“What if that same person, acting very good and religious on the outside, had bad attitudes and resentments and unkindness down inside his heart where no one could see it, what then?”
I didn’t have a quick answer to give her.
“In other words, what if one man on the outside seemed to be a sinner, but was kind inside, and did things to help people whenever he had the chance; and another man was very religious and never drank or gambled or did anything that looked wrong, but inside he was mean and vengeful?”
“I think I see what you mean, Mrs. Parrish. But it does make it awfully confusing.”
“Yes, it is complicated. But you see, when Jesus spoke of sin, he didn’t talk so much about the outward things a person did—like the drinking and gambling—but more about the inside, what a person thought in his heart.”
I nodded. She was certainly good at explaining things.
“There’s one particular place in the Bible where Jesus is talking about sin, and he says that it’s not the outward things that a man does that make him a sinner, but the things that are inside his heart—things like pride and anger and unkindness toward others, and selfishness. You see, Corrie, we’re all sinners in that way.”
“Everybody?”
“Yes. I am, and Rev. Rutledge . . . and even you, Corrie, and your brothers and sisters. We all have those kinds of attitudes deep inside us. And Jesus says they are just as bad as things your uncle or Pa or any miner in Miracle Springs might do. It’s a terrible thing to kill a man, or to steal. But Jesus says it might be just as much a sin to think horrible thoughts about someone, and to want to kill him in your heart.”
“That seems mighty hard to believe, Mrs. Parrish.”
“To our small minds, yes it does. It’s easier to point the finger at someone else’s sin than try to discover our own. But sin is on the inside, not so much in what we do but in what we are. We are all sinners—all of us. So yes, your father is a sinner. But so are the rest of us. I need the Lord Jesus just as much as he does.”
“I’ve never heard anything like that, Mrs. Parrish.”
She laughed. “There are many who don’t seem to have realized these truths, Corrie, even many church people.”
“Why don’t they talk about that in church instead of all that loud repentance stuff?” I asked.
“Ah, Corrie,” sighed Mrs. Parrish, “that is indeed a good question. Too often we are so busy talking about the truths of God, that we forget to get around to doing them. God wants us to be good, to be the kind of person that Jesus was—not on the outside, but inside. But it’s much easier, for instance, to talk about repentance, than to actually go to another person and ask his forgiveness for something you did against him. Being a godly person inside, that can be difficult.”
“Rev. Rutledge didn’t sound like he was saying the kinds of things you are, Ma’am. Meaning no disrespect, he sounded just like every other preacher I’ve ever heard, like he was pointing his finger at all the sinners in town.”
“I know, Corrie. But I think he’s been a little nervous, not really knowing how to preach to the kind of men there are around here. Preachers are growing and learning and even struggling, just like everyone else. He’s a good man, Corrie, and he loves God. He just needs time to grow, as we all do.”
“This is all so new to me, Mrs. Parrish,” I said.
“I’ve given you a great deal to think about,” she replied smiling. “Enough for one day, I think. But there are other things about living the way God wants us to. I hope I get the chance to tell you about them someday, too.”
“Oh, I’d like that,” I answered.
“We’ll be sure to talk again—real soon.”
Just then I heard the happy sounds of young voices, followed by running footsteps heading toward the kitchen. Becky and Emily had been in the other room just long enough. I didn’t know whether the Lord or Mrs. Gianini had had the strongest hand in keeping them there, but I was glad Mrs. Parrish and I got to have our talk.
Chapter 33
Trouble at the Mine
I found myself thinking about a lot of new things after my talk with Mrs. Parrish, although I didn’t have the chance to write in my journal for days. Pa and Uncle Nick were working constantly at the mine, with Mr. Jones coming out almost every day. So I was extra busy keeping vigil on the children, because the men were setting charges. They let Zack help quite a bit, too, except when the dynamite was set to blow—then they’d make him get way back down the hill. The noise of the explosions was deafening, and many times sent Tad and Emily nearly into tears. If Becky shed any, it was only because I wouldn’t let her go near all the excitement.
But just because I didn’t write for a while doesn’t mean I wasn’t busy pondering all Mrs. Parrish had told me.
It’s funny how I had started out concerned about Pa. Afterward I found my thoughts turning my own direction. Mrs. Parrish was teaching me a lot about life and how I wanted to live. She said she’s had to learn what she knows painfully. But she has a quiet peacefulness now, even with her husband gone. Maybe I won’t ever be as genteel as she is. But if I could grow up with some of that same contentment on my face, I’d be satisfied. I wanted to ask her sometime how she got that peace, and whether it was something I might hope to have when I was finally a grown woman, too.
When I did find time to start writing about my conversation with her, and what she said about attitudes and kindness and sin and church and all, I found myself really wanting to say things right. I felt that all she said was important, and that I might want to read it again sometime. But so much of it I didn’t completely understand. Finally I made the decision to show Mrs. Parrish part of my diary. It was kind of embarrassing at first, because a journal is a personal thing. But I wanted her to help me remember as much of that conversation as I could. So we talked about it again, two or three times, and she helped me fill in what I forgot from the first time I’d tried to write it all down. I think she was a little shy about seeing me write down her words too. But she knew she was doing it as a favor to me, and knew it would likely help me to remember what she had said.
I was still trying to find time to write about my talk with Mrs. Parrish when Uncle Nick and Pa took the wagon into town to get some more lumber to shore up the roof in the mine shaft. I thought for sure I’d have some spare time then, as soon as I finished baking bread. But so much happened that before I knew it, I had two major incidents in my life to tell about.
Right in the middle of my batch of bread, Tad knocked over the bucket of water. My dough was spoiled, and not only did I have to start all over again, I had to go back out to the creek for water.
I picked up the bucket and started out for the creek up by the mine. About halfway there I heard a strange sound, like chopping, or the sound of a pick against rock, followed by the whinny of a horse. I looked down the road, wondering if Pa and Uncle Nick had forgotten something and were coming back. It was an hour or two too soon for them to be returning with the lumber. But the road was deserted.
The whinny came again—clear, and not far from the mine.
I continued on in that direction.
When I reached the mine, instead of going right down to the creek for water, I made my way slowly toward the mine opening. I saw nothing out of the ordinary. But as I circled around it, on the hillside above, where the top of the shaft sloped down, I saw the horse—a chestnut, tied to the branch of a tree.
The animal looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Then suddenly I heard a heavy footstep behind me.
I turned sharply. The scar-faced rider we had seen two months ago was walking toward me right from the mine. Only a moment before, I had passed right by the spot. Where had he come from?
“Howdy, Miss,” he said in a gratingly false tone. His face was all sweaty and his hands were dirty, as if he’d been working. “Out for another little stroll, are ya?”
“No . . . I was just going for water.” He should have been doing the
explaining, but I was too scared to ask any questions
“All alone?” he said, an evil gleam in his eye.
“My Uncle Nick’s back at the cabin,” I stammered, looking toward the ground, “and he asked me to—”
“Now, Miss, you oughta know better’n to tell lies. Fact is, your Uncle Nick’s way off in Miracle Springs, and ye’re all alone here with them little kids. I watched from up on the hill, an’ I seen him go.”
“Well, if you wanted to see my uncle,” I said, “why did you wait till he was gone?”
He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound at all. Apparently the laugh was the only answer I was going to get to my question. Then he returned to the subject of my errand.
“You ought t’ wait for yer menfolk t’ get back home. A pretty little miss like yourself shouldn’t be fetchin’ such a heavy load.”
“I can manage,” I said.
“Well, I’ll help ya. Lemme take that there bucket and I’ll go fill it for ya.” He stepped toward me.
I shrank back. “I can do it myself.”
“Shy, are you, Missy?” His coarse, ugly face broke into a leering grin. “Ole Buck’s jest tryin’ to be friendly.”
He moved quickly toward me and laid his rough hand on my shoulder.
I squirmed out of his grip and tried to run, but before I could get away his other hand shot up and grabbed me. My heart was pounding wildly now. I was really scared.
“You’re a supple little thing—an’ ole Buck likes ’em young an’ willowy. C’mon, I can show you a real good time.”
“P-please,” I said, “let me go . . . I have to get back.” He had me pinned against the rock at the edge of the mine now and I could hardly move. But I was afraid to struggle because he would only grip me tighter with those awful hands.
“Well, I sure can’t have you runnin’ back an’ tellin’ your uncle I was here, now can I?”
“He wouldn’t care,” I answered quickly.
“Ha, ha,” he laughed. “There you go lyin’ to ole Buck again! You know better’n that, now don’t ya? I think maybe I better jist take you along with me!”
“No, please!” I yelled. “The children—they’ll miss me and know something’s wrong!”
“Maybe I should take the whole brood o’ ya,” he answered, then laughed again. “That way, I’d be sure no one’d tell!”
“Please—I won’t say anything, if that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want, Missy, but I want more, too.” He thrust his face so near to mine that his whiskers scratched me. He tried to kiss me, but I twisted my face away and his awful mouth only brushed my cheek.
I felt sick and faint.
His breath was repulsive. Somehow I managed to keep my legs from giving out beneath me. Yet even if I didn’t pass out, I could not fight off this burly, strong man much longer.
He pressed closer and shoved the back of my head against the rock.
“Let me alone—please!” I begged, tears now streaming down my cheeks. “I won’t tell no one.”
“Don’t be scared o’ Buck, Missy.”
“Help—!” I tried to scream, but his hand quickly shot up and clamped over my mouth.
“Now, Missy, that won’t do a’ tall—”
But the man’s voice cut off sharply when the sound of footsteps could be heard nearby, followed by the light rustling of leaves and pebbles sliding down the embankment above us.
“What in tarnation?” he muttered, but then stopped speaking, realizing his danger. Slowly he loosened his hold on my shoulder, but kept one hand firmly over my mouth to keep me from calling out, while he listened intently.
All was quiet for a moment, then came the clicking sound of a rifle or pistol cocking.
“How in blazes could they have gotten back—” he began, then stopped short.
Again he thrust his face into mine, but all hint of vulgar playfulness was gone, and in its place was pure evil.
“You listen to me, Missy,” he whispered in a sinister threat. “One sound outta you, and I’ll kill your uncle and that fool partner o’ his. I ain’t so sure Drum ain’t more kin to you all than your uncle. Then I’ll come back an’ kill you an’ the kids too. You hear what Buck’s sayin’?”
I nodded in terror.
His hand came off my mouth and went straight to the gun at his side. He let go of me completely, then turned, and with gun drawn and eyes scanning the woods about us, began stealthily moving off in the direction of the noise.
There was another sound, this time from further off. It was like a rock hitting a tree, but I couldn’t be sure.
Buck twitched at the sound, uncertain fear replacing the grisly confidence on his face, then he moved off toward it, gun drawn in readiness.
I watched immobile, too petrified to move.
All at once, I felt another hand clamp over my mouth from behind. As I was watching Buck, from around the opposite side of the cave mouth, someone had silently crept up to my side.
My heart beating frantically, I jerked my head around.
It was Little Wolf!
As he stood there in his fawn-colored buckskin, one finger was pressed against his lips indicating silence. Slowly he removed his hand.
“Run back to the cabin,” he whispered.
“But—but—who is out there?” I whispered back, nodding in Buck’s direction with my head.
“No one,” he answered. “The wicked man chases sounds, that is all.”
“But the gun? We heard—”
“A trick sound my father taught me with the tongue,” Little Wolf whispered with a smile.
“But the sounds came from over there—” I pointed, still puzzled.
“No more questions. The Indian has had to learn many things the white man still does not understand to live from the land. But to make noises and then sneak away is not such a feat. It is something we must do every day when tracking the deer or the bear. Now—you must go!”
“But what about you?”
A smile broke across Little Wolf’s face.
“The bad man is not such a clever foe. I will keep him chasing his tail until your uncle returns. I have watched him before and I know his ways. No harm will come to you.”
I looked into his eyes, trying to speak a word of thanks.
But before I could say a word, Little Wolf had moved to the other side of the mine opening to glance around the embankment at Buck’s retreating figure.
I turned and ran back down the hill to the cabin.
Before going inside, I stopped and looked back. I was frightened for Little Wolf despite what he had said. He was now circling back the way he had come, up the embankment on the opposite side of the mine from where Buck was looking for him. I saw him work his way from tree to tree until he was almost within Buck’s line of vision again. Then he stopped, withdrew an arrow from his quiver, laid it into his bow, and sent it toward Buck.
Thwack! The arrow sunk deep into the trunk of a medium-sized pine tree about five yards from the prowling white man.
He turned suddenly. I couldn’t see his face, but I can just imagine how fearful he was.
Little Wolf stood still, in broad view, waiting for Buck to see him. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t hide!
“Why, you dirty savage!” roared Buck the moment he eyes focused on his adversary. In the next instant, the air was filled with gunfire as Buck let off a barrage in Little Wolf’s direction. But by now the Indian was invisible once more, and the next moment I heard Buck cursing loudly, and lumbering deeper into the woods after his elusive enemy.
I saw neither of them again, though I heard several more rounds of gunfire, always followed by frustrated swearing and angry threats. But each time I heard Buck’s voice, it was farther and farther away.
I had been so frightened for Little Wolf, that I didn’t realize until then that he was purposely drawing Buck after him, farther and farther from the mine and the cabin.
Finally, I stepped inside and lock
ed the door.
The bucket I’d taken to the mine was still there, but I wasn’t about to go after it. I could wait for my water.
Chapter 34
Later That Same Night
There were no more sounds from the woods for several hours.
In fact, the next sound I did hear was our wagon coming up the road. Pa was alone with the load of lumber. Uncle Nick had stayed in town for a while. As soon as Pa was in the door, I told him what had happened.
I’d never seen him look the way he did when I finished my story. I don’t know if it was only because of the threats to me, or if it was anger roused because someone had trespassed on his claim. But his eyes were flashing, and without a word or a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed his rifle from the corner and headed for the door, with a stern admonition to keep it locked.
I have no idea what he actually did or where he went. I’ll probably never know, because he didn’t talk about it when he returned at dusk. Uncle Nick had gotten back shortly after Pa left, and we’d all had supper.
The awful face of the man who called himself Buck was hard to erase from my mind, but almost worse was the look on Pa’s face when he’d stalked out of the cabin in the early afternoon. There was such a look of vengeful violence in his eyes! It had me worried the whole time he was out.
After he finished his supper, he went outside again to tend his horse. I felt I had to talk to him, so I followed him out. I found him leaning against the fence staring straight ahead. I was almost afraid to approach him, but he heard me and looked up before the second thoughts I was having allowed me to retreat.
“Kinda cold to be out, ain’t it, girl?” he said. His forehead was creased, the muscles in his neck taut.
“I was . . . nervous, Pa,” I began.
“Don’t worry. That slimy snake ain’t gonna git near you again!” His voice was full of hatred.
“I was nervous about you, Pa,” I said. “You seem—so—”
“I’ll be all right,” he muttered.
“You didn’t find him, did you? I mean, the man’s not—”
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