CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (25 page)
Pastor Kelly’s face beamed as he welcomed the large group to the little church. From my spot at the piano, I looked over the crowd, too, spotting many parents of our students. Much to my amazement, not only was Willie’s father there, but his uncle as well. The latter caught my eye and twitched his mustache in amusement before I quickly turned away.
We had only one calamity—apart from a few little mishaps, that is. When Ralph Conners, one of the shepherds from Wynn’s class, turned to leave the stage, his foot caught Joseph’s robe and toppled him right over before he could free his foot. Joseph’s crook, Mrs. Belasky’s cane, tumbled to the floor with a loud clatter, and Joey’s mother’s towel that he wore as a turban toppled off his head.
Joseph picked himself up, mumbling threats under his breath, plunked his headpiece haphazardly on his head partly covering one eye, and went on with his speech. The audience tittered a bit, but the play went on.
I enjoyed the evening. It was wonderful to be part of a Christmas celebration again.
As we had planned, after Christmas we started on our invitations to Wynn’s class members. We didn’t get quite the enthusiastic response we had gotten from my younger children. Still, we were pleased at the number of families who accepted our invitation to Sunday dinner.
The last family belonged to Henry “Rabid” Myers. Again we discussed what we should do. I took a deep breath.
“Well,” I said, “the Lord Jesus loves Henry too. We invited the families of all the others—I guess that means Henry’s family, too.”
“That means twelve people, Elizabeth.”
I nodded.
“Twelve big people.”
I sighed.
“Twelve, big, mean people,” teased Wynn.
“Oh, Wynn,” I wailed, “don’t make it any worse than it is. I’m scared enough already.”
“You don’t have to do it,” reminded Wynn.
“I think we should.”
“Okay. Then I’ll give you all the help I can.”
So the invitation went out to the entire Myers family, and I held my breath wondering what would happen.
Henry brought the answer the following Sunday. It was not on paper—it was by word of mouth. They said, “Sure.”
Oh, my, I thought.
Oh, my.
Oh, my.
And then I reminded myself I had served nearly that many day after day around an open fire at the camp. I had had only vegetables and wild meat to do it with too. Why did “civilization” make things seem so much more difficult? I began planning my dinner.
I was determined to have plenty to eat—it might not be fancy, but there would be enough. I could not imagine anything more embarrassing than to have all those hearty appetites and not enough food. I dug out my largest kettle, had Wynn bring home some even bigger ones from the Force supply room and cooked in great quantities.
I had planned for twelve, the ten children who were reportedly still living at home and two parents, but when they arrived there were only ten. They all looked rather young so I assumed that the father and mother had not been able to make it.
“I’m sorry your father and mother were unable to come,” I said to the girl who stood closest to me.
“Ma’s been dead and gone fer years,” she informed me with no seeming emotion. “Pa wasn’t feeling up to it—”
“Got hisself too drunk last night,” cut in one of the boys. “Can’t even walk this mornin’.”
He laughed, obviously thinking it a great joke.
“Sure smells good,” said one of the others.
With a bit of doing, we got them all around the table. Wynn had warned me that we might have some trouble holding them back while we said the blessing, so I had planned ahead. I didn’t put the food on the table. But my strategy didn’t work too well. They looked around the table the moment they were seated, and then one fellow cried out, “Lizzie, get on up and make yerself useful. Food’s not on yet.”
We did manage to have prayer, and then all dug in. Now and then during the meal someone would say some snapping remark to one of the other ones. I was afraid at one point that a fight might break out over who was to get the first dibs on a third serving of potatoes, but they got it worked out someway and the meal went on.
When they had finished they got up, wiped their mouths on already dirty sleeves and headed for the door. There was nothing said about the meal, except for one girl who stopped momentarily and said, “Pa’s sure gonna be some mad he missed it.” Then with a chuckle among themselves, they left us.
Henry stood at the door for just a moment, looking ill at ease and confused and then he hurried after them.
I washed all the dirty dishes, scrubbed at the mammoth pots and tidied up the kitchen. There wasn’t too much food left to put away—hardly enough to make a meal for Wynn and me the next day.
Wynn was taking apart our makeshift extension to the table as I finished the last of the kitchen chores. I took my leftover vegetables and meat to the shelf in the porch that acted as my cold storage.
Well, at least I have an extra pumpkin pie,
I told myself. With a total of only twelve rather than fourteen for dinner, I had cut only three of the four. We would enjoy the pumpkin pie the next day.
I told myself. With a total of only twelve rather than fourteen for dinner, I had cut only three of the four. We would enjoy the pumpkin pie the next day.
I placed the dishes of leftover food on the shelf, my mind still on that tasty pie. In fact, I was tempted to cut just a sliver and have it with coffee. I figured I had earned it after serving so many and doing all those dirty dishes.
I looked about in unbelief. My pie was nowhere to be seen. And then the truth hit me like a blow.
“Wynn,” I cried out, “those Myers have stolen my pie!”
Three days later the word came through the police office. The Myers had left town. A number of small items that had belonged to neighbors and businesses seemed to have left town along with them.
My heart ached for Henry. What chance was the boy to have? I prayed earnestly for him. At first he might have attended Wynn’s class because he heard about the hikes and the canoe trips and the fishing, but I had hoped that he now came out of respect for Wynn. He knew that Wynn cared about him—perhaps the first person in his life who truly did.
Two nights later we were reading on one of those rare quiet evenings at home when there was a knock on our door. Wynn went to answer it and much to his amazement, Henry stood outside, shivering in the frigid night air.
Wynn hurried him in and I busied myself finding the boy something to eat. We asked no questions, but after Henry had eaten, he picked up his thin coat, mumbled his thanks, and headed for our door.
“Where are you going?” Wynn asked.
He hesitated to answer. Wynn decided to take another approach.
“I understood all your family had left town. Did they come back?”
He just shook his head.
He just shook his head.
“How did you get back then?” Wynn asked him.
He looked down uncomfortably and picked at the sleeve of his coat. “I didn’t go,” he finally offered. “When they said that they were goin’, I ran out an’ hid. They called around for a while an’ then they just gave up an’ left without me.”
“So you are alone?”
He nodded.
“Where are you staying?”
“I was gonna stay in the house, but today some guys came an’ boarded it all up, an’ I can’t get in.”
“So you have no place?”
“I’ll make out,” he said, suddenly taking on a tough stance.
Wynn looked at me across the head of the young boy and I nodded in agreement.
“Tell you what,” Wynn said, “we have that extra bedroom with no one in it. Why don’t you just stay here?”
Henry looked too frightened to even talk.
“’Course,” said Wynn, “we’d expect you to work for your board. You’d need to carry wood and haul water. We’d also expect you to go to school every day.”
The boy still said nothing.
“In return, you’d get your clothes and your meals. Mrs. Delaney is a pretty good cook. Is it a deal?” asked Wynn.
Henry shuffled his feet. I had the feeling he was trying hard to keep a smile from appearing.
“Guess so,” he answered.
“Might as well take your coat off and pull up to the fire then. Maybe we could talk Mrs. Delaney into making some popcorn.”
The grin finally came in spite of Henry’s reluctance.
THIRTY-ONE
Answers
At first it seemed strange to have a young boy in the house. There were many things to do. Wynn had to report the whereabouts of the child and seek temporary legal custody so we could keep him.
I had to shop for clothes and make arrangements at the local school for consultation to determine the grade in which he should be placed. His attendance had been so sporadic before that they had not even attempted to place him.
I worked with him in the evenings to help him catch up to his age group, but even though he was bright enough and we worked hard, I knew it would be some time before he was where he should have been.
He loved Kip and coaxed to have the dog share his room. As Kip was used to being in the house in the cold winter, I gave in rather readily. I did insist that Kip’s place be on the rug beside the bed rather than on the bed, and when we checked the room at night after the two had retired, Henry always slept with one hand resting on the dog, his fingers curled in the heavy fur.
He was quick to learn his assigned tasks and thankfully proved not to be lazy. He carried wood and water with no prompting from me, and even looked for additional jobs to do, knowing that it would bring our praise.
The calendar was quickly using up the winter months, and I looked forward to spring with mixed emotions. I knew it could mean we would be returning to the village. I longed to go. I missed our Indian friends. I had been praying daily that God would somehow open the door so we could return and help to share the good news of Christ’s coming to earth to live and die for mankind.
How can they believe on Him in whom they have not heard,
I kept asking myself? How could they know that the evil they feared could be overcome through acceptance of God’s great plan of salvation?
How can they believe on Him in whom they have not heard,
I kept asking myself? How could they know that the evil they feared could be overcome through acceptance of God’s great plan of salvation?
. And yet when I thought about going back to the Indian people, I also thought of my Sunday school class. They, too, needed to know about Christ and His love. I thought about Willie’s father who had lived in deep bitterness for so many years and now appeared to be slowly moving out of his self-exile. I thought about Wynn’s boys and their need of making that personal commitment to the Lord Jesus. If we went, would there be anyone to teach them?
But more than all that, I thought about Henry, our little deserted waif. Who would care for Henry?
Wynn and I talked about it many times, but with no conclusion. We kept putting it off. I don’t think either of us wanted to face the thought of giving up the boy. It was so much easier to push the decision off into the future.
At last, one mid-April day when the spring sun was pouring its warmth upon the hillsides, causing little rivulets to run trickling toward the groaning Athabasca River as it tried to free itself from her winter ice, we knew we needed to face squarely the question: What about Henry?
“He’s trying so hard and he has come so far,” I maintained.
Wynn agreed, though we both knew Henry still had many things to work through.
“I’m afraid if he faces another change right now, he might regress,” I continued.
“Do you suppose Stephen’s folks would take him?” proposed Wynn.
“They are a fine young couple, but I’m not sure they can handle their own,” I stated quite honestly. “I feel that the girls are totally undisciplined. Henry still needs a very strong hand, and Stephen’s father doesn’t get involved at all, and his mother is not able to follow through.”
“You’re right,” Wynn agreed. “That is exactly the way I see them.”
“What about the Kellys?” I asked.
“Do you think that would be fair? After all, they are not young anymore. They are looking forward to retirement—not raising another family.”
“I suppose it would be an imposition,” I reluctantly agreed.
“I wonder if Phillip and Lydia would take him?” pondered Wynn.
“Don’t forget they have added another two young ones to their own family in the last few years,” I reminded him. “Lydia might have all that she can handle.” I paused for a moment and then said thoughtfully, “Do you suppose Jon and Mary might be willing—?”
“I don’t think Henry would like city life at all. He wouldn’t fit in there. The school system—William and his friends? It would be a very difficult adjustment.”
“Wynn,” I said, “couldn’t we take him with us to the village?”
“What about his education?”
“I could get the books and teach him.”
“Yes, I suppose you could. But do you really think it would be the best for him? I mean, he wouldn’t know the language, wouldn’t fit in with the other boys. I think he needs more support than that, Elizabeth. And you know how much I need to be gone. You’d have so much of the care of him.”
Other books
A Cast of Vultures by Judith Flanders
Lavender Hill by P. J. Garland
Somewhere My Lass by Beth Trissel
Toby's Room by Pat Barker
Wash by Lexy Timms
B0040702LQ EBOK by Margaret Jull Costa;Annella McDermott
Junkie Love by Phil Shoenfelt
A Stir of Echoes by Richard Matheson
