01 The Calling of Emily Evans

by Janette Oke

  The day turned out well, after all, she smiled to herself as she let herself in the door. And tomorrow I get to go home.

  The wind, which had blown all day, rattled the loose pipe that fed Emily’s rain barrel, and made the gate creak on its hinges. She snuggled more closely under her blankets and prayed that the Travis children might be safely tucked into their beds, not cowering in some corner where the wind tore at their clothing ... and then she fell asleep.

  The wind was still blowing the next morning. Emily hastily prepared and ate a simple breakfast. She had no milk or cream, having disposed of her supply in preparation for being gone, so she again ate eggs—and eggs without anything else. Oh, well, she thought, I’ll soon be home for a turkey dinner.

  But as Emily washed her few dishes and tidied her small kitchen, Miss McMann knocked at her door. Another message had come. The roads had drifted closed. The car was unable to make it through. They felt so bad. They would miss her.

  She would not make it home for Christmas.

  For one moment Emily thought of her strong team of horses. They could drag her buggy through the drifts. If she left immediately she could make it home Christmas night. She might even make it for—but Emily checked herself. It was a foolish idea. She could well freeze in the process or lose her way in the storm.

  She nodded her head and mumbled her thanks to Miss McMann. She did not even extend an invitation to tea as she knew she should. The woman seemed to understand and hurried from her door.

  Emily did not fight the tears this time. She sank into the chair by the table, laid her head on her folded arms and cried until her whole body shook.

  It was dreadful to be alone in a storm. But it was even more dreadful when it happened at Christmastime. Emily wept until she could weep no more.

  Emily was grateful that Sophie had heard of her Christmas plight and invited her to share simple celebrations with her and her little family.

  It helped to ease her pain at not being with her own family.

  She even received a Christmas gift later in the day—one that brought tears to her eyes.

  She had left Sophie’s early so that she might add wood to her fire, and had just removed her coat when there was a knock on her door. To Emily’s surprise, Timmie and Rena stood there when she answered the rap.

  “Come in,” Emily invited, fear gripping her heart. Is there trouble at home again? she wondered, but the children did not appear frightened.

  “We came to say Merry Christmas,” said Rena as she moved into the warmth of the kitchen, a gleam in her eye.

  “Why, thank you,” began Emily, but Timmie could not hold back his excitement.

  “We brought you something,” he declared, his eyes mirroring the glow in Rena’s.

  Emily looked at their empty hands, puzzled.

  Timmie was fiddling with coat buttons, and Emily noticed that he wore no mittens. Then he reached inside his jacket and withdrew a black and white kitten with green-flecked eyes and a pert pink nose. Around its neck a worn hair bow had been carefully tied.

  “They are big enough now,” explained Timmie with a grin.

  “This is the prettiest one,” added Rena, one hand gently stroking the soft fur of the tiny animal.

  “It’s beautiful,” agreed Emily, the tears forming in her eyes, and she reached out for the kitten that Timmie held toward her.

  For a moment she could not speak. Her eyes brimmed and her throat constricted. They have come through the drifts of snow to bring me a Christmas kitten. A real gift of love—from my own needy, caring Magi. Emily fought hard for control.

  “Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked when she could trust herself to speak.

  “A boy,” answered Timmie. “Mama said a girl might be a bother. You’d not know what to do with all the babies.”

  Emily smiled at the candid appraisal.

  “Does he have a name?” she asked, stroking the kitten’s back and being thanked with a soft purr.

  Rena bobbed her head vigorously. “I named him,” she informed Emily, “but you can call him whatever you want. He won’t mind.”

  “What did you call him?” Emily asked.

  “Walter,” said Rena.

  Emily wondered if she managed to hide her surprise. Walter seemed a strange name for a kitten.

  “Well, if his name is Walter, we’ll call him Walter,” she said with finality.

  Rena beamed.

  “Now,” suggested Emily, “let’s allow Walter to explore his new home while I get you some hot chocolate.”

  Then Emily grabbed her coat. “You wait here,” she told the youngsters. “I’ll be right back.”

  Never had Emily borrowed from neighbors before, but now she hastened to Sophie’s. She could not let the children start out for home in the cold without warming up their small bodies.

  The winter was a difficult one for Emily. Often she went to bed with little in her stomach. Her cupboard was seldom supplied with the items she really needed to give her proper nourishment. And now she had to share her milk with Walter as well. She wondered that she was not sick more. All around her, colds and flu kept her parishioners in bed. And whenever possible, Emily called on those who were ill, offering what little help and encouragement she was able. She did suffer from a cold on two occasions and a flu sent her to bed for two days, but for the most part, she managed to keep going.

  Severe illnesses kept Dr. Andrew busy day and night for a number of weeks in February. He looked haggard and weary when Emily met him on the street.

  Then word came that old Mr. Woodrow had passed away. He was from a family Emily did not know well. She had called there on two occasions but had received a very cool reception. She immediately recognized an opportunity to reach out to the elderly widow.

  It was a miserable drive out to the Woodrow farm. The long winter that had piled high drifts of snow was gradually giving way to the mud of early spring. Emily urged her team through the ruts and mud holes, coaxing them to quicken their pace even though the buggy wheels clogged with the heavy gumbo.

  At the farm home she found the new widow alone. Mrs. Woodrow had no family to share her mourning, and it seemed that the neighbors either had not yet heard the news or else did not know quite how to respond.

  The woman’s eyes did not soften as she saw Emily, but she did nod her head for Emily to enter as she held the door.

  “I’m so sorry about the—the ...” Emily did not know how to choose her words. She had heard that the couple had done nothing but quarrel for the past twenty years. “The death of your husband,” Emily finished lamely.

  Mrs. Woodrow just nodded again.

  “I came to see if there is anything I can do.”

  The woman pushed some papers off a chair, letting them fall to the floor in disarray, and indicated that Emily could sit down.

  Emily removed her mud-spattered coat and, without invitation, hung it on a crowded hook on the wall and took the offered chair.

  After waiting for what she considered a suitable time, Emily cleared her throat. “Do you need any help with—the—the arrangements?” she asked softly.

  “You bury?” asked the woman bluntly.

  The words surprised Emily. “Well, no—I have never—never conducted a funeral service,” she stammered, but quickly added as she saw the woman’s expression, “but I’m sure that Rev. Witt—our district superintendent—would come or send another minister.”

  The woman looked relieved.

  “We need a coffin,” the woman said.

  “Would you like me to have one sent out from town?” Emily asked.

  Mrs. Woodrow nodded.

  “When would you like the funeral?” Emily continued.

  “The quicker, the better,” the woman responded without hesitation.

  “I’ll see how quickly I can get someone,” Emily promised, and Mrs. Woodrow seemed satisfied with that.

  “Where is the—the deceased?” Emily asked in a hesitant voice.

  “In the b
ack room,” the woman said with a nod of her head. “I been sleepin’ here on the floor.”

  Emily looked around her. The body is right here in this house! She shivered, then turned her attention to the blankets lying in a heap by the kitchen stove.

  Emily rose. “Is there anything else I can do before I go?” she asked. The woman stood and moved toward the aforementioned back room. Without a word to Emily, Mrs. Woodrow opened the door, entered the room, and Emily could hear her moving about.

  Soon she was back, a worn, threadbare black suit and a white shirt in her arms.

  “Here’s his buryin’ things,” she said to Emily. “Guess he should be washed and shaved.”

  Emily stared blankly at the woman. The woman was placing the items in Emily’s hands and Emily took them dumbly, the truth slowly sinking in. She expects me to prepare the body for burial. Emily swallowed and tried to speak but the words would not come.

  “There’s water in the teakettle, and the basin is there on the corner stand. His razor is on that shelf.”

  Woodenly, Emily moved forward. She poured water into the basin, gathered together the shaving tools and lifted the much-used towel from the peg. Then, her arms laden, she moved toward the back room.

  It was cold in the room. A strange odor seemed to fill the place. Enough light came from the small window to outline the still form on the bed. His eyes were fixed in a blank stare at the ceiling above his head and his mouth, empty of most of his teeth, hung open. Emily shuddered and wanted to run. She had never touched a dead body before, let alone prepared one for burial. She had no idea what was to be done.

  She closed her eyes and another shudder ran through her. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  But a new thought flashed into her mind. This might be the only bridge to reaching the woman out there.

  Emily steeled herself and set down her basin. She laid the clothes carefully on the bed and prepared herself for the ordeal ahead.

  “Dear God, help me,” she prayed. “I need your help in a way I’ve never needed it before,” and Emily reached out a shaking hand to touch the arm of the man who lay on the bed.

  It was stiff and cold to her tentative touch. A shiver went all through her, but she straightened her shoulders, pressed her lips tightly together and began the unwanted task.

  Rev. Witt was not available, so Fred Russell was sent in answer to Emily’s plea. Emily was disappointed that Agatha did not accompany him, but their baby was due any day.

  Emily was relieved to see Fred and to turn the situation over to someone who had some experience in handling it.

  Mrs. Woodrow wanted no church service.

  “I just want him buried,” she insisted in a hard voice, and Emily was glad that it was Fred who would be supervising the arrangements.

  The neighborhood men prepared the grave. A number stood silently while the coffin was lowered and a few words from Scripture were spoken. Emily felt rather empty inside, as if something important wasn’t quite finished.

  As the small crowd drifted away, Emily thought she should invite Fred for supper but didn’t know what she could serve him. He solved her dilemma by excusing himself. He was anxious to get back home to Agatha, and Emily nodded understandingly.

  As she watched him go, she was glad the day was over. Mr. Woodrow’s widow had already gotten a ride home from a neighbor. Emily walked from the cemetery, down the road toward the little town.

  She felt discouraged as she trudged along. Mrs. Woodrow had not so much as muttered a “thank you” to anyone who had been involved in helping her.

  Emily passed the post office and decided to check for mail. She didn’t get much, but occasionally a letter came from home or from one of her Bible school friends. Emily would welcome such a letter now.

  There were two pieces of mail that awaited her. One was a letter from the district superintendent with news of the coming conference. Emily was excited to learn that she would be expected to be there. She would see many of her old friends again. That’s almost as good as going home! she exulted.

  The second letter puzzled her as she looked at the bold script and reread the return address. It’s a letter from Ross Norris. Imagine that! Ross, of all people! Why would he be writing me? Emily had been interested in him when they were in Bible school, but she was sure they hadn’t said more than a dozen words to each other during the whole time. Ruth wrote that Olive had broken her engagement to Ross, Emily remembered. Excitedly she held the envelope, but she resisted the urge to open it immediately and made herself wait until she was in the privacy of the parsonage. But that resolve did not stop the questions from chasing through her mind.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Conference

  Ross’s letter was full of newsy bits concerning their Bible school classmates. It was open and friendly, but Emily found herself still puzzling as she read. Why has he written—to me? He’s never done so in the past. Perhaps I’m trying to read more into it than I should. Why should it be so strange for a man to think of a former classmate and drop her a friendly note? Emily assured herself that the letter was nothing more than that.

  But an odd little feeling still tugged at the corners of her mind—especially when she read the last paragraph.

  I have been doing some serious thinking recently. I saw Lacey at a youth meeting. He’s really changed a lot since our Bible school days. He is so excited and happy about the chance to be in the ministry that I began to wonder if I had missed something important. I am even giving some consideration to entering the ministry myself.

  Emily felt excitement course through her. A minister? Ross? How wonderful if— But Emily quickly checked herself and carefully folded the letter. She turned her attention instead to the other letter and the information on the coming conference, welcoming a change and a time for some spiritual refreshment.

  Emily would take the train to Regis for the conference. On the day of the departure she was up early, took Walter to Sophie’s to be cared for by the children, checked and rechecked her packed valise and tried desperately to get her unruly hair neatly tucked beneath her deaconess bonnet.

  “Be sure to wear your deaconess badge,” Mrs. Witt had instructed all the girls at their orientation meeting. “It lets the public know you are a member of the ministry.”

  Emily took her button from her handkerchief box and pinned it securely to the lapel of her coat. It wouldn’t do to lose it.

  She was at the train station much earlier than necessary, but she was too excited and nervous to stay at home. Nicky and Johnnie came by on some errand for Sophie and couldn’t resist stopping to chat.

  “We’re gonna have fun with Walter.”

  “Are ya takin’ the train?”

  “How far are ya goin’?”

  “When will ya come back?”

  “Have ya ever been on a train before?”

  “How do ya know when to get off?”

  Their questions flowed thick and fast and Emily could not get one answered before the next one came at her. But their chatter did help the wait to pass more quickly.

  Emily had another visitor at the train station. Mr. Travis came by, walking a fairly straight line. He had even made an attempt to comb his hair. He gave her a gap-toothed grin. His clothes were still hanging on a frail body and his chin was raggedly shaven, but he did tip his hat and bid her a good morning.

  Emily knew he wanted to chat, but she felt herself becoming at once angry and frightened. A man who would beat his wife and children might do anything. Emily did not encourage a conversation.

  At length he turned and made his uneven way toward the downtown. Emily was relieved to see him go.

  Then a thought flashed through her mind. Christ died for him, too, you know. Emily’s cheeks grew hot as she thought about her distant treatment of him.

  I’m sorry, Lord, she prayed. You love Mr. Travis—help me to love him with your love. Emily spent the rest of the time on the station platform praying for the wh
ole Travis family. And poor little Claude. Such a child to be off on his own. I wonder ...I wonder where he is and if he is okay, she thought as she prayed for him too.

  Emily jerked to attention as she heard the whistle of the train. The out-dated passenger car was not a fancy one, but Emily sighed with relief as she settled her valise under the worn seat. With a bit of a jerk they were on their way. Emily looked out to see the familiar sights of her little town slip by. I’m a real deaconess, and I’m on my way to the conference, she let herself exult.

  As they passed through the countryside, Emily recognized many of the farms she had visited. One was the farm of Mrs. Woodrow, and a chill went through Emily again as she thought of her experience preparing a body for burial.

  “Well, it didn’t kill me,” she mused. “I’m still here—and well. But I certainly wouldn’t want to repeat the ordeal. I’m sure Ruth will laugh when she hears about the squeamish Emily,” and Emily smiled in spite of herself. It would be so much fun to have a good talk with Ruth again.

  The blue-uniformed conductor came through the passenger car calling out “Tickets! Tickets!”

  Emily fidgeted with her empty purse. She did hope she wouldn’t have any explaining to do.

  But when the conductor reached her, he looked squarely at her deaconess button, tipped his cap, smiled and said, “Good morning, ma’am. Have a good trip,” then passed on to the next passenger. Emily breathed a sigh of relief and settled back into the worn plush of the seat.

  Emily decided to pay particular attention to each town they came to so she wouldn’t lose track of where they were. When Emily had traveled the train to and from Bible school, she had not had to pass through other towns but had always climbed down from the passenger car at the first stop. It would not do for her to miss her departure at Regis. But before they reached the first town, the conductor came through again.