The House on Malcolm Street

by Leisha Kelly

  I didn’t want to do as she said, but she threatened to struggle across the yard herself if I didn’t, so I hurried over and gave Mr. Abraham the message.

  “Marigold is well?” he asked me.

  “Yes. But missing you, I think. Why don’t you come over for tea again soon?”

  He smiled. “Is that you asking, ma’am? Or her?”

  “Well. It’s me. But I know she’d love to have you. She says she needs to give you space, but I think too much space is lonely for both of you.”

  He nodded. “I’ll think about it. If you’ll ask her. Perhaps tonight Josiah could bring me back the response.”

  At first I thought nothing of talking to Mr. Abraham as I’d done. But then I worried that I’d meddled in Marigold’s affairs without her permission, just as she was about to do with mine. I still didn’t want her to mention the idea of train tickets to Josiah. She seemed to be taking liberties with my situation, but how had I come to feel so comfortable that I could take liberties with hers? It was none of my business to get Mr. Abraham over for tea again.

  But maybe it was not so bad. Friends and family were supposed to get in the middle of each other’s lives and know each other’s business, pleasant or not. Except for Mother and John, I’d never had that with anyone. But maybe I was supposed to again.

  I confessed to Marigold what I’d asked Mr. Abraham, hoping she’d be thrilled with the idea of having him over again. She didn’t seem to be, but she wasn’t upset with me either.

  “Things have changed,” she said. “We must not be in any hurry and we must certainly not throw caution to the wind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Saul answers only to God. He’s not just my kindly neighbor anymore. Now he’s free to be my friend.”

  “Wasn’t he always your friend?”

  “Oh, of course. But he’s not the same. He doesn’t have to be the same.”

  I thought I understood what she meant, despite the strangeness of how it sounded. She wasn’t sure what to expect now. He wasn’t either. So neither of them knew what to do. But Marigold would let him find his way. It was really up to him.

  Josiah promised to find the ticket price, though he seemed a little puzzled when he heard the destination.

  “Round-trip,” Marigold told him. “Of course my friend will want to come back to Andersonville.”

  He’d brought the supper dishes back with him from Mr. Abraham’s house and I was washing them while they talked. He looked my way.

  “Did you enjoy the pumpkin pie?” I asked.

  “Very much. Thank you.” He turned quickly to Marigold again. “I’ll be back over tomorrow with what I found out.”

  “Wonderful. Thank you very much. And I’m pleased to find you more yourself this evening.”

  “Are you sure you know what ‘myself’ is?”

  She smiled. “That’s far easier than you think, Josiah. It’s the kindhearted soul willing to help a neighbor, do for a child in need, or put up with the notions of an old woman the way you’ve done. I know you by now. I see so much in you that sometimes you refuse to see in yourself.”

  “You never give up, do you?”

  “You may never preach,” Marigold persisted. “Don’t worry about that. But a servant of God you are. A minister you are. With more love than you’re willing to put on display.”

  He turned to me with a wry look. “Be careful. She’ll be calling you a minister next. Or maybe she already has. Marigold’s Ministry Boardinghouse. Come homeless. Stay and give your soul to the needs of the world.”

  The words could have been ugly, spiteful. But instead they were gently teasing, and Marigold smiled. “Go on and get yourself some rest for the night. Pray about my words, that’s all I want you to do. You’re precious in the sight of the Lord. And here for his purpose. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

  It was a relief to find Josiah considerably more peaceful and accepting tonight. He didn’t protest such talk as I might have expected. Instead, he rose to his feet with a gentle nod in Marigold’s direction. Then he walked past me and on to the door.

  “Please tell Saul that I would love to have him over for tea tomorrow,” Marigold called as he was almost gone.

  And Josiah glanced back with a smile.

  31

  Josiah

  Sugar Creek, Missouri. That had been the address on an envelope I’d mailed for Leah weeks ago, I was sure of it. And now Marigold was asking what it would cost to take the train there. At first I’d thought Leah was leaving, moving out to be gone for good. But then Marigold said round-trip. So she wasn’t leaving at all, only visiting someone.

  It must be her father, since the old neighbor was in St. Louis. The father she simply couldn’t go to but hadn’t told me why. Fine. Let her go on and go. Maybe she’d change her mind entirely and decide to move there after all.

  I wasn’t sure what bothered me about it. Whether it was the idea that Leah might have a reasonable relationship with her father after all, destroying some vague commonality between us, or the notion that she may have been less than honest, for whatever reason.

  I could have given a pretty fair estimate of the ticket price based on the distance, if I’d known how far past St. Louis Sugar Creek might be. But I didn’t want to ask. Marigold didn’t seem to think I’d know the “friend” she was talking about. She must have assumed I’d have the scruples not to read anything on a pair of envelopes entrusted to my hands.

  Saul was waiting up for me in the kitchen of his house.

  “Marigold would like you to come to tea tomorrow,” I told him immediately.

  I’d expected a smile but didn’t get one.

  “What’s wrong? You’ve had tea with Marigold plenty of times.”

  “I know. But now I could hurt her feelings.”

  He was probably thinking like he’d been before, but it didn’t set any better with me than it had the first time. “Why would you do that? Forget what other people think. It’s between you and Marigold and God. That’s it. Don’t consider anybody else.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Maybe so,” I conceded. “But you know what I’m getting at.”

  “She could be ostracized.”

  “Whatever that means, do you think she’d care?”

  “She might. About her church.”

  “But why would it matter to the church people?”

  “There’s a Scripture in your Testament, right? About being yoked with unbelievers?”

  Maybe he was searching for a closed door, an insurmountable barrier he could blame on someone besides himself. I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “But you’re not an unbeliever. Are you?”

  He was quiet for moment. Finally he motioned to a chair. “Please. Sit.”

  I did, stricken by the pained expression on his face. “I’m not trying to be difficult,” I told him. “I just don’t think this Jew or Christian difference ought to matter.”

  “Ought to or not, it’s a vast historical rift that runs far deeper than you realize. One or the other of us is bound to be shunned. Perhaps both.”

  “But you are a believer, aren’t you?”

  “Tell me what you mean by that.”

  “I guess one who believes that God’s real. But not just that. Honors him. Trusts him.”

  “Tell me something, Josiah.” He looked exhausted, beaten, as if he’d been in a long struggle that hadn’t ended well.

  “All right. If I’m able.”

  “Why are you a Christian? You do not have a deep heritage, am I right?”

  “If you mean my parents weren’t Christians, that’s right.”

  “Then why do you believe? In Jesus?”

  I took a deep breath and my heart raced. He was trusting me to give him an answer with soul-reaching depth. I knew he was, and I knew that the turn of this conversation could impact his future. And Marigold’s. It made me want to run and hide.

  “Mr. Abraham, I – ”

&nbs
p; “Please call me Saul.”

  “Saul. I don’t have a nice way with words. I can’t give you lots of Scriptures and fulfilled prophecies and all that like Marigold can. I know it’s there, but I can’t remember it all very well. It comes down to something different for me and it may seem pretty weak, but it’s the best I can do.”

  He was watching, silent. Waiting.

  “I’m a mess. No good on my own. Do you understand? I can’t get things right even when I want to. There’s always some bad thought or stupid thing I’ve done when I should’ve known better. I killed the only person that ever loved me, except maybe Marigold.”

  My eyes misted. And then I noticed that his did too, and I tried to go on. “If I had to depend on what I could do, I’d be in deep water. You know what I’m saying? If we had to sacrifice for our sins every year like they did in the old days, I’d probably mess that up too. I’m a hopeless case without Jesus. I can’t be enough. I never could be.”

  He looked down at the floor.

  “Does this make any sense? Maybe not to you. But he became the sacrifice. Once for all. He took away all that I did wrong and gave me his rightness. I still mess up, but now I can say, ‘I’m sorry. Look at what he did for me. He paid what I owed. He took the penalty. He made it right again, as much as things can ever be right in this world.’ ”

  I took another deep breath. “With hope for the next. Do you understand? I don’t have to think that God’ll throw me out for doing the things I’ve done, because he wiped all that away. I don’t have to try to be perfect because I know I can’t be, except in believing what he’s done for me. And I don’t care what anybody thinks of themselves. It all comes down the same. Nobody can be good enough. Nobody but God. Everybody fails. Everybody hurts somebody else, whether they meant to or not. Everybody breaks the laws of God. So we’re all in the same wretched trouble. Without his sacrifice.”

  Saul was still looking down at the floor. “There is none righteous. No, not one.”

  “There is now. Jesus. And the ones he’s cleansed.”

  “He had done no violence, neither was any deceit in his mouth.”

  “Right,” I answered, a little surprised.

  “That is from the prophet Isaiah. Marigold shared it with me, but I was already aware. And I am also aware that God has instructed his people to keep his commandments and to make sacrifices daily to atone for our transgressions. But we are not able to keep the commandments faithfully. No one is, as you’ve said. And we no longer have a temple or any way to properly present a sacrifice to Almighty God. We cry out in our hearts and with our lips, but it is not good enough. Because it is not the order that he has set.”

  Saul took hold of the front of his shirt and tore it open. Two buttons hit the floor with a plink and rolled in opposite directions. “My father said we must now rely on the mercy of God upon his scattered people. But how do we receive such mercy with iniquity in our hearts?”

  Believe in the One God has sent. I knew the answer, but I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t speak another word in the face of his obvious anguish, and I felt like a failure.

  “Josiah, do you know how many prophecies of Messiah are contained in the Books of God?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe hundreds. I’ve studied many of them. I’ve meditated much on what Marigold has told me. But you’ve brought all of the word down to one thought. We need him. There’s nothing else that needs to be understood as well as that. We need him. I cannot serve God perfectly. I cannot live sinlessly. You’re not the only one, Josiah. And I do not have a remedy.”

  “You do. You could. You know exactly what I mean.”

  Tears hit his cheeks. “If I claim the Nazarene to be Messiah, my family may never speak to me again.”

  I swallowed hard. “That would be a shame. A loss. For them, especially. But what would you gain?”

  He looked at me, the tears still flowing. “Peace. If it’s there for me. Do you have peace?”

  I sighed over that. “Yes. When I put my mind on him and not my own feelings and problems. I know I’m not condemned anymore. I don’t have a stupid hammer over my head waiting to fall. He actually loves me. If he died for me, how could I doubt it? That’s peace.”

  He nodded. “Do you know this is why I’ve avoided Marigold these last few weeks? I’d like peace. I’ve felt her Messiah chasing me and haunting me, calling out all the prophecies I am supposed to see. Born in Bethlehem. Betrayed by a friend. Pierced in hands and feet.”

  He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket. “Those things chase my mind. But none grips my heart like the simple understanding: we need him.”

  I was suddenly scared. What was I supposed to do? Oh, Lord, what now?

  “Josiah, please pray for me. Teach me to trust Messiah. Please.”

  “Um . . .” Lord, help. What was I supposed to say? “You just talk to him. Tell him you believe in him. Tell him you want him to save you . . .”

  Saul Abraham prayed. We prayed together. We were up half the night praying. And then laughing, oddly enough. Because when Saul finally found his peace, he started laughing. That got me started. And then we could hardly stop. I think we both felt reborn.

  32

  Leah

  I dreamed of my father. Dying. Reaching his hand to me. And then, like the gripping hand of evil, a screaming locomotive tore between us and I saw him no more.

  “You should go to him,” Marigold had said. And I didn’t want it. But I knew the compulsion would not leave me. So I began to speak to Eliza about it, and I planned to mention the possibility to Dorothy Humphrey again as well.

  “The Lord will make a way,” Marigold had said. If it was to be, somehow I’d be able to afford the ticket.

  I could scarcely believe my eyes when Josiah came in to Marigold’s kitchen that morning and laid money on the table. His eyes twinkled with a strange delight that I’d never seen in him.

  “Aunt Marigold – Mr. Abraham received Jesus as Messiah last night. We felt like giving a gift to celebrate and figured you’d know some dandy places to put a few dollars.”

  Marigold grabbed Josiah quicker than I’d ever seen her move and squeezed him in a huge embrace.

  Eliza, sitting with me at the table, stared and then giggled.

  “Oh, Josiah! Oh!” Marigold exclaimed. “I just knew that you staying there – I just knew he’d hear you. Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

  “I – it wasn’t me,” he started to protest.

  “Oh, I know. The good Lord draws, and he saves. But you were his instrument. A tool in his hand.”

  He smiled, he hugged her back with real tears in his eyes. But then he pulled away just a little. “I’ve got to be going to work.”

  “Let me kiss you first,” Marigold asked. “You wonderful tool of God.”

  Josiah’s smile grew, making his face brighter and more handsome than I’d ever noticed before. He kissed Marigold’s cheek before she got a chance at his. “You’re a tool of God yourself. A blessing. Thank you.”

  He motioned to the money on the table. “Use that to meet a need, bless someone, whatever is on your heart for the glory of God. That’s what Saul and I decided we wanted.”

  He hurried to the door, as though he thought he must be running late. But he turned to Marigold one last time. “He also said to tell you he’d be happy to join you for tea. The usual time.”

  When Josiah was gone, Marigold spun once around and then plopped into her seat. “Oh, praise the Lord! Thank you, thank you, precious Jesus!”

  “Mr. Abraham knows the Lord?” Eliza asked, as if seeking to affirm what she thought she’d heard.

  “Oh yes! Thank you, Jesus!” Marigold’s eyes filled with tears, and she fumbled in a pocket. “Oh, Leah, darling. Can you please fetch a hanky? I thought I had one, but it seems to have disappeared.”

  I ran to pull one from a drawer for her, my heart pounding with the wonder of this news.

  “It’s a great day that makes all the angels happy
,” Eliza said when I got back in the room. “Right, Mommy?”

  “Yes,” I told her. “Absolutely.”

  “I bet Daddy and Johnny James are havin’ a party too.”

  The mention of them jabbed at my heart, but not as badly as it once would have. I gave Marigold a little hug when I brought her the hanky. “I am so glad.”

  Beyond walking Eliza to school that day, it was difficult to get anything done. Marigold wanted me to work with her in the kitchen, but every time we started, she would stop and exclaim her thankfulness, or just sit down and cry. Happy tears. Of course. I expected her to be happy. But I’d had no idea that her reaction would be this profound. No question that Saul Abraham was deeply entwined in her heart.

  Finally she motioned me to sit beside her. We were silent for a moment, then she took my hand. “They said the money was at my discretion. I want to use some of it to send you to see your father.”

  “But that wouldn’t be right,” I protested. “He said it should be for God’s glory.”

  “You don’t think there’s glory to God in relationships being restored that the devil has taken? Tell that man you love him. Tell him God loves him, and that will be glory to him. Believe me.”

  I couldn’t argue. I knew she wouldn’t hear it. But the idea gave me a dreadful pinched feeling inside.

  “There’s enough here to do more good besides. Don’t you worry over a piece of it being put to use on your behalf. It’s an answer to prayer.”

  “Would you like me to make the scones?” I asked her, hoping to busy my hands and keep my mind from racing frantically about the details of a trip. “You said you’d like some fresh for the tea.” I gave her a smile.

  She returned one. And I hurried into the baking with a will. But when it came time for Saul’s visit, I grabbed my shawl and started for the front door. “I need to visit Mrs. Humphrey.”

  “All right, dear,” Marigold answered with a sparkle in her eye. “Tell her I said hello.”

  I ended up crying at the Humphreys’ dining table, dreadfully embarrassed and yet unable to hide my apprehension at going to see my father.