The Soldier's Lady (31 page)

Emma turned toward him.

“You's callin' me . . . a
lady,
Mister Duff,” she said in a confused expression. “How kin you say dat? I ain't neber been called such a thing.”

“I believe you
are
a lady, Emma.”

Emma stared back in disbelief.

“You's always sayin' da mos' out er da way things, Mister Duff!” she said with a smile. “How's a body ter keep up wiff all da strange things you say? I knows I been baptized, an' I knows God loves me, an' I'm right grateful, but . . . me, a
lady!”

She set the dish towel down. Now Emma was embarrassed. She was afraid she might start babbling like she sometimes did, and say something she would regret.

“I's think I'll go upstairs an' hab myself a rest too,” she said, then walked from the kitchen.

Micah Duff was left alone at the table. Still he had not said what he had hoped to say.

G
IVE
M
E
J
ESUS

30

F
OR DAYS AFTER HER BAPTISM
E
MMA HAD BEEN
quiet, peaceful, the glow of changed life and self-acceptance radiating from her countenance.

God
loved
her!

The wonderful reality of that truth opened whole new worlds within her heart, as did the realization that all these friends in her Rosewood family loved her too. They did not just put up with her. They truly loved her. She was not an outcast; she was as much a part of this family as anyone else. They
valued
her. Every time the startling truth came back to her, a smile spread over her face.

Yet none of these changes were equal to the victorious new wonder that salvation brings in its wake of at last loving
herself.

How can one love one's neighbor as oneself if one despises who he is? Emma was now on the upward path of recognizing her true self as a child of God. For she had begun to recognize His gift to her, the goodness within her own being.

Except for her brief lapse in the kitchen when she had become nervous to find herself alone with Micah Duff and had started to talk too much, she had been almost silent for days. All these new personal revelations were so huge that even the sound of her own voice distracted her from the inner silence needed to absorb them. She needed time to be alone with God, alone with herself . . . to drink it all in.

Two days after the baptism she again went to the river. There she sat down and stared out at the place where Micah had baptized her.

She recalled his words:

“Then be baptized, Emma Tolan, in the name of your Father, who loves you, and His Son Jesus, who will now help you live as God's daughter.”

Quietly she began to hum.

It was an old tune . . . where had she learned it? She hardly knew where the words came from.

Give me Jesus . . .

From somewhere deep in her memory, slowly and mysteriously more words rose from within her and she began to sing, faintly at first, then with increasing power. Her heart seemed to rise on the wings of the old spiritual and carry her into lofty regions of praise to God for the new life flowering within her.

Give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus.

You may have all the world.

Give me Jesus.

For an hour her prayers and the soft singing of her voice were intermingled in quiet thankfulness and praise.

For the next several afternoons she went daily . . . to sit, to remember, and to pray.

Micah Duff did not leave Rosewood on the day he had planned. The business of his heart remained unfinished.

How exactly he intended to say good-bye without making the situation intolerable he did not know. But he could not depart this place without trying to find some meeting of minds between them, even if not a meeting of hearts. He would be haunted forever after, and would never be able to live with himself if he did not at least make the effort.

He had seen the changes in Emma and rejoiced in them. He had also observed her daily pilgrimages—for in their own way, her walks to the river truly were, though the distance was less than a mile.

Three days after their aborted talk in the kitchen, twenty or thirty minutes after he saw her disappear across the fields, Micah followed.

Even before he arrived in sight of the river, the soft high tones of Emma's voice, barely discernible yet with a crystal clarity such as he had never before imagined her capable of, floated out on the warm air to meet him.

“Give me Jesus . . .”

A surge went through Micah's heart. The words and haunting melody filled him with feelings as deep as those in Emma's heart prompting them. To see another human soul yield in humble acknowledgment to the loving Fatherhood of the universe was enough to bring the joy of heaven not only to the angels but to all fellow pilgrims who observe it. But there was more to the stirrings of his heart on this day than the new birth of Emma's spiritual being.
And in truth it had been building within him since the very day of his arrival.

Micah sat down on the bank some distance away and listened with growing reverence and awe. Whether Hawk Trumbull had been an angel appearing to him that night in Chicago, he didn't know. But this soft voice ringing out so pure and high was surely that of an angel in humble human form.

“Dark midnight was my cry,

Give me Jesus.

In the morning when I rise,

Give me Jesus.

And when I come to die,

Give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus.

Give me Jesus.

You may have all the world.

Give me Jesus.”

How long the two sat, he couldn't say. Time on love's clock runs at a slower pace.

He listened . . . at peace to be near her. She sat gazing out at the river . . . at peace too, but unaware that she was not alone.

After some time she stood, her heart quiet, and turned to walk back in the direction of the house. She had only taken a few steps before her gaze rose to the top of the bank where she saw him seated.

She stopped. She was too contented to be surprised. He was always turning up at the most unusual times. She had almost begun to expect it.

She stood a moment returning his gaze. She sensed instantly that there had been a change, but still did not suspect what it was. Then she smiled and walked up the slope toward him.

He waited. Emma sat down about ten feet away. Neither spoke for a long time. But neither was uncomfortable. At last Emma was at peace even in the presence of this one she judged her superior in every way. She was at peace in his presence, though strangely shy to glance toward him too readily. The secret of her feelings toward him was one she would never dare expose to anyone. Her heart was blossoming in many ways. But the flower of love was one whose fragrance she would conceal within the solitude of her own private world. No remote suggestion entered her mind of what lay as an aching burden on his heart to be so near her.

“That was beautiful, Emma,” said Micah at length. “I enjoyed listening to you sing very much. It was like listening to angels' praises. I hope you don't mind.”

“I don't mind, Mister Duff,” she replied softly, her eyes in her lap.

Again it was quiet.

“Are you happy here, Emma?” asked Micah.

“Oh yes. Dis is da best place I cud imagine, da best place I been in all my life. Especially now. I's happier den eber.”

“You would never leave Katie and Mayme?”

“No, I cudn't neber leave dem.”

A long silence followed.

“I, uh . . . have something to say to you, Emma,” said Micah at length. His voice was soft, different, unlike what she was accustomed to. It possessed none of his characteristic
confidence. He sounded almost timid to continue. “I don't . . . know exactly how to say it,” he haltingly went on, “but I . . . I want you to know how special this time has been for me . . . getting to know you, the talks we have had . . . sharing with each other about God and life . . . your asking me to baptize you. I want you to know that I will never forget any of it. I am so happy for the life you have here . . . with the others, with Katie and Mayme . . . and for your new walk with God.”

He drew in a deep breath, struggling not only to find the right words but also struggling to breathe.

“Dat all makes it soun' like you's fixin' ter go someplace, Mister Duff,” said Emma softly. “You almost soun' like you's—”

She stopped abruptly.

“Mister Duff, you's not leavin'!” she added. “Is you sayin' good-bye?”

She glanced up at him, her face full of terrible question. But Micah was looking down and did not see the expression on her face. If he had, it would have melted him on the spot.

“Yes—I, uh . . . I have been thinking,” he went on, picking absently at a tuft of grass, “that maybe it might be time for me to—”

“You can't leave, Mister Duff,” said Emma, cutting him off in an imploring voice that caught him off guard. “Everybody'd be sadder den dey cud be. Mayme an' Miz Katie, I know dere hearts wud break ef you wuz to leave.” Theirs were not exactly the hearts Micah was thinking about right then!

“I know it seems difficult,” he said, “which is the reason
I wanted to tell you first . . . why I had to tell you how . . . that you are more special to me, Emma, than—”

Emma again grew quiet. A sense began to steal over her that this was about more than a farewell between friends. The flower hidden in her own heart sent a sudden burst of perfume into her brain!

“. . . and that is why I . . . why I had to tell you . . .”

Micah began to falter.

“You know how much God loves you?”

Emma nodded.

“But . . . but it's more than that, Emma . . . and I . . . I . . .”

It was no use! He could not hold back the floodwaters. At last the dam burst.

“It is not only . . . God is not the only one who . . . that is . . . I . . . I love you too, Emma.”

Once the words left his lips, Micah knew that he
had
to say them all along.

A gasp escaped Emma's lips. Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes widened in astonishment.

Silent and exquisite thunder exploded within her. What were these unbelievable, terrifying, wonderful, incredible words she had just heard!

Speechless in stunned awe and shock, she did not even try to speak. Such a man . . . love
her!
She could not bring the two opposites together in her brain.

Yet even as she sat silent and still as a statue, her heart opened to receive the stupendous truth that she was loved by the best man she had ever met.

At last she found her voice, but her throat was very dry.

“Me?” she said faintly.

Micah rose and walked the few steps to where Emma was and sat down beside her. Emma heard the movement and felt his presence. She could not dare turn to face him.

Micah took her hand and clasped it in his own.

“I love you, Emma,” he whispered softly.

Emma closed her eyes, fighting to still the flood rising in her heart. Finally she opened her eyes and turned her head. Their eyes met, hers swimming in liquid incredulity, his aglow with love that had at last found expression.

“But . . . but how kin dis be?” she said, her voice barely audible. “You can't . . . but . . .” she struggled to continue. “You can't . . . mean dat you . . . you cudn't . . . love
me,
Mister Duff!” she finally managed to say. “
Me
. . . I's nobody . . . I's jes' Emma . . . what 'bout Mayme . . . or eben Miz Katie? I thought you an' Mayme . . .”

“What about her?”

“Isn't you . . .”

“What . . . do I fancy Mayme?” said Micah. “I love her and Jake as dear friends. But I saw how it was between them from the beginning. It is
you
I have loved since the first day I got here . . . from the moment when you and Jake walked in from chasing the cows . . . I saw something in you the first time I laid eyes on you . . . something special. I knew I loved you then. And when I took your hand and led you into the river and saw the radiant look on your face, that's when at last it broke upon me what I'd felt all along. And I knew I either had to tell you, or leave.”

Great tears fell from Emma's eyes. Slowly, summoning the courage of her new self-acceptance, she turned all the way toward him, hesitated but once briefly, then let his waiting arms enfold her in their embrace. She leaned her
head down and let it rest against his chest, then slowly spread her own arms around him where they sat.

The clock of love slowed yet more, and thus they remained for several long wonderful seconds.

“Oh, Mister Duff . . . you's some man!” said Emma as they gradually fell apart. “How you kin love someone like me, I don't even want ter ax why or how. Wiff Miz Katie an' Mayme jes' 'bout da two bes' girls dere eber wuz, how you cud say you love
me
. . . dat jes' be too much fo me ter understand. But ef dere's one thing you's taught me, it's ter accept da love dat's dere . . . so I reckon ef it's good enuff fo God, it ought ter be good enuff fo da love ob a man too. So I'll try ter believe what you say, though it's too good ter be true.”