The Kingdom Land (10 page)

“
Then when you were a Sophomore in
high school we got a letter from the state of California with a
death certificate asking if we wanted to be responsible for burial
costs. Erik, your mom can't be found, she's—she's dead. At the
time, you were going through so much we were afraid that it would
only drive you further away if we told you.”

Erik sat stunned. He was silent for many moments,
only aware of the two faces looking at him, concern and distress
etched into the work worn crevices of their features. “How did she
die?” Erik's finally spoke.

“
That's not important. She's gone,
and we're your family,” Henry firmly but gently stated.

“
How did she die?”

“
Erik…” It was obvious Henry was
again reluctant to go further.

“
Don't' try to hide anything else
from me. I want the truth. How did she die?” Erik's voice wasn't
tired. It was angry. It was no longer just about his mother. It was
about respect.

Henry looked down. “She died of a heroin overdose.
Things hadn't worked out for her. She was never able to find a
place of happiness. It's a shame, but some people just can't cope
with life. Now that you've found His life, it's time to move on.”
Henry didn't know how else to state the facts.

Erik didn't know what to think. More emotions were
thrown on top of all that he already felt. There had been so much
elation and relief and now reality. That mother that he had only
referred to as “her” had truly abandoned him. She had been given a
second chance to take him when his dad died. She may as well said,
“What kid, I don't want any kid.” His mother was nothing better
than a dope-head who didn't care about anyone, even herself. His
dad was a drunk and his mom a doper, and he came from them. He
carried their genes, which said a lot about his worth.

Why would he expect anything else?
He was a fool and only had empty dreams. A day ago he thought a
barmaid would be his future. What a joke. Today he had dreamt of
finding his mom ‘cause she'd love him.
Why
do I even bother? When am I going to realize that No One wants
me.
Suddenly the arms of God seemed far
away.

He now knew why Henry had lectured him before he
started. He had been right, but Erik didn't want someone to be
right. Tears began to well up. He redirected his energy in an
effort to fight the tears.

“
No wonder you lied to me all these
years. What else haven't you told me? You think I'm such a basket
case you can't even tell me the truth. You needed to tell me. This
is the second time you lied to me. You told me when I was a kid
that she left to get well and she really loved me. She never loved
me. She never even cared about me. What else have you lied about?
How am I supposed to believe anything you say?”

As soon as he said the words he knew he was wrong,
but he also knew he had been wronged. He was too tired to know what
else to do. “Now I'm supposed to forgive people who I can't even
talk to. What's next?”

His aunt and uncle had no reply.
They could have suggested that he spend some of his newfound faith
on forgiving
them
for the honest mistakes they had made, but they felt so
profoundly guilty in the face of his bitterness that they could not
even speak.

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

 

T
here was
little sleep that evening, neither in the main farmhouse nor the
bunkhouse. Mary and Henry didn't get up from the table once Erik
left. There was no discussion. They both simply sat and prayed in
silence and thought in earnest.

“
What a great day!” they thought,
but following on the heels of that thought was the irony that
instead of bringing them healing, it seemed as though Erik's going
to Christ had caused a greater rift between Erik and themselves.
They felt helpless to know what to do, how to make things right
between them. They could only rely on God.

They knew the Lord had answered Erik's call. In
actuality, Erik had answered God, who had called to him for years.
They had seen so many times that Erik had a tender heart, but it
was also a heart that he kept closely locked so that it couldn't be
hurt again. Now their fear was that he would once again feel
betrayed by God and close his heart forever.

Erik was so hard to read. Even as that
eleven-year-old boy at his father's funeral, it was hard to tell
how he would react. He was so quiet and if confronted he would
shrink back into even greater silence. He would talk about things,
but he would talk at his own time of choosing. Months would pass
after a big event in Erik's life and only then would he explain how
he felt and how much it meant to him. That is why they were so
excited to see him so open about Christ and his excitement about
serving Him. Now neither of them knew how Erik would react, but
they both knew they couldn't force an answer from him.

Finally, Mary got up and did needless chores around
the kitchen. She cleaned and organized the lazy susan, which was
already clean and organized. She cleaned the cabinet tops. She
scrubbed with the dishrag so hard it looked as if she was trying to
remove the top layer of laminate. Mary worked to clear her mind of
despair. Maybe it was all her fault. Maybe she could have changed
everything. She was the big sister to Erik's dad. She should have
done more when she had the chance. She thought of her time with
Jimmie.

As a kid, Jimmie was mischievous and fun loving. He
loved a practical joke and loved to tease his sister. Mary also
thought she took great care to look after her younger brother, but
now she wondered if she could've done more. He took great delight
in watching her eyes as he did daredevil tricks out of her reach.
He knew, once she was assured that he wasn't hurt, that she would
shake her head and say, “You'll be the death of me yet, if you
don't kill yourself first.”

There was a seven-year gap between the two, but
somehow the gap seemed like twenty-seven years, at times. Mary was
serious and focused. Jimmie was fun loving and cared only about the
next weekend.

As he got older he began to change. It seemed like
the farm did something to Jimmie as he got into his teens. The long
summer hours of work seemed to dull his spirit and his practical
jokes came less frequently. He became part of the other men's
conversation about the farm and the weather and the fear of drought
and hailstorms. Many of the men talked this way to pass the
time.

Jimmie took these conversations to heart. When an
older farmer would talk about a past drought the next man would
tell a story worse than the rest. To the men, story telling was a
game, a social event. Unfortunately, a teenaged Jimmie believed
ever word and thought their reality would be true of his farm. He
felt his only chance to survive was to work harder than the rest.
Soon he became obsessed with the weather and the health of his
crops.

When he met Maggie, Mary was excited to notice that
he had once again picked up his zeal for life, and he now played
the tricks on his wife rather than Mary. Maggie gave him a chance
to think of something besides the farm. His obsession soon turned
to her. He did everything he could to keep her happy and be in love
with him. The only thing he couldn't give her was a return to
Denver. He was a farmer and the land was his life. Soon Maggie
realized she was stuck on the farm, and Jimmie's attention only
suffocated her more. She wanted her freedom and excitement and
Jimmie no longer gave her either.

His new zeal for life ended when Maggie left. He
became completely wrapped up in the life of the farm since the land
was the one thing he knew would never change. He worked longer than
he had to, and when he did take a break, it was to get drunk.

Mary saw the effect on Erik's life. A boy matures
faster on a farm, and by the time he was nine he seemed nineteen.
Since he had little attention from his dad, Erik became quiet and
went out by himself when other people were around. Whenever she
went over to visit she would bring a toy or a game or anything
possible to give fun to Erik's life and to show that someone cared.
It was only after Jimmie died and Erik moved to their house that
she realized how much he had become like his dad.

When they were young, both Mary and Jimmie attended
the one-room schoolhouse located just a mile over the hill from
their farmhouse. Mary was in the eighth grade and Jimmie was in the
first. The county didn't have buses so each family was paid
transportation money to get the kids to school. In turn, Mary's dad
offered them half of the money if they walked themselves over the
hill. It was a way for the kids to get an allowance and for the
family to use the money saved towards other necessities. The two
jumped at the opportunity to get money and walked whenever the
weather allowed.

Because of the age difference and because the school
was only to the eighth grade, they only walked together one
year.

This was the time Mary remembered most about Jimmie.
On those walks, Jimmie would open up like he never could at home.
He was full of dreams of being a fireman or a soldier like any
typical six year old. But he also had stories he had created in his
mind that Mary would never have guessed a six year old could
hold.

Since the Winters' farmhouse only had two finished
bedrooms, Mary got one, the parents the second and Jimmie would
sleep in an unfinished room in the basement. On the walks to
school, Jimmie would talk about the nightmares he would have in
that basement room. He would talk about the dream of being buried
alive when the family left him behind while he was sleeping. He
didn't know they were gone until he woke to the sound of the
basement beams mourning as if to fall. He would try to go upstairs,
but his legs wouldn't walk, and when he finally crawled the stairs
to the door, the door was locked. He screamed for help, but no one
would come. No one had remembered Jimmie. The beams cracked even
louder until they crumbled under the weight of some unseen force.
Tile and furniture and kitchen appliances came falling down as the
beams collapsed. The debris fell and fell, and Erik could only wait
for himself to be engulfed.

Only later did she realize these were not nightmares
he had in his sleep, but horrors he feared as he lay awake in his
basement room waiting for sleep to overtake him. These were not
dreams of sleep, but fears Jimmie faced every night.

Mary knew an eighth grader shouldn't have such
dreams, but she didn't know how to help, but she made sure she said
goodnight to Erik in his basement room.

After Erik arrived, she would wonder if that was why
Erik slept in the bunkhouse, even though he never knew about his
father's basement room. Somehow it seemed Erik had inherited more
than the same colored hair from his dad. She wondered what
nightmares Erik must be having now.

As she waxed the floor for the second time that
evening she wondered if she should have done more.

“
If only I had given Jimmie more
attention. Mom and dad were too busy, but I had the time. Maybe he
wouldn't have had those nightmares, and maybe he wouldn't have felt
left alone so often. Maybe Jimmie wouldn't have shut himself up and
escaped to his work. Maybe Maggie wouldn't have left him and maybe
Erik wouldn't be facing what he is today. Maybe I could have
stopped all this from happening if only…”

Her guilt was without bases. She had been a girl, but
in the ‘40's the farm demanded as much of her time and attention as
anyone else. She still drove a tractor and a truck during harvest.
Their family had been poor and only rented most of the land they
worked. There was little extra time to look after a younger brother
since they couldn't hire extra hands. Mary was the hand that filled
in when needed, and she was often needed.

She enjoyed the farm life. It gave her a sense of
accomplishment to see the fields she had planted and worked to
produce a bumper crop. A farm kid with her responsibilities matured
fast and they become single-minded in their lives. Her life was
working on the farm to help the family.

Going to a one-room schoolhouse with six kids in
eight grades does not allow for a social life. The farm life itself
is not designed for companionship. It is designed to work the land.
Once a month there was a dance at the Haylake Hall, and this was
Mary's chance to socialize. There was no lake in the area, but
someone must have thought it made the place sound better so they
built a grange hall and invited a couple musicians, someone to call
the square dances, and invited everyone for a potluck.

It was a very basic shell of a building with no
definable features. However, once Mary opened one of the two large
entry doors and heard the music and the people, her heart would
jump with excitement. To the right were long rows of tables with
fried chicken and black beans and garden grown squash. To the left
was a row of young men looking across the way to a row of young
women waiting to be asked to dance. They would wait all night. On
the dance floor were only the much older parents and grandparents
and an odd combinations of young kids. The kids attempted to follow
the directions of the caller but mostly they would bump into each
other and anyone else close to them. Some of the kids were short,
some awkwardly tall for their age; and all carried big smiles of
excitement.

The middle-aged men would gather together and talk
about the crops and the price of wheat and what they thought they
would plant next year. The man with the largest farm would quiz the
others, “Would it be a good year for winter or spring wheat? Would
any of them take a gamble and hope for malting barley, knowing if
the conditions weren't right that barley would have to be sold as
feed barley for a fraction of the price? How about mustard? I hate
harvesting mustard with its small seeds; the combine has a terrible
time.” The men had come to leave the farm behind and enjoy the
dance, but they quickly fell back to its talk.