The White Knight (19 page)

Each day Luke struggled to stay sober enough to do an adequate job washing dishes, then each night he used liquor to try to forget how useless his life was. But even as he drank himself senseless, he kept remembering Streak Garrison and how the man had saved his life by making that flight that was supposed to be Luke's. He relived that scene in the hospital over and over again, thinking of the promise he had made to help Streak's sister. He felt bad that he had done nothing about it. He had reneged on his promise just like he had given up on everything else meaningful in life.

That evening as Luke got off work, he hurried past the liquor store, even though his nerves were crawling with desire for the drink. But he gritted his teeth and went straight to the rescue mission. He found Jim Edmonds, the director, standing beside a wood stove. “It's pretty cold out there, isn't it, Luke?”

“Brother Edmonds, I've got to leave here.”

Edmonds was a well-built man with thick shoulders and a firm neck. He had played football for a while for the Green Bay Packers and was able to handle any trouble. “And go where, Luke?”

“I've got to go to Tennessee.”

“Maybe we ought to talk about it. Come on into the kitchen. We'll have a cup of coffee and you can tell me about your plan.”

Luke followed Edmonds into the kitchen, and for the next half hour he sat there drinking coffee, his hands trembling with the need for drink. He told the whole story to Edmonds and finally said, “So you see I've got to go try to help Streak's sister.”

“I think it's a good thing for you to do,” Edmonds said
quickly, “but this may not be the best time. The radio says there's a snowstorm coming up. Maybe a blizzard.”

“I've got to quit making excuses. Whether there's a blizzard coming or not, I've got to do it, but I didn't want to leave without telling you why.”

“How are you going to get there? Train?”

“I haven't thought about that yet.” Actually Luke did not have enough money even for bus fare.

Edmonds reached into his pocket and pulled out several ones. “This'll help a little bit. I wish it was more. But I really do think you should wait until this weather clears up.”

“I don't think I can do that, but I want to thank you for all you've done for me.”

“Well, I'll be praying for you, as I always have, along with all the other fellows here. When will you leave?”

“Right after breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“I'll see you at breakfast, then.”

****

The snow had stopped, but the air was crisp with cold. As Luke trudged along the country road, his feet were numb. They broke through the crust of snow that had fallen the night before, and the wind bit at his face. He'd had a series of short rides that got him through Kentucky and most of Tennessee.

He had spent the night in a barn, but the hacking cough that had started the day before was worse. A coughing fit suddenly doubled him over. This was no ordinary cough. It was like being torn in two.

When he straightened up, his face felt tight against the cold. He heard a vehicle approaching from behind him and looked back to see an old Chevrolet truck. He wearily stuck his thumb out and the truck stopped.

“Hop in,” the driver said.

“Appreciate it,” Luke said. He got in, happy to get out of the wind. He didn't know if his numb feet would ever recover.

“How far you going?”

“I'm looking for the Garrison place, near Chattanooga. Have you heard of Joelle Garrison?”

“Oh sure. I can get you almost there. I only live five miles from the Haven. Have you come far?”

“Pretty far.” Luke leaned back and closed his eyes. He was racked with the cough several times as they made their bumpy progress down the highway.

“Well, this is as far as I go,” the driver said after a time.

Luke opened his eyes. “I appreciate the ride.”

“I wish I could take you the rest of the way, but I'm low on gas.”

“Just tell me where it is. I'll make it from here.”

“Straight on down this road five miles. When you see a big silo on the left, you turn on the road to the right, and the Garrison place is just a quarter of a mile farther on.”

“Thanks again for the ride.”

Luke barely heard the man's good-bye. As he stepped out of the warmth of the truck, the cold swept back into his bones, and it was all he could do to trudge along. He had to stop often when his hacking cough would cut off his breath. Finally he saw the silo that the man had mentioned and stiffly turned down the road to the right. He kept walking until he saw a house. He had almost reached it when he stumbled and did not have the strength to get up. It was growing dark, and he knew he would freeze to death if he stayed there. Still, the strength had left his body. He tried to get up, began coughing, and then he knew he would never make it to the house. He whispered, “Streak, I did my best. . . . I just couldn't make it.”

As Luke lay there, he knew he was dying. His body grew numb, but strangely enough, he felt his mind growing clearer. He thought of a Sunday morning when he'd sat beside his parents in church—a rare morning when he had listened to the sermon instead of dozing. He had been only fourteen at the time, but as he lay in the freezing snow, he realized that he could still remember the sermon—at least part of it.
Come
unto me.
Those were the words the pastor had repeated over and over that morning.

Now as his life was leaving him, Luke knew a regret that went through him like a sword. Dying—and no God!

Come unto me.

Luke heard those words repeat in his mind but he knew it was too late to repent now. There was no room in the kingdom for a drunk who had ignored God his entire life.

Come unto me
was his last thought. . . .

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Rescued!

Picking up the hammer with her right hand, Joelle reached into a paper sack and pulled out a fat pecan. Placing it carefully on the flatiron she held upside down between her knees, she struck it with a sharp blow. She hit it twice more, then put the hammer down and stripped the thin shell away from the nut on the inside.

“I don't see how you get these pecans out whole, Joelle.” Gladys, sitting on a stool at the island across from Joelle, was picking the nuts out of her broken shells. “I have to pick all the little bitty pieces out,” she added with a look of disgust.

“I guess it's something you learn over time, Gladys. I wasn't good at it when I was your age either.”

The two were enjoying the waves of heat coming from the wood-burning stove. The radio on the countertop was turned down low, but they could hear Kate Smith singing “Silent Night.” Gladys, using a pick, extracted a fragment of nut and dropped it into a bowl. Throwing the hull into a paper sack at her feet, she said, “I saw a picture of Kate Smith. She's fat.”

“Yes. She is pretty heavy,” Joelle agreed.

“I thought movie stars and singers had to have good shapes.”

“I don't guess so, at least not singers. Kate Smith is everybody's favorite. My favorite song of hers is ‘When the Moon Comes Over the Mountain.' ”

“I like that one too.” Gladys sat quietly then, continuing to
pick the pecan meat out. From far off came the sound of a dog howling, and she looked out the window. “It's getting dark.”

“I should get supper started pretty soon, but we're having leftovers tonight. That always makes it easy.”

Gladys sat back down and watched Joelle work. “Joelle,” she said quietly, “I . . . I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't taken me in.”

Joelle looked up with surprise and saw the pain on the girl's face. It was exactly the sort of attitude that had touched her heart and caused her to want to help girls like Gladys. She knew that the girl had been abused by her stepfather, and she also was keenly aware that the girl had never really accepted the fact that her stepfather's actions weren't her fault.

Gladys looked down at the floor for a time, then whispered, “I never told anybody, but . . . I was thinking of killing myself. I was so ashamed, Joelle!”

Joelle put everything on the work surface and gathered the girl in her arms. “You did nothing wrong, Gladys, and now that you're a Christian, you can put all that behind you.”

“I just can't seem to forget it. It keeps coming back.”

Joelle sat down next to the girl. “Gladys, you know God says that when He saves us by the blood of Jesus, He takes all of our sins and scatters them as far as the east is from the west. I heard one evangelist say that He takes all of our old sins and buries them in the deepest part of the sea. Then He puts up a sign that says
No Fishing!
That's what I want you to think of. Don't go back into your past and think of the bad things that happened to you. Jesus took all of our sins. You start out fresh, brand-new.

“When Jesus was here on this earth, He met some pretty bad sinners, but He forgave
all
of their sins—everything—not just the small sins.”

“I sure would like to be able to forget everything, but those thoughts keep coming back.”

“I think that's the devil doing that. The Bible calls him the accuser. When we do something wrong, we ask God to
forgive us through the blood of Jesus, and He always does. But then later on, especially when we're quiet, maybe trying to get to sleep, the devil comes and points to our old sins and says, ‘Look at
that.
You call yourself a Christian? Look what you did!' Don't listen to him, Gladys. You just say, ‘Devil, you'll have to take that up with Jesus.' ” Joelle laughed then and squeezed the girl's shoulder. “It's good to have friends like that.”

Gladys smiled. “I'm so glad I came here, Joelle.”

At that moment Joelle experienced a warmth and a certainty that was not always with her. At times she had many doubts. Trying to help these troubled girls was very hard, and the threat of having the property taken by the bank was a constant concern. She had to struggle with her doubts and fears, but moments like this, seeing the light and hope in Gladys's eyes, made it all worthwhile.

“Say, isn't it almost time for Lum and Abner?”

“I'll get the station,” Gladys said, jumping up to tune the radio. Soon the familiar words of the announcer crackled to life: “And now let's see what's going on down in Pine Ridge.” The two sat there listening to the captivating antics of Lum and Abner. Two crusty old bachelors getting themselves involved in ludicrous situations made the country laugh and forget their problems. Although things were not as bad as they had been in the thirties, the financial downturn was still holding the country tight in its grasp.

Suddenly Gladys lifted her head. “Listen. Somebody's running down the hall.”

The door burst open, and Sunny and Shirley came running in. “There's a dead man out in the road!” Sunny cried.

“What?!” Joelle couldn't believe they were serious.

“There
is!
” Shirley insisted, nodding vehemently. “He's laying there not moving.”

Joelle rose and quickly followed the two girls outside.
I should have worn a coat,
she thought.
It's bitter cold out here.

“There he is!” Sunny cried. “You see?”

Indeed, there was a still form that was partially covered with snow. Joelle immediately put her fingers on the man's neck. She detected a very weak but unmistakable pulse.

“We've got to get him in the house. Go get the other girls.” She tried to wake the man as the rest of the girls gathered around. “Sunny, you support his head. The rest of you each take a leg or a shoulder.”

She could see that the girls were frightened to touch him, but she said, “He'll be all right. He's not dead.” With great difficulty they managed to pick up the still form of the tall man and get him to the house. Getting him up the porch steps was more of a problem. “Hold his head carefully, Sunny. He might hurt his neck if you don't support his head.”

They managed to get up the steps, and Shirley opened the door for them. They moved into the house, and Joelle said, “Let's put him in my bedroom. I don't think we could get him up the stairs.” Her bedroom was downstairs, while the girls stayed upstairs.

They maneuvered the still form onto the bed. “Gladys, you go call Dr. Brennen.”

To their surprise the man suddenly began coughing—a retching, tearing cough.

“He's sick,” Phyllis said. “He'll give us whatever he's got. Maybe it's cholera.”

“Nonsense. He might have the flu or maybe pneumonia. Run now, Gladys. Tell Dr. Brennen to get here as quick as he can.”

Gladys ran into the kitchen, and they soon heard her speaking excitedly over the phone. Joelle leaned over and looked into the man's face. He was so thin and cold it was impossible to guess his age. She brushed the snow out of his hair, and as she did so, Sunny leaned forward and pressed against her. “He's going to die, ain't he, Joelle?”

“No. I hope not. We'll pray that God will heal him.”

June Littleton shook her head, cynicism in her voice. “Yeah,
the preacher come and prayed when my ma was sick, but she died anyway.”

“Well, we're going to pray that this man will live. Now, let's get some blankets over him.” She stood there beside the sick man as the girls brought blankets, and she studied his face, wondering who he was. From the look of his clothes, he was obviously a tramp. She remembered when she was but a little girl how the hobos would come to the house and her mother would always feed them, even though they had little themselves. She placed her hand on the man's forehead. “Lord Jesus, you're able to do all things. Please heal this man.”

****

Luke was vaguely aware of music and of hands touching him. Some of the hands seemed gentle and others seemed rough. With the hands came voices, and through the deep blackness there was one voice in particular that he learned to trust, for the hands that accompanied that voice were sure and quick. Despite the helping hands, the fever tortured him. He felt at times as if he were being roasted over a fire, and other times he shook and trembled with cold.