by Janette Oke
“I told them I was willing to be the first volunteer.
“ ‘Put that in the minutes,’ the mayor nodded to the town secretary.
“I thought he was just referring to my volunteering for the job, but then he went on, ‘The lot is to be turned over to be used as a playground.’ Then he turned back to me. ‘Anything else, Pastor Barker?’
“ ‘A couple of things,’ ” I said. ‘We’d like permission to put up a sign right away, announcing our plans for the area. And we’d appreciate the assistance of the town in raising funds to buy equipment.’
“That seemed to shake them up some. ‘What sort of equipment?’ The town banker seemed the most worried.
“ ‘A bat. Balls. Perhaps a swing or two. Maybe a sandbox for the younger children,’ I told them, hoping that I had remembered all the things on your list.
“Heads began to nod.
“ ‘How do you propose we raise those funds?’ asked the schoolteacher.
“ ‘Voluntary donations,’ I said. ‘Maybe a fund-raiser of some sort. Perhaps we could set up a committee.’
“The silence didn’t seem very promising to me, but then one head after another began to nod. The mayor even smiled.
“ ‘I like it,’ he said. ‘The lot is yours. Go ahead and get started. We’ll see if anything comes of it.’
“Well, it wasn’t exactly a strong endorsement or a commitment for backing, but at least it’s a start. I thanked the town council and excused myself.”
Anna’s face beamed as she listened to the account. She was so pleased that they had official permission. She was very proud of Austin for handling the situation so well.
Chapter Eleven
Struggles
The very next morning, Austin was out in the vacant lot, his old trousers tucked into the tops of his boots, a worn work shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Anna was busy making the sign, anxious for the town to know what was going on in the weedy lot.
The unruly “gang” dropped by midmorning. “Hey, Preacher,” the taunts began. “You lookin’ fer your dinner?”
“You diggin’ yerself worms?”
“Here, Preach,” called one of them, tossing a rock in Austin’s direction, “eat this.”
They left when they found that all he did in response was to smile and wave his hand.
After finishing her sign, Anna hastened to take it to Austin along with his hammer, some nails, and a stake. The sign looked quite good, considering the material she had to work with.
But when they came to resume their toils the next morning, the stake had been pulled from the ground, the sign broken in three pieces and stomped on repeatedly, and all of the debris that Austin had carefully scythed and raked to a pile had been scattered again across the lot.
Anna could have cried.
Back to work they went—Anna with her small stock of paints and Austin with his scythe and rake. That evening they did not leave a pile of debris behind them. At the close of the day, Austin set a match to the waste and they stayed to watch until the fire had consumed the dried weeds and grass and was totally out. Then Austin pulled the stake with Anna’s sign from the ground and carried it home.
Anna was so tired she had little energy left to prepare the supper.
“Tomorrow is Wednesday,” Austin observed as he washed off the day’s grime at the corner basin. “Should we put aside the calling this week and concentrate on the lot?”
Anna considered the idea for a few moments. “No,” she said at last. “I don’t think we should allow it to interfere with our visitation duties. We’ll just have to fit it in when we have time.”
Austin nodded. “I agree,” he responded as he ran the rough towel over his hands and face. “So, where do we call tomorrow?”
“Mrs. Dobber hasn’t been well. Perhaps we should check on her. Nettie asked me on Sunday if we could stop there if we get a chance.”
Austin nodded. It seemed that their day was all arranged.
The thumping on the door didn’t sound like a fist rapping, more like a stick banging. As Anna hurried toward it, the thought that it might be the neighborhood boys, up to some other unkind trick, crossed her mind.
But when she opened the door she was surprised to see Mrs. Paxton, raised cane in hand.
“One of them’s ready,” said the woman without preamble, and Anna had to quickly sort out the meaning of her words.
The violets!
“Oh,” she smiled, reaching for a towel to dry her hands. “May I see it?”
But the elderly woman was already thumping her way down the walk on her return trip home.
Anna removed her apron, threw it on a kitchen chair, and followed her neighbor.
It was a pale blue flower, with a heavy fringe of white around the ruffled edge. Anna thought it was beautiful.
“Isn’t quite what I had in mind,” the old woman said gruffly.
“But it’s beautiful,” Anna remonstrated sincerely, wishing she could reach out and touch the delicate blossom but fearing that she would be reprimanded, perhaps rapped across the knuckles with the ever-present cane.
“Pretty enough,” said the woman, and for the first time ever Anna thought she heard some softness in her voice.
“Do you name them—as you create them?” asked Anna. The woman looked up, a startled expression on her face.
“What for?” she asked.
Anna shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought that—well—roses have names. And Mrs. Angus always knew the names of her violets. She’d introduce me to them—sort of. ‘And this is Woodland Snowdrop and this is Pink Lace.’ I don’t know if they already had names or if she named them.”
“They have names,” responded Mrs. Paxton. “Least when you buy them, they have names. When you do your own . . .” She didn’t finish.
“I think they should have names,” Anna dared to continue. “It must be rather sad to be nameless.”
“You talk like they were people,” said Mrs. Paxton, looking at Anna rather suspiciously.
“Isn’t that how you think of them?” responded Anna without turning her face from the flower. She was sure that it was, but would the woman dare to admit it? “Like friends? Or family?”
The old woman stirred restlessly but did not answer the question. “You can name it if it pleases you,” she finally responded and Anna felt honored.
“Oh, could I? I would love to. If—if you’re sure you don’t mind.”
“Doesn’t mean I’ll be calling it that,” the older woman quickly retorted.
“Of course not,” replied Anna softly. “But I will enjoy thinking of it—with a name. Let’s see. It is so blue. Such a soft, yet bright blue—and with that lovely fringe. It looks like a lady in a shimmering crinoline.”
Anna lifted her hands and folded them in front of her face as she thought deeply.
“What about Azure Princess?” she asked the older woman. “Awful big name for such a tiny flower,” the woman responded, but Anna noticed just a hint of humor in her tone and that she did not argue.
The Barkers continued to call on the Lawes. At supper, the parson was even asked to say the table grace, and on more than one occasion, Austin had a chance to remind the couple that they would be more than welcomed to the town fellowship.
“We’ve been thinking about it” was the usual reply, but the Barkers never saw them in the church service.
However, the Lawes did continue to supply milk and eggs, and Anna was so thankful for the welcome addition to their daily diet. Whenever she had a bit of milk and a few eggs to spare, she made a custard, and always she took a generous dish of it across the street to Mrs. Paxton.
Anna’s visits with Mrs. Paxton became more frequent. She even wondered, at times, if she didn’t see the older woman’s eyes light up when she opened the door.
Their conversation usually was of violets. Anna longed to turn it to more personal issues and to things of God. She knew the woman still harbored deep bitterness over events of her pa
st.
Anna did not feel free to ask about those events. She knew instinctively that thoughts of them still held much pain. But she did want to have the opportunity to present the truth of God’s love to the sorrowful woman.
One day, Anna decided to try. She gave her best efforts, choosing her words carefully, but later as she reflected on the conversation she felt she had done a very poor job.
“Mrs. Paxton,” she had said, “I’ve been praying a lot for you over the last several weeks. I—I feel great concern for—for—” Anna was interrupted.
“You needn’t!” snapped the woman.
“But—but I do. By your own—admission you have—have pushed God out of your life. You have chosen to turn your back on Him. To . . . to deny Him.”
“And that’s my business,” continued the woman, her eyes flashing darkly.
“But it’s my business, too,” insisted Anna, her throat constricting with emotion. “I—I have been—we have all been—commissioned to—to share the Gospel with those we—care about. And I care—I deeply care about you. I—”
The woman straightened her bent shoulders as much as she was able. She thumped her cane angrily on the floor.
“Look, Missie,” she said, and she lifted the cane and shook it at Anna, “I don’t mind our little visits. But you start prying and prodding into my personal affairs and I swear I’ll lock the door next time I see you coming.”
“I—I’m sorry,” breathed Anna quietly, but she did not back away from the dark, piercing eyes. “I will not speak—if I am forbidden to speak—but I will continue to pray.”
The shadowed eyes continued to glare at her, but the cane gradually lowered. Then the woman turned away.
“Pray all you want,” she almost hissed. “He doesn’t answer anyway.”
“Oh, but He does . . . if we let Him.” Anna could not keep from speaking the words even though she knew it might make the woman angry again.
“See it your way,” the old woman replied as she began to thump her way across her kitchen floor. “That’s your right, I guess. But I have rights, too. And I choose to have nothing to do with Him.”
Anna felt her shoulders sag. What more could she—should she say?
It was fall before the vacant lot was finally ready for the children of the area. Anna hoped for a long, warm autumn so that they might take advantage of it. But instead an early storm buried the sandbags that marked the ball diamond bases, and snow piled in drifts on the new sandbox.
“If folks hadn’t been so slow in giving a hand,” complained Anna, “the town youngsters could have had weeks of play before the snow came.”
Austin nodded. Anna’s idea had been a good one. Folks had taken a while to respond but had finally caught the vision. Help gradually came for the cleanup, and funds were raised by a community picnic and pie social so that simple equipment could be purchased.
But that wasn’t the most rewarding result. The gang of boys had gradually softened toward the young preacher. They had stopped teasing and tormenting and had even dropped around toward the end of the project to lend a hand with the work. When they played their first ball game, Austin made sure that he was on hand, and they had invited him to be their pitcher.
The town as well had warmed toward the young minister.
“Real carin’ fella,” folks were saying. “Not just out to fill the offering plate on Sunday. Really wants to be of help to the community.”
Two new families had been added to the church and they both cited the town playground project as the reason for their interest. Anna was pleased with the nice things that she heard said about her husband. She was sure God would use the goodwill to open doors for further ministry.
“Well, at least the playground will be all ready for use next spring,” Anna stalwartly announced to her husband. And the young couple threw themselves into the work of the church and community.
As soon as the snowdrifts disappeared and the spring puddles began to dry, the new playground became a hive of activity, just as Anna predicted. There were days when Austin might have wished he had never encouraged the project, for it was hard to concentrate on studying with the shouts and laughter from the vacant lot. Anna would only smile. She was glad that the children had a place to play so they wouldn’t be looking for trouble to ease their boredom.
As she watched them play, her thoughts turned to the possibility of a garden.
“If only I had my own garden,” she told herself for the hundredth time.
But there was no room to spade up even the smallest of gardens on the little plot of ground surrounding the parson-age. Anna nearly despaired and then began to make her need a matter of prayer.
Just as she was about to give up, Mrs. Landers, one of the new parishioners, approached her one Sunday.
“I was wondering if you might be interested in having a garden, Mrs. Barker. Or would it be too much trouble for you? I have more garden area than I aim to plant. My arthritis limits me, you know.”
Anna’s eyes began to shine. The Landers’ farm, on the edge of town, was within easy walking distance.
“Oh, I’d be so pleased to have a spot,” she joyfully answered the woman, while inwardly she breathed a prayer of thankfulness. God had been faithful—and in time, too. The spring weather was perfect for the planting of a garden.
“Well, we aren’t any closer to having a church building,” Austin said one evening as they had their supper.
Anna pushed the familiar and rather boring stew around on her plate; then raised her eyes. “Well, we can’t be any further away,” she ventured.
Austin looked puzzled.
Anna shrugged. “I just mean if we are ever going to have a church here, each day that passes must bring us closer to it,” observed Anna.
Austin smiled, but Anna felt that it was forced.
“I, being human, would like to see a bit of evidence,” he admitted.
“Well, we have a ‘bit,’ ” said Anna, holding up her finger and thumb and making a very small measure.
Austin still looked puzzled.
“The building fund,” she reminded him.
“The building fund amounts to about sixteen dollars,” he responded. “We couldn’t buy a bucket of nails with that.”
“Well, it’s a bit,” insisted Anna.
Austin sighed. “I still think it would help the congregation to grow if we actually worshiped in a church building,” he said. “Maybe we’ve been going about it the wrong way. Maybe we shouldn’t have been waiting. Perhaps God expected us to get out and get busy. Look at the playground. Folks didn’t think we were really serious about that until they started to see some action.”
Anna nodded and pushed back her plate. She fleetingly wished she’d had ingredients for custard or a rice pudding.
“What do you think we should do?” she asked her husband. “I don’t know. Maybe make a bit more noise about it. Let folks know that the town needs a church.”
“I think we might have used up the last vacant lot to make a playground,” remarked Anna a little guiltily.
Austin’s face sobered. “I hadn’t thought of that. The playground location would be ideal,” he admitted. At the look on Anna’s face, he added, “There must be other suitable lots.”
“Not in town,” said Anna, shaking her head. “None that are the right location—and big enough. I walked the full length and breadth of it one day, and I couldn’t find a one. Closest land is the Landers farm. One might get a small corner of that.”
“That’s too far out,” said Austin. “It would be inconvenient for the older ones or small children who had to walk.”
Anna agreed.
“What we really need is something right in the heart of town,” went on Austin.
“Like the playground,” observed Anna.
“The playground would be good,” agreed Austin.
“But we aren’t going to ask for it back, are we?” pushed Anna.
She thought it would be such a shame
to give it to the children, and then take it from them again.
“A church is more important than a playground,” reasoned Austin.
Anna reached out to place a hand on her husband’s arm. “Do you see how it would look?” she said softly. “If you were to go to the town now and ask for the land for a church, everyone would think that was what you had in mind in the first place. That it was just—just a sneaky way to maneuver to get what you wanted. We can’t do that, Austin. We just can’t.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Anna could see the muscles working in Austin’s jaw and knew he was struggling with the problem.
“You’re right,” he said at last, giving her hand a squeeze. “We can’t ask for it back. We’ll have to trust God to give us something else.”
They were having their daily devotions together when there was a thumping on the kitchen door that Anna had come to recognize as Mrs. Paxton’s cane. She excused herself with a glance at Austin and hastened to answer before the knocking could come again.
“Yes, Mrs. Paxton,” she said with a smile. “Come on in.”
“Didn’t come to chatter,” said the crusty old woman, but before Anna could make further comment she continued.
“Heard you’ve been looking for a building for your church.”
“Yes,” nodded Anna, “we have.”
Mrs. Paxton shoved a piece of paper toward Anna. “This here’s the deed to the building I own yonder,” she said with a nod of her head. “You can have it.”
Anna was aware that Austin had risen to his feet. “But—” he began.
Anna knew the condition of the building. She also knew what Austin had in mind for the church. The two did not correspond in any fashion. Anna feared that Austin might make some comment of refusal.
She turned to send her husband a silent message, then faced the woman with a delighted smile as her hand reached for the proffered deed.
“That is most kind of you, Mrs. Paxton,” she said with sincerity. “My husband and I—and the entire congregation—appreciate your generous offer.”
