08 Heart of the Wilderness

by Janette Oke

  “Not that one. The other one,” put in Kendra. “The one with— with all the questions.”

  Amy turned to the second sheet and let her eyes fall to the bottom lines.

  “Did you finish it?” prompted Kendra.

  “Oh—yes. Yes, I finished it.”

  “Would you—would you mind terribly if—if I saw the—ending?” asked Kendra. She wondered if she was being terribly rude. If it was right to ask someone to share something so personal. She flushed at her own boldness.

  “That is—if you wouldn’t mind,” she finished lamely.

  Amy’s chocolate brown eyes met hers evenly. “It’s not really very good,” she apologized. “I just—just scribble things down to—to sort things out for myself.”

  “It’s beautiful,” enthused Kendra. “I could almost see it. Hear it. Just like—” She stopped.

  “Sit down,” invited Amy. “I’ll see if I can find the last few lines.”

  Amy was gone for several minutes.

  When she returned she was shaking her head. “I can’t find it right now,” she said. “I’m sorry. It must be with some of my other books.”

  Kendra stood, disappointment filling her whole being. She had been so close to an answer. Now she had nothing.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” Amy asked.

  “Thank you—but I must be going. Aunt Maggie will be worried if I don’t show up soon.”

  The girl nodded.

  “Well, I’ll keep looking for the lost sheet,” she promised Kendra. “If you live nearby, then stop again and perhaps I will have found it.”

  “Oh yes, could I? You wouldn’t mind? I don’t want to be a—a pest.”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all,” Amy began and then quickly added, “You say that you do live nearby? And you go to the university? It’s strange that we haven’t met before. We must walk the same sidewalk every day.”

  She was smiling again and Kendra smiled in return.

  “It seems strange that after searching and searching for you for three weeks that I would find you living almost in my own backyard,” Kendra acknowledged.

  “I stay here with my aunt and uncle,” Amy said. “I’m really from out of town. A farm kid, actually. I’m hoping to be a teacher.”

  Kendra was pulling her heavy coat on again. She did hate to go, but she didn’t wish to worry Mrs. Miller.

  “What are you majoring in?” the girl asked.

  “I—I haven’t decided on—on anything yet. Just a general course. Though I admit I picked the subjects that interest me.”

  “Like?”

  “Literature—and the sciences.”

  “Ugh,” said Amy. “My most unfavorites. I like math and history.”

  “I guess that explains why we haven’t met before,” said Kendra as she leaned to pick up her books.

  “Well—we must remedy that,” put in Amy. “Now that we are acquainted, we must make the most of it. I could use a friend.”

  Kendra did not trust herself to speak. The words spoke to her very soul, and it responded with all the longing that was within her. But she could only nod her head.

  She was about to leave when Amy spoke. “Wait. I don’t even have your name—or where you live.”

  “It’s Kendra. Kendra Marty,” she replied. “And I live on Ninety-Sixth Street with Mrs. Maggie Miller—a friend of my grandfather’s.”

  “What time do you go to class on Monday?” asked Amy.

  “I—I walk past here about eight o’clock,” replied Kendra.

  “I have to leave by seven-thirty,” continued Amy. “It’s a shame we couldn’t walk together.”

  “Oh, I can be here by seven-thirty,” quickly promised Kendra. “No problem at all.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Kendra turned back to the door. She really had to go.

  “I’ll see you on Monday then,” said Amy. “Oh, but before you go, you must meet my Aunt Sophie. Just one minute,” and she dashed through the adjoining door. Kendra heard voices but she couldn’t make out the words. Soon the door pushed open again and a matronly woman made her appearance as she wiped her hands on her printed apron. Amy followed closely behind her.

  “Aunt Sophie, this is Kendra. She goes to the university too. We just rather—rather bumped into each other.”

  The last words were said with a grin. Kendra smiled and reached to shake the hand that was extended.

  “We are going to walk together on Monday,” went on Amy. She sounded as excited as Kendra felt.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Kendra,” said the older woman.

  Kendra thought the lady had such beautiful warm eyes. She hated to turn from them.

  “I must go,” she apologized. “Mrs. Miller will be waiting.”

  “Do stop in anytime,” the woman offered, and Kendra could feel the sincerity of her words.

  “Thank you,” she managed to mumble, then turned to go out into the cold.

  She could scarcely slow down her anxious feet. She could hardly wait to get home to tell Mrs. Miller. She had a strange, wonderful feeling that she had found a friend.

  Over the weeks that followed, the two new friends exchanged many ideas between them. The girls walked to and from university with each other almost every morning. They visited back and forth, studying together, sharing hot cups of cocoa and freshly baked ginger cookies.

  The deep, dark empty feeling that had been loneliness gradually began to leave the heart of Kendra. It was so much nicer when one had a friend.

  “I’ve finally found it,” said Amy breathlessly as she waved a sheet of paper under Kendra’s nose. “I had almost given up.”

  Kendra’s brow furrowed in perplexity.

  “The rest of the poem,” Amy reminded her and Kendra took a deep breath. She had almost forgotten the poem. She had been so relieved to have a friend that her quest for answers had been temporarily set aside.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed now, almost squealing in her eagerness. “The poem.”

  “I brought the first page too,” put in Amy. “Just in case you have forgotten how it starts.”

  Kendra accepted both sheets and began to read aloud.

  Who put the stars in the evening sky?

  Who gave the waters their azure blue?

  Who set the rainbow up on high?

  And sprinkled the grasses with morning dew?

  Who hid the fawn with its dappled sides?

  Who taught the salmon to swim the brooks?

  Who buried gold in the heart of the earth?

  Planted wood violets in shadowed nooks?”

  Who told the crocus that spring had come?

  Brought the butterfly from the cocoon?

  Who put the song in the robin’s heart?

  Governed the tides by the distant moon?

  Who put the “wonder” within my breast?

  Set off the “joy bells” within my soul?

  Who gave a reason to even exist?

  Made earth a “mission” and heaven a “goal”?

  Mere chance occurrence? Complete mystery?

  Of course there’s a reason, if only we prod.

  Nature demands it—and so does my heart.

  There’s only one Answer. Only one God!

  Kendra looked up from the page. She liked the poem. Something within her responded to it. But she didn’t understand it. Not really. She felt a moment of deep disappointment. She still didn’t have her answer. Even Nonie had told her this much.

  Her eyes returned to the last few lines. She read them over again.

  Mere chance occurrence? Complete mystery?

  Of course there’s a reason, if only we prod.

  Nature demands it—and so does my heart.

  There’s only one Answer. Only one God!

  Only one God! Did Amy really believe that?

  “I—I really don’t understand . . .” began Kendra hesitantly.

  “I told you I’m not a very good poet,” shrugge
d Amy. “I—I guess the poem was—just for me. To express how I feel about—about God creating everything. About—the—the purpose of life.”

  “But—” began Kendra. That was exactly what she didn’t understand. Who was God? Her grandfather had told her that God existed only in the myths of the white people. The Indians called Him by another name—The Great Spirit or the Old One or some other rather mysterious title of honor.

  “I like the poem,” Kendra was quick to assure Amy. “I really do. But I—Do you really think—? I mean, do you really believe— about—about God?”

  Amy’s eyes widened. “You don’t?” she asked, incredulous.

  Kendra opened her mouth and then closed it again. Somewhere deep within her was a little voice that wished to say that she did believe. But how could she believe in One she had never known? She shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile.

  “I really don’t know much about Him,” she informed the other girl, trying hard to make the words sound casual and of little importance.

  Amy seemed to have recovered. “How about this?” she said. “Would you like to come to church with me on Sunday?”

  “Church?”

  Kendra had doubts about church. She had heard some very strange rumors about what went on there.

  “Yes. I go with my aunt and uncle to a church near here. It’s not big—but they really are nice people. I felt at home almost at once.”

  Kendra hesitated. “I don’t know,” she stalled. “I promised Mrs. Miller that I’d give her a hand with a quilt on Sunday.”

  “Maybe another Sunday then,” replied Amy easily, seeming quite willing to make it another time.

  There was something different about Amy. The more time they spent together, the more Kendra sensed the difference. Even though Amy was buoyant and outgoing, she was just so much more settled than others her age. So at peace with herself and her world. So confident that things were under control.

  But whose control? Amy admitted to not being in charge of her own life, her own fate. She made frequent references to God. She talked just as though she herself knew this mystic being. Yet there was no fear in her voice when she spoke of Him as there had been when Nonie talked of one or another of the spirits.

  Kendra was puzzled.

  “How did you—learn—so much about—about this white man’s spirit?” Kendra dared to ask one day.

  “Who?” asked Amy, puzzled.

  “This—this God,” replied Kendra.

  “God? Oh, He’s not the white man’s spirit. Or the white man’s God. He’s everyone’s God—the Creator God. He doesn’t belong to the white man any more than the—sun or moon belongs to the white man.”

  “But—?”

  “He created all men. All things.”

  It sounded like more myths.

  “But how do you know this?” asked Kendra.

  “It’s all in the Bible—the whole story,” replied Amy, not one bit put off by Kendra’s asking.

  “The Bible?”

  “You don’t have a Bible? I’ll lend you one. You can read it for yourself.”

  Kendra did read it for herself. Over the weeks that followed she spent every minute she could spare reading the account for herself. Deep within her she felt she had finally found the answers to her questions. It was not a myth. It was truth. There really was a God in heaven—just as she had wondered, had suspected all along. He really did create the universe. All the things that Amy’s poem had referred to and so much more. Kendra was glad to discover such a God—but she was just a bit afraid of Him, too.

  “I think I’d like to go to church with you on Sunday,” Kendra surprised Amy by saying. They had been doing homework together on a Saturday afternoon. Kendra thought she might as well say the words before Amy asked her again. Amy always seemed to offer another invitation each Saturday.

  Amy’s eyes lit up. Kendra knew that she was pleased that her standing invitation had finally been accepted.

  As Sunday followed Sunday, Kendra began to put all the pieces together. There was a God. Not a mystic, unknown someone, out there somewhere. A real Person, a revealed and understandable God. He created people, who sinned. This caused a chasm between human beings and their Creator. They hid from God and at the same time turned their backs on Him and wished to be left on their own.

  But God loved the creation of His mind, His hands. He knew that the people He had created were lost—blinded—and left to the devices of the Evil One. He had a plan whereby mankind could once again be restored to a place of fellowship. Sin had to be dealt with, had to be justified. Kendra supposed that it must have been the hardest part of the plan for a holy God to carry through. It meant sending His Son, His only Son, to take the penalty of death for people—the sinners.

  No one had to tell Kendra about the reality of sin. Deep within her own heart was a feeling of guilt. She wasn’t sure she could have listed the things that made her guilty—but she knew that her heart was not right in the eyes of her Creator. The knowledge troubled her, but she wasn’t sure what to do about it. She knew one thing. She could not stop attending the services. She hungered for the truths that were taught. Nor could she quit reading the borrowed Bible. She was sure that it was the only place where the true answers might be found.

  “I know you are well familiar with the text of the morning,” said the pastor, “but I feel we should return to it often so that we might never lose the wonder—the marvel—of what it says to us. That an almighty, eternal, holy, and just God would love us—me—and you— so much as to send His only Son to Calvary to bear the penalty for our sins and grant to us, through the name of Jesus Christ our Savior, forgiveness of our sins and life everlasting. Turn with me to the third chapter of the gospel of John.”

  Kendra did not stir. She held the open Bible in her hands silently as others about her rustled with the pages of their Books. Something had clicked in her mind with the words of the speaker. That was it. That was it! God loved her. God had sent His Son—for her, Kendra Marty—that she might have her sin forgiven and be granted everlasting life.

  A sob arose in her throat. Her head dropped and before she hardly knew what was happening she was saying, “God, please forgive me— please help me—” The prayer quickly turned to one of thanksgiving.

  “Thank you—oh, thank you, Father,” her heart cried. “Thank you, Lord Jesus.”

  A peace, a warmth began to steal over her soul, washing away doubts, confusion, and frustration. It was true. It was true. She knew it as surely as she knew anything. It was not a myth. There was a God. He loved her. He sent His Son to take her penalty of death. She was free. Free and forgiven.

  The tears rolled down her cheeks as she turned the pages of her Bible to locate the morning text. The preacher was beginning his sermon. But Kendra was already marveling over the truth of the message.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  A Meeting

  “You look all bubbly this morning,” Kendra remarked to Amy as the two fell into step for their walk to morning class.

  “I am. I’m going home for the Easter break. I can hardly wait. I haven’t been home since Christmas and it seems an awfully long time.”

  Kendra’s eyes shadowed. She hadn’t been home for what seemed like ever so long. Now that she had answers—the real answers to life— she longed to get back to her grandfather so she might share her good news. She had written him a long, long letter, but it had been so hard to try to express all that she felt, all she was discovering, on paper.

  And she wished to see Nonie again. To tell the dear Indian woman that she now knew just who the Great Spirit was that Nonie spoke of. The woman was so close—yet so far from the truth. There weren’t lots and lots of gods dwelling in the hills, the trees, the sun, the moon. There was only one God—who made all things. And human beings were not fashioned by Mother Earth who took from herself to bring people forth. Humankind was designed by the Creator who breathed into the new creation the breath of life, making each one the only c
reated being with a living soul.

  Kendra could hardly wait to explain it all to the woman who had been her guardian, her mother, her grandmother—all in one.

  Kendra turned her attention back to Amy, happy for her upcoming visit.

  “They are picking me up tomorrow night,” Amy went on excitedly. “And Mama suggested that I bring you along. Oh, can you, Kendra? I would so love to have you.”

  Kendra stopped walking. Was she hearing right? Was Amy really asking her to share her wonderful long Easter week at her farm home?

  “Can you?” prompted Amy again.

  “I don’t know,” replied Kendra. “I’ll have to talk with Aunt Maggie.”

  “Oh, I hope you can. I would love to have you meet Mama and Papa and Reynard and Thomas and Carry and Nell. I would—”

  But Kendra had grabbed her hand to stop her. If Mrs. Miller didn’t agree, it would be difficult enough to endure without making lots of plans that would never happen.

  “I’ll ask,” promised Kendra, her whole being filled with excitement. She had heard Amy speak of her family many times and always thought how wonderful it would be to have brothers and sisters. A real family.

  All during the classes of the day, Kendra kept thinking about the possibility of going home with Amy. Would Mrs. Miller think it was okay or would she hesitate to take responsibility for the decision? Kendra prayed, as she had learned to do, many times throughout the morning and afternoon. She finally came to the place where she could honestly leave her deep desires in the hands of her newfound God.

  “As you will,” she whispered and felt a measure of peace. Whatever God worked for her would be for her best good.

  “Do you want me to come with you to ask Mrs. Miller?” asked