Cast a Road Before Me

by Brandilyn Collins

  Halfway through her prayer, I opened my eyes to watch her in awe. I’d known Miss Martha since coming to Bradleyville; she was a woman the whole town respected. But the power emanating from her bent frame that day was so tangible that it seemed to fill the room.

  “Amen.” Her prayer done, she smiled at the congregation. “Bless y’all for comin’ here today. I know you’re here, like I am, to hear the Word a God and to search your own hearts now that our tragedy is behind us. Now I ‘magine you’re wonderin’ what a little thing like me’s doin’ up here. Well, I could say I have a right. I heared how my own name was bandied about in front a the Riddum’s house Friday night.” Soft laughter rippled through the room. “But that ain’t why I’m here. I’m here to tell ya ‘bout an afternoon in my house over seven years ago. That afternoon, God sent me a vision. Never had one before, and I ain’t had one since. And I almost didn’t pay heed to it then, thinkin’ I was just bein’ a crazy ol’ woman. But God in his mercy sent that vision three times, just to make sure he’d got my attention. Right away, then, he also impressed upon me who I should tell. So I called Pastor Frasier and his wife Esther, and Virginia Crofts, my dear friend who goes to the Baptist church. And the four a us been prayin’ over that vision ever since then, never missed a week.”

  Not a sound could be heard from those listening, even with all the children in that gymnasium. I was as taken with her story as the rest. Of all people, I could understand the life-changing effect of a vision. I thought of my mother appearing to me in my dream, the shimmering hope that she had bestowed upon me. Oh, yes, this I could understand.

  “Now here’s what I saw in the vision, three times, sure as God lives. I saw the sky, black with night, stretched over a mob a ragin’ men. They was yellin’ and wavin’ clubs. Somebody had a torch, like he’s ‘bout to light somethin’ on fire. And there was other men pointin’ guns at ‘em, ready to shoot. There was a buildin’ a some kind, with white pillars. Just outside that buildin’ a man lay on the ground, lookin’ for all the world like he was dead.”

  Folks’ jaws were loosening. My nerves began to hum. I don’t think one of us listeners dared breathe.

  “And there was one more thing.” Miss Martha nodded, remembering. “In that entire vision, only one face was clear. And I see ya here this mornin’, dear soul. Forgive me for sayin’ your name out loud to these good folk. I don’t mean to embarrass ya. But this is what the Lord would have me do, to show everyone here his power and glory.”

  Lee, I thought. She saw Lee leading the men.

  “Right smack into the middle a those violent men I saw a small figure runnin’ with all her might. And that was sweet young Jessie Callum.”

  My knees nearly buckled. Surprise buzzed through the gymnasium, heads turning, seeking a glimpse of me. Lee and Miss Wilma and my aunt and uncle twisted around in their seats, their joy at my unexpected presence evident in their frantic searching. Aunt Eva caught sight of me first and pointed. Lee’s eyes locked with mine. My heart hammered. I would have fled out the doors had my feet not been bolted to the floor.

  “Listen to me, dear folks.” Miss Martha waited for everyone to settle. “God, in his mercy, sent that vision so that, for over seven years, I and the three others he called specifically for his purpose, could pray. We prayed for every person in that vision—all those faceless folk we knew were from Bradleyville. God chose not to reveal the time or occasion or place a this ordeal. We could not even guess the details until the mill problems came up, and then God told me the time was near. Two nights ago, when many a you men were gatherin’, Pastor Frasier got word of it, and the four a us got outta bed to pray. We met in my livin’ room, pleadin’ for protection and mercy over our men in Jesus’ name. We prayed that whoever was on the ground in that vision would be spared. And we prayed that God would show us as a town all he needed to show us through this tragedy. Although we didn’t know it at the time, God led Frank Bellingham to go and pray in the midst of the ruckus. And I know some a you wives was prayin’ too. God answered our prayers. He’s brought us here today, safe and sound, with Jake Lewellyn on the mend. Everyone goes back to work tomorrow. With a raise. Sometimes God’s blessin’s just overflow. I have no doubt that without God’s foretellin’ and without seven years’ worth a prayin’ the destruction two nights ago would a been a terrible sight to behold. God held back the forces a evil, folks, for this reason—to show us all that he is Lord. This town’s been headed down the wrong road for some time now. It was a mighty dark and scary one too. I know, ‘cause I was once on a road like that. Well, the Lord’s got a right road for each a us. He’ll cast that road before you, into glories you never could have imagined, endin’ some day in heaven itself. Some sixty years ago, he set me on mine. And I believe every day he goes down that road ahead a me and blesses it.”

  Miss Martha spoke for another ten minutes or so, calling folks to turn their lives “100 percent” over to Christ. “Don’t think settin’ in church or bein’ good’s all ya need to do,” she pleaded. “That’s what we all been doin’ for years now, and look where it got us. You and me, we’ll never be good enough to reach heaven without the redemption a Christ.”

  Never good enough. For the first time, those words, coming in such context and from the lips of a woman like Martha Plott, held no chill for me. I wondered at that.

  When Miss Martha finished talking, quiet weeping dotted the rows of worshipers. No one was looking at me anymore; peoples’ thoughts had turned inward. The air in that hot gym hung heavy with a serene anticipation I’d never experienced. It frightened me in a vague, undefined way, as though something precious were about to be taken from me. I needed to get away from it, get out of the building. I started to turn toward the door, but my eye was caught by a familiar figure moving up the stage steps. Thomas. I halted, half afraid of what he would say. Surely he wouldn’t confess to this crowd that he’d lied.

  He nodded to the two ministers, who resumed their seats after helping Miss Martha into the hands of her grandniece by the stairs, and adjusted the microphone. “I won’t be long, folks,” he said almost apologetically. “I wasn’t supposed to be up here at all. But I just got to tell ya, I agree with everything Martha said. Hearin’ her story puts me to shame. ‘Cause while she was prayin’ for the Lord’s intervention, I was runnin’ ‘round tryin’ to fix things myself.”

  No, Thomas, I thought, holding my breath.

  “Y’all know me. You know I’m a proud man. Struggled with pride all my life and probably ain’t got it licked yet. My daddy always put Jesus first in his life, not his own self, so I should know better. But just seems over the years I forgot the decision I made as a boy—to let Jesus lead my life. Not that I didn’t believe in the Lord, far from it. It’s just that, goin’ down the road, like Martha was talkin’ ‘bout, I was the driver. God was somewhere in the backseat. Well, by the grace a God we got through Friday night anyway. Not ‘cause a anything I did, but because God pushed me outta the driver’s seat and into the trunk.”

  He stopped for a deep breath. I could not move, listening to him. His humble words made my heart ache.

  “I’m here to tell ya, I’m changin’ my ways. God’s gonna be my driver all the time now. I’ll try to keep my high opinion a myself in the background. Okay? That’s all I got to say.”

  I’d never seen Thomas so meek. He stepped back from the microphone, then changed his mind and moved forward again. “Jus’ one more thing. Don’t y’all forget that my best friend, Jake, saved my life. Now he’s got his own battle scars, so I s’pose our bestin’ feud is even for now.” He grinned suddenly, and I saw the Thomas I knew. “But don’t think our feudin’s over. Somebody’s got to give this town a few laughs.”

  That brought a chuckle as he left the podium. Pastor Burle stood to announce that we would sing a hymn, inviting those who wanted to publicly and fully dedicate their lives to Christ to come to the edge of the stage for prayer. Even as the beginning words were sung, people began to move forward
. Lee was one of the first to rise. My heart turned over. For the briefest moment I longed to go with him. Then guilt flashed through me at the thought, as if I’d betrayed my own destiny. More than seven years ago, somewhere around the time Martha Plott had seen her vision, I had dreamed of my mother. Now the results of both were coming to fruition.

  Ducking my head, I slipped out the door. Hot sun bounced off my forehead, and I shaded my eyes as I picked up speed, hurrying down the steps. I’d reached no farther than the sidewalk when I heard my name called. Sliding to an abrupt halt, I let my eyes slip shut, sighing in frustration.

  “What is it, Thomas,” I said almost accusingly as I turned. “I have to be going, and I don’t have time for anyone else to try and talk me out of it.”

  “Well, then, I won’t try.” He drew near me on the sidewalk, standing so that a gnarled oak tree blocked the sun. “Just saw you leave and wanted to say good-bye, that’s all.”

  Remorse washed through me. I nodded, looking at my feet.

  “I’ll sure miss ya. I know Celia will too.”

  How many times did I have to hear these words? A desperation to be gone surged through me. Only my respect for Thomas stayed a hasty farewell. “I was afraid for a moment there,” I heard myself say, “that you were going to tell them the truth.”

  He smiled ruefully. “Couldn’t do that now, could I. I can ask God’s forgiveness, but not theirs. That’s what I get, bein’ so proudful and tryin’ to fix things myself.”

  “How could you just make all that up?”

  “Well, I didn’t make it all up. That lamp did explode after the fire was set, and pieces went through the screen.”

  “But, Thomas, how’d you get away with it? Surely the fire inspectors know the truth.”

  “Only them. And Bill Scutch. And after it was all over, your uncle figured it out. But when the men started gatherin’ that night, I begged Bill to let me feed ‘em the story. At the time, seemed it would maybe calm things down. The hard part was convincin’ the fire inspectors afterward to let the story stay. It meant lettin’ Riddum go. But if he went to jail, what would happen to the mill? The men could all lose their jobs—for good. If I hadn’t known those inspectors personally, they wouldn’t a listened. And they could sure lose their jobs too, if the truth got out. So I guess you ‘n’ me got one more secret between us to carry to our graves.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. For a moment we were silent.

  “You heared what I said in there, Jessie?”

  Here came the preaching. I braced myself. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I hope you’ll hear with your heart. There’s a lot a people in there right now gettin’ straight with God ‘cause a all this. Their eyes have been opened, like mine.” His voice was soft. “Like I hope yours’ll be.”

  I don’t know why it happened at that moment. After the years of sermons I’d heard in Bradleyville, after all the talks with my aunt and uncle and Lee. But for some reason, right then, as I stood on the hot sidewalk opposite Thomas, the quiet chorus of a hymn filtering from the school gym, I was struck by the message he was trying to get through my head. The words hit my chest, seeping into my hollow places. And suddenly I saw everything laid before me, as though a light had flicked on in my head. I was closing my eyes to the better way God was trying to show me. I was doggedly choosing my own path—my mother’s path, because I could not admit she had lacked something herself. I saw this in a flash, and it scared me to death, for I could not imagine heeding this warning. I simply could not turn from the course my dream had put me on.

  I shoved the thoughts away. Regrouping, I sought distraction in details of the sawmill.

  “Once the men return to work, Riddum could go back on everything you forced him to say that night.”

  Thomas waved an impatient hand. “Don’t worry ‘bout that. He’ll behave hisself, else he knows we’ll pull a few mislaid facts outta our back pockets and come up with a ‘new’ theory. We finally got him right where we want him. Still, I’m gonna start prayin’ he sells the mill and moves on. If I wasn’t gittin’ so old, I’d buy it back myself.”

  I remained unconvinced. “I just don’t want him taking things out on the men. I want Uncle Frank and Lee to be happy.”

  “Your Uncle Frank’ll be just fine. Lee … well, Lee’s heart’s broken over your leavin’. But I s’pose he’ll get used to the idea, jus’ like the rest of us have to.”

  “It’s about time I heard somebody say that. Seems like everybody in Bradleyville thinks this town’s got a corner on God.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know ‘bout that. I do know he’s got a corner on us, and that’s what counts. And I believe he’s got a corner on you too, Jessie. I’m gonna be prayin’ every day that you hear his voice loud and clear—whatever it is he needs to say to you. As for me, I got my work cut out for me, right in my own home.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He regarded me for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. “Little Celia’s a mighty sad child. I’m ‘fraid she’s payin’ the price with Estelle for things that go back long before she was born. Those things is my fault, and I might have to spend the rest a my life tryin’ to make ‘em right.”

  Celia always had seemed so serious. I couldn’t bear to think of her hurting. “I’ll make sure to visit with her especially,” I said lamely. “At Thanksgiving, I mean.”

  Sorrow flicked across Thomas’s face. “You do that.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Well. Better let ya go now. I gotta get back inside anyway. I need to be prayin’ with folks.”

  I promised to call and give him my new phone number. He hugged me hard, his roughened cheek grazing mine. And then I was on my way down the street, alone, the strains of another hymn drifting behind me.

  chapter 50

  Things don’t always happen quite the way you expect. I’d once envisioned Lee waving good-bye to me in the pouring rain, but the clouds that day were high and white, and Lee was so busy praying with the townsfolk, he probably hadn’t even noticed I’d left the gym. Jealousy ripped at me as I pictured him surrounded by friends and family while I drove off alone. I’d also imagined driving out of town with spirits soaring, hardly believing that the day had finally arrived. I’d imagined it with a clear sense of my guardian angel’s protection, the indomitable excitement of embarking on the plans that God, through her, had laid for me. Instead, I didn’t feel sheltered at all, only solitary and vulnerable. Why, as I passed the Bradleyville sign, could I not shake that nagging feeling that, in truth, I was leaving God behind?

  I drove out of town that morning with windows open, hair blowing around my face, wondering how far I had to go until the pull of Bradleyville would finally recede, and I could again feel deep within me that I was doing the right thing. The first three-and-a-half hours of my trip would be over winding Kentucky backroads. I drove as fast as I could, straining my neck out the window for a chance to pass an occasional logging truck. As the wheels of my car spun, unraveling miles between my old life and new, I turned my thoughts to my empty and waiting apartment. Tomorrow I would buy blue paint. Maybe even do the room. How much easier it would be to paint without having to cover furniture. Tuesday morning I’d rent pieces for the living room, plus a kitchen table and chairs. Arrange to have them delivered by the time the moving truck arrived, if possible. Wednesday I’d drive to Hope Center, meet the new staff, maybe pitch in for an hour or two, doing whatever was needed. Thursday I’d make a point of visiting around my apartment complex, meeting new neighbors. Perhaps go swimming. Maybe by Friday I’d have made some new friends—a couple to invite to supper, a girlfriend to see a movie with. Maybe within a week or two I’d even have a date. I tried to picture what he’d look like but could only see Lee’s face.

  The turnoff to the hospital in Albertsville was coming up. I passed it without slowing.

  An hour from Bradleyville, I felt even more alone. As the minutes ticked by, the depression gave way to resentment. Where are you? I prayed to my guardi
an angel mother. You’re supposed to be helping me! I’m doing what you wanted; why can’t you be here for me?

  It is not what I want, something deep inside me responded.

  I shook my head to clear it. I breathed deeply and searched for other things to think about. In great detail, I began picturing my job. Going in the first day, wearing my yellow dress. I pictured sitting in on meetings with Edna Slate, the social worker I was replacing; being introduced to her families; going over files with her; meeting other people in the agency. I pictured the faces of the little children I’d see, imagined how my heart would go out to them, how fervently I’d want to help. I would be happy there; I’d be doing all day what my mother could only volunteer to do after work. Plus I’d be helping at the Center. I’d be doubly blessed. Never would I face the despair that had crossed my mother’s brow as she drove away that final day of her life.

  Two hours from Bradleyville I stopped in a tiny town and bought a Coke and candy bar. The girl behind the counter reminded me of a young Connie, apple-cheeked and dark-haired. Accepting change, I smiled at her lingeringly. As I left the store, I could feel her eyes on my back, wondering if she knew me.

  My candy bar disappeared slowly, the Coke growing warm on the seat between my legs. The road curved and twisted, pulling me away from Bradleyville, toward my new home. Two-and-a-half hours out, I whispered aloud to my guardian angel, “Another thirty minutes and I’m halfway there.” The knowledge brought no comfort.

  … to show us all that he is Lord. Unexpectedly, Miss Martha’s words flashed through my head. I saw her in front of the podium, tiny and frail, telling the town of her vision. What a remarkable thing that was. Amazing. And she and others had prayed for seven years about it. How strong her belief in that vision had been, to keep her praying for that long. I understood the energizing power of such unearthly knowledge, comparing Miss Martha’s vision to my dream. And yet her knowledge had culminated tangibly, while mine was….