The Calling of Emily Evans (21 page)
Emily was grateful that Sophie had heard of her Christmas plight and invited her to share simple celebrations with her and her little family.
It helped to ease her pain at not being with her own family.
She even received a Christmas gift later in the day—one that brought tears to her eyes.
She had left Sophie’s early so that she might add wood to her fire, and had just removed her coat when there was a knock on her door. To Emily’s surprise, Timmie and Rena stood there when she answered the rap.
“Come in,” Emily invited, fear gripping her heart.
Is there trouble at home again?
she wondered, but the children did not appear frightened.
“We came to say Merry Christmas,” said Rena as she moved into the warmth of the kitchen, a gleam in her eye.
“Why, thank you,” began Emily, but Timmie could not hold back his excitement.
“We brought you something,” he declared, his eyes mirroring the glow in Rena’s.
Emily looked at their empty hands, puzzled.
Timmie was fiddling with coat buttons, and Emily noticed that he wore no mittens. Then he reached inside his jacket and withdrew a black and white kitten with green-flecked eyes and a pert pink nose. Around its neck a worn hair bow had been carefully tied.
“They are big enough now,” explained Timmie with a grin.
“This is the prettiest one,” added Rena, one hand gently stroking the soft fur of the tiny animal.
“It’s beautiful,” agreed Emily, the tears forming in her eyes, and she reached out for the kitten that Timmie held toward her.
For a moment she could not speak. Her eyes brimmed and her throat constricted.
They have come through the drifts of snow to bring
me a Christmas kitten. A real gift of love—from my own needy, caring
Magi.
Emily fought hard for control.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked when she could trust herself to speak.
“A boy,” answered Timmie.“Mama said a girl might be a bother.
You’d not know what to do with all the babies.”
Emily smiled at the candid appraisal.
“Does he have a name?” she asked, stroking the kitten’s back and being thanked with a soft purr.
Rena bobbed her head vigorously.“I named him,” she informed Emily, “but you can call him whatever you want. He won’t mind.”
“What did you call him?” Emily asked.
“Walter,” said Rena.
Emily wondered if she managed to hide her surprise. Walter seemed a strange name for a kitten.
“Well, if his name is Walter, we’ll call him Walter,” she said with finality.
Rena beamed.
“Now,” suggested Emily, “let’s allow Walter to explore his new home while I get you some hot chocolate.”
Then Emily grabbed her coat.“You wait here,” she told the youngsters.“I’ll be right back.”
Never had Emily borrowed from neighbors before, but now she hastened to Sophie’s. She could not let the children start out for home in the cold without warming up their small bodies.
The winter was a difficult one for Emily. Often she went to bed with little in her stomach. Her cupboard was seldom supplied with the items she really needed to give her proper nourishment. And now she had to share her milk with Walter as well. She wondered that she was not sick more. All around her, colds and flu kept her parishioners in bed. And whenever possible, Emily called on those who were ill, offering what little help and encouragement she was able. She did suffer from a cold on two occasions and a flu sent her to bed for two days, but for the most part, she managed to keep going.
Severe illnesses kept Dr. Andrew busy day and night for a number of weeks in February. He looked haggard and weary when Emily met him on the street.
Then word came that old Mr. Woodrow had passed away. He was from a family Emily did not know well. She had called there on two occasions but had received a very cool reception. She immediately recognized an opportunity to reach out to the elderly widow.
It was a miserable drive out to the Woodrow farm. The long winter that had piled high drifts of snow was gradually giving way to the mud of early spring. Emily urged her team through the ruts and mud holes, coaxing them to quicken their pace even though the buggy wheels clogged with the heavy gumbo.
At the farm home she found the new widow alone. Mrs. Woodrow had no family to share her mourning, and it seemed that the neighbors either had not yet heard the news or else did not know quite how to respond.
The woman’s eyes did not soften as she saw Emily, but she did nod her head for Emily to enter as she held the door.
“I’m so sorry about the—the…” Emily did not know how to choose her words. She had heard that the couple had done nothing but quarrel for the past twenty years.“The death of your husband,” Emily finished lamely.
Mrs. Woodrow just nodded again.
“I came to see if there is anything I can do.”
The woman pushed some papers off a chair, letting them fall to the floor in disarray, and indicated that Emily could sit down.
Emily removed her mud-spattered coat and, without invitation, hung it on a crowded hook on the wall and took the offered chair.
After waiting for what she considered a suitable time, Emily cleared her throat.“Do you need any help with—the—the arrangements?” she asked softly.
“You bury?” asked the woman bluntly.
The words surprised Emily.“Well, no—I have never—never conducted a funeral service,” she stammered, but quickly added as she saw the woman’s expression, “but I’m sure that Rev. Witt—our district superintendent—would come or send another minister.”
The woman looked relieved.
“We need a coffin,” the woman said.
“Would you like me to have one sent out from town?” Emily asked.
Mrs. Woodrow nodded.
“When would you like the funeral?” Emily continued.
“The quicker, the better,” the woman responded without hesitation.
“I’ll see how quickly I can get someone,” Emily promised, and Mrs. Woodrow seemed satisfied with that.
“Where is the—the deceased?” Emily asked in a hesitant voice.
“In the back room,” the woman said with a nod of her head.“I been sleepin’ here on the floor.”
Emily looked around her.
The body is right here in this house!
She shivered, then turned her attention to the blankets lying in a heap by the kitchen stove.
Emily rose.“Is there anything else I can do before I go?” she asked. The woman stood and moved toward the aforementioned back room. Without a word to Emily, Mrs. Woodrow opened the door, entered the room, and Emily could hear her moving about.
Soon she was back, a worn, threadbare black suit and a white shirt in her arms.
“Here’s his buryin’ things,” she said to Emily.“Guess he should be washed and shaved.”
Emily stared blankly at the woman. The woman was placing the items in Emily’s hands and Emily took them dumbly, the truth slowly sinking in.
She expects me to prepare the body for burial.
Emily swallowed and tried to speak but the words would not come.
“There’s water in the teakettle, and the basin is there on the corner stand. His razor is on that shelf.”
Woodenly, Emily moved forward. She poured water into the basin, gathered together the shaving tools and lifted the much-used towel from the peg. Then, her arms laden, she moved toward the back room.
It was cold in the room. A strange odor seemed to fill the place. Enough light came from the small window to outline the still form on the bed. His eyes were fixed in a blank stare at the ceiling above his head and his mouth, empty of most of his teeth, hung open. Emily shuddered and wanted to run. She had never touched a dead body before, let alone prepared one for burial. She had no idea what was to be done.
She closed her eyes and another shudder ran through her.“I can’t do this,” she whispered.“I can’t.”
But a new thought flashed into her mind.
This might be the only
bridge to reaching the woman out there.
Emily steeled herself and set down her basin. She laid the clothes carefully on the bed and prepared herself for the ordeal ahead.
“Dear God, help me,” she prayed.“I need your help in a way I’ve never needed it before,” and Emily reached out a shaking hand to touch the arm of the man who lay on the bed.
It was stiff and cold to her tentative touch. A shiver went all through her, but she straightened her shoulders, pressed her lips tightly together and began the unwanted task.
Rev. Witt was not available, so Fred Russell was sent in answer to Emily’s plea. Emily was disappointed that Agatha did not accompany him, but their baby was due any day.
Emily was relieved to see Fred and to turn the situation over to someone who had some experience in handling it.
Mrs. Woodrow wanted no church service.
“I just want him buried,” she insisted in a hard voice, and Emily was glad that it was Fred who would be supervising the arrangements.
The neighborhood men prepared the grave. A number stood silently while the coffin was lowered and a few words from Scripture were spoken. Emily felt rather empty inside, as if something important wasn’t quite finished.
As the small crowd drifted away, Emily thought she should invite Fred for supper but didn’t know what she could serve him. He solved her dilemma by excusing himself. He was anxious to get back home to Agatha, and Emily nodded understandingly.
As she watched him go, she was glad the day was over. Mr. Woodrow’s widow had already gotten a ride home from a neighbor. Emily walked from the cemetery, down the road toward the little town.
She felt discouraged as she trudged along. Mrs. Woodrow had not so much as muttered a “thank you” to anyone who had been involved in helping her.
Emily passed the post office and decided to check for mail. She didn’t get much, but occasionally a letter came from home or from one of her Bible school friends. Emily would welcome such a letter now.
There were two pieces of mail that awaited her. One was a letter from the district superintendent with news of the coming conference. Emily was excited to learn that she would be expected to be there. She would see many of her old friends again.
That’s almost as good as
going home!
she exulted.
The second letter puzzled her as she looked at the bold script and reread the return address.
It’s a letter from Ross Norris. Imagine
that! Ross, of all people! Why would he be writing me?
Emily had been interested in him when they were in Bible school, but she was sure they hadn’t said more than a dozen words to each other during the whole time. Ruth wrote that Olive had broken her engagement to Ross, Emily remembered. Excitedly she held the envelope, but she resisted the urge to open it immediately and made herself wait until she was in the privacy of the parsonage. But that resolve did not stop the questions from chasing through her mind.
Ross’s letter was full of newsy bits concerning their Bible school classmates. It was open and friendly, but Emily found herself still puzzling as she read.
Why has he written—to me? He’s never done so
in the past. Perhaps I’m trying to read more into it than I should. Why
should it be so strange for a man to think of a former classmate and drop
her a friendly note?
Emily assured herself that the letter was nothing more than that.
