sympathy, but Violet was not repelled.

  “Eventually, I grew strong enough to come back to Whitehorse to look after my property. I’ve been back for two years now. Teaching makes my days tolerable, but nights and weekends and summers are so lonely.”

  “You’ve certainly had more than your share of heartaches.”

  Violet struggled to regain control of her emotions. Finally, she blurted out, “Now do you understand why I can’t believe there’s a God who loves and cares for me? A loving God wouldn’t take everyone I ever loved.”

  Mary took Violet’s hands in hers and spoke gently. “I understand why you feel that way, but, honey, God didn’t take them; He received them.”

  When Violet lifted her head in surprise, Mary said, “You’ve read Genesis, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” Violet said. “John believed like you do . . . I did too. We read the Bible and prayed together every day and went to church at every opportunity.”

  “Then you know what Genesis says—that God created a perfect world. Death and sorrow entered His perfect creation when Adam and Eve disobeyed God. Since then, all of us will die sooner or later.”

  Violet nodded, and Mary continued. “God’s own Son carried our griefs and sorrows to the cross when He died to save us from sin and its effects. That’s the good news of the New Testament—”

  Bitterness rose in Violet’s throat, and she jumped to her feet, cutting Mary off. “I know all of that. But why would God answer my prayers and give me a beautiful child only to immediately snatch her away? That’s cruel.” Embarrassed by her harsh outburst, she sat back down and hung her head.

  Mary slipped to the floor and knelt in front of her so they were eye to eye. “Honey, look at me. We live in a broken world. Bad things happen. It’s part of the Curse. God doesn’t cause tragedy. God wants to comfort you in your loss.”

  As Violet sobbed silently, Mary crooned soothingly. “God loves you with an everlasting love. He understands your pain. He grieves with you. He wants to comfort you in your sorrow and fill the void in your heart with greater joy than you’ve ever known.”

  With her own eyes full of tears, Mary began to sing softly in a clear, sweet voice,

  Does Jesus care when my heart is pained

  Too deeply for mirth or song,

  As the burdens press, and the cares distress,

  And the way grows weary and long?

  Does Jesus care when I’ve said goodbye

  To the dearest on earth to me,

  And my sad heart aches till it nearly breaks—

  Is it aught to Him? Does He see?

  Oh, yes, He cares, I know He cares,

  His heart is touched with my grief;

  When the days are weary, the long nights dreary,

  I know my Savior cares.

  As Mary sang with obvious sincerity and sweet assurance, Violet’s heart began to soften. Warmth spread through her being.

  When the song was finished, Mary said, “Disappointments great or small come to all of us sooner or later. I’m learning to spell my ‘disappointments’ with an H: ‘His appointments.’ When my father disowned me for becoming a missionary, my heart was crushed with disappointment. I have not been allowed to go back to my childhood home since. But God spoke these words to my heart:

  How oft, as on Life’s way we tread,

  With hopes for future bright,

  A cloud comes sweeping o’er our way,

  Hiding awhile the light.

  These shadows dark that cross our path,

  Bringing us grief and pain,

  These disappointments, one and all,

  God allows for our true gain.

  How hard to learn this lesson great;

  We know not what is best.

  How hard to trust His loving care,

  When we feel sore oppressed.

  But, if we truly love our God,

  Rememb’ring, as we should,

  To them, ’twas said that ALL things

  Work together for good.

  Ah, then, let each disappointment,

  Though great or only small,

  Ever draw
us closer to Him

  Who loves and cares for all.

  Then, if life be full of shadows,

  And our path be dark with dread,

  Let us look beyond the storm clouds

  To the Light that shines o’er head.

  Violet bowed her head and wept. The hardness in her heart melted, and the bitterness was swept away. When she lifted her head, she said, “Would you write out that poem for me?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  Violet crossed the room to the rolltop desk, pulled out a writing tablet and pen, and handed them to Mary. When Mary finished writing out the poem, she asked, “May I pray for you right now?”

  “Please do,” Violet said, bobbing her head.

  Together they knelt beside the chesterfield, and Mary prayed, “Lord, You promised to comfort those who mourn. I ask You to mend Violet’s broken heart and restore to her the joy of salvation. You promised in Your Word that You would give us ‘beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness that we may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that You may be glorified.’ That is my prayer for Violet right now. Help her to know Your comfort and to understand Your plan for her life and how she may bring glory to Your name. We pray this in the precious name of Jesus. Amen.”

  They both wiped tears from their cheeks as they rose to their feet and hugged each other.

  Violet smiled, and for the first time since John died, it felt genuine. “I want to show you something.” She picked up the mugs and led the way to the kitchen. Setting the mugs in the sink, she opened the cupboard and took down two floral bone china cups from the highest shelf.

  “How lovely!” Mary exclaimed.

  “Yes. They belonged to my Aunt Mabel, who raised me after my parents were killed.” Violet set them on the table. “When her house was repossessed after my uncle died, leaving us penniless, she managed to keep these. They remind me of happier times. That’s why I brought this set of six cups and saucers with me from Boston—the only thing of hers I kept.

  “The day my baby died, I broke one—deliberately dashed it to the floor. That day, I put the rest away and haven’t touched them since. Would you drink another cup of tea with me? This time, we’ll use these special china cups.”