Winter Is Not Forever (26 page)

I heard someone crying, and then I realized that it was me. I buried my head in my arms and cried until the sobs shook my whole body.

“Not Willie!” my voice was saying over and over. “Dear God, please, not Willie.”

And all the time a part of my brain kept saying,
It’s all a mistake. You’ll see. They’ll soon discover that they were wrong. It was someone else—not Willie.

In the background I could hear voices, but the words never really registered. Someone was comforting a weeping Mary. Someone was trying to comfort me.

It was a long time until I was able to get some measure of control. Grandpa was asking more questions.

“How did it happen?”

“Some kind of fever—malaria, they expect.”

“Was he sick for long?”

“They still don’t know.”

“How are his folks?”

“Taking it hard.”

It seemed so unreal, senseless. Willie had hardly arrived out there, and now he was
gone
.

And then I thought of Camellia. And I began to cry again. “Poor Camellia. Poor Camellia,” I muttered over and over.

That storm passed, too, and I sat, head bowed, shuddering and hiccuping as I wiped my eyes and blew my nose on the handkerchief I found in my hands.

“Would you like to go to your room?” Uncle Nat asked, and I must have nodded. Uncle Nat helped me up the stairs and to my bed. I threw myself down there and began to weep again, but it seemed so useless. I started to pray instead. For Willie—though I don’t know why. Willie was safe enough. For the Corbins; I knew the whole family would be devastated. I had to go to the Corbins. I had to let them know that I too shared their suffering over the news of Willie’s untimely death.

I prayed for Mrs. Foggelson; Willie was to have been her son-in-law. But mostly I prayed for Camellia. How would she ever bear it? She was all alone at the college, preparing herself to serve with Willie in his Africa.

She would come home now, broken perhaps, but she would come home.

I went back to the kitchen and splashed water on my swollen face. Uncle Nat had already left, but Grandpa and Uncle Charlie sat silently at the kitchen table. Untouched cups of cold coffee sat before them. They looked at me without saying a word. Mary was nowhere to be seen, but her bedroom door was closed tightly.

“I’m going to the Corbins,” I said quietly, and Grandpa nodded.

I wasn’t sure Chester’s leg was well enough, so I put a bridle on old Maude.

I didn’t bother with the saddle; just grabbed up the reins and rode bareback. Maude wasn’t the easiest horse in the world to ride, but maybe I took some satisfaction in my discomfort.

I found the Corbin family tear-stained and desolate. Mrs. Corbin sat in a rocker by the kitchen stove, saying over and over as she rocked, “My poor boy. My poor boy. My poor Willie.” When she saw me she held out her arms and I went to her. She held me so tightly that I could scarcely breathe, and I knew she was trying to hold on to a little part of Willie.

Mr. Corbin paced back and forth across the kitchen floor, his face hard and his hands twisting together. Other family members huddled in little groups here and there, whispering and crying by turn.

And then a very strange thing happened. SueAnn, who had been crying just like the rest of them, wiped away her tears, took a deep breath and managed a weak smile.

“I know God doesn’t make mistakes,” she said. “There will be good, some reason in all this, even if we can’t think of any right now.”

They began to talk, in soft whispers at first, with frequent bursts of tears, but gradually the tears subsided and the praise became more positive. There was even an occasional chuckle as someone recalled a funny incident from Willie’s life. Soon the whole atmosphere of the room had changed. Mrs. Corbin had stopped rocking and moaning, and Mr. Corbin was no longer pacing. Someone brought the family Bible and they began to read, passing the precious book from hand to hand as they shared its truths.

Later, when I left for home, the Corbin family was still grieving, but each member had found a source of comfort beyond themselves.

I waited a day or two before I called on Mrs. Foggelson. I didn’t think I could manage it earlier. I still felt a dull ache deep within me, and I was afraid if I tried to talk about Willie I would break up again.

Mrs. Foggelson met me at the door. “Oh, Josh!” she said with a little cry and she moved quickly toward me, her arms outstretched.

I held her for a few minutes. She was crying against my shoulder, but when she moved back she quickly whisked away the tears and motioned me to the sofa.

We talked about Willie for a long time; we both needed it. I asked about Camellia.

“How is she?” I asked.

“Crushed!” said Mrs. Foggelson. “She’s crushed—but she’ll make it. We’ve talked on the telephone a couple of times.”

“When will she be home?”

“Today. On the afternoon train. That was the soonest she could come.”

There was a pause; then she added, “It seems like such a long way to come for such a short time, but we both felt it important that she be here for the Memorial Service.”

“Short time? What do you mean?”

“She has to go back right away. She’s writing important exams next week.”

“You mean she’s going to stay on in school?” I couldn’t believe it. Why? Willie was no longer there to draw Camellia to South Africa.

Of course,
I reasoned,
Camellia would not want to quit classes halfway through a year.
I admired her for that.
But she quit the Interior Design course before she had completed it.
I was puzzled, unable to understand the difference.

“If she doesn’t write these exams, she loses a whole semester. That would set her back considerably.”

I nodded, a bit surprised that Camellia still wanted to be a nurse.

I went with Mrs. Foggelson to meet Camellia’s train. Some of the Corbin family were there as well. There were more tears. Camellia went from one to another, being held and comforted. When it was my turn there was nothing that we could say to each other. I just held her and let her weep, and my heart nearly broke all over again. The three of us walked on home through the chill winter air and Mrs. Foggelson set about making us all a pot of tea.

“Your ma says you need to go back soon,” I said to Camellia.

She nodded slowly, a weary hand brushing back her curls. “You’re still set on nursing?”

“Willie said that is the biggest need out there—and who knows? If there had been a nurse there, Willie might not have died.”

I could understand that much but not what it had to do with her situation. “I just wish I hadn’t wasted so much time,” she went on as though talking to herself. “If I had started my training at the same time Willie did …” She left the statement hanging.

“But you didn’t know.”

“No, I didn’t know.” Her tone was tired, empty; then she smiled softly. “But at least I’ll have the joy of serving the people that Willie learned to love.”

It f inally got through to me then. Camellia was still planning on going to Africa.

“You’re going to go after
this
?” It seemed out of the question.

“Of course,” she said simply, as though I shouldn’t even need to ask. “They need me.”

C
HAPTER
27

God’s Call

T
HE THREE OF US
made it through the Memorial Service; Mrs. Foggelson asked me to sit with her and Camellia. And then we saw Camellia off on the train again. She held her mother a long, long time as the tears flowed.

“Mamma, I love you so much,” she sobbed. “If I didn’t
have
to go, I’d stay with you—you know that.”

Mrs. Foggelson seemed to understand. She looked Camellia straight in the eyes and said earnestly, “Remember—always, always stand true to your convictions, to what the Lord is telling you.”

They hugged one another again, and then Camellia turned to me.

“Thank you, Josh, for always being there. For being such a dear, dear friend to Willie and me.” I couldn’t say anything in reply. I just held her for a brief moment and then let her go.

I was restless over the next several days. I couldn’t seem to think, to sleep. I didn’t care to eat—I couldn’t even really concentrate when I prayed. My prayers were all broken sentences, pleas of isolated words, fragments of thoughts.

I walked through the days in a stupor. I went through the motions of chores each day. The animals were cared for. Chester got his daily massage and exercise. I moved. I functioned. I spoke. Occasionally I even heard myself laugh, but it was as though another person were existing in my body.

I had to make a trip to town. We needed some groceries and the whole household seemed anxious for a new set of papers.

I went the usual route, picked up the papers at the post office, shuffled through the mail, and my eyes lit up as they fell on an envelope from South Africa. It was from
Willie
! And then my whole body went numb.

But Willie is dead! Willie is no longer in South Africa!

I looked at the postmark. It was dated several weeks back. Somewhere the letter had been held up.

I put the letter in my coat pocket.
I wonder if I’ll even be able

to read it,
I thought. But at the same time I knew that there was no way on earth I could keep from reading it.

I didn’t open the letter until after I had arrived home, cared for the team, done the chores, had my supper, and retired for the night. I didn’t tell anyone about it either—I wasn’t sure how its contents were going to affect me.

At last I opened it slowly and let my eyes drift over the familiar script. My hands were shaking as I held the pages to the light of the kerosene lamp.

Willie, in the usual fashion, wrote about the people he was getting to know, how they were learning to trust him and listen when he talked to them about Jesus. His love showed in every word he spoke. You could tell Willie was happy that God had called him to South Africa.

He made comments about my last letter and asked questions about my family and the community. He sent his love to Mary and even teased me a bit about having
two
eligible young ladies in the household.

Then he began to talk about Camellia.
How happy and blessed I am that God brought us together! I always cared for Camellia—right from the first day that she came to our school.

I watched silently as you and Camellia became friends, both sad and happy at the same time.

And now God has turned everything around; Camellia is going
to be my wife. I can hardly believe the way I have been blessed; I hope with all my heart that you haven’t been hurt. It will be a long time yet before Camellia can join me; I’m counting every hour, but God is making the busy days pass quickly, and before we know it, she will be at my side.

And then Willie said,
Josh, I don’t have to tell you this, but the most exciting thing in the world is to live day by day in the will of God. He has a perfect plan, and if we are obedient to Him He will accomplish it, whether it takes fifty years, twenty years
or a single day.

A sob caught in my throat. I read the paragraph again. Then I went on.

I am thankful that God gave me a good home, a good church, and good friends so that I could learn that truth without fighting it. I know that you have often wondered why the Lord hasn’t called you to the pastorate or to the mission field. The important thing isn’t
where
we serve, but
how.
The question is not “What does He have for me in the future?” but “Am I obedient to Him
right now?” And you can walk in obedience, Josh, wherever you
live and serve.

May God lead you, Josh, in whatever He has for you. You’re the greatest buddy a fellow ever had. Love, Willie.

I cried many tears over that letter. I read it so often in the next several days that I could have repeated it by heart, yet I had a hard time getting to the truth of it.

I was in the barn one morning exercising Chester when the door opened and Uncle Nat came in. After warm greetings, Uncle Nat came over to check out my horse. He was nearly as pleased as I was to see how well Chester was progressing.