Dawn of a New Day (14 page)

“It's going to get worse than that, I'm afraid. That ACLU is the worst thing that ever happened to America. They're for liberty for anybody who's godless and hates righteousness.”

They found Richard inside preparing to go out and preach on the streets. He was wearing typical California laid-back clothes and looked thin but healthy. He greeted them warmly, then insisted they come with him.

Prudence had never seen any such thing as street preaching, but when they got there several of Richard's co-workers began to sing, accompanying themselves with guitars. Where they came from, Prue didn't know, but a crowd gathered, most of them dirty and rough looking, indeed. When Richard got up to preach, she could see little effect, but it did not bother him. He preached as if he were in Madison Square Garden.

When the sermon was over, many of the street people stayed for prayer, although some mocked and laughed. Prue watched as Richard and his wife, Laurel, prayed with a prostitute who was so eaten up by drugs that she could do nothing but sob. Finally Richard came over and said, “We're taking Eileen home with us to stay at the shelter for a while.”

“Do you think you can help her?”

“Jesus can,” Richard said. He asked about Bobby, and listened to their report with pain in his eyes. “It kills me to see him going down the drain the way he is. All the money he makes has blinded him. And that Hollywood glitter, it's destroyed so many people.” Tears came into his eyes, and he said, “I guess I've prayed a million prayers for my brother, and I'll pray a million more, but somehow God's going to come through on him.”

Prue's time in California sped by quickly, and to her surprise, she enjoyed the Republican Convention. Mark was there explaining what it all meant, and to her shock, she was introduced by Mark to the candidate himself. “Mr. Reagan, this is a fine young Republican from Arkansas.”

Reagan's eyes crinkled, and he extended his hand; somehow Prue felt that he had closed all the rest of the world out and was looking only at her. After asking which part of Arkansas she came from, he said, “Oh yes. I've been at Jasper. Floated the Buffalo River once. Beautiful country! Arkansas produces the best-looking young ladies in the country, I always say.”

Afterward Mark said, “Boy, he sure got your vote, didn't he?”

“He's so—so natural, Mark. Why, he's just like anybody else. Not like a big movie star or a politician at all.”

“You know, I think you're right, and he's going to beat some folks bad, although nobody much believes it. Ronald Reagan may not have been the greatest movie star in the world, but I've got an idea he's going to turn America around someday.”

Finally, on June the third, after Prue had bid Lylah farewell, she was standing in the airport saying good-bye to Mark. She was tired, for he had kept her going every minute, but now she was saddened, and something about her silence showed it.

“You hate to leave the big city, Prue?” Mark asked.

“It's just—well, I don't know what I'm going to do, Mark. I'm not really fit for anything. I don't have a life.”

“Don't be silly! As for being fit for something, you can cook, and clean house, and make a man feel good when he's low. You can be a wife, and that's the biggest job a woman can have.”

“Do you really think so, Mark?”

“Sure, I think so.” A voice said, “Flight 426! Last call for boarding!” and he reached out and hugged her, whispering in her ear, “It's been swell. I wish I could go back with you, but I have to cover the convention. I'll be coming down your way before you know it.” Then he kissed her on the cheek and stepped back.

Prue walked back on the plane sadly, the thrill of flying gone. She knew that somehow the business and excitement of Los Angeles had affected her, and although she loved the farm, and the woods, and her pets, still she saw nothing in the future. A pang came to her as she realized that even Kent Maxwell was gone now, and he had played a big part in her life. As the plane sailed over the fleecy clouds, she sat back and closed her eyes, wondering what in the world she would do with herself for the rest of her life.

F
or a week after Prue arrived back home, she was troubled with echoes of the exciting world of Los Angeles that she had experienced. Her parents noticed that she was quieter, but neither of them mentioned it. They knew she was worried about what she would do for a job and was dreading taking a minimum wage job at a fast-food place, which seemed to be all that was available.

On Monday morning she got a call that surprised her. “Hello, Prue. This is Kent.”

Instantly Prue's heart felt a sudden impulse of gladness. “I thought you had gone back to Chicago.”

“I am going back, but I need to get the house cleaned up. I like to leave things neat. Could you come over and help me today?”

“Oh yes! I'll be over by ten o'clock.”

She hung up and told her mother she was going to help Maxwell clean house. She was about to leave when she suddenly remembered she had promised Pearl and her daughter, Melody, that she would bring the portrait she had done of them. She had touched it up a little bit, and though not satisfied with it, knew she could do no more. Wrapping it and sticking it into an oversized shopping bag, she left the house and jumped into the old Pontiac. She stopped by Pearl's house, but no one was there, and the front door was locked.

“I'd better not leave it on the steps. Someone might take it,” she said to herself. Going back to the car, she put it in the front seat, made her way to Kent Maxwell's, and got out at once. One of the car windows was jammed in the open position, and she was afraid that the storm clouds that were coming in from the south might bring rain. Picking up the picture, she went inside the house and laid it right beside the front door.

“Prue, is that you?” Maxwell came from down the hall and put out his hand. When she took it, he said, “How was your trip to L.A.?”

“Oh, it was fun. I got to see a lot of things.”

Maxwell noticed that she looked listless, which was unusual for her.
Some trouble,
he thought.
She's just not herself
. Aloud he said, “Well, let's see if we can get this house cleaned up. My plane leaves tomorrow at one fifteen.”

Prue worked hard that morning cleaning the house, stopping at one o'clock to fix lunch. They sat down to eat it, and he said, “We'll pack up all these groceries so you can take them home with you. I don't think I can take them on the airplane.”

“All right.”

Kent leaned back in his chair and studied her. “What's wrong, Prue?” he asked. “You look so sad.”

“Oh, it's nothing. I just don't know what to do with myself.”

“I think we get that way after we get something we've looked forward to for a long time. For you it was graduation. For years you looked forward to it, and now it's over, and you feel sort of empty and don't know what to do.”

“Why, that's right! How did you know that?”

Kent lowered his head and studied the slice of pie in front of him. He did not answer for so long that she thought he did not intend to. Finally he said, “I've never told you about myself, have I?”

“No. You haven't.”

“All my life I looked forward to having a home and a career. I got the career, but then I didn't get the home.”

“What happened, Kent?”

“Before I went to Korea I married a young woman. While I was over there she found somebody else, and I guess—” He stopped abruptly and shook his head. “Not too original, is it?”

“I'm sorry, Kent.” Prue reached over and put her hand on his. “I really am, but you'll find someone.”

Kent looked at her hand, feeling its warm pressure, lifted his eyes, and saw the genuine compassion in her face. “You're a sweet girl, Prudence,” he said. He started to say more, then apparently changed his mind. “Now, let's finish getting this house cleaned up, and then I'll take you out and we'll have a party celebrating the good things that are going to come to you.”

“All right.” Prue rose and began to clean the dishes. Kent left and walked down the hall. He turned to go up the stairs when an object caught his eye, a canvas shopping bag beside the front door. He turned with his limping gait, curious, and walked over, thinking it might be one of his paintings, but he did not remember putting it there. He picked it up, held it for a minute, then muttered, “Why, this must be Prue's.” It was obviously a painting, and curiosity came to him. Glancing down the hall and not seeing Prue, he slipped the pad out of the bag and stood there staring at it in astonishment.

The painting was not perfect, but as he stared at it he felt the power, and the warmth, and the humanity of it. An Ozark woman and her daughter were smiling out at him, and in their faces he could see both the fear of the poverty that was reflected in the shack outlined behind them and the hope in the woman's eyes for something better for her little girl.

For a long time Kent Maxwell stood there simply looking at the picture, his eyes soaking it in; then, taking it up, he turned and hobbled down the hall, his cane tapping on the floor. When he stepped inside the kitchen and Prue turned from the sink where she was washing dishes, he held up the painting and said, “Who did this, Prue?”

Prue turned slightly pale. She dropped her head and stared at the floor, and when she finally looked up there was fear in her eyes. “I–I did.”

“I thought it might be that way.” Kent stood there taking the girl's features in and seeing the panic in her eyes. “You should have told me that you were an artist, Prue.”

“Oh, I'm no artist!”

“You're wrong about that.” Kent looked at the picture and studied it for a long time, then he looked up and smiled. “I've had students who have studied for ten years that couldn't do it this well. You've got something in you that God put there. Something that I couldn't teach you.”

Prue was staring at the man with astonishment. Her lips were parted slightly, and she shook her head in disbelief. “I've never had a lesson in my life.”

“I know. It shows in some of the things I see, but they are things that can be learned. But the life, the vigor, and the vitality of what you've done here. Prue, you've got to come with me to Chicago.”

“What?”

“I can get you a scholarship at the institute where I teach. You have relatives there, don't you?”

“Yes, I do. But you can't be serious, Kent. I've never gotten good grades.”

“That doesn't matter. Do you have any more paintings?”

“Oh yes. I've got lots of them.”

“Where are they?”

“At home in my room.”

“What do your parents think about your painting?”

“Oh, they don't know about it. They know I draw and paint a little, but I never show them anything very much.”

“Come on. We're going to see them right now.”

Prue never remembered much of the interview with her parents. She took Maxwell to her home, and he simply took over. When Prue took him to her room and unlocked the armoire, he almost shouldered her aside and began to pull the paintings and drawings out. “Help me arrange these around the room where I can look at them all!” he commanded, and soon her room was filled with paintings, and her mother and father who had come in were staring at them, amazed.

“Why, we didn't know you could paint like this, Prue!” Dent said with reproach. “How come you never told us?”

“I didn't think they were that good, and besides—” She could not finish, for the paintings had been her private life, and she felt ashamed at having kept this away from her parents.

Kent understood, however, and said gently, “It's all right, Prue. I know a little bit about that. Sometimes we just can't share things with others.” He turned to Violet and Dent and said, “You know I teach at the Institute of Art in Chicago. You can check on my credentials, but I want to tell you that in all my years of teaching I've never had a student with the promise that Prudence has. With a few years of hard study, she could be a great success in the world of painting. I can get her a scholarship so that it wouldn't cost anything except her living expenses, and I understand you have relatives there, so she wouldn't be alone.”

The conference did not last long. Dent and Violet listened to Maxwell as he explained what it would mean—Prue leaving home, going to the big city, and studying hard for at least two years. His eyes were alight, and his excitement was obvious.

Finally Dent looked at Violet, and some unspoken communication passed between them. Dent walked over and put his arm around his daughter. “I don't know about all this, Prue. What do you think? Do you want to go?”

Prudence stood there, a thousand thoughts going through her mind, but it was as if a door had opened. After a long silence she said, “I've never been able to do anything too well, and I've been worried about what I was going to do. All my friends are going to college or going to take jobs, and I felt so left out.” She turned to Violet and said, “Mom, I want to do this, but only if you and Dad say it's all right.”

Violet felt tears rise in her eyes, and pride. “If Mr. Maxwell says you have a talent, and you want to go, then I think God is opening the door to you.”

They moved to the living room, where Maxwell outlined the program and then after a time said, “You talk it over with your parents, Prue. If you want to go, I can cancel my flight and get a later one. We could go together. You'd have time to call your relatives in Chicago. I hope you do it—you have a great talent, and you need to share it with the world.”

Late that night, after a long talk with her parents, Prue sat down and began a letter. Her hands were trembling and she had to stop once, for although she was not a weepy girl, the suddenness of it, and the enormity of it, swept her.

She signed the letter, folded it, put it into an envelope, and put the stamp on it; then she rose, walked over, and looked out the window. It was dark outside, but a sickle moon was throwing its light down upon the earth. She looked at the outline of the mountains and thought about her life, and then her shoulders began to tremble again. The tears came and she whispered, “Maybe I can be somebody!”