by Janette Oke
Midafternoon it began to snow again and continued on throughout the evening and into the night. By the next morning Emily had eight inches of fluffy snow on her walks. It was Sunday, and Emily did not want her little congregation struggling through the new snowfall to reach her church door.
As she swept vigorously with her kitchen broom, a voice from behind her said, “Hi! Need some help?” It was Nicky, Sophie’s oldest.
“Mom spotted ya,” he said with a grin. “She said ya won’t get nowhere with that.” He pointed at the broom in her hands.
Emily smiled. “It’s all I have. Hadn’t even thought to prepare myself with a shovel.”
“I’ve got one,” said Nicky, holding a battered but serviceable shovel out for Emily to see. “I’ll shovel and you sweep behind me.”
Emily thought it was a good plan. They worked as a team, their breath puffing out before them in little silvery clouds.
“Look,” called Nicky, “I’m a dragon.”
Emily shared in his laughter.
In the weeks ahead, winter was no longer kind to the folks of the town and community of Wesson Creek. Emily watched the snow become deeper and deeper in the piles beside her walk. Each time she shovelled more onto the pile, she thanked the Lord for His answer to her prayer for a shovel of her own. One day, quite unexpectedly, she had spotted a handle protruding from the snow by the backyard fence. Emily tugged and pulled until a shovel made an appearance. She hadn’t noticed it earlier in the year because she didn’t need it. She couldn’t help but say “Thank you, Lord!” right then and there. But then she took a closer look. The handle was broken. It had been put back together, but the patching too had cracked.
At first Emily had felt keen disappointment, but then she brightened at a sudden idea. Maybe for a few of her precious coins, she could buy a new handle. She would pay a visit to the store next door.
Big John McMann stood behind the counter. Emily didn’t dread seeing him as much as she had in the past. He was still gruff and curt and still plagued her with jests and testing each time that they did business, but Emily sensed a softening in his demeanor.
“Good morning,” she said brightly as she approached his counter.
“Whatcha got?” he growled in return.
“I’ve been in need of a shovel,” said Emily, her eyes reflecting her excitement. “I found this one by the back fence. Can the handle be fixed—or replaced?”
“Fixed, no. But replaced, no problem.”
“How much would a handle be?” asked Emily timidly.
“Let’s see it,” said Big John, and Emily struggled to lift the shovel across the counter.
“Reckon I could put on a new one fer fifty cents,” he growled.
“You will fix it?” Emily could scarcely believe her ears. She’d been sure she would need to do the replacing herself, though she had no idea how to go about it, and certainly had no tools if it required that.
“Comes with the price of the handle,” said Big John, not even lifting his eyes.
“I’ll—I’ll take it,” responded Emily and opened her purse to carefully count out the coins.
But Big John did not hold out his hand for the change.
“Why don’t ya jest throw those coins in the offerin’ on Sunday?”
Emily could not believe her ears. She looked at the big man uncertainly. He stared back at her.
“Don’t believe none in this here gospel-stuff,” he hastened to inform Emily, “but always did like to carry a bit of insurance.”
Emily’s mouth dropped open, her eyes grew big, and then she slowly laid the change on the counter.
“I’m afraid this Policy is all or nothing, Mr. John. It’s not insurance—it’s assurance.” She held his eyes steadily.
Big John reached down, picked up the coins and tossed them into his till. He still said nothing, nor did Emily.
“I’ll have it ready fer ya to pick up in the mornin’,” he finally said with a nod toward the shovel in his hands.
“Thank you,” replied Emily softly. “I appreciate that,” and she quietly left the store.
The winter temperatures dropped until Emily spent most of some days hauling in wood so she could keep her little house warm and have the small church somewhat comfortable for Sundays. She was alarmed that the woodpile she had considered so huge was rapidly decreasing in size. But Mr. Reilly noticed too and told her not to be concerned. He was arranging with neighborhood men to add to the pile in plenty of time to meet Emily’s need.
What did worry Emily was the depletion of her food supplies. Her vegetables, carefully stored in the cellar beneath her kitchen, were nearly gone. But it was her nearly empty cupboard that gave her the most concern. By now it was not at all uncommon for women of the community to drop in for a warming cup of tea or coffee after a cold drive to town. Emily welcomed the opportunity to show hospitality. Some of the women who came did not attend church, and Emily felt the visits were a wonderful time for them to get to know one another better and perhaps give her occasion to share her faith in a nonthreatening setting.
But these visits were hard on her resources. Still she was determined that the women would always be welcome, that she would always try to supply them with tea—or coffee—to warm them and, as long as possible, a cookie or piece of cake to enjoy with the hot drink.
The flour was the first to give out. Then the sugar crock emptied—except for one cupful that Emily set aside for her visitors who took sugar with their cup of tea. Emily was glad she always had cream. Mrs. Reilly kept her in constant supply of milk and eggs.
Emily was also thankful for the eggs. She never needed to go hungry as long as she had eggs in the house—she cooked eggs as many ways as she knew how.
“If I can just manage at least tea and coffee until I go home for Christmas,” Emily said to herself over and over. “Then Father will see to it that I get some supplies again.”
Emily was looking forward to Christmas and seeing her family again. It would be wonderful to just relax away from all her responsibilities. She loved the work, but it was a constant drain on all her reserves.
She had planned a children’s Christmas program. All her Sunday school children were involved and met at the church for practice after school on Tuesdays and again on Saturdays. Along with all the rest of Emily’s duties, rehearsals certainly made her days busy. She prayed for continued health so she could keep up to the strenuous schedule. Just carrying in the wood to heat the church on so many occasions was a constant chore.
Emily felt a cold coming on, but she fought against it with all her strength and managed to keep going.
The night of the program arrived, and Emily was very pleased to see her small congregation of between ten and fifteen grow to thirty-nine.
Oh, if only we could have the church this full all the time! she enthused, carefully studying the audience to see where she needed to concentrate her calling on people after the Christmas season.
As Emily swept and tidied the little church the next day, she felt happier than she had for weeks. The program had been a great success. The children who took part had been so happy with the enthusiasm of the crowd. Those who had attended the little church for the first time seemed quite delighted with the evening. Emily could see great possibilities for growth now that more of the community had been introduced to the small congregation. Perhaps after Christmas there would be a real upswing in progress.
Christmas! Such a beautiful, powerful word to Emily. She stopped her sweeping, thrilled at the thought that God had actually given His Son. What a wonderful love gift to the world—to her.
Christmas! A time to see family again. Emily suddenly realized just how homesick she was. She had not really allowed herself to think of it before, but she missed her father. She missed Ina and Annabelle. She missed her familiar room, the warm coziness of the farmhouse kitchen, the security of warm fires and full cupboards and no responsibilities to make the provision. Emily could scarcely wait to reach home ag
ain. Her family was coming for her by car on the morrow, and she would have a full week at home before returning to the duties of the Wesson Creek parish.
After finishing her work in the little church, Emily returned to her rooms in a dreamy mood. With a thoughtful smile she took up her purse with its few cents and slipped into her coat and boots.
Miss McMann was busy adding stock to the shelves. Emily called a greeting, and the woman turned. “Feelin’ cheery, ain’t ya,” she commented, but she didn’t appear to share Emily’s holiday spirit.
“I get to go home for Christmas tomorrow,” Emily offered in explanation, and the woman nodded. But no smile filled her eyes.
Emily presented a short list of items and held her breath while the woman totalled the amount. Emily sighed with relief when she found she would be able to cover the cost of the purchases. She counted out the coins. She had two thin dimes left—but it was enough. Emily picked up her small bag of items and left happily for the parsonage.
In her warm little kitchen, Emily set to work at once, snatches of “O Little Town of Bethlehem” coming from her lips as she worked. Sophie and Mrs. Travis had always been so kind to her. She would say her thank you at this Christmas season by doing some baking for their children.
When the cookies had cooled, Emily decorated them with the resourcefulness of the creative in strained circumstances. When she was done she smiled at the snowmen, angels and holly wreaths. They looked rather cute in spite of the little with which she had to work. She hoped the children would enjoy them, and Emily carefully bundled up her little offerings of love and set out.
At Sophie’s cafe she found the place bristling with activity. Sophie was so busy serving coffee and pie that Emily herself picked up the pot and for a half hour scrambled back and forth to keep up with the customers.
When at last the Christmas shoppers had drifted back out to the street, Sophie brushed back her hair with a weary hand and invited Emily to share a cup of coffee.
“I’d love to,” said Emily, “but I need to get out to the Travises. I have some cookies for the children, and if I don’t make it there soon, I’ll be walking in the dark.”
“Would ya like Nicky to go with ya?” offered Sophie.
“Oh no. No, I’ll be just fine. I’ve walked that road so often I’m sure I could walk it in the dark if I had to,” Emily assured her and shrugged into her coat.
Sophie surprised her by giving her a quick hug. “Thanks for the cookies,” she whispered. “The kids’ll love ‘em. I never seem to get time to do anything special for ’em.”
Emily smiled and returned the hug warmly.
Walking briskly to the Travis farm, Emily noticed the air was colder and a wind was stirring the bare branches of the trees along the road. The sun had disappeared behind a heavy cloud cover. Emily increased her speed.
But as Emily hastened up the drive toward the Travis home, she heard a commotion coming from the farmhouse. Angry shouts were followed by shrieks of an even more intense nature. Emily stopped mid-stride, not knowing what she should do.
“Don’t go in there,” a muffled voice warned from the shadows, and Emily turned to see Rena cowering in a corner of the shrubbery, a skimpy blanket pressed tightly around her slight body.
Emily hurried to the child and drew the little body close to her. Rena shivered as Emily held her, and Emily wasn’t sure if it was from fright or the cold.
“You can’t stay out here,” Emily whispered. “You’ll freeze.”
“I—I can’t go in,” chattered the child.
“But—” began Emily and then asked instead. “Where are Claude and Timmie?”
“Claude ran away from home—last week,” said the child simply. “I—I think Timmie might be in the barn—or the chicken coop.”
Emily pulled her closer. The noise from the house intensified.
Something must be done. But what? Emily prayed as she stood helplessly, sheltering the child.
Sudden silence. Then the door opened and a tight, sobbing voice called out into the gathering darkness, “Rena. Timmie. You can come in. Rena.”
“Guess Pa’s sleepin’ now,” shivered Rena through tightly clenched teeth, and she stirred in Emily’s arms.
Emily felt tears streaming down her own cheeks. She brushed at them with the back of her mittened hand. How can they live like this? she wondered and let the little girl go.
“Timmie,” came the call again.
Emily could see Mrs. Travis standing in the open doorway. Her dress was torn at the waistline and the skirt sagged sloppily into the snow on the doorstep. Her hair was dishevelled and, even from where Emily stood, she could see a small stream of blood as it coursed its way down and over the cheekbone. Mrs. Travis raised a shaky hand to wipe at it with the kitchen towel she held.
“Mrs. Travis,” Emily called in a whispery voice as she led small Rena toward the woman. “May I help you? You could spend the night—” But the woman silenced her with a quick wave of her hand.
“We’ll be all right now. He’s sleepin’. He’ll be okay in the mornin’,” and she reached out to pull her shaking daughter into her own arms.
Emily hesitated, then knew that the woman needed to get back to her kitchen to tend to her own wounds. And Rena needed to be tucked close to the fire to chase the chill from her little bones.
Emily stepped back and turned to go. “I’ll—I’ll be praying for you,” she whispered, but it seemed such a weak, empty promise to make under such circumstances. Emily drew a deep, shaky breath and turned away.
Timmie was coming toward her from the barn. He too was not dressed to be outdoors on a wintry night. Hay clung to his clothing and hair, and Emily guessed that he had burrowed his way into the hay in an effort to keep warm—or hidden.
Emily suddenly remembered her errand. She still had the package of cookies in her hand.
“I forgot,” she said to the small boy. “I came to give you these—to wish you a—a Merry Christmas.” Emily could scarcely choke the last words from her throat. A Merry Christmas? Hardly. Not with what Emily had just witnessed.
Timmie took the offered gift and in spite of his circumstance, he smiled and thanked her politely.
Emily turned from the small boy and directed her steps toward the road and home. The tears running freely down her face were soon frozen upon her cheeks.
How frightful! Emily mourned to herself. What fear and pain they live with! Oh, God, there must be some way to help them. There must. Show us. Show me what we can do.
Christmas! The most beautiful, special time of year—and they lived with abuse and suffering. Sobs choked Emily’s throat.
It seemed that Mr. Travis had his own unique way of celebrating.
Chapter Twenty
Mixed Blessings
The next day a message came to Emily by way of Miss McMann. Emily was at her kitchen table, her small valise packed, her coat and hat nearby. She was dressed and ready to leave for home when the car arrived to pick her up.
At the sound of the knock on her door she rose to her feet, smiling softly to herself, and grabbed her coat as she went to bid a welcome to whichever member of her family had come to fetch her.
She was startled to see Miss McMann, but she quickly regained her composure and smiled.
“Come in,” she offered. “Please come in. I’m expecting my ride anytime. They are sending over a car to take me home for Christmas. I thought that—”
But Miss McMann interrupted. “Thet’s why I came. A call jest came. Yer father telephoned and asked if we’d tell ya thet they’re delayed. Something’s the matter with the car. They have to fix it before they can come. It won’t be till tomorrow.”
Emily was deeply disappointed. She had so counted on today. She had everything ready. She had nothing more that needed to be done. She—why, whatever would she do with another day on her hands? Besides, tomorrow was the twenty-fourth. Christmas Eve. She had wanted to be there to help Ina and Annabelle with the last-minute preparat
ions for Christmas.
Emily turned back to Miss McMann, her shawl wrapped carelessly about her shoulders, her hair still sprinkled with quickly disappearing snowflakes.
“Thank you. Thank you for trudging through the snow to bring me word,” she said and even managed a smile. “Would you have a cup of tea?” she offered rather awkwardly. Emily immediately remembered that she had just disposed of the last few drops of cream.
“I have to get back to the store,” Miss McMann answered. “John is away.”
Emily thanked her again and the woman left, promising Emily that she would one day come again. The promise brought a stir of excitement to Emily’s disappointed heart. Miss McMann had not as yet been to Emily’s house for tea.
But after the woman left, Emily felt the tears fill her eyes. She brushed impatiently at them with the back of her hand.
Don’t be a child, she scolded herself. You can wait until tomorrow. Get busy and find something to do.
Emily looked around her small home. Everything was in place. Her simple furnishings were easy to keep in order. A good supply of wood lined the wall of her small entry. She had also carried an ample supply for the little church. There was no need to carry more.
She could not bake. Her cupboard was once again empty of flour, and only the one little bit of tea-sugar remained. The two dimes in her purse were not sufficient to buy more.
I’ll go over to Sophie’s and see what I can do, she determined. She pulled her coat over her traveling dress and left a note on her door concerning her whereabouts if her ride should come early.
She was about to leave when she thought, What if I get to cleaning or baking at Sophie’s? She decided she’d better change into something more practical.
She was glad she had, for after explaining her predicament to Sophie and sharing a quick cup of hot apple cider, Emily entered the upstairs living quarters and set to work with the children, cleaning house and making simple decorations for the Christmas tree. Then they worked together to bake sugar cookies. By then the cafe had closed and Sophie joined them. They shared a supper of pancakes, shaped like little animals and snowmen, and by the time Emily had helped Sophie with the dishes and read a story to the children, it was late.
