Your grandmother is a hateful, despicable woman. I was lucky to escape her and that dreadful ranch. Never ask me about her again. As far as I’m concerned, she’s dead.
“She forbade me to ask about her,” Karen continued in a low voice. “And I never did. Not about her or my grandfather or anything else from her past.” She felt a sudden shame. “To be honest, I didn’t care.”
“It’s not too late. Maybe that’s why you’re here.”
“I’m here because I had nowhere else to go. I’m broke. I have a college degree, but I’ve never had a job. I don’t know how to manage money. I’ve never done anything but enjoy myself. I’m basically a worthless human being.”
“No one is worthless,” he said softly. “You were created with love. You have great worth to God. Your circumstances might be His way of drawing you to Him.”
His words made her instantly angry. Who was he to judge her? “Is that what you tell those”—she almost called them delinquents again, but stopped herself in time—“kids you’ve got staying here? That God loves and values them?”
“It’s one of the things I tell them.”
“And they buy into the fantasy?”
He didn’t answer. Only looked at her. And it seemed as if he could see straight into her heart.
She hated it. She didn’t want anyone to see inside her. She didn’t want anyone to know the real Karen Jo Butler.
This cowboy had said she had great worth to God. But if he saw inside her, he would surely see he was wrong.
Monday, October 19, 1936
Godaften, Diary,
That means “Good evening, Diary” in Danish. It isn’t so much, but Mikkel Pastor Christiansen seems pleased with the few words I have learned and says I am making progress.
He seemed even more pleased with the cake Sophia baked for him.
Sometimes I have hope. Other days I have none.
I am not certain falling in love is a good thing. I am wretchedly unhappy.
Esther
Tuesday, November 3, 1936
Dear Diary,
Dutch Tallman asked me to go to the movie with him this coming Friday evening. Delphia Plum and Hap Gifford will be with us. I like Dutch and have decided to accept his invitation, if Mama and Papa say it is all right for me to go. We will have the use of Mr. Tallman’s Fordor Sedan, so it will not matter that it is cold after dark.
Of course, I would much rather go to the movies with Mikkel Christiansen, but I have despaired of him thinking to ask me to go to a movie or anywhere else. Maybe he does not go to movies. I know many ministers do not, although our community church is not so strict about such things. And Mikkel did join in the dancing last summer.
Oh, that seems such a long time ago. What I would not give to have him hold me in his arms and waltz me around a barn again. Sometimes I cannot hear his lessons at Sunday school or during worship services because I am daydreaming about that. I am sure that is a horrible sin for which I will have to repent one day.
I am not always daydreaming, of course. I have learned much from his preaching and teaching. And I find there are times when I am so hungry to know more, to understand more, to feel more about God. I think I should like to love God as Mikkel loves Him, but I cannot say that I do.
Teaching the children’s class has been wonderful, but my time doing so is nearly over. Mrs. Filbert has received permission from the doctor in Boise to resume her normal activities, and she has said she will return to the class the first Sunday in December. In time to arrange for the Christmas pageant. I will be truly sad when this happens, because then I will not have any reason for even a few minutes alone with Mikkel.
Oh, why can I not feel this same way about Dutch? He thinks I am pretty and would like to kiss me. Mikkel thinks I am just a child.
Esther
SIX
“What are you doing with my car?” Karen demanded as she approached the Mustang.
The hood was up, and one of Dusty’s boys was looking at the engine. Without straightening, he glanced over his shoulder but didn’t answer.
“I asked what you’re doing,” she said again.
“Just seein’ what sort of shape it’s in.”
Karen stopped a few feet away. “I did not give permission for you to touch my things.”
“Why?” He straightened and turned toward her. His gaze was sullen, his tone defiant. “Afraid I’m gonna contaminate it or something?”
She winced. That was precisely what she’d felt, even if she hadn’t put it into words.
“I know my way around cars, lady. I’m not gonna hurt nothing.”
And how many automobiles have you stolen, you young hoodlum?
For several moments, they glared at each other.
Finally, the boy turned back toward the automobile. “This car’s a classic. If you fixed it up, it’d be worth a lot of money.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not.”
She stepped closer. “How much money?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, then leaned over the engine again. “If it was done right, could be worth twenty, thirty thousand. Maybe more.”
“Twenty thousand dollars?“ She took another step forward. “That much? For this old car?”
“Maybe. It’s a classic. Lots of people want to own an old Mustang.”
Twenty thousand. That would be enough to get her out of Nowheresville, Idaho. She could return to California. It would be enough to support her for a little while. Not for long, but perhaps long enough. A few months anyway.
“What would it take?” she asked the boy. “And could you do the work?”
He met her gaze again. “You askin’ me to help you?” The defiance was gone from his voice, replaced by surprise.
“Yes.” She didn’t suppose he was any more surprised than she was. “What would it cost to fix it up, get it ready to sell?”
“I’d have to do some figurin’. Look through some catalogs. Make some phone calls.”
“Will you do that?” Of course, she’d have to come up with some creative way to pay for all this.
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what’s in it for me?”
“I … I would share a percentage of the profits with you. Naturally.”
“You serious?”
She hesitated a moment, wondering how little of a percentage she could offer him and still have him accept, then held out her hand. “Yes.”
He looked at her hand, as if not knowing what to do with it.
“I’m quite serious,” she said. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember your name.”
“The guys call me Junkman.” He still didn’t shake her hand. “But my name’s Hal Junker.” His expression hardened. “I’ll have to ask Dusty if it’s okay before I can agree to do the work for you. We don’t get a lot of time to ourselves around this place.”
Of course. In her excitement, she’d forgotten what Hal Junker was doing at the Golden T.
Karen recalled her exchange with Dusty earlier that morning. He’d told her she looked pretty. He’d said she was of worth to God. Apparently he was starting to like her. She could think of no reason why he might deny her this opportunity to escape. Not if she handled him correctly.
“Maybe I’d better be the one to speak to Dusty,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll agree once he understands what a help it would be to me.”
Confidence blossomed within her, the first she’d felt in many months. After all, her one real skill was knowing how to get what she wanted from men. Dusty Stoddard wouldn’t stand a chance once she turned on her charms.
Dusty stared at the notations in the ledger and shook his head. It was always a test of faith when he sat down to pay the bills of the Golden T Youth Camp.
Four churches in Canyon County supported the camp as part of their missions outreach, but their donations only went so far. And parents or guardians paid fees—if they could afford it; no boy was turned away from the camp for lack of funds. The boys e
arned wages by working for a couple of the area farmers during haying season. They got to keep a portion for themselves, but most of their earnings went for room and board.
On the surface, there never seemed to be enough to see them through another month. But somehow they were able to pay the bills and usually have a little left over besides.
Dusty leaned back in his desk chair, the springs creaking as he did so. He covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes.
“Well, Lord, here we are again. Faith is believing in what we can’t see, and I sure can’t see how I’m going to make things stretch until the first of the month.”
He swiveled toward the window. Through the dust-covered glass, he saw Karen and Hal talking as they stood next to her car. He rose from his chair.
Now, what could those two have to talk about?
He saw them shake hands, and he felt a knot of concern form in his belly.
What are they up to?
He wondered if he should go find out.
Hal leaned under the hood of the automobile. Karen soon joined him—being careful, Dusty noted, not to get her clothes or hands dirty. He gave his head a slow shake. He couldn’t figure her out.
Spoiled? Certainly.
Vain? Probably.
Hurting? Definitely.
And pretty as the day was long.
Hal was sixteen. Boys his age had been known to fall hard for women in their twenties. If that were to happen, if Hal was to get the wrong idea about Karen …
Dusty turned on his heel and headed for the door.
Karen must have heard the door close behind him as he left the bunkhouse, for she immediately straightened and looked in his direction.
“Car trouble?” Dusty asked as he drew near. “No. Junkman thinks he might be able to fix up my car.” She smiled, a look of sweet invitation.
If she’d looked at Hal that same way, Dusty was already too late.
“But,” she continued, “he says he’ll need your permission to do the work.”
“What sort of work?”
Without looking up, Hal answered, “Everything. Overhaul the engine. Paint job. You name it, this needs it if it’s going to sell for top dollar.”
Dusty heard the underlying tone of excitement in the teenager’s response, excitement the boy was trying hard to disguise. It was the first sign of enthusiasm Hal had shown since arriving at the Golden T. Dusty wasn’t about to deny the kid a chance to succeed at something.
He looked at Karen. “You plan to sell it?”
“Yes.” Her smile faded. “I need the money.”
“You’d be without a car the whole time Hal’s working on it, and there’s no guarantee it’ll get top dollar when he’s finished with it.”
“I realize that.”
Dusty nodded, then looked at the boy. “You’d have to do it in your spare time. You’ve got your chores to do, just like everybody else, plus your studies. You won’t get to shirk them to work on this car.”
Hal scowled at Dusty but nodded that he understood.
“Then I don’t have any objections. I’ll ask Miss Sophie if you can use the shed to work in. I’m sure she won’t mind.”
“Wonderful!” Karen’s smile returned, bright as the noonday sun.
Dusty suspected she was already mentally packing her suitcases. And it would be a relief once she was gone, he told himself. Liar, his heart immediately replied.
“Karen’s hurting and she’s afraid,” Sophia told Dusty. “She needs the Lord.”
“You can lead a horse to water …” He let the old adage drift into silence.
Sophia knew what he said was true. Still, she didn’t want her granddaughter leaving the Golden T yet. There was so much left undone. So much still unsaid.
Father, what is it I’m to do?
“It’ll take Hal the rest of the summer to do the work,” Dusty said.
“It will?” She released a silent sigh, suddenly at peace. Many things could happen in three months. She would simply have to trust the Lord’s timing.
“Yeah, and even then I’m not sure the car will be worth much. Depends on how good Hal is.”
“You’re good with cars. You can help him.”
Dusty shook his head, and he frowned. “I never tried to restore one. I was better at hot-wiring them, then selling them for parts and scrap metal.”
“That’s in your past, Dusty.” Her voice softened. “Why is it you’re so forgiving of others but you can’t forgive yourself?”
He didn’t answer. She hadn’t expected him to. In the years Sophia had known Dusty, he’d shared many things about his past. But there was something that remained unspoken. Something he hadn’t turned over to God. A guilt-laden secret that haunted him still.
She reached out and patted the back of Dusty’s hand where it lay atop the table. “You tell Hal to put the car in the shed. He can start making calls to the junkyards on Monday.”
“Thanks. He’ll be glad to hear that.” He rose from his chair. “I think this’ll be good for him.”
Sophia nodded. “Maybe you can get Karen to help. It might be good for her, too.”
“I doubt it. She’d have to get her hands dirty.”
“The worlds you came from are very different, Dusty, but that doesn’t mean her heartaches are any less real than yours or any of our boys.”
He looked chagrined. “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He set his hat on his head. “I’ll go tell them your decision.” He turned and left.
Sophia closed her eyes. What now, Lord? What do You have in store for us now?
I will lead the blind by a way they do not know, in paths they do not know I will guide them. I will make darkness into light before them and rugged places into plains.
She smiled as God spoke to her heart through the familiar Scripture.
Over the years, the Lord had led her along many paths she didn’t know, making rugged places into plains, turning darkness into light. Whatever lay ahead that she couldn’t as yet see, blind as she was, she knew God wouldn’t leave them undone. He would see her—and all of those at the Golden T—through to the end.
Friday, November 6, 1936
Dear Diary,
The most extraordinary thing happened tonight. Dutch and Delphia and Hap and I went to see Anna Karenina at the Rialto Theater. Greta Garbo was fabulous as the tragic heroine, and Basil Rathbone was superb as the cold Russian nobleman she’s married to.
In the movie, Garbo’s Anna destroys her own life in order to run away with Fredric March, the handsome cavalry officer. Freddie Bartholomew played Anna Karenina’s son, whom she loses because of what she does.
Both Delphia and I cried. Hap and Dutch thought we were ninnies and teased us unmercifully, but it did not make us stop. We were still drying our eyes with our handkerchiefs as we left the theater.
And there, in the lobby, we ran into Mikkel Christiansen. He was all alone, and I will never forget the way I felt when our eyes met. Both happy and sad at the same time. Happy to see him, and sad because I was with Dutch instead of him. He greeted us all and asked how we liked the movie. I am certain I made a fool of myself by gushing my opinion.
He walked outside with us, right next to me. I could almost pretend he was my date. And what did we find? A blizzard. Snow blowing so thick we couldn’t even see the cars parked on the street.
Mikkel insisted that we could not drive home in it, so we went to the Penny Diner on the corner. We all called our parents, and Mikkel spoke to them too, assuring them that he would see we got home all right, no matter how late it was.
The storm began to let up by ten o’clock, and we set out for home. We had to drive very slowly. The roads were slick, and I could tell Dutch was nervous. It took us over an hour to reach Delphia’s farm. Mikkel followed us in his own car the entire way. He even went up to the door to say a few words to Mr. and Mrs. Plum.
Then we went on to Hap’s. That took us at least another twenty minutes or so. After
Mikkel went up to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Gifford, he came to Dutch’s car and suggested, since it was approaching midnight and our place was beyond Dutch’s farm but before the church and parsonage, that he drive me the rest of the way home.
I don’t think Dutch was too happy about the pastor abruptly interrupting our date. I think he was counting on a good-night kiss from me. He would not have gotten one, but that is what he wanted, all the same. Still, he couldn’t argue with Pastor Christiansen, and so he agreed.
I would have moved over to Mikkel’s automobile right then if he had asked, only he said I could do so after we reached the Tallman farm. So I stayed in the front seat of Dutch’s Ford for another fifteen minutes. They were long and silent minutes too. Dutch must have sensed what I was feeling. I do not think he is likely to ask me out again.
After Mikkel spoke to the Tallmans, he walked me to his car. I was so nervous I was shaking as I got in. I nearly tore my handkerchief I was twisting it so hard between my hands. But I was glad to be there. I even wished our farm was farther away from the Tallman farm than it is, so I could be with Mikkel longer.
As he drove me home, Mikkel and I talked about the movie some more. He said he was interested in what I thought of the story on a deeper level than merely great entertainment. He asked me a number of questions, and he listened to my answers as if what I had to say was important. Then he talked of reaping what we sow, and the heartache that awaits mankind when we seek our own way rather than God’s.
And yet, even when he was talking about sin, he never sounded like he was preaching at me. It was like he was talking to God rather than me, carrying on a discussion and working things through in his own mind and heart.
When we arrived at our farm and he stopped his automobile, he took my arm and walked me to the front door. Just as if he was my escort for the evening. Unlike Dutch, I would have let Mikkel kiss me if he had tried. He did not, of course. But before Papa opened the door, he said, “Maybe next time we do this, Miss Thompson, it won’t be so cold.”
Next time. He said, next time. And he called me Miss Thompson. As if I were a woman.
Whispers from Yesterday Page 5
