To Walk In Sunshine
Page 6
She could still feel the incredible wonder of a tiny baby squirming in her arms, could still see the indescribable joy in Sultana’s face after having given birth. Rosa wondered if she herself would ever experience the miracle of bringing a new life into the world.
It had not been so very long since the days when she and Sultana had been the closest of friends, sharing the hopes and fears and secret dreams of girlhood. Yet from the time Sultana’s parents arranged for their daughter’s marriage to Kahlil Zayek—a man eight years her senior and one whom she barely knew—everything changed. Gone were the special times the girls could spend together to laugh and share confidences. Sultana now kept company with the other married women. Her subdued demeanor gave little indication as to whether or not she was truly happy.
Philip said it was the way of their people, trusting one’s elders to make that most important of choices. . .but Rosalind could not accept that. She would not. What if her grandparents paired her with Nicholas Habib? Revulsion for the man rose like bile in her throat.
There had to be someone else. She turned onto her side, fluffing the goose-down pillow beneath her head to softer comfort. But mentally naming off the families presently dwelling in the encampment, she concluded that other than her cousin Philip, Nick was the only other single, unbetrothed man left. All the others had already married and moved on or were committed to do so. Unless new people came to live in the settlement, her future prospects were, at best, bleak. Yet she would rather stay single until she was too old to marry than to settle for Nicholas the wood-carver.
Better a miner than him.
The ridiculous notion brought a smile, but reality snuffed it like a candle flame in the wind. No sense dwelling on something so preposterous, Rosa chided herself, aware of her tendencies toward giddiness whenever she was overtired. Besides, she barely knew Ken Roberts. For all his appearances to the contrary, he could turn out to be every bit as bad as Nick.
But even if he was not, Ken was still out of reach. Forbidden. The most she could ever have of that young man would be daydreams and sweet imaginings. Surely there was no harm in those. . .after all, he really was nice to think about. With a smile, Rosa closed her eyes.
❧
If there was anything worse than a dreary, rainy Saturday, Ken didn’t know what it could possibly be. All week long he endured the drudgery of mining, with the expectation of the one day at the end that provided an escape. The one day that enabled him to get out of the dull black culm banks and bask in God’s greenery. A small part of him harbored a slim hope that he might have seen Rosa again. But regardless of that happening, his weekly hikes into the woods were what kept him sane.
Now look at this day, he thought grimly, glaring through the front room window at the grayish water dripping in relentless procession off the edge of the shingles. Out in the street, the downward course of the rainwater filled the chuckholes and carved narrow ditches. Trees bowed under the weight of heavy, wet crowns. Even the dog loping by looked stringy and forlorn.
“Nice day for ducks,” Timmy groused, his own expression flat. “I wish it would stop and get it over with. Me ’n Freddy was gonna get a game of stickball goin’ up in the cow field with the other guys.”
“Yeah, well, nothing we can do about the weather,” Ken commiserated. “There’s probably something Ma needs done anyway, like shining our Sunday shoes.”
“Whoopee. Lotta good that’ll do, with all the mud we’ll pick up from here to church and back.”
Seeing the kid’s grimace, Ken grinned and tousled Tim’s hair, and the two of them ended up on the floor in a brotherly wrestling match.
“What’s all the commotion?” Ma called from the kitchen. “Be careful you don’t break something.”
“Yeah. Me!” Tim hollered. “Ow. Ow! He’s killin’ me.”
Chuckling, Ken released the lad and helped him up. “Come on, Runt. Let’s do something worthwhile around here.”
❧
A faithful flock of worshipers gathered at Edwards Memorial Church every Sunday, rain or shine. This morning, with the sky above slowly clearing, the interior of the tan clapboard building grew brighter by the minute.
“Let’s open our hymnals to page ninety-three,” lanky Hugh Pembroke said, tugging his starched collar off his Adam’s apple. He peered over small round spectacles at plump Blodwyn Pugh, while beating the tempo with one arm.
She nodded and the lap of her flowery dress undulated as she pumped the organ’s pedals. The instrument wheezed into action.
“Rock of ages, cleft for me. . . .”
Ken, sharing a book with his sister as they sang, caught the interested glances Hannah drew from some guys occupying the straight-backed wooden pews across the aisle. She did look kind of pretty in her Sunday dress, one of two she alternated every week. The pale blue against her fair complexion made her look extra feminine and fragile, especially in her floppy wide-brimmed hat and white gloves. But if she noticed those fellows, she gave no indication.
Knowing them from the colliery, Ken sized them up from a corner of his eye. They were probably decent enough, and hard workers as well, but he couldn’t help hoping they wouldn’t get any ideas about approaching her. Ma still needed Hannah around to help out. And truth be known, he was more than proud to have a sister like her. Any man who came calling on her had better be special enough to deserve someone with a heart as big as hers.
“Please, be seated,” Mr. Pembroke said. He returned to one of the upholstered burgundy chairs on the platform, while silver-haired Reverend Newlin rose and stepped up to the dark walnut pulpit, his black suit pressed just so, his eyes warm and discerning in the light filtering through the stained glass windows.
“Good morning.” A warm smile broadened his jowled face. “I’ve entitled today’s sermon, ‘How to Guard Your Mind.’ My text is taken from Paul’s epistle to the Philippians, chapter 4, verses 6 and 7. Open your Bibles, if you will, and follow along with me as I read.”
During the quiet rustle of pages, he looked out over the congregation filling the small but neat sanctuary. “We’re, all of us, plagued at one time or another by troublesome thoughts. Everyone yearns for peace of mind and deliverance from nagging concerns and fears. Why, just this morning I must confess waking up hours early, disturbed by a problem that’s been bothering me for weeks, yet doesn’t appear to have an easy solution. I’m ashamed to admit it kept me awake.
“But now I realize that was entirely my own fault. The apostle Paul has already laid out the way for us to guard our minds against anxiety. He writes, ‘Be careful for nothing, but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.’ ”
With chagrin over having often given in so easily to his own anxious thoughts instead of committing everything to the Lord, Ken looked up from the passage.
“Dear friends,” the pastor went on, “God never intended for us to take our burdens to the Cross and lay them down as a temporary measure before picking them up again and going home. He wants us to leave them there permanently, so He can bear them all for us. Yet how impatient we are. How faithless. As expressed in one of my favorite hymns, ‘O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear. . . .’ ”
Next to Ken, Tim fidgeted in his seat, and Ma, on the kid’s other side, squeezed his knee. Ken winked at her and she gave him a small smile, no doubt sharing the remembrance of keeping her older sons in line during services through the years.
He focused his attention once more on the pastor, appreciating a message that spoke especially to him, challenging him to stay in close fellowship to God, to spend time in His Word. Even though he felt nearest to the Lord when surrounded by nature, Ken knew God did not purposely withdraw His presence from His obedient followers. His tender watch and care was just as real in one’s daily home life and in the mines as it seemed in the woods.
“And so, dear ones,” the pastor said, his voice cutting into Ken’s musings, “we must remember to commit our every thought to God, to trust Him to work all things together for the good of those who trust Him. For as the Bible reminds us in Hebrews, ‘He is faithful that promised.’ Let us bow our heads in prayer.”
The sun and an accompanying breeze had dried the dirt road during the church service, making the homeward walk far more enjoyable than their earlier trip. The delicious smell of Ma’s pork roast met the family as they came through the back door of the house.
“Everyone stay dressed nice,” she admonished. “After dinner we’ll go next door and call on the Jessups, to see how Mike is doing. I noticed Agnes wasn’t at church. Oh, and Hannah, we’ll use the Sunday tablecloth. I do get tired of looking at that oilcloth all the time.”
❧
Rosalind gingerly picked her way through grasses and brush still wet from yesterday. Maloof, in complete disregard of such things, bounded along at her side, his lower half sopping up the moisture as they went. He took after a rabbit the instant the unfortunate creature happened into view.
Summer showers never failed to awaken a new crop of wildflowers, and Rosa admired the rainbow of fragile colors dotting the landscape. Choosing a particularly pretty patch of field daisies, she plucked one near the blossom and tucked it behind her ear. Then, ever alert for specific plants, she kept her eyes peeled.
Considering how hard it had rained yesterday, she suspected that Ken Roberts had been unable to venture to that favorite reading spot of his she’d stumbled on a week ago. And everything was still too drenched for an enjoyable outing, so he wouldn’t be apt to show up there today. That was for the best, really. The whole forest was hers. She glanced over her shoulder a last time before leaving the clearing, making sure that no one was following.
Turning forward again at the edge of the meadow, she almost passed right by the spikelike white flowers of colicroot that Grandmother had specifically requested she look for. Sultana would appreciate having something to help colic, should baby Rashad show any tendencies toward that malady. Rosa hung the strap of her tote bag on a nearby tree branch and stooped to dig some plant roots from the wet soil.
Afterward, nearing one of the numerous creeks and streams cutting through the forest, she discovered some fringed polygala. According to her grandmother, when the bright pink flowers were eaten by nursing mothers—or cows, for that matter—milk production would increase. Rosa could hardly believe her good fortune.
She washed the plants and roots she’d gathered and spread them out so the air could dry them a little while she rinsed her hands in the brook. Then she shook out the shoulder tote and replaced everything.
There was no real reason to go deeper into the forest, having already found what she’d come for. But the sun was still high and there was plenty of time before she needed to go back. For some reason, Rosalind felt a desire to go to Ken’s special spot once more. She just wanted to see it while he wasn’t there. To be there when no one could accuse her of anything wrong. It wasn’t very far.
Maloof came crashing back into view, emerging from a tangle of ferns and brush. When he got to her, Rosa patted his sun-warmed head. “You are a good fellow, Maloof. A good friend.” He licked her hand and padded along beside her at a more sedate pace.
When she reached Ken’s haven and stopped, Maloof sat on his haunches, his feathery tail brushing back and forth on the path while he watched her.
Except for the rain-darkened bark, the big old fallen tree looked the same as when she’d seen it last. The leaves on the ground at its base were now a soggy mess, but no doubt the sun and wind would dry them before Ken’s next visit. Rosa’s spirit felt refreshed in the thicket’s quiet serenity as her gaze made a slow circuit of the area, memorizing the rocky outcroppings and other features. . .and she imagined Ken relaxing there with his Bible.
She didn’t dare envision herself with him again.
Glancing down at the log, Rosa knew it was too soon to expect a message from him. For a fleeting moment, she thought of leaving one for him to find, but she had no paper to write on or anything to write with. That did not mean she had nothing, however. With a smile, she removed the daisy from her hair and placed it in a depression in the log’s rough bark, then turned and started home.
Grandmother Azar, seated in her favorite chair darning one of Grandfather’s socks, looked up as Rosalind entered the house. “Did you find something I need?”
“Oh, yes. Wait until you see.” Moving to the sideboard, she took out a linen kitchen towel and opened it on the table, then emptied the contents of her shoulder tote onto it.
Her grandmother, the old bones noticeably stiff after rainfall, hobbled over to join her. “Colicroot! Good, good. It is right time for it to be in flower. And polygala will help Sultana.”
“I found mint, too, for our tea. It was a good day.”
“Yes, Child. A good day. Already I have water on stove to boil. I will make us tea now.”
Rosa gathered her pickings into a neat pile and shoved them aside, clearing enough of the tabletop for their refreshment. Then she took her usual chair.
Within moments, her guardian brought the teapot and cups to the table, along with a small plate of Lebanese pastries. She set them all down and lowered herself to the seat. Her keen gaze fastened on Rosalind even as she poured the tea. “Something is wrong, Child?”
Rosa couldn’t quite meet those brown-black eyes. “No. I have many thoughts, that is all. Of Sultana and baby Rashad,” she added before the older woman probed further. “Of the friendship we once had that is no more. I miss her. Now I only have Philip, and even he is always busy.” She took a cautious sip of the steaming brew.
“You should have husband, too,” her grandmother said matter-of-factly. “You are a woman grown. It is getting time.”
Rosa nearly choked. “Not yet. I want to help you and Grandfather for awhile. There is plenty of time before I marry.” Time enough for me to find a man I will love, she almost added. Wisely she held her silence.
But nothing would convince her that she was wrong.
Five
Bearing a loaf of fresh-baked bread and a pan of frosted cupcakes, Ken paid another visit next door, as he’d done almost daily since his neighbor’s accident. He went around back and up the porch steps, then knocked.
Surprisingly, lantern-jawed Mike himself answered the summons. New lines in his long, angular face indicated he was still in considerable pain, but the bandage on his stump appeared fresh, and he looked rested, if still a bit pale. “Come in, Lad. Come in. I appreciate the visit.”
“Thanks. Ma sent these over.” Ken set the food items on the sideboard. “You seem a lot more chipper than the last couple times I’ve come by. Feeling better?”
“Could be worse, I expect. Still aches like the devil, and there’s lots I can’t do anymore—like dress myself, for cryin’ out loud. But if I had to lose an arm, I’m glad it was the left one. Well, come on into the front room and take a load off.”
He led the way through the dining room and into the parlor. After gesturing for Ken to take the faded davenport, he settled into his usual overstuffed chair and propped his slipper-clad feet on a hassock. The top magazine on a stack of others lay open on the lamp table next to him, indicating he’d been reading when he got up to answer the door. He leaned his graying head on the crocheted doily adorning the chair back.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever heard this place so quiet,” Ken admitted, “considering that lively family of yours.” He swept a glance around the room. The simple structure was almost identical to his own, except for the different furnishings and typical clutter kids always managed to leave around.
“Yeah, that’s an understatement. The wife’s down at the store. She took the young ’uns with her, to get ’em out of the house for awhile. It’s been like a morgue around here, everybody walkin’ on egg
shells.” He rubbed callused fingers over his unshaven jaw. “Can’t say as I blame ’em. I haven’t been very good company since I got carted home on a stretcher that day.”
Ken marveled at his friend’s improved attitude. “What’s. . . uh. . .brought about the change—if you don’t mind my asking.”
“Naw.” He gave a half smile. “Guess I’ve just had some time to think, laid up in that bedroom with the door closed, the curtains drawn. I sure didn’t want this to happen. Didn’t expect it. But what’s done is done, and there’s no changin’ it. So I figure since I’m still here, the Lord must have somethin’ else for me to do. It’s up to me to do it.”
Not knowing how to respond, Ken just shook his head in amazement.
“The rent’s paid up ’til the end of next month, so the company says we can stay in the house ’til then. After that, I guess we’ll move up New York way. Aggie’s uncle has a farm there with an empty bunkhouse we can use. He says he’ll keep me busy. It’ll be a better place for the kids to grow up, too.”
“Can’t disagree with that,” Ken had to admit. “We’ll sure miss having you and Agnes as our neighbors, though.”
“Same here. Say, I have a bunch of study books upstairs that’ll be goin’ to waste, unless you want ’em. It’s time you got studyin’ for your foreman’s papers. There’s night classes you can take over at the high school, too.”
“That’s real decent of you, Mike. I don’t know when I could pay you for the books, though.”
He waved his good arm. “Hey, they were given to me. I’m just passin’ ’em on. I’ll send one of the kids over with ’em after awhile.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.” Ken stood. “Well, listen, I don’t want to tire you out, just wanted to check up on you and see how you’re doing. Go back to your reading. I’ll let myself out.”
Leaving his friend’s house, Ken breathed another prayer for Mike and his family, that the Lord would guide their future paths and take care of them. To think they’d be living out in the country in the open air, away from the mines! Something good had come from the accident. . .but not without a price tag.