A Home for the Heart

by Michael Phillips

  I could tell that Harriet would like to have asked me more, but she respected what I said. Then Rev. Rutledge rescued me from any further awkwardness.

  “You will be at church tomorrow morning, won’t you, Corrie?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I know everybody’s anxious to see you again.”

  “I feel exactly the same way myself.”

  The conversation moved toward some of the other people of the community, and as we left the table, they were telling me about the new families who had arrived in the last two years.

  The time went by rapidly. A little later we had tea and some cookies. By the time I finally rode home, the evening was thinking about getting dark.

  Chapter 8

  Miracle Springs Community Church

  We squeezed into the big carriage the next morning as best we could. They had probably all been doing it that way every Sunday for the past two years, but for me it was a wonderful and special event! I was reminded of so many past happy times as we rode, the whole family together except for Emily, into town for church.

  We got there early enough to greet the other families as they arrived. What a time I had hugging and laughing and visiting and crying with so many old friends! The Wards were there, and Patrick and Chloe Shaw and their family, and Uncle Nick and Aunt Katie and the cousins, and the Peters, Doc Shoemaker, the MacDougalls, Marcus Weber, Sheriff Rafferty, Rolf Douglas and his son, Mr. and Mrs. Ashton, and so many others. Mrs. Gianini hugged me so tight I couldn’t breathe. Mr. Bosely from the General Store was there with his new wife, and even Alkali Jones had come, besides lots of new people I didn’t know. But when Pa or Almeda or Harriet introduced us, even they greeted me like they’d known me for years.

  I was nearly tuckered out by the time Rev. Rutledge rang the bell for the service to start, which it didn’t until ten or fifteen minutes late on account of all the visiting!

  I can’t think of many church services I’ve enjoyed as much as that first Sunday after my arrival back in Miracle Springs! I don’t even remember what hymns we sang, but I know that no congregation had ever sounded so good to my ears.

  Such a love for all these people was welling up in my heart that I could hardly contain it. It was as though my skin was size ten but my insides were trying to be a size fourteen! I just knew I was going to burst.

  Well, I didn’t burst. But I have to admit I was so distracted and so full of happiness and love and memories about the church and the town and the people that I scarcely heard a word of Rev. Rutledge’s sermon. I don’t even remember what it was about!

  I was paying attention enough, however, to think it odd when he began his concluding remarks ten minutes before the hour was over. Considering what a late start we’d had, that wasn’t a very long sermon.

  Then I was even more astonished when I heard what he said two or three minutes later.

  “It will come as no surprise to any of you,” he said, “when I tell you that we have a very special person with us this morning. Most of you have already greeted her before the service, but I want to take this opportunity to publicly welcome Corrie Hollister back home to Miracle Springs.”

  Even though it was in the middle of a church service, everyone started clapping. I could feel myself getting red all over, but I smiled and tried not to show my embarrassment.

  “Between you and your father, Corrie,” Rev. Rutledge went on, “we’ve got just about more well-known people than any town the size of Miracle Springs has a right to. And even your father can’t lay claim to having personally met Mr. Abraham Lincoln!”

  Sitting on the other side of Zack from me, Pa laughed aloud, and the people clapped again.

  Rev. Rutledge let it quiet down, then he waited another several seconds.

  “We’re all real proud of you, Corrie,” he went on. “Whenever a newspaper would come with something you’d written, it made us all feel like we were part of important events because we were part of your life. We prayed for you, all of us in this congregation. We prayed that God would watch over you, that he would protect you and guide you and that one day he would bring you back to live among us again. And I’m happy to report that he has answered all those prayers!

  “So now,” he added, “I wonder if you would like to come up here and say a few words about your thoughts on this day.”

  I sat there between Zack and Becky, too surprised to move. I’d given a few speeches before, working for the Sanitary Fund and for Mr. Lincoln’s campaigns, but speaking in church was different.

  Before I even had much chance to think it over one way or the other, Zack was nudging me, and Pa was reaching over with his arm and smiling at me to go ahead, and behind me I could hear whispers of encouragement. So all of a sudden I was on my feet and working my way past Becky’s and Tad’s knees and walking up to where Rev. Rutledge was standing. He had a big smile on his face. As I walked up he hugged me, right there in front of the church.

  “Take as much time as you’d like, Corrie,” Rev. Rutledge said. “I can’t think of anything any of us would rather do than hear what you’ve learned and would like to share with us.” Then he motioned me to stand behind the lectern while he took a seat off to one side.

  “I, uh . . . don’t quite know what to say,” I began. “I had dinner with Harriet and Rev. Rutledge last night, but they didn’t warn me about this!”

  Everyone chuckled, and a good-natured buzz went through the church. There was a shuffling in the seats, and I started to feel a little more comfortable.

  “You can’t imagine how good it is to be back . . . to be home,” I went on. “Not that I didn’t have many experiences and meet a lot of people I’m grateful for. I wouldn’t trade the last two years for anything. I saw a lot and I learned a lot, some of it not too pleasant. Death is a dreadful thing when it doesn’t come the way it’s supposed to, that is, from God’s hand. I don’t think there’s anything much worse on this earth than men killing other men, and I’ve seen more of that from this awful war we’ve been through than I’ll ever be able to erase from my mind.

  “So I reckon I did a lot of growing up while I was away, though only my pa’ll be able to tell that for certain. . . .”

  People turned and glanced toward Pa. He looked around, nodding his head, with a big smile on his face.

  “I suppose every young person’s got to get out and away from the nest of his parents at some time. I’m not sure what parents think when it happens. My pa and Almeda have always been gracious and supportive of me and all the things I’ve done, even though now when I look back I realize how foolhardy a lot of those things were. I must have had a pretty strong independent streak to have thought I could be a writer for a newspaper when I was barely more than a child . . . and a girl at that!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “And to have gone off chasing over half the state during the election of ’56 and gotten involved in the election of ’60 and then to have gone clear back to the East Coast all by myself—right in the middle of a war!—it’s God’s mercy I’m still in one piece! Looking back, I can’t believe I did all those things! I had no idea how much danger I was always putting myself in.

  “My brother Zack and I have been talking some since I got back, and I reckon we both have a heavier dose of that independent spirit than maybe is good for us. Maybe it runs in the family . . . maybe we got it from you, Pa!” I added, looking over in Pa’s direction.

  This brought more laughs, especially from Pa and Zack and Almeda.

  “When I think about it, though,” I went on, “I suppose my ma had a pretty good dose of it too. Anyway, Zack’s been telling me a lot about things he’s learned in the last few years about his independence too.

  “What I’m getting around to is that young folks have got to get out and try out their independence sometime. Some do it at sixteen or eighteen, though in my opinion that’s too young to be ready for it. Others, like Zack, do it when they’re twenty-one. Then others like me wai
t till they’re twenty-six to go outside the nest for a spell, and probably others wait till they’re thirty or even older.

  “So we go out alone and we see what we’re made of, and we find out what independence is all about. We find out some good things about ourselves and some things maybe we don’t like so much. And we find out about the kind of independence that isn’t very healthy, like Zack’s been telling me he did, because of how it acts toward God.

  “Then if we’re wise, eventually we learn what we’re supposed to. And then we come back older and smarter and more grown up, and maybe more independent in the good way and less independent in the bad way. That’s how I’m feeling, anyway—both more independent and less independent at the same time.

  “Like I said, I don’t know exactly what it’s like for a parent to watch this process going on. I don’t doubt that it’s a mite painful at times. But when you’re a young person, you don’t have eyes to see that side of it very clearly.

  “It’s funny—and Zack, I hope you won’t mind me saying this—” I said, glancing toward my brother. “The funny thing is, when Zack went away I could see the pain it caused Pa to have him gone. But it never crossed my mind that maybe my leaving home for these two years might be hard for him too. You just don’t see things like that very clearly until the years and the hand of the Lord working on you gradually open your eyes to it.”

  I paused and took a deep breath. The church was so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

  “Pa . . . Almeda,” I said, looking at them, “I am sorry if I ever had cause to give either of you any pain. I never meant to. At the same time, I want to tell you both, in front of all these friends, how appreciative I am of how you’ve let me learn and find out things on my own, always guiding and helping and talking to me, but letting me learn about independence too. Along with Ma, you’re just about the best father and mother a girl could have. Or a fellow too, for that matter—right, Zack?”

  “I’ll give an amen to that!” said Zack loudly.

  A few scattered amens were added to his from around the room.

  “Now here I am again, home again,” I went on, looking at the congregation once more. “And never has it felt more like home. Maybe that’s something else getting away does—it shows you where your home truly is.

  “I reckon that’s what I’m trying to say above all—that as thankful as I am for the opportunity to go away and for all the experiences I had, I’m glad to be home. And I’m more thankful for my family than I can possibly say—”

  All of a sudden I stopped, because tears had filled my eyes. I blinked hard a few times, then struggled to finish.

  “Well,” I said, trying to laugh, “that’s more than I intended to say . . . and probably more than Rev. Rutledge intended too!”

  I looked over at him with a smile. He rose and now walked up, put his arm around me, and stood beside me.

  “I just want you all to know how much I love you,” I added, “and I’m glad to be with you and among you all again.”

  I went to sit down beside Zack. To my surprise, everyone started clapping, and it went on for too long to be altogether comfortable.

  As it died down, Rev. Rutledge spoke up. “I think that outpouring of sentiment expresses pretty well what the people of Miracle Springs think,” he said. Then he looked down at me very earnestly and with a smile on his face. “We all love you too, Corrie!”

  Then he bowed his head and gave the benediction.

  Immediately after he was through, people started coming up to me and all the rest of the family, greeting and visiting and hugging and talking all over again, even more so than before the service had begun. I think there were more folks gathered around us, and me especially, welcoming me home again, than there were people shaking hands with Rev. Rutledge by the door. By the time everyone had left for home, however, I think most of them had shaken both our hands.

  We didn’t get home until an hour after the final amen.

  Chapter 9

  A Novel and Surprising Proposition

  Gradually the days, then the weeks, slipped by, and the newness of being home grew less and less noticeable. I managed to keep busy cooking and cleaning, going into town to the Supply Company with either Becky or Almeda, writing in my journal, and of course writing nearly every day to Christopher.

  Toward the middle of September I received a very long letter from Christopher that took me completely by surprise.

  I was working at the Supply Company that day, still trying to catch myself up on the changes in the business. I’d been enjoying a good visit with Marcus Weber and Mr. Ashton and Mrs. Virginia Russell, the widow from Sacramento that Almeda had hired part time after Ruth had been born. Mrs. Russell now worked most days with the two men. The four of us were together in the office when the postman arrived. He said he’d seen me come into town so he had brought the letter over to me at the office.

  I knew it was from Christopher immediately, and it was so big and thick that I couldn’t help being embarrassed when he handed it to me. The others all looked at me, expecting me to open it. But I couldn’t open it and read it with them all staring at me!

  “I’ll open it later,” I said, trying to busy myself with some work.

  But it was no use! That letter burned a hole in my pocketbook where I’d stuffed it with a show of nonchalance. It burned a hole in my brain all morning too. I couldn’t think of anything else! Finally, midway through the afternoon, I left for home. I stopped about halfway there in a place where I could read Christopher’s letter thoughtfully and all by myself.

  At first reading I didn’t know quite what to make of it. But the more I thought about it the more it made me appreciate and respect him all the more. That he would be willing to go to such lengths to make sure our marriage was built on a solid foundation made me realize how much he cared about me, not just for right now, but for all the rest of my life!

  I don’t know if other people would agree, but that’s how I took his letter. It made me feel all the more loved and all the more secure, knowing that Christopher was a man who took everything about his life with God seriously.

  This is the letter he sent me:

  Dear Corrie,

  I want to talk to you regarding something I have thought and prayed about for a long time—actually, ever since I was in the pastorate. After considering the implications of our future together, I find that what I once advocated toward others can be no mere abstract teaching, but a policy I must consider carefully as I contemplate the course you and I should pursue. You will presently understand what I am attempting to say.

  When I was pastoring in Richmond, as I have told you, my views on the subject of marriage differed widely from those held by most of my parishioners. It was not merely that certain members of my congregation would have liked to see me wed to their daughters, and I had no intention of doing so. The points of contention grew to encompass what many considered my radical notions on the subject—as if taking the holiest and oldest human relationship seriously enough to desire that it be strong, well founded, and giving God glory is “radical”!

  As pastor, I was often in the position of having to counsel young people in preparation for marriage. Quite a few were not much younger than myself, actually, and one or two were older, since I was only twenty-five when I entered the ministry in 1859. (Perhaps too young, I now wonder.) Many of the people I was asked to perform marriages for were the sons and daughters of some of Richmond’s most notable families. Later, when war loomed, others came wanting me to rush through a ceremony before hostilities took the young man away.

  In every case, almost without exception, I found myself discouraged and disheartened, saying to myself, “These two people do not know one another in any depth. Neither do their respective parents have the slightest idea what manner of individual will be joining their family. This young man and young woman are not ready to marry. They are not prepared for the stresses that wedlock will bring to them. They need to pass beyond t
heir present superficial feelings in order to build this marriage on a more solid foundation. They need more time—considerably more time—to prepare themselves.”

  As you might guess, my attempts to convey these sentiments to the young men and women and their families were not received gladly. The last thing either they or their mothers and fathers wanted was an overly zealous young pastor throwing a bucket of cold water over their euphoria. They did not want spiritual counsel. They did not want me to speak the truth. They did not want to be told that perhaps there was a better way to go about their preparations for matrimony—a way based on Scripture, a way based on God’s intent for man and woman. All they wanted from me was a blind acquiescence to their desires so as to give the illusion of spiritual approval to plans about which the will of God could not have been further from their minds.

  That was not something I could in good conscience do. I did not enter the ministry to preside over a societal club, but to confront people with the truths of God and his will for our lives. It was another of the several factors that finally made the pulpit untenable for me.

  In any event, in my heart I knew that many of these ill-advised marriages could only lead to heartbreak. This is not to say that they all ended in divorce. A few did. But mostly it was a matter of the marriages I performed being built on sand rather than stone. A number of the young men were killed in the war, leaving widows and orphans behind. Even the marriages that did survive for a time could not be said to be strong ones. Almost invariably I saw futures constructed on hopes that could never sustain the giving and commitment and self-sacrifice so necessary between husband and wife if they hope to remain bonded together as one over a lifetime.

  I saw marriages founded on mutual attraction, on financial considerations, on ties between important families, on the urgencies of the war. And ego, pride, vanity, and self were ever-present ingredients in the mix of factors—not only in the couples, but also in their parents, whose own social standing demanded the making of what is called a “good marriage” for their offspring. Unfortunately, their view of this so-called “good marriage” was almost always based on the worldly norms of a false set of societal standards—where money, reputation, power, and prestige were the operative factors.