The Measure of a Heart

by Janette Oke

  Anna managed to lift her eyes to his.

  “Yes,” she answered simply.

  “May I see it?”

  He reached out a hand and Anna fumbled in her apron pocket, certainly thankful that she had not put the certificate in the bodice of her brown cotton.

  She produced the piece of paper, relieved when she saw that it had not been damaged by the jostling of the pails. She wasn’t sure, though, if she wished to turn it over to a total stranger. Reluctantly she released her hold when his hand reached out to take the paper from her. He studied it carefully, his eyes showing pleasure as he read.

  “With first-class honors,” he read softly. “That’s commendable. Mrs. Angus will be very pleased.”

  His eyes found hers again and Anna felt her face flushing.

  “I’m planning to write them with a weekly report,” he told her. “Do you mind if I share the news with her?”

  Anna managed to find her tongue. “How long will they be gone?”

  “Only for the summer.” He handed her back her precious certificate, and she quickly pushed it into her pocket. He went on, “A granddaughter is getting married—then they are to take a bit of rest. They’ll be back again when I head back to school this fall.”

  Anna looked at him, her eyes growing wider. Why, he must be well past twenty, and here he was still going to school! Boys—men—could be so fortunate.

  She wished she could ask him about his school but the words stuck in her throat. She wondered what he was studying—how much longer he could go on with schooling. Oh, if only she were allowed to go on to school—to study. There was so much she didn’t know. She wondered just how long a person would need to go to school before he had learned everything there was to learn.

  Her thoughts whirled through her mind and she shifted uncomfortably. Then she noticed the kitchen table where Mrs. Angus always had an African violet, usually with blooms. The pastor’s wife rotated them from creamy white to shades of pink or blue or purple. Mrs. Angus loved her violets. To Anna’s surprise, the table was now stacked and strewn with books of varying sizes. Her eyes widened again. He seemed to notice.

  “Commentaries,” he explained simply. “I have to keep studying—even if I am out of class for the summer. Right now I’m working on Sunday’s sermon.”

  Anna was unable to respond.

  “Have you ever seen a Bible commentary?” he was asking, moving slowly toward the table.

  “No,” admitted Anna, her head shaking as her brow furrowed slightly.

  “Well, they are books filled with explanations about the Scriptures. They also expand on the stories, give insight into the culture of the people. So that you can understand the meanings of sayings or situations.”

  He reached for the nearest book and began to flip the pages. Anna saw pictures tucked among the many words. She yearned to hold the book in her own hands.

  “Do you like Bible stories?” he was asking.

  “Oh yes,” she whispered.

  “Mrs. Angus says that you have a very good mind—are eager to learn. That was why she was so anxious to see your school report. By the look of it, she was right. Honors! That’s good.” He smiled encouragingly at her.

  “Actually, the most important learning we can ever do,” he went on, “is to learn the Word of God. That’s why I am going to seminary. To learn God’s Word.”

  Anna felt envy wash over her whole being, then quickly rebuked herself.

  “I’m through,” the thought spilled out verbally. “I’m all done at school now.”

  “With school—maybe. But not with learning. We never need to quit learning,” said the young man, nodding his head at the pile of books. “I don’t plan to quit learning when I have finished seminary. In fact, my learning will have just begun. There is so much more I need to know. Seminary just shows me how to go about finding knowledge.”

  The blue of Anna’s eyes intensified. Was there no end to what one could learn? She felt dwarfed—bereft. She was so limited.

  “Would you like to borrow a book?” the man was asking.

  Anna could only stare. Had she heard him right? Was he actually offering her one of those wonderful volumes?

  She longed to reach out and claim the treasure, but she shrank back slightly.

  “Would you?” he prompted.

  “Oh, I—I couldn’t,” she managed to murmur.

  “Why not? Won’t you have time to read?”

  “Oh yes. Mama always gives me time when I have a book. In—in fact, they usually have me read the book aloud—to the whole family, but—”

  “Then you need a book. Oh, not one of these commentaries but . . . let’s see.” He crossed to the shelf behind him and began to scan the titles.

  Anna could only stare. She had never seen so many books all in one place before except at the schoolhouse. This young man was blessed indeed. First of all, to still be able to go to school. Secondly, to have so many, many books at his finger-tips, so much knowledge right at hand.

  He chose a book and turned to hold it out to her. “This should be a good one,” he was saying. “I think you and your family will enjoy—”

  But Anna could not lift her hand to accept the book. She shook her head again and swallowed with difficulty. “What—what if something happened to it?” she managed at last.

  He smiled. It made his whole face light up. “Mrs. Angus would not have spoken so highly of you if you were not to be trusted,” he answered.

  “But—” began Anna.

  “I know. Even trustworthy people can have accidents. But should you—in spite of your carefulness—then the book can be replaced. Please. Read it. Share it with your family. That’s what books are for.”

  Anna could no longer resist. She reached for the book, swallowed again, thinking of the seriousness of trust placed in her. “I will—will be most careful,” she promised solemnly as the volume came into her possession.

  “I know you will.” He smiled again.

  Then Anna realized that she had taken far more time than she had intended. She backed slowly toward the door. She’d have to run all the way home.

  “Thank you,” she muttered, then raised her voice slightly to repeat the words again, “Thank you . . . very much.” Her voice was trembling with excitement and she clutched the book to her bosom.

  “When you finish that one, you can exchange it for another,” he promised and he was smiling again.

  She answered his smile shyly and turned to go.

  “Anna,” he called after her. “You didn’t say if I could tell Mrs. Angus about your grade report.”

  Anna turned long enough to nod in agreement, and then she was through the door and out on the board sidewalk. She dared not run yet. He would hear the pounding of her feet. Not till she was out on the dirt road.

  But she could hardly wait. More than a need to hurry pressed her forward. Now excitement made it hard for her to keep her steps in check. It would not be difficult at all to run all the way home.

  “Guess what?” she cried before she was even in the kitchen. “Guess what, Mama?”

  Her mother turned from the cupboard where she was slicing thick pieces of homemade bread, her eyes wide at the uncharacteristic excitement in the voice of her only daughter.

  “I’ve got a book!” Anna exclaimed joyously.

  “A book?”

  “He gave me a book. Said we could all read it together. And when we are done with this one—we can go get another one!” She was so out of breath that she could scarcely get out the words.

  “What are you talking about, child?” asked her mother, sounding perplexed at Anna’s outburst.

  Anna held up the book for her mother to see. “This!” she exclaimed. “He gave me this.”

  “Who? What he?”

  Anna’s hurried thoughts slid to a stop. So much had happened. Where should she begin?

  “The new minister,” she replied.

  “What new minister?”

  “The one who
came to take the place of Anguses.”

  The older woman clutched at a corner of her apron in shock. “Mercy me!” she exclaimed. “Has something happened to that poor woman?”

  Anna was quick to explain. “No, she’s fine. Gone to a granddaughter’s wedding. But then they are taking some time to rest. Will be gone for the summer. Then they’ll be back, he said.”

  “And just who is this ‘he’ you’re goin’ on about? What’re you talking about, child?”

  “The new minister. Oh, he’s not a minister really. He said that he is still going to school—but he—”

  “To school? You mean they sent us a boy?” “He’s not a boy,” Anna argued. “He’s a grown man.” “Still schoolin’?” Mrs. Trent swished her apron. Doubt edged her voice and made her eyes dark. “Must be awful slow if he’s a man and still—”

  But Anna’s impatience cut in. “He is a man,” she maintained, “and he’s not slow. I could tell by his talking. He’s going to a special school—to learn about God’s Word. He said so. Said there was more to learn than he’ll ever know. It’s—it’s called—a semintary.”

  “A cemetery’s where ya bury folks,” her mother informed her.

  “Well, it’s something like that—but it’s a school. He said so.”

  Mrs. Trent turned back to her cutting board. “Well, put up your book, wash your hands, and set the table. We’re soon gonna have a stampede of hungry folks stompin’ into this kitchen and supper ain’t on.”

  Anna ran to her bedroom to put away the precious book, then hurried back to wash her hands at the corner basin. She knew there was work to be done. She knew it would be several hours before the supper dishes were clean and placed back on the shelves. But oh, how she longed to open the pages of the book and discover just what the young man had given her.

  “Who is this young fella?” her mother was asking again.

  “A . . . a summer replacement,” Anna answered lamely. “Just a summer replacement for the Anguses.”

  “Where’s he from?”

  “He didn’t say,” said Anna, crossing the room to lift a stack of plates from the kitchen shelf.

  Her mother moved back to the stove and turned the frying slices of meat in the large iron skillet.

  “What’s his name?”

  “He didn’t say that either,” admitted Anna and her mother looked up in surprise. Anna knew that if it had been her mother delivering the milk, she would have garnered a great deal more information about the new preacher.

  “What’s he like?” asked her mother suddenly.

  Anna stopped in her tracks. What was he like? She didn’t really know. Her eyes had been too intent on studying the covers of the books. How could she answer her mother?

  “What do you mean?” she responded, stalling for time.

  “What’s he like? Tall? Short? Pleasant? Sour? What’s he like?”

  Anna felt she could make some observations that might satisfy her mother. “Well, he’s—he’s pleasant.” That much was safe. Hadn’t he given her a book? “And—he—he’s about Papa’s height.” She hoped that was close.

  “What’s he look like?”

  Anna strained to remember. She couldn’t recall one more feature. And then it came to her. “Well, he—he smiles—nicely,” she replied and hoped with all her heart that it would suffice.

  But her mother still went on. “How old?” she asked.

  Anna looked at the unusual expression on the familiar face before her. What an odd question—even from her mother.

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled, placing another plate on the table. “Mid-twenties, I expect.” She hesitated, wondering just which track her mother’s thoughts were following. “But he seems knowledgeable enough,” she hastened to add.

  She did not see the lift of her mother’s chin or the slight cocking of her head as she carefully studied her daughter for one brief minute; then the woman nodded and a smile played about the corners of her mouth.

  Chapter Three

  Learning

  “Well—he can preach,” announced Mrs. Trent as she pulled the pins from her Sunday bonnet.

  Mr. Trent nodded his head in agreement and raised both hands to release his neck from the confines of his Sunday collar and tie.

  Anna said nothing. She was still studying the cover of the new book. The family had not yet finished the last one, but the young man had offered her a second one anyway.

  “Barker. That will make a nice name for a parson,” Mrs. Trent commented. “I wonder what his first name is.”

  “Austin,” put in Adam, Anna’s fourteen-year-old brother as he snitched a raw carrot from the cooking pot on the cupboard. “He told me.”

  “Pastor Austin Barker,” repeated Mrs. Trent and nodded her head as though giving her approval.

  Anna went to her room to change from her Sunday dress and release her hair from its tight braids.

  “Adam! Stay out of dinner until it’s cooked,” she heard her mother scolding. “Wouldn’t be much left if all the family took from the pot.”

  As she gently closed her door, Anna agreed that it had been a good sermon. She had sat forward on the bench as she listened. Where did one get all that knowledge? Was this what going on to school could do for you?

  He had described the desert of Sinai just as though he had been there himself. And when he spoke of Moses and his struggles with the faltering new nation coming forth from the slavery of Egypt, it was so real Anna could almost feel the sting of the desert sand and the dryness of a parched throat. No wonder they had begged for water. No wonder their patience had been thin. And maybe no wonder that God had been patient with them.

  Anna sat on her bed and stared at the book she held in her hands, wondering what wonderful secrets it might share with her. She wished she could curl up on her bed and start reading it immediately. But her mother was awaiting her help with the Sunday dinner. With a sigh, Anna laid aside the book and slipped out of her Sunday frock.

  She reached for her calico dress. She could wear it now for everyday. She wouldn’t be needing it for school anymore. She might as well get all the wear from it that she could before she grew out of it—if she ever did decide to grow. She was sure she wasn’t much bigger than she had been at thirteen. She sighed again and tied her sash at the back. She did wish that she was taller—fuller. She looked like a child when she was with girls her own age.

  When she returned to the kitchen, her father was trying to hustle the six boys out from under her mother’s feet.

  “Out on the back porch—all of ya,” he said, waving a hand toward the door.

  Young Karl, four, began to complain. “I’m hungry,” he insisted.

  “An’ yer ma will get dinner on twice as fast if she doesn’t have to trip over you,” Mr. Trent insisted as he swung the youngest, one-and-a-half-year-old Petey, up into his arms.

  The kitchen was soon cleared of all but Anna and her mother, and without a word to each other they went about the dinner preparations.

  “What did you think of him?” her mother asked suddenly.

  Anna’s head came up. “Of what—who?” she queried.

  “The young parson.”

  “He’s—he’s not a parson yet,” Anna reminded her. “He said he still has two more years of schooling.”

  Once again Anna envied him those two more years.

  “Well—he will be a parson soon enough. Two years goes by awful fast. Why, in two years you’ll be eighteen.”

  Anna wondered briefly what that had to do with anything. Then her thoughts quickly turned to the two months the young man was to be with them. Two months. Only two months to learn all she could from his stack of books. Such a short time—and so much to learn.

  Anna hurried with the setting of the table, anxious to get dinner over, the dishes done, so she might be able to sneak off to her secret rock by the creek and read until she was needed to help with supper.

  “Well . . . ? What did you think?”

  Again
Anna had to jerk her attention back to her mother and try to remember to what she was referring. Oh yes, the young minister. But what was the question?

  “He—he preaches—fine,” she managed. “I—I liked the story the way he told it.”

  Her mother nodded. “Told yer pa he was a fine preacher,” she went on as she put more wood in the stove to hurry the dinner. “An’ he’s fine lookin’ too.”

  Anna nodded, though she had paid little attention to how the young man looked.

  “Broad brow—heard that means good intellect,” Mrs. Trent said sagely. “Fine honest eyes, no shiftiness in them, look directly at you. And a strong chin. Heard that a weak chin means a weak man. Nose straight and not too big. Good thatch of hair—but he keeps it nicely under control. Fine-lookin’ man. Don’t know when I’ve seen finer.”

  Anna drew her mind momentarily from the new book in her bedroom. She supposed he was a fine-looking young man. She hadn’t given it much thought.

  “Suppose every mother in the district will be settin’ her cap for him,” her mother went on, and Anna raised her head and gave her full attention to the conversation. Why in the world would the district mothers be setting their caps for the young man?

  “They’ll all be foistin’ their daughters on him,” her mother continued, “tryin’ to get his attention with dinners and suppers and social invitations.”

  That’s silly, thought Anna.

  “You just watch,” went on Mrs. Trent. “I’ll just be willing to guess that come next Sunday, every marriageable girl in the congregation will have a new Sunday dress or bonnet—maybe both. You just mark my word.”

  “That’s silly,” said Anna aloud.

  “Yes,” sighed Mrs. Trent, “it might be at that.” Anna did not notice the sideways look she cast at her young daughter. It was quite clear that they would not be in the running. Anna seemed to have no interest whatever in the young man—apart from the books he was willing to share.

  Anna also didn’t notice the look of disappointment or the sigh of utter relief as Mrs. Trent turned back to the stove. Anna couldn’t read her mother’s thoughts. We won’t need to be worrying about losing Anna. At least not yet. Not for a long time yet. It’s a relief. I don’t know how I would ever get along without Anna. And yet—She sighed again.