by Tricia Goyer
Emily rose. “Speaking of the project, we should get going. We better get what we need before Mr. Cunningham—I mean your dad—picks us up at the library.”
Ten minutes later they were in front of the library. Emily drank the last of her lukewarm chai before hurrying inside. Andrea paused as she looked around the large, open room. Then she turned to Emily. “
“Do you know where the books on the railroads are? And settler stuff? That way?” She pointed to the nonfiction section.
“Yes, but it’s easier if we look up what we want in the card catalog first. It takes less time.” Emily looked at her watch. “Uh-oh. It’s almost time for your dad to get off work.”
“Did I hear you two talking about settlers?” A woman approached Emily. She had blondish red hair and eyelashes so light that Emily had to look close to make sure they were there.
“Yeah. We have to do a presentation for school,” Emily said, trying to remember if she’d seen this woman before. She didn’t think so.
“It’s sue next week.”
“Sue?” the woman asked.
“She means due.” Emily playfully punched Andrea’s arm. “She’s not from around here.”
“I’m a foreigner—from the other side of the big pond,” Andrea quipped.
“I’m not from around here either—close, but not exactly. But my aunt is from Bedford. Her name is Mary Louise Henner.”
“Oh yes. She’s a friend of my grandma,” Emily said. “She plays the organ at our church.”
“Do you like the organ?” the woman asked, tilting her head to the side.
Emily bit her lower lip. “I think it takes talent to play, but …”
Laughter burst from the woman’s lips. “I know. I’m not a huge fan either. My aunt tried to teach me. Let’s just say I was an awful student on purpose!” The woman stretched out her hand. “I’m June, by the way, like the month.”
Emily and Andrea shook her hand.
“You’re in luck.” She motioned for them to follow her behind the counter. “I think I might be able to help you.”
Emily followed cautiously, looking for Edna, the regular librarian. Anybody who lived in Bedford for a while knew Edna had two rules. First, everyone must have a card. And second, no one was allowed behind the counter.
“Are you sure?” Emily glanced around.
“Yes, I’m sure. Edna’s off today, but she gave me permission to bring people back. Under my supervision, of course.”
June opened the door to the room closest to the front of the library. A tall window let light into the room; long tables ran down both sides.
“Most of my family grew up here, but I’m from Harding,” June explained. “But when they were looking for someone to work on their museum archives and also a part-time librarian, my aunt figured I’d be interested. I love this old stuff.”
Andrea bent over the nearest table to look more closely at the photographs lying on its top. “Wow, these are old pictures.”
Emily scooted closer too. “May I touch them?”
“Sure, they won’t crumble in your hands. Just make sure you hold them by the edges.”
Emily spotted one that sort of looked like the building that Mel’s Place was in. She gingerly picked it up. “Wow, this is Bedford?” Her eyes took in the wide dirt streets, the buildings, the wagons, and people wearing old-fashioned clothes.
“Yeah, Mel’s Place was a saloon years ago. I’ve been meaning to get down there and show the owner this photo.”
June handed Emily another photo. “Here’s a photo of the train depot. Do you know that old building at the north end of Lincoln Park? That’s where the depot used to be. They discontinued service long ago. After World War II, I think. As you can see, it used to be the only thing in that area. If you’d like, I can make a photocopy of this. It might help your report. After all, Bedford wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for the railroad. The depot was the first thing in town. The post office was the second.”
Andrea moved down the tables, looking at the photos. “I like these. Where I live it didn’t really look like this.”
“Yeah,” Emily commented. “I bet where you live there are old castles and stuff.”
“Oh, I love castles.” June sighed. “Now that would be my dream job.”
Andrea paused before one photo. She picked it up and turned to Emily. “Look at this one. It is so sweet. It is like a party with food.”
Emily looked over her shoulder. “Oh, it’s a picnic. Wow, that’s cool. Look at their big dresses and parasols.”
June moved to Andrea’s other side. “Yes, I remember this. I found it in an old storage shed. The owner was going to throw everything out, and I rescued the whole box. It’s a photo of the Fourth of July, 1878 or 1879, I suppose. See? If you look behind that tree you can see the beginnings of Bedford Community Church.”
“Wow, that’s strange. My grandma was just talking about the old church. I heard her saying something to my grandpa about her Granddaddy, but I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Oh yes, my aunt told me about their project. All the ladies are cleaning out the basement and making their own display, which makes me happy. My aunt’s supposedly saving some stuff for me—stuff she’s just sure I’ll be able to use in my ‘museum in miniature,’ as I like to call it.”
They looked at photos for a few more minutes, and June found others she thought would be useful.
“Oh yes, we would love all of these for our project.” Andrea clapped her hands together.
Just as they were about to leave, Emily spotted another photograph. It was framed and leaning against the wall. She bent down and looked closer. It was a woman holding a little boy on her hip. Their smiles were wide. The woman was beautiful.
“Oh, I love this photo.” Emily sighed.
“Me too. It really captures the spirit of the day.”
“What’s this platform behind her?” Emily asked. “Is it a stage or something?”
“Oh, no.” June shook her head. “It’s actually the foundation of Bedford Community Church. For some reason they built the foundation and then stopped there. I think it sat a year before they finished.”
“Oh no,” Andrea glanced at her watch. “We need to hurry. My father should be waiting outside.” Andrea waved to June. “Thank you very much. We will be back for those copies.” She hurried out the door.
“Yes, thank you, and if it’s okay I’d love to bring my grandma back sometime,” Emily said. “I think she’d really love it.”
“Of course! Just let me know, and I’ll make sure I’m on the schedule when she comes,” June said. “Any lover of history is a friend of mine.”
Chapter Twelve
Charlotte noticed Dana’s car parked at the house, and she tucked the journal and Bible under her arm as she hurried inside.
“Hey, Mom,” Pete called as she entered.
Charlotte sniffed the air. “Mmm, something smells good. It’s not often there’s the aroma of baking when I’m not the one in the kitchen.”
Dana looked up from where she sat at the dining room table, and Charlotte noticed flour on her cheek. “They’re lemon cookies baking in the oven. My mom found the recipe, and I’ve been wanting to whip some up. I might bake some for the reception. I hope you don’t mind me using your kitchen.”
Charlotte noticed the large mixing bowl in the sink and the mess of flour and egg shells on the counter. She forced a grin. “No, I don’t mind at all. I can’t wait to try some.”
She set the Bible and the journal near the phone and the mail pile and then hung up her coat and considered asking Dana if she honestly thought she’d have time to bake cookies before the wedding. It seemed like no matter how long one planned, there were always a hundred last-minute things to be done near the big day. Yet Charlotte kept her mouth shut as she got a glass of water from the sink and thought about the advice her own mother-in-law had given her when Anna and Bill got married: The bride always knows best and has the final say.
It makes for a happy wedding. The mother of the groom provides moral support, and whatever else she is asked to do—nothing more.
Ma Stevenson had then tacked on the following: And it’s even more important after the wedding to keep your thoughts to yourself. It makes for a happy wife for your son and a happy life.
Charlotte had reminded herself of those words more than once during Pete’s and Dana’s planning.
She took her water and settled in across from the couple. Spread before them were a dozen books of poetry. Pete’s eyes were glazed over. Charlotte stifled a giggle.
“What are you doing?” she asked, even though the answer was obvious.
“We’re trying to find a special poem for our wedding program,” Dana answered.
Pete’s mouth widened into a full-tooth grin. “We’ve found a lot of nice ones, but none have been quite special enough.”
Dana elbowed his ribs, and Pete winced. “Ow, that hurt.”
“Yeah, what you said hurt too. We’re doing this for our wedding, remember? Just any ordinary poem isn’t going to do.”
“I know. Why don’t we read our three favorites to Mom, and she can give us her opinion.”
Dana pushed back the pile of books and readjusted the red band that held her hair in a ponytail. “Okay, you’re right. We do have some good ones to choose from.” She turned to Pete. “Do you want to read it, or should I?”
Pete took the first book from her hands, opened it to the marked place, and cleared his throat. Then he straightened his shoulders and jutted out his chin. Charlotte thought it was adorable, and she could see from Dana’s eyes that she did too.
“‘To Be One with Each Other,’ by George Eliot,” Pete read.
What greater thing is there for two human souls
than to feel that they are joined together
to strengthen each other in all labor,
to minister to each other in all sorrow,
to share with each other in all gladness,
to be one with each other in the silent unspoken memories?
Dana patted Pete’s arm. He smiled at her and then lifted his eyes to Charlotte, peeking over the top of the book, waiting.
Charlotte guessed that was the end of the poem, even though it was short. “Oh, I like that.” She offered a short clap. “I especially like the part about silent unspoken memories. As the years pass, marriage has a lot of those.”
“I’ll read the next one. It’s my favorite even though it’s a little long.” Dana scanned the page and then she sighed, just as a painter would sigh when he came upon a brilliant sunset.
“‘Love Is a Great Thing,’ by Thomas à Kempis,” Dana read.
Love is a great thing, yea, a great and thorough good.
By itself it makes what is heavy light; and it bears evenly all that is uneven.
Dana looked up. “It goes on, but I especially like this line:
Though weary, it is not tired;
though pressed, it is not straitened;
though alarmed, it is not confounded;
but as a living flame it forces itself upwards and securely passes through all.
Love is active and sincere, courageous, patient, faithful, prudent and manly.
She ended with a smile.
“Hey, I like that last word. Manly.” Pete stuck out his chest.
Dana laughed and patted his flannel shirt. “Yes, I know you do.” She kissed him on the cheek, and he blushed slightly. “You’ve said that the last three times I’ve read the poem.”
“And I’ll say it a hundred more if each time gets me a kiss.”
This time it was Dana who blushed.
“And what’s the third?” Charlotte asked. Although she enjoyed this moment, seeing the happy couple, she had a journal that was waiting. She’d read some, and she couldn’t wait to read more.
“Okay, here’s the last one.” Dana lifted the book close. “‘Wedding Prayer,’ by Robert Louis Stevenson.”
She glanced up, and Charlotte nodded, urging her on.
Lord, behold our family here assembled.
We thank you for this place in which we dwell,
for the love that unites us, for the peace accorded us this day,
for the hope with which we expect the morrow,
for the health, the work, the food, and the bright skies that make our lives delightful;
for our friends in all parts of the earth. Amen.
Dana shrugged. “Sort of simple, but Pete likes it.”
“Yeah, because I can understand the words, and because it says we’re thankful for food, which I always am.”
“Hmmm, let me think about it.” While Charlotte at first focused on the couple before her, soon her thoughts turned to Bob and all the years they’d spent together, and she couldn’t help but smile. But then, as the last poem was read, she also couldn’t help but think of two others from the past. Peggy, who had lost her great love, and Lavina, whose love was tested more than Charlotte could imagine.
From the beginning, when Charlotte had thought of clearing her Granddaddy’s name, she’d thought about how he must have felt to be accused. How he felt when he lost his job. How he felt when Sunday came around and he knew the only reason the friends and neighbors he cared about weren’t meeting in a church was because of him.
She hadn’t thought much about her great-grandmother until now. What had Lavina thought? Was it hard to believe in her husband and stand by his side? Had she blamed him? Had she become a better person, a stronger believer in God, because of all she had lost? Had her friends turned their backs on her? Had she ever thought about giving up and walking away?
Charlotte glanced at the Bible and journal. She hoped they both held some answers.
“I don’t know,” Charlotte finally said. “I think you could use all three. Perhaps Pastor Evans can pray the wedding prayer sometime in the ceremony. And maybe the one by George Eliot could be on the program.” Her voice trailed off. “And the other one, ‘Love Is a Great Thing,’ I think maybe that one should be kept until the first time you have a fight or you wake up and wonder what you’ve gotten yourselves into.”
Both Pete and Dana gave her a blank stare, as if she’d just told them the moon was made of green cheese and they’d be traveling there to get some to go with their green eggs for supper.
Then Dana turned to Pete. “Yes, that’s a good idea. I do like the idea of this one for the program and this other one for a prayer during the ceremony.”
Charlotte noticed that Dana didn’t say anything about the second poem—the one that talked about being worried, tired, and pressed. Pete didn’t comment either, but as Charlotte watched, he pushed that poetry book to the side, keeping it separate from the other books. Maybe he wanted to read it again later, or maybe he was taking his mother’s advice to heart. Either way was fine. Charlotte smiled and then waited for them to leave. She had reading to do, and she was eager to get started.
Charlotte knew she’d share the journal and Bible with her family sometime, but not today. Today it would just be her and Lavina. She was looking forward to getting to know her great-grandmother even better.
Chapter Thirteen
For the second time in two days Charlotte poured herself a cup of coffee and settled down to read. The house was quiet. Sam was out. Emily was with Andrea. Christopher was with Dylan. And Pete had just left for town with Bob to catch up with the guys at AA Tractor Supply while Dana met up with her mom and cousin to go over wedding plans.
Charlotte took her coffee and the journal into the living room, settled onto the couch, placed an afghan over her lap, kicked off her slippers, and opened the journal to read.
November 1, 1880
Everything has changed. Yesterday we sold our building and business in town. Then Elijah put everything we have into buying 240 acres from the Union Pacific. The cost was three dollars per acre, with no down payment. The contract required only the payment of interest for five years, at which time the full payment com
es due.
Elijah believes this is a fine deal. He thinks we’ll be able to use what money we have to stock and improve the farm, and at the end of five years we can borrow enough to pay off the railroad contract. My fear is that we’ll work hard but at the end the railroad will get a developed farm. I try not to worry, but it’s hard not to. After all, things don’t always work out as one hopes.
Charlotte ran her fingers over the script, trying to picture the woman as she wrote the words. Did she cry or had she already accepted the facts of what was happening? Great-Grandma Lavina’s words were simple, not sentimental, but they held so much meaning. Charlotte pursed her lips, wondering if she would respond so graciously, so lovingly, if she were in the same situation. More than anything, she hoped she would. She sighed and turned the page.
July 17, 1881
Yesterday I was pleasantly surprised to have Mr. and Mrs. Vance Ashley call on me. I remembered their faces, but I couldn’t place where I knew them from. Mr. Ashley reminded me that Elijah had helped them—must be five years ago now. They were headed west on a wagon train when their wagon overturned while they were attempting to cross Heather Creek after a heavy spring rain. Once they mentioned that, I remembered them. Elijah had given the man his own extra pair of shoes and a set of clothes. He’d also paid for the postage for the man to send a note back to his parents, stating they were returning home to resupply.
Today, Mr. Ashley handed me ten whole dollars, stating he could never repay my husband’s kindness. I tried to refuse the gift, but the couple wouldn’t think of it. It seems they eventually made it out west, struck a vein of gold in Montana, and determined the first thing they wanted to do was return and move some of their family members out to live with them. They also wanted to thank my husband for his kindness and stopped along the way. They were sad to hear that Elijah was up in Harding visiting with the bank. The young couple was curious about why Elijah wasn’t postmaster anymore and why we were living so far out of town. Mr. Ashley said it took two days just to find us.
