Had he wanted to sit with her at meals in the noisy mess hall or walk around camp with her during the day as other couples did, she would have been thrilled. But one of the Reverend Shaw’s caveats was that they not become “an item.”
“We’re both too busy anyway,” Ben said. “Or we should be.”
Elisabeth agreed, appreciating his sensibility and practicality. And any time she wondered whether their lack of time together—save for half an hour or so just before midnight each night—revealed a level of ardor on his part less than her own, she need only recall his gaze.
But their relationship, such as it was, was embryonic. By the end of the week they had not held hands. He would touch her briefly as they walked, but only to courteously direct her. At times she felt like embracing him; occasionally she imagined his kiss. She prayed much about this, worried that her affections had been displaced from God to Ben. Yet she felt no guilt. Only concern. Perhaps this was right. She would need a husband one day, and who better than a godly man like this? Surely, if she maintained her priorities—and Ben seemed as eager as she that they both do that—God would look kindly on the possibilities.
Elisabeth was careful not to express her heart. She planned for their parting a comment that merely said what a wonderful week she had had and that she considered his attention a highlight. She longed for some expression from him, not of love at that too-early place, but of some interest in writing, perhaps of his traveling to Three Rivers, something, anything.
The end of the week approached, and nothing of the sort was suggested. He was the perfect gentleman. She caught herself smiling, amazed that part of her actually wished that just once he wasn’t perfect or wholly a gentleman. If he allowed himself the recklessness to say one thing he wouldn’t otherwise say if not for their soon parting, she would treasure it.
By their last evening together Elisabeth hoped for something to take with her as comfort to her heart that this had not been merely a week’s diversion for him. It certainly had been more than that to her. But rather than express any emotion, Ben simply left her with, “Reverend Shaw asked me to have you visit him in the morning.”
“What time? We leave at noon.”
“I’d say the earlier the better.”
“What’s it about?”
“I’ll leave that to him.”
“But you know?”
“Of course.”
“And you can’t prepare me?”
“He asked that I not.”
“This is maddening, Ben.”
“It’s not worth worrying about. You’ll see.”
After breakfast Elisabeth made her way to the administrative offices, housed in a creaky little building that also served as the repository of athletic equipment. Reverend Shaw, who directed the camp for the whole summer with Ben Phillips as his assistant, was an itinerant preacher the rest of the year.
“Come in, my dear,” he said, rising when she appeared in the doorway. “You’re aware I knew your father, are you not?”
“You told me at the funeral.”
“Of course. Well, let me get right to it. Is there a chance you could stay on with us for the last six weeks of the summer?”
“Stay on? No, I—”
“There’s an opening on the policing staff, and I asked Mr. Phillips to be on the lookout for a woman of good character who might enjoy serving the Lord this way.”
“He recommended me?”
“Highly. If I’d had a brain I’d have suggested you myself, but I get so busy, I was barely aware this was the week you were here.”
“But you approved Ben’s, um, fraternizing—”
“Miss LeRoy, you would have even less time together if you accepted this position, but of course you would be in closer proximity to Ben here than at home. Naturally, I would not want you to accept the offer based on that …”
“Naturally.”
“So?”
“I’m at a loss. I would have to ask my aunt. And I was going to work at the pharmacy during the school year, beginning the week before school.”
Elisabeth was at a loss for more reasons than that. She wanted more than anything to stay at camp six more weeks, to live with other staff, to see campers of all ages coming and going. Who was she kidding? Proximity to Ben had become her priority. “I’ll send a note home with Will Bishop, asking my aunt to inform the pharmacist. But I must tell you, I was not even aware you had a police staff here. I know nothing about police work.”
Reverend Shaw laughed. “You’ll not be a gendarme. We use the term in the classic sense of policing an area. It is more genteel than calling you a washwoman. There is no glamour in it. You will help wash dishes three times a day, clean the dining hall and kitchen, and scrub the outhouses.”
Elisabeth nodded, already imagining the tradeoff. She was not afraid of work, and she had scrubbed more than one outhouse growing up. If this was the price to be on the same campground as Ben, she would do it.
“It’s not a volunteer position, by the way. But I don’t imagine you could finance a college education on a dollar a day.”
“Oh, my.”
“That’s only six days a week, mind you.”
“For six weeks,” she said. “Thirty-six dollars goes farther than it used to.”
Reverend Shaw stood. “I like a young woman with a sense of humor. If your aunt doesn’t send the real police back for you, consider the matter sealed.”
Elisabeth told everyone she saw. Several suggested it was because of Ben. “Wrap him around your little finger,” Frances said, too loudly.
Elisabeth feigned ignorance. “I’ll be too busy to see him much anyway.”
She wrote Aunt Agatha: “If for some reason you cannot accommodate this, I apologize for asking and will return as quickly as possible.”
Elisabeth sealed the letter and sought out Will Bishop. “Could you see this gets to my aunt?”
“You’re not riding with us?”
Elisabeth explained.
“You’ll need a ride home at the end of the summer. I’ll come get you.”
“Oh, Will, thanks. But—”
“I insist,” he said. “I have my own truck now. Used but a good one.”
“You’d have to take off work …”
“Elspeth,” he said, “let me do this, will you?”
“Thanks, Will.”
Elisabeth did her laundry and settled into her new quarters by the time her friends left at noon. Her supervisor gave her a list of duties that appeared to include about ten hours’ work per day, Monday through Saturday. She and her compatriots had the choice of doing the supper kitchen work during or after the evening meeting, so they could attend if they chose. She had to decide whether to be available for the meeting or for a little time with Ben after that. She decided to talk it over with him.
Elisabeth found Ben out front of the administrative offices, readying his staff to greet the new campers, more than a hundred boys from age eight to ten. “My favorite week,” he said.
She smiled. “I came to ask about my schedule.”
“I’m glad you did. This week’s pianist is ill and not coming. Could you fill in?”
Elisabeth was to play three times each day, including for the evening service. She would still be expected to do everything else assigned to her.
The only sliver in her schedule came after the evening service and her kitchen work. Assuming the meeting was over by eight and her work by ten, that might give her more than an hour with Ben. But she also had to rise long before breakfast.
Elisabeth wished she was bold enough to ask Ben straight out, “So when will I see you?” Rather, she said, “That doesn’t seem to leave much time for anything else.”
“It sure doesn’t,” he said, looking past her to a cloud of dust boiling up from the gravel half a mile away. “Here come the first of them. We’ll have to play the schedule by ear.”
Elisabeth had lost his attention, but she understood. He was a man of priorities and commitment and convi
ction. But as she set about her chores, she allowed herself to wonder if he had charmed her last week merely to enlist her help for the rest of the summer.
By the evening meeting, Elisabeth could not imagine working from six in the morning until ten at night for six weeks. Only love could motivate her, and if it had to be her love for God rather than for Ben, so be it.
There would be no practicing the piano. She would have just enough time to splash her face with water and change her clothes before playing songs by sight from the hymnal. Exhausted, she sat at the bench grateful that Mrs. Stonerock had taught her well. Elisabeth dozed during the prayer. She wished she could slip into the kitchen to get her work done once the singing was over, but she was expected to play for the final song too. She couldn’t leave and come back sweaty.
The boys filled every chair in the auditorium, so she had to sit on the piano bench with no back support, wishing all the while she was back in her cabin, stretched out on her bed.
Elisabeth was quickly transported, however, when Ben went from master of ceremonies to soloist and then speaker. Elisabeth was stunned at his ability to communicate with young boys as easily and powerfully as he had the high schoolers from the week before. He was funny and engaging, yet challenging. He had the boys’ attention and they seemed to love him.
Until the closing prayer she forgot her fatigue and the work that still lay ahead. She felt privileged to be there, impressed anew with the spiritual side of Ben, and eager to see him later, if only for a few minutes. She marshaled enthusiasm for the last song, then hurried back to her cabin to change and then down to the dining hall and into the kitchen. The giant pots and pans, the massive stoves and ovens looked even more enormous in the otherwise empty kitchen.
Peeved that the crew had left her more than her assigned duties, Elisabeth felt obligated to leave the place ready for breakfast preparation. As she did her work and that of at least two others, she rehearsed how she would state her case the next morning. “I’m warning you,” she said silently, “I will do only my work from now on. If the place is not shipshape for breakfast, don’t blame me.”
Her back ached as she mopped the floor, and it seemed as if Christ himself spoke to her heart. For whom are you working?
“Not for everyone else,” she said. “Never again.”
The question came again.
“For you, Lord,” she whispered.
She kept working, hoping for some sense of peace, of assurance, of favor. God’s only response was to stop asking the question. Of course, she thought. I already answered. If I’m working for him, I will obey him. If there’s work to do, I’ll do it. And if there’s been an injustice, vengeance will be his.
Such, Elisabeth decided, was a life that was an experiment in obedience. But certainly there would be some small reward. There had to be some sort of payoff this side of heaven for a life of true devotion. Surely Ben was waiting at the end of this grueling day.
She finished after eleven and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on her way out. Her faced was streaked with grime and sweat. Her work dress was nearly soaked through. Elisabeth was desperate for a few minutes with Ben. Simply unburdening herself, telling him what she had endured, would put things back into perspective. She would be able to sleep without dreading the early wakeup.
But there was no way she could see him looking the way she did.
Elisabeth hurried back to the cabin, where her coworkers were already sleeping. She was tempted to rouse them, to tell them what she had done and demand to know why it had all been left to her. But she merely grabbed fresh clothes and hurried to the creek, where she disrobed and dove in. The water was so cool and refreshing it made her weep, but time was fleeting. She felt vulnerable in the bright moonlight and feared being seen. She quickly dried and dressed and tied her hair atop her head, then wrapped her clothes in her towel and set out to find Ben.
But the camp was dark. She didn’t know where his cabin was and didn’t want to—she could never explain being found there, bothering his mates to rouse him. The administration building was dark too, as was the tiny cabin behind it where Reverend Shaw and his family stayed.
Elisabeth felt faint as she made her way back up the path toward her cabin. She prayed that Ben would be somewhere waiting for her. He was not. It was midnight and she had to be up by six. In fact, if she wanted to get in her time of Bible reading and prayer, she would have to be up before that. There would be no other time, day or night, to make up for lost time in the morning.
Elisabeth dropped her bundle on the floor, sat on her bunk, lay back without changing into her nightgown, and fell asleep unhappy. Her eyes popped open at five-thirty, and her mood had not changed. Her cabin mates still slept, and she was grateful for the time. After freshening up, she sat on a wooden bench just off the path and read and prayed. She asked God to lift the gloom from her, to remind her again that she was working for him, and to help her examine her motives for having stayed at camp.
When she arrived at the kitchen she was furious to find that only her supervisor was there. “Your teammates have overslept again,” she was told. “Would you go get them for me?”
Elisabeth stared at the woman. Everything in her wanted to scream, “No, I will not!” She did her job and still managed to get up early. If they couldn’t get up on time even though they went to bed early and did less work, she should not be expected to roust them out of bed. But she remained silent.
The woman stared back. “Do you follow directives or do you not? I’m shorthanded, but I’ll fire you before I’ll allow you to be impudent. Need I remind you that we’re working for the Lord here, and that—”
“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. Right away.” Elisabeth wished she could demand to know who the other girls were working for, still asleep, lazy, no account …
“Good girl.”
Elisabeth ran up the path, sobs climbing from her chest. Impudence? For the Lord, she told herself over and over. For the Lord.
When she got to the cabin the other girls were hurriedly dressing. “First one up is supposed to wake the others!” one said. “You trying to make us look bad?”
Elisabeth said nothing. Did they really want to be awakened when she got up? Maybe she’d find out the next morning. She headed back down.
“We don’t have time to wait for them,” her supervisor said. “Let’s get cracking.” Again Elisabeth did her work and theirs.
After breakfast dishes and dining hall cleanup, Elisabeth policed the outhouses until lunch. She barely had the energy to eat, but lunch revived her and she was able to manage her afternoon chores. She was determined to talk with Ben before the evening service, regardless how forward she appeared. She hurried through her work, changed quickly, and found him at the front of the auditorium chatting with someone about the program.
She tried to smile when he looked up at her, but he motioned he would be a minute. Finally he broke free.
“I really wanted to see you last night,” she said.
“Me too,” he said. “You got my note?”
“Note?”
“I left it in the screen door of the kitchen last night. I had a homesick camper and by the time I got over there it was eleven-fifteen and you were gone.”
“Thanks, but I never got it.”
She wanted him to suggest trying again that night, but he just looked at her. Her reserves were gone. Feeling bold, she said, “Tonight?”
“Oh,” he said, “that was in the note too. The reverend and I have an errand in Paw Paw and won’t get back until after midnight.”
Elisabeth wondered if she would see him at all that summer. “Well,” she said. “Safe trip.”
“Thanks.”
And that was it. No apology. No wishing he could see her. No setting a time for the next night. He handed her a slip of paper listing the hymns for the evening, and she trudged back to the piano.
The boys were filing in, so Elisabeth opened to the first selection. It was “My Savior’s Lo
ve,” written just a dozen years before by Charles H. Gabriel. Elisabeth sight-read the music, silently running her fingers across the keyboard. She was about to turn to the second selection when she caught sight of the lyrics. She had sung the song many times at Christ Church, but suddenly the truth of it pierced her.
She had been so self-possessed, so worried about the offenses and slights of the last day and a half that her mind had been derailed from God. What had she endured compared to what Jesus had gone through for her? The song seemed to slay her. She stared at the verses through pools of tears and found herself playing the song softly but with deep expression.
The music soothed the rambunctious boys. Elisabeth was unaware that her playing had also caught the attention of the platform until Ben stood at the pulpit and raised his arms, asking that the boys bow their heads and listen. He began to sing just above a whisper in a voice so filled with emotion that Elisabeth felt the presence of God.
She was amazed anyone could hear either the singing or the playing, but there was no other sound. From the corner of her eye she saw her coworkers emerge from the kitchen and stand silently in the back as Ben sang:
I stand amazed in the presence of Jesus the Nazarene,
And wonder how He could love me, a sinner, condemned, unclean.
For me it was in the garden He prayed: “Not My will, but Thine”;
He had no tears for His own griefs, but sweat-drops of blood for mine.
In pity angels beheld Him, and came from the world of light
To comfort Him in the sorrows He bore for my soul that night.
He took my sins and my sorrows, He made them His very own;
He bore the burden to Calvary, and suffered and died alone.
When with the ransomed in glory His face I at last shall see,
’Twill be my joy through the ages to sing of His love for me.
How marvelous! How wonderful! And my song shall ever be:
How marvelous! How wonderful is my Savior’s love for me.
When Ben finished, even the young boys remained silent. Others on the platform had knelt by their chairs. Ben said, “I feel led to cancel what we had planned for tonight. Just let me tell you what those words mean and invite you too to stand amazed in the presence of Jesus.”
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