Pages of Promise (18 page)

“That be all, Richard?” Phineas inquired. He was a slight man with a shock of salt-and-pepper hair and a drooping cavalry mustache usually stained with either tobacco, snuff, or nicotine.

“That’s all. How much, Phineas?”

Adding up quickly on a small tablet, Phineas replied, “Four dollars and sixteen cents.” He took the five-dollar bill that Richard handed him, and counted back the change.

Bluegrass music, Bill Monroe’s version, was playing on the radio. Richard picked up his paper sack and started out but stopped when he met Alvin Hood at the door, the burly man he’d had a fight with. “Hello, Alvin,” he said. “How are you today?” Hood did not speak, but glared at Richard. “I hear you’re a coon-dog man,” Richard continued.

“A fella could hear anything,” Hood snapped. “What’s it to you?”

“Tom Henderson’s got a female he claims is the best he ever saw. Had a litter of puppies, and he told me to scout around to see if there’s anybody interested.”

“How much you want for ’em?”

“Oh, no charge, Alvin,” Richard shrugged. “I don’t know dogs myself, but one of them, I tell ya, really took my eye. Biggest of the litter and smart as any animal I ever saw.” He smiled and said, “Why don’t you come out and take a look at him? Might be you could use another dog?”

“Might be.” Alvin looked disturbed and stared down at the floor for a moment. It was a long moment. He was stunned by the offer, and, indeed, he had never been able to figure Richard out. Alvin had spread rumors about him throughout the community and was still rankled that in a fight he’d been bested by a smaller man. But Richard always greeted him with a smile and never appeared to notice his churlish behavior. Looking up, Hood bit his lip and said, “How come you gonna offer to give me a dog? We ain’t been friends.”

“Well, I’d like to be, Alvin. I know I’m just a city boy, but I’d like to learn. Even like to learn a little bit about coon hounds. They tell me that you wrote the book on that subject.”

“Well—reckon I’ll come out, maybe this afternoon, and look them pups over.”

“Fine! Fine! I shot a buck day before yesterday. The fattest thing you ever saw. You might like a little of that, too. See you this afternoon.”

Richard left, and Hood slouched over to the counter, put his fist on it, and shook his big head. “I can’t make that fella out, Phineas. By rights he oughta be out to get me, but he don’t seem to be headed that way.”

“Nice fella.”

Hood shifted uneasily. “I been shootin’ my big mouth off about those folks out there at that place they call the Vine. Maybe I been a bit hasty. Guess I’ll go scout ’em out today.” He leaned across the counter and said, “Gimme one of them cream sodas, Phineas.”

Richard and Laurel found that one of the chief pleasures of life—better than radio, better than television—was listening to Granny Stevens.

Late on Thursday afternoon, they were both seated out where she was stirring soap in the huge black iron kettle over a fire that Richard had built for her out of dried hickory.

“Tell us about your courtin’ days, Granny. Did you have lots of boyfriends?” Richard asked. Laurel was sitting with her back against the wall, wearing blue jeans and a pale blue cotton blouse. Her light brown hair caught in the breeze, and she reached up and smoothed it down. Richard didn’t notice the apprehensive glance she cast his way.

“Boyfriends? Why, I never heard of such as goes on these days,” Granny said. “I had a few young men callin’ on me, but we always sat with my daddy and my mama on the front porch.”

“That must have been exciting.” Richard smiled.

“Better’n what goes on this day and age,” Granny Stevens grunted. “When I agreed to marry Mr. Stevens, he had never even seed me alone.”

“Did you kiss ’im much, Granny?” Richard looked at Laurel, for they both knew her response to this. Laurel kept her eyes on Granny so she wouldn’t have to let Richard look into her eyes.

“Kiss him? Why, he never held my hand until after we was married!”

Laurel sighed. “That must’ve been a nice time to live.”

Granny looked over, her sharp gray eyes studying the young woman. “It was a heap better’n now, but the good Lord’s the same yesterday, today, and forever,” she said and smiled. She had a good smile. Her face was wrinkled, but there was a pleasantness and goodness in it that made people trust her intuitively. “You better go help get lunch started. I’ll be finished with this soap directly. Wait, what’s that I hear?” She looked toward the road. “That looks like your Logan Stuart coming.”

It was, indeed, Logan Stuart. He pulled up in the battered Chevrolet and got out slowly, as if his joints hurt. Moving over to where the three were sitting, he greeted them. “Howdy! That’s a fine batch of soap you’re makin’ there, Granny.”

“I’ll fix you up a little when I get it dibbed,” Granny smiled. “Better than any of that store-bought stuff.”

“I’ll say amen to that.” Logan took off his hat and wiped his brow. It was May and it had been a hot, blistering day, but the breeze was beginning to stir in the tops of the trees. “Glad to see it cool off.” He looked over and said, “I come to give you an invitation, Richard. Your uncle Owen pulled in today, and he’s gonna preach Sunday. Brother Crabtree said the church needs a good skinnin’.”

“I’ll sure be there, Uncle Logan.”

“Bring anybody that wants to come with you. Better come early. You know how it is when Owen preaches. Church house is always full. And why don’t you come to supper tomorrow night so you can visit with him?”

“I got some fresh buttermilk,” Granny said to Logan. “How ’bout I get a glass for you?”

Logan nodded. “How about I just do your stirrin’ while you fetch it for me.”

She handed Logan the paddle, and as the old woman walked toward the house, Richard recounted his conversation with Hood at the store earlier that morning and said, “I’ve been making it a point to be nice to him. I treat him as if there never was any fight, and I think at last it’s paying off.”

“Well, Hood’s a pretty rough fella, but no rougher than some of the rest of us when we was his age, I guess.”

Richard laughed at Logan. “I seem to remember you telling me you wish I’d broken his knee instead of just bruising it. I’m glad to see you getting mellow in your old age.”

Logan laughed, too. “I meant what I said about Paulks, though. Me and a couple of other old fellers are workin’ to get him out.”

Granny came out with a brimming glass of buttermilk, took the paddle, and said, “Get this down in your gizzard, Mr. Stuart. It’ll do you good.”

Logan drank the buttermilk, which left a white mustache on his upper lip. Wiping his mouth with his hand, he handed the glass back to Granny and grinned. “It did me good.” Nodding to Richard, he said, “I’ll see you at supper.”

Reverend Harlan Crabtree looked out over his congregation with satisfaction. The hard pine benches were packed, and all the chairs from the Sunday school rooms had been brought in, and they were filled, too. A few people stood at the back.

After greeting the congregation, Reverend Crabtree said, “I know that you come to hear not me but our guest, Reverend Owen Stuart. This is homecoming for Owen, for he came to this church when he was just a boy, with his parents and his brothers and sisters. He’s gone around the country preaching the glorious gospel of Jesus Christ. After the singing, he will come without any introduction, and, Brother Owen, I pray that you will speak the Word of God as it’s laid on your heart. Now, let’s all stand, and Brother McCoy will lead us in that great old hymn, ‘All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name.’”

Laurel was wedged in tight, with Johnny on her right and Richard and Tom on her left. She was very conscious of sitting so close to Richard, and she could not look at him. He pulled a brown paperback songbook from the rack of the pew in front of them, turned to page 29, and began to sing heartily. Laurel had never heard this song before, but the small frame church seemed to tremble with the volume raised by the congregation.

Owen raised his eyes from the page, for he knew the song by heart. As he sang, he studied the church, memories flooding back of times when he had sat with his father and mother, both gone now, and nostalgia seemed to fill him up.

The singing went on a long time, then the offering was gathered. The choir sang “Jesus Is Coming to Earth Again.” They were untrained for the most part; nevertheless, they put their hearts into it, and the light on some of the faces stirred Richard. He glanced around and saw the toil-worn farm families and small-town storekeepers and thought how limited their world was. Many of them had never gone outside the Ozark Mountains. Their parents and grandparents had grown up here, and the great things that happened in the world outside did not seem to matter so much to them. They were concerned with families, with making a living, and, beneath all of this, with the world that is to come.

As this thought grew in Richard, he realized that this was missing from his life. He had been busy growing up, going to school, going to war, and in all of that time, he had not taken time to think about Jesus coming back to earth again. Of the fact of that return Richard was fully convinced. He could not ever forget the faith of the Stuart family. Despite their falls and mistakes and tragedies, always there was that vein of faith that Jesus Christ is the Son of God and that he is coming back to earth again.

As he listened to the choir, Richard’s throat swelled and grew full, and something came into his spirit. He had heard the song before, but never had it struck home as now.
Jesus is
coming back,
he thought;
the same Jesus who went away, and what
will he find in me when he comes
?

Richard had heard the gospel since he was a child and had responded, but it had not been the same for him as for his parents and grandparents and for many of his uncles and aunts—even for his sister. He had seen in them a full-fledged dedication and determination to serve the Lord, and, sitting in the little weather-beaten church, he suddenly realized that his life had not been turned toward God.

The singing concluded, and Owen rose, put his Bible on the cedar pulpit, and tapped with his steel hook gently. “I’m glad to be back in this church,” he said, his voice clear and modulated. He was still strong even at seventy-one. An unpretentious man, he wore an inexpensive gray suit, purchased at Sears & Roebuck, and there was a genuine love and strength in his face that held his listeners captive. He began to read the Scripture.

And a certain ruler asked him, saying, Good Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? And Jesus said unto him, Why callest thou me good? none is good, save one, that is, God. Thou knowest the commandments, Do not commit adultery, Do not kill, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Honour thy father and thy mother. And he said, All these have I kept from my youth up. Now when Jesus heard these things, he said unto him, Yet lackest thou one thing: sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me. And when he heard this, he was very sorrowful: for he was very rich.

Luke 18:18–23

Closing the Bible, Owen laid his hands on it for a moment in silent reverence and prayed a quick prayer. Then he began to talk. “This young man who came to Jesus did one right thing. He did come to Jesus. He could have gone anywhere, for the Scripture says that he was rich, but he came to Jesus. That is the right thing for every man, every woman, and every young person to do, to come to Jesus.”

Owen spoke quietly about the young man who had all that the world could offer: riches, position, place. “He did one right thing in coming to Jesus, this young man—but he did one tragic, terribly wrong thing. Matthew 19:22 says that ‘he went away’ from Jesus. He would have been welcomed in any church in the land, for he was respectable and wealthy and a good, moral man. But he was a lost young man. He was lost because he did not let Jesus Christ do with him as he pleased, and that is the essence of being unsaved. He was lost because he had nothing to live for. You may say he had his business, he had his fortune, but where did that go when he drew his last breath and stepped out into eternity to meet a just Judge?

“I’ve always hoped that this young man did come back to Jesus sometime, that he did not go out to meet God unsaved and to face hell and judgment. But he had nothing to live for. What do you have to live for? Your business? That will be gone. You say you live for your family? No one is stronger than I about the obligations of the family, but your family will not go with you to meet God, and you cannot serve your family unless you serve Jesus Christ.”

Richard felt crushed in a way that he had never known, for he realized that he had nothing, indeed, to live for. His hands tightened as he locked them together, and he was not aware that he was trembling. Laurel was looking at him, stealing glances sideways, noting his pale face and his lips drawn into a hard line, and she could not understand.

Owen said, “Find a cause that is bigger than you are, that is bigger than business, that is bigger than the home, bigger than the nation, bigger than anything, and throw yourself into it with all your heart. I know of but one cause like that. It is the Lord Jesus Christ and the kingdom of God.”

Richard felt weak and drained, yet there was something in him that said plainly, “This is for you, my son.” It came to him in his spirit as clearly as if a trumpet had sounded. Owen motioned for the congregation to stand, and he said, “I want you to come and give your lives to Jesus Christ.” Richard, brushing blindly against Laurel and Johnny and stepping on toes, achieved the aisle and went forward, and Owen was there putting his arm around him, shaking his hand, and praying with him. Richard never forgot the pressure of that arm around his shoulder and the hand holding his and in Owen’s eyes that light of joy and delight at seeing him there.

Those who came forward stood at the front, and Owen and the pastor prayed with each of them while the congregation sang. Then Crabtree said, “We are so happy that every one of these has come. One that Brother Owen is especially interested in is his great-nephew Richard Stuart. Richard has told me that he was converted when he was a child, but he did not surrender everything to Jesus. This morning he comes to say that he feels that God is putting his hand on him, and he will follow wherever God leads him.” He smiled and looked at Owen and winked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you have a disciple here to take up your work, Brother Owen.”