by Janette Oke
Emily had not considered that before.
“You have been remarkably free of sickness this winter—but your faculty has been praying for you week by week.”
Emily’s eyes widened. She had no idea that her health was the subject of faculty prayers.
“Perhaps God has seen fit to answer those prayers in spite of your disobedience.” Miss Herrington’s gentle tone took some of the sting out of the words. “Because—because,” she went on, “He saw a girl who wanted to get all she could from her studies.”
Emily blinked.
“But,” continued the preceptress, “one should not press, or be presumptuous, with God.”
Emily wondered if the preceptress had been on the verge of saying “press one’s luck.” In spite of her mortification over the interview, she found it hard to suppress a smile.
“From now on, I shall expect you to be in bed at the proper hour.”
“Yes, Miss Herrington,” agreed Emily in a subdued tone.
“If you need to have more study time, we will try to find some other way for you to manage it.”
The kindness and consideration of the older woman surprised Emily. She had not expected such understanding.
Emily’s eyes brimmed again. She felt more chastised than if she had been assigned further kitchen duty or soundly scolded for her crime.
“I am sorry—truly, I am,” she sobbed. The woman offered her a clean handkerchief and Emily murmured her thanks.
“Miss Evans,” the preceptress said, “you realize that if you had not come to me about your disobedience and I had discovered it another way, I could not have avoided disciplinary action.”
Emily nodded and wiped her eyes, greatly relieved that she had been moved to seek forgiveness.
Miss Herrington reached out and patted her hand.
“Let’s hear nothing more about it,” she stated matter-of- factly, and Emily knew she had been dismissed. Dismissed and forgiven. Feeling a load had been lifted from her heart, she slipped from the room. She had not been condemned. She had not been removed from the list for future service. With great relief, Emily went back to her room to wash her face.
“Now if only Father will understand about my call ...” she said under her breath and reached for her towel and washcloth.
Chapter Five
Sharing the News
Spring was knocking at the back door of winter when Emily stepped off the train at Jamestown station for her weekend at home. Here and there a bird twittered in expectation of warmer days. Bits of hardy green showed in small patches against the southern side of buildings where the snow had been forced to give way by warm sunshine. Emily took a deep breath and smiled her anticipation of milder weather, which she yearned for. Her health was always much better in the summertime.
If I go home with a bounce to my step and a healthy glow on my cheeks, Father won’t be quite so hard to convince, she had reasoned to herself on the train ride home.
But even with those positive thoughts, Emily wondered.
Just how would her father accept the news of her “calling”? Besides his feeling regarding women preachers, he had inferred that Emily needed a hardy, solid man to care for her, to protect her from the strains that life often imposed. That probably was why he considered Will Pearson a good candidate. It was true that Emily’s shoulders were not broad, nor her frame strong. But God has other strengths He gives His servants, Emily reasoned.
Emily’s father greeted her at the station. She could feel his eyes scan her quickly. I’m glad I had my coat properly buttoned, she thought to herself. Then her glance followed his to her feet. She had neglected to wear her overshoes again.
“The streets were quite clear in Regis,” she said defensively. “I didn’t even think to wear my—”
He just nodded, his face solemn, as he reached for the small valise she carried. Emily knew he was not pleased with her carelessness.
She circled a spring puddle and had to run a few steps to catch up to her father, who had splashed directly through with his farm boots. She sought for something to say, but she couldn’t think of anything except, “How are Ina and Annabelle?”
“They’re doing good. Ina’s fixin’ supper and Annabelle wasn’t home from school yet, so I came by myself.” They lapsed again into silence.
When they reached the team and wagon, her father nodded for her to get in while he placed the valise on the floor boards. Emily climbed stiffly over the wheel and settled herself for the ride.
They were almost home before her father said, “How’s school?”
“Fine,” responded Emily, continuing to watch a distant V of returning Canada geese.
There was a moment of silence, and then her father spoke again.
“How’s school?”
Emily jerked to attention. Her father had always used this device with his children. If they answered absent-mindedly, he simply repeated the question until they gave it proper consideration.
Emily’s heart began to pound. Is now the time to tell Father about my call? She took a deep breath and decided to get it over with. Perhaps then they would have the rest of the weekend to sort it through—work it out.
“We had a wonderful chapel service recently,” Emily began with a deep breath. “The Witts were there, and Rev. Witt spoke about the need for church workers. Then he gave an altar call. He asked those who felt God was calling them to serve Him to step out and come forward.”
Emily stopped for breath—and courage. “Eight students went forward.”
She hesitated again.
Her father had been watching her face as she spoke, and Emily turned to him now. She saw his eyes were alight and he answered almost under his breath, “Praise God.”
Emily was pleased with his response. She knew her father was deeply interested in enlarging their mission of reaching local communities, particularly ones that had no church.
Emily took another deep breath and then blurted out hurriedly before the gleam left her father’s eyes, “I was one of them.”
A startled look passed over his face. Emily waited for the lecture to begin. There was nothing. Only silence. His eyes shifted back to the team he was driving. One foot stirred restlessly on the wooden boards of the wagon. Emily could see his hands tighten on the reins.
Still he did not speak. He had just thanked God that young people had been called to preach. And now he had to face the giving of his own flesh and blood—and one not too strong at that.
At length he nodded—just nodded his head in acknowledgment. He could hardly take back his expression of praise to God. But Emily could see the uncertainty in his eyes.
“Where?” was his simple response.
Emily shrugged her slim shoulders. “I—I don’t know where—yet. Rev. Witt said that—that God would show us where.”
He seemed to relax then. “You know you’re not very strong,” he began gently.
Emily’s chin came up. “Scripture says that God often chooses the weak things to confound the strong,” she reminded him.
He nodded, his expression saying there was no use arguing against Scripture.
They rode in silence again. Emily could tell that her father was mulling over the news. Finally he spoke again. “So who’s the young man?”
Emily did not understand. “The what?” she asked.
“The man. When you were home at Christmas, you told about a preacher and his wife both servin’ together. I don’t recall your writing about someone special. I would like to know the man my daughter will be sharing her life with. Who will you be goin’—”
“Oh,” cut in Emily quickly, “I—I’m not interested in anyone. I’m quite prepared to go alone.”
This did bring a sharp reaction from her father. “Alone?” he thundered. “That’s absurd. You can’t just go off and run a church alone. A young girl like you—sickly and—”
“I’m not sickly,” Emily protested. “I’ve much more strength than you credit me with, Father. And I
will have God to—”
“It’s unheard of,” her father continued, paying little attention to Emily’s arguments. “It wouldn’t even be decent for a young woman to be on her own. To try to manage a church. How can the district superintendent even consider such a thing? I won’t hear of it! Not for one of my girls.”
Emily bit her tongue. Now was not the time for the discussion to continue. Tears stung her eyes, but she wisely made no further comment. Inwardly she prayed. Prayed that He would speak to her father. If she was to answer God’s call, He would need to convince her father that it was proper and right for a young woman.
“We’ll talk later,” he said at last, patting her arm a bit stiffly and flicking the reins to hasten the team.
He needs time to think—to pray, Emily concluded.
It was not until Mr. Evans was driving Emily back to catch her train that the subject was broached again.
“You know you are often ill,” he began softly.
Emily nodded in silent agreement. It would have been foolish to try to deny it.
“You know that directing a church is hard, hard work.”
Emily nodded at that as well.
“Why don’t they send out two women together?” he demanded.
“There aren’t enough of us to double up like that,” Emily tried to explain.
“You’ll likely spend many hours alone.”
“I know,” whispered Emily, the tears threatening to come.
“You’ll have no one there to lean on.”
“God will be there,” Emily insisted in a trembling voice.
The plodding of the team, the creaking of the wagon wheels, and the occasional twitter of a bird were the only intrusions on the silence.
“And you still wish to do it?” Emily’s father finally asked.
Emily turned pleading eyes to him. The tears clung to her lashes and she swallowed the lump in her throat.
“It is not what I want that is important,” she murmured in a whispery voice. “I have been called, Papa. To disobey would only bring heartache. I must—I must answer my call.”
She called him Papa only at very intimate times. It was what her mother had often called him. “Go ask your papa,” the girls would be told. Or, “Call your papa for dinner.” He turned his face slightly to hide his deep emotion. After a time, he cleared his throat and turned back to Emily.
“Then by all means, be obedient,” he said huskily. “I—I will do—whatever I can to help.”
With a glad little cry Emily leaned against her father and took his large hand in both her small ones.
“Thank you, Papa,” she said through her tears. She knew her prayer had been answered.
Chapter Six
Preparations
Emily went home to help Ina at the farm over the summer months. She had wished she could go out on some summer mission, some endeavor that would fit in with preparing herself for her future work. But her father had requested that she spend the time with them, and she was anxious to honor his wishes where possible.
The summer eventually was over, though it seemed to Emily twice as long as normal. She was glad to pack her trunk and her suitcase and board the train for school.
But just maybe, she reasoned with herself as her train chugged south, just maybe these weeks of canning beans and tomatoes with Ina were the very best way I could have spent the summer. Maybe even the best preparation....
Back into the rhythm of school life, she conscientiously obeyed the dorm rules, which meant that she was in bed on time. I might as well be up studying, she sometimes grumbled as she lay in bed with her eyes wide open, the threat of an impending exam hanging over her troubled head. Her grades slipped a little, but she struggled on, willing herself to make use of each precious moment of her day. Lord, I trust you with my time, my health, and my grades, she prayed.
Her social life dwindled down to almost none, and she soon became known as “Nose-In-A-Book Emily.” She seldom had time to indulge in a leisurely stroll uptown or a game of table tennis in the recreation room. But Emily didn’t mind. She knew she needed to cram as much Bible learning into the short year as she possibly could.
She’d already had two interviews with the district superintendent, and on both occasions he had assured her that he would see she got a position as soon as she qualified.
A reading course had to be fulfilled, and Emily laboriously tried to fit it in along with her studies. It was difficult for her to read and report on all the required books, but if she didn’t she would be delayed in getting a church posting. Her effort to keep pace left Emily hurried and exhausted.
Emily daily thanked God for strength, feeling that He truly was watching over her, certain He was as anxious for her to make it through the grueling school year as she was. Then two and a half weeks before the end of the term, she felt the familiar ache in her bones, the pinching tightness to her throat.
For a few hours she tried to deny that she had the flu, but her throbbing head and the flush of her face drew others’ attention to her dilemma.
“Are you sick, dear?” Miss Herrington asked, touching a cold hand to Emily’s forehead, and she had to nod in truthfulness.
“I think you should be in bed,” responded the practical preceptress.
“I can’t,” moaned Emily. “I have a paper due tomorrow.”
“I’m afraid the paper will have to wait,” the preceptress continued. “Who is the teacher? I’ll speak to him.”
Emily told her and reluctantly headed for her room. By now the stairs were moving strangely. Emily clung to the bannister, scarcely knowing where to place her foot for the next step.
Miss Herrington came with some medication just as Emily pulled the covers up over her flannel nightgown and settled her head on the softly floating pillow.
Emily found it difficult to swallow as she tried to wash the pills down with a glass of orange juice.
“I will have Ruth double up with Judith tonight,” the lady said. “That way you will not be disturbed and Ruth will have less chance of catching the bug.”
Emily nodded.
“Do you feel sick to your stomach?” the preceptress asked.
Emily shook her head.
“Well, I’ll leave this basin handy just in case,” Miss Herrington went on. “And I will look in on you often.”
Emily mumbled her thanks and willed the pills to work soon.
It was well that Miss Herrington had the foresight to leave the basin. Emily was soon in need of it—over and over again. The medication won’t have any chance to work, Emily moaned. Miss Herrington was kept busy rinsing the basin and bathing Emily’s flushed face.
For four days the chills and fever raged. Emily could feel the strength being sucked from her slight body. When she could think nearly coherently, she felt angry and disappointed that the day of graduation was drawing so near and she would not be ready. Her assignments were not completed. If only—if only—she argued; if only the flu could have waited for a few more weeks!
And then Emily had no more strength to fight. She gave in to the ravaging illness and was content to lay her weary, aching head upon the pillow and try to rest.
When she finally felt a little better, it was only a few days until the term would end. I’m so far behind, I’ll never catch up, Emily concluded despondently. With reluctant and unsteady steps she made her way to the dean’s office.
Professor Henry was more than considerate. He looked at all Emily’s courses, promised to talk to the teachers, and assured her that they would do everything possible to help her to get the necessary work done the week she had left.
Concessions and shortcuts approved by the faculty along with Emily’s hard work meant that she was somehow able to meet the requirements. But she had to lay aside her required reading. So when she finished the school term, graduating with her class, she was unable to present herself for service as a mission worker along with the others.
It pained Emily deeply when Ruth showed h
er certificate of approval and told excitedly where she would be serving.
“There is no church there-not yet. I am to start one,” Ruth enthused. “I will have two Sunday services, actually. One in the Midland schoolhouse on Sunday mornings and the other at the Dunnagan school in the afternoon.”
It sounded like a big undertaking to Emily. It also sounded wonderful. She gave Ruth a firm hug and wished her well, but tears flowed freely down both faces.
“Where will you live?” Emily asked when she had her emotions under control.
“I’ll be boarding with a neighborhood family. I’m sure it will be crowded. They have a family of six, I’ve been told.”
“Well, there’s a good start to your church right there,” Emily said with a wobbly smile, and Ruth answered with another hug.
But both girls knew that the situation would not be easy. Ruth had been raised as an only child and was not used to the noise and activity of a crowded house. And Ruth liked a lot of quiet time in which to think and pray and plan her sermons.
“I’ll make it—somehow,” Ruth said in response to Emily’s look of concern.
Emily nodded, trying to coax up a confident smile.
“And what will you do?” asked Ruth seriously. “I know how much you wanted to be ready—now.”
Emily nodded slowly, trying to mask the disappointment she was feeling.
“I’m going home,” she said with just a small tremor in her voice. “I’ve been told I must regain my strength-and I still have to complete the reading course ... so-o ...”
She shrugged and forced a smile.
“When do you think—?” began Ruth.
“Two or three weeks,” Emily cut in. “I hope. Of course Rev. Witt has urged me to take a bit longer. Well, we’ll see.”
A few days later the two girls stood on the Regis station platform waiting for the train that would take Ruth to her first posting.
“Isn’t it exciting about Verna?” Ruth asked enthusiastically.
Emily’s eyes lit up. Verna Woods, another classmate, had also responded to God’s call to serve, even if it meant going alone.
