“Ye know it’s my time, Drum,” croaked Mr. Jones. “Don’t ye try t’ preten—”
His voice broke off and he started coughing, real deep, down in his lungs.
“It ain’t no such thing, Alkali. Why, we’re gonna have you up and outta here in no time.”
Poor Pa. He was trying so hard to be brave, but one look at his face said that he was fighting back the tears.
Suddenly Mr. Jones saw the rest of us inching toward the bed.
His eyes lit up, and I saw his eyes try to smile.
“Why there’s the rest of ’em . . . come t’ pay yer last respects t’ the ol’ coot, eh—hee—”
But he couldn’t finish his laugh without starting to cough again.
Almeda came forward, knelt down beside Pa, and gently took Alkali’s old rough hand in hers.
“Alkali Jones,” she said, and I’d never heard her voice sound so tender. “Maybe you are an old coot. If you are, you’re sure an old coot that this family loves as much as any other man we’ve ever known.” She bent down and kissed him gently on the forehead.
“Hee, ye hear that, Drum? Yer wife called me an ol’ coot, hee. . . . That’s a fine woman ye let snag ye, Drum, though at first I thought it’d be the death o’ ye sure. . . .”
Weak as he was, Mr. Jones never lost his sense of humor.
“Alkali Jones, are you saying you didn’t think I’d be good for this partner of yours?” said Almeda, now doing her part to try to keep the spirit of the conversation light.
Mr. Jones didn’t say anything, just smiled, gave her a wink with the twinkle that, though fading now, had always been in his eye. Then he looked at us four kids—Tad and Zack, Becky and me.
“I ever tell you young rascals about the time . . . I found me a nugget as big as . . . big as my fist, it was. . . . Had t’ wrestle me a dad-blamed bear fer it, though . . . hee, hee, hee. . . . The big grizzly was usin’ my stream . . . usin’ it t’ catch his supper an’ was sittin’ right on top—”
He closed his eyes and took a breath. He was so weak and tired he couldn’t even finish his story. A year before, we’d have all been laughing and kidding him by this time.
Nobody was laughing now.
“You need to rest, Alkali,” said Pa. “You can finish that story tomorrow. It’s been a long day. We need to get you settled down for the night.”
“Yer right about that, Drum, hee, hee—”
More coughing.
“ . . . an’ a longer night . . . than yer talking ’bout. . . .”
The door creaked open behind us. We turned to see Uncle Nick walk in, followed by Christopher.
“Nick, ye ol’ rascal,” whispered Mr. Jones as Uncle Nick approached.
“Heard you wasn’t feeling too well, Alkali,” said Uncle Nick. “What’s the matter, ain’t these folks feeding you?”
“Tarnation, they’s shovin’ more food at me than a body can well eat in a month. Ain’t the food, Nick . . . that’s . . . that’s why I wanted t’ see the two o’ ye . . . gotta tell ye—”
He stopped again, closed his eyes, and breathed in and out a few times like he was exhausted. His face was so white.
“Gotta tell us what, Alkali? You find a new strike upstream?”
His eyes opened a slit, and his lips smiled. “Hee, hee . . . that’s a good one, Nick . . . a new strike, hee, hee. But ye all gotta promise me ye won’t give up on the new mine. I tell ye there’s gold there. This ol’ nose o’ mine kin smell it. Ye gotta promise ye’ll keep at it till ye fin’ it.”
“We . . . we promise, Alkali,” said Pa.
But Mr. Jones wasn’t satisfied. He looked feebly around at the others, waiting to hear the words from them, too.
Everyone nodded, and a few other words of promise were mumbled.
“So that’s what you had to tell me, eh, Alkali?” said Uncle Nick.
“No, it . . . it ain’t that. . . . Gotta tell ye that the good Lord’s given me . . . given me the best dang frien’s in the world . . . taken right good care o’ me . . . all o’ ye . . . made this ol’ coot feel like he was somebody worth . . . like he was somebody that—”
He broke off and never finished the sentence, breathing heavily but with shallow breaths, like the strain of filling up his lungs was finally too much for him.
He lay there for several minutes with his eyes closed, hardly a sign of life in him. Every one of the eight of us stood there stock-still. I’d never felt so much love coming out of a group of people for one man as in those quiet, solemn moments as we stood around the bedside with our eyes fixed on the fading earthly form of the old miner Alkali Jones.
Chapter 36
Saying Goodbye
After a minute or two, Mr. Jones opened his eyes again.
“Eh—there’s the young preacher-lad,” he breathed softly, seeing Christopher now standing behind me for the first time as we all crowded around the bed. “Corrie, lass,” he said, “ye done mighty fine fer a man. . . . Ye make yer Pa proud . . . hee, hee—he told me so hisself. He thinks . . . thinks the world o’ ye, he does—that’s just what he told me . . . and you, Rev’rend,” he said, lifting his eyebrows up toward Christopher, “I reckon it’s about . . . about time fer you t’ be doin’ yer work, eh . . . hee, hee—”
Again he started coughing.
“Would you like me to pray with you, Mr. Jones?” Christopher asked.
“Aye, that I would, young feller,” scratched Mr. Jones’ tired voice, “though I don’t . . . don’t figure I oughta . . . let you do all the prayin’ yerself. Don’t ye reckon, seein’s . . . I’m about t’ meet him myself that I . . . oughta talk t’ him myself?”
“That’s a good idea, Mr. Jones,” said Christopher. “Shall I begin?”
Mr. Jones coughed lightly again, nodded, and closed his eyes.
Again the door opened, and Aunt Katie stole quietly in, though Mr. Jones didn’t see her. He had his eyes closed, waiting for Christopher to pray.
Christopher began to pray.
“Our Father,” he said, “we come to you in this holy moment, committing into your care the life of our friend and brother and the son whom you love, Alkali Jones. We thank you, Father, for the privilege of knowing him, and we thank you that he is one of your family. We ask that you would restore him to health. Restore him, Lord, to perfect health and vitality of life and limb . . . and especially spirit. Thank you for his life and for the great joy he has brought to every one of us.”
Christopher stopped.
“Hee, hee . . . that’s mighty fine, young feller . . . hee, hee . . . you and ol’ Rutledge, ye was always both mighty fine . . . at the prayin’ . . . though I don’t reckon I’m gonna help ye git yer prayer answered. . . . I ain’t feelin’ much o’ that there vitality. . . .”
He closed his eyes. His breathing was so soft.
Christopher did not respond to Mr. Jones’ misunderstanding of his words, but I knew what he meant well enough.
“Would you like to pray now yourself, Mr. Jones?” encouraged Christopher gently.
A faint nod came from the bed, though he didn’t open his eyes.
He waited another few seconds, then began.
“Well, Lord,” breathed Mr. Jones in the faintest whisper, “I reckon it’s about time . . . fer ye t’ see if there’s anything worth keepin’ in this ol’ soul o’ mine. Ye been mighty . . . mighty good t’ an ol’ varmint like me. Ye gave me frien’s . . . that loved me more’n a feller deserves . . . an’ that I loved more’n I ever told ’em—”
A stifled sob broke from Almeda’s lips. She clutched her mouth and turned away for a moment, eyes filling with tears. When she glanced back, she took the miner’s two hands tenderly in hers once more.
I was crying by now too. We all were. Pa’s face was wet, and I know he wasn’t ashamed.
I blinked a few times and closed my eyes again while Mr. Jones struggled to get the words of his prayer out, though his voice was fading so soft I could barely make them out.
&nb
sp; “Like I was sayin’, Lord, ye . . . ye been good t’ this ol’ codger. . . . I’m mighty obliged that ye kep’ lovin’ me all them years when I wasn’t payin’ as much attention as I shouda . . . an’ I wanna tell ye thank ye again, that ye seen fit them months back t’ hear me when I . . . when I prayed an’ told ye I wanted t’ be in yer family, Lord. You was mighty good t’ let me in . . . and now I’m . . . now—”
Suddenly he stopped.
His eyes, which had been closed, shot open wide.
I saw from the white grip of his fingers that his two hands had clutched the two of Pa’s and Almeda’s that they still held with a grasp tighter than would have seemed possible.
Almost at the same instant, he seemed trying to sit up in the bed, though all he could do was barely lift his head off the pillow.
There was almost a glow on his face and such a light in his eyes that I was sure he had seen something across the room. Unconsciously I turned to follow the direction of his gaze. As I did, I noticed that Pa and some of the others had turned as well.
Mr. Jones was struggling to talk, but mostly his lips were moving rapidly and silently. It seemed like we were only hearing a small portion of what was passing through his brain.
“He’s . . . there he . . . Drum,” he said, and for the first time his voice was almost strong again. Though he was fumbling for words, those that did come out were loud and vigorous. “Drum, he’s . . . he’s comin’ . . . he’s tellin’ me t’ git up . . . t’ take his hand . . . t’ follow . . . he’s takin’ me t’ see . . . so bright an’—”
The next sound to come from Mr. Jones’ lips is one I’ll never forget as long as I live.
Suddenly the words and strength were gone, and nothing was left but a long, slow sigh as the last air of life gradually eased out of his lungs.
I turned back toward the bed.
Mr. Jones’ eyes were closed and his head had sunk back into the pillow. The glow on his face was gone. Pa and Almeda still had hold of the two hands, lifeless now.
We all knew he had seen Jesus and was now on his way with him to meet his Father.
Pa and Uncle Nick wept.
Almeda stooped down and again kissed one of the aged, bearded cheeks. “Bless the dear, dear man!” she whispered, then raised herself back up, gazing upon him with eyes of love, tears falling down her cheeks.
“Godspeed, friend and brother,” said Christopher. “We will miss you . . . but we will all see you again—and soon.”
The room was silent a moment.
“Goodbye, Alkali,” whispered Pa.
Chapter 37
A Happy Celebration
The funeral of Alkali Jones was a big event in Miracle Springs. Whether or not it was true that he had made the strike that began the town didn’t seem to matter anymore. The legend of it had grown through the years to the point that, even if it wasn’t true, it might as well have been. Mr. Jones had been here longer than just about anybody and so was a legend himself, even if more than half his stories were mere tales.
It wasn’t by any means the first funeral Rev. Rutledge had been called on to perform as minister of Miracle Springs, but it may have been the most widely attended.
Everybody for miles around came. The church couldn’t begin to hold all the people. So we all stood outside in the small cemetery near the church, next to the mound of fresh earth taken from the new grave that Pa and Uncle Nick and some of Mr. Jones’ other close friends had dug.
It was a funeral to remember!
We were sad to lose a friend, of course, but the service seemed more a celebration than a time of mourning, like a farewell before a long trip.
Rev. Rutledge’s words were more happy than they were sad, and they set the tone for the rest of the day. He told as much as he knew about Alkali Jones’ life, which wasn’t really too much.
“I think perhaps some of the sadness we cannot help feel on a day such as this,” he said, “comes not only from the simple fact that we will miss a dear friend, but also from the fact that a piece of our past, our history, our heritage as a community, is now gone. Alkali Jones was here longer, to my knowledge, than any other man or woman among us. We are going to hear from a couple of his oldest friends in a few minutes. But even when they arrived here in Miracle Springs to stake out their first claims shortly after the gold rush, Alkali Jones was already here. In a sense, he was our history, because he himself was the main character in the tales he told. Had it not been for him, none of the rest of us might be here now either.”
Then he went on to tell about how Mr. Jones had recently given his heart to the Lord.
“So you see, friends and neighbors,” he said in conclusion, “this is no occasion for grief, but rather one for rejoicing. Alkali Jones was always a man, if I may say it, just slightly out of step with this world and its ways, a man not altogether at home in this place. I would like to think that several months ago, when he invited the Savior into his heart, preparations began immediately, and that the angels even then began making ready for his arrival.
“He is there now, happy and young again, laughing with joy at the celebration of his own homecoming. He may even be telling some of the younger angels the story of his first big gold strike!”
We could not help smiling at the very picture Rev. Rutledge was painting in our minds. After that it was impossible to be very sad. Although there continued to be tears, I think that for everyone they were tears of happiness and of love.
“Whatever he is telling them,” Rev. Rutledge added finally, “it certainly cannot be denied that he has now discovered the greatest treasure of all!”
He stood aside while Uncle Nick said a few words, then Pa.
“You know,” Pa said, “as I was listening to Avery here, the most peculiar sensation came over me. I been to some funerals in my life. Most of them aren’t all that pleasant, especially when the person that’s passed on wasn’t of an upstanding sort, because it’s hard to pretend that they’re playing a harp on a cloud in heaven somewhere when everyone knows they were the sort of person that deserves the other place, and that’s likely where they are.
“It’s different today with Alkali. I don’t know that I ever saw him do a selfish turn to man or beast in my life. He could cuss at his ornery mules. But in his own way, Alkali Jones was a kindhearted man. I know that’s the kind of thing everybody says at funerals. But if you’ll all think back on what you knew of Alkali, can anyone here remember a time when he did a selfish thing to any of you?”
Pa waited a moment.
“Neither can I,” he said. “So when he prayed a while back and said to God his maker that he wanted to be his son, I think God was downright pleased. There ain’t the slightest doubt in my mind that Alkali’s with the Lord Jesus today, and so I figure that makes this a pretty exciting day.”
Again he stopped for a minute.
“I was fixing to tell you about something I felt a few minutes ago,” he went on. “I was standing here listening to the Rev., and all at once I thought I felt Alkali himself standing right next to me. No fooling—I could almost smell him.
“I kinda looked up and around, and I know it was just in my imagination, but I could see his face kind of hanging out in the air here above us. It was like he was right there, looking at us, listening to what we were saying.
“And what do you think was the expression he had? Why he was laughing, of course—what else! Laughing big and loud because he was so happy, and wondering why so many of the women were crying over an old coot like him.”
Beside me, Almeda could no longer stifle a sob, though as she cried I knew there was joy mingled in with it.
“Alkali Jones,” he concluded, “wherever you are, we love you, dear friend—”
Finally Pa’s voice choked. He sniffed once or twice, and his eyes filled with tears.
“—we’ll all miss you!” he managed to croak out in a soft voice, then turned and stepped back to Almeda’s side.
Rev. Rutledge stepped forwar
d again. He read a scripture, then said a prayer.
We couldn’t help it. Joyous though it may have been, everyone was crying again—men along with the women.
Then Pa, Uncle Nick, Sheriff Rafferty, and Patrick Shaw—Mr. Jones’ oldest friends—took hold of the ropes on opposite sides of the wood coffin and slowly lowered it down into the ground.
We all turned and slowly made our way out of the cemetery. No one said a word.
There was a hush over the whole town the rest of the day.
Chapter 38
How to Discern God’s Will
Three Sundays after the funeral, Rev. Rutledge got up to preach with an expression of serious thought on his face.
“I had planned to carry on before this with a topic I spoke of some time ago,” he said. “But with the passing of our brother Alkali, it has not seemed fitting to me until now. I believe, however, that the time has come when it may be helpful to you.”
He paused, and then began with a simple question.
“How can you know what is God’s will?” Rev. Rutledge asked.
He paused.
“Let me make it even simpler,” he said after a moment. “Is it even possible for us to really know God’s will? If so, how do we discover it?”
Again he waited.
“Several weeks ago,” Rev. Rutledge went on, “we spoke together about allowing the Lord to make the decisions in our lives. Now that you have had time to reflect upon this, I would like for us to inquire further into the practical aspects of that question.
“Let us say for the sake of argument that, as you sat here during that previous sermon, you said to yourself, ‘All right, preacher, what you say makes some sense. I’ll give it a try. I’ll let God start making some of my decisions for me.’
“And now you find yourself suddenly facing a situation that has recently come up in your life. It doesn’t even matter that I know what it is.
“The point is that you are facing a dilemma. You don’t know what you ought to do. And perhaps you have determined to try to let God decide for you instead of doing what seems right in your own eyes.
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