Sarah's Promise (26 page)
I should tell him. I should confess it all. He had a right to know. Not just about Donald, but about Rorey, and especially my struggles. But how could I tell him? What if he thought I wanted to put off the wedding or back out of it altogether? What if
he
decided we ought to wait? I didn’t want that at all.
It was wedding nerves. That’s exactly what was plaguing me, just like Mrs. Post had warned me. I’d brushed off her notion as something that wouldn’t concern me, but I should have listened. No wonder she’d had a hard time concentrating enough to get anything done. I was having a far worse time than I could ever have expected. And it certainly didn’t help matters to have Rorey and Donald plaguing me with their stupid ideas.
Everybody gets scared. Everybody gets nervous before their wedding. And being scared turns your thinking on its ear. But things would be all right. No need to trouble Frank with a bunch of foolish concerns. He had enough to think about running a business.
Our
business. It was going to be fun.
I was so glad we were scheduled for another telephone call the next day. I couldn’t wait to hear Frank’s voice. We started off talking about things on the farm and Frank’s Easter visit coming up soon. I felt so happy that he’d be here for a few days. But while he was telling me about his week, I suddenly wondered about the letters we’d forwarded to him, from Mary Ensley. Was he writing to her? He’d never explained. I’d never asked. Should I?
Then out of the blue, he had an announcement to make. “Sarah, I’ve got to tell you the greatest thing. That little blind girl, Mary Ensley—she gave her heart to Jesus.”
I was speechless, feeling suddenly caught in unfairness, questioning the letters when he’d been faithfully ministering.
“She’s been goin’ through a rough time since her papa died,” he continued. “Did I tell you that? I tried to be encouraging after the first letter, but then she wrote back askin’ all kinds a’ questions about God. I told her what I could an’ asked her to find a minister in her town. I’m glad she listened. He led her to trust in the Lord, and I believe her mama’s gonna turn to God too in time. Pray for her if you will, Sarah. It ain’t been easy for ’em since the accident.”
I didn’t know how to answer. “I—I will, Frank. I’ll pray for her.”
“Is somethin’ wrong?”
“N-no. It’s just . . . I’m proud of you, bringing a child to the Lord.”
“It wasn’t me. It was that minister in her town—”
“Who wouldn’t have been involved if it weren’t for you.”
I could almost hear the smile in his voice. “One plants an’ another waters. I guess it all comes together.”
“I love you so much.” It was probably silly, but my eyes started filling with tears, and he seemed to know right away.
“Are you sure nothin’s wrong?”
“Oh, Frank! I feel so unworthy. While I’m struggling, you’re busy at the Lord’s business. I wish I could be more like you.”
“Why are you strugglin’? What’s wrong?”
I could hear the concern in his voice. I knew I’d have to be careful what I said, or he’d drop everything and rush home early. It’d be good to see him, to feel his strong arms around me, but I didn’t want it to be because I was so weak he couldn’t do anything different. “I’m all right,” I said quickly. “I think I’m just nervous. About the wedding and so many changes. I wish I was as strong in the Lord as you are. I wish I could minister too. But I feel like I’ll be very little help in that way at all.”
“You’ll be perfect,” he said, the smile back in his voice. “I know you will. I’ve seen you plenty strong.”
I had no idea when he could mean, but I didn’t ask.
“The changes’ll be good, Sarah Jean. I wish you were here already. The church people is anxious to meet you. I’ve told ’em so much about you they love you already.”
“Goodness, I hope I don’t disappoint.”
“You won’t. Ain’t no way.”
He was so confident.
Lord, help me be like that!
We couldn’t linger on the phone long. He’d be visiting soon enough. I could hardly wait, and he said he was just as anxious. It was bittersweet, hanging up the receiver that day. How could I be so blessed and yet so ignorant that I often lost sight of the blessing? Lord, help me indeed.
At home that night, I made coffee bread and thought of Frank way off by himself so cheerfully serving the Lord. It was right not to worry him with my petty doubts, at least not over the telephone. And when we were face to face, the uncertainties would fly away like chaff in the wind.
Frank
I kept trying to handle what mail I got by myself, but despite all my work at it I still had trouble. So I ventured across the street to see Mrs. Haywood every few days, and she would read for me and serve pie or cookies. Then I would return the favor by helping with her yard work or whatever else she might need done. She was seventy or eighty years old, maybe more, without any family close by. It bothered me to ask for her help, an’ I kept feeling worse about it until she got after me.
“You know what I can’t do?” she asked one day. “I can’t move my heavy furniture to clean behind it, but you moved it for me the last time you were here. Do you think I should be downcast over that? I’d rather be grateful. God made people to need each other so we’d pull together and not be so lonesome. I look forward to you coming over. It brightens my day.”
I felt better about it then. It was a different thing for me, to think of my inability as a blessing to Mrs. Haywood. But she was a widow living alone, and she really liked to be needed. So I thanked God that my lack could be an avenue of help to her, and that was a big step for me, one I’d never quite taken before.
I was happy working, and spending a lot of my time alone. I didn’t get many orders, not yet. I concentrated a lot of time on getting things made to display in the store, though I knew I’d be bringing what I had in the old WH workshop when I came back up after Easter. I sold a table here almost as soon as I’d finished it, but not much else out of the store, not yet. Some folks called me for things I didn’t expect. Could I take down a tree limb, or rehang broken-down shutters? I fixed porch steps on one house and patched a hole in the floor to match the existing hardwood in another.
Not much money coming in, and I knew when I had a family here to support I’d need more. But there was just enough now, it seemed, to manage to keep myself going and pay what I had to pay. That was a blessing, and I felt good about it.
Soon as the weather was good enough, I spent two days patching the store roof, and another patching the roof of the house too, even though the Bellors were still living in it. They were decent neighbors, but I was eager for them to move so I could set to work in my spare time getting the house ready for Sarah. Until I could do that, I spent some weekend time working on the church. Painting would have to wait till it was warmer. But I shored up the outhouse to level and fixed that wobbly rail out front.
It wore on me every Saturday about speaking to the church on Sunday evenings. And I couldn’t eat much Sunday dinner for thinking about having to get up in front of everybody again. I still didn’t feel adequate, but I kept doing it and they kept wanting me to, and I kept feeling blessed afterward every time. Sometimes Mrs. Haywood read Scriptures to me in preparation, which she insisted I shouldn’t feel bad about, because she needed to hear it too.
Finally the time came for my trip back home. Mrs. Haywood hated to see me go. She said she’d miss me even though I’d only be gone about five days. Since he couldn’t go down with me, Sam ran me through my route over the telephone just in case I’d forgotten some of the towns. But I’d driven it once and didn’t expect any trouble.
“Looks different in the spring,” he said.
That didn’t sound very confident, but I didn’t let it bother me. I had a wonderful time with the drive, and the most wonderful thing of all was the sight of Sarah running out of the house to meet me when I pulled into their driveway. She was so excited she couldn’t hardly talk, just hugging on me and crying and laughing all at the same time. I squeezed her tight and gave her a big kiss. I don’t think her father minded. At least he didn’t say anything about it.
He wanted to talk. That was clear real quick, though he didn’t take me off from the others till after I’d had a chance to eat something, hug on Emmie and Lizbeth, and greet Harry, Bert, and Kirk. Then after Kirk’d had a chance to tease me about my haircut and whatever else he could think of, and Lizbeth’s little girl’d had a chance to cozy up and show me a picture she’d made, Mr. Wortham asked me to come outside and see their calf. I knew what he wanted. Maybe everybody else did too, because nobody come along.
“How’s the business treating you?” he asked after I’d admired his new Guernsey heifer.
“It’s been all right. Slow start, but I’d have to expect that.”
“Paying the bills?”
I smiled a little and nodded my head. If it was anybody but Mr. Wortham, I might not feel like answering. Wouldn’t be their business. But he was as good as a father to me, and I knew he was looking out for his daughter. I could tell he’d been doin’ a lot of thinkin’.
“Would you object to a visit in a couple of weeks?”
“No.” The offer took me completely by surprise. “No, that’d be nice, though I ain’t in the house yet. Kinda limited in the shop, but you’re welcome.”
“Sarah would like to come with me. I know she would, but before I could tell her for sure one way or the other, I needed to talk to you.”
“It’d be great to have you. I could introduce you to people and show her around the town—”
“That’s what I thought, and it would put my heart to ease, Frank. I hope you understand. She’s still my baby.”
I’d never heard him call her that. He looked almost far away now, and though I could picture that I understood, I knew I really wouldn’t, not till I had a child of my own about to marry and move away.
“I’ll take the best care of her. I promise you, if things get hard up there, if I can’t make it work, I’ll move home. We’ll visit every chance we can get. Lot more’n Sam and Thelma do, I promise you. An’ you can come up there. We’d love to have you, whenever you want.”
“I know all that. And I wanted you to know that I think you’ve done the right thing, even if it isn’t the easiest thing for any of us.”
Those words meant more to me than anything else anybody could say. And there wasn’t much more to our conversation. There didn’t need to be.
I loved hearing Pastor Jones on Easter Sunday and having a chance to talk with him over dinner and afterward. Mrs. Wortham had invited them and all my family to spend the afternoon. I missed having Willy, Rorey, and Sam around, though they all were supposed to make it here in June.
Even more, though, I missed Joe. The time that had passed since his death didn’t really lessen the feelings, but I knew he was in heaven with Mama. I believed that Pa was too; at least I had great hope in it.
Sarah and me went for a long walk, through the timber and along the stream. We visited my folks’ graves but didn’t linger there very long. I held her hand as we went back across the timber again. We didn’t say much. She gave me a book by Henry Thoreau that she’d been saving back since my birthday, and she said something about having another surprise for later.
We found a pretty spot and sat on a log. She leaned back against me and read Thoreau’s first chapter. I’d heard about this book from a former schoolteacher and I’d been wanting to get my ears around it whenever I could, but the rest’d have to wait.
We’d already talked over some things, along with Sarah’s mom, so we pretty much knew everything we needed toward our wedding. I gave Sarah what money I could to pay for things. I wouldn’t have felt right for the Worthams to have to take care of it all, even though they were the bride’s parents.
I guess the biggest thing we didn’t know about our wedding time was how much Rorey’s plans would end up affecting ours when it came right down to it. She hadn’t told them much of anything that she wanted yet.
In a way I hoped Rorey would re-think and not get married at all. But I realized that she prob’ly hoped the same for Sarah. I was concerned about Eugene being an unbeliever and not very reliable, but Rorey was concerned about me being too scatterbrained and illiterate to be a good provider. I prayed that Eugene and I could both prove the doubters wrong.
Leaving again was sad, even though I’d be seeing Sarah again when she came up to Camp Point in only two weeks. I found myself hoping to find the Bellors already moving when I got back so Sarah and her dad could stay in the house while they were there. Emmie clung on me a little before I drove away. Me settling somewhere else seemed to be harder on her than anybody, and I felt bad for her about it. But I promised to come down a lot and that she could come up there any time she wanted and stay as long as she liked.
Kirk asked me who was reading for me up there. I didn’t feel the need to answer. I just asked him who was gettin’ everybody up early and keeping the barn stalls clean and the tools sharp now that I wasn’t around.
It hadn’t occurred to me to sharpen things for people, but Mrs. Wortham had asked me to do her scissors and kitchen knives while I was down. Once I got back to the store, I’d have everything I needed with me for that. Might make a few cents here and there on the side if I was to let people know.
I loaded the rest of my tools and a rocker, a pair of matching chairs, another cedar chest, and eight or ten carvings from the workshop. They sure would make the storefront look better. Leaving Sarah was the hardest thing. She didn’t cry, but I knew she was close to it. She’d told me she believed in what I was doing, that she understood why it was right for us. But I knew it was still hard for her to see me go, and to think of being away from her folks once we got married.
Not everybody’s blessed with folks like hers. I’d hugged on Mrs. Wortham and she’d hugged on me like we were already kin. And we were, really. Sometimes I dreamed of what I’d be like if I’d never known the Worthams, and it wasn’t pretty.
It wasn’t easy sayin’ good-bye, and Sarah and I lingered arm in arm longer than we should’ve. But then it was time to be back on the road.
