Sarah's Promise

by Leisha Kelly

  I was surprised that Dad didn’t reply to that, but he didn’t.

  “They’re likely just curious ’cause we’re strangers in town,” Frank suggested. “Hard for me to picture anybody thinkin’ me handsome. Tell you the truth, I always figured you to be so pretty there’d be danger a’ young fellas better lookin’ than me tryin’ to sway you away.”

  My stomach knotted, and I glanced at Dad. “There aren’t any better-looking fellows. And even if there were, I care a lot more about what’s on the inside than the outside, anyway.”

  Frank didn’t answer right away. He held my hand and took a lick of his ice cream cone. My heart pounded. Did he know about Donald Mueller?

  He cocked his head and glanced toward me. “You care more ’bout the inside, huh?”

  “Yes, of course. But I still think you’re handsome.”

  “Well, then . . .” He grinned and his eyes twinkled. “Maybe I don’t need to shave tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Frank.” Relief spilled over my insides. “You’d better shave. For church.”

  He’d been joking with me. He was in such a lighthearted mood. I tried to act as though I were the same way, but the guilt of my stupid secret was a heavy weight to carry. Dad was probably wondering why I hadn’t mentioned Donald’s foolishness, unless he already had. And then Frank might be pretending he didn’t know and waiting for me to bring it up. I’d have to tell him. But how would he react? He had so much to think about, so much to do, I hated to trouble him with something so childish. Donald Mueller could be taken about as seriously as those three giddy girls. There was really no use.

  Dad was admiring some of the buildings and gardens as we walked. Frank finished his cone and started talking about furniture stores in the town of Quincy. It’d be silly to trouble the conversation now. We walked back to the store as the evening light faded. Dad asked a question about the church, and my thoughts moved there quickly. Tomorrow we’d be meeting lots of people, and eyes would be on me, watching the girl who was engaged to marry their beloved Frank Hammond. Would they think me worthy of him? Surely not, if they had any inkling of the things that went on inside my head.

  I stayed over with Mrs. Haywood again that night. The next morning we went together in Frank’s truck to the church. They had no piano or organ. Just the voices of the congregation blending together in songs selected from the hymnbooks. I loved it and it made me nervous all at the same time. I was used to the piano at our church. And our small but voluminous choir. Here, I felt like I could be heard so easily. Everyone could. Most of them didn’t care and sang out freely, even loudly. Including Frank. But I felt so self-conscious. It was easy to tell that I was one of only a very few sopranos here, and that made my voice stand out all the more.

  Still, the effect of all those unhesitant voices lifted together was rather joyous. I also liked the way people greeted one another, and us, with hugs and handshakes.

  It was a nice service, and Mr. Willings had plenty of good things to say about faithfulness in all things, inside of church and out.

  I still didn’t feel right about the pastor cooking for us. Should be the other way around as far as I was concerned, but maybe the day would come for that. We spent almost all of the afternoon at the pastor’s home, just sitting and talking, but as evening drew close, Frank started acting restless. He asked me to read Psalm 103. But after that he was so tense and jittery that he finally just left us there and went off walking alone.

  “Not to worry,” Pastor Willings said. “He’s working out his message, that’s all.”

  I did worry, a little. I’d never seen Frank so nervous, driven, or whatever he was, not even the time he’d spoken at our church in Dearing. Maybe it was because Dad and I would be hearing him for the first time in this new place with these new responsibilities. I hoped that was what it was. I hoped he didn’t get so uncomfortably restless every week.

  He couldn’t eat with us before church. None of us needed much, but the pastor brought out fixings for sandwiches and a bowl of potato salad. I told him that Frank had said he would feed us that night, and the pastor smiled. “He probably doesn’t remember that right now. Don’t remind him.”

  Before we were even finished eating, Pastor Willings offered to take Dad and me to the church in his car if Frank wished to go on ahead. To my surprise, Frank jumped at the opportunity immediately and left as soon as he could get out the door.

  “I know he likes to spend time at the church alone before the service,” Pastor Willings explained. “He’s got quite an intercessor’s heart.”

  Praying for others, I knew he meant. But if I’d been the one speaking, I could imagine that I might be praying desperately for myself—for strength, wisdom, and the right words to say. I wondered if being called by God could be painful, as wrenching as it looked sometimes. So many expectations to live up to. So many needs, so many obligations, and such an awful lot to be responsible for. Being a minister must be the hardest job in the world.

  26

  Frank

  Speaking tonight was tougher than the very first time. I knew Sarah Jean and her father better than any of the people up here. But just knowin’ they’d be listenin’ gave me worse nerves than I remembered ever having before.

  Calm me down, Lord. They love me, and that ain’t gonna change. There ain’t nothin’ to be so nervous about.

  I paced around the churchyard and then went and paced inside. I didn’t know what I was gonna say. The gist of it maybe, but certainly not where to start.

  The folks came filing in like usual, a little bit bigger group than some Sunday evenings, maybe because of our guests. When Sarah and Mr. Wortham got there, I had the pleasure of introducing them again for the benefit of whoever hadn’t been at church that morning to meet them.

  After the singing, I tripped on the way to the pulpit and felt like a fool even though I hadn’t fallen. With all the faces looking at me, especially Sarah Jean’s beautiful smiling one, my stomach felt extra tight, so much that it was a little hard to breathe.

  Start with a quote. That you can do, I told myself. Psalm 103, that’s what’s been on your heart all day.

  “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name . . .”

  There. That’s better. Easier to breathe, easing into the familiar.

  “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits: who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies . . .”

  I went on. I went through that whole psalm, outlining all the benefits God has supplied by his grace, the greatness of his character towards us, and what our joyous response should be. To bless and to serve. The Lord Almighty. And the people he has positioned us to share our lives with. Because each of us has a purpose, a calling to fulfill in the world around us. No matter what our station in life, our age, our aptitude, our education. Everybody has a way they can bless, like Mrs. Haywood and her pies. Or Mr. and Mrs. Wortham and their gracious acceptance of Hammond kids invading their home for so many years of their life.

  When I finished, everyone was so quiet. Of course, I’d experienced that before, but I might never get used to it. That tiny lull right at the end, just before the service is dismissed and the conversations start. I always wonder at that moment if anything I said has sunk in and become useful, or if everybody is thinking about the ride home, the waiting bed, and what the workday tomorrow might bring.

  Before we dismissed, Mr. Willings suggested that we sing one more hymn. Usually someone from the congregation would call out a number from the hymnbook and there’d be rustling of pages while everybody turned to the right song. And the singing would start with only one voice, then two, slowly building in volume as everybody joined in. But this time there was no rustling of pages. Sarah’s timid voice began so quietly. A few others joined almost immediately, and then more, without benefit of our hymnbooks. “Blessed Assurance.” And I’d
never heard it sound more beautiful. By the time we finished, Sarah had tears in her eyes and I felt so incredibly blessed I could have kissed her, but I didn’t. Not in the church.

  It wasn’t easy, seeing them off on the train the next day. I really wanted to keep them, if I could’ve. But I knew June was just around the corner, and then Sarah’d be with me to stay. I looked forward to them days, because after they left I was lonely. But I swapped work for the use of a garden tractor to turn a patch of ground in the yard, and I planted corn and beans and a whole lot else. That plus my regular work kept me pretty occupied.

  Mr. Willings called me the Friday after Sarah left. He was sick, too sick to get to work or call on a family that had asked him to visit. “Can you go for me?” he wanted to know. “Just listen, if they want to talk. Pray with them.”

  I went to see that family, but it wasn’t easy. And the hardest part was thinking of Mr. Willings at home in bed. I asked him if he wanted me to fetch the doctor, but he said he’d already talked to him and just needed to rest. That bothered me, a lot, but if there was something specific wrong he didn’t tell me what it was. He got feeling better in about a week, but I kept up visits with people whenever he wanted me to.

  A few folks took to calling me “Preacher,” even though they called Mr. Willings “Pastor.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I didn’t mind helping. I was sure I was supposed to do that, but it was a little overwhelming to realize that people were seeing me as an actual minister in my own right. Far as I was concerned, I was still just a woodcraftsman willing to serve.

  27

  Sarah

  I thought I’d already seen the worst of Rorey in her letters. But toward the end of April she sent another one asking if she could wear my wedding dress. I couldn’t believe it. Did she think I’d decided not to use it? Or did she just want to grab the dress we’d spent so many hours on and wear it three days before me so I’d be the one looking like I was using a hand-me-down? What a lot of audacious nerve! There was no possible way I was going to let it happen.

  Mom was calmer than I was about it. “Don’t answer her yet. Wait three days till you’ve cooled off a little.”

  But I might just get hotter. Maybe that was why Rorey’d chosen her date, so she could use my things and act as though they were hers. What else was she going to ask for? She could be such an awful headache. Almost every time we heard from her she had something to say that just made me cringe. She and her boyfriend had good jobs, so they’d told us. So why couldn’t they afford a dress, or at least the material for one? Mom and Dad had even offered to help, since Eugene’s parents didn’t have much and Rorey’s were deceased. And Mom and I could have been spending some time sewing for Rorey, if she had only let us know.

  We still could, maybe, though I wouldn’t be feeling near so good about it now. Maybe that’s what I’d tell her. Pick the material and pattern, bring them here, and I’ll help with the sewing. But only if you work at it too. And keep your hands off my dress.

  I had a sudden thought that really, really bothered me. What if Rorey and Eugene had sent Frank a letter too, asking for the use of his suit or who knows what else? He had such a big heart, he might agree and not even think about it. He wouldn’t care about us using the same things afterward. He might just think nobody would notice, like he wouldn’t notice. But I cared. And it was probably selfish of me, but it was my wedding and I didn’t want Rorey stepping in and using us.

  I asked Dad to call Frank and tell him not to agree to anything if Rorey and Eugene contacted him. I stayed mad all day. That night I prayed for Rorey, and I couldn’t really stay angry while doing that, but I was just as determined to tell her no.

  I didn’t wait three days to answer. I wrote a letter of my own the very next morning and showed it to Mom before sending it, just to make sure it wasn’t too harsh.

  I appreciate your confidence in my choice of style, but this dress has been fit carefully to my specific figure and I just don’t believe it would be right for you. We might not even be finished with the trim before your wedding, but if we are, I can’t risk damage to the dress because there might not be time to repair it. Too bad your ceremony isn’t at least a week after ours, then I would happily let you try it on after my wedding and see if it would work for you.

  Mom smiled.

  I went on to offer our help if she wanted a hand-sewn dress, even though it would hurry us a great deal now. And Mom added a reminder of their offer to contribute to the price of a boughten one.

  I mailed the letter. And I got no reply at all. We continued with the preparations for my wedding, wondering what Rorey would be doing for hers. She hadn’t told us anything about what she wanted except the date and the place. Mom sent her a separate letter with questions.

  April was gone and then May went rushing by us, and I got more and more anxious. Frank would be coming early in June to spend some time with his family and help us with things before the wedding. He would be closing his shop for much of the month in order to do that, but I was glad. He and I had decided we would wait awhile before a honeymoon. That way, I could get completely settled first and we’d have time to save back money and get the store running the way we wanted.

  But when I told Dad that, he said not to be too solid in our decision. A trip right away would be a nice idea, and he’d talk to Frank more about it when he came down. The way he said it sounded a little mysterious to me, and I knew he was hiding something, but he wouldn’t tell me any more.

  I was hiding something too. At least from Frank. I did show Mom, but I could scarcely hide it from her since she’d been home when the package arrived. A wedding gift for Frank. Selections from the Book of Psalms. Printed for children, so the type would be larger with fewer words on the page. I was hoping he would love it and be able to read it for himself.

  On the twenty-third of May I got a very long letter from Robert and Rachel. They were doing well. But despite their hopes, they would be unable to return to the States in time for the wedding. I sat and cried, right at the kitchen table with the unfinished letter in my hand. I’d wanted them here so badly. We were supposed to have everybody home.

  But my only brother couldn’t come. It took me a minute before I could manage to finish reading his letter. He was so sorry about this. He let me know plainly how badly he felt about it, but there was no way they could get here. The ministry was going well and he was getting around with only a cane now instead of the crutches he’d still used sometimes when they left. They’d seen sixty-four islanders give their lives to God. And Rachel was expecting a baby.

  “Mom! Oh, Mom!”

  She came rushing in from the other room not even aware of the letter because I’d been the one to check the mailbox. She saw my tears and seemed to pale in front of me. Unable to speak, I just handed her the letter.

  She cried too. I didn’t know if it was about the baby or them not being able to come. Maybe both. And then we hugged each other.

  “He said they might be here in September,” I reminded her, hoping the thought would cheer her if she needed it. “Maybe to stay for a while. Till the baby is born and strong.”

  What a thought! I was going to be an aunt! And not just because of Frank’s nieces and nephews. This was different. My mother was going to be a grandma. She sat down.

  “Go to the field,” she said. “Get your father.”

  I ran the whole way. And that created such a curious picture that not only Dad stopped what he was doing, but Kirk and Harry too. Dad climbed down from the tractor and I told him all the news in one big breath. He pulled me tight into a great big hug. And then he picked me up and twirled me around. When he set me down, I didn’t know what to think. He looked different than he ever had before.

  “Go on,” he told Kirk and Harry. “I’ll be back. Gotta go find my wife.”

  Kirk climbed into the tractor seat. Harry gave me a nod of the head, and Dad and I hurried back to the house, where Mom gave him the letter. I left them alone awh
ile. I just felt like it was the right thing to do. And Dad was a long time getting back to the field.

  Life kept changing. Katie’s boyfriend Dave came clear from Wisconsin to visit. He stayed with Kirk, since they’d been friends in the service. But he came over nearly every evening to go for a walk with Katie or ask her out someplace. It didn’t take him three days to find a job in Mcleansboro, and only three days after that to find his own place to live. But he kept up the visiting, real regular.

  Frank came home June ninth. By then we still hadn’t heard any details from Rorey about her wedding. But she came rolling in on June eleventh in a jalopy with doors of two different colors and a horn louder than a school bell. Eugene was at the wheel, and they had two friends with them that we’d never met before. A girl in a terribly ugly dress and a man with slicked-back hair who was hanging on to the girl pretty close.

  Rorey wanted them all to stay at our house till the wedding. We did need the time to talk to her, but Mom told her the bride and groom shouldn’t stay in the same house ahead of the wedding. Eugene was about to drive off to his folks’ place and leave everybody else, but the other fellow had liquor with him, and Mom told him he couldn’t bring it inside. Dad had made that rule years ago because of Rorey’s father and our Uncle Edward, but it was still in force. So that young man took his bottle and left with Eugene, and the girl went with them.

  Rorey stayed so we could talk about wedding plans with her. She seemed to think it was odd of us to feel uncomfortable with her lack of communication. And she was pretty aggravated about Mom not wanting Eugene to stay.

  “I bet Frank’s around here somewhere right now,” she said with a pout. “Prob’ly in the workshop. I bet you let him stay.”

  Better him than Eugene and his rowdy friends, I wanted to say. But Mom had a much more effective answer.

  “Actually, he’s over with Kirk. He’s been back and forth some, and he’ll continue to be. But we can’t have him staying here. We’ve got things going on that we can’t have the groom in the middle of.”