by Leisha Kelly
Dad smiled about that, but he didn’t promise not to do anything. We ate quietly and I wondered if Dad was thinking about Donald showing up at the service station. I wondered if he’d told Mom about that, or if he questioned in his mind why I hadn’t mentioned the letters to him then. I didn’t really know why, except what I’d told Mom, that it was just too embarrassing.
Katie had nothing to say about all that, and I appreciated her efforts to lead the conversation into more pleasant subjects. But that didn’t stop me from fretting about it still. Frank would have a Scripture to quote if he were here. Something completely applicable to the situation. But the only Scripture I could come up with was a passage in Jeremiah that Robert had brought up once in Sunday school: “The heart is deceitful and desperately wicked and who can know it?”
I tried to remember what our Sunday school teacher had said about that. Something comforting, surely. But I couldn’t recall, and I was far from comforted. Would I be able to talk to Frank about this? If I didn’t and he learned it from someone else, what would he think of me?
He couldn’t be indifferent the way he’d seemed in the dream. That was nothing but my imagination running away. He might be angry at Donald. But surely he would be sympathetic and comforting to me because I hadn’t turned away from him. I hadn’t even considered that. Had I? It was only the devil’s temptation, playing tricks with my mind because Frank was so far away.
I needed him here. I needed his gentle words, his reassuring touch. Then the gloom and doubt would be washed away in an instant, and everything would feel right again. I didn’t have such struggles when we were together.
Come home, Frank, I willed in my mind. Please hurry and finish whatever it is you’re still doing and come home.
16
Frank
I spent Monday and Tuesday working on Sam’s house, carvin’ on stair posts and fixing two different sticking closet doors. Thelma wanted to know if I could make her some new kitchen cupboards because the ones they had were far too small. I measured and planned and went back to the lumberyard for the wood I needed. After careful scrutiny I even found a piece of walnut that would work for fixing that china hutch for the folks next to Sam’s old house.
I worked at the hutch door that night and all the next day, fetching three-hundred-grain sandpaper and emery cloth from the local hardware, putting on the original aged hinges, and carefully matching the stain. It felt good to set the finished door up away from the kids to take back to Camp Point in the morning.
“Beautiful work,” Sam told me. “But it ain’t practical to be running that far after a small job.”
“A favor,” I explained. “For your old neighbors.”
“Same as strangers to you.” He shook his head. “Oh well. If you wanna spend your pay on the gas to drive over there, it’s up to you.”
I didn’t have any choice now. The next day, Thursday already, I was glad to be on the road to take the hutch door home. It was wearing on me that I hadn’t given that little church an answer. Wasn’t right not to tell them anything. I should’ve said no to the man right away. Now I knew I’d still be up this way over the weekend because I wasn’t done with everything, but driving the distance just wasn’t practical, like Sam had said. He’d be sore at me all over again if I did the same thing this Sunday. I hadn’t even mentioned it to him, nor pulled out that second slip of paper ’cause I didn’t wanna hear what he’d have to say. But today I’d be in Camp Point anyway. So this was a fine opportunity to find the old man and politely turn him down.
Sam’s old neighbors were happy with my work. They paid me and sat me down to a cup of coffee and an apple Danish. But my satisfied feeling left just as quick as I remembered what I had to do next. I wasn’t looking forward to telling the old gentleman no, but it had to be done. I’d been praying on it through the week like I’d told him I would, but without any answers.
Pulling the slip of paper out of my pocket, I wondered how to ask these folks what it said without them knowing I couldn’t read. I hadn’t wanted to ask Thelma because I wanted to leave her and Sam out of it. And I’d tried to figure out the three lines myself, but it was no good with the handwritten script.
I took a deep breath and reached the paper across the table to the kindly couple. “Can you tell me how to find this place?”
They didn’t direct me like I’d expected, down Ohio to the driveway where I’d met the old man. Instead, the address was for the bank on the main business street where he’d been going that first day. Maybe he worked there. Or owned the place.
Good thing I was from out of town, or those folks would a’ wondered at me having trouble with an address so simple as that. I went to the bank feeling nervous and asked the first teller where I might find the man I was looking for. He’d told me his name was Willings. She knew right away who that was and took me to a side room. The old man stood up as soon as he saw me.
“Franklin Hammond, I’ve been wondering about you.”
With my hat in hand I stepped forward, trying to settle the right words in my mind before I said them. “Sir— uh, I’m not a preacher, like I told you. I’m just a farm boy.”
“I’m one of those myself.” He smiled. “Good many people around here are.”
“What I mean is, I don’t feel qualified. It don’t seem right. And I’m staying clear over to Jacksonville right now. I should have given you my answer right away.”
“Yes?”
He’d have understood. I could tell that. But just when I was ready to say what I’d planned on, that I just wouldn’t be able to do it, something come over me and I couldn’t get the words out.
“Yes?” he said again.
And durned if I didn’t tell him that if he still wanted me I’d try and do my best just this once. He was pleased. And I felt like I’d dug a hole and proceeded to fall into it. What in the world was the matter with me?
I wanna do it, I found myself telling my own heart. Just this once.
I left that bank thinkin’ I must’ve gone plum crazy. Sam would think so. No doubt about that. Maybe Sarah would too.
When I got home an’ told Sam I was goin’ back to that church, he looked at me like I’d lost every bit a’ sense I might ever’ve had.
“I’m gonna speak,” I explained. “Got asked last week, but I hadn’t really decided till today.”
“Franky, what if it’s snowing? You can’t predict that.”
“I’ll go early if it looks like it’ll get bad. An’ I’ll get a room for the night so you don’t have to wait up wonderin’.”
He shook his head. “You’re full a’ surprises. What’re you gonna come up with next?”
“I didn’t know I was gonna come up with this.”
He plopped down in his favorite chair and stared up at me. “Since you seem to already have a church over there, maybe you oughta reconsider Uncle Milty’s store and our house. Maybe it’s a sign that you should stay.”
“I don’t know about that.” My mind whirled thinking about his words. Would Sarah think this meant I was wanting to stay?
“I’ll take payments on the house,” Sam explained again. “You won’t never have to worry about paperwork for a bank loan. And Uncle Milty understands. He’d work with you on that property, an’ I’d help.”
“I don’t wanna do things that way.”
“Why not?”
I woulda thought he’d understand, but he didn’t. I’d have to spell it out. “Cause you’re trying to make it easy for me.”
“That don’t make sense, Frank! That’s what brothers are for.”
“You ain’t this way with all your brothers. You didn’t ask Harry up here. Or Kirk. Or Bert.”
“They ain’t suited to the store. You know that. And besides, they wouldn’t be as much help with my house. Them stairs look like a rich man’s now.”
“I’m glad you like ’em,” I grouched. “But it don’t change how I feel.”
Sam frowned at me. “I was hopin’ you’d w
ant our house. I need a buyer.”
“I know. But what about the neighbor’s niece?”
“Far as I know, they’re still interested. But I was kinda waitin’ on you—”
“Go ahead an’ sell it to ’em. You need the money more’n I need to owe you.”
That was pretty much the end of what we had to say to each other. I got myself to bed early that night, but I lay awake a long time thinking about Sarah. Would it upset her about me preaching over there? I didn’t think so. Maybe she’d understand me just wantin’ to help that church once like I’d been asked.
As I was laying in the dark, my mind started circling through Scriptures about trust. That’d be my topic Sunday night, I was pretty sure. Relying on God, not man. A message as much for me as anybody else.
The next day was my birthday. Thelma made a cake and Sam’s kids give me a whole batch of homemade cards and pictures. Sarah’d sent a package that they’d hid back till the time. I was excited to talk to her again, but when the time came for our telephone call and I told her I was gonna be speakin’ at that church she cried. She said she wasn’t unhappy, or even surprised. So I wasn’t sure I understood the reason for the crying then, but she couldn’t explain.
“Don’t you worry,” I assured her. “I’m not gonna buy nothin’ up here nor settle anyplace without talking to you first. I wanna do for you. Not just myself.”
“I love you, Frank,” she said real quiet. “Happy birthday.”
I felt like kissing her. I wanted to. It seemed like awful long since we’d been together, and I wanted real bad to hold her again. “I love you too.”
I had the feeling that there was something else she wanted to say. But maybe I was wrong, ’cause she didn’t get to it even when I asked her. I knew we oughta get off Sam’s telephone line, but it was hard. I missed her more right then than I had any time. But it wouldn’t be long before I could go home. I was done with the stair rail and the closet doors. I’d fixed an attic step and a piece of broken woodwork below the window in Georgie and Albert’s room. Once I was done with Thelma’s cupboards, I could leave.
“Next week,” I told Sarah. “Maybe Tuesday I’ll head out. I’d say Monday, but I better spend some time tomorrow preparing for that church. I might not get the cupboards done till Monday. Wish you were here to read me some Scriptures.”
“Frank, you remember Scriptures faster than I can look them up.”
“I still like to hear it fresh.”
“You’ll do fine. Maybe Thelma can help.”
“Maybe. But I still wish you were here.”
We said good-bye soon after that, and I thought of the long drive to get home. Despite the snow and the miles, I was looking forward to it for the chance to be with Sarah again. Seemed like I was missing her even in my dreams.
17
Sarah
Frank was going to preach! Just like our pastor had predicted. Even if it was just once to fill in like he’d done for our home church, I knew it was the beginning. Surely he had the calling. Thoughts of my silly dream tried to present themselves to my mind, but I shoved them away. He was coming home!
I was thrilled but at the same time trying not to be scared. He might be called anywhere to preach now. There was no telling. And I—I might be looked at as a minister’s wife! Me! With all my foolish foibles. Could I really handle this? Now I understood why our pastor had felt the need to ask me.
What if Frank really becomes a full-fledged minister? People expect things of a minister’s wife. It would be so easy to fall flat on my face!
Despite my uneasy feelings, I was determined to accept whatever Frank chose to do. That would be my “perfect submission,” and I was overjoyed it wouldn’t involve a move to Camp Point. Maybe we’d live in Mt. Vernon or Marion like he’d suggested. Maybe he’d eventually pastor a church.
He’d be home next week, and I felt like dancing around the house. Until the mail came again. There were just two letters, but both of them made my stomach sour. One was from Donald Mueller again. I just gave it to Mom without a word. The other was addressed to Frank, and it was the second letter he’d gotten like this. Mary Ensley. A girl from one of the families Frank had helped. He hadn’t said a word about the contents of her first letter. Now why was she writing to him again?
I showed the envelope to Mom, and she said we might as well hold it since it might not get to Jacksonville by the time Frank left if we sent it on now. I wished I could open it, though I knew those feelings were wrong.
Don’t be a goof, I told myself. Mary Ensley must be the blind girl Frank told me about. She’s probably just thanking him for the help.
But that could’ve been in the first letter. What need for a second one?
I felt miserably guilty over those simple thoughts. It was scary to realize that just as I could entertain unfaithful thoughts, I could harbor jealousy and mistrust toward Frank. There was no reason for it. None at all, and I felt like a fool. Yet the feeling persisted. Frank’s attention, his love, is not all centered on me. Even if it is done innocently as he ministers, he will be giving his heart in other directions. How will I live with that?
I tried singing “Blessed Assurance” again, to take the words to heart:
“Perfect submission, all is at rest. I in my Savior am happy and blest, watching and waiting, looking above, filled with his goodness, lost in his love . . .”
Somehow, instead of inspiring me, the lyrics made me lonely. Especially the line “watching and waiting.” Why couldn’t I dwell on the “lost in his love” part? Why would I be having such selfish worries? I wanted my life to be the Lord’s as much as Frank did, didn’t I?
Mom said Donald’s letter was short and arrogant, claiming I wouldn’t know what I was missing if I didn’t meet him in town “just to talk.” I’m sure she and Dad wondered about me that night. I should have been overflowing with joy and excitement that Frank was coming home. Why wasn’t I? What had changed? Nothing in me, I hoped. And yet I knew that Frank wouldn’t be the same. The distance, and especially ministering to needs, would have worked something in him that I hadn’t been with him to share. He was preaching now. Receiving letters from people in need that I didn’t even know. I felt like he’d traveled hundreds of miles in his walk with the Lord and left me far behind. Would he see it that way? Would he know my shortcomings?
“This is my story, this is my song. Praising my Savior all the day long . . .”
I tried to sing. I tried to rejoice, but the worry roamed free inside me, and I couldn’t chase it away. He doesn’t want to need me, or anybody. What will that mean?
Saturday, Emmie Grace came over and worked with Mom, Katie, and me baking bread for the coming week for both our houses. Mom was humming almost the entire time, and so was Emmie.
“I knew it,” Emmie told me as the dough was rising. “I knew Frank was going to be a preacher too.”
“He was careful to tell me that he’s just filling in,” I cautioned. “Just a guest for one Sunday evening.”
“It’s a start.” Emmie smiled. “You know there must be a reason they asked him.”
Unlike her brothers, Emma Grace had boundless confidence in Frank. After all, he’d held her hand and comforted her through so many hard times when she was little. In a way, Frank was more like her father than their father had been, even though they were only eight years apart.
“We should make him a cake when he gets home,” she suggested. “It can be a party.”
I knew Frank wouldn’t want any big deal made over him, but a cake among family was a nice idea. I readily agreed, and we decided to bake it on Tuesday, so it would be ready Tuesday night or Wednesday, whenever he got in.
The next morning at church I asked for prayer for Frank because he would be speaking that night. Our pastor was very pleased.
“I wish I could be there,” he said.
“So do I,” I told him, but I was glad it would only be one time up there. Then maybe he’d do more speaking around here
where Emma Grace and I and all the rest could attend. I could hardly wait till he was home.
When evening came and I knew it’d be time for Frank’s service, I couldn’t stop thinking about him preaching. It had gone so well the time he’d done it at our church. Surely this time would go well too. I wasn’t worried for him. Just a little for myself. I’d once heard our pastor’s wife tell my mother that people look at a minister’s family differently. Expectations are higher. They automatically think you to be holier than average folk, though the notion is ridiculous when you think about it. We’re all just people, prone to mistakes. No getting around that.
I went outside with Dad when he was milking. He looked older than he used to, with a touch of gray at the temples. I couldn’t help asking him the question on my heart. “Dad, will it be strange when Katie and I are moved out?”
“Very strange,” he answered solemnly. “It already is with Robert gone. But hopefully you’ll visit often, and we’ll visit you too. It’s just part of life.”
He was filling water troughs when I left the barn to check the chickens and make sure they had feed and water for the night. They were fine in their roost, all but the one Mom called “Silly Hen,” who liked to perch on the windowsill or a ceiling rafter.
It didn’t take me long to get done in there. Stepping from the chicken house, I started to sing a hymn again. The moon picked its way from behind a cloud. Suddenly from out of nowhere, giant paws were all over me. I almost screamed, but then I realized what this was.
“Big dog?” I shoved hard. “Get down.”
He obeyed me, but not before slathering his tongue in a sloppy dog kiss across my cheek.
“Dad! Guess who’s back!”
The big dog bounded around me twice and then ran to meet Dad as he came out of the barn. Dad stood stock still at first, and then greeted the big critter with a friendly pat. “Well, Horse. You’re looking good.”
He was. And happy too. He was thrilled to see us, and even happier when we got him some food. “Horse?” I asked Dad.
