Melora had finished the dishes and took pity on the preacher. She knew her brothers and sisters thought it was funny that Rev. Irons kept coming to call on her and was always trapped in the single room with half a dozen small Yancys and forced to listen to her father discuss the Bible.
“I’ve got to go check on the new calf,” she announced.
“I’ll jist go along with you, sister,” Lonnie said with a gleam in his eye.
“You’ll do no such thing, Lonnie,” Melora announced firmly. “You’ll do the rest of those problems on page 34.” She gave the others a straight, hard look that shut down the works before they even started. “The rest of you finish up your work, too.”
Irons got up hastily, saying, “I’ll go along, Melora. I always like to see a new calf.”
“They are a sight to behold, ain’t they now,” Lonnie exclaimed with a grin. “I allus like to go down five or six times a day and see the new calves!” Then he caught his father’s warning glance and sat down suddenly and lowered his head over his arithmetic book.
When Melora and Irons left, his father said, “Lonnie, if you make fun of Rev. Irons and his courtin’ one more time, I’ll peel your potato, you hear me, boy?”
“Yessir,” Lonnie mumbled but gave a merry wink at Bobby and Rose, who giggled. “But, Pa, there’s something downright comical about it, ain’t they, now? I mean, I never thought of an old man like Rev. Irons courtin’ a lady—and ‘specially not Melora.”
Buford Yancy did not allow a flicker of an emotion to show in his steady gaze, which he fixed on Lonnie. But he had felt more or less the same way when he had first discovered what was happening. When the minister had started calling, Buford thought Irons was making a pastoral call. But the man kept coming over a period of several weeks. Finally Yancy had remarked to Melora one evening after Irons went home having stayed most of the evening, “‘Pears like the reverend likes to talk theology with me, don’t it, Melora?”
“He’s calling on me, Daddy,” Melora had said, and she had laughed outright at the comical expression on his face. “How’d you like to have a preacher for a son-in-law?” she had teased him, but then had shaken her head and patted his arm. “It won’t come to anything. He’s just lonesome—and he wants a woman to help him raise Asa and Ann.”
Now as Melora walked along the path to the barn, she knew that Irons was frustrated. “You ought to give up, Jeremiah,” she said frankly. “I don’t think any other man in the world would put up with such a thing—courting a woman under the eyes of such a mob.”
Irons suddenly chuckled, for he had a keen sense of humor. “I do it because it gives such fun to your brothers and sisters,” he said. “And it’s one way I can irritate some of my congregation without fear of getting run off.”
They came to the wooden fence then, and Melora leaned on it, watching the calf come wobbling to her call. She put her hand out and enjoyed the rough texture of the beautiful creature’s tongue. “You’re a beauty, you are,” she murmured, running her hand over the silky coat of the young creature.
Jeremiah watched her, the red-gold rays of the setting sun washing over her glossy black hair, the blackest hair he’d ever seen. Her skin was creamy and smooth as silk, and her large almond-shaped eyes were filled with delight at the calf. Irons was not a poetic man, but now he said without meaning to, “You’re the beauty, Melora.”
Startled, she brought her gaze up to meet his, and a slight flush tinged her cheeks. “You’ve been a long time coming to that, Jeremiah,” she remarked.
“I’m a slow man,” he said. “I was a slow child, a slow young fellow, and now in my old age I’m as slow as ever.”
“You’re not old,” Melora said quickly, almost defensively.
“I’m thirty-eight; you’re twenty-five.”
“That makes no difference. You married Judd Harkins to Della Mae Conroy last January. He was sixty-two and she was only seventeen.”
“I thought Judd made a fool out of himself, too.” Then he took her hand, marveling at the strength and smoothness of it. “But you go on talking like that, Melora. I need somebody on my side.” Then he dropped her hand, took her gently, and pulled her forward. Her lips were cool and tender, and he thought once that he felt her respond to his kiss. But there was a reserve in Melora Yancy, which he had long admired—most young women were too forward. He had watched Melora coolly receive several young men, some of them substantial and sound. The community had been offended when she refused them all, giving as a reason that she could not leave her brothers and sisters.
Now as she pulled back slightly and looked up at him, he saw that the kiss had not moved her—as it had him. She was watching him soberly with a steady gaze. “I’d like for you to marry me, Melora,” he said quietly.
“I know, Jeremiah,” she said slowly. “But I don’t love you—not in that way.”
“That can come later.”
“I’d be afraid to gamble on such a thing. What if it didn’t come? Marriage is forever. I can’t think of anything worse than sharing a house and a bed with a man I didn’t love with all my heart.”
Her forthrightness made him blink, and he was suddenly out of words. Finally he summoned up a smile of sorts. “I’m slow, Melora, but I’m stubborn. You think I’ll be so embarrassed by your refusal that I’ll let the matter drop. But you don’t know me as well as you think.”
She smiled and patted his cheek. “Perhaps not, Jeremiah. But I hate to see you wasting your time.” The humor that lay just beneath the surface of her lively mind leaped out at him. “You’d pass up the Widow Hathcock for a chance to marry me? And her with five hundred acres of prime land?”
“Oh, Melora!” Irons groaned. “She’s a fine woman, but she must weigh three hundred pounds!” Then he saw that she was teasing him, and he laughed despite himself. “A man would never be bored in a marriage with you!”
The moment had passed, and they sat down on a stile, talking freely. He came finally to speak of Clay Rocklin. “He’s in big trouble, Melora,” he said, shaking his head. “He’s given his best shot to reforming his life—and it’s not working.” He had gone hunting with Clay once since his return, and Clay had spoken tersely of his bad dreams and his doubts of anything ever coming of his return.
“He’s trying very hard,” Melora said quietly. “Pa says the same as you, that he’s not going to make it.”
“I think he’s at a crossroads, Melora. He’s got to find God now, or I don’t think he ever will.”
“You’ve talked to him, haven’t you, Jeremiah? You’re a preacher, but you’re better, I think, face-to-face.”
“I tried, but Clay’s got the idea he’s sinned away his day of grace. Some idiot put the idea of an ‘unpardonable’ sin in his mind, and he thinks he’s crossed the line.” He sat there silently, thinking of Clay, and finally he said, “I think you ought to talk to him, Melora.”
“Me? Why, I couldn’t tell Clay Rocklin what to do!”
“Yes, you could.” The certainty grew in him, and he turned to face her. “He doesn’t need complexity of any sort, Melora. No complicated theology—such as your father loves to talk about. I’ve heard you talk about your love for Jesus and His love for you. The power of God is in you when you do that. That’s one big mistake people make. They think that the power of God comes when a preacher is up on a platform, yelling with all his might! Well, sometimes it is, but far more often I think people sense God when somebody like you speaks of Jesus.”
“I—I want so much to see him find his way, Jeremiah!”
“You two are great friends, aren’t you?”
“I’ve always felt close to him somehow. When I was a little girl, I thought he was wonderful. Even when he went bad, I knew there was something good in him—and I prayed for him all the time he was gone.”
“Talk to him, Melora. Perhaps, like another young woman, you’ve come to the kingdom for such a time as this.”
When Clay Rocklin rode his big buckskin into the f
ront yard two days after Irons had urged her to speak with him, Melora had one of the strangest feelings she had ever experienced. For one thing, she was absolutely alone, which had not happened more than half a dozen times in her life. A circus had come to Richmond, and her father had bundled the whole family up and taken them to see it. It was not a thing he had planned, but for some reason he felt constrained to do it. “By gum, every child ort to go to the circus once, and you young’uns are going if it harelips Virginia!”
Melora hadn’t been feeling well and felt that the quiet would do her more good than all the excitement of a circus. But when Clay rode in, she began to tremble, for she had promised God that she would talk with Clay if God would make the arrangements. She was a woman of faith, and this was beginning to look as much like a miracle as anything she had seen. As she went to greet him, she was agitated in her spirit.
“Hello, Melora,” Clay said, pulling a package from one of his saddlebags. “I brought the worm medicine Buford asked me to pick up for the stock. Is he inside?”
“N–no, they’re all gone to Richmond.”
Clay saw that she was upset, the first time he had ever seen her shaken. “What’s the matter, Melora?” he demanded.
Melora stared at him, tempted to let the moment pass, but she remembered Irons’s words—and she remembered her promise to God. Her voice was not steady, and her lips were tight as she said, “Mister Clay, can I talk to you?”
“Why, certainly!” Clay felt that she was struggling with a personal problem and thought, She’s got nobody to talk to. I hope I can help.
Melora turned and walked into the cabin, and when he followed her, she said, “Let’s sit down at the table.” When he sat down with his black eyes fixed on her, she walked to the bookcase and returned with the big black family Bible. It was worn thin and dog-eared, the pages brown with age. She put her hand on it, said a quick prayer, then gave him a tremendous smile, saying, “Mister Clay, I’ve always loved you.”
Clay blinked, his jaw dropping. He could not speak, so shattered had he become.
She continued, “You’ve done so much for me, ever since I was a little girl!”
“Why, Melora, I’ve done very little!”
“Maybe you think so, but I don’t. So I’m thanking you for the books and everything.” He tried to protest, but she shook her head. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Mister Clay, you’re having a terrible time, aren’t you?”
“Why—I’m no worse off than lots of others, Melora!”
Melora shook her head, and there was something fragile, yet very strong, in her firm jaw. “You’re dying, and unless you get some help, you’re not going to make it. Isn’t that the truth?”
Clay stared at her—this young woman knew what was happening to him. How? He couldn’t tell, but he said heavily, “I guess you’re right, Melora. I never really thought it was going to work, my coming back here. I guess my father is going to make it—but I’m going away.”
“You mustn’t!” Melora cried out, and the smoothness of her face was marred by pain. “You can’t run away! You’ve got to stay!”
“It just isn’t working, Melora,” Clay said, defeat in his eyes and despair in his voice.
“Mister Clay,” she said quickly, “can I tell you about what happened to me when I was fifteen years old?” She waited for his nod, then began to speak slowly. “I was so afraid that I could never be happy. I was all legs and arms and thought I was so ugly. And we were so poor! I wanted to have nice dresses and go to school … but I knew none of it was ever going to happen.”
For a long time Melora went on, speaking softly, her eyes fixed on his. He sat there, seeing for the first time the life of the child he had thought was so happy and content. It had simply never occurred to him that Melora had problems that went so deep.
Finally Melora said, “I was so miserable, I prayed that God would take my life.” She smiled then, saying, “But God was there! It was in this room, Mister Clay, right at this table. Everyone was in bed asleep, but I’d stayed up crying over my life. And then a wonderful thing happened. I was sitting right here in this chair, when I suddenly felt—oh, I don’t know how to say it! Have you ever been alone, maybe out in a field, and had the feeling that you’re not really alone, that someone is watching you even if you can’t see anyone?”
“Many times, Melora!”
“It was a little like that, but different, too, somehow. My mother was living then, and she was always so busy with all of us, but once when I was no more than seven or eight, I woke up after a nightmare, crying and scared to death. She came to me, took me in her arms … and all the fear left me! It was a little like that, Mister Clay. I just felt that God was in the room, and I began to read the Bible. Right off I read a verse that said, ‘Sirs, what must I do to be saved?’ and then the next verse said, ‘Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house.’” Melora’s eyes suddenly flooded with tears, and she brushed them away with one hand. “I didn’t know what to do. I’d been so scared and lonely, and all I knew to do was ask God to do what my mother had done. I just said, ‘Lord, I want to be saved! Will you please save me?’”
Clay watched her and saw that she was choked with emotion. “What happened then, Melora?”
Diamonds were in her eyes as she looked across the table at him. “Nothing really. I mean, I didn’t hear any voices or anything. But something happened to me right here in this chair. Ever since that moment, Mister Clay, I’ve loved God. Jesus Christ has been as real to me as you are. And I’ve never been afraid or lonely.”
Clay saw that she was finished and said, “That’s a wonderful story, Melora. You’ve got such peace, more than anyone I know.”
“Would you like to have that sort of peace?” Melora asked at once.
“Why, of course, Melora. But it’s not for me. You don’t know what I’ve done, the wrongs that—”
“Jesus died for those sins!” Melora insisted. “It says so right here.” She opened the worn Bible and read a verse: “‘Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness: by whose stripes ye were healed.’”
For some reason that Clay could not understand, he became extremely nervous. There was no reason for it, for Melora was speaking in a very moderate voice. But it was similar to the time before a battle, when a man’s hands would begin to sweat and his stomach would tighten. If it had been Jeremiah Irons, he would have given a list of reasons why he could not trust Jesus Christ. But Melora was different. She was no preacher, had nothing to gain from him. He felt free with her in a way he never would have with a preacher or a member of his family. “Melora, I can’t understand it. How can a man dying two thousand years ago do anything for me? I’ll never understand such a thing!”
“No, you won’t,” Melora agreed. “It’s not a thing a person can understand. I didn’t understand when my mother came to me and my fears all left. We never understand love, do we, Mister Clay? You love your mother, but can you explain what that is? No, but it’s real, more real than some of the things you can understand, isn’t it?”
Clay stared at her, then slowly nodded. “Yes, Melora. It is. But—surely it’s not as easy as that. Surely a man has to do something before God will have him!”
“Do what?” Melora demanded strongly. “If a person could do something to get rid of his sins, why would God send Jesus to die on the cross? Most of the Bible is about people who thought they could do something to make God love them. But God just loves us, Clay. We don’t have to earn it. I think all love is like that. Suppose you went to Rena and said, ‘I’ll love you, but only if you do certain things!’ You would never do that! You just love her, don’t you?”
Melora had touched a nerve, and Clay suddenly wet his lips. He clenched his hands to keep them from trembling. Suddenly he realized from her simple words what a thousand sermons had failed to make clear: God did love him! He dropped his eyes, for he
could not hold her gaze. “Melora, I’ve been so rotten!” and then without planning it, he told her of his experience on the Carrie Jane. It was the first time he had spoken of it to anyone, and the bitterness of it all flooded over him. He spoke of the young woman and the baby, and when he got to the part when they were dragged overboard, his throat grew thick and his eyes burned with unshed tears.
He looked up, expecting to see disgust and rejection in her—and saw that she was weeping. He cried out suddenly, “Melora! I’m a murderer! God help me! I can’t forget those poor people I killed.”
Clay Rocklin had never wept, not since he was a child, but now his body was racked with great sobs. He stared at her helplessly, tears running down his cheeks.
Melora saw that he was paralyzed by his guilt, and at once she got up and went to him. She took his head, holding it against her breast for a moment. She felt the terror that was shaking him and waited for a few moments. Then she drew back and knelt beside him.
“You can’t undo the past, Clay. Those who died are in God’s hands. But you can’t carry such a load!”
“Melora … what can I do?”
“You’ve been a proud man, but now you’ve got to do the one thing that’s hardest for a strong man. You must do it!”
“Do what, Melora?” he asked thickly.
“You have to receive, Clay. God wants to give you a precious gift. He wants to give you life. Life in Jesus Christ. You’ve already confessed you’ve been a sinner. Now will you ask God to put your sins on Jesus? And will you let Jesus come into your life? That means more than going to church. It’s like a marriage! You’ll be part of the bride of Christ, and a bride loves and honors her husband above all things. Will you do that, Clay?”
Clay Rocklin felt that he was standing on a tremendously high precipice. He felt that he must turn and run or he would fall off. Yet somehow he knew that his only hope for peace was to throw himself off the cliff. As Melora continued to speak to him, not of doctrines or creeds, but of Jesus Christ, the man of Galilee, he felt a rising faith that was like nothing he’d ever felt in church. It was a quiet and powerful thing, as real as the earth or sky.
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 24
