Before long, Josepha was her lively old self again, telling us story after story and keeping us all laughing till nearly midnight.
ROB’S LETTER
24
KATIE SAT DOWN THE NEXT DAY TO READ THE letter from Rob again.
Dear Katie, she read.I hope you don’t mind if I write this letter to you to help me sort out my thoughts. A decision has been placed before me, and I’m not sure what I should do. My boss, Sheriff Heyes, whom you met when you and your uncle were in Ellicott City, has been offered a job in Hanover, a town in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. A good friend of his, Mr. Evans, who has owned a large farm and property near there for years, and also operates the telegraph office, informed him of it. The current assistant sheriff for York County in Hanover is retiring before the end of his term, and they have offered the position to Sheriff Heyes.
The decision I am facing is that John Heyes has asked me to go with him as his deputy. It is not such a great distance, only thirty or forty miles. I spent some time in Pennsylvania when I served in the Union Army. But the fact that it is in Pennsylvania, when I have been a Maryland native and resident most of my life, makes it seem a larger decision than it probably really is. It would be farther from my family in Baltimore, and I would not have the opportunity to see them quite as often. That is, I think, an important aspect of the decision. Because along with this, my older sister Rachel is engaged to be married in a few months. I don’t remember if I have told you or not, but I am a twin. My twin sister is no longer living. She went to be with God when we were seventeen—a very difficult and tragic farewell for all of us in the family. Her death—and the circumstances surrounding it—was the major turning point in my life, both spiritually and in the choice of my present vocation. I hope one day I shall have the opportunity to tell you about it in detail.
Now with Rachel’s upcoming marriage, it will mean that my parents will be alone for the first time, and I feel a responsibility to be as near them as I can. They are in good health, and my father has never in my hearing spoken of retirement. But they are in their fifties, and as their only son, and with Rachel marrying, I need to be attentive to the passage of the years and my duty toward them. So a potential move farther from them is something I must weigh seriously.
My chief concern, of course, is what God wants me to do. I would appreciate your prayers that I would be able to discern His will in this matter. Early in my life, before my sister’s death, I planned to follow in my father’s footsteps into the ministry. The decision not to pursue the ministry was precipitated by a crisis in my life that actually deepened my faith, not lessened it. I know it may sound strange to say that a deepening of my faith led me away from the ministry, but that is how the circumstances worked out in my life. Now that I am a deputy sheriff instead of a pastor does not mean I am any less a Christian, or any less obligated to find out what God wants me to do above what I might want to do myself. Dad’s wisdom has always guided my growth and my perspective in spiritual things. His common sense in seeking God’s will has always been an example to me, and now I am attempting, once again, to find out what God’s will is for me through the principles my father always taught our family.
Well, I do not want to bore you with my dilemma, but I did want to ask for your prayers and, if you have any, your thoughts on the matter. Even if you do not have any pearls of wisdom for me, it is always a pleasure to hear from you. Your life down there at Rosewood, even if occasionally dangerous, from some of the things you have told me, always sounds so much more interesting than mine and I never tire of hearing about it. But we all have to do our best to live faithfully where the Lord places us, and therefore I am very grateful for the opportunities He gives me to do His work wherever I am.
I am,
Yours faithfully,
Rob Paxton
Katie set down the letter and did as Rob asked. She prayed that God would show him what he was supposed to do.
A SCARE
25
One Sunday Jeremiah and I went for a ride through the woods on the road west toward Mr. Thurston’s. It was a pretty hot day, and the two horses were wet with salt and sweat when we got back to Rosewood. We were hot and sweaty too.
We washed the horses down and scrubbed and brushed them with several buckets of water. Then, like always seemed to happen on a hot day around the pump, we got to playing and splashing in the water ourselves, pumping it out and dousing each other with water as fast as we could pump it.
Pretty soon Katie had come along and was getting in on the fun and the three of us were running all over the place, laughing and yelling at each other. It wasn’t quite as out of control and silly as the water fights used to be with Emma and William. Emma could get mighty wild! But it got wild enough that Josepha came out and stood on the porch watching, with her dish towel in hand, wondering what had got into us.
Jeremiah had the easiest time of it since he could easily outrun Katie and me, especially after our dresses got soaked and heavy and clingy. But it felt so good!
Frantic to escape Jeremiah as he came after me with a bucket half full of water, I ran laughing and giggling toward the cabin Henry had been working on.
“Henry . . . Henry!” I cried, running inside full of the spirit of play. But Henry wasn’t there.
I ran through the house and out the back door just as I heard Jeremiah pounding up the front steps. Laughing and giving myself away, I dashed around the back side of the house between the wall of a new room Henry had added and a woodpile of boards and wood scraps. I was so caught up in the chase that I never saw the tail of a snake sticking out from beneath the wood where it had crawled to find shade. Startled from the sudden noise and my kicking the edge of the board and disturbing him, it quickly reacted.
I screamed in pain as it struck, and I fell to the ground as I ran. My leg was almost numb.
Jeremiah was beside me in an instant. He picked up the nearest board and clubbed the snake to death with a fury I’d never seen. Then he stooped down, picked me up, and ran for the house, yelling for Papa and everyone else that I’d been bit by a copperhead.
By the time we reached the house I was already feeling faint. I heard voices and shouts and was aware of people hurrying up, but everything was a confusion in my brain. I didn’t know whether I was afraid or not. Jeremiah laid me down on the porch, and it’s a good thing I didn’t see what was about to happen because it would have scared me to death, but the next instant Uncle Ward pulled out his long sharp knife and sliced a huge gash in my leg and then sucked at the blood as hard as he could, spitting it out on the ground.
“Laws almighty!” I heard Josepha exclaim, “dat blood’s all yeller!”
“That’s not blood, Josepha,” said my papa. “That’s venom.—Kathleen, Jeremiah . . . run for ice. See if there’s any left in the icehouse. Bring it all! We’ve got to cool that leg down.”
I was hardly aware of the pain because my leg was numb. Uncle Ward sucked at the wound several more times, then cut it again, even deeper, and did the same thing just like before.
“Templeton, start pumping water into the big washtub!” he yelled. “I’ll do what I can here, then we’ve got to get her into cold water to try to keep it from spreading through her body. I saw it in California. Sometimes it works. And keep the dogs away!”
That was all I heard.
The next thing I knew I was in my own bed upstairs. I woke up all dreamy-like, sort of coming only half awake. All I could feel in my leg was a cold numbness. And heaviness. It was so heavy I couldn’t move it if I’d tried. I was cold all over even though I was in bed. I heard myself groan and someone came hurrying over. I think it was Katie. She bent down over me and said some words and kissed me, but I didn’t know what she said, or even if it was her. Then I moaned some more and the light faded and I fell asleep again.
I awoke to pitch black. My first thought was that I was dead. Then I heard a few crickets and the bark of a dog in the distance, and I knew it was night. I w
as no longer cold. I felt an itching. I tried to scratch at my leg but felt nothing.
Again consciousness faded.
Voices and movement disturbed me.
Again it was light but I could see nothing clearly. All was a blur. I tried to say something, but no sound came from my mouth.
People were talking . . . strange voices.
“. . . have to wait and see,” said a man I did not seem to know. “It’s . . . get her to drink . . . got to have water . . .”
“How long before . . . know?” said another man’s voice.
“Can’t . . . see how . . . lose the leg . . . better than dying.”
Somebody started to cry.
Again I fell asleep.
When I awoke the next time, instead of cold I was on fire—my leg, my whole body. I couldn’t imagine what I was doing in this bed with blankets heaped up over me!
I tried to say something but again all that came out was a moan.
Voices . . . someone came to the bedside . . . whoever it was put a cup to my lips and lifted me enough so that I could drink. The water felt good. I was so hot all over!
“Drink . . . drink as much as you can, Mayme,” said the voice.
But I felt half the water dribble down my face and neck. I lay back down, so hot I couldn’t stand it. A cool wet cloth went over my face and forehead. It felt good.
I awoke in a thin light of what seemed to be dusk.
I wasn’t quite so hot. Two people were in the room sitting beside my bed. I recognized their voices.
“. . . layin’ dere like dat reminds me er da day she wuz born,” said a woman’s voice.
“You were there?” said a man.
“ ’Course I wuz—her mama hadn’t been dere long an’ she wuz feared somethin’ wuz gwine happen ter her. She knew her little baby wuz gwine be a girl. She tol’ me so.”
I could hear them clearly. But I couldn’t move or say anything. I knew they were talking about me.
“What was she like?” asked the man.
“She wuz uncommonly pretty, an’ refined too. We didn’t know where she’d come from, an’ she kept to herself. You could tell she wuz sad. I figgered it had to do wiff leavin’ a man. I knew what it wuz like ter be alone, an’ tried ter be her frien’.”
“Did she . . . did she ever say anything about . . . you know, what she’d left behind?”
“She thought ’bout it—I could tell from the look on her face dat she never stopped lovin’ da man. But she didn’t talk none ’bout it.”
“Tell me about the day of the birth,” said the man.
“Dat wuz da day she asked me to promise . . .”
They continued to talk, but I was drifting away again and could hardly hear them.
After a while it got real quiet. I felt a hand on my body. I almost thought I heard what might have been someone crying. But then the blurry light faded again and I heard nothing more.
When my brain came to itself the next time, I was dreaming. Though I couldn’t tell the difference between dreaming and lying awake. Everything was a dream.
My mama was talking to me this time. I didn’t know if I was a little girl, or if it was now, or if she was talking to me before I was born or from heaven.
“Someday we’ll all be together again,” she was saying. “Then you’ll know your papa and what a fine man he was. We’ll get our Tear Drop back then, and we’ll all be together. But we may have to wait a little while ’cause we don’t know where he’s gone. . . .”
I saw my mama’s face, smiling and laughing. I tried to cry, but I couldn’t make a sound. But my heart wanted to cry for love of her. But now it was my mama crying in my dream. And seeing her cry made me so sad it overwhelmed me in grief, but I still couldn’t cry, though I wanted to because the whole world seemed so sad that it must have made even God want to cry.
Slowly my mama’s laughing, crying, sad face faded.
Maybe God was crying, I thought. And then I felt that someone was nearby my bed. I tried to open my eyes, but all I could see was a head lying against my arm and long blond hair, and whoever it was was crying and praying. I don’t know if I was dreaming or if it was real.
“Oh, God,” I heard her say, “please don’t let her die.”
And then she wept. I didn’t know if I was dreaming, or maybe I was dying. Was this what dying felt like . . . like a dream, where people and images came and went but where you couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t even cry when you wanted to for the sadness of it all.
Then I heard rain . . . hard rain pouring down on the roof somewhere above me. God was crying, just like I thought. Everybody was crying. The whole world was sad because there was pain and aloneness and grief everywhere.
I felt the sadness in my dream-heart. But I couldn’t cry.
Was God crying because He couldn’t answer the prayer, because He couldn’t keep me alive? Was I drifting somewhere between the worlds of life and death, between God’s world and this world of people and beds and tears and prayers and sadness?
Still the teardrops fell from heaven, still the sky poured down its sorrow out of God’s eyes . . . and still God wept because the world was sad and even He couldn’t wake me up.
Another awaking came.
Was it a day later . . . an hour later? Had a night passed, or a whole day?
I opened my eyes. A beam of sunlight reflecting off the wall opposite the window was too bright and quickly I shut my eyes. The dreamy haziness was gone. I was aware of actual light and dark and shadows and shapes.
I moaned, then was surprised to hear my own voice.
“. . . thirsty . . . water . . .”
“Mayme!” Katie shrieked. Steps ran across the room. The next instant I was smothered in kisses. “Are . . . are you . . . are you really there, Mayme?” she asked.
“What?” I tried to say, but my voice came out as a dry croak. “What . . . what do . . . you mean?”
“Oh, you are awake! Let me get you some water!”
She dashed across the room and returned and sat down beside me on the bed. She lifted and propped me up, then held the glass to my mouth.
“Drink, Mayme . . . drink as much as you can. You need lots of water.”
My throat hurt to swallow, but I did as she said and managed to get almost the whole glass down.
“Have you been there all night?” I asked. “I thought I heard . . . wasn’t Josepha sitting there too . . . was it raining?”
“We’ve all been sitting with you, Mayme,” said Katie. “Sitting and praying and trying to get you to drink in your sleep. The doctor said you needed water, but we could hardly get you to drink a drop. You were too delirious, and yes, there was a big rainstorm one night.”
“The doctor was here during the night too?”
“During the night . . . he’s been here three times.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Mayme, you’ve been lying in bed nine days.”
“Nine days!”
“We thought you were going to die. Oh, Mayme, I was so frightened!”
The others downstairs must have heard our voices because I now heard footsteps running up the stairs. Within seconds everybody poured into the room—Papa, Jeremiah, Uncle Ward, Henry, and finally a few seconds later, puffing from the hurried climb, Josepha.
“Hey, little girl!” said Papa. “Welcome back to the world. We thought we were going to lose you!”
RECOVERY
26
I didn’t exactly bound out of bed that same day. The more awake I got the more I realized how weak and dehydrated I was—that’s what the doctor called it, that I hadn’t had enough water. Katie and Jeremiah didn’t leave me alone all day, and Katie didn’t leave me alone all night either but slept in the room on the floor next to me. And they sat with me most of the next day too, just like my two ministering angels.
They poured what seemed like gallons of water and tea down my throat. Josepha had a new batch of broth or soup for them to give me eve
ry few hours it seemed.
Somebody had ridden in for the doctor and he came and looked at my leg.
“Can she keep it, Doc!” laughed my papa, but I glanced at the others and could tell that they didn’t think it was something to laugh about. Neither did the doctor.
“It looks like it,” he said. “But that was a close one. The ice probably saved not only her leg, it may have saved her life too.”
The next day Josepha herself came up with yet another bowl of soup with lots of vegetables in it. I sat up in bed and took it from her.
“Thank you, Josepha,” I said as I sipped at it with the spoon. She turned to go.
“Josepha,” I said, “I had something like a dream of you and somebody else talking about me, or maybe about my mama. Were you really up here like that?”
“Dat wuz me an’ your papa,” she said. “We wuz sittin’ here wiff you an’ I wuz tellin’ him ’bout when yor mama came ter da McSimmons’ an’ den about da day you wuz born.”
“Tell me about it again,” I said.
Josepha sat down. “Well, you see,” she began, “I’d been at da McSimmons place a coupla years when yer mama came. I remembered what it wuz like ter feel alone an’ afraid, an’ I saw on her face dat she’d had ter leave someone she loved. I could see da pain, an’ so I tried ter make it as easy on her as I cud, an’ dat’s how we became friends.”
“What was the promise?” I asked.
“Well, when da night came when it wuz yo mama’s time, dey sent fer me at da big house, an’ I went down ter where she wuz in da village wiff da older women an’ a few ob da single colored women.
“ ‘Is Josepha here yet!’ wuz da first words I heard when I walked in. Dat wuz yo mama an’ she wuz already in pain. I hurried ter da bed and asked how she wuz feelin’.
“She said, ‘Not so good,’ an’ I cud tell she was hurtin’ somethin’ fierce. I sat down beside the bed where some ob da others wuz sponging off her face an’ forehead. Hazel an’ da other women wuz busy wiff hot rags an’ towels.
Never Too Late Page 12
