Though None Go with Me

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  He walked them through each verse as Elisabeth continued to play. He explained what it meant to be condemned and unclean and then ransomed by a Savior. He invited boys who wanted to receive Christ as their Savior to come forward and pray with counselors. Dozens did.

  Nearly spent, Elisabeth went back to the kitchen where the team was cleaning up. “That was something,” one of them said.

  “I forgot to give you this,” Elisabeth’s supervisor said. “It was on the door this morning, but I was so distracted by the others being late …”

  Elisabeth thanked her and peeked at the note. Under his signature he had added the reference, Philippians 1:3–6.

  Thankful her father had early started her on a path of memorization, she let the verses resound in her mind as she finished her tasks:

  “I thank my God upon every remembrance of you, always in every prayer of mine for you all making request with joy, for your fellowship in the gospel from the first day until now; being confident of this very thing, that he who hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.”

  What a perfect way to end the day! The spiritual truth of the verses fit with the song she had just played and the experience they had all shared. The idea that Ben was thanking God upon every remembrance of her was thrilling too. Physically drained, Elisabeth cheerfully finished her work and headed for a longer night’s sleep. She was in her nightgown and nearly asleep when her last bunkmate arrived.

  “Ben Phillips is looking for you.”

  She sat up. “Where?”

  “Auditorium. He said if you were in bed to not bother you.”

  “It’s no bother,” Elisabeth said, changing quickly.

  “It’s not that important.”

  “It is to me.”

  She was breathless by the time she reached Ben. “I didn’t mean to bother you,” he said. “You must be exhausted.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Reverend Shaw and I are not expected in Paw Paw until later, so I had an hour. I should have assumed you’d want to rest.”

  “I’d rather spend time with you,” she said. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Do I look like I mind?”

  They sat on the same wooden bench where Elisabeth had read that morning. It seemed ages ago. “The meeting tonight was worth this whole summer,” she said.

  “But you’re only two days into it.”

  “Still …”

  “You did it.”

  “I just played the music, Ben. The words got to me. What happened was God’s doing.”

  “Wasn’t it a privilege to be used that way?”

  She nodded.

  “Lord, we’re grateful,” he said, and she quickly bowed her head and closed her eyes. But he said no more. She believed it the most poignant and heartfelt prayer she had ever heard.

  Ben looked at his watch several minutes later and said, “I’d better hook up with the reverend.” Their hands brushed as they rose from the bench. “I’ll see you off,” she said.

  “I’ll see you off,” he said. “You need your rest.”

  He walked her back up to her cabin and said goodnight. She giggled.

  “What?” he said.

  “I’m awful.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I was just wondering what I might do tomorrow evening to cut short the meeting.”

  “You are awful,” he said. “But I hope you come up with something.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Aunt Agatha’s letter arrived near the end of the week. After a volley assuring Elisabeth she was enjoying her solitude, she urged Elisabeth to keep her eyes open for a suitable match, “perchance someone able to abide your fancy of pie in the sky by and by.”

  Elisabeth had to smile. Was Aunt Agatha unknowingly angling for her to marry into the faith?

  Elisabeth quickly adjusted to the routine and felt she had gained the kind of discipline her father had tried to instill in her. The work was torturous, the hours unbearable, and her coworkers lazy and selfish. She told Ben she was trying to guard against spiritual superiority. “I know the testing of my faith brings patience and that I should count it all joy. But when I return kindness for evil, even if I don’t get kindness back, I feel some sort of victory.”

  “It is a victory,” Ben said. “But you’re right to guard against smugness.”

  “I know,” she said. “And I’m proud that I know.”

  “Rascal,” he said.

  Elisabeth soon felt at least two weeks behind in her sleep. But she was maturing. She worked harder than ever, and she benefited from hearing Ben speak nearly every night. He would make a fine pastor. It was beyond her how he could speak on so many different topics to different age groups and always find something challenging and interesting to say.

  When she received permission to practice in the auditorium during a rare free moment, Ben joined her on the piano bench. “How am I supposed to concentrate?” she asked.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t,” he said.

  “Is that what you call being a good influence on a young person?” she said.

  “I hope so.”

  When he rested his hand in the middle of her back, she fought to keep from increasing the tempo. Though she feared perspiring under the warmth of his palm, she hoped he would never take his hand away. But as she finished the song, he withdrew his hand.

  The next time he sat with her, however, he seemed nervous. He said he had only a few minutes. Halfway through the second song, he stood and leaned toward her ear. “Keep playing,” he whispered, “I have to go.”

  She nodded, her eyes on the music, and he brushed her cheek with his lips. She froze, laboring to concentrate as he left. Though the kiss thrilled her, it had been his, not theirs.

  After the evening meeting he seemed awkward, avoiding her gaze as they strolled the dirt pathways that rimmed the camp. When they were alone he said, “I apologize. I had no claim to kiss you. I mean, I didn’t even give you the opportunity to refuse me.”

  “Or slap you,” she said.

  “I was afraid you might say that. Forgive me?”

  “I have too many options,” she said, brushing a mosquito from his forehead. “I could have refused you or slapped you, and now I can forgive you. What’s your preference?”

  “The latter.”

  “Denied.”

  “It’s too late to refuse me. Slap me as hard as you want.”

  “I can’t forgive what I don’t consider an offense. I will be offended next time, however, if you feel you have to steal it.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Of course you did. You didn’t give me the chance to refuse or to give it freely.”

  “And would you have?”

  “I was not given the opportunity to find out.”

  “Shall I try again?”

  She glanced down the pathway toward the lights near the center of the campground. No one was coming. “I wish you would.”

  The sensation of his lips on hers left her breathless.

  The end of the summer came so quickly that Elisabeth hardly had time to prepare for parting with Ben. Stealing away behind the administration building, beyond curious eyes and the cacophony of dozens of farewells, they embraced fiercely.

  “I’ll write,” he whispered.

  “Me too,” she said. “Every day. And you’ll come see me?”

  “First chance I get.”

  “I can’t wait,” she said.

  Ben fell silent, holding her so tight that she knew he hated separating as much as she did. “So this is what Shakespeare meant by ‘such sweet sorrow,’” she said. Though neither had spoken of love, she had fallen for Ben. His embrace told her he felt the same about her.

  Only moments after Ben and his friends pulled away from the camp, Will rumbled up in his truck. Elisabeth was glad to see him. She only wished he were more forthcoming; he could be a quality friend. He loaded her stuff and opened her door, helping her in. It was as if s
he had grabbed a tree branch. She was amazed at the strength and size of his hands. He had to have died a thousand deaths, she thought, to let her touch him. As he climbed behind the wheel he avoided her gaze and did not return her smile.

  “I really appreciate this, Will,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, wrestling with the gearshift. “Good summer?”

  She told him how challenging and yet beneficial it had been, but she said nothing about Ben. “And what about you?” she said. “How’s your work going? Your mother? The rest of the family?”

  “Good. She’s okay. We’re all living together now, you know, Ma and me and my married sisters and their families. Taking in boarders too. Everybody’s busy.”

  It was the most he had said in one burst since she’d known him. She tried to engage him further, but he would only answer questions, not offer more. Tired of the effort and full of fresh memories of Ben, Elisabeth looked out the window as if studying the sunset, deciding not to turn back unless Will said something.

  After about fifteen miles of silence, she jumped and turned when he spoke. “Just basically been working,” he said.

  He was staring at the road. “Have you?” she said. They had been through this. Everybody was fine and he was working more than ever. She had told him she had always admired that about him. Maybe he wanted to hear that again.

  “Yep,” he said. “Seems like it’s all I do. Work. ’Course we’ve still got senior year.”

  It was the first conversation he had initiated with her in more than ten years. She had to reward it. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll be glad when that’s over. Won’t you?”

  “I sure will. I was hoping maybe we could get married then.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “You’re getting married?”

  Will looked left, then back to the front, still avoiding her eyes. “I was hoping.”

  “Who’s the lucky girl? Someone I know?”

  He pursed his lips and shook his head.

  “I know,” she said. “That Burke girl, the redhead?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that, Elspeth,” he said, clearly angry.

  She hadn’t seen this side of him but was delighted he was asserting himself. “I’m sorry, Will, but this is exciting. I don’t mean to make a game of it. Just tell me.”

  “Is that your answer?” he said, his voice flat and hard.

  “My answer?”

  “Is that how you turn me down?”

  A chill washed over her. “Oh, Will, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t sporting with you. I didn’t realize what you were saying. Please forgive me.”

  “Okay, but then will you?”

  “Oh, Will.”

  Elisabeth wished he would pull over so they could talk face to face. But he was on paved road now and they seemed to be flying. She couldn’t imagine what he must have gone through to broach the subject.

  “I’ve been praying about it,” he said, sounding encouraged. “I believe it’s what God wants for us.”

  Elisabeth sighed. Why did this have to happen? The day she committed the rest of her life to God, she learned her father was dying. Now the day she knew she was in love with Ben Phillips, Will Bishop announced his intentions.

  “Will, I’m flattered. And you must know I’m very surprised. Thank you for such a compliment. I’ll never forget that you asked me.”

  “Sounds like you’re saying no.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He stared straight ahead, his body stone rigid except to steer. “Can I ask why?”

  Should she tell him something she hadn’t told even Ben? She had no choice. “I’m in love, Will.”

  “But not with me.”

  “I like you a lot. I always have, and I always will. I admire you. You’re going to make someone a great husband.”

  “But not you.”

  “No.” It pained her to be so direct, but anything less would have been cruel.

  “Ben Phillips?”

  “Yes.”

  “Engaged?”

  “No. We’ve only just—”

  “I hope not, after just part of a summer.”

  “Of course. But I love him, Will.”

  “Does he love you?” It wasn’t a challenge. Will simply sounded devastated.

  “I believe he does.”

  Will shook his head. “That makes two of us then,” he announced. “And until he asks you and you say yes, I don’t guess I’ll be giving up.”

  Elisabeth rubbed her forehead with both hands. “Will, I want us always to be friends. If you hound me, it’ll ruin that.”

  He was suddenly animated, glancing back and forth between her and the road. “But it’s right, Elspeth. I know it. And someday you will too.”

  They were on the outskirts of Three Rivers. “So God has told you but not me,” she said. “Is that it?”

  “Seems like it.”

  “Don’t you agree that until he tells me, I should not say yes?”

  “Of course. Has he told you to say no?”

  “I didn’t even know to pray about it,” she said.

  “Now you know.”

  “Well, sure, yes. But God would also have to give me feelings for you that I haven’t even considered. I have to be frank, Will. I don’t see it.”

  Will downshifted and turned a little too quickly into Elisabeth’s neighborhood. “Has God told you to marry Ben?”

  “It seems he’s part of us. We have so much—”

  “But has God told you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then I still have a chance.”

  Poor Will. There was no arguing with him. She shook her head. “Tell me you won’t pressure me.”

  “I shouldn’t have to,” he said. “God will tell you.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “He’ll tell me to forget about it. But he already told me, Elspeth.”

  “What if he tells me to marry Ben?”

  “He won’t.”

  “But what if he does?”

  Will pulled in front of Elisabeth’s house and parked. “If God told me something, and I was sure of it, I’d do it.”

  “There you go.”

  Both hands on the wheel, the truck idling, Will stared straight ahead. “I already told you what God told me.”

  Conversing with the taciturn Will Bishop was surreal enough. That they were discussing love and marriage left Elisabeth reeling. “This is making me uncomfortable, Will.”

  He opened his door. “God will give you peace about it. Until he does, I promise I won’t bother you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and she meant it. She leapt from the truck before having to take Will’s hand again.

  She and Will saw each other at school every day and even had two classes together, though they sat nowhere near each other. Will gravitated toward accounting and bookkeeping classes, telling her he was hoping to get a desk job someday where he could work long and hard and make good wages without working his body to death.

  Meanwhile, Elisabeth and Ben were deeply in love and saying so in their daily letters. Then came a letter that Elisabeth wished had been a phone call, or even a visit. She hopped onto the couch and tucked her feet beneath her as she unfolded it. “I’ve been drafted,” Ben wrote simply, and her hands began to shake so she could hardly read. The tears didn’t help either.

  “I can only imagine you’re as upset as I am,” he wrote. “Maybe more. But this is where our faith is tested. God knows. Trust him.”

  That was Ben. He said he was upset, but he sure seemed to get over it quickly. He was more spiritual than she, and as she sat there trying to calm her racing heart, she imagined the worst. What kind of a spiritual baby am I? she scolded herself. Ben would be ashamed of her.

  “I’ve already been assigned chaplain’s assistant at Grand Rapids Memorial Hospital, awaiting deployment.”

  Deployment? That sounded so, so military!

  “I’m prepared to go wherever I’m sent,” he wrote, “but I’m pra
ying for something stateside.”

  “So am I,” Elisabeth wrote back. And she prayed as she had never prayed before.

  Ben promised to visit Three Rivers over Christmas, and Elisabeth couldn’t wait. Communication between her and Aunt Agatha had been strained to the breaking point. She needed above all to simply converse with someone who loved her.

  Marlin Beck reminded Elisabeth that the housing decision was still hers.

  “I mean to do as I said,” she told him. “I can tolerate my aunt until I sell and move out.”

  “But clearly her intention now is to move you out on your eighteenth birthday. You’ll have six months of high school left.”

  “Surely she’ll let me stay until I graduate.”

  “Make it a condition of the sale.”

  “No conditions.” She told Beck she was a Christian and had pledged the rest of her life as an experiment in obedience. “At the very least that means I must be true to my word, even if I spoke too hastily.”

  “I consider myself a Christian too,” he told her. “And there is a huge difference between being charitable and being a doormat. Jesus was walked upon only when he allowed it. May I remind you that the one time he erupted in righteous indignation concerned inappropriate use of funds?”

  Elisabeth did not want to be taken advantage of. But neither would she quarrel over temporal things, especially things that belonged to the father who had taught her to hold loosely to material goods. Mr. Beck tried to Dutch uncle her into exercising her faith by honoring her father’s wishes and doing the just and right thing. Elisabeth felt powerless and would not discuss it, except in her letters to Ben.

  Ben first broached the subject of marriage circumspectly in a letter. “We should not even talk about a future together until I know how risky my assignment might be,” he wrote. Elisabeth appreciated it. So much was unclear. Long range, Ben wanted to attend seminary and become a pastor. Short term, he had to remain flexible due to America’s increased involvement in the war.

  He was so practical, Elisabeth thought. She wanted above everything to marry him, but he had not asked yet. As right as the prospect of their marriage felt, she appreciated his unwillingness to risk her being widowed just months after their wedding. She tried to keep from her mind that he might die, but it was futile. She prayed the war would end before he was assigned and that their murky future would become clear.