Mr. Royce was the first to leave, late in the afternoon, but the others stayed a while longer, drinking coffee and nibbling now and then at the ham or one of the pies.
Around dusk, Uncle Nick and Katie and little Erich came back down the path, holding a lantern. The most memorable part of that Christmas was about to begin.
Chapter 32
Katie’s Outburst
Katie was still quiet and sober. Everyone greeted her kindly, but she didn’t say much. Uncle Nick looked a little nervous, and would glance at her now and then, although he entered into the spirit of the evening with everyone. I wondered if they had an argument, because they didn’t say much to each other.
Everyone but Mr. Royce was still there. The day cooled off quickly. Pa stoked up the fire, and we sat around the hearth talking and chatting. I don’t think I’d ever seen Rev. Rutledge so jovial and in such high spirits. Even he and Alkali Jones laughed together more than once about something one or the other said. Mr. Lame Pony was a little more reserved when Katie got back, and every once in a while I’d catch a glimpse of him glancing over at her, probably wondering what she thought. But he stuck around, visiting with the men, and I was glad of that. I hoped he and Pa might become friends!
As the evening progressed, the talk got more subdued and quiet, even serious at times. How different Pa was! He talked with Rev. Rutledge about spiritual things on equal footing, not as a miner talking to a preacher.
“What do you think, Avery,” Pa was saying, “about how God lets folks know what he wants them to do?”
“Do you mean how he speaks, how he guides in our lives?”
“Yeah. How can you tell if God’s telling you something or if it’s just your own thoughts? Like me being mayor. I figure something ought to be different about my mayoring if I say I’m trying to follow God in what I do. It ought to be different than me just following my own nose like most folks do, and like I spent most of my life doing.”
“That’s exactly what being a Christian is, Drummond, bringing God into all you do.”
“It’s easier for you, because religion’s your business, ain’t it, Reverend?” piped in Uncle Nick.
“Just the opposite, Nick,” replied Rev. Rutledge, turning toward him. “Maybe you’re right in one way,” he added slowly. “It is easier for me to talk about things of God because people expect it of me. But it’s no easier for me to have God’s attitudes inside than anyone else. And, you know, I sometimes think being a preacher is a handicap.”
“How’s that?”
“Because my very presence gets it into people’s minds that there is a difference between religious and non-religious people. Like I said, they expect me to be religious. After all, I’m a preacher, I get paid to talk about God. I can never go into any situation, any discussion, any group of people and just be myself—Avery Rutledge, a man with feelings and thoughts like everyone else.”
The others were silent for a minute. Even the quiet showed that what Rev. Rutledge said was true, and that they hadn’t thought of him as anything but a preacher. I knew that was true about me. The only ones among us who had really seen him as a person beneath the minister were probably Almeda and Miss Stansberry.
“I reckon you’re right, Avery,” said Pa after a minute. “That is how folks see you, and that’s me too. I reckon maybe I owe you an apology.”
“Think nothing of it, Drum,” laughed Rev. Rutledge. “I wasn’t looking for sympathy, only telling you how it is with me.”
“Still, I aim to take your words to heart. So if I ever forget and start talking to you like you’re only a preacher, and you need me to be a friend just as one man to another, then you stop me and say something. I want you to do that, you hear, Avery?”
“Agreed,” smiled Rev. Rutledge, and I could tell Pa’s words meant more to him that he was letting on.
“That goes for me too, Reverend,” added Uncle Nick. “You can count on the two of us as your friends, whether it’s preacher-business or not.”
“I thank you too, Nick.”
Alkali Jones and Mr. Lame Pony and all the rest of us were watching and listening to this exchange with a sense of wonder. Men rarely talk honestly and about their feelings with one another, and we’d never heard these three men talk like that. I knew what Almeda was feeling. I didn’t even have to look at her. And I suppose something of the same mood was upon all of us. Christmas had brought a gift nobody had been looking for, the realization that these men weren’t just “acquaintances” who got together for dinner, but friends.
“Okay then, well I got a question fer ye,” piped in Mr. Jones, to everyone’s surprise. I’d never heard a single word even hinting at religion from his mouth. Heads turned toward him. “How do you figure to bring God into yer mayoring, Drum? Sounds like a kinda crazy notion if ye ask me.”
“I don’t know, Alkali,” Pa answered. “That’s why I was asking the Reverend here. But there oughta be a way to do things different if you’re trying to walk with God.”
“So whatcha got in mind, Drum?” Mr. Jones asked again. Still he hadn’t let out one of his cackling laughs. He seemed genuinely interested in the answer.
“I don’t know. I figured maybe if there was something I had to do, or some decision to make that affected the town, I ought to pray about it, or maybe get together with some of the rest of you and Avery here, and try to find out what the Lord wants to happen. It seems like that’d be a better way to go about things than just barging ahead and doing whatever I think of to do. Nick and I did that for a lot of years, and I can’t say as it always turned out so good. Maybe it’s time I tried to learn a new way of going about things. The idea’s just a little new to me. It’ll take some getting used to. I don’t know my way around too well yet with thinking like this.”
“None of us do,” said Almeda, speaking now for the first time. “Look at how long I’ve been trying to live as a Christian, and yet only a few months ago there I was out chasing my dream of being mayor without ever stopping to ask what God or my husband might have to say in the matter.”
“It is easy to hitch our own horse to the wagon instead of letting God be the horse and us being the wagon.”
“That’s a good one, Reverend,” laughed Mr. Jones. “Hee, hee, hee!”
“You could put that in your next sermon, Avery,” added Pa.
Now it was Zack’s turn to get into the discussion. “I’m not sure I see what you mean about the horses and wagon, Rev. Rutledge,” he said. The serious expression on his face showed he was really trying to grasp the deeper meaning.
“I was only saying that sometimes we’ve got to stop and take a look at who’s doing the leading and who’s doing the following,” replied the minister.
The puzzled look on Zack’s face didn’t disappear.
“Come on, Avery,” said Pa good-naturedly. “If the boy takes after his Pa, he’s likely a little thick-headed.” As Pa said it he shot a wink in Zack’s direction to show he meant only fun. “He’s gonna need more explanation than that.”
“You don’t want me to preach a sermon, do you, Drum? You’ve got to be careful what kind of openings you give a preacher, you know.”
Pa and the rest of us laughed.
“Don’t try to fool us, Reverend,” laughed Uncle Nick. “You’ll take any chance you can get to convert us sinners! Remember that first Christmas in town at Almeda’s?”
A huge roar of laughter followed. Now that they were friends, they all remembered that awkward discussion around the dinner table with affection for each other.
“I did do some preaching at you that day, didn’t I!”
“I never wanted to see your face again,” said Pa, still laughing.
“I figured it’d be up to me to save the new minister’s life, hee, hee, hee!” said Mr. Jones. “I’d never seen ol’ Drum so riled up!”
“Well, those times are all over now,” said Pa, “and I for one am thankful for that. I was a plumb fool about a lot of things back then, and I d
on’t want to remember it any more than I have to. So on with your sermon, Avery. Tell us about horses and wagons. We’re all waiting.”
“Are you sure? You know what I’m like on Sundays. Once you get me going, I can’t stop!”
“Course we’re sure. You still wondering about your question, son?”
“Yeah,” answered Zack. “I’d like to know what you have to say, Rev. Rutledge.”
“You listen to these men, Avery,” said Almeda almost sternly. “They are all your friends, and they want the benefit of your experience and insights.”
Rev. Rutledge took in a long breath. “All right,” he said. “I suppose you asked for it. But I’ll try to make it a short sermon.”
“Agreed,” said Pa. He looked at me with a quick smile and wink, as if to say, Bet me, eh, Corrie! He’ll never keep it short!
“I’ve always thought the horse and wagon picture perfectly illustrated our relationship with God,” Rev. Rutledge began. “It’s easy to talk about what we call ‘following the Lord,’ but how we actually go about living through the day is much different. In practice, we try to be the horse, and we drag God along behind us as if he were the wagon. When it comes to deciding where to go and how fast to go and which forks in the road to take, we lead the way, just like a horse pulling a wagon.
“What God wants, of course, is that we allow him to take the lead and let him be the horse. He can do a better job of leading than we can. He knows how fast to go, which roads to take. Our responsibility as Christians is to follow.”
“How do you follow horse you not see?” said Mr. Lame Pony, speaking up for the first time in a long while. He had been listening to everything intently.
“That is both the difficulty and challenge of life as a Christian,” replied Rev. Rutledge. “It is no easy task. We have to unlearn a lot of habits because our natural inclination is to just gallop off, like Drummond said a while ago, following our own nose. That’s the way we’re made—independent. When Drummond says to himself, ‘I want to find out what God wants me to do about this instead of what I might have thought to do,’ he changes the whole order of his life around. He says, ‘I’m going to become a wagon now, and stop being the horse.’ And it takes a great deal of practice because we’re not used to thinking that way. At least most adults aren’t. I suppose children follow their parents when they are young. But then once they get out on their own, they take charge of their own lives. The way God really intended it, however, is for adulthood just to mean that we change horses—from letting our parents do the leading in our lives to letting God lead. It’s a hard thing to do—especially because, as Jack says, we often cannot see the horse. We don’t know what God might be saying to us about which path to take here or there. It takes a lot of practice, many new habits. It’s a challenge that lasts a lifetime.”
He fell silent and nobody spoke for a few seconds.
“Do you see what I mean, Zack?” Rev. Rutledge added. “I don’t suppose I was real specific about how it all works. That’s something God has to show every person individually, because he leads all of us on different paths and in different ways. But do you see what I mean about the principle of the horse leading the wagon?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Zack.
“So in answer to my original question,” said Pa, “about how God lets us know what we’re to do, you’re telling me that you don’t exactly know what he’s gonna be saying to me, but that I have to keep listening anyway so I don’t accidentally get out in front of the horse, is that it?”
“Like I did before the election,” added Almeda.
“I suppose that’s about it,” answered Rev. Rutledge with a smile. “An answer that maybe isn’t an answer you can do much with until the time comes when you have to ask God for yourself what he’s saying to you.”
I found myself thinking back to the words of his sermon about how God speaks to us through our thoughts, and about pointing our thoughts and prayers toward God so that he could point his toward us. But before I had a chance to think too much about it, Tad’s voice broke the silence.
“Who’s driving the wagon?” he said.
Everyone laughed.
“That’s the trouble with any illustration,” said Rev. Rutledge. “There’s always someplace where the parallel doesn’t work. Maybe God is driving the wagon, and the horses are Jesus or the Holy Spirit. They’re who we’re supposed to be following, while our heavenly Father directs everything. It’s difficult for it to make exact sense. But I think we all see the principle involved in trying to apply Proverbs 3:6: ‘In all thy ways acknowledge him’—that’s the part of letting him be the horse, the driver, the guide of our lives—’and he shall direct thy paths.’ But thank you for your question, Tad. We need young fellows like you to keep us on our toes.”
The whole conversation had been lively and warm. Just from the looks on their faces, I could tell everyone felt involved and felt the same thing I did, that it was all the more special this time since the men were open and talking freely with each other. Everyone except Katie, that is. She had been sitting the whole time a little ways off from the rest. I didn’t want to look at her, but out of the corner of my eye I could see that she wasn’t enjoying it. I couldn’t tell if she was sick or angry. She’d had a sour look on her face all day. I felt bad for her not feeling well on Christmas.
Pretty soon Almeda got up and made some fresh coffee, and the conversation picked up again in other directions.
Little Erich was waddling around talking to himself. I listened more closely and heard the words, “God drive wagon . . . God make horse go.” Just then Uncle Nick walked by and scooped his son up and tossed him up into the air.
“What’s that you’re saying, boy?” he said, catching him and burying his face in the plump little belly.
Erich just giggled.
“He was talking about God driving the wagon,” I said. “He must have heard what Rev. Rutledge said.”
“A little preacher in the making, that’s what you’ve got, Nick,” said Almeda with a smile as she held out a cup of coffee for him.
“That’d be a mighty hard one for my father to imagine!” laughed Nick. “Why the very thought of it—”
He never finished his sentence. Katie had had enough, and was suddenly on her feet.
“The thought of it’s enough to make me completely sick!” she yelled. “You stay away from my son with any more of your talk of making him a preacher, do you hear, Almeda! And as for you,” she added, spinning around and glaring at me, “you mind your own business, Corrie!”
In an instant there was silence in the whole house.
“Now wait a minute, Katie,” said Uncle Nick, trying to calm her down. “They didn’t mean no harm. There’s no call to go yelling at—”
“You stay out of it, you big lout!” she snapped back at him. “You’re the worst of the lot, talking about horses and wagons and God and the Bible like there was anything to any of it. It’s all such ridiculous trash, you talking away with that minister and that Indian like you’re some saint! You big hypocrite! I know you better than anyone here, and I daresay you’re not holy!”
“Just you quiet down a minute! Just because you’re not feeling so good doesn’t give you the right—”
“I’m feeling fine!” Katie retorted, shouting louder now. All the rest of us were shocked silent. It was terrible to be in the middle of such an argument, especially with her having just yelled at me and Almeda, and now pouring out all her anger on Uncle Nick. “I’m not going to quiet down. I’ve been quiet too long! All this talk about God and religion—I hate it! I can’t stand it one second more! Hypocrites, that’s what you all are, and you’re the biggest fool of them all, Nick, if you believe one word of all that! I’m getting out of here!”
She grabbed little Erich out of Uncle Nick’s arms, and turned around for the door before anyone could say a word.
“Katie, you just wait,” said Uncle Nick, going after her. “You may be able to say what y
ou want to me. But you ain’t got no right to go shouting at Corrie and Almeda, or calling the minister or anyone else names. If you’re bound and determined to go, then you owe them an apology.”
“An apology! The only thing I’ll apologize for is coming back down here at all. I should have stayed home! You and this family of yours are nothing but a pack of religious do-gooders, and I hate every bit of it!”
She was out the door with the final words trailing behind her. The door slammed in Uncle Nick’s face with a loud crash. He opened it and went after her, leaving the rest of us in stunned silence. The only sounds in the whole room were the faint noise of the fire and the boiling water on the stove.
Chapter 33
A Talk About God’s Timing
Almeda was still standing there holding the cup of coffee she had meant for Uncle Nick. Her face was deathly white. I suppose mine was too, after what Katie had said to both of us. But neither of us felt anger, only hurt and sadness to find out what Katie had been keeping inside all this time.
Slowly Pa got up, walked over, took the cup from Almeda’s hand, and led her to a chair. “Don’t think anything of it,” he said. “It wasn’t you she was upset at.”
Almeda nodded and sat down. “I know,” she said. She took in a breath and let out a long sigh. “Poor Katie,” she said softly. “She’s got so much turmoil inside, and so many mixed up ideas. She thinks God is her enemy, when really he’s the only source of life she’s ever going to find.”
“Why don’t you tell her that?” I suggested.
“Now?” replied Almeda, looking over at me. “Oh no, Corrie. She’s in no frame of mind to hear it now—especially from me. Right now she needs some time to cool off and settle her mind down. And I’m sure she and Nick will have to work some things through after this, and he needs to be the one standing beside her.”
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