Room for Hope

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “ ‘Turn your eyes upon Jesus…’ ”

  Arthur shifted his gaze to the cross hanging on the wall behind the pulpit. A lump filled his throat. He wanted more than a successful store. He wanted more than a bank account as big as the local banker’s. He even wanted more than a new wife. Arthur wanted a new life.

  The song ended, and Reverend Savage held up his hands as if under arrest. “Before our closing prayer, I have an important announcement. Please, everyone, have a seat.”

  Arthur sank back onto the hard pew, as did everyone else.

  “Some of you already know this news because you were involved in last night’s activities.”

  A few heads bobbed, apparently the ones referenced by the preacher.

  “Last night—or I could say early this morning—”

  A few chuckles rumbled.

  “Neva Shilling’s boy, Bud, who had been missing since Friday afternoon, was found trapped in an abandoned well at the Deering farm.”

  Concerned mutters rolled through the room, and Arthur caught the back of the pew in front of him, ready to launch himself out of his seat.

  “Bud spent the night with Dr. Zielke, and I stopped by there this morning for a report to share with you. The doctor said the boy popped his hip out of its socket when he fell, so he’ll be moving slowly for a while. He has several scrapes and bruises and was mildly dehydrated. According to the doc, his worst pain came from his arms and hands. The well was a mighty small space, and since he couldn’t move much, the circulation got cut off from his limbs. As he’s regained feeling, Bud has been pretty uncomfortable. But the doc assured me he’s going to be just fine, and I ask each of you to send up a prayer of thanks that one of our very own members had the chance to welcome home a lost son.”

  Applause broke out across the congregation, and Arthur couldn’t resist joining in. Warmth rolled through him, a feeling of togetherness with these people.

  Reverend Savage beamed a smile and waved his hands again, bringing the celebration to a close. “Please go by the mercantile during the week and share Mrs. Shilling’s joy. For now, let’s close in prayer.”

  At the minister’s “amen,” Arthur headed for the door, determined to be the first to share in Mrs. Shilling’s celebration. Two women moved into his path, and he stifled a growl. He trailed them closely, anticipating his chance to step past them, and although he didn’t intend to eavesdrop, their voices filtered to his ears anyway.

  “After they got Bud out of the well, Matthew said the littlest boy called Bud Shilling his brother. At first he didn’t think much of it—they all live together, you know. But…”

  “But what, Marta?”

  “Matthew said he took a good look at that little boy, and I think he’s right.”

  “Right about what?” Eagerness sharpened the second woman’s tone.

  They’d reached the bottom of the porch steps. Arthur could move around them now. But his legs refused to carry him forward. He held his breath, waiting for the answer with as much impatience as the woman.

  “Matthew said that youngster is the image of Warren Shilling himself. Now Matthew wonders if it’s a bald lie that Mr. Shilling took those children in. Matthew thinks Mr. Shilling is their father.”

  The second woman gasped, her eyes wide. “Oh, Marta!”

  Arthur had heard enough. He shot across the churchyard in the direction of the mercantile. He’d check on Neva, ask after Bud, offer his congratulations the way the minister had encouraged, but then he’d let her know what he’d overheard. If one person was talking, it wouldn’t be long before the whole town was abuzz. And he wouldn’t let the gossip blindside her if he could help it.

  Neva

  Neva couldn’t recall the last time she’d slept until midmorning. Having arisen too late to ready herself or the children for church, she chose to take a leisurely bath and then read a Bible story to Belle and the children in lieu of attending service. She missed worshiping with fellow believers, and she fully intended to be in church next week, but after their stress-filled weekend, the quiet, unrushed time at home was a balm to her spirit.

  They ate lunch early since they’d slept through the breakfast hour, and while Neva washed dishes, Belle got out the puzzle cubes from the bookshelf. The children scattered them across the parlor floor. Neva listened to them chatter and giggle, and she found herself smiling, enjoying the sounds of their happiness. Such a blessing to be completely at peace with their presence.

  When someone knocked at the back door shortly after noon, Neva hurried downstairs, expecting to find Dr. Zielke bringing Bud home. Instead Arthur waited on the little stoop. The moment she opened the door, he stepped across the threshold and took hold of her hands.

  “Neva, I heard the good news about Bud.”

  Startled yet touched by his affectionate gesture, she released her mixed emotions in a girlish giggle. “Yes, Sheriff Caudel found him last night in an abandoned well.”

  “How frightening for him.”

  She gently pulled back on her hands, but he didn’t let go. Another nervous giggle escaped her throat. “It was, but the doctor says he will be fine. I’m so relieved.”

  “As am I.”

  The sincerity in his expression warmed her. She stopped trying to remove her hands from his grasp. “I’m surprised word reached you already. Even for Buffalo Creek, it seems the news traveled fast.”

  “Reverend Savage informed the congregation at the close of this morning’s service.”

  Had she heard correctly? Arthur Randall had gone to church?

  “He wanted us to celebrate Bud’s safe return with you.” His forehead briefly pinched, and he released one of her hands to comb his fingers through his thick mustache. “I heard that good news, and then I heard something else. I thought you should be aware of the speculations made by at least one of the men who helped rescue Bud from the well.”

  Still silently rejoicing in her neighbor’s choice to attend worship service, Neva only half listened.

  “Apparently one of the men recognized the similarity in appearance between Charley and Warren. As we were leaving church, I overheard his wife tell another woman they’re beginning to wonder if Charley is Warren’s son rather than a foundling.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Arthur frowned and gave Neva’s hand a little tug. “Neva, listen to me.”

  She set aside her inward reflections and gave him her full attention.

  “I’m afraid, given the speed with which news travels in our small town, it won’t be long before everyone will be looking at Charley and wondering the same thing.”

  She frowned. “Wondering what?”

  Arthur shook his head, a bemused grin making him appear boyish. “I didn’t think you were listening.” The teasing look disappeared and worry replaced it. “People are talking about Charley.” He paused. “And Warren.” Another lengthier pause. “And their true relationship.”

  She gazed at him blankly for a moment. Then she gave a start. “You mean they wonder if Charley is Warren’s son?”

  His breath whooshed out. “Exactly.”

  A month ago she would have dissolved into anguish at the thought of people discovering the secret. But the past days had changed her. Charley, Cassie, and Adeline weren’t flesh of her flesh, but they were related by blood to Belle and Bud. That made them family. She no longer cared who knew. She shrugged. “Let them wonder.”

  Arthur’s jaw dropped. He lost his grip on her hand and took a step backward, connecting with the edge of the open door. He pushed the door closed and then aimed an astonished look at her. “You don’t mind if they…if people…”

  She raised her chin. “I’m done being dishonest with myself and with my children. Charley, Cassie, and Adeline are Bud and Belle’s half siblings. Their father was in the wrong, but the children are not to blame.” Awareness bloomed in the center of her heart, and she finished with boldness. “And neither am I. Warren’s choices were his and his alone.”

  Ar
thur shook his head. “I’m not sure everyone will see it that way.”

  Neva nodded. “Some will look askance, finding fault.” She’d done it herself. “But I can’t control other people’s actions. If they choose to be petty or meanspirited, then they’ll have to account for their own consciences. But if I choose truthfulness, my conscience will be clear. That’s what matters to me.”

  For several silent seconds he gazed at her with his lips pursed tight and his forehead furrowed. Then he released a little huff of breath. “I think you’re making a big mistake. In a town the size of Buffalo Creek? With the majority of its population closely tied to church? It’s been a good long while since I sat in on sermons, but I remember some rip-roaring ones on the Ten Commandments. Preachers especially like pounding the Bible about adultery and the harm it brings. It’s one thing to keep the children. It’s another to let people know from where they came.”

  He took her hands again and squeezed. Urgently. Beseechingly. “Please consider what you’re doing. The very supposition of illegitimacy can bring out ugliness in folks. If they know for sure the children were born out of wedlock, they won’t hold back on their judgment. Not on them. Or on you.”

  Jesse

  Not until Jesse picked up the telephone receiver on the corner of his desk in the sheriff’s office did he realize the foolishness of his action. He’d gotten spoiled to the convenience of the invention that allowed people to talk from miles apart. But he couldn’t reach his folks that way. In all likelihood they didn’t have a telephone in their farmhouse. Pa Caudel had barely made enough to buy seasoned wood for the woodstove that heated their drafty old house. A telephone was an extravagance beyond reach. Calling them wouldn’t work. He’d have to contact them some other way.

  His stomach growled, and he smacked his forehead. He was supposed to have dinner with Ernie and Mrs. Savage, and he’d taken off instead. His friend—he’d come to view the minister as a friend—would be worried if he didn’t show.

  Jesse locked the office and, leaving his pickup with its nearly empty gas tank at the curb, headed up the sidewalk in wide strides. Even if he arrived late, they’d let him sit at the table with them. The young couple was as good hearted as his parents were, warm and welcoming to everyone.

  Jesse’s heart lurched. Could the parable Ernie shared that morning be true even today? He’d been away for a long time. Lots longer than the son in the Bible. How long would a father wait before he gave up?

  Anxiousness to settle things within his spirit sped his steps, and he reached the preacher’s house winded, his lungs burning from breathing the cold air. His tap on the door brought an immediate response, and Ernie ushered him in.

  “There you are! We held dinner for you. Lois insisted.”

  Jesse cringed. “I hope Benji and Jenny aren’t getting too restless.”

  Ernie laughed as he led Jesse to the small dining area next to the kitchen. “Oh, those two didn’t wait. Lois fed them as soon as we got home. They’re already down for their afternoon naps.” A stream of jabber carried from behind a closed door at the end of the hall, and a second little voice answered. Ernie grinned. “Well, they’re down. The napping part will come later. But you won’t have to worry about Jenny spilling gravy on your trousers today.”

  Jesse sat in the chair Ernie indicated, and Mrs. Savage bustled from the kitchen with a roasting pan. She placed the pan on the table and lifted the lid, releasing a wonderful aroma. “Venison stew. Nice and hot still. Let me get the biscuits and we’ll eat.” She hurried out again.

  Jesse leaned toward Ernie. “I’m sorry I made you wait. I—”

  “Here we are.” Mrs. Savage came in with a plate of nicely browned biscuits and a bowl of creamy butter. She put the items next to the pan, slid into her chair, and turned an expectant look on Ernie.

  He cleared his throat and folded his hands. His wife bowed her head, and Jesse tamped down the words that had formed on his tongue so he wouldn’t trample Ernie’s prayer.

  They ate quickly, focusing on the food rather than conversation. That suited Jesse. The sooner they got their bellies filled, the sooner he could empty his mind of the troubling thoughts. He didn’t even mind when Mrs. Savage sheepishly admitted Benji had knocked the pie she had prepared off the counter so she’d thrown it away. She offered a bowl of canned peaches as a dessert, but he declined, stating honestly that he was adequately filled.

  “Thank you for the good dinner, and my apologies again for being such a tardy guest.”

  Mrs. Savage offered a warm smile and began clearing the table.

  Ernie wiped his mouth and dropped his napkin on the plate. “And now I’d like to know what sent you scurrying out of church this morning.”

  So he’d seen Jesse’s hasty departure. He squirmed.

  “Did a mouse run up your pant leg?”

  Despite the heaviness of his heart, he laughed. Ernest Savage had a way of putting a person at ease. “No, no mouse in my pant leg. But something…” He searched for a way to describe the feelings that had attacked him at the well’s site and then crept over him during the sermon. “Something’s eating at me. I need…help.”

  Ernie rose, all teasing wiped from his expression. “Let’s go over to the church. It’ll be quiet there.”

  They settled in the pew closest to the dais. If Jesse turned his head even a smidgen to the left, the wooden cross on the wall filled his vision. Ma Caudel always said the cross was a reminder of God’s great love for mankind. The symbol offered him a breath of comfort.

  “All right. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

  Even though he’d spent much of the night wrestling with his thoughts, he still found it hard to put them into words. He hoped Ernie was good at deciphering. “The story—the parable—you told this morning. I think I’m like the son.”

  “How so?”

  Jesse examined the minister’s face for signs of condemnation. Seeing none, he continued. “I didn’t ask for an inheritance.” He snorted softly. “There wouldn’t have been one to give anyway. The only thing my folks had an abundance of was youngsters.” Images of the girls who trailed him, imitated him, irritated him, and called him brother flashed in his mind’s eye. “Since I was the oldest, I was kind of the leader. They were always around me, always pulling at me, always needing me for…something.”

  “And that made you feel hemmed in?”

  Jesse angled his head and stared at the cross. “Yeah. I hadn’t really thought of it that way, but yeah. Since I came into the family half-grown, with four daughters already there, I never had the chance to just be. And every year and a half or so, another daughter came along until there were eight of them. Every time my ma’s belly started to swell, I’d pray for a boy. Just one boy so I wouldn’t have to be the only one, and every time a girl came along, I got more and more”—the emotion he’d identified the night before spilled out—“resentful.”

  He jerked his gaze to Ernie, and truths he’d never allowed himself to examine, let alone speak, poured from him. “Before the Caudels took me from the train, the woman who’d traveled with us orphans prayed with us—prayed for the people who would become our parents. She told us God would take us to the best families for us, and I believed it.

  “But then, when I got to the farm and saw all those little girls, I figured the Caudels didn’t want another child as much as they wanted a farmhand. I felt like God hadn’t listened to the lady’s prayers. But my folks were praying people. They took me to church, told me God loved me, told me I could talk to Him and that He wanted to hear from me. So I tried praying.” For a brother instead of another sister, for a better crop so they’d have money in the bank to carry them through the winter, for a new pair of shoes when his old ones wore clear out. Countless prayers gone unanswered.

  The lump of resentment in Jesse’s chest swelled until it pained him to breathe. “God didn’t listen to me any more than He had to the lady on the train. No more than He listened to my folks when they prayed. I stay
ed with Pa and Ma for ten years. And then I’d had enough of the hard life. I left.”

  Ernie’s eyebrows came together in a sad line. “Did you ever go back?”

  Jesse sagged forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and lowered his head. “No. Not even once. Been away now more years than I was with them. I don’t even know if they’re still alive.” His last words emerged on a strangled note, the lump in his throat so big it nearly cut off his ability to speak.

  Silence fell. The solid building blocked any sound from outside. Not even a whisper of wind intruded. During those quiet moments Jesse sat still, stiff, staring at the plank of pine between his boots and waiting for Ernie to rebuke him for his thoughtlessness. He readied defensive replies even though he knew he wouldn’t say them out loud. Not to Ernie.

  “Well, Jesse, I’m no expert, but it seems to me you’re carrying around a heavy load of guilt.”

  Jesse nodded. He shouldn’t have left Pa Caudel short handed. The older man needed him.

  “But that’s to be expected when we run away from God.”

  Jesse sat up. “I ran away from the farm. I didn’t run away from God.”

  Ernie smiled. “Really?”

  Jesse thought for a moment. Had he left because the work was too hard or the sisters too many or because God hadn’t responded the way he wanted Him to? He chewed his lip for a moment. “Well…”

  Ernie clamped his hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “One of the hardest parts of faith, to my way of thinking, is accepting that God knows what He’s doing. We ask for things, we want our way, and when God does something else, we start thinking He doesn’t care. But that’s not the truth. He does care, Jesse. When He says no, He’s being the parent who does what’s best for the child.”

  Jesse raised one eyebrow.

  He chuckled. “Do you think I give in to every whim Benji and Jenny set their minds to? Absolutely not. Does that mean I don’t love them?” He squeezed Jesse’s shoulder. Hard. “Absolutely not. And it’s the same way with God. Only bigger, because He’s so much wiser than I could ever be.”