by Al Lacy
She hung up her coat and hat in a small closet just inside the ward and could see the nurse in charge, standing over a tiny crib, holding a bowl and spoon.
Nadine Sellers looked up at the sound of footsteps. “Good morning, Lydia. We have a new little patient here. Come and meet Celia.”
As Lydia hovered over the baby—who was not quite a year old—she learned from Nadine that Celia had pneumonia and would require much care and attention. Lydia leaned close, murmuring comforting words to the feverish and fretful little girl, then went to the woodstove in the center of the room to warm her hands.
“Lydia,” Nadine said, “I’d like for you to bathe her in tepid water. Let’s see if you can get her fever down.”
“All right.” Lydia rubbed her hands together. “I think my hands are warm enough now to touch her without giving her a shock.”
Nadine chuckled. “I’ll be back in a while.”
Lydia went to a nearby cupboard and took out a small tub. She poured cold water from a pail and mixed it with hot water from a pot on the stove until the temperature was just right. She undressed Celia and carefully lowered her into the water. The baby wailed, which started a deep, wracking cough.
Lydia looked around for a nurse, but none was in sight. She kept the baby in the water in spite of the coughing and used a cup to continually pour water over her little body. All the while she talked to the baby in a calm, soothing voice.
Soon the coughing stopped, and Celia no longer cried. When the water began to lose its mild warmth, Lydia lifted the baby out and wrapped her in a warm flannel cloth. After drying her and putting a diaper on her, she slipped a soft gown over the baby’s head and wrapped her in a pink blanket, then sat down in a rocking chair.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Lydia said as she held the fussy baby close to her breast and began rocking. “You feel cooler now, and that’s very important.”
Lydia rocked in a slow but steady rhythm and hummed to the baby, gently patting her back. Soon Celia stopped her fussing. She relaxed, grew calm, and her little eyelids began to droop. Lydia kissed the downy little head and continued to rock as the baby drifted into a much-needed and healing sleep.
Lydia thought of the family she and Grant had planned. They had talked of having at least three or four children. She looked down at the sleeping baby and suddenly a strong, almost overpowering motherly instinct welled up in her. Her lower lip quivered, and tears filled her eyes. Grant is gone and can never be the father of my children. Yet God has left me here to fulfill His purpose. This I must do as He leads me step by step.
Grant Smith and his American companions continued to pray that the Lord would deliver them from their captors. Twice within the month of August, Mexican prisoners had tried to escape, but they had been shot down and killed before they could get over the high stockade fence.
In November, two prisoners managed to get over the fence but were hunted down and caught less than an hour later. They were brought back to the prison, where they were tortured and executed.
The prison facility was well built and well manned. The Mexican authorities boasted that it was impossible to escape. Though a few men had gotten outside the walls, not one had made it to freedom.
Grant and his fellow American prisoners agreed that whenever they made the attempt, it would have to be foolproof. And to a man they agreed they would rather die attempting to escape than to languish in the prison with its poor food, cold and drafty shacks, and ill treatment from the guards.
By January 1849, Lydia realized that she felt love for Clay Price, but she wrestled with it, holding it at bay, still clinging to the memory of the man she had loved since she was a girl. When she felt herself yearning to be with Clay, guilt would take its place, and she wondered if she could ever let go of Grant.
By spring, Clay told Lydia that he was in love with her and wanted to marry her. Even so, he was careful not to push her.
Billy was now in college at Yale University. Without his presence in their home, Duane and Beverly began attaching themselves to Clay. He enjoyed meals in the Reynolds home two or three times a week.
Lydia talked about the situation many times with her parents. She even went to Scott and Marjorie Smith and to Pastor and Mrs. Britton to seek their counsel. All encouraged her to open her heart to Clay.
Lydia stayed on her knees until the wee hours one night in mid-May. She wept and prayed, asking God to give her peace about accepting Clay’s marriage proposal. Just before dawn, Lydia received the peace she had prayed for, and she allowed the love she had been holding at bay to slip into her open and ready heart.
Clay came for supper that evening. Afterward, he and Lydia sat on the front porch, and he proposed again, telling Lydia he loved her with all his heart. This time she told him she was in love with him, and she accepted his proposal.
Clay’s internship would be completed in June 1850. They would be married this August, then move west and establish Clay’s practice in the frontier town of Sacramento. They agreed that the wedding would be a small and intimate gathering, with only family and close friends in attendance.
August 11 was a beautiful day for a wedding, and Lydia was a beautiful bride. She had chosen a pale pink dress made of fine linen with a round neck and pleated collar of creamy lace. Atop her glossy curls, a hat of the same hue as her dress framed her face and accented the lovely glow of her cheeks.
The ceremony was sweet and very simple as Clay and Lydia pledged their vows to one another. There wasn’t a dry eye when Pastor John Britton pronounced them husband and wife.
As was Beverly’s way, the reception in the Reynoldses’ backyard was beautifully done. While most of the guests ate and talked in small groups, Marjorie Smith sat alone. When Lydia saw her, she excused herself from her groom.
Grant’s mother rose to her feet when she saw Lydia coming. They embraced, and Lydia said, “Marjorie, you’ve told me how happy you are for me, but I know you have to be hurting. This day is what Grant and I had planned and longed for.”
A smile graced Marjorie’s countenance. “Lydia, dear, our son’s greatest desire was for your happiness. Please honor that desire. Go into your new life with our best wishes and blessings. Be very, very happy … and God go with you.” She leaned toward Lydia and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Lydia.”
They embraced once more, then Lydia turned and walked back toward the festivities. She touched the place where Marjorie had kissed her cheek and whispered, “Thank you, Grant, for wanting me to be happy. Good-bye, my tender flame.” A bright smile lit her face as her eyes met Clay’s.
During the next joyful year, Clay and Lydia talked and prayed about their upcoming venture to Sacramento. One day, Clay surprised her by saying he had been reading about the frontier and the wagon trains that were going west by the dozens, and that he had a growing impression that the Lord wanted them to go to Oregon City instead of Sacramento. Lydia agreed to pray with him about it, and after a couple of weeks, they both had peace about going there.
In the first week of June 1850, Clay and Lydia said a tearful farewell to Duane and Beverly Reynolds, the Smiths, the Brittons, and their many friends. Though they were both eager to go, Lydia was a little fearful. But knowing this was God’s will, she put her trust in Him, and confidently put her hand in Clay’s as they left Montgomery Village behind.
The young couple, so full of hopes and dreams, set their faces toward Oregon.
On a Saturday evening in early December, Beverly Reynolds was preparing supper while Duane was at the barn, replacing hinges on the doors. As she laid out two place settings on the table, her heart felt heavy. Billy was still at Yale. A letter had come from him a few days earlier … the same day the first letter from Oregon came from Lydia.
It had taken the Prices three months to get to Oregon City, and it took the letter that announced their arrival another three months to reach her parents.
Beverly sent up a prayer of thanks that her children were in God’s will
and went on preparing the meal. A knock at the front door interrupted her thoughts. She pushed a skillet to the side of the stove and left the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
As soon as she opened the door, Beverly froze. Then her arms and legs went limp, and her heart pounded wildly. “Grant!”
The familiar face and form, looking thinner than she had ever seen him, swam before her eyes, and her legs gave way. Grant Smith lunged through the door and caught her before she fell to the floor; then he helped her to the couch in the parlor.
“Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine in a moment. It’s just that.”
“I know. You thought I was dead.”
“Yes, I can’t believe this. It’s like … it’s like seeing you back from the dead.”
“Believe me, I’m not a ghost. Is … is Lydia here?”
“Ah … no. But Duane is out back. Let me go and—”
“I’m right here, honey,” came a shaky voice from the doorway.
Grant turned to see a white-faced Duane Reynolds, his hand pressed against the door frame for support. “Grant? How on earth—?”
“It’s a long story, sir. I’m sorry to jolt you and Mrs. Reynolds like this, but I wanted to see Lydia.”
Duane walked to Grant, shaking his head in wonder, and wrapped his arms around the young man. “I can’t believe this! I just can’t believe this!”
“How is Lydia?” Grant asked.
Duane and Beverly looked at each other helplessly, then Duane said, “She was fine the last we heard from her, Grant.”
“Well … where is she?”
“She lives out west now,” Duane said.
“Oh?”
“Grant, Lydia’s married.”
Grant Smith looked as if he’d been stabbed in the chest.
“Please sit down, and we’ll explain it to you.”
Duane and Beverly told Grant about the two lieutenants who had come from Washington to inform his parents that he had been killed. They told him how hard the news had hit Lydia, and how she had grieved for so long.
“Who did she marry?” Grant asked.
“His name is Dr. Clay Price,” Duane said. “Lydia didn’t marry him until almost two years after you were declared dead.”
“Is her husband a medical doctor?”
“Yes. They moved out west. They live in—”
“Please, sir. It’s better that I don’t know where Lydia’s living. Please understand. I still love her and … well, now that she’s married, I must ask the Lord to take that love out of my heart. It’s best that I don’t know where she is.”
“I understand, son. And I appreciate your attitude.”
“Yes,” Beverly said. “And I want you to know that before she married Clay, Lydia shared with me that she would never forget you.”
“That helps,” Grant said, trying to smile.
“You’ve lost weight,” Duane said.
“Yes, sir. Poor prison food.”
“Prison?” Beverly said. “You’ve been in prison?”
Grant nodded, then explained the events that led to his capture. He told them of the six fellow soldiers who were in prison with him and explained how all seven of them had finally escaped. It took them better than a month to make it back to Fort McHenry. They were immediately given a hero’s welcome at the fort and told to go home for two weeks before reporting back.
Grant rose to his feet and said, “It’s good to see both of you again. I haven’t seen my parents yet. I need to get home.”
“You mean you came here first?” Duane said.
“I wanted to see Lydia, sir. You understand.”
Duane ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, I know it’s going to be a shock to your parents when you show up on their doorstep, but are they ever going to be happy!”
Grant embraced Lydia’s parents and they followed him to the door. Before Grant stepped onto the porch, he looked into their eyes and said, “I think it would be best if, when you correspond with Lydia, you don’t tell her I’m still alive. No sense in upsetting her with that kind of news. I’ll be staying in the army and working in forts around the country. The Lord will help me to build a new life. Would you please not tell her?”
Both of Lydia’s parents agreed.
GRANT’S PARENTS WERE EATING SUPPER when he knocked. After the first shock of seeing their son standing before them alive, they joyously welcomed him home.
While Grant ate his mother’s cooking, he told his parents about his wounding, capture, and imprisonment. Scott and Marjorie listened as their son told of his escape along with his six fellow prisoners. After reporting in at Fort McHenry, he had come directly to Montgomery Village.
The Smiths were relieved when Grant said he knew about Lydia. When he told them he didn’t want to know where Lydia and her husband were living and that he’d asked Lydia’s parents not to let her know that he was still alive, Scott and Marjorie agreed that it was best to leave well enough alone.
Marjorie told Grant that both his sisters were married now and living in other states. When Grant had finally been caught up on all the family news, he told his parents he could spend a couple of weeks with them before reporting back to Fort McHenry. Marjorie teased that she could fatten him up some in that much time.
That night, in his own room once again, Grant lay awake in the dark. “Lord, I don’t understand. I can’t blame Lydia for marrying this Clay Price when she thought I was dead. But You didn’t have to let me get shot and spend all that time in a rotten Mexican prison. The one and only woman I’ve ever loved is now another man’s wife because I didn’t make it home from the war like thousands of other men did. Why, God? Why?”
The next morning, Grant went to the church. When Pastor Britton was over the initial jolt of finding Grant alive and had learned what had happened to him, the young war hero said, “Pastor, I really need your help. It appears that the Lord has failed me.”
The pastor looked at Grant with compassion. “You’re referring to the fact that Lydia married someone else while you were locked up in prison?”
“Yes, sir. God could’ve kept it from happening. He could’ve let me come home and marry Lydia. Why didn’t He?”
“I detect bitterness in your tone, Grant. The one thing you should never do is get bitter toward God.” Pastor Britton picked up his Bible from the desk. “You say you want help …”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t have a magic formula that will make you understand why things happened as they did, but God Himself has the answer. You’ll have to take Him at His Word, by faith. If you’re willing to do that, you’ll walk out that door in a little while with victory over this puzzle in your heart. Are you willing?”
Grant looked down for a moment, then said, “Yes, I am.”
Britton opened his Bible to Psalm 18 and turned it so Grant could see it. “Read me verse 30.”
“ ‘As for God, his way is perfect: the word of the LORD is tried: he is a buckler to all those that trust in him.’ ”
“When the army reported you dead, Grant, I used this verse to help Lydia. Believe me, she was crushed by the news. It says in this verse that the Word of the Lord is tried. Have you ever known His Word to fail? To be wrong or untrustworthy?”
“No, sir.”
“All right. The verse also says that the Lord Himself is a buckler to all those who trust in Him. Trust in this context is the same thing as faith. Right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You said you were willing to take God at His Word by faith …”
“I did.”
“All right, look again at the first seven words in the verse. What do they say?”
“ ‘As for God, his way is perfect.’ ”
“His Word is tried, Grant. It has never been wrong. Isn’t that true?”
“Yes.”
“Your heart is shattered, and your life is in a shambles right now. True?”
“Yes.”
“You
need a buckler.”
“I need a buckler.”
“Do you need a buckler who never does wrong? One who can be trusted to always do right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then trust your Lord God in this deep disappointment and heartache. Believe Him. He says His way is perfect. Is it perfect, Grant?”
Grant turned his gaze to the floor.
“Well?” Britton said.
“It has to be, Pastor.”
“Then this seeming tragedy in your life was directed by your Lord.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I know you don’t understand why God brought it about this way, and the Lord knows you don’t. What He wants from you now is to trust Him and believe that what He has done is right for you and Lydia … and perfect. Is the One who died on the cross for you worthy of your trust?”
Tears filled Grant’s eyes and began spilling down his cheeks. “Yes, Pastor. He is worthy of it, and I was wrong to feel bitterness toward Him.”
“Grant, you’re not the first child of God to let bitterness toward Him get a grip on you. You’re made of mortal flesh, like the rest of us.”
“But I shouldn’t have accused Him in my thoughts of doing wrong, Pastor. I want to ask Him to forgive me.”
Britton left his chair and said, “Let’s pray together. You go first.”
The two men knelt side by side, and Grant poured out his heart to the Lord, asking to be forgiven for his bitterness and lack of faith. He asked the Lord to help him grasp the full truth of the words, “As for God, his way is perfect.” And he asked God to give him a happy life without Lydia, because He was the only one who could do it.
Captain Grant Smith settled down to army life at Fort McHenry. He found a good church nearby and became a member. All six of the men he had led to Christ in the Mexican prison were active in the same church.
Shortly thereafter, the army assigned a new commandant to the fort—Colonel Steven Baker. Colonel Baker, his wife, son, and daughter were Christians and joined the same church where Grant was a member. Not long after that, Grant and the colonel’s daughter, Carrie, began seeing each other.
