A Matter Of Trust

by Sherrilyn Polf

  Susan laughed after Emily whispered something to her. Dena wasn’t concerned with girl talk now. She was only thinking about the guys in the other room. She stood at the corner of the kitchen and dining room, watching the game. After all, she admitted to herself, it concerned her that Clay was at the same table with Grant, Stuart, and Dad. Stuart enjoyed the sparring between the others. Mary sat next to him, taking candid pictures of everyone. He didn’t get much a chance to interact since he was constantly taking pictures of Susan’s wedding preparations. Having some time to be with the other men was special for him. She saw his affection as he glanced at Mary. It was mutual, for Mary smiled back before she snapped another picture.

  “Why don’t you girls take some coffee to the men?”

  Mother said. Dena turned back to the kitchen. Her mother was watching her intently. She blushed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. As she picked up a tray filled with coffee cups, Susan picked up the large coffee pot while Emily carried a platter of cookies.

  She knew there would be plenty of food for weeks to come. So these few cookies wouldn’t be missed. She frowned; she would have to be more careful. Mother may be busy with all of the wedding plans, yet she wouldn’t miss what was going on between Clay and her daughter.

  Dena smiled as she walked around the corner. She really didn’t want anyone to know. Their relationship was too new.

  ***

  Wednesday, May 31

  The day before the wedding, the sun was shining, without a single cloud. Dena couldn’t believe Susan’s special day was tomorrow. Then she would be Grant’s wife. She would still be her sister, just in a different way—not like it was when they were children. Dena sighed. Susan would assume a different role. Just as she had started a new life in California, Susan chose to stay in Colorado. She didn’t know for sure about Brock. Of course her dad expected him to come home.

  Susan’s wedding plans had sped by smoothly. She had learned what to do to put on an event like this wedding or Thanksgiving Day dinner at Aunt Doreen’s. She supposed knowing this would be helpful sometime later. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, Dena retreated to her quiet spot in the arbor. Soon Clay joined her.

  “You have a great family,” he said. “They remind me of my childhood and my parents.”

  “I’m glad you like them,” Dena said warmly.

  “The ranch is beautiful. I didn’t think I could love another area as much as California, but this …” Clay looked across the garden then to the distant mountains. Dena agreed. Her finger traced a large crack in the wood as she waited for Clay to continue. Silently, he sipped at his coffee before he carefully went on. “My parents would have liked it here. You know as much as I—how I have learned not to miss my parents. I suppose I still can’t get over blaming God for what happened. Maybe I don’t want to forget.”

  Dena’s eyes opened wide. She wasn’t sure she had heard him right. Clay leaned forward, carefully rotating his cup. His forehead wrinkled slightly. He couldn’t decide just how to say what he needed to say. He had come to realize how much Dena was grounded in her faith, and he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

  “How could God create exquisite beauty as this and then allow destruction and trauma to continue daily? How could he allow senseless death and …” Clay fell silent, suddenly looking directly in her eyes. “You know the twenty-third Psalm says, ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil,’ but Dena, I do. Ever since my parents’ death, I seem to be acutely aware of evil in the world.”

  He leaned back and looked at her sadly. Now she understood his past outbreaks, his vehemence toward Germany and the war. What was happening in Europe was evil. It all made sense although she still wondered where he was headed. She had always viewed God as a loving and just God. But she hadn’t experienced death at close range. Looking across the garden to where her dad stood, she couldn’t imagine her life without him or her mother.

  “Why is that, Clay?” she asked simply. She knew she must be cautious, that she needed to voice and act according to her faith so Clay could see. And so her faith could keep growing.

  “I don’t really know,” Clay spoke slowly. “I don’t have any idea.”

  “Clay.” Dena leaned forward slightly, holding his gaze. She wanted him to hear and understand what she said. She silently

  said a short prayer. She was afraid she might say the wrong thing. Calmly she continued, “I know many of the bad things happen are caused by humans—not God.... We’re given free choice. It’s His grace to us. I don’t always see or understand, but God is in control...and, Clay, I know God is a just God... People who are grounded in their faith will see God working in their lives.”

  “Do you see him working in your life?”

  “Yes. Many times this past year,” she answered nodding. And I know scripture says, ‘All things work together for good to them that love God.’ The key in this verse is ‘those that love God.’” She paused, not sure what to say next. Finally she asked, “Clay, do you love God?”

  “I didn’t say that I don’t believe or that I don’t love God. It’s just …” His voice trailed off carrying a note of indecisiveness. Clay seemed to be looking into a different time. Dena sat quietly waiting, studying him. She softly spoke to him, drawing his attention back to her.

  “I know you’re still mad at God for your parent’s death,” Dena paused to let it sink in. She laid her hand over his. She knew that she must see where he was in his faith. Frankly, it scared her. “Maybe you need to ask for guidance. God’s waiting for you to ask. Clay, you must trust God so he can heal you …” Dena paused again. She wanted to make sure Clay understood. As a final point, she simply said, “It’s … a matter of trust.”

  Clay nodded, but he didn’t look at her. He gazed at the mountains. She waited, sipping her cooled coffee. Once again she ventured, “You know Mother quotes Proverbs 3:5–6 to us often. I guess because of it I’ve come to rely on this verse continually. It goes something like this: ‘Trust in the LORD with all thine heart, and lean not on thine own understanding. In all ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.’”

  Clay sat with a childlike expression, examining her face. All else seemed not to matter. Dena could tell he was thinking about what she had said. She knew that their future—her future with him—depended on the strength of his faith. She couldn’t

  marry an ungodly man or a godly man who was unsettled. Dena straightened up slowly. Where did that come from? I hadn’t even considered marriage.

  “A matter of trust,” Clay rolled the four words over his tongue they both sat enjoying each other, assured of each other’s presence, each looking at the distant mountains, thinking about all that was spoken and implied.

  “Again, I must say the ranch is impressive,” Clay said, closing the subject and breaking the silence. Dena smiled. She knew he needed time to reflect on what she had said.

  “Yes it is.” She smiled brightly at him. She wanted to say, but I only live here. The ranch belongs to Brock. Dad had always implied that, but she didn’t.

  “Will Grant and Susan live here?”

  “No, they’ll live on Grant’s property, which borders our land. Grant will work with Dad and Brock. I guess they’ll more or less combine the two properties.”

  “What about you?” Clay questioned, eyebrow rising. “Where do you fit in?”

  “Actually, I don’t think I do. Brock inherits the ranch and Susan will become co-owner of Grant’s ranch,” she spoke slowly, calculatingly. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to share. Dena wanted this man whom she had become close to, to know her private thoughts. She bit at the edge of her mouth for a moment. Finally, she decided to go for it.

  “I had to find a way to care for myself. I don’t want to have to rely on Brock.” That’s why I’m taking the drafting classes. I’m too independent to live on my brother’s charity. In a pinch or out of necessity I will, but not on a long-te
rm basis. Besides, I really like aeronautical drafting.”

  Clay studied her carefully for a long time. She definitely had spunk. Not everyone would go after what they wanted—like her. His smile showed how impressed he was with her.

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” She frowned, squirming in her chair like a small child in trouble. At last she relaxed, giving him a quick smile which disappeared almost before it started. “It’s just easy to talk to you.”

  Clay reached for her hand, holding tightly. He then spoke softly and fervently to her, his eyes blazing with passion. It was like a light turned on in Clay’s mind. “Marry me, Dena. I want to take care of you for the rest of your life.”

  “Clay?” she blurted out, just above a whisper. Her back stiffened slightly. She didn’t want his pity. Yet she knew in her heart she wanted to spend her life with him.

  “I mean it, Dena,” he continued, “with all of my heart. I guess I’ve known it all along, but I just didn’t realize it until now.”

  “I … I …,” she sputtered then stopped. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and closed her mouth. Oh how she wanted to say yes. Her impetuous side told her to throw caution out and say yes while her serious side challenged her to wait. Dena knew though she couldn't marry him, not just yet. She slowly opened her eyes. They held only tenderness for this man who sat across the table from her. “Clay, I so much want to say yes, but … I am asking … I want both of us to take the summer to think about it. We need to really think about what we’ve discussed, and … I …” she spoke slowly in a soft voice, halting in mid-sentence. Her eyes never left his face.

  “Well, you didn’t say no,” he half-joked. Then he looked sincerely at Dena. “I will ask again.”

  “Is this a private talk, or can anyone join?” Carl asked.

  Dena turned her head. She didn’t know anyone was close by. But, Carl always appeared to be around, not that she minded. She completely understood Carl and Clay’s friendship. She just wasn’t sure she wanted Carl to know what they had talked about just yet.

  “Some of us are going into town for the morning,” Carl said as he leaned against a nearby tree. He looked directly toward Dena. “You want to come?”

  “I can’t. The final fitting on the dresses are this morning,” she said.

  “Oh,” the two men voiced disappointment. She watched them walk toward the cars. Stuart and Mary were with them. She was glad Carl was her friend too, they didn’t rival over Clay’s attention. Standing up, she picked up the two cups and headed for the kitchen. Emily came over to walk with her, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Isn’t it great the guys will be gone for the morning? Maybe we can get the last wedding details finished for Susan.” She gave Dena a quick smile.

  “When did you become such an expert on everything?” Dena questioned, trying not to grin, but she lost the battle. She was too happy.

  “Since you have become a bit sappy-eyed over a certain guy,” Emily replied.

  “Oh!” Dena said. “Does it show that much?”

  “Uh huh.” Emily giggled, slipping her arm around Dena’s waist. “Come on. Let’s go and try on our dresses.”

  ***

  June 1, 1940

  Dena woke up to birds singing and a gentle breeze blowing through the gauze curtains. After lazily stretching, she slipped out of bed and went over to the window. People were hurrying around the grounds like squirrels with nuts to hide. Large tables had gifts and food covering them. Someone had sat several vases on for roses from Mother’s garden. How much more perfect could it be for Susan’s wedding?

  Mother had announced the night before that breakfast would be café style. She stood at the door checking for Clay.

  Just as she stepped back into the kitchen for coffee and toast, she saw Clay and Carl sitting under one of her favorite large trees. Leisurely walking out to sit with them, Dena smiled. “Good morning.”

  “Morning,” Clay mumbled in between bites of a cinnamon roll. Carl waved his hand as he drank coffee. Floyd sat down offering his greeting also before digging into pancakes.

  “Where did you find pancakes, Floyd?” she questioned, staring at the mound of six pancakes smothered in butter and syrup.

  “Some lady took pity on me and made them,” he responded. “Do you want a bite?”

  She nodded, looking at Clay. He grinned. Carl laughed. Dena didn’t know why she should worry about their teasing. Friends should always be able to accept each other, no matter what. Soon Emily joined them. She scooted in by Floyd.

  “Pancakes, Floyd, how did you get pancakes?” Emily asked. Everyone laughed. Emily looked at each one, wondering what she had said that was so funny.

  “I just asked that very same question,” Dena said. She looked around for Stuart, Grant, and Brock. Oh, there they are with Susan over by the garden. Stuart’s still taking pictures.

  “Stuart’s sure enjoying doing the photography,” Mary remarked to no one in particular. Dena turned around. Mary was standing just behind her. She heard an element of pride in her friend’s voice. She nodded, her eyes glinting as she faced Mary.“How are you doing?” Dena asked. “It’s been hectic, and I know you really don’t know anyone except, of course, present company.”

  “I have enjoyed getting to know the different people,” Mary said as she sat down next to Dena. Her face looked peaceful as she pressed on, “Did you know that Mrs. Townsend, the lady standing by your mother, is the county’s historian?”

  Dena shook her head.

  “She’s been very helpful to me in a writer’s sense,” Mary continued, munching on a piece of left over toast. Dena stopped and really looked at Mary. Then Mary apologized, “I’m sorry. I’m boring you.”

  “No,” Dena replied, meaning it. “I feel bad I’ve been tied up and haven’t properly welcomed you to Colorado, to the ranch, and to my home.”

  “Don’t be.” Mary smiled. “I’m truly enjoying myself. I’m so glad I’ve had this chance to see your home and meet the local people before Stuart and I go to New York.”

  “Good,” Dena said, ending their conversation. “That makes me feel better.” The more she got to know Mary, the more she liked her. Stuart was a lucky man.

  “Dena,” Emily said, “we should go. It’s almost eight.”

  “Oh.” Dena stood up as Stuart came over. He took her place by Mary. Dena waved at everyone then hurried to the house.

  Mother’s good friend, Wanda was fixing everyone’s hair for the wedding, and her time was scheduled for eight. The wedding was at one thirty. Dena wasn’t sure why Susan had chosen one thirty. She hadn’t asked.

 

  ***

  June 1, 1940

  1:30 p.m.

  Dena stood beside Emily in front of an arch decorated with numerous roses and daisies. She looked stunning in the blue taffeta and white wide-brimmed hat. Still she was nervous. You would think I was the one getting married. She didn’t hear much after the preacher read the customary opening and asked who would give away the bride. Her dad cleared his throat and spoke gruffly, “Her mother and I do.”

  She almost forgot to take the bouquet from Susan at the proper time. Dena scolded herself for thinking of what her own wedding might be like. She could see Clay. Trying to be discreet, she glanced at him only to find him watching her. Arms crossed in a dramatic way, he was grinning. She blushed then looked at the large yellow rose bush next to her. Mother’s roses were at their best in June, and their strong powdery scent reigned.

  Dena carefully glanced around the rose garden at the guests. Most of the church people and well—really practically everyone in the town had come to the wedding. Then she looked back at Susan. Her radiant face showed she knew she looked lovely in Mother’s wedding dress and Grandmother Caulter’s veil. I don’t think I have ever seen a more beautiful bride, but then I might be just a bit prejudiced. Even Grant looks happy instead of fearful as most grooms do. Like I would know, Dena scolded herself, like I’ve bee
n to a lot of weddings in my life. Dena smiled as she glanced at Clay. He was listening to the preacher. She too turned her attention back to the preacher as he asked for the rings.

  Little Pauley stepped forward wide-eyed. His bottom lip quivered. Brock took the rings and laid them in the preacher’s opened Bible but not before slipping Pauley a piece of candy. Pauley’s face lit up. He stood acting important by Brock for the rest of the ceremony. Dena heard the young flower girl sniff.

  Containing her smile, Dena dropped her chin into her sister’s bouquet.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  Dena looked up. Embarrassed, she couldn’t really say she had heard the ceremony, she glanced once more at Clay, blushing.

  He grinned broadly at her. Grant and Susan had turned and were facing the congregation. Handing Susan her bouquet, Dena blushed again. Susan smiled although Dena was sure she didn’t see her, which she could clearly understand.

  “I would like to present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Grant Spencer,” the preacher announced. The recessional music started, and Grant took Susan by the elbow. They walked down to where Dena’s parents sat. Tearfully, Dena watched Susan hug their mother and dad before she and Grant continued over to the refreshment tables. Grant glowed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as happy as he is right now.

  She stood next to Clay and Carl watching Susan and Grant cut the cake. When the cake arrived that morning, Dena figured her mother and dad would be eating leftover cake for six months. But now she wasn’t sure there would be enough to serve everyone. She laughed, pointing at the children running around with blue mouths. Susan chose blue punch accented with whitened ice adorned with white roses that floated in the bowl.

  It seemed the whole county had come. Everywhere she looked several groups of guests stood, waiting for the ceremony of throwing the garter, and tossing the bouquet. Stuart called Dena and Emily to come for pictures; Dena moved over by her dad. He smiled. She watched neighbors and friends congratulate the newlyweds. Little Pauley followed Brock everywhere, his white shirt hanging out, candy melting in his hand. Brock was his buddy now.