Sarah's Promise (8 page)

“God bless you, ma’am.” The relief was so deep in me I almost couldn’t say anything more, but I thought of something real sudden, and I knew I had to ask it. “Can you spare a sack of food? I made ’em some soup just now, but they ain’t got much a’ nothin’ else left if Mr. Platten’s held up gettin’ back to ’em. Not even enough for a decent supper tonight, I don’t think.”

“God love you, young man,” Mrs. Clark answered me. “You always this concerned for strangers?”

“Don’t usually need to be.”

She hurried to the kitchen to fetch some food to bring along. Mr. Clark just stared at me. “My wife hadn’t oughta be walking a half mile through them snow drifts.”

“I understand. An’ I’m sorry, sir, but I didn’t know who else to ask.”

“It’s cold in that house?”

“Not as bad as it was. I got the fire goin’ good and wood enough to keep it that way for a while. I’ll split some more before I leave.”

“Shouldn’t be our affair to see to another man’s family. Seems like he could’ve taken care a’ things better than this.”

“I don’t know, sir. Maybe he’s been short of work and had to go some distance to find anything. I’m trying not to judge. I just don’t want to think of that family sufferin’.”

Mr. Clark looked down at his boots. “My wife’s liable to have her hands full with all them sick youngsters. Maybe I best come along to keep the fire up for her and see to anything else. They got chores done?”

“I milked for ’em. But there may be more needin’ done. Mrs. Platten’s feeling awful bad to need the help. But she can’t do much of anything right now.”

He got his coat. Mrs. Clark joined us, looking almost twice as wide as she had before, bundled in her big coat with two scarves—one for her neck and one for her head. I took the sack of food to carry for her, and we trudged back through the snow. The Clarks were both a lot shorter and older than me, and we didn’t move as fast as I would have liked, but I thanked God the whole way that they were willing.
Bless them. Oh, Lord, bless them and send Mr. Platten home quickly. Let this be the start of good neighbor relations between these families. Thank you!

I felt released. I felt free, certain that everything would be all right now and I could go. But I still needed to split some more wood, just to be sure, and I worked at it as fast as I could as soon as I got back. Mr. Clark couldn’t work so fast as I could and there wasn’t but one ax, but he took the hatchet and split up kindling and a pile of smaller stuff while I worked. He and Bennie shook my hand when it was time to go. Mrs. Platten asked my name, and that was the first I realized I hadn’t told them till then. She seemed to think I must be a minister, like the Ensley relatives had thought, and I wondered what there was about me to give folks that impression. I hadn’t even prayed with these people. Not out loud, at least.

All I had to do was tighten down a wheel on the truck, and I could go. Thank the Lord. I prayed I could find a telephone and get through to the Marathon station in Dearing before Mr. Wortham left for the day, if he’d been able to get there at all. I prayed Sam wasn’t stewing too bad over not hearing any more word since the first message. And most of all I prayed that Sarah would have peace, because I knew she’d be scared for me if she had any idea I hadn’t called.

My brothers would prob’ly think I’d gotten lost, but not Sarah. She surely had more confidence in me than that. But that would have her thinking far worse things. About the storm. And some of the awful wrecks we’d heard about.

Give her the peace that passes understanding, Lord
, I prayed.
Help her remember that perfect love casts out fear.

7

Sarah

Charlie Hunter came to the station about three in the afternoon so Dad could go home. I’d known it was almost that time, but when I saw him march through the door my heart sank into my shoes and I didn’t want to leave.
Frank’s got to call! He’s just got to!

Dad had some work to finish up on Mrs. Patterson’s old Ford, and Charlie didn’t mind him staying till he got the job done. It was a little relief, even though I knew it wouldn’t take long. I couldn’t concentrate to embroider anymore. I just sat by the telephone.
Call
, I begged Frank in my head
. Oh, please. Be able to call.

I stared at the map of Illinois pinned on the service station wall. Mentally, I’d traced Frank’s route across it several times today. How far had he gotten? Where could he be? A thousand jumbled thoughts raced through me, a hundred explanations, almost all of them bad. One painful understanding just wouldn’t leave me alone. He would have called already, if he could have.

I could feel the awful pinch of dread deep inside. I tried to push it away, but I wasn’t sure I could. Everything about this hurt right now, my heart most of all.

Peace.

Just one word. But it rolled inside me along with the words of that familiar hymn.
Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God, born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.

I didn’t stop and figure out why that hymn would enliven me just then. But I felt so much better just to let it float over my mind and heart.
Frank is still in God’s hands, and that’s the safest place to be. He’s all right. He’s got to be all right.

I hummed the hymn out loud, needing it to soak even further into me and dispel the gloom of fear with the light of praise. I could trust. I could. That God works all things for good for those that love him. And Frank and I both loved him. We were “born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.” And that made us safe. Blessed. Eternally. No matter what happened. I could rejoice for that, and believe that everything would be all right.

“This is my story, this is my song, praising my Savior all the day long . . .”

I sang the chorus softly to myself while my heart thundered seeing Dad wipe off his hands. He was ready to leave. But I didn’t want to go. Not yet.

In just a minute, Dad was getting his coat and bringing me mine. That choked feeling of dread tried to come back, but I pushed it away.
This is my story, this is my song . . .

Dad hugged me. I could see the concern in his eyes, and I knew he’d been thinking about Frank the same as I was, and that he’d loved him even longer than I had. Frank was family already, and had been for years, in Dad’s eyes. “Believe,” he whispered. “He’s all right.”

We put on our coats. We stepped out into the cold air. Dad took my hand, something he hadn’t done in a long time, and I recited his words again in my mind.
Believe. He’s all right.

I took a deep breath, letting the hymn float over me again.

And the phone rang. I could barely hear it. I wasn’t sure I really had. But Dad and I both spun around and saw Charlie through the window, rushing to answer. He waved us in, and we ran. It felt like the sun breaking through storm clouds, like a ton of lead being lifted off my heart.

8

Frank

I wished I could hug Sarah right over the phone. She cried, she was so relieved to hear from me, and I felt awful bad to have scared her. I told her about the wreck and the snowstorm and the family with practic’ly nothin’, and she said I’d done the right thing bein’ a help.

“Maybe God had you there for them on purpose,” she admitted, though I knew she wished I was back home.

It’d be late now before I got to Sam’s, and Sarah and her father were already ready to go home. So I promised to call the service station tomorrow just to leave word that I’d gotten in all right. Sarah was relieved by that. She was worried that the weather might give me more problems, or who could tell what else, but I assured her I’d be all right. Wasn’t easy gettin’ off the phone, but I had a lot more miles to put under me.

“I love you, Sarah Jean,” I told her.

“I love you too. Please be careful.”

It still seemed a marvel that Sarah would have such feelings for me. I was incredible blessed, no doubt about that. And I hoped I wasn’t stretchin’ her love and tolerance by doing what I was doing. But I had to be the best I could for her, and I didn’t think I’d ever really discover what that was at home.

Right after the call to Sarah, I talked to Sam at his uncle’s store, and it was a good thing I did. They’d been worried sick that I was wrecked along the road somewhere. I knew they was anxious for me to get to them tonight. And I was just as anxious to have this trip settled.

But I’d barely eaten anything that day. I drove till the hunger drawed me to a roadside café in Jacksonville, where I ordered tomato soup because I was still thinking of the Platten family. With the soup in front of me, I prayed for them and the Ensleys. The Lord works in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform. And it struck me as mysterious that he’d have me meeting up with two families in need thataway. Sarah was surely right that he’d led me on purpose.

Felt good to have hot soup and coffee in me, but I was in a hurry to be back on the road. I crossed the Illinois River at a town called Meredosia and got gas in Versailles. It was gettin’ dark around me, but the road stayed passable and I kept on through Hersman and Mt. Sterling. I was near to the end of my memorized route.

Before the next town, I saw a fella walking on the road in an army uniform. My gut feeling was to stop, but I almost didn’t do it. After all that had happened so far on this trip, who knew what I’d be letting myself in for?

But he stuck his thumb out, and I couldn’t pass him by. Here was a young veteran, maybe not even home for long, out here along the road on a cold night. Wouldn’t be right not to at least take him a few miles.

I found out all he needed was a ride to Clayton, the very next town down the road. I was glad I’d stopped. He directed me to the café right across from the square and offered to buy me a cup of coffee for my trouble. But I was keen aware how close I was to Camp Point and I didn’t want another stop to give me a chance at being delayed again. So I just let him out and went on. Only six more miles. Man, oh, man, it was going to be a relief to be there.

I was feeling the cold pretty fierce that last stretch of road, but I was feeling satisfied too. Maybe I was two days late, but I’d done it. Camp Point in the moonlight was a pretty sight to me because a’ that. And even in the dark it wasn’t hard to find Pickinpaugh Motors, nor Sam’s house. And they must a’ been watching. Just as soon as I killed the engine, I heard a squeal from somebody little, and Sam come running out to meet me with four of his six young’uns. It was good.

9

Sarah

I lay awake that night sorting through everything Frank had told me in his call. Two different families would have been in desperate straits if he hadn’t happened along. I had to accept that the Lord was working good in this trip, even though I didn’t like it. And I prayed Frank was in a warm bed now.

What else do you have in store for us, Lord? What are you trying to tell me?

I couldn’t stop thinking about those hurting people. Frank knew what it was like to have little, and to be in pain. He’d known what to do, and he’d done it well. I shouldn’t have let myself fret so much for him, but I didn’t know how to help it. I’d probably stay fretting, at least a little, until he was safe back home.

Now I was anxious to get tomorrow’s assurance that he’d truly gotten to Camp Point. I prayed to never again have to feel so scared for him. Thoughts of his return trip tried to cloud my mind, but I shoved them aside.
He is in the Lord’s hands. Everything will be all right.

I lay a long while listening to some unknown dog barking again. It must have been very late when I finally got to sleep. And then I dreamed of snow, acres and piles of it, interrupting our June wedding.

In the morning I was in a hurry to get through chores so we could leave for town. Dressing quick and then pulling on coat and boots, I rushed out to gather the eggs for breakfast. But as I got close to the chicken house, I saw a new shadow. Something big with an awkward gait was coming around the corner near the fence. I froze, but it kept on coming. A dog. Every bit as big as the one I’d had to shoot three days ago. But this one was brown and mottled gray, mangy and skinny with a huge smashed-in-looking face. It saw me and stopped in its tracks.

Not again!
I felt all trembly.
Is it mad? And here I am without Robert’s rifle!

I tried to think fast, wondering if I could get into the chicken house before this beast would have a chance to get hold of me. It was the ugliest dog I’d ever seen in my life, with a bowed leg in front and huge slobbery jaws. We just stood and stared at each other for a moment. Dad was in the barn. Would he hear me if I called?

But this dog hadn’t bared its teeth. Its neck hairs weren’t ruffled. Maybe it wasn’t dangerous. It was just staring at me, as if it were trying to figure out what to do the same as I was.

“Go away,” I told it. “Go home. Leave us and our chickens alone.”

But it seemed pretty plain that this dog didn’t have a home. It was in poor shape, looking half starved or more. It cocked its head at me and plunked down in the snow as if it were too weary to stand up anymore. I wasn’t afraid then, but I still felt a little uncomfortable with those big brown eyes staring at me.

“You are ugly,” I told it. “And uninvited. Where’d you come from?”

Another strange dog! I wondered if there might not be a pack of wild dogs around here close. But this one didn’t act wild. At least I didn’t think so at the moment. And we’d had strays wander through before. Just not within two days of each other.

“Did you know that big monster that was here the other day?” I asked the dog in front of me, even though I knew I was being silly. The dog cocked its head again and then laid the big bulk of it down across its forepaws and gazed up at me as if it were waiting for something special.

“My folks might not want to feed something as big as you,” I said. “Doubtful you’d earn your keep.”

He only watched me, and I sighed. “Will you let me get in the chicken house? Just stay right there if you’re not going to go away. Leave me alone and let me do my chores.”