01 The Calling of Emily Evans

by Janette Oke

  Emily pushed away slowly, not comfortable being held by a man to whom she had made no commitment. She lifted Ross’s hands from her waist and stepped back to look at him.

  “Ross,” she began slowly, “I’m sorry. Truly I am. I enjoy your friendship, but I—my first commitment is to the Lord. And that includes preparation of a Sunday sermon, and I’m afraid—I’m sure that is what I must do.”

  She thought she saw anger in his eyes.

  “You—you can’t understand that, can you?” she dared to ask.

  He shook his head stubbornly. “I thought a woman’s place was in the home—as a wife, a mother,” he retorted.

  “I agree,” she admitted, then added quickly, “unless God calls her into something else. Then she must be obedient to His call.”

  “Let the men preach,” he countered. “You can’t do the full work anyway. You can’t marry or bury or baptize. You call that ministry?”

  Emily forced herself to ignore his sarcasm. “If I had a husband who would preach, I would be glad to allow him that privilege,” she returned firmly. “This community needs the Word of God. Until such time as a man comes to deliver it, the responsibility will be mine.”

  “Very well,” he said in clipped tones. “I guess I will find someone else to share my picnic—and my future.”

  Emily sighed. “Yes,” she replied evenly, “I guess you should.”

  Then he was gone, and Emily shed a few tears before she returned to her sermon.

  “It’s all right, Lord,” she prayed. “I am quite prepared to serve alone—for as long as you need me.”

  Emily participated in the annual Autumn Picnic again. But without the presence of Shad, the day was not the same. She joined the Reillys at their table, but they made no comment about Shad missing the festivities for the first time—and Emily dared not ask. In fact, Emily thought, Mrs. Reilly has not mentioned Shad for many months. Has there been some rift between them? He didn’t even come visit this summer, as far as I know.

  Emily was puzzled, but her question went unanswered.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Winter Wars

  “I notice Sophie’s kids don’t go to yer Sunday school no more,” Big John commented as Emily opened her purse to pay for her purchases.

  “No, they don’t,” agreed Emily, sadness in her eyes. She had prayed so often that Sophie would relent after a time, but she was still adamant in her refusal to allow the children to return to church.

  “Took it pretty hard, did she?” Big John continued.

  How would you expect a mother to take it? Emily wanted to retort. Instead she made no reply.

  “Thet’s what I don’t understand ’bout religion,” John mused, almost to himself. “Ya say God loves. Ya say He is powerful. Ya say He can answer prayer. So how come ya didn’t pray thet the boy would git better?”

  “We did,” said Emily honestly.

  Big John looked at her triumphantly. “But He didn’t answer, did He?”

  “He answered,” responded Emily evenly.

  Big John looked surprised at her reply.

  “The kid died!” he shot back at her.

  “That doesn’t mean God didn’t answer our prayer,” Emily answered softly, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. “Oh, I know. He didn’t answer in the way we wanted—the way we prayed. But we can’t see the future. He can. He answered in the way He knew best.”

  “Humph!” Big John snorted. “Thet’s the baloney ya religious people always spout. Don’t make a lick of sense, an’ ya know it. Either He ain’t got the power to do what He promises, or else He don’t care one little bit, thet’s the truth o’ the matter.”

  Emily straightened to her full height. “If I thought that for one minute,” she said honestly, “I wouldn’t be here.”

  “So why are ya here?” he challenged. “No man ask ya to wed?”

  Emily gulped down her frustration. If he only knew the agony she had been through trying to weigh her desires to be a wife and mother against her call to the ministry. She blinked back tears and answered softly, firmly.

  “Being here, as a single woman, is not easy. I do not relish the care of horses. I do not enjoy trying to produce a garden in a patch of weeds. I do not like hauling wood and water. I do not even enjoy the preparations of sermons—all ‘manly’ jobs, if you will. But God has called me here. I do not know why—nor do I ask. I only try to obey.”

  She picked up her small parcel. “And you can be assured,” she went on, “I will be here—just as long as I feel this is where He wants me.” She turned and quietly left the store.

  She was annoyed with herself that she let Big John’s barbs get to her. She would never, never be any witness to the man as long as she allowed him to trouble her so.

  “Lord,” she prayed, sitting at her little table stroking Walter’s fur, “please help me to respond calmly to his honest questions and overlook the ones he asks simply to bother me. Help me to know what to say and how to say it. And help Big John to learn to love you.”

  Emily hurried the team home from her calling, feeling the sharp chill in the air. She let her horses through the pasture gate and moved quickly toward the Travis house. She was anxious to see how things had been going with the family. They had missed church on Sunday.

  Mrs. Travis welcomed her warmly and insisted that she stop for a cup of hot chocolate. Two new bruises had appeared on the woman’s forehead but she made no comment. They chatted lightheartedly over their cups.

  “Mrs. Travis,” Emily finally began carefully as she toyed with the teacup, “is there any way that I can help you?”

  The woman looked surprised.

  “I would be glad to make the call if you’d like your husband to get some—some medical help with his problem,” Emily dared to continue.

  Mrs. Travis looked alarmed and shook her head vigorously. “I don’t want anyone butting into our family affairs,” she said firmly. “We’ve made out fine till now. We’ll make out fine in the future, too.”

  “But what about Claude?” Emily challenged.

  “Had a letter from Claude,” Mrs. Travis said proudly. “He’s got him a job with a farmer over east of here. Plans on coming home for Christmas.”

  Emily was pleased to hear the news and said so to Mrs. Travis.

  “But the other children?” pressed Emily. “What if Timmie and Rena decide to leave home at Claude’s age? Will that be all right, too?”

  Tears formed in the woman’s eyes. She dropped her head and shook it sadly. “He’s my husband,” she whispered. “He’s their father. It’s just the drink that gets him—upset.” Then she lowered her voice even further. “They might come and take him away if they know. I couldn’t live with that. Do you understand? ... No, I don’t suppose you can.”

  “But they could help him,” insisted Emily. “Bring him back again after he had conquered the problem.”

  “No. No—it doesn’t work that way. He tried. He tried once before. He just came back worse.”

  Then she looked at Emily, the tears flowing down her cheeks. “Please, please,” she pleaded, “leave things as they be. Please?”

  Emily could only nod her head while despair filled her heart. What choice did she have? What else could she do?

  Winter’s snow fell in stinging crystals, biting at faces and uncovered hands. Strong winds swirled it round and round the little town, sculpting drifts in out-of-the-way places and sweeping white, glass-like particles against windowpanes and rooftops.

  Emily was glad for a warm fire and plenty of wood, but she couldn’t help worrying as she studied her little storage cupboard. Most of the few vegetables she had managed to draw from her little garden had now been eaten. And though the Sunday offerings had increased somewhat with the attendance of a few new members, it was still not enough to adequately cover her living expenses.

  God will provide, she reminded herself.

  By now she was out of flour and sugar—even the precious bit she kept fo
r the guest’s tea had been used. And she needed tea again as well. With the colder weather, more women were sure to be stopping for that cup of warmth and a chat when they came to town.

  Emily folded her coat closely about her and hurried out into the driving snow. At the mercantile she carefully counted her coins as Big John waited on another customer. She simply did not have enough money for flour, butter, vanilla and sugar to make cookies.

  She wondered what she should do. It wouldn’t be very hospitable to serve just tea.

  Emily’s eyes scanned the shelves and bins and fell upon ginger snaps. Carefully she fingered her money again. She could do it.

  When it was her turn, she ordered two dozen ginger snaps, one-half pound of sugar and a pound of tea. Then she counted out her money and left the store.

  While Emily served her guests “store-bought” cookies, no one suspected she herself was living mostly on eggs scrambled, eggs fried, eggs boiled and eggs poached. Cream and butter came to the parsonage, along with an occasional frying chicken or small piece of beef, but Emily’s diet varied little from day to day.

  She tried hard to have at least one serving of vegetables daily, knowing that her body needed the nutrients, but at times it was as little as minced onion in her scrambled eggs.

  Periodically, she counted out her coins and purchased another pound of cookies and another bit of sugar. If Big John wondered as he filled her orders, he didn’t say anything.

  Emily had not seen Sophie for several weeks. Even after Sophie’s conclusion that Nicky’s death was God’s fault, Emily had continued to visit the cafe for a cup of coffee and a little chat. But their times together became more strained, and Emily crossed the street less and less. She still prayed for Sophie and the children. She still worried and wondered about them, but she found the situation very awkward.

  “If only she would let the children come,” Emily often sighed. “They seem to miss it so much.”

  But Emily did not dare to approach Sophie again with her request.

  One morning Emily went to the church earlier than usual. It was a cold, crisp Sunday, and she knew the stove would need extra time to heat the small building. Carl had stopped by the day before to tell her that he would not be able to be there. It was the first time Emily had to build her own fire for a number of Sundays.

  She got the fire going, placed the few hymnals on the seats, arranged her teaching notes on the small podium, and then waited for the room to lose its chill and her congregation to arrive.

  “There won’t be many out this morning,” she mused as she rubbed her hands together near the stove, trying to keep warm.

  The door opened and Sophie pushed her head in. “May we come in?” she asked self-consciously.

  Emily could not believe her eyes and ears. “Oh, Sophie!” she cried, hurrying to meet the woman.

  Three beaming children bounded in ahead of their mother.

  “We’re comin’ to church again!” exclaimed Olivia, clapping her small hands as she hopped her way across the floor.

  “I’m so glad!” exclaimed Emily, and she knelt before the child and pulled her into her arms. “Oh, I have missed you,” she said, a lump in her throat.

  “We missed ya, too,” said Olivia, wrapping her arms around Emily’s neck.

  Sophie was silent as she watched the exchange, but tears filled her eyes.

  “It was the kids who made me see the truth,” she explained to Emily, wiping her eyes.

  Emily stood to her feet and took Sophie’s hand.

  “Last night when I was puttin’ them to bed, Tommie said to me, ‘Mom, do ya think Nicky’s in heaven?’ And I said of course I did. Then he said, ‘But if we don’t live the way Jesus wants us to, we won’t be able to go there to see him.’ An’ he started to cry. ‘I want to see Nick again, Mom,’ he said. And I knew I wanted to see Nick again, too.

  “But I didn’t say so to Tommie. I jest couldn’t let myself forgive God. An’ then Johnnie spoke up. He said, ‘Mom, do ya think that’s why God let Nick die—so the rest of us would want to go to heaven?’ ” Sophie paused a moment to get control of her emotions.

  “I couldn’t answer thet question, but I thought about it long after the kids was asleep. Maybe that is why. I mean, if Nick had not died, I would’ve jest gone right on sendin’ my kids to Sunday service, livin’ my own life the way I want, never realizing thet I need God more’n any of ’em.

  “God could’ve taken all my kids to heaven someday, an’ I would’ve been left behind. I don’t want thet, Emily. I want to go with ’em.”

  Sophie was crying hard now. Emily led her to a church pew and they knelt down together, and Emily carefully, tenderly led Sophie to understand and seek God’s great forgiveness.

  Emily was still feeling the thrill of Sophie’s conversion the next morning when she went to get her two dozen cookies with the offering money. She even had a few extra cents with which to buy a handful of potatoes. God was so good. He had cared for Sophie. He was daily meeting Emily’s needs. At least she had not gone hungry—and she again had enough change to buy cookies for her guests. Emily felt like singing as she entered the store.

  “I see yer strays’ve returned,” Big John said in a mocking voice, and Emily wondered if he had nothing better to do on Sundays than to sit and spy on her little flock.

  Emily had a notion to ask him, but he continued, “Even Sophie herself.”

  “Yes,” replied Emily, eyes shining. “Isn’t God good?”

  Big John just “humphed.”

  “I’m sorry—truly sorry that you are unable to accept the fact that there is a God—and that He loves us, and cares for us,” Emily said boldly. She had never dared to talk to the man in such a straightforward fashion before. “Because He is. He exists—and He does care.”

  Big John cleared his throat.

  “I’ve never said thet I don’t believe there is a God—somewhere,” he argued. “I jest don’t think He’s much in’erested in me,” he countered.

  “But He is,” Emily responded. “Enough so that He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to die for you. How much more could He care?”

  “An’ thet’s another thing,” Big John hurried to interrupt. “This Jesus bit. What makes ya think thet Jesus is God?”

  “What do you mean?” Emily asked, stunned.

  “Well, this here Jesus. He was a man—jest like me—or Walt or Jake. No different.”

  “No,” countered Emily, shocked at his statement. “He was born to a woman—but He was God himself in a human body.”

  “And where do ya git thet stuff?” the man continued. “He died, didn’t He? Can a God die?”

  “He did,” affirmed Emily. “He died—for us—because He chose to die. But He rose from the dead—by His own power. Can a mere man do that?”

  “Nonsense!” snapped Big John. “Thet was a hoax. Men was bribed to say—”

  “Then what about all of the people who saw Him after His death and resurrection?” asked Emily. “Is it logical that over five hundred witnesses could be wrong?”

  But Big John did not answer her question. Instead he asked, “What makes ya think He’s God?”

  “The Bible confirms it,” Emily replied firmly.

  “Ya mean ’cause o’ the Trinity?” snorted Big John.

  “Yes. The Trinity.”

  “The word Trinity ain’t even in the Bible,” scoffed Big John.

  “I know that,” agreed Emily, looking directly into his eyes, “but the teaching is. Over and over it speaks of God the Father, of Christ His Son, of the Spirit that moves in the hearts of people. The concept of the Trinity is there, even though the word is not used.”

  “How can three people be one, answer me thet?” sneered Big John. “How can a person be spoken of as a son of God an’ yet be God. How can ya be yer own son?”

  “I don’t know,” Emily answered frankly. “I really don’t know. I—I don’t think that a human being can fully understand it. I don’t think we have proper words t
o describe it. I think that God called Christ His Son because that relationship was something we could understand. There are no words in our human languages to describe the very special relationship of God the Father and God the Son.”

  “Pshaw!” exclaimed Big John. “Jest words to prove a belief ya can’t support. When ya find reasons to believe all thet stuff ya teach—then maybe I’ll listen to what ya got to say.”

  Emily was shaking.

  “He was the son of God—not God,” the man still insisted. “A ‘little lower than the angels,’ the Bible says. Don’t tell me thet another man could do fer me what I ain’t able to do fer myself. Trinity! Humbug!”

  “I might not be able to explain it,” Emily acknowledged humbly, “but I know that I believe it. With my whole heart I believe it.”

  “Yeah, an’ men used to believe the earth was flat,” Big John ridiculed.

  Emily made herself smile and thanked him for her purchases as she left the store. There didn’t seem to be any good reason to continue the argument.

  “I do believe it,” she said aloud as she trudged home through the snow. “I do—with all my heart.”

  But why? asked an inner voice. Just because that’s what you’ve been taught all your life?

  Though Emily would not have cared to admit it, her faith had been shaken by the exchange.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The Answer

  During the weeks that followed, Emily spent hours studying her Bible. I must know for myself that Christ Jesus is God, she decided. It is essential to my teaching—to my whole life. If it is not so—then my faith—my devotion—is all in vain.

  As Emily studied, she took notes, slowly filling many pages. It was true, she discovered, that Scripture referred to Him over and over again as the Son. He himself made numerous references to the Father. So, thought Emily as she reviewed those scripture passages, they are two distinct beings.