The Braxtons of Miracle Springs (11 page)

“Very good, Alkali,” I said. “You've done it. Congratulations.”

I reached out my hand to his and shook it. “Welcome to God's family!”

“That's all there is t' the thing?' he said, surprised to find it over with so quickly.

“That's all.”

“I don't feel no different.”

“That doesn't matter,” I said. “You asked God to wake up your spiritual life. That's what he was waiting for. It
is
awake now. You
have
been born again. You
are
his son, and he
is
your Father.”

“I feel like just the same tired ol' man.”

“That's the physical part you feel, and it
hasn't
changed. It's only the spiritual part that has changed. While the physical part of you is still the same old man, the spiritual part is like a newborn baby, just barely awake. That's why you don't feel it yet.”

“Reckon what ye say makes some sense.”

“The spiritual place down inside you doesn't know much about living yet. You and the Lord working together have wakened it up. Now it needs to be taught how to
live
, just like your physical side had to learn how to live when you were a baby.”

“Will I feel it down there someday?”

“Sure, once it learns how to walk. Spiritual muscles are just like physical muscles—you've got to make them strong by exercising them. You've got to teach your spiritual legs how to walk.”

“How in tarnation does a body do that?”

“Practice . . . exercise—the same way a child's physical legs get strong.”

“Practice what?”

“Using your spiritual muscles.”

“How's that?”

“Practice walking like God wants his sons and daughters to walk.”

“Huh?”

“Behaving like God wants his people to behave. Talking like God wants his people to talk. Doing what God wants his people to do. Thinking like God wants his people to think.”

“How does a body know all that stuff God wants?”

“I imagine you know quite a bit already, Alkali. You told me yourself that you've listened to Rev. Rutledge many times. So now I'm going to ask you—what do
you
think God wants his sons and daughters to do? How do you think he wants them to behave?”

A surprised look came over the old man's face.

“Uh . . . I reckon he wants them t' be good . . . t' be nice t' other folks, I reckon,” he answered.

“Certainly,” I said. “That's right at the top of the list. What else?”

“Uh . . . t' pray?”

“That's very important as well. You must talk to your Father if you want to know what he wants you to do.”

“Ye mean . . . jist talk t' him, like we done a minute ago?”

“Yep—just like he's your Father.”

“What do ye say?”

“Tell him what you're thinking and feeling, what you're wondering about.
Father
, you might say,
what do you want me to do?
”

“Ye make everything sound too blame simple, Braxton!”

I laughed. “It
is
simple, Alkali,” I said. “Not always easy, but simple enough.”

He just sat there, sort of shaking his head.

“All right,” I went on, “besides being nice to people and praying, is there anything else you can think of that God would want his people to do?”

“Well . . . don't know—being good seems likely t' cover it.”

“I think you're probably right. So how does a person be what you call good?”

“I don't know . . . puttin' other folks ahead o' himself, I reckon.”

“That's exactly it. Putting other people first. Just simple unselfishness. If you do those few things—be nice, be good, put other people first, and then, like I said, talk to your Father and try to listen to what he says and do whatever he tells you—then your spiritual legs will get the exercise they need to grow strong.”

“That's all?”

“That's not
all
, but that's where it starts.”

“How do ye find out what else he wants ye t' do?”

“First of all, when you and he are talking together, you can ask him to speak to you.”

“How's he do that?”

“In your heart, in your mind. He puts thoughts there. You can ask him to help you hear him, and he'll do it. Then it's important to do whatever you think he might be telling you to do. Your legs will grow stronger, too, by listening to Rev. Rutledge and putting into practice everything you learn from him and by always trying to do whatever you think Jesus would do in any situation.

“That's how your spiritual legs get strong, Alkali—
by doing what Jesus would do
. That's what being a Christian is—following Jesus. Doing what he would do, thinking like he would think, treating people like he would treat them, being a son to your heavenly Father just like he showed us how to do.”

The cabin got quiet. Finally it seemed he was out of questions.

We sat for several minutes, and this time it was silent for quite a long time. I saw Alkali shiver slightly and realized the fire in his stove had burned low. I got up and put a few more logs onto it and stirred up the coals. When I sat back down I could see that he was thinking hard about what we had been discussing. I waited.

“Blamed if it ain't completely different than anything I done heard about afore,” he finally said. “Ye ain't said a word, Braxton, about what a body believes or don't believe. Ye ain't talked about heaven an' hell or that thing I heard about called santeeficashun—whatever in tarnation that is—and all the other kind o' highfalutin stuff religious folks is always jawin' about. You just make it all down t' earth so's a body can git a grip on it with his teeth.”

“Does your friend Drum go in for the up-in-the-clouds kind of religious words and jargon you're talking about?”

“No, don't reckon he does. No, Drum ain't no highfalutin kind o' feller. He's like you—practical about it.”

“The kind of religion that doesn't mind some dirt under the fingernails and sweat on the shirt?”

“That's it—hee, hee, hee! Dirty, sweaty kind o' religion. Hee, hee, hee!”

(We all laughed to hear Christopher tell it, trying to imitate Mr. Jones' cackling laugh. But Christopher couldn't do it as well as Tad.)

“That's Christianity, Alkali. It's not for people who want to keep their hands clean. Practical—you bet it's practical! It's the most practical creed you can live by, the most down-to-earth religion there is. That's the kind of man Jesus was too—dirt in the fingernails, sweat on the shirt . . . a real man's kind of man. That's why we're supposed to try to live like he did.”

“I always figured him fer—if ye'll pardon me sayin' it—fer kinda a limp-wristed womanly sort o' feller.”

“Many people make that mistake, Alkali. But if you read through the Gospels, you'll find something altogether different.

“Let me ask you a question. If someone you didn't know was to come along and tell you to come with him, and he looked to you like a weakling,
would
you follow him?”

“Ain't likely,” he answered.

“What about your friend Drum,” I said. “Is
he
a weakling?”

(I glanced over at Pa, but not so much as a muscle of his face twitched. He was too caught up in Christopher's account even to react to the question one way or the other.)

“Not fer a second,” said Alkali.

“And that's why you like to be around him?”

“Ye're right there.”

“Why do you think the rest of the community thinks so highly of him—because he's weak?”

Alkali snorted. “Drum ain't weak!”

“Exactly! And that's just the way Jesus was. Why else do you think those big burly fishermen left everything to go with him? Would they have done that for a weakling?”

“Don't reckon so.”

“They followed him. Huge crowds followed him. Women followed him, men followed him, rich people followed him, poor people followed him. He was a man's man. He knew how to fish, and those nets could be as heavy as the big rocks we pull out of our mine, Alkali. He worked with his hands. By trade he was a carpenter—no doubt had to lug around big boards. He walked long distances. When he took a whip in his hands, everyone scattered in fear. This man Jesus was a strong man who made folks stand up and listen.”

It got quiet again, and Alkali and I sat in silence for a long time. I think finally poor Alkali had taken in about all the new information for one day he could handle.

Well, that's about it. I think I've recounted nearly the whole conversation.

We all kind of shuffled around on our chairs. All the supper things were still on the table. Nobody'd touched anything in an hour. I shivered now, too. Our fire had almost gone out just like Mr. Jones'.

“I just have one question,” said Pa, chuckling even as he thought of it.

“What's that?” said Christopher.

“Back when you were first telling us about Alkali praying and him wondering about whether to look or not . . . did Alkali have his eyes open or shut?”

Christopher smiled at the memory.

“He kept them open,” he replied, “staring down at the floor the whole time.”

Again we became silent around the table.

The magnitude of what Christopher had been telling us struck us all over again.

What a wonderful thing it was!

None of us could believe it . . . though of course we did believe it! I think every one of us wanted to run right over to Mr. Jones' cabin right then and give him a big hug, but of course it was way past dark by now and much too late.

“God bless the dear, dear man!” said Almeda after some time had passed.

The words were scarcely out of her mouth when Ruth bounded rambunctiously through the door from having dinner with her three cousins—Erich, twelve, Joan, nine, and Jeffrey, six.

“Hey, Ruthie!” said Pa, getting out of his chair and scooping her up into a great big bear hug. “Your Uncle Nick at home?”

“Yes, Pa.”

“How'd you like to do something for me?”

“Sure, Pa.”

“Would you run back up to your aunt and uncle's and tell them we gotta see them as soon as they can get down here?”

“Why, Pa?”

“You tell them we got some big news they're going to want to hear.”

Pa put her down on the floor, and she was off again with even more energy than she had made her arrival with.

Gradually the house quieted once more.

“Well, Christopher, I gotta say it again,” said Pa, “I am deeply in your debt for what you've done. I want you to know how much it means to me. I see how what Almeda said a while ago is true—I couldn't have helped ol' Alkali see it all so clear as you've done.”

There wasn't anything more perfect to be said. We had always loved Mr. Jones so much. He was like one of the family.

Now he truly
was
one of the family!

The morning after Christopher's talk with Mr. Jones, the old prospector showed up at breakfast bright-eyed and smiling. He didn't say anything about what had happened and neither did anyone else. But it was obvious he was happy about it and pleased with himself. He might have even tried to comb his hair, but I couldn't quite tell, and I didn't want to ask. If he had, the attempt wasn't too successful, which was hardly a surprise because I doubt it had been combed since he was a boy!

Mr. Jones was eager and ready to get to the mine, though he was coughing quite a bit and didn't seem altogether well enough to work. But after what had happened, Pa wasn't about to say anything about shutting down the mine. So everything went on as usual, and gradually we all fell back into our old ways.

The men resumed work at the mine pretty much like before. I think the change in Alkali Jones had more to do with it than anything, because Pa still hadn't made any more of a firm decision about the future. They didn't find any more gold, however, and I couldn't help wondering how long the mining would last.

Summer came, and the weather got hot.

I visited Jennie Woodstock another time or two. Things hadn't gotten any better between her and Tom that I could see.

Christopher had done his best to strike up some kind of relationship with Tom, but without much success. Tom had seemed genuinely appreciative of Christopher's help with the fence work, but afterward he hadn't seemed any more inclined to talk or establish a friendship. Some people are receptive to spiritual things, some are just uninterested, and still others seem to resent them. I was gradually getting the idea that Tom was the last kind. I think he resented Christopher, even though Christopher never said anything about the Lord at all, just because he knew where Christopher stood in his faith.

Christopher and I continued to visit other people, in addition to Jennie and Tom. We also took long rides on horseback in the late afternoons and warm evenings, exploring places even I'd never been before.

Several days a week I rode in to town to help Almeda at the Hollister Supply Company. Back when we first met Almeda, this was her business, the Parrish Mine and Freight. But after she married Pa and the business gradually changed from supplying miners to supplying farmers and townspeople, she and Pa decided to change the name. Half the time, though, we still called it the Mine and Freight.

It was a little funny, because now that I was married, Almeda insisted on paying me a wage along with the other workers. I objected at first, but eventually I had no choice but to give in.

“It's only fair, then,” I said finally, “if you pay me to work for you, that Christopher and I pay you and Pa something in return for letting us live in the bunkhouse.”

“That's between Christopher and your father,” laughed Almeda. “As long as I'm running the Mine and Freight, you're working for
me
, and
I'm
going to pay you—and accept nothing in return except good honest work.”

“All right,” I laughed, “you win!”

One day when I was in town and business was slow and there wasn't much to do, I took an hour off and walked about and went into some shops. I happened to be in the Mercantile, away from the counter and with my back to the door looking at some fabric, when Mrs. Sinclair and Mrs. Gilly walked in. That they had no idea I was anywhere within sight or hearing was soon more than obvious.

“ . . . how they can all stay there together when the children are grown and well past marrying age is beyond me,” Mrs. Gilly was saying as they walked in and the door shut behind them. “It's just unnatural.”

At first I paid little attention, having no idea who they were talking about, until the town's most energetic gossip spoke up in reply.

“I certainly would not have wanted mine to stay at home. I was glad to get my own four girls married off as soon as possible.”

“Let their husbands have the trouble, I always say.”

“They've always been a bit of a strange bunch, to my way of thinking,” Mrs. Sinclair went on, “ever since the Parrish woman took on that Hollister clan and tried to reform that father of theirs.”

My face reddened, and my ears perked up, and immediately I wished I could find a hole to crawl into. Better yet, a mole tunnel like Pa had talked about, so that I could burrow right out of that shop!

The lady at the counter, Mrs. Tarrant, wasn't someone I knew very well, and she had been occupied when I came in. So she didn't know I was in the shop and so did nothing to alert the two gossips. I had no choice but to stand there listening, out of sight, and look for a chance to make my getaway without being seen.

“ . . . and that young Becky,” Mrs. Gilly went on, lowering her voice now that they were inside. “Why she isn't married yet I can't imagine.”

“ . . . pretty enough, but . . . must be something they aren't saying. . . .”

I was doing my best not to listen, to block their busybodying voices out of my ears, but it was impossible. Especially when a moment later I heard my
own
name mentioned!

“What about Corrie and that husband of hers?”

“He doesn't seem in too big a hurry to carry his own load, just staying there mooching off the folks.”

“ . . . don't know what to think.”

I was furious! But now I had to stay calm to hear whatever else they might say.

“ . . . thought it was a good match at first, despite the man's peculiar views about courtship and marriage.”

“ . . . an unusual one. . . .”

“ . . . can't help but wonder, what with them living right there with her parents—and in the barn, from what I hear!”

“ . . . can't mean it!”

“That's what I hear.”

“ . . . well I never. . . .”

“ . . . don't know whether to believe it. Whoever heard of such a thing!”

“ . . . and that Drummond Hollister . . . promising future in Sacramento . . . turning his back on it and returning to mining. . . .”

“ . . . at his age. . . .”

“ . . . and a played-out mine at that!”

“ . . . goes to show, some men never change. . . .”

“ . . . got the gold fever again . . . probably be running off and leaving his family again just like he did when he was in the East. . . .”

“There always was something strange about the whole clan . . . when the children first came down . . . father wouldn't even claim them.”

“What about Almeda Parrish? Acting like a man . . .”

“ . . . wearing pants and running a freight company . . .”

“ . . . how I hear it . . .”

At that point Mrs. Tarrant greeted the two women and asked if they needed help. They thanked her but said they just wanted to look about, then continued on with the real purpose behind their shopping trip—catching up with one another on all the town gossip!

“ . . . and that Jennie Woodstock—she wanted that husband so bad, you'd think she'd at least work a little harder to keep him. . . .”

“ . . . seems like a nice enough young man. . . .”

“ . . . well, do you know what I hear?”

I couldn't stand another word! By this time I didn't care if they saw me or not—I had to get out of there!

I put down the bolt of fabric and walked to the front of the store, along the aisle next to the window, opened the door quickly, and hurried outside, taking in several big lungfuls of air to calm myself. Then I half-ran across the street and back to the Supply Company.

I didn't know whether to be hurt or angry, and I must confess to probably more of the latter than was good.

I was distracted most of the afternoon, but by the time I got home and told Christopher, I was ready to laugh about it with him.

It was a hot evening, much too warm to cook and eat inside. We invited Uncle Nick and Aunt Katie and the cousins down for a barbecue. Pa cooked up a side of beef over the fire pit, and we ate together and talked outside between the house and the bunkhouse, sitting on makeshift benches and chairs from the house.

I recounted what I'd heard, without telling the names of the gossipers and of course without mentioning a word about what they'd said about Becky. By the time I was done, everyone was laughing hard.

“Mrs. Sinclair and Mrs. Gilly, eh?” said Uncle Nick.

“I didn't say who it was.”

“You don't have to, Corrie!” laughed Aunt Katie. “Everyone knows how this community keeps up on its news . . . and it's
not
from the newspapers!”

Again there was laughter.

“But why us?” said Zack. “Of all the people they could talk about . . . why
us?
”

“Anyone who tries to do something a little different than everyone else is an immediate magnet for the interest of such types,” said Almeda.

“We're not
different
,” remarked Tad.

“Probably more than it seems to us,” laughed Almeda.

“Different from the likes of them two ol' biddies, that's for sure,” laughed Uncle Nick.

“Now, be nice, Nick,” chided Almeda.

“Aw, you're right—but people who go about spreading hearsay about other people get my goat.”

“Don't they know that families are
supposed
to stay together?” said Christopher. “Why, who was in the ark?—Noah and his sons and their wives and families.”

“And Noah was six hundred years old at the time!” added Almeda. “That's a
really
long time to keep a family together.”

“Why, the Hollister clan is doing no more than Noah's family did!” added Christopher. “I think it's the most natural thing in the world.”

“It is sad,” said Aunt Katie, “that families break up, and children go their own way all too soon—and wind up too far away to visit home.” Her voice began to tremble as she realized she was describing herself, so many miles away from her Virginia birthplace. Uncle Nick moved over behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She smiled up at him and patted one of his strong, rough hands.

“Or fathers leaving when they shouldn't,” remarked Pa with a tone more serious than the rest, obviously thinking of his own past.

“Noah's sons remained with him in a single though extended family unit for years,” added Christopher, “maybe even hundreds of years after they were grown and married. One of his sons was ninety-eight at the time of the flood, and who knows how long they remained together afterward, because Noah lived for another three hundred fifty years.”

“So—there you have it, Tad,” said Almeda triumphantly. “If we
are
different from most families because we're all still here together—all except for Emily anyway—and because Drummond and I like having you here with us, we're only different because we're doing what Noah did!”

“Well, then, that sets my mind at ease,” laughed Tad. “Though I'm not sure I'll stay here with you quite as long as Noah's sons did. By the time
I'm
ninety-eight, I plan on moving on to some other things!”