A New Beginning

by Michael Phillips

  Naturally everyone did!

  A whole percentage point lower would make everyone’s monthly payments far less than they were and would give a boost to the economy of the whole region. There was only one person, it seemed, who would possibly not benefit from such a change, and that was Franklin Royce himself. The next day Pa went to talk to him.

  “Franklin,” he said after the banker had invited him into his office and closed the door, “what’s all this about the lower interest rates? Why, the whole town’s talking about nothing else.”

  “Nothing more than it seems. I’m simply lowering my rates.”

  “At first I thought there was some kind of financial crisis,” added Pa, “with everyone running in and out of the bank!”

  Mr. Royce laughed.

  “No crisis, just a normal banking procedure,” he said. “Changes of interest rate aren’t so unusual.”

  “A lower rate is a mite out of the ordinary!”

  “Perhaps, but not unheard of.”

  “But a whole point—that’s a huge drop. What in tarnation are you doing it for?”

  “I think it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Are the big city banks lowering their rates?”

  “No,” laughed Mr. Royce. “Last I heard they were up a quarter point.”

  “Then what if you have to borrow? It’ll cost you more.”

  “Probably so.”

  “You’ve got to make a profit too.”

  “Don’t worry, I will—albeit a somewhat slimmer one.”

  “We need your bank, Franklin. Where would Miracle Springs be if you go out of business?”

  Again Mr. Royce laughed, delighted with Pa’s concern.

  “I’m not planning to go out of business anytime soon, believe me, Drum.”

  “Well, just tell me then what brought all this on,” said Pa.

  “You should know. It was something Christopher said about reading in the Gospels to find our instructions about what we’re supposed to do.”

  “You read something like that?”

  Mr. Royce nodded, but said nothing.

  “Well, you gonna tell me about it?” asked Pa impatiently.

  “Surely you know the story of the man called Zacchaeus?”

  “I’ve heard the name,” replied Pa.

  “Well I never had,” said Mr. Royce, “until I was reading a couple of weeks ago and found myself reading about him. All of a sudden I was stopped cold by the words ‘and he was rich.’ Suddenly something struck me I’d never thought of before—that Jesus could be the Lord of a rich man as well as a poor man.”

  Pa stared back at him, not realizing at first what the huge revelation was.

  “I know it may not sound like much to you,” Mr. Royce went on, “but I realized in that moment that I’d always thought of Christianity as more or less a religion that had more meaning the poorer you happened to be. Like I told you and Christopher, I’d gone to church for years, but I never really thought that it had much to do with me—after all, I was rich. I had everything I needed and more. What could God possibly do for me?”

  “Reading about that Zacchaeus fellow changed your point of view, eh?” asked Pa.

  “You can’t imagine what the rest of that day was like for me,” answered Mr. Royce. “Even after I’d talked with you and Christopher and Christopher’d said, ‘You have to find out what your Father wants you to do,’ I suppose I was a little skeptical. I didn’t really think God would show me anything to do. I mean, I meant it when I prayed—you remember, when you and I were together, and I prayed that God would help me be a better person and know what to do. I meant it. It wasn’t a phony prayer. But still, like I say, I don’t know that I really expected him actually to speak to me.”

  “I reckon I know what you mean,” said Pa. “I gotta admit I still sometimes feel that myself when I’m listening to Christopher.”

  “But then I remembered too,” Mr. Royce said, “what Christopher said about my doing my part and reading in the Gospels and asking God to show me how his people are to live. So I did start reading in my Bible—for the first time, I’m ashamed to say—and I tried to look as I read for what there might be for me personally that would show me what I might be supposed to do. And then all of a sudden as I was going along in the Gospel by the man named Luke, there were those words, ‘And he was rich’ . . . and all at once everything changed. It was as if in an instant my whole perspective on the Bible became new—because there in its very pages was a man just like me! Do you see what I am saying, Drum?”

  “I think so, Franklin,” replied Pa.

  “Now suddenly I could look for something to do—just like Christopher said—because there I was in the pages of the Book. Me—a rich man—right there talking to Jesus himself. When I had recovered my initial surprise, I read on, and the account became all the more shocking, especially when Zacchaeus said, ‘I will give half of my goods to the poor, and if I have taken from anybody wrongly, I will give it back to him fourfold.’ Imagine, Drum, me looking in the Gospels for something to do about my faith, and then to run across those words. I don’t mind telling you, I could hardly sleep that night.”

  Pa laughed. “I reckon I’m beginning to see your problem, Franklin!”

  “Over and over they repeated themselves in my brain. I had doubted whether God could speak to such a one as me . . . well, by morning I knew he had spoken to me. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced in my life. I had prayed a simple enough prayer . . . and here was a specific and practical answer! I’d asked to be shown something to do . . . and here was a do so simple and straightforward there could be no mistaking it. Here was a do right out of the Gospels that had to do with the very focus of my entire life—money.”

  Mr. Royce paused and drew in a deep breath.

  “I was on my way into the bank that very next morning when something else from one of Christopher’s sermons suddenly came back to me. Do you remember that day he said, ‘We mustn’t delay doing what we are supposed to do. Obedience postponed is disobedience.’”

  “I remember,” replied Pa.

  “That’s when I said to myself, ‘Franklin Royce, it’s time to see what kind of fiber you’re made of, what kind of man you are. Are you going to pretend nothing happened last night? Are you going to try to talk yourself into believing God wasn’t speaking to you and that all those thoughts were just nighttime fancies you can ignore now that the sun is shining and you are thinking straight again? Or are you going to do what you know in your heart you are supposed to do?’ What it boiled down to was the question I knew I was asking myself: Are you man enough to obey?”

  “Judging from what’s been going on around here,” said Pa with a smile, “I think I know how you answered the question.”

  “That very morning I put up the sign on my wall announcing that interest rates at the Royce Miners’ Bank were being lowered to four-and-one-quarter percent,” rejoined the banker. “It was the quickest and easiest way I could think of to return to the bank’s customers anything I may have inadvertently overcharged them in the past.”

  “You haven’t overcharged, have you, Franklin?”

  “I have always tried to be fair with my interest rates,” replied the banker, “but you know as well as anyone that I interpreted fair on the high side from time to time. I hope this will make up for it.”

  “I’m sure it will, Franklin,” said Pa, “but can you afford to do so?”

  “It may cause a bit of a pinch in the cash flow of the bank, but I’ve already been to Sacramento to secure additional funds.”

  “You mean to tell me you are going to have to borrow yourself in order to give back this money to the community?”

  “I suppose that is the long and the short of it,” said Mr. Royce, smiling.

  Pa shook his head in disbelief. “Just wait till the people hear about that,” he said.

  “No, no, Drum, you mustn’t tell them. I want no one to know why I went to Sacramento.”

 
“But they—”

  “I insist. You must promise me that word of this will not leak out. I do not want the windfall from lower interest payments and whatever else I may decide to do to be spoiled for them by sympathy for me. I would have it be a boon without any strings attached.”

  “What do you mean, whatever else you decide to do?” asked Pa.

  “Well, there is the rest of what Zacchaeus did,” replied Mr. Royce, “—giving half his possessions to the poor and restoring any wrong done four times over. I am still asking the Lord what he might want me to do in the way of those things.”

  Chapter 37

  A Hard Day in Town

  One day midway through the summer I put in a full day at the freight company. Actually, putting in a full day wasn’t so terribly unusual. Almeda was getting so she didn’t want to spend so much time in town every day and had asked me if I wouldn’t mind putting in some extra hours. The business seemed to be weighing on her more than usual, and I was happy to carry more of the responsibility if I could. Christopher joined me some days as well, and we enjoyed working together.

  On this particular day, however, I was the only one of the family present, and it seemed like everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong. One of the warehouse workers came in about ten in the morning to inform me that he was quitting.

  “Have you talked with Almeda?” I asked.

  “I figgered you could tell her as easy as me.”

  “But you’re going to finish out the week?” I said.

  “No, ma’am—figgered on collecting what pay I got coming, and then being on my way.”

  “What, you mean . . . you don’t mean right now?”

  “If that’d be all right, ma’am,” the man nodded. “I’d like to get what’s coming to me.”

  “You’re not even going to finish the day?” I asked, beginning to get annoyed, for the man’s irresponsibility had already cost us more than he was worth.

  “Didn’t figger to, ma’am.”

  “But what about the Blackett order? Aren’t you halfway through it?”

  “I figgered Weber could finish it.”

  “Marcus is gone on deliveries all day.”

  “Jason . . .”

  “Jason is home with his sick wife,” I retorted. “I promised Mr. Blackett that order would be finished today!” By now I was thoroughly exasperated.

  “I tell you, I gotta be going, ma’am. Could I get my pay?”

  “You’re not getting a cent from me,” I said. “You come back and talk to Almeda!”

  As soon as the man had gone, I turned to good, faithful Mr. Ashton, our office manager, and said, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Corrie. I’ve seen Almeda chew out a few sluggards worse than anything you ever said.”

  “Would you mind giving me a hand in the warehouse?” I said. “I’m afraid you and I are going to have to finish the Blackett order ourselves.”

  Mr. Ashton rose, placed a little sign on the door saying where we’d be, and followed me out the back door. I didn’t like to ask him to help because his back wasn’t the best and he was probably not even as strong as me, but we had no choice. Besides Marcus and Deal, who’d just quit, and Jason who was home with his wife, there was no one else. At the time we were a man or two thin but hadn’t been able to find anyone else to hire. Now we were really shorthanded!

  Sweating all over, and with my back starting to hurt, we finished up the order about noon, then hitched up a team to the wagon. I asked Mr. Ashton to drive it out to the Blackett place, explain the situation, apologize for the inconvenience, and ask Mr. Blackett if his men could unload the wagon. I went back into the office and sat down behind the desk, already tired and mentally frazzled, though the day wasn’t even yet half over. I hoped Christopher might stop by to visit for a while because he was working at the McCrary place just about half a mile from town, but he didn’t.

  A couple of hours later, two men came in within five minutes of each other. I’d hardly seen anyone for two hours, and then there they both were in the office at the same time. Both were relative newcomers to Miracle Springs who didn’t know me, didn’t know Almeda, and didn’t care about anything except getting their orders settled as quickly and as cheaply as possible. But both orders were complicated and it took more time and patience than either man had to see to all the details. I wished Mr. Ashton would get back!

  “Look, young lady,” said one of the men finally, “I’ve got other places to go. Can’t you hurry this up?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m shorthanded today and am doing the best I can.”

  “I never had problems like this down in Sacramento.”

  “Yeah, and prices are cheaper down there too,” now put in the other man sarcastically.

  “The price on this harness is set by the manufacturer,” I said, “as is the price on that jack and the others items of your order,” I said, turning to the second man. “We charge no more than they do in Sacramento.”

  “Maybe,” he replied, “but they’d have everything in stock and we wouldn’t have to wait for them.”

  I bit my tongue and didn’t reply, and I did my best to finish filling out the two orders cheerfully. By the time both men left, they were still griping about our prices and delays, and I was steaming inside all over again. I wanted to shout at both of them, “Don’t you know this business has been serving the people of Miracle Springs for almost twenty years and that my stepmother has given her life’s blood for it?”

  I went back to my work as best I could. Mr. Ashton returned, and I was glad. When Mrs. Ford came in, I let him assist her.

  “Good day, Mrs. Ford,” he said, rising and approaching the counter.

  “Is my husband’s saddle in?” she said without smiling.

  “Not yet. We’re expecting it any day.”

  “He told me not to take no for an answer.”

  “I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do to hurry it up. It’s already on its way. I believe I told him it would be a week, and that was five days ago.”

  “He said it should have been in by now.”

  “As I said, it could be any day. We’ll deliver it to your husband the moment it arrives.”

  She turned and left in a huff, muttering something about the service not being what it once was and closing the door with an extra hard yank of her hand.

  By the end of the day I was worn out emotionally and physically. I could see why occasionally Almeda needed a break!

  I rode home, still not having seen Christopher since morning. As I walked into our little bunkhouse I was looking forward to a quiet cozy evening with him. I noticed how cold and dark it was inside, having had no people there all day. The air felt like it had stopped moving, and the very stillness was heavy.

  I went to work quickly to make it feel like a home again. I built a fire in the stove and began stirring up a batch of muffins. I still had some stew left over from the day before. Most of all, I just wanted some time with Christopher to share my frustrations from the day.

  As the house began to warm up I began to recover from my fatigue, looking forward all the more to sitting down with Christopher and enjoying our quiet and peaceful evening together.

  I had the table set and the food all ready by the time Christopher came home. He was later than I expected, and I had begun to wonder what was keeping him. I went outside a time or two, looking up the road toward town and listening for the sound of his horse. I picked a few sprigs of lavender I had planted out of the yard, and with a few forget-me-nots made a pretty little bouquet.

  I walked back inside and put the flowers in a vase and set it on the center of the table. Just as I was finishing with it, I heard a horse approach. I went out just as Christopher dismounted. He came toward me, smiled weakly, and kissed the top of my forehead as he handed me his lunch can.

  “Welcome home!” I said. “A hard day?”

  “Yeah, and I’m pretty dirty too,” he nodded.
“I think I’ll go out back and chop up some kindling.”

  “Don’t you want to get cleaned up?”

  “Not just yet. And I’ve got to put the horse away.” He turned to go.

  “But supper’s all ready and waiting.”

  “You go ahead. I’m not very hungry.”

  With that he turned and went back to his horse and slowly led him toward the barn. I stood watching, wondering what was the matter. I sighed and walked back into the bunkhouse. I took out what he hadn’t eaten from his lunch can, wondering why he hadn’t finished the slabs of buttered bread and the apple. I rinsed the can out. A few minutes later I heard the sound of the ax begin chopping away out back.

  Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore. I went outside and slowly approached. Christopher was chopping away as if it were morning rather than the end of a long day.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked as he finished one piece of wood and reached down for another.

  He glanced up, seemingly surprised at the sound of my voice, with an expression almost as if he’d forgotten I existed. “Oh, nothing,” he said.

  I stood there just a moment longer, then turned and went back inside, unable to prevent myself starting to get mad. I thought we were supposed to talk and share with each other!

  I dished out some stew, buttered a muffin, and sat down at my place at the table and tried to eat. But I could only swallow one spoonful. It tasted terrible! Then I started to cry. What was going on?

  Finally I got up and went across the room and sat down with a quilt on the little sofa, where I cried myself to sleep.

  I woke up with Christopher shaking me and telling me it was time to go to bed. It was dark outside and obviously late. I didn’t know what had happened to the dinner, but the chill told me the fire was out. I got up sleepily and we both silently prepared ourselves for bed. My heart ached.

  When I woke up the next morning Christopher was already gone. When I saw him again the following evening, his spirits were better, though I never did find out what had been bothering him.