by Janette Oke
Back in the church, Emily scrubbed all day Monday, all day Tuesday and Wednesday morning before she completed her task. Even so, she had been able to wash the walls only as high as her rickety chair would allow her to reach. The higher portion of the walls was not as dirty as the lower, except where the sparrows had been, but still the dust hung heavily on them. She had tried tying her cloth to the broom and scrubbing above her head with that. But it did a poor job at best, and finally Emily decided to leave them just as they were.
She was just throwing out her last pail of dirty water when the truck with the furnishings pulled in. Excitement filled her whole being, but as she watched the two gentlemen unload the benches, Emily’s heart sank. The pews were very old and very used. Some church had replaced them and they obviously had been stored where the weather was able to get at them.
“They’ll need a good scrubbing, too,” Emily said to herself and looked down at her already rough, red hands.
The men were no more impressed with the little building than Emily had been.
“The windows need to be fixed,” said the man named Herb Collins.
“The whole thing needs some paint,” added Dick Lowe. “I—I didn’t have a ladder,” Emily explained, pointing at the line on the walls.
Mr. Lowe nodded. “Must have been a dirty job,” he said sympathetically.
“Is there a phone around?” asked Herb, and when Emily informed him there was one at the mercantile, he left the two of them and was gone for several minutes. When he came back he was carrying a ladder, which he put in the meeting room. Then he left again. Emily knew the men were no doubt hungry, so she excused herself to prepare a meal and went back to her little kitchen.
She was surprised when she returned to the church to call the men to dinner. Not only had the ladder been set up, but window glass, paint cans, brushes and various tools were all laid out. And the men had already set to work. Their first task was repairing the broken windows. Now Emily really felt excited. She would have some help in getting her church building in order.
The men decided to stay overnight to finish the repairs. Emily had no parishioners yet with whom to board them. She knew it would be senseless to offer her one small cot. The two ended up sleeping in the truck cab, assuming that the padded seat was somewhat softer than the church benches. Emily could only imagine how uncomfortable it must have been for them. She gave them her one spare blanket, then pulled the other one from her bed for them, too. She could do without the blanket far better than they.
The next day the men went from replacing the window glass to cleaning away the sign of birds, and then to the painting. Emily knew there was nothing much they could do about the splotches on the floor.
While the men painted the walls, Emily scrubbed down the wooden pews. But they were deeply stained and weathered, and washing wouldn’t help that. She did wish she had some way to cover the discolored wood, but she was getting more help now than she had expected. She would not ask for more.
The men finished the painting just before the supper hour, moved in the pews that Emily had left drying in the sun and sat down for one last time to Emily’s table. Then the truck disappeared down the dust-covered street and Emily was left waving at her gate that now swung on steady hinges. Mr. Lowe had somehow found the time to fix that as well.
Though dreadfully tired, Emily felt euphoric. It was only Thursday night. She had all day Friday and Saturday to make calls and invite the community people to the Sunday services. She could hardly wait to get started.
She lingered at the simple wooden pulpit after the two men had driven away, trying to envision what it would be like to face her congregation on Sunday morning. Her finger idly traced a large gouge that traveled over the pulpit’s entire surface. It looked as if it had served for years in many missions as small as Wesson Creek.
But even the battered pulpit could not daunt Emily’s buoyant spirits. It was not the building or the furnishings that mattered. It was the Word. The Bible was pure and righteous and unscathed by time or wear or even indifference. She could hardly wait for the opportunity to share it with this little community.
The next morning Emily bounded out of bed with the sunrise, eager to get started. I’m doing much better at getting up in the morning than I did during Bible school days, she thought wryly to herself. She spent extra time in her morning devotions—she needed God’s help and wisdom as she went from door to door inviting people to the Sunday services. Then she groomed carefully and pinned her bonnet securely to her hair in case a breeze might come up. It would not do for the new mission worker to appear in public looking wind-blown and frazzled.
Emily set out, Bible in hand, with a brisk step. In her other hand was the borrowed paint brush to return to its owner. Besides, she knew no better place than the mercantile to begin her invitations.
Emily entered the store and paused to adjust her eyes as quickly as possible to the dim light. A figure stirred behind the far counter, and Emily hastened toward the spot, her voice preceding her with a merry, “Good morning. I am returning your brush. I can’t thank you enough—”
But a gruff voice stopped her in her tracks. “My what?”
Emily instantly recognized the voice. It belonged to the man with the vacant farmhouse and the sagging barn. The man whose fence she had unwittingly dismantled.
“I’m—I’m sorry,” she stammered, frozen where she stood. “I—I thought the store owner was here.”
“He is!” the man snorted.
Emily’s eyes had adjusted now. There he was, his huge frame towering over the counter, his face just as dark, just as challenging as she remembered it.
“I—I thought—” Emily stumbled.
Just then the woman who had helped Emily previously entered the shop. Relieved, Emily motioned in her direction, “I thought she—”
“Well, she don’t,” the man countered gruffly.
But the woman did not appear to be one bit intimidated by the size or the roar of the man. She approached Emily with an outstretched hand and accepted the brush from her.
“Did it work all right?” she asked amicably, to which Emily nodded dumbly.
“Did ya have enough calcimine?” the woman went on, and Emily nodded to that as well.
“My brother John owns the store,” the clerk explained simply. “I keep his house and help out in the store a bit when he’s not around.”
Emily’s eyes turned from the man to the woman. “I ... I see,” she managed.
“Ya had some help with the—the church,” the woman went on, and the shine came back to Emily’s eyes.
“Yes,” she responded enthusiastically. “It’s ready now—ready for Sunday. I—I dropped by to extend an invitation for service. Ten o’clock.”
But the glow in Emily’s eyes was not reflected in the eyes of the woman. “Reckon John and me don’t feel much need for church,” she answered firmly.
Emily had known she could expect refusals to her invitation, but now that she had one, she hardly knew what to do.
She quickly regained control, managed a wobbly smile, and said, “Well, should you ever change your mind, you’ll be more than welcome.”
Emily heard another snort from the tall man, but she did not turn to look at him. Instead, she addressed the woman, “And you are most welcome to come for tea—anytime.”
She wasn’t sure how to read the quick change in the woman’s eyes, but the man scoffed, “Tea partyin’ now!”
Emily turned to him then. She did hope her face showed a calmness she did not feel.
“I—I am glad to meet you again, Mr.—Mr. John. I didn’t know where to find you, and I do still owe you for the damage done to your fence,” she said.
“And thet ya do,” the man asserted.
“I’m a little short of cash right now,” Emily continued with flushed cheeks, “but if we could arrange for monthly payments—” She fumbled in her purse as she spoke and took out some coins as a token of good faith. She held t
hem out to him, but the woman brushed her hand aside.
“Thet fence weren’t worth a plugged nickel,” she said firmly. “The rest of it is gonna fall down any day now.”
The man cleared his throat awkwardly. “Vera’s right,” he admitted. “No need to make payment fer the fence.” He turned abruptly and left the room through a door directly behind him.
Emily turned to the woman. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, “but my horse really did damage his fence.”
“I know. I know,” replied the woman with a wave of her hand. “He told me ‘bout it. But thet fence wouldn’t have held nothin’—let alone a work horse. I have no qualms ‘bout takin’ money where money is due—but thet broken fence weren’t worth nothin’.”
Emily let the coins drop into her purse.
“And besides,” the woman continued, “thet farmstead, old and out of shape as it is, it belongs to me jest as much as to him.”
Emily murmured another thank you and left the store to continue her visiting.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday
By the time night had fallen, Emily had visited nearly all of the homes in the little town. Though no one had been outright rude, Emily was wise enough to know that the various evasive answers she received to her invitation would likely not result in a high attendance come Sunday.
Still, there were a few homes where she had felt accepted and even warmly welcomed. At least some of the children appeared excited about the prospect of a Sunday school. Emily went to bed feeling that she had done her best, and promised herself that she would spend the next day traveling some of the outlying country roads.
But when Emily arose the next morning, it was to another thunderstorm and drenching rain. She knew it would be foolhardy to attempt taking the horses and buggy out in such weather. She settled in to prepare a Sunday school lesson and her sermon for the next day.
All day long the rain poured down. It was midafternoon before Emily thought of making some kind of signs to announce the meetings. At her kitchen table she wrote out the pertinent information on cardboard. Bundled up in a rain cape and galoshes, she started out, not quite sure where she could post her signs. One was tacked to the church door. She wished she could put one on the door of the mercantile. But with the poor impression she had already made on the owner, she dared not even suggest such a thing.
The blacksmith shop didn’t seem appropriate for such notices, so she passed it by and went on to the drugstore next door. The man behind the counter seemed eager enough to welcome her until she explained her mission. Then his eyes grew distant and he fumbled for an explanation.
“Don’t allow advertisin’ here,” he mumbled, but Emily knew differently. She had seen other local notices posted on his door and in his windows. He saw her eyes drift over the premises and hastened to add, “About religious things. Some folks are touchy about such things. I don’t want to offend anyone, you understand?”
Emily understood all too well. She smiled brightly and left the store.
At her next stop, Sophie’s Coffee Shop, Emily met with a warmer reception.
“Sure,” said the plump, youngish matron called Sophie in a rather boisterous voice. “Stick it wherever ya want. This town needs all the excitement it can get.”
Emily wasn’t sure that her church service would be considered exciting, but she thankfully posted her little notice.
“Haven’t had many folks in today,” the woman commented. “Rainin’ too hard. Why don’t ya sit down and have a coffee,” she continued. “Ya gonna make yerself sick, runnin’ around in this weather.”
How many times had Emily heard her father say those words? “I didn’t bring my purse,” she stammered, but the woman waved aside her comment.
“No matter. This one’s on the house. Made this whole pot here, an’ hardly anyone’s been in. Hate to jest throw it out.” Then Sophie paused and said apologetically, “Unless ya have beliefs against coffee drinkin’.”
Emily smiled. She didn’t care much for coffee, but she had no feelings about it being forbidden. “I would appreciate a cup. Thank you.”
The woman took two cups from the shelf and filled them from the steaming pot, placed one in front of Emily and pulled up a chair to the table. “I’m Sophie,” she said, pointing toward the sign on her door. “And you are... ?”
After Emily told her, she commented, “So yer startin’ a church.”
Emily nodded.
“I used to go to church when I was a kid,” the woman continued. “My ma saw to thet.”
“She sounds like a good mother,” Emily replied with a smile.
But the woman quickly changed the topic of church. Emily wondered if she was a bit fearful of where it might lead.
“Whatcha think of our town?” Sophie asked.
Emily took a sip of the hot coffee. It did taste good and felt even better. In her short time in the pouring rain, she was already damp and chilled.
“I’ve been so busy trying to get things ready for Sunday that I’ve scarcely had time to form an opinion—but I’m sure I’m going to love it.”
“You grow up in a small town or a city?” Sophie asked next.
“Neither,” smiled Emily. “I was a farm kid.”
“Me, too,” the woman responded. “Hated it. Went off to the city when I was fourteen.”
“Alone?” asked Emily before she could check herself.
The woman nodded her head and fidgeted with her cup, lifted it up and set it back down, then abruptly spoke to Emily again.
“Ya mind if I smoke?”
Emily was caught off guard. She did mind. The thought of a woman smoking—and in public—was, to her, shocking. She wondered if as the new mission worker she should express how she felt, but she looked at the nervous woman and said instead, “Go ahead, if you wish.” Emily hated the smell of the smoke drifting around their heads, but she tried not to show it. After all, it was Sophie’s cafe.
Sophie inhaled deeply, blew more smoke into the air above Emily’s head and spoke again. “Didn’t like the city, either. Tough place. Bunch of pushy people. I wasn’t trained for any kind of good work. Cleaned rooms—tended bars. I hated it. Then I met Nick and we came here and got us this little cafe. Well, things was goin’ great ‘til Nick decided this town was too dead for ’im. He went back to the city an’ I stayed on here.”
She blew another cloud of smoke into the air. Emily felt that she should respond, but she didn’t know what to say.
The woman went on. “Heard later thet he got married again. Well, I have the cafe. Not much, but it’s a livin’. Me an’ the kids are makin’ out fine.”
Here was something Emily could respond to. “How many ch—kids do you have?” she asked.
“Four. We had ’em one after the other. They was four, three, two and one when Nick left me.”
“I’m sorry,” Emily whispered, picturing in her mind how difficult it must have been.
Sophie grinned bravely. “So was I—at the time,” she responded. “But now I figure as how Nick didn’t do me so bad after all. He really weren’t all thet great a guy. Though he was the best thet I seemed to be able to get. Now—life’s really not so bad. I enjoy the kids. Turned out pretty good, if I do say so.”
“How old are they now?” asked Emily.
“Eight, seven, six and five,” the woman answered, pride in her eyes.
“I do hope they can come to Sunday school,” Emily suggested shyly.
Sophie puffed silently on her cigarette. After blowing a blue cloud into the air, she smiled at Emily. “Sure. Why not?” she agreed. “Didn’t hurt me none.”
On Sunday Emily awoke to the sound of more rain beating methodically on her roof. Her first thought was of the Sunday service. “No one will come in this weather,” she moaned and climbed reluctantly from her bed.
It was even worse than she feared when she looked outside the window. The street was one large muddy pool. There was not a soul in sight. Emily sighed deeply.
She couldn’t expect anyone to brave such weather.
A morose Emily sat down to her breakfast. All her preparation had been in vain—at least for this Sunday. She wouldn’t be using the lessons today after all.
An hour before the appointed time for the service, Emily shrugged into her coat, wrapped her bonnet, Bible and lessons carefully in a towel and tucked them into a large pail, put the lid on and started the short walk around to the front of the building. She would be there, with a warming fire in the pot-belly stove, just in case someone did come.
Emily opened the front door to the church, pleased at least about the clean meeting room, but her happy expression turned to dismay. The roof leaked. Badly. Emily’s scrubbed floor was now covered with dark puddles. A steady stream of rain water fell in a dozen places, the newly painted walls were streaked with trails of dirty water.
Emily was heartbroken. There were only a few benches in the room that were not rain-soaked. What would she do now? With a heavy heart she put down her pail and moved toward the stove.
The fire started slowly, and Emily wondered if the chimney was plugged, but suddenly the flames began to lick at the wood, and warmth spilled into the dismal room. Emily warmed her back at the fire and looked forlornly out the new windows while the minutes ticked by.
No one is coming, she finally conceded. It is well past time. I might as well go back to the house. She picked up her pail and started out the door, securing it carefully behind her.
The long day was not helped when the rain slackened in midafternoon—it was too late to aid her planned service anyway.
She went to bed early, hoping to sleep away the storm and her discouragement.
When she arose the next morning the rain had ceased, but the sky was still dark and glowering. Without hesitation she drew out her writing materials and began a letter to the district superintendent.
