A Quilt for Jenna (24 page)

I'm on the highway side of the pond. The cabin is across the pond and through those trees. There's a path by the big pine and through the gorse bushes. It's only about a quarter of a mile. I've got to find the path.

Jerusha stepped onto the ice. It was firm under her step. She leaned into the wind and started across the pond. Every step was nightmarish, every breath almost impossible to take. The wind seemed to be trying to snatch the air out of her lungs. Bitter cold clutched at her like hands of death. The ice was treacherous and slippery beneath her feet. Though it was frozen, she knew that there could be thin spots, and with the added weight of the little girl...no, she would not think about it.

Step-by-step she continued across. Once she heard a crack and stood in her tracks, holding her breath. Then she began again slowly.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she neared the opposite bank. The pond made a small inlet where the creek ran down to it. A dead tree had fallen into the inlet, and the ice had formed around it. The branches stuck up like dead fingers clutching at her from the grave.

As she made her way past the partially protruding log, she felt the ice give beneath her feet. The log had kept the water from freezing solid, and there was an unfrozen pocket of water just under the surface. With a loud crack the ice broke, and Jerusha plunged into the freezing water up to her knees. Carefully she laid the little girl on the ice and pushed her toward the bank. It was solid there, and the ice held. Then Jerusha stretched her upper body out flat on the ice and slowly lifted her right knee up over the edge. At first the edge of the ice broke off, but as she moved closer to the bank, it became thicker and stronger. When she could finally stretch her leg out on solid ice, she rolled over and lifted the other leg out of the water. She lay on the ice gasping for breath, soaked to her knees and numbed by the cold. She sat up, pulled off her galoshes, and emptied the water out. She pulled them back on, slowly stood up, took hold of the quilt, and dragged the unconscious girl to the bank. When she had the child out of danger, she picked her up and looked toward the forest ahead. But where was the path?

Please help me, Lord, or I will die right here. Give me the strength to save this little girl.

She began to walk toward the trees. She could feel the bottom of her coat and her dress beginning to freeze solid, making it difficult for her to move her legs. Ahead...surely the path was ahead among the trees. It just had to be.

At last she stepped through the trees marking the entrance to the forest. As she trudged ahead, an occasional branch whipped at her face. One branch caught on the quilt and tore it, sending a piece of the red silk to the snow. The wind whipped it away.

Another step. She looked ahead.
The gorse thicket. It's through here and down into the meadow, and beyond that...the cabin.

The thicket stood like an enemy, the branches bent by the wind like a row of bayonets. She forced her way through. The brush grabbed at the quilt and snagged it. Jerusha had to jerk the fabric to pull it free, and as she did she felt the material rip.

Exhausted, she lumbered on. The little girl lay still, a dead weight in her weary arms. Minutes later, Jerusha came out the other side of the thicket. The wind, howling like a banshee, tried to knock her down, but she gathered herself for one last push.

Then called I upon the name of the Lord; O Lord, I beseech thee, save me.

Step-by-step she crossed the meadow. There was the creek! And there, beyond the creek, the cabin. Jerusha held the little girl tightly and forced her way through the drifts of snow.

The back door...that's the way in. There is a broken latch and you just jiggle it...

She climbed up on the porch and made her way around to the side of the cabin, through a little covered walkway between the cabin and a small shed, and to the back door. She grasped the handle and shook it up and down while she pushed against it with all her weight. There was a click, and the door creaked open. She stumbled inside and closed the door behind her.

Jerusha collapsed on the floor, exhausted. It was wonderful to just be out of the wind and the snow, and she lay there for a moment breathing deeply. Then she felt a slight movement in her arms. The little girl. Jerusha roused herself.

I've got to find something that I can use to build a fire.

Jerusha gently laid the child down and then stood up and looked around. A couple of empty beer cans were lying in the corner. The inside walls of the old cabin were made of pine boards, and some pieces were torn off. A few of them were nailed together into a rough wooden table that stood by the front door. There were a few cracks in the floor, and any carpet or linoleum that had been in the house had long since disappeared. The day's last light was filtering through some small windows above the door, and it was rapidly growing dark. The rest of the windows were boarded over.

An old potbellied stove stood against the far wall, and next to it was a pile of sticks and pieces of wood. Someone had been here and left some dry firewood. Next to the stove was a low shelf made of two milk crates and one of the pine boards. On the shelf was a small candle in a saucer. Jerusha looked along the shelf. There, at the end of the board, she saw a book of matches.

Thank You! Thank You! Now what do I have to do? Think, Jerusha, fight the cold! Oh, Reuben, I wish you were here. You would start a fire so quickly. You made one for me the day we came here, before you left for the war. That day started out so beautifully and ended so badly. We lay by the fire on blankets, and you held me. You wanted me to marry you, to be yours forever...but I said no. I couldn't marry a man who wasn't baptized in the church. When you took me home that night I realized I might never see you again.

Jerusha put her face in her hands and wept.

I'm so sorry, Reuben, for everything...

“Jerusha! Wake up!”

Jerusha pulled herself together as much as she could. She was so cold she was shaking, and her feet and hands were numb. Her thoughts were wandering.

I'm going into shock
.
I've got to stop dreaming and start a fire. I've got to stay focused here, or we will both die!

Jerusha picked up some of the wood. There were some dry kindling-sized pieces, but there was no paper. There were only three or four matches left in the packet, so she had to find something that would catch and burn.

The quilt! I can use the padding to start the fire.

She started to tear the quilt open when she heard a voice in her head. It was angry and bitter and arrogant.

“
What are you doing? This quilt is your masterpiece. You're throwing away your only chance to get away, to start a new life. Are you insane?”

And then the gentle voice...

“
This little girl's life is at stake. You must do whatever it takes to save her.”

Jerusha remembered watching her father shape the boards for her grandmother's coffin and what he had said to her that day.

“
You have become well known for your skill, but you must always remember that Jesus is the vine and you are only the branch. Without Him you can do nothing. There may come a day when you must give all back to Him.
”

Is this the day that I give all back to You? But when You took Jenna, You took all I had. You gave me a beautiful child, and then You took her from me. I had a wonderful husband, and he's gone too. You stripped me of everything. I have nothing left except the quilt. Are You taking that from me too?

And then she heard the same voice that had spoken to her in the storm—deep, peaceful, and kind.

“
You still have Me
, dochter.”

Do I, Lord? Do I still have You?

“Jerusha! Start a fire—now!”

Jerusha struggled against the overwhelming drowsiness, her shivering, and her wandering thoughts and roused herself. She knew what she had to do. She pulled a corner of the quilt from around the little girl, grasped it firmly with both hands, and ripped it open. The thick padding layer was now exposed. She tore a piece from the padding and pulled it apart into strips. She opened the woodstove and laid the strips in a heap. Then she stacked a small pile of the kindling over the padding.

Why do I feel as if I'm killing something instead of saving someone?

She picked up the matches and held them close to the stove. There were only three left in the book. She pulled one out and struck it. It flared and then fizzled and went out. She took the second match and struck it. This one didn't even flare before the tip crumbled and dropped off. Jerusha could feel herself succumbing to the freezing cold from her wet clothing.

Please, help me!

She struck the last match, and it flared into life. Carefully she reached into the stove and lit the padding. It caught! As the small flame began to grow, Jerusha added more of the wood until the fire began to crackle and the light from the open stove door was dancing on the wall.

Quickly she pulled off her coat and her wet dress. She dragged the makeshift table in front of the fire and draped the dress over it to dry. Then she opened the remainder of the quilt and checked the little girl.

She looks about four years old. The same age as Jenna when...when she left me.

The girl's hair was damp and plastered to her face. Her skin was pale, and she was thin, almost emaciated. Jerusha checked her pulse. It was faint but beating.

I remember your pulse beating in your throat as I sat by the hospital bed, my darling Jenna. So faint, just a little tiny beat, and then I felt you go...

The little girl gave a slight cough, but she didn't awaken.

I've got to warm her up. She's going to die if she doesn't get warm.

Quickly Jerusha opened the little girl's coat and took off her damp dress and undergarments. The fire was beginning to give a little heat into the room, and she put one of the bigger pieces of wood on the fire. She could see the sides of the stove begin to turn red as it heated up. Then she pulled Henry's old blanket around her shoulders, opened her blouse and pulled the little girl next to her bare skin. She wrapped the blanket and quilt around them and sat down close to the stove. She felt the child's icy-cold body against hers, and her skin shrank from the cold. As fire generated more heat, she felt the warmth of her body begin to transfer to the little girl.

Just like when I held my baby Jenna in my arms, my life flowing into hers, my love pouring into my Jenna. Oh, my blessed girl...

As she held the little girl against her body and her life began to bring life to this lost little one, something in her heart that had been frozen and dead began to thaw. As the storm raged outside the old cabin, a spring of tears that had been held in check by the bitter walls of her self-imposed prison began to flow from her inner being and then from her eyes, and Jerusha cried and cried.

The Jepsons' cabin wasn't that far from Dalton, but with the storm raging it might as well have been a hundred miles away. Temperatures continued to plunge, and much of Ohio suffered power outages and road closures.

After finding Henry's deserted car, Bobby Halverson quit searching and drove home to his parents' house in Apple Creek. He pulled the tractor around to the back and put it into the barn. Then he walked wearily inside and slumped down at the kitchen table. His mother brought him some hot coffee and led him into the front room to sit by the fire.

Mark Knepp had returned to his house on the way back from Kidron Road and checked on the animals. Now he was sitting in front of his fire, but he wasn't sleeping. He was praying deeply and fervently for Jerusha, for Bobby, and for others who might be lost in the storm.