The Measure of a Heart

by Janette Oke

  “Accidents happen,” said Anna, remembering when her brother Will had broken a window at home.

  Tommy accepted the proffered ball. He still seemed unable to believe that she wasn’t going to lash out at them for the mishap.

  But Anna gave him a smile, and then turned to smile at the heads poking over the bushes. “Have fun,” she called out to them, then turned and walked back to her house.

  Anna went to work cleaning up the mess. She cut her finger on a sliver of glass in the process and had to stop to put on a makeshift bandage. Then she set to work again.

  The afternoon sun was warm overhead and the flies buzzed lazily in the shimmering heat. In no time they decided that they’d rather be in than out, and Anna saw them making entrance through the broken window.

  Anna did not care for flies in her house. She knew she had to do something quickly, so she got one of her tea towels and tacked it into the window frame. It wouldn’t do anything at all about the weather, but at least it should keep the flies from her kitchen.

  It seemed to Anna that it rained every day for two weeks during August. But that was an exaggeration. Over and over she and Austin expressed to each other their thankfulness that the new church building was waterproof.

  Anna had tried to make her bedroom just as watertight by tacking cardboard over the broken window. Each time the rain soon soaked through, the paper became soggy and the wall began to drip.

  Austin took over then, borrowing pieces of board from the church project. Even that did not keep out the water. It seeped through every seam, running down the already stained wall and making puddles on the floor. Anna found herself wiping it up several times a day when it rained.

  When there was a break in the clouds, Anna felt she must do something different.

  Maybe if I make a heavy paste and patch the seams, she thought. If it has a chance to dry, it might hold out the water.

  Anna worked quickly with her flour and water mixture. In the west she could see clouds beginning to form again. She hurried outside and began to smear it heavily wherever there was a join of boards.

  The nearby playground had not been used for a number of days. It was too soggy, with big puddles where the bases should be. Anna noticed the quiet as she worked with her paste.

  I rather miss the noise, she admitted to herself. At least it was a happy sound. I would rather have it than the drip, drip of rain.

  “There,” she said aloud, stepping back to observe her handiwork. “Maybe that will keep out the water.”

  Then Anna shifted her eyes to the skies. “If it just has time to dry properly.”

  Anna picked up her smeary paste pot and returned to her kitchen.

  The paste managed to dry before the next rain. For the first few hours Anna thought her idea had worked, but the steady rain gradually washed away her paste, and Anna was back to wiping floors again.

  The rain finally did cease to fall and things began to dry out. Anna asked Austin to remove the boards from the window so she could clean up the casement. But they were kept handy in case they had to hastily be tacked in position again.

  What will we ever do when winter comes? Anna wondered.

  They had been making an effort to save enough to buy new window glass, but there were only a few pennies in the cup. It had once reached eighty-six cents and then Mr. Perkins, an elderly bachelor across the street, had taken ill. Anna had borrowed from her little savings to buy enough ingredients for a nourishing soup.

  And now they were down to pennies again.

  There was a knock on the door and Anna crossed to answer, tying her apron around her small frame as she did.

  A cluster of boys stood on her step. Anna recognized them as the “gang.”

  “We brung the money for the window,” said the biggest one of the lot, extending a grimy hand filled with coins.

  Anna’s eyes widened. “Where ever did you get all that money?” she gasped, doubt in her eyes.

  “We worked fer it,” one of the boys replied.

  “We saw you tryin’ to fix the hole,” volunteered Tommy Fallis.

  “We figured the rain must still be comin’ in.”

  Anna nodded. She was beginning to regain her composure. She even managed a smile.

  “Come in,” she invited, stepping aside.

  They came in, pushing together like a herd of sheep. The biggest boy still held the coins in his hand.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t have enough chairs,” said Anna, “but some of you may sit on the floor.”

  Anna wished she had cookies. They hadn’t had cookies in the house for ever so long.

  “Would you like a slice of bread and jam?” she offered and saw several heads nod. One of the boys even dared to say, “Um-m-m.”

  Anna hurried to prepare the bread. There was a bit of whispering and shifting as the boys huddled on her kitchen floor.

  “Now,” said Anna. “I know some of you—but not all. Could you tell me your names, please?”

  They held back at first, and then all gave their names at once.

  “One at a time,” laughed Anna. “We’ll start with Tommy Fallis here on the end.”

  “Robert Collins,” said the boy next to Tommy. Anna noted his freckled face. He shouldn’t be hard to remember.

  “Sid Cross,” said the one who still clutched the coins.

  A-ha, thought Anna. From the house on the edge of town.

  The next boy spoke without looking up from his clasped hands, “Ben Cross.”

  A brother, thought Anna.

  “Paul Gillis,” said the next boy. Anna had never seen Paul with the gang before.

  “Are you new in town, Paul?” she stopped the proceedings to ask.

  “No,” he answered, shifting uncomfortably.

  “His ma’s away,” offered Tommy as though that explained his presence.

  “I see,” said Anna as she spread jam on the last piece of bread.

  Then she turned to the final boy in the cluster.

  “Your name?”

  “Carl,” he said nervously, without a glance upward.

  “And your last name, Carl?” asked Anna innocently as she piled the slices onto a plate for serving.

  Tommy began to snicker and several others joined him, elbowing one another and pushing with bodies. The boy blushed and hung his head.

  “It’s Carl,” piped up Paul Gillis.

  “Oh,” said Anna, without looking at the squirming group. “Your last name is Carl. And your first?”

  There was a real outbreak then.

  “It’s Carl, too,” hooted Tommy.

  Anna picked up the plate of bread and tried to keep her voice even. Inside she was thinking, What parent would ever do a thing like that? Outwardly she said softly as she began passing the slices from boy to boy, “Carl Carl. That is a most interesting name. An advantage, too. You only needed to learn to spell one.” She smiled.

  The hooting stopped. Anna wasn’t sure if it was because of her comment or the bread slices that were quickly disappearing off the plate.

  When she reached Sid, he indicated the money in his hand, and Anna knew he was telling her that he couldn’t eat with his hand still full. She noticed the grime on his hands, and cringed. Then she remembered that she had seen her farm brothers eat with hands almost as dirty when not caught by her mother and they all had lived.

  “The money,” she said and extended her hand. “I want to hear about how you worked for all this money.”

  She laid the money on her table and finished passing out the bread.

  “Now,” she said as she put the empty plate back on the table, “how did you ever earn so much?”

  “We told folks how—how we broke the window—and how you was havin’ trouble keepin’ out the rain—and asked if they had jobs—and they did,” offered Tommy in a rush.

  “Mr. Parks hired us the most,” cut in Sid.

  “Yeah,” interposed Paul, “he said somethin’ ’bout, ‘Guess he might as well work another mi
racle,’ or somethin’.”

  Anna smiled. Yes. Yes, it was another miracle. At the rate she had been able to save, they would have gone through a cold winter with the wind blowing off the Arctic into their bedroom.

  “You don’t know how much I appreciate what you have done,” said Anna, her eyes shining. “In fact, I’m sure Pastor Barker would like to tell all the folks about your good deed. Let’s see. Maybe—maybe a good time to do that would be next Sunday. Right at the school. We still meet there every Sunday, you know. We could have you all in the very first row and then when he tells the folks about you, you can all stand up.”

  Eyes were sparkling, elbows were working. Only Carl hung his head.

  “How does that sound?” asked Anna.

  “I don’t have any special Sunday clothes,” spoke up Paul.

  “Neither do I,” said Tommy.

  “That’s fine,” Anna hurried to assure them. “People don’t go to the service to look at clothes. We will be looking at your faces.” Then she quickly added to keep the focus on the faces, “So make sure they are scrubbed and clean . . . and your hair slicked down.”

  There was a scramble as they rose to leave. Anna heard excited chattering as they went down her walk. She closed her eyes and prayed. Then turned back to the kitchen.

  “I wonder . . . ?” she mused as she lifted the empty plate from the table.

  Then her eyes moved to the little pile of coins, and eagerly her fingers reached out to sort and count. There was enough. Just enough for a pane of glass. Anna had already asked Mr. Parks the price. How strange that it should be exact.

  And then Anna smiled. No, it wasn’t strange at all. Hadn’t Mr. Parks himself hired the boys the most? Who better than the store owner would know the price of a windowpane?

  Anna scooped up the coins and let them drop one by one into her “savings” cup. When Austin came home for his supper, she would have some good news for him.

  The next Sunday all the boys but Carl were seated in the front row, their faces scrubbed clean, their hair slicked back—and their clothes as dirty and rumpled as usual.

  But Anna noticed little except the shiny faces. She was so glad to see them that the tears filled her eyes.

  Austin made much of the good deed of the boys and they blushed and beamed by turn.

  Three of them were back the following Sunday. Then two—then back up to four. Their attendance was sporadic—but they were coming. Anna thanked the Lord for that.

  “I think Mr. Parks might have been involved in a miracle that he wasn’t counting on,” she mused. “What else would have ever brought those boys to our service?”

  And suddenly, all of those messy puddles on her floor, the unsightly stains on her walls, and the misery of the days of fighting rain seemed a small price to pay.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sorrow

  “Anna. There’s bad news.”

  Anna stopped the swing of the garden hoe and looked at her husband. His face was flushed and he was breathing heavily as though he had run all the way to the farm garden. Her face turned pale, her eyes widened. Her first thought was of her mother.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” Austin offered, easing the hoe from her hands and casting a look around them.

  Anna’s eyes followed his. There was no place to sit except on the ground.

  “What is it?” she managed.

  “Shouldn’t you—?”

  “Tell me,” cut in Anna, her voice raising with her fear. “Tell me. Is it Mama?”

  Austin had his arm about her as he eased her toward the grass at the side of the garden.

  “No. No,” he said quickly. “It isn’t any of your family.”

  The garden was still not totally dry after all the rain. Anna had to watch as she walked so she wouldn’t misstep and end up with muddy shoes. She skirted a small patch of mud that almost took her out of Austin’s arms.

  “It’s little Timmy Lawes,” continued Austin and Anna felt her throat constrict. Little Timmy was her favorite. Such a beautiful child. So warm and loving. Such a delight to hold and cuddle. Whenever Anna scooped him up onto her lap, she thought ahead to the delight of having her own baby.

  “Is he sick?” she managed, the fear back in her voice again.

  “There was an accident,” said Austin, stopping to look into her face—to will her his strength. “He’s gone.”

  For a moment Anna stood where she was. Her face drained of color, her hands fluttered to her breast. Slowly she shook her head. “No,” she denied. “No. There must be some mistake.”

  She felt her legs trembling beneath her and moved to lean more heavily on her husband.

  “No,” she said again.

  “It was a drowning,” explained Austin. “You know how full all the ditches are with all the rain. Cal found him.”

  “No.” One last denial before the tears came.

  Then her thoughts turned from her own shock to that of the young parent. “Poor Cal. Poor Cal.”

  Anna began to sob and Austin pulled her close and held her, his face buried in her hair.

  They went to the Lawes as soon as they could change from their work clothes and hitch the team. All the way to the farm home Anna’s thoughts were on the grieving family.

  Oh, God, she prayed over and over, if ever Austin needed a real minister’s wife, it’s now. If only—if only I knew what to say and what to do.

  Anna felt painfully inadequate for the task before them. How could she, a mere farm girl, inexperienced and untrained, possibly bring comfort to the grieving mother?

  “Oh, God,” she moaned again and again. “Oh, God.”

  It was not an easy day—for anyone. The young mother was in shock and went from mourning her baby to screams of denial. “You’re lying,” Mandy kept accusing her distraught husband. “Everyone is lying. He’s just sleeping. See. See. He’s sucking his thumb just like he always does in his sleep. He’s just sleeping.”

  The tiny boy’s thumb was nowhere near his mouth.

  And then the next minute the stricken mother would be rocking back and forth, the tears falling as she moaned and sobbed, “Oh, my baby. My poor little lost baby. Why did it have to be you? Why did it have to be you?”

  Everyone was relieved when she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Anna busied herself in the farm kitchen. Others had to be cared for. Shocked siblings had to be fed. Held. Comforted. The day was a living nightmare for them. Anna ached to be able to help but could only cradle them close and assure them they were loved.

  She and Austin stayed the night. He feared they might be needed. He was right. The mother awoke from time to time and cried for her baby. Anna held her in her arms and spoke words of love and comfort while her heart prayed that God would intervene on the grieving mother’s behalf.

  By morning Anna felt as numb as the young mother looked. Charles stumbled about as a blind man, trying to be strong for the sake of his grieving spouse and crying family.

  “We need to make plans,” he said to Austin over a cup of Anna’s strong coffee.

  Austin nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can,” he assured Charles.

  Anna left the two at the kitchen table. She didn’t think she was up to hearing the details for the funeral service. She took a cup of tea to Mandy, hoping she would be able to coax the woman to take a few sips of the beverage.

  In the afternoon they left, taking the children with them. Anna had debated the wisdom of removing the little ones from the home. Did they need their own parents at such an hour—even though the couple was unable to give them the care and support they so desperately needed? Or would it be better to take them from the heavy grief that hung about the home? Anna wasn’t sure. But Austin suggested it to the parents and they nodded a mute consent. The children didn’t argue the fact either, and even seemed to brighten as the journey progressed.

  Perhaps this is the right thing to do, Anna decided.

  But when night came and it was time to tuck th
e children into the bed that had been prepared on the living room floor, Anna had cause to wonder again. It took her hours to still the fears, dry the tears, and bring comfort to little people who wanted to go home.

  They had the funeral service two days later. The community came in full support. Anna wept as she saw the family clinging together on the backless bench. Mandy was so pale that Anna feared the distraught mother might pass out during the service. It seemed that the only thing holding her upright was her husband’s arms. The children nestled as close to their parents as they could press their little bodies. Anna was glad that Austin kept the service short. She wasn’t sure they would have been able to endure much longer.

  The small casket was lowered into the still-damp ground. Anna thought she saw water in the bottom of the dark hole—and she cringed. She prayed that Mrs. Lawes had not noticed it. It was a cruel reminder of the cause of this death.

  “Please—come to the house and I’ll fix tea,” Anna invited, and the family followed her, still clinging together.

  Anna knew they were facing some very difficult months ahead.

  The new building was finally ready for occupancy. The dedication was set for the fifteenth of October, Anna made little announcement posters and Austin tacked them up around town. The whole community was invited to the service, and some new faces did appear among the little crowd.

  Anna had delivered a personal invitation to Mrs. Paxton. “After all, it’s your building,” Anna reminded the lady who stood frowning at the invitation in Anna’s outstretched hand.

  “Not mine. Yours,” she replied crossly. “I have nothing at all to do with it anymore.”

  “But it was your kindness—” began Anna.

  “Kindness don’t amount to ker-doodle,” interrupted Mrs. Paxton. “Got the rest of the town off my back—that’s what.”

  Anna didn’t turn to cross the street to her own little home until the door had closed firmly in her face.

  Anna tried to put the incident behind her on the day of dedication. There was so much to think about—pleasant things: Austin, the guests, the service. The church ladies even served coffee and sandwiches afterward. In all, it was a rather gala celebration. The district superintendent and his wife, along with a few other church dignitaries, came for the occasion.