The Calling of Emily Evans (19 page)

“Only on the weekdays an’ every weekend,” responded the big man with a sarcastic growl.

“What about—what about Mrs. Travis? Does she know?” whispered Emily as though she were afraid her remark might betray the secret.

Big John looked at her steadily.“I guess she knows,” he said deliberately; “seein’ how he knocks her around whenever he can stand up straight.”

Emily’s breath caught in her throat.

“Where ya been all yer life, kid?” John asked gruffly.“Where’d ya think she got all those bruises? Runnin’ into doors?”

Emily just shook her head.
So—so the whole town knows the truth,
and I never guessed. Poor, poor Mrs. Travis,
she thought to herself.

Big John hoisted the fallen man to his back and carried him off down the walk.

Emily picked up her purse and shoes, stepped across the vomit on her walk and let herself in her door. She felt sick herself as she carried a pail of water out to slosh her step clean once again.

Later, Big John was back. Without a word he went to work, placing a sturdy lock on Emily’s door. Emily watched in silence.

When he finished, he lifted his eyes to hers.“An’ see thet ya use it,” he said, and then was gone.

Chapter Nineteen

Winter

Emily felt awkward and ill-at-ease the next time she had to go to the Travis farm to pick up her team. Mrs. Travis waved her usual greeting and called to see if Emily had time to stop for tea. She wished she could decline but really had no excuse. She found it difficult to converse naturally with the older woman now that she knew the dreadful secret.

Emily even found herself inspecting the woman’s face to determine if she had any new bruises. She caught herself, lowered her eyes in shame and prayed silently that God would help her to show the same love and concern for Mrs. Travis and her children as she had previously done. Yes, and for Mr. Travis, too.

The children greeted Emily just as warmly as ever, and that helped her to feel a bit more relaxed.

Rena crowded up against Emily’s skirts and showed her the new kitten she had discovered in the barn.

“Would you like a kitten?” Rena asked generously as Emily’s hand stroked the soft fur.

“I love kittens,” Emily confided, “but I’m not sure it would be a good idea for me to have one at the parsonage.” “Why? She could eat your mice.”

Emily cringed. She did hate the mice that plagued her small home.“Does she already hunt mice?”

“Well—no, not yet. But she will when she gets bigger. Her mommy catches lots of mice. I always see her taking one to her babies,” Rena went on, her pale blue eyes full of the immensity of her knowledge.

Emily’s hand moved from the kitten to the head of the child.
What
a beautiful little thing she would be if she had dainty hair ribbons and
prettier clothes,
thought Emily, and immediately checked herself. Mrs. Travis was doing all she could for her little family. It was impossible for her to do more under her trying circumstances.

Timmie came over and lifted the kitten from Rena’s arms.“I should take her back,” he explained softly to his sister.“She might be hungry again.” Then he turned to Emily.“There are three others at the barn if you’d like to choose one.” Then he added hurriedly, “They have to grow for a couple more weeks, and then they’ll be ready to eat from a dish.”

“I’ll think about it,” Emily promised with a warm smile. She did have plenty of milk from Mrs. Reilly—and if the kitten would be a good mouser, she might be worth her keep at the parsonage. Emily would enjoy the company, without doubt.

Winter came softly to the land. Emily had retired one night with feathery flakes drifting slowly down from the heavens and awoke the next morning to a world of white. It was a beautiful sight, the morning sun making the whole drab world outside Emily’s kitchen window one glorious wonderland.

Midafternoon it began to snow again and continued on throughout the evening and into the night. By the next morning Emily had eight inches of fluffy snow on her walks. It was Sunday, and Emily did not want her little congregation struggling through the new snowfall to reach her church door.

As she swept vigorously with her kitchen broom, a voice from behind her said, “Hi! Need some help?” It was Nicky, Sophie’s oldest.

“Mom spotted ya,” he said with a grin.“She said ya won’t get nowhere with that.” He pointed at the broom in her hands.

Emily smiled.“It’s all I have. Hadn’t even thought to prepare myself with a shovel.”

“I’ve got one,” said Nicky, holding a battered but serviceable shovel out for Emily to see.“I’ll shovel and you sweep behind me.”

Emily thought it was a good plan. They worked as a team, their breath puffing out before them in little silvery clouds.

“Look,” called Nicky, “I’m a dragon.”

Emily shared in his laughter.

In the weeks ahead, winter was no longer kind to the folks of the town and community of Wesson Creek. Emily watched the snow become deeper and deeper in the piles beside her walk. Each time she shovelled more onto the pile, she thanked the Lord for His answer to her prayer for a shovel of her own. One day, quite unexpectedly, she had spotted a handle protruding from the snow by the backyard fence. Emily tugged and pulled until a shovel made an appearance. She hadn’t noticed it earlier in the year because she didn’t need it. She couldn’t help but say “Thank you, Lord!” right then and there. But then she took a closer look. The handle was broken. It had been put back together, but the patching too had cracked.

At first Emily had felt keen disappointment, but then she brightened at a sudden idea. Maybe for a few of her precious coins, she could buy a new handle. She would pay a visit to the store next door.

Big John McMann stood behind the counter. Emily didn’t dread seeing him as much as she had in the past. He was still gruff and curt and still plagued her with jests and testing each time that they did business, but Emily sensed a softening in his demeanor.

“Good morning,” she said brightly as she approached his counter.

“Whatcha got?” he growled in return.

“I’ve been in need of a shovel,” said Emily, her eyes reflecting her excitement.“I found this one by the back fence. Can the handle be fixed—or replaced?”

“Fixed, no. But replaced, no problem.”

“How much would a handle be?” asked Emily timidly.

“Let’s see it,” said Big John, and Emily struggled to lift the shovel across the counter.

“Reckon I could put on a new one fer fifty cents,” he growled.

“
You
will fix it?” Emily could scarcely believe her ears. She’d been sure she would need to do the replacing herself, though she had no idea how to go about it, and certainly had no tools if it required that.

“Comes with the price of the handle,” said Big John, not even lifting his eyes.

“I’ll—I’ll take it,” responded Emily and opened her purse to carefully count out the coins.

But Big John did not hold out his hand for the change.

“Why don’t ya jest throw those coins in the offerin’ on Sunday?”

Emily could not believe her ears. She looked at the big man uncertainly. He stared back at her.

“Don’t believe none in this here gospel-stuff,” he hastened to inform Emily, “but always did like to carry a bit of insurance.”

Emily’s mouth dropped open, her eyes grew big, and then she slowly laid the change on the counter.

“I’m afraid this Policy is all or nothing, Mr. John. It’s not insurance—it’s assurance.” She held his eyes steadily.

Big John reached down, picked up the coins and tossed them into his till. He still said nothing, nor did Emily.

“I’ll have it ready fer ya to pick up in the mornin’,” he finally said with a nod toward the shovel in his hands.

“Thank you,” replied Emily softly.“I appreciate that,” and she quietly left the store.

The winter temperatures dropped until Emily spent most of some days hauling in wood so she could keep her little house warm and have the small church somewhat comfortable for Sundays. She was alarmed that the woodpile she had considered so huge was rapidly decreasing in size. But Mr. Reilly noticed too and told her not to be concerned. He was arranging with neighborhood men to add to the pile in plenty of time to meet Emily’s need.

What did worry Emily was the depletion of her food supplies. Her vegetables, carefully stored in the cellar beneath her kitchen, were nearly gone. But it was her nearly empty cupboard that gave her the most concern. By now it was not at all uncommon for women of the community to drop in for a warming cup of tea or coffee after a cold drive to town. Emily welcomed the opportunity to show hospitality. Some of the women who came did not attend church, and Emily felt the visits were a wonderful time for them to get to know one another better and perhaps give her occasion to share her faith in a nonthreatening setting.

But these visits were hard on her resources. Still she was determined that the women would always be welcome, that she would always try to supply them with tea—or coffee—to warm them and, as long as possible, a cookie or piece of cake to enjoy with the hot drink.

The flour was the first to give out. Then the sugar crock emptied—except for one cupful that Emily set aside for her visitors who took sugar with their cup of tea. Emily was glad she always had cream. Mrs. Reilly kept her in constant supply of milk and eggs.

Emily was also thankful for the eggs. She never needed to go hungry as long as she had eggs in the house—she cooked eggs as many ways as she knew how.

“If I can just manage at least tea and coffee until I go home for Christmas,” Emily said to herself over and over.“Then Father will see to it that I get some supplies again.”

Emily was looking forward to Christmas and seeing her family again. It would be wonderful to just relax away from all her responsibilities. She loved the work, but it was a constant drain on all her reserves.

She had planned a children’s Christmas program. All her Sunday school children were involved and met at the church for practice after school on Tuesdays and again on Saturdays. Along with all the rest of Emily’s duties, rehearsals certainly made her days busy. She prayed for continued health so she could keep up to the strenuous schedule. Just carrying in the wood to heat the church on so many occasions was a constant chore.

Emily felt a cold coming on, but she fought against it with all her strength and managed to keep going.

The night of the program arrived, and Emily was very pleased to see her small congregation of between ten and fifteen grow to thirty-nine.

Oh, if only we could have the church this full all the time!
she enthused, carefully studying the audience to see where she needed to concentrate her calling on people after the Christmas season.