A Home for the Heart

by Michael Phillips

  “Oh, sometimes you are so maddeningly rational and logical!” I said, laughing, but with a hint of exasperation. Right then I didn’t particularly want to be grown-up. I was in a hurry to know!

  The days continued to go by.

  Christopher and Pa kept working together and talking and carrying on as if nothing were any different. I was nearly beside myself, but I didn’t dare say anything. I knew Christopher was right about leaving the matter in Pa’s hands, though I could barely stand to do it!

  Christmas Day drew closer.

  We baked and planned, cut and decorated a tree, bought and made and hid presents. Everybody was caught up in the festive spirit once again, though I was too distracted to enjoy the season as much as I had the previous year.

  Finally it was Christmas. Uncle Nick and Aunt Katie’s family all came down for breakfast as usual and we opened our gifts.

  By now I wasn’t expecting to hear anything from Pa. At first I’d awakened every day thinking, “Today’s the day when he’s going to say something!” But after a while I had quit thinking that. I don’t exactly know what I was thinking. Maybe I was slowly realizing that I could trust both Pa and Christopher to do the right thing.

  At any rate, Pa caught me completely by surprise when he stood up after all the gifts had been opened.

  “I reckon it’s about time for me to deliver one last present,” he said after he’d quieted all the youngsters down and gotten everyone’s attention. “You may have noticed that I didn’t give our new young friend Christopher Braxton anything. I’ve been saving his present for last.”

  Pa stopped and took a breath. I could feel myself suddenly getting very hot and red.

  “When you came, Christopher,” he went on, looking now at Christopher, “and said you wanted to ask me for permission to marry my eldest daughter, Corrie Belle—”

  Everyone glanced over at me. I shrank down in my chair, my cheeks on fire now. Oh, this was so embarrassing right in front of everybody!

  “—and then said you wanted me to wait a year before giving my answer,” Pa went on. “At first I didn’t know what to think. Sounded like the craziest thing I’d ever heard of—you wanted to work for me for a year, without pay, just so I’d get to know you well enough to be able to say one way or another whether I thought you’d make a fit man for my Corrie.”

  A little laughter went around the room. I think everybody had thought it was a pretty unusual idea!

  “But after I thought and prayed about it some,” Pa went on, “I saw what a lot of sense it made. And I don’t deny it made me feel good that you and Corrie trusted me that much. So I reckon that made me take it a heap more seriously. I figured if you were going to put your future in my hands like that, then I’d better make the right decision!

  “So I prayed all year long that God would show me what he wanted me to say. And I watched the two of you and how you were to each other. I listened to the way you talked and the way you treated each other.

  “I especially had my eye on you, Christopher, watching not just how you treated Corrie, but what you were like to Almeda and Becky and Katie and other people. If there was a mean streak in you anywhere, I wanted to find it. If it came out toward anybody, then I knew it’d come out toward Corrie someday too, and I didn’t want that. Anything that’s in a man is going to come out at his wife someday, and if there was selfish stuff down inside you, I figured it was my duty to find out. I was even intentionally hard on you a time or two and put you in some difficult circumstances, just to see how you’d react. I’m sorry about that, if an apology’s in order—”

  “Think nothing of it,” said Christopher. “I’m sure you did nothing without intending it for my good.”

  “Right you are there,” said Pa. “That’s what I intended, all right. I figured you’d given me a mighty important decision to make, and so I’d better know all I could about you so I’d make the right decision.

  “So we worked and we talked, and I watched and listened and prayed. And I figure in the end I got to know you about as good as one man can know another in so short a time. You showed me you’re a hard worker, that you’re not mean or selfish, and that you know what you’re about. You ain’t without your faults, and I saw them plain enough. But then, we all got faults. If we didn’t, wouldn’t be much use of the Lord’s having to work on improving our characters like he does.

  “Well . . . so now it’s been a year—little over, in fact, eh, Corrie?” added Pa, looking over at me with a wink. I guess he’d noticed my agitation these past couple of weeks!

  “—and I figure that’s about long enough to keep you two young people waiting. What I’m trying to say, Christopher—”

  As he spoke, Pa went over and extended his hand to Christopher.

  “—is that I’m proud to know you. You’re a fine and honorable young man.”

  They shook hands, gazing into one another’s eyes for a long moment or two. Then Pa turned and began walking toward me. Again, I felt myself getting hot and red.

  He reached me where I was sitting, stood in front of me, then stretched out his hand toward me. I took it, and he pulled me up to my feet.

  Slowly he led me back over to Christopher.

  “So this is my gift to you, Christopher Braxton, on this special day. . . .”

  Christopher stood. Pa put my hand into his, then stepped back.

  “I present you with the hand of my daughter, Cornelia Belle Hollister. My answer is yes.”

  Shrieks and shouts and clapping immediately erupted throughout the room. But I was already weeping too much to hear what came next. I felt arms around me and people jostling. People were shaking Christopher’s hand and hugging and kissing me. I know Almeda was beside me . . . there was laughter. . . .

  But mostly I just kept crying for joy.

  Chapter 47

  Another Proposal

  That Christmas of 1866 is one I’ll never forget, but the reasons don’t have much to do with Christmas.

  After what Pa had done, everyone was talking more about Christopher and me than Christmas. But Christopher and I only wanted to find a way to have some time alone.

  About two o’clock, after most of the dinner fixings were ready and there was just about an hour more to wait for the last things to get done, Christopher came over to the kitchen and asked if the rest of the cooks could spare a certain young lady long enough for her to accompany him for a walk before dinner.

  Even though it was all family, I couldn’t help blushing. Christopher helped me on with my coat in such a gentlemanly way, and then we went outside. He took my hand in his and we walked out across the flat toward the woods. We didn’t say anything for a while.

  “What do you suppose they’re all talking about inside?” said Christopher at length.

  “Us,” I said, chuckling.

  “That’s the way I had it figured too,” he said.

  We walked on again.

  “Well,” Christopher began again, “how does it feel to you?”

  “What do you think?” I said quietly. “I’m happier than I ever remember being. But how do you feel?”

  “The same. Quiet, I suppose—content, happy in a subdued and deep way. I feel my whole being is one big, contented sigh.”

  Soon we were out of sight of the house. Christopher led me into the woods and to a great boulder we sometimes sat on when we wanted to be alone. We’d had many long talks here, but somehow I sensed our talk today would be unlike any of the others.

  After we’d climbed up and arranged ourselves next to each other on the hard stone, neither of us spoke for a long time. Christopher was looking off into the wood. I just waited. I suspected a little of what might be coming, though certainly not all of it.

  We probably sat in silence for five minutes or more. Finally Christopher spoke.

  “I feel so shy again all of a sudden,” he said. “We’ve waited so long for this day—and suddenly I feel like we’re back at Mrs. Timms’ farm—I’m all tied up in kn
ots about what to say.”

  I gave a clumsy little laugh. “I know,” I said. “Why are we like that?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Christopher. “Maybe it’s just one more awkward stage—like we had for a day or two after I came to Miracle Springs.”

  “Oh, I hope it doesn’t last a day or two!” I sighed. “Today is Christmas, and this is all too wonderful for us to have to tiptoe around not knowing what the other thinks.”

  “All right,” laughed Christopher, “I’ll do what I can to tell you clearly what I am thinking. I brought you out here to ask you an important question.”

  My heart fluttered and I caught my breath. I tried to say something, but after I opened my mouth no sound would come out. Luckily Christopher had glanced away. By the time he looked back at me, I’d regained my composure and was staring down at my lap.

  “You know there were two purposes in spending this past year the way we have?” he said.

  I nodded slowly, but I was really too preoccupied to be thinking clearly.

  “I needed to give your father time to know me in order to decide upon my suitability as a son-in-law . . .”

  I kept nodding slowly, still looking down.

  “ . . . and,” Christopher went on, “we had to get to know each other well enough to know if we still wanted to be married to each other.”

  He paused and took a breath.

  “Well,” he said, “now that we have your father’s answer to the first question, I want to give you my answer to the second.”

  I was trembling in earnest now! I dared not look up. I didn’t know whether I might start crying, or jump down off the rock and run off through the woods, or throw my arms around Christopher and kiss him. So I just sat there, trying to be calm, but nearly ready to burst with a thousand emotions exploding inside me all at once.

  “When I wrote you at the convent,” Christopher said, “I told you I had to come to Miracle Springs upon two very important errands. I said I needed to see your father to ask if he would give me the hand of his daughter. That he has done. Now it is time for me to attend to the second item of business I told you about. . . .”

  Again Christopher paused. I was so fluttery inside that I hardly noticed how short of breath he was too!

  He drew in a breath of air and finally blurted out the rest of his sentence.

  “Now it is time for me to ask you,” he said, “if you will consent to do me the honor of calling me your husband. Corrie . . . I’m officially asking you to marry me and be my wife.”

  Suddenly my arms were around his neck, and I was laughing and crying and babbling something I don’t remember!

  “Do I take that as an answer in the affirmative?” laughed Christopher.

  “Yes, yes . . . of course the answer is yes!” I cried.

  “Then there’s only one problem,” said Christopher, trying to sound serious. “I don’t have a diamond ring to give you—”

  “I don’t need a diamond,” I said. “All I want is to be your wife!”

  “Let me finish,” insisted Christopher.

  “All right . . . excuse me.”

  “Here is my third and final question with regard to this proposal of marriage. I don’t know that I could afford both—that is, unless we strike that vein in the mine Alkali Jones keeps talking about. So here’s my proposition: I’ve been doing some reading, and they’re bound to get them working one of these days. So would you like a diamond ring . . . or would you like me to get you one of those new typewriting machines they’re experimenting with someday?”

  He stopped and stared at me expectantly.

  “Oh, Christopher . . . you are the most amazing man!” I said, beginning to cry again for joy.

  This time he put his arms around me and kissed me once, then again, then held me tight in his arms. We sat in perfect bliss for a minute or two.

  “What would I do with a diamond?” I whispered at length into his ear. “Besides, I’m not the glamorous kind. I’ll take the typewriting machine.”

  I could tell Christopher was chuckling, though he said nothing, only squeezed me all the more tightly to him.

  “Does this mean I’m actually engaged now?” I asked.

  “That you are, Miss Hollister. You are engaged to be married to one Christopher Braxton!”

  Slowly we released one another and drew apart. Christopher hopped down off the rock, gave me his hand, and helped me scramble to the ground.

  “Do you suppose we ought to go tell everyone else the news?” he said.

  “I don’t think it will come as a surprise to anyone,” I answered, taking Christopher’s hand as we began walking back to the house.

  “I’m sure it won’t. But it’s nice to have it made official at last.”

  Chapter 48

  The Awkwardness of Being “Engaged”

  The rest of that Christmas Day was some happy celebration indeed! I can’t think of anything more wonderful than to become engaged on Christmas!

  I suppose I had already thought of myself as engaged, or halfway engaged, before that. But now I was really engaged!

  We even started discussing a date for the wedding that very day. Christopher wanted Pa to help decide even that. He was trying so hard to be respectful and not to presume too much.

  But Pa put his foot down and said, “I gave you my answer—now you gotta decide the rest on your own. The two of you can get married tomorrow or next year as far as I’m concerned. You got my blessing whatever you do.”

  Still Christopher was reluctant to be in too much of a hurry. So we talked with Pa and Almeda further and consulted with the Rutledges and discussed and prayed some more between ourselves, and after about a week we finally set a date for April 3 for the wedding.

  Then we set out once more on the complicated adventure of getting to know one another—again.

  From the very beginning, Christopher and I had talked about the increasingly deeper levels that love has to go through in order to get down to the solid bedrock foundation that is capable of sustaining a lifelong marriage and weathering the difficulties that are certain to be part of it. But that very process of going deeper carried its own difficulties too. Every time we had found ourselves opening some new door in our relationship and peering down into the unknown of what some new level was going to be like, we had also found a whole new bunch of uncertainties to go along with it. Just when we thought we knew each other pretty well, suddenly we’d feel like we were starting over.

  At first it had been frustrating and confusing. Suddenly I would find myself wondering if the whole relationship was falling apart. Then we would find our way through the frustrations—sometimes quickly, sometimes painfully—and we would emerge with a deeper understanding.

  After Christopher’s letter to me at the convent when I left, everything changed. We began talking to one another so openly about our love. It was a much deeper level than whenever we’d been together before.

  When Christopher arrived in Miracle Springs, we had to transfer all that letter-writing openness into face-to-face conversation. That had been awkward at first, but eventually that level had become comfortable too.

  Then we’d had the misunderstanding after Governor Stanford’s letter, and as painful as that time had been, it had opened up still new levels of trust between us.

  And now that we were officially “engaged” and had actually set a date for the wedding, the same thing seemed to be happening again. Of course we were happy. But frustrations and confusions and awkwardnesses still crept in too. Each step we took toward actually being husband and wife seemed to bring a whole new bunch of complexities that could only be resolved by going deeper—not into the emotions of love, but into our mutual commitment.

  At least now we had learned that we had to talk about these awkward things instead of letting them pile up inside and lead to silences and misunderstandings.

  At each new level, what Christopher had said in the beginning turned out to be more and more clearly true.
Our commitment to each other—our commitment to think of the other before ourselves, our commitment to put the other first, to serve one another, to talk and communicate and share our thoughts and feelings no matter how hard—was more important than the emotions of our love.

  We had to be friends first, spiritual comrades second, and lovers third, Christopher said. The longer we were together, the more clearly I saw that this was the only order that could make a marriage really work the way God intended. And at every new getting-to-know-each-other level, the friendship and spiritual camaraderie between us grew greater. It wasn’t that the emotional love part grew less—although Christopher did keep reminding me that would happen eventually—but it did become more a balanced part of the other two.

  The months after Christmas, as we made plans for the wedding, were awkward in new ways. There had been no pressure on us before. We’d just been working, talking, and enjoying one another, all the while waiting on Pa’s decision.

  Now suddenly everything was on our shoulders.

  A whole new list of questions presented themselves, and along with them new doubts and fears surfaced.

  What was Christopher going to do for a job? What if the mine never turned up any gold? He didn’t want to live off Pa and Almeda. I had saved some money from my writing, but it wasn’t that much, and Christopher was determined that living off what I had in Mr. Royce’s bank was no way to start a marriage. I know he was seriously concerned about that. He didn’t want to be seen as a sluggard who couldn’t support his wife. Not that anyone who knew him and had seen him work could think such a thing, but he was concerned for my reputation too.

  What about my writing? Was that perhaps supposed to be part of how we supported ourselves? I was willing to do my share, but Christopher was reluctant to put me in the position where we needed the money my writing would bring in.

  Pa kept telling Christopher not to worry, that his mine partnership wasn’t going to end just because we got married. But the gold they were getting wasn’t much, and Christopher couldn’t help wondering what would happen after it dried up.