The White Knight

by Gilbert, Morris

  Phyllis and June gave each other cynical looks. “I don’t think so,” Phyllis said darkly. “I think we’re all gonna be booted out. Bankers never give anyone a break.”

  “I’m going to see Mr. Damon at the bank tomorrow,” Joelle said. “And I want you all to pray that God will give us favor again so the bank will give us more time to make the mortgage payment. If he’ll just give us the extra time, we should have the money soon.”

  “What I heard about old man Damon is he ain’t giving nobody nothin’,” June said.

  “That’s right.” Phyllis nodded. “He threw the Samuels family off of their farm when they couldn’t make their payments. He’ll do the same thing to us.”

  Joelle changed the subject, but afterward, when the dishes had been put away and the girls had gathered around the dining table to play Monopoly, Asa and Joelle were sitting alone in the parlor.

  “Is the financial situation really as bad as it seems?” Asa asked.

  “It’s going to take the grace of God to get us through, but if God has called me to keep this farm for these girls, then He’ll provide a way. But I’d appreciate your prayers, Asa.”

  “I’ll have the whole church pray. We all want the Haven to keep on going.”

  ****

  The sun was hidden behind threatening clouds. It was a cold day, even though it was noon, and Joelle shivered as she stood outside the old First National Bank building. There was a forbidding look to it, with bars on the windows as if it were a prison. It’s like they’re keeping the money inside and not letting any of it get out, she thought.

  Joelle tried to will herself forward, but although she had prayed much for courage to face the banker with a plea for an extension, Leon Damon’s reputation was known throughout the county. He was not a cruel man, but he was strict in his handling of the bank’s money. Very rarely did he show any mercy. His excuse was always, “It’s not my money. I’m responsible for the people who entrust us with their savings, so we can’t take any chances.”

  As Joelle stood there, she tried to compose a speech that would impress the banker, but absolutely nothing came to her. Finally she knew there was nothing to do but simply go in and talk to the man. Forcing herself to move forward, she went through the doors of the bank and found the office of the president, which was closed. She moved reluctantly over to the silver-haired woman who sat behind a desk and said, “Miss Lucille, I need to see Mr. Damon if I can.”

  “Let me see if he’s busy, Joelle.”

  Joelle stood there while the woman knocked on the door. “Do you have time to see Joelle Garrison, sir?”

  “Certainly. Send her in.”

  Coming back, the secretary said, “You can go on in, Joelle.”

  “Thank you.” She moved with such difficulty it was like wading through water. She prayed as she walked. God, you haven’t given us a spirit of fear, so help me not to be afraid but to have faith in you.

  Leon Damon stood up as she entered. He was a short, rotund man with a pair of steady gray eyes. He was balding with only a fringe of hair around his crown, but he smiled at her slightly—as much of a smile as he ever allowed himself.

  “Hello, Joelle. Sit down, won’t you?” He indicated a chair and waited until she was seated.

  “Thank you.”

  “I suppose you’ve come in to talk about your loan.” Damon seated himself in his leather chair, leaned forward, and locked his fingers together, resting them on the desk.

  “Yes, sir. I need to ask you for a little more time to make the mortgage payment.”

  Damon did not answer at once, but there was something disturbing in his gaze. “Joelle, everybody admires you for what you’ve tried to do for those girls, but you know some things are better done by well-established organizations. There are bigger organizations that will take these girls in.”

  “I know that, sir, but God has put it on my heart to help those who are in trouble. I don’t think they would last long in some of those bigger places. They need love and personal attention and someone to show them compassion. All they need is a chance.”

  Leon Damon listened as Joelle spoke, but when she was finished, he said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about your place there. You don’t have much income. I know you work part-time at the hospital and you’re doing your very best for those girls. But sooner or later the money just isn’t going to be there and that will leave me no choice. I hope you don’t think me a hard man, but I’m responsible to our depositors. I can’t gamble with their money. Surely you can understand that.”

  “But, Mr. Damon—”

  “Let me finish, Joelle. As I say, I’ve been thinking about this, and I’ve come up with what I think may be the best answer. I’m going to go out on a limb and make you a personal offer. I’m going to offer to buy your place. You have enough equity that you’ll be able to pay off the loan and have some money left over. Then you can look into buying or renting a smaller place. You won’t have that mortgage payment hanging over you.”

  “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Damon, but that’s not exactly the plan I was hoping for. Besides having sentimental value, my parents’ farm provides good teaching opportunities. If we lived somewhere in town, my girls would never have the opportunity to learn some of the skills that come with living on a farm.” She sighed. “Could you please give me another month to come up with the money I owe?”

  Leon Damon hesitated, then shrugged his beefy shoulders. “All right, Joelle. Because I believe you’re going to figure out a way to get your hands on that money, I’m going to let you skip your payment this month. We’ll just look for the double payment next month. You do understand this is because we have to protect our depositors.”

  “Thank you for your consideration, Mr. Damon,” she said as she rose. She couldn’t have hoped for a better outcome.

  “Meanwhile, give some more thought to my offer to buy your place. It’s really the only way I see that the Haven will survive.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll think about it.”

  ****

  As Joelle left, Thad Sears, the vice-president of the First National Bank, entered. “Did she take the offer, Leon?”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Unfortunate.” Sears shook his head with regret. “Well, how much time did you give her?”

  “Just another month.”

  “She’ll never make it. She’s going to lose that place. I hope you made that clear to her.”

  “Of course I did,” Damon said sharply.

  Sears walked over to a map of the area on the wall and placed a bony forefinger on it. “This property of hers is in the ideal spot for a housing development. We could put up some cheap houses there, rent them out, and clean up.”

  Damon studied the vice-president, then said cautiously, “We’ve got to be careful, Thad. We can’t be the villains in this case.”

  “What are you talking about? It’s a business arrangement.”

  “The people might see it differently. Some of them will see this nice Christian girl trying to do a good thing while the big bad bankers are trying to take her place away from her.”

  “Hmm . . . I suppose you may be right about that.”

  Leon Damon was silent for a moment. “It’s too bad, Thad. You know, I really admire that woman. She’s got grit, and I like that in anybody—man or woman. She took care of her parents, gave up marriage, but she’s bitten off more than she can chew.”

  “Too bad,” Thad Sears said with a shrug. “But business is business.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  End of the Road

  By mid-December the cold weather arrived in earnest. The first half of the month was the coldest December people could remember. Those who lived in the South would thereafter refer to the winter of 1940 as the “bad winter,” and all events would be reckoned by it: “That was before the bad winter of ’40,” or “That happened just after the bad winter.”

  Luke had endured the cold as stoically as he could, and now he sh
ivered as the biting wind cut through the lightweight fabric of the only jacket he had with him. While he was thinking longingly of the warm jackets he knew were in his closet at home, something cold bit his cheek. He looked up to see by the glow of the streetlights tiny flakes of snow swirling in the hard northeast wind. He wished fervently he were back in Spain with its heavenly warm sunshine. Lexington, Kentucky, however, was no Spain, and the winter was bringing nothing but misery to Luke.

  He finally reached the mission where he had been staying for three days, having drunk up all of his earnings. The only job he could hold down was being a dishwasher at a greasy café. He had left his room in the mission to buy some whiskey, and now the pint was hidden in his pocket. Entering the mission, he avoided everyone, for he could not bear the thought of being preached to. He couldn’t understand why people insisted on sharing their faith with him and wanted to shout at them, “I know the truth! I’ve been preached to all my life. Just leave me alone.”

  He stumbled up the stairs, entered his small room, and kept his jacket on. Eagerly he took the bottle out, removed the cap, and downed three swallows. He sank down on the bed as the liquor bit at him and the warmth spread throughout his body. He had not eaten since the noon meal, and the alcohol hit him hard. Awkwardly he removed his shoes, still holding the bottle, then lay down on the narrow bed and pulled the blanket up over him, shivering from the cold and the alcohol.

  He kept sipping at the bottle, longing for oblivion, but his mind would not shut down. For some reason he began thinking of the sermon he had heard the day before. If you stayed in the mission, you were required to listen to the sermons. Usually Luke managed to ignore them, but this time the preacher’s words kept drilling at his mind. The young man had preached from Psalm 15, beginning with the words “Who shall dwell in thy holy hill?” But that was not the verse that suddenly came back to Luke. He remembered the preacher saying, “This psalm tells us who a righteous man really is, and in verse four it says a righteous man is ‘he that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not.’ ”

  The verse came clearly to Luke, even though his mind was foggy from the alcohol, and he wondered vaguely, What does that mean? A man that sweareth to his own hurt and changeth not? For a long time he lay there trying to make sense of it, and then somehow it came to him. Why, that means when a man swears something, he has to do it, even if it means he gets hurt keeping his word. Like if he told a fellow he’d sell him a car for five hundred dollars and somebody else offered him six, he couldn’t change his mind and take the higher offer. He had promised to sell it for five, so he has to keep his word and take his lumps.

  Through his alcoholic haze, Luke again heard the words of the preacher, who had finally summed it up by saying, “A man keeps his word, brethren, even if it hurts him.”

  Those words burned into Luke’s mind. He managed to put the cap back on the bottle and set it on the floor beside his bed. He pulled the blanket over his face and tried to clear his mind, but the preacher’s voice kept repeating in his mind, “A man keeps his word even if it hurts him.”

  ****

  Each day Luke struggled to stay sober enough to do an adequate job washing dishes, then each night he used liquor to try to forget how useless his life was. But even as he drank himself senseless, he kept remembering Streak Garrison and how the man had saved his life by making that flight that was supposed to be Luke’s. He relived that scene in the hospital over and over again, thinking of the promise he had made to help Streak’s sister. He felt bad that he had done nothing about it. He had reneged on his promise just like he had given up on everything else meaningful in life.

  That evening as Luke got off work, he hurried past the liquor store, even though his nerves were crawling with desire for the drink. But he gritted his teeth and went straight to the rescue mission. He found Jim Edmonds, the director, standing beside a wood stove. “It’s pretty cold out there, isn’t it, Luke?”

  “Brother Edmonds, I’ve got to leave here.”

  Edmonds was a well-built man with thick shoulders and a firm neck. He had played football for a while for the Green Bay Packers and was able to handle any trouble. “And go where, Luke?”

  “I’ve got to go to Tennessee.”

  “Maybe we ought to talk about it. Come on into the kitchen. We’ll have a cup of coffee and you can tell me about your plan.”

  Luke followed Edmonds into the kitchen, and for the next half hour he sat there drinking coffee, his hands trembling with the need for drink. He told the whole story to Edmonds and finally said, “So you see I’ve got to go try to help Streak’s sister.”

  “I think it’s a good thing for you to do,” Edmonds said quickly, “but this may not be the best time. The radio says there’s a snowstorm coming up. Maybe a blizzard.”

  “I’ve got to quit making excuses. Whether there’s a blizzard coming or not, I’ve got to do it, but I didn’t want to leave without telling you why.”

  “How are you going to get there? Train?”

  “I haven’t thought about that yet.” Actually Luke did not have enough money even for bus fare.

  Edmonds reached into his pocket and pulled out several ones. “This’ll help a little bit. I wish it was more. But I really do think you should wait until this weather clears up.”

  “I don’t think I can do that, but I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

  “Well, I’ll be praying for you, as I always have, along with all the other fellows here. When will you leave?”

  “Right after breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  “I’ll see you at breakfast, then.”

  ****

  The snow had stopped, but the air was crisp with cold. As Luke trudged along the country road, his feet were numb. They broke through the crust of snow that had fallen the night before, and the wind bit at his face. He’d had a series of short rides that got him through Kentucky and most of Tennessee.

  He had spent the night in a barn, but the hacking cough that had started the day before was worse. A coughing fit suddenly doubled him over. This was no ordinary cough. It was like being torn in two.

  When he straightened up, his face felt tight against the cold. He heard a vehicle approaching from behind him and looked back to see an old Chevrolet truck. He wearily stuck his thumb out and the truck stopped.

  “Hop in,” the driver said.

  “Appreciate it,” Luke said. He got in, happy to get out of the wind. He didn’t know if his numb feet would ever recover.

  “How far you going?”

  “I’m looking for the Garrison place, near Chattanooga. Have you heard of Joelle Garrison?”

  “Oh sure. I can get you almost there. I only live five miles from the Haven. Have you come far?”

  “Pretty far.” Luke leaned back and closed his eyes. He was racked with the cough several times as they made their bumpy progress down the highway.

  “Well, this is as far as I go,” the driver said after a time.

  Luke opened his eyes. “I appreciate the ride.”

  “I wish I could take you the rest of the way, but I’m low on gas.”

  “Just tell me where it is. I’ll make it from here.”

  “Straight on down this road five miles. When you see a big silo on the left, you turn on the road to the right, and the Garrison place is just a quarter of a mile farther on.”

  “Thanks again for the ride.”

  Luke barely heard the man’s good-bye. As he stepped out of the warmth of the truck, the cold swept back into his bones, and it was all he could do to trudge along. He had to stop often when his hacking cough would cut off his breath. Finally he saw the silo that the man had mentioned and stiffly turned down the road to the right. He kept walking until he saw a house. He had almost reached it when he stumbled and did not have the strength to get up. It was growing dark, and he knew he would freeze to death if he stayed there. Still, the strength had left his body. He tried to get up, began coughing, and then he knew he would never m
ake it to the house. He whispered, “Streak, I did my best. . . . I just couldn’t make it.”

  As Luke lay there, he knew he was dying. His body grew numb, but strangely enough, he felt his mind growing clearer. He thought of a Sunday morning when he’d sat beside his parents in church—a rare morning when he had listened to the sermon instead of dozing. He had been only fourteen at the time, but as he lay in the freezing snow, he realized that he could still remember the sermon—at least part of it. Come unto me. Those were the words the pastor had repeated over and over that morning.

  Now as his life was leaving him, Luke knew a regret that went through him like a sword. Dying—and no God!

  Come unto me.

  Luke heard those words repeat in his mind but he knew it was too late to repent now. There was no room in the kingdom for a drunk who had ignored God his entire life.

  Come unto me was his last thought. . . .

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rescued!

  Picking up the hammer with her right hand, Joelle reached into a paper sack and pulled out a fat pecan. Placing it carefully on the flatiron she held upside down between her knees, she struck it with a sharp blow. She hit it twice more, then put the hammer down and stripped the thin shell away from the nut on the inside.

  “I don’t see how you get these pecans out whole, Joelle.” Gladys, sitting on a stool at the island across from Joelle, was picking the nuts out of her broken shells. “I have to pick all the little bitty pieces out,” she added with a look of disgust.

  “I guess it’s something you learn over time, Gladys. I wasn’t good at it when I was your age either.”

  The two were enjoying the waves of heat coming from the wood-burning stove. The radio on the countertop was turned down low, but they could hear Kate Smith singing “Silent Night.” Gladys, using a pick, extracted a fragment of nut and dropped it into a bowl. Throwing the hull into a paper sack at her feet, she said, “I saw a picture of Kate Smith. She’s fat.”