One Shenandoah Winter (21 page)

“That's the young man I met up at Poppa Joe's cabin, isn't it?” Nathan rose to his feet, pleased he would have a strong man to help out. “Go call and ask them to meet me at the clinic.”

Connie started, “But he's . . .”

Nathan crossed the room, placed his hands on her upper arms, and tried to pour out his own strength and concern with his gaze. “I know,” he said softly. “But Poppa Joe wants this, Connie. He
needs
this.”

Then he waited. It was her decision. If she objected, he would allow the professional side of his nature to take control, and together they would settle the old man where he should have been all along, back in bed. But if she didn't, well, then he knew what his heart was calling him to do. Despite all the logic in the world, he knew.

Evidently so did Connie. She gave a tiny nod and whispered, “All right.”

“Good.” He turned away, both from her and from the arguments racing through his own mind. “I'll be back from the clinic just as fast as I can.”

Even before the dust settled in the clinic's driveway, the truck's bright red doors opened and out tumbled two of the finest looking young people Nathan had ever seen. He could not help but compare their fresh strength with the old man's weakness as they came running over. Nor could he help but see how their features mirrored those of Connie and Hattie, the pinched compression binding them all together more tightly than words ever could.

Dawn said, “Momma told us Poppa Joe's going fast.”

“She's right.” There was no place for empty words or false hopes. “You both need to be strong now. For Poppa Joe and for Connie.”

Duke clenched his jaw so tight it looked like he held a walnut in each cheek. He reached over and took hold of Dawn's hand. When he was certain she had recovered her composure, he looked up and said, “Tell us what we need to do.”

Nathan pointed to the mattress and the stretcher and the IV unit at his feet. “We need to load these in the truck.” As Duke started forward, Nathan added, “Dawn, go call the church and tell them to expect us.” The preparations made, they swiftly covered the distance back to Connie's house. With a minimum of words they took the old man out of the wheelchair and settled him into the stretcher. Two quilts were laid under him to pad Poppa Joe's protruding bones. Another was settled on top and tucked in around the edges. A second pillow was added. Nathan carried the IV unit and the tubing in his bag, along with two filled syringes. Whatever else, Poppa Joe would not suffer during what would most likely be his final outing.

The four of them knelt around the stretcher, waiting for a reaction from the old man. He looked up at them, eyes bright and clear now that the stress was gone and the thing he wanted was growing closer. He nodded once, and said in the whisper that had become his voice, “I'm much obliged.”

Nathan said, “I know you won't take a shot now, it'd only put you to sleep. But if the pain starts getting bad, all you need to do look my way. I've got everything ready.”

He rose to his feet, dusted his trousers, and nodded to Duke. With Nathan at the feet and Duke taking the head, they raised the stretcher and carried it outside. Duke proved his agility by not tilting the stretcher one iota, even as he slid into the truck and pulled Poppa Joe in after him. They settled Poppa Joe and the stretcher onto the mattress, then Nathan and Connie seated themselves on the opposite rails.

The evening air was bitingly brisk, the sky turned a ruddy gold by trails of lingering dusk. Nathan watched the trees and the sunset play across the old man's face. Poppa Joe's eyes were bright and wide-open, drinking in all he was able to see. Especially the sky.

Word had clearly gotten out, for the yard in front of the church was packed to overflowing. The crowd grew so quiet a baby's whimper seemed out of place, as together Duke and Nathan lifted the stretcher and carried it from the truck.

Then the murmurs washed over them all. People stood in the manner of country folk, the women with hands crossed at the middle, the men with hands in their pockets or fiddling with the brims of their hats.

Their passage toward the church was slow but steady. People reached out to touch the stretcher or Nathan's arm, murmuring words of welcome. He felt as though the greeting kindled a flame in the center of his chest.

Will Green was there by the door, nodding his welcome with the others. Then Will said to Nathan and Connie both, “Me and the boys, we were wondering if maybe we could come by and play some of the old favorites for Poppa Joe.”

Connie responded, “I didn't know you still made music, Will.”

“Don't hardly play for nobody but the fellers and the dogs these days.” The old hat did a steady nervous revolution between his fingers. “But we got to talking last night, and were just wondering if maybe we could stop by this weekend with the instruments. Be our way of giving this season a proper meaning, if you see what I'm after.”

Connie glanced down at her uncle, who responded with a single nod. She said to Will, “Sunset is his best time.”

“We'll be there Saturday, Miss Connie. Poppa Joe.” He turned to Nathan and nodded. “Good to see you here, Doc.”

Inside the church they met yet another crowd, all of them on their feet to give quiet homage to a fine old man.

The front pew had been saved for them. They settled the stretcher there in front of the altar, and waited as Reverend Brian Blackstone and his wife came over to welcome Poppa Joe. The old man had trouble guiding his hand into that of the pastor's. That was the only moment when the women lost control.

Even as the choir led them through a rousing series of Christmas hymns, the church remained caught by a more somber tone. Nathan sang along with the others, and knew he shared with them the mood and the moment. From time to time he glanced about the church, wondering at the seeming lack of disharmony. This was Christmas Eve, yet the people did not seem reluctant to show a melancholy side. In their faces he found the same stolid acceptance they showed in facing their illnesses. As though here and now, when life struck in ways that others might call unfair, they showed the strength which was truly all their own.

Nathan heard little of what the pastor had to say, at least at first. His attention was held by the old man lying there before him. Poppa Joe kept his eyes fastened upon Reverend Blackstone with a force that belied his body's weakness. He did not hear the words, he
consumed
them. He listened with a hunger so fierce there was scarcely strength left for him to draw breath.

Nathan found his heart pulled out of shape by conflicting desires—part of him wanting to retain the shattered fragments of all he once had been, yet another part hungering for what he scarcely could identify. There was more to this than simply giving Poppa Joe something to carry to heaven— he was not even sure he understood what the old man meant by that. Rather, he sought something
worthy
—something which would help give form to all the transformations he was discovering inside himself, all the mysteries taking shape.

He was pondering hard on this when the pastor's words shot into focus. One moment it was a calming background drone, a cadence almost in keeping with his own thoughts. The next, and the pastor glanced Nathan's way. Their eyes locked, and Nathan felt a shiver run through him. There was a sense of sharing something beyond the realm of words. And in that moment Nathan knew that now was the time. He
knew
.

“Many of the lessons God wishes for us to learn,” Reverend Blackstone then said, “are based on the principle of
release
. We need to learn how to take our hands off the controls. When we are at our most desperate, and our desire to cling to control is strongest, this is when we most need to let go. To be willing in faith to take our hands off, and put the experience and the circumstances under the control of God.”

Nathan's sense of knowing did not arrive in an explosive flash. The mystery was too great to be touched with power. Otherwise he would probably have been blinded. It came with the natural growth of a seedling which pressed up through the dark earth to finally find the light.

Reverend Blackstone continued, “Yet we desperately want to direct our own lives. It is fear which keeps us from releasing control. It makes us skeptical. It keeps us from believing in the goodness of God. Friends, a moment given over to fear is a moment lost from God. We are lost in that moment, trapped by fear and doubt and a desperate desire to cling to what we know.”

Nathan looked down at Poppa Joe and studied the old man's clear gaze. Untainted by age or hardship or loss or illness or pain. Even as the light now dimmed, still the power was there. And for the first time in his life, Nathan understood that the reason was because the power was not his own.

“And yet at these times we can do ourselves the greatest harm by trying to forge ahead alone, governed by fear, blinded by our terrors and our pains and our past. It is at this moment when release of control to God is vital. This is no senseless casting everything to the winds of fate. This is
trusting God
. This is putting action to the theory of faith.”

Nathan knew. It was time. All the changes and all the mysteries which had swirled like tendrils of invisible fog through the days and nights since his arrival, all snapped into a focus so strong he knew the vision was not his own. It was time. He had been shown the door, he was invited to enter. His friends had gathered to help him, the old man had asked in the kindest way anyone ever would. There would never be a moment less trammeled with doubts and hesitations. It no longer mattered that he did not understand everything, or that so many of his questions remained unanswered. The comfort and peace and power he felt were more real than anything else his entire life had contained. It was time.

“Remember when the Israelites were trapped between the forces of Pharaoh and the impossible sea? Moses turns to them and in Exodus fourteen, verse thirteen, he says, ‘Do not be afraid.
Stand still
, and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will accomplish for you today.'”

Nathan's heart hammered in his chest. His hands grew so clammy, he wiped them continually down the sides of his trouser legs. Connie cast him an odd look, but he remained caught by what was about to come. He had not been this frightened since his final exams in medical school. Frightened, and yet excited. Excited, and yet incredibly calm. It was amazing how he could be all of these things at once.

“In our impossible times, when our human frailties are greatest, that is when God's power can be strongest. If only we can release the impossibilities to God, He will work His miracles. Free yourself from the deadly assumption that you have the strength and the wisdom and the capacity to make the right decisions yourself. That you can find your way through this alone. Give it up. Turn it over. And then, once you have given it over,
leave
the circumstances and the problems in God's hands. Release control to God, and step off the cliff of comfort into the unknown.”

For the first time since beginning the sermon, Pastor Blackstone looked down at Poppa Joe. His eyes lingered there on the man, a sad smile creasing his features. “Some of you might be wondering why I chose to speak about fear on a night of rejoicing over our Savior's birth.”

The pastor held Poppa Joe's gaze a moment longer, then seemed to gather himself with a great breath that drew him up to twice his normal size. “I do so because we celebrate here tonight the
conquest of fear
. Friends, I stand here tonight to proclaim the good news to all the world. Fear is vanquished! Death is conquered! Tonight we celebrate not only the Savior's birth, but His death. Why? Because the Lord was made flesh with one purpose in mind—to come so that He might die for us and for our sins. Because through Christ's death a door was opened. An eternal invitation was made. To all who suffer and worry and hurt and know fear, our Savior says, ‘Come! Come and I will give you rest! Come and drink the cup of eternal healing! Come and sing at the holy feast of life! Come and celebrate! Why? Because I, your King, have conquered death. I, your King, have conquered fear.' The door is open, our way made straight. The King reigns in the eternal Kingdom, and we are His people! Hallelujah, Amen!”

When the sermon ended and the final song began, Nathan stepped into the aisle. He walked forward and met the pastor's outstretched hand, said words he could scarcely get around his oversized heart, and nodded when the pastor asked if he was sure he wanted to bring Christ into his life.

Nathan knelt there with the pastor at the edge of the podium, feeling the hand on his head and listening to the words spoken over him. He heard the music and the voices welling up around him. And he found himself reaching out, joining with the town and the valley and the Spirit which dwelled there in those hills. Binding him together with love.

When Nathan returned to his seat he found himself unable to meet anyone's eye. Except, that is, for Poppa Joe.

The old man signaled with another feeble movement. Nathan bent over the stretcher, glad for a reason to lower himself from the stares of the congregation. The organ and the music and the hymn almost took away the weakened words. Almost, but not quite.

Poppa Joe murmured to him, “I'm ready now. I done found the answer I've been looking for.”

Twenty-Five

C
hristmas Day was a subdued affair. Nathan allowed the hristmas morning visit with Poppa Joe to stretch into an early lunch with Connie and the Campbells. No one tried for a false sense of Christmas spirit, which was good. No one mentioned the previous evening's events at the altar, which was better. Nathan did not regret his actions. Not at all. But he was by nature a very private man, and such a huge change required a period of settling in. Somehow these new friends of his seemed to understand. Not even Poppa Joe felt a need to mention it, except for one time. As Nathan helped him settle into the wheelchair so that he could eat lunch with the others, Poppa Joe gave him a look that pierced straight to his heart, and simply said, “I'm much obliged, son. Much obliged.”