Forever by Your Side

by Tracie Peterson

  “I know. That’s why I’m determined to help Tom prove your innocence.” Connie reached over and gave her father’s arm a pat. “Papa, we know how much you love the people here. Tom and I will do all we can.”

  Her mother hung her head. “I just can’t understand why they would accuse us without even coming to talk to us.”

  Connie felt bad for them both. They were so secluded and hidden away from the games and nonsense that went on elsewhere. Until recently, they’d had no idea they were at the center of such a large conflict.

  “Are other reservations involved?” Papa asked.

  “Warm Springs and Siletz are a part of it too. The government thinks there may be others. The thought is that whoever has planned this wanted all the reservations to rise up at once. It will make for massive destruction and many lives lost. The ultimate goal is to cause such damage that the white population will demand the Indians be removed to an even more remote location. There was even talk about sending them to the new lands purchased in the far north.”

  “Seward’s Folly,” Papa murmured.

  “Yes. There are already Native people there, and it has been suggested that it might be a good place to put all of them.”

  “Does no one understand or even care that each tribe has its own desired location?” Papa asked. “It’s been bad enough to see them separated from their original homelands and forced onto reservations, but the idea of completely removing them to some desolate region that they’re ill-prepared to deal with is appalling.”

  “If we can stop the uprising from happening, there will be no reason to remove them.” Connie heard Tom and Clint talking as they came into the house and didn’t want to risk being overheard. She put her finger to her lips. “Hopefully Tom and I will get it all figured out. Things will be different.”

  “Did I hear that something is different?” Clint asked as he and Tom came into the room.

  Connie hoped that was all he’d overheard. “Yes. Things are so different here at the reservation. The storm really did a lot of damage. I’m surprised you haven’t done more to see it restored.”

  Clint frowned and sat down at the table uninvited. “A person can only accomplish so much. Your father understands that. The Indian Legislature has done what it can to work with the people to restore the lumber mill, but it was in disrepair, and it will take money to get it working again. Unfortunately, none of the tribal people seem to want to put the time and effort into it.”

  Connie remembered, years earlier, when the mill had worked perfectly and made a tidy profit. Unfortunately, the Indian agent at the time had violated the agreement and taken the profits. He later apologized, saying it was all a misunderstanding, but the damage was done. Connie was certain the money was never returned. It was little wonder the people had no heart for working the mill.

  “It’s a pity we aren’t closer to Uncle Alex’s lumber mills. I’m sure he would help make things right. I wonder if there’s someone we can contact about the matter. Someone who actually cares.”

  “Connie.” Her father’s disapproving tone let her know she’d crossed a line.

  “I’m doing my best,” Clint said, looking wounded.

  Connie knew she’d hurt him. She didn’t know why she felt so harsh toward him. Certainly, part of it was based on the past. Maybe all of it was. She hated the way he’d made fun of her when they’d first met in Portland, and she hated that he’d let her mother and father be blamed for something he knew they had no part in. Of course, there was the possibility that Clint knew nothing of the accusations. After all, she hadn’t had time to ask her father what, if anything, he and Clint had discussed about the situation.

  It was only then that she realized she was very angry with Clint. She didn’t feel at all like showing him grace, and a sense of guilt begin to rise within her. She needed to show kindness—to forgive the past and move forward. Her attitude was completely uncalled for. Just because a godly young man who worked with her father had spurned her romantic notions was no call to be ugly.

  “I’m sorry.” She barely breathed the words, but at least she meant them. “I’m just frustrated that things look so bad. I suppose it could always be worse, and I know the storm wasn’t your fault, Clint.”

  He met her eyes and smiled. “I probably had it coming. I’ve been rather discouraged with the way things have gone. You can ask your father. We’ve talked about it on more than one occasion.”

  “We have, and no doubt will again,” Connie’s father declared. He looked at Connie’s mother.

  “Well, I need to get back to work.” Clint smiled and headed for the door.

  “Clint, you will join us for supper, won’t you?” Connie’s mother asked.

  He glanced over his shoulder with a smile. “I’d like that, Mrs. Browning.”

  “Wonderful. We’ll sit down at six.”

  Connie helped her mother with kitchen chores while her father and Tom got better acquainted. Later, while supper simmered on the stove, she made her way outside and filled Tom in on what she’d discussed with her folks. He reciprocated, telling her what he and Clint had discussed. His words seemed guarded, however, and Connie couldn’t understand what was going on with him. They had retired to the small front porch, and Connie was determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.

  “What’s wrong? You haven’t been yourself all day.”

  Tom shrugged. “I’ve just stepped into an investigation that could see your folks imprisoned. This area is new to me, and I’m burdened with the fact that the Indian people here might never accept me, to name just a few things.”

  She leaned against the porch rail. “Is that all?”

  He laughed. “Isn’t it enough?”

  Connie considered that a moment. “I just feel like there’s a wall between us. Are you just tired, or have I offended you?”

  “I’m not offended. Just curious.”

  She frowned. “About what?”

  “You never told your folks that I was an atheist.”

  Connie shrugged. “I figured it was yours to tell.”

  “You know we used to have conversations about God, but then you stopped sharing your beliefs. Why was that?”

  Guilt oozed from the places she’d stuffed it. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to hurt your feelings or destroy our friendship.”

  “And you thought it would?”

  Connie looked away, unable to bear his gaze. “I’m not sure what I thought. I knew you felt the way you did and that I would probably never convince you otherwise. It bothered me so much that you didn’t believe in God.”

  “Then why didn’t you just say that?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do.” His tone was accusing.

  Connie had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. She knew exactly why she had stopped talking about God and the Bible—why she hadn’t continued to encourage Tom to believe in God.

  “Connie?”

  She forced herself to look at him. “Some of the things you were saying scared me. My own faith wasn’t very strong—in fact, I really hadn’t made it my own. I was still relying on my mother and father’s faith. I knew I needed to focus on building my own beliefs and knowing God better, or . . .” She stopped, uncertain she could or should explain.

  “Or what?” He put his hand on her arm. “Connie, we’re too good of friends for you not to know you can be honest with me.”

  “I know. But this . . . well, it wasn’t about you, Tom. It was about me. The things you were saying about why you didn’t believe in God were starting to make sense.” She paused long enough to swallow the lump in her throat. “I wasn’t strong enough in my faith. I stopped talking to you about it because I was afraid that I would start to think like you did. I was already so bitter about what had happened with Clint. Not only that, but I missed my home and family. I was scared, and when I talked to Aunt Phinny, she suggested I not talk to you about issues of faith for a time. And aft
er a while, it just didn’t seem that important. We always had other things to talk about.”

  Tom folded his arms. “I never considered that I was swaying you to forget your own faith.”

  “But don’t you see, it wasn’t really my faith. It was what I’d been raised to believe. It was the teachings I’d been given, but I had to come to know God for myself. And I do now.”

  He smiled ever so slightly. “Does that mean you’ll talk to me again about my beliefs? Will you try to get me into heaven?”

  She wasn’t at all sure what to say. A part of her wanted to beg him to believe in God and the Bible. “I will always be willing to talk to you about what I believe, but I think maybe this time it’s more important for you to worry about what you believe and why. I think you should talk to my father. As you’ve seen, he won’t condemn you, and you will probably find it a very interesting conversation.”

  “I’m sure I will.” He looked like he might say something else but didn’t. He got to his feet. “I’m heading up to my room for a quick nap before supper. I think everything has caught up with me.” He smiled. “Are we still friends?”

  She nodded. “You will always be my best friend, Tom. No matter what.”

  “What about your husband?”

  Connie frowned. “What husband?”

  Tom chuckled. “What will you do when you finally marry? As a man, I know I wouldn’t want my wife calling another man her best friend.”

  She shrugged. “Then I guess I won’t ever get married.”

  He gave her a look she couldn’t interpret, then turned and left without a word.

  Connie felt a deep sadness that she couldn’t understand. She let Tom go without further prying and took a seat in her mother’s favorite rocking chair. Why did all of this with Tom bother her so much?

  “Why should it bother me?” she murmured. “Foolish woman, why shouldn’t it bother you?”

  Without Christ as his Savior, Tom would die and be forever separated from God. How could she just ignore that? Just yesterday she had been reading her Bible about the rich man and Lazarus. Chapter sixteen of Luke made it very clear that heaven and hell were real places. The rich man begged for help, first for water and then for Lazarus to be sent to warn his five brothers about hell.

  Abraham saith unto him, They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them. And he said, Nay, father Abraham: but if one went unto them from the dead, they will repent. And he said unto him, If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.

  She stared for a moment at the words. Jesus was the One who rose from the dead, and still people denied He could save them from torment and hell. Tom denied it. Tears came to her eyes. He was her dearest friend in all the world, and despite this, she hadn’t wanted to upset him with the truth or risk the possibility of losing his friendship.

  “But unless he believes in Jesus, he will be lost for all eternity.”

  Chapter 8

  Connie awoke early the following morning. Tom was uppermost on her mind as she dressed. He was at the forefront of her thoughts as she helped her mother with breakfast. Then, as they sat down to morning devotions and breakfast, there he was again—this time in the flesh.

  Papa opened his Bible and prayed over the meal, then began to discuss Psalm 27. “This passage is one of my favorites,” he said. “‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?’” He continued to read, although Connie found it hard to focus. She couldn’t help but wonder what Tom was thinking. Did the words make any sense to him? Could he relate even in part?

  “‘When thou saidst, Seek ye my face; my heart said unto thee, Thy face, Lord, will I seek. Hide not thy face far from me; put not thy servant away in anger: thou hast been my help; leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation.’”

  Connie wondered why her father had chosen this particular passage. The chapter was actually one of her favorites, but she didn’t see it as one to teach someone about the reality of God.

  When Papa finished reading, he closed the Bible and smiled at his family. “I’ve always loved that chapter. We have many fears in life, but we needn’t be afraid, for the Lord is our light and salvation—He is the strength of my life. I was especially thinking of the last part.” He began to quote it from memory. “‘Deliver me not over unto the will of mine enemies: for false witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out cruelty. I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord.’ You know, with all those who are plotting against us, I find great comfort in this verse. I am determined to wait on the Lord and be of good courage. I wanted to share this so that you might be of good courage as well. No matter what happens to come our way—accusations or suspicions—I will wait on the Lord. Let’s pray.”

  As her father began to pray, Connie was disappointed. He’d said nothing to Tom about his unbelief. Perhaps he planned to talk to him privately. Maybe he felt it would be too embarrassing to point out Tom’s flawed thinking in the company of all.

  After breakfast, Tom volunteered to help Mama with the dishes, so Connie decided to go see her old friend Rosy. She knew it probably wasn’t the best of ideas to go off alone, but Rosy lived fairly close by.

  Rosy had been born with a Shasta Indian name that translated to Flower Blooming in the Summer Sun. When English names had been imposed, Connie’s mother had told her that roses typically bloomed in the summer. Because of that, Rosy had taken on the name Rose Johnson, but everyone called her Rosy.

  Life for Rosy had never been easy. She had endured the long march from the southern border of Oregon to Grand Ronde in the north with her husband and three children back in the ’50s. She had been expecting another baby at the time but lost him on the hard and difficult trail. Two children had also died on the trip. Rosy had been heartbroken, her husband too, but the soldiers wouldn’t give them time to perform decent funerals or to grieve. The bodies were hastily buried, and the Indians were moved on ever closer to the reservation.

  Rosy had told Connie of how her husband died only a month after reaching Grand Ronde and how her only surviving child—a son—had been shot by soldiers when he attempted to leave the reservation with a group of his friends. They had hoped to reach Canada and a new life without imprisonment. Instead, the five young men had been killed, and Rosy’s heartbreak was complete.

  Connie couldn’t imagine the pain the old woman had suffered. She had often talked with Mama about looking forward to heaven, where she was certain she would see her loved ones again. Life on earth was nothing more than a reminder of loss and pain.

  Rosy lived inside the reservation’s boundaries but not far from Connie’s parents. She had a tiny one-room house with two windows. Both were covered with oilcloth, but once there had been glass. Outside, Connie saw a well-tended garden. She knew Rosy used to sell vegetables to the store, which in turn gave her credit to buy things she couldn’t grow. Hopefully that arrangement was still in place.

  To the left of the house was a pump. Papa had dug that well for Rosy. Connie had been told the story since she was very little. Shortly after her husband died, Rosy had befriended Mama. When others from her tribe heard about this, they shunned Rosy for having anything to do with white people.

  The women brought their water up from the river, but if Rosy tried to go with them, the other women would often pick fights with her, so she would wait and go alone. There was no one for her to talk to. No one to help her if she couldn’t manage the pails. Mama told her husband what was going on, and he agreed to single-handedly dig Rosy a well.

  Over the years, the shunning ended as Rosy’s trust encouraged others to believe that Adam and Mercy were worthy of their friendship. After a time, Rosy and many others came to believe in Christ. The story always reminded Connie of the woman at
the well in the gospel of John, chapter four. She too had been outcast, but one day she met Jesus and then invited her people to come meet a man who had told her everything she had ever done. And they came, and many believed.

  Connie started to knock on the door of Rosy’s house, but she heard someone humming and followed the sound around the side of the house. There she found Rosy bent over a large rosebush.

  “Good morning, Rosy.”

  The old woman straightened and turned to Connie, who grinned from ear to ear.

  “Little Connie.” Rosy came to where Connie stood. “You are all grown up.”

  “I am.” She laughed. “Finally. I sometimes thought I would never be an adult.”

  Rosy chuckled. “When you are as old as I am, you will wonder why you were in such a hurry.”

  They embraced, and Connie found it hard to drop her hold. She’d missed her friend. “How are you doing? I feel like it’s been forever since we talked.”

  “To me it was just yesterday,” Rosy replied. “Come inside, and we’ll have tea.”

  Connie followed Rosy into the house. Rosy quickly lit a lamp, then went to the stove to check the metal teakettle.

  “I put the water on before I went to check on the roses.” She smiled. “I hoped you’d come.”

  “I wanted to come yesterday, but I was much too tired. Now, after a good night’s sleep, I figure we can have a nice long visit without you having to wake me up.”

  Rosy smiled and poured hot water into a ceramic teapot. Connie glanced around the house. It was a single room. Rosy’s bed was in one corner, the kitchen in the other. A small bookcase held various books and basket projects Rosy was making. Connie remembered Rosy telling her stories about weaving baskets with her mother and grandmother. They were precious memories for the woman who had no remaining family.