The Bluebird and the Sparrow (19 page)

The sermon was an especially thought-provoking one. The pastor was well into the book of Genesis, and for three Sundays he had been speaking on the life of Joseph.

“What a series of events in the life of the man. His steps seemed to just keep going down, down, down. How could things get any worse for Joseph? How could the hand of God possibly be working for good in his life? But, remember,” he cautioned, “we are looking at the external. Inwardly—spiritually—Joseph was not being trampled down. He was being built up. The very adversities that seemed certain to bring defeat, built inner strength instead—reliance and trust, a deep faith in his God.”

Berta hung on every word of the message. Could God really be building on the inside at the same moment that the evil forces seemed to be tearing away at the outside? She pondered the question.

She shifted her position slightly and glanced toward Glenna. There sat her sister, a look of serenity and joy on her face as she held her new baby girl in her arms. Berta felt a twinge deep down inside. How could Glenna still smile? Berta knew she had loved Jamie deeply. She knew that her sister still spent times in weeping for his loss. Then, how?

The puzzling question had distracted Berta for a moment. She turned back to try to pick up on what the pastor was saying.

“Faith is broad. Faith is all-encompassing. Faith is more than an acceptance of Christ’s work on Calvary. Faith is a warm blanket to wrap us against the harsh cold of life’s dark nights. Faith is belief that God knows exactly what He is doing and that He is in charge.

“Turn with me to Proverbs twenty-one, verse thirty.”

The pastor thumbed through his Bible, and Berta heard the rustle of pages as many others found the passage also. She stared at him as he read, “‘There is no wisdom, no insight, no plan that can succeed against the Lord.’

“Do you believe that? Then you should feel like shouting, ‘Hallelujah.’ Hallelujah! God is in control. There is nothing that takes Him by surprise. There is no one who can outwit Him, outmaneuver Him, outdo Him, or outlast Him. He is
God.

“That is what Joseph understood. That is why Joseph knew he was being built up in spirit during the seemingly worst events of his life.”

Some things suddenly seemed to fall into place for Berta. She cast another glance at Glenna.
That’s it,
she whispered to herself.
That’s what Glenna understands. That’s why.

Berta lowered her head and fought against tears. It was a new and troubling experience. Berta had rarely allowed herself to cry since she had been a child. She swallowed the tears away with firm determination.

————

The beautiful autumn day and warm Indian summer sunshine with its teasing gentle breeze lent itself to ambling rather than walking at a brisk gait, and Berta and Thomas both seemed to sense its mood. They walked slowly, thinking more than talking. Berta’s contemplations were still on the morning sermon and her discovery of what made her sister Glenna able to survive and even overcome a mother’s nightmare.

She’s always been that way,
she mused to herself.
Always—sensitive, open.
Then Berta pushed the thought away.
Well—why not?
She was always the favored one—pampered because of her prettiness. It was easy for her to be good. She never had to fight for anything.

“Joseph was quite a man,” Thomas’s voice cut into her thoughts.

She nodded.

“Where do you think he came from?” asked Thomas.

Berta looked at him, not understanding his question. The pastor had spent many Sundays on the lineage of Joseph.

“I’ve been mulling that around for days,” went on Thomas. “Where did he come from?”

“Rachel,” said Berta abruptly.

“No. No—I don’t mean physically,” Thomas said quickly, then chuckled at Berta’s terseness. “The
real
Joseph,” he explained. “The one who responded fully to God. I mean—look at the man. His greatgrandfather was Abraham. Called from an idolatrous nation. Abraham couldn’t have known too much about the true God. He even responded to God’s order to kill his son without question. Sure, he must have had questions about it—but he would have been familiar with human sacrifice, coming from where he did. I don’t think it was the call of his God, whom he had learned to fully trust, to sacrifice that would have nearly—nearly undone him. It would have been the fact that God had promised this son and now He was asking for him back.”

Berta had never considered the possibility that Abraham’s past society, which had made human sacrifice a part of its culture, had played a significant role in his story.

“And this man, this Abraham
lied.
On more than one occasion he deceived—or tried to. Then we have Joseph’s grandfather, Isaac—an unwise father who favored one son over the other. He and his wife played tug-of-war with their two offspring.”

At Berta’s quick look he hastily continued, “Oh, that might be a bit harsh. But they certainly were unwise parents. Then we go to Joseph’s own family. Think of it. Jacob—the deceiver—for a father. And a house full of contentious, bickering women. Rachel and Leah—always trying to outsmart each other to get Jacob’s attention. Seeking his favor. What kind of setting is that for a child? Favored son? That hardly stood him in good stead with the rest of the boys.”

Berta could not help but smile.

“So where did he come from? A background of deceit and self-seeking. A household of contention and manipulation. What made Joseph a man who would face prison—or death—rather than shame his God?”

She shrugged. Berta had never thought about Joseph’s home situation. Where had Joseph learned his morals, his values? Why did he have such strong convictions? Who had taught him right from wrong?

“ To me, Joseph’s story is so exciting,” Thomas said. “ To me it says that people do have equal chances. Just because your background is not ideal does not mean that you can’t be a just person. I mean, God chose Abraham and brought him out of a heathen country because God saw he was a man He could work with. A man who could learn. Could yield. Not a perfect man—but a pliable one.”

“You should have been a preacher,” Berta said with a little smile.

Thomas smiled back but hurried on.

“And, Isaac and Jacob. They made mistakes—but God kept leading them on and they learned lessons too—sometimes the hard way.

“And then comes Joseph—and he really had a heart to learn—and just look what God was able to do with him.”

Berta lifted her head to catch the song of a wren in a nearby tree.

“So it really comes right down to the individual,” Thomas continued. “You can choose to listen—or you can shut God out. Circumstances—good or bad—don’t necessarily make the man. Joseph could have been just like one of his—pitiful brothers. Murderous and deceitful. But he wasn’t.”

Berta felt a stirring deep down inside herself again. Did one really get to choose—or did circumstances dictate? It was a deep, troubling question and one that she did not wish to deal with on such a beautiful morning.

“That’s an interesting idea,” she said to Thomas, pushing the question aside. “And it needs a good deal of pondering, and today is too nice a day to be thinking deeply. I think I’ll have a quick meal and go for a walk along the creek.”

“Is it to be a soulful walk?” asked Thomas. “Or would you mind company?”

“You can come if you wish,” replied Berta with no hesitation, her tone even.

“I’ll do that,” he replied.

They reached Berta’s gate. She slowed her step.

“I could make a few sandwiches and we could eat along the stream,” she offered.

He smiled.

“Sounds great. I’ll hurry on home and change into more comfortable walking clothes. I could even make up some lemonade and bring some fruit.”

Berta nodded. It seemed they were going to have an improvised picnic.

———

The fall day could only be described as gorgeous. Already, colored leaves were lining the path, though the trees still carried many in their autumn dress.

“My favorite time of year,” mused Berta.

“I think it’s mine as well,” observed Thomas. “I’m not sure why.”

“I think it’s because it always reminds me of the farm,” Berta explained.

“Perhaps. For me—I guess it—speaks of God’s care. There is the harvesting—the gardening—the fruit—all reminders of how He nurtures us, takes us into account.”

Berta nodded, sighed deeply, and leaned back against the tree where they had spread the picnic blanket.

“I think it is one final gift from God before the bleakness of winter,” she said.

Thomas looked at her in surprise. “You don’t like winter?”

She shrugged. “I don’t dislike winter. It’s just that it’s so cold and harsh and harder to do—whatever you do. And you have to stay in more and—” She came to a halt. “Come to think of it,” she said with a chuckle, “I don’t mind it at all. I like the warm fires in the hearth and the song of the kettle on the back of the kitchen stove.”

“The faint smell of woodsmoke in the crisp air,” added Thomas.

“I like to curl up with a book by the fire, a warm shawl draped over my shoulders,” went on Berta.

“The sight of large, fluffy snowflakes drifting silently down to cover all of the drabness and clutter of the world.”

“The sounds that seem to ring out for miles on a clear day—children shouting—sleigh bells ringing—the train whistle as it rounds the bend way over in the gulch,” added Berta.

“And the crunch of snow underfoot as you walk. Or the swish of sled runners as you fly down a hill,” said Thomas.

They laughed together. Winter wasn’t so bad after all.

————

“Are you busy tonight?” It was Berta who asked the question. Thomas glanced down at the book he had just selected from the library shelf, then back at her.

“No—I’m free,” he answered.

“I was thinking that I should go to see Mama. It’s been a while since I’ve been out. I wondered if you’d drive me.”

“Certainly,” responded Thomas quickly.

“I’d like to leave right after work,” Berta told him.

“I’ll go get the car,” replied Thomas, who always walked to the library.

“Thank you,” said Berta and turned back to tidying the librarian’s desk. Miss Phillips was home with a cold, so Berta had the work to do alone.

It was not long before Thomas was waiting in front of the door. Berta could hear the Ford motor running.

It will be a chilly ride,
she thought to herself.
I’m? glad I dressed warmly when I left home this morning.

They spoke little on the way to the farm. Thomas inquired about her mother, and Berta replied that she didn’t really know—it had been too long since she had made a visit. She was ashamed of her neglect.

But when they arrived at the farm they found Mrs. Berdette busily engaged in her kitchen. She was pleased to see them and invited them in to the warmth of the fire.

“I was just fixing a bowl of hot soup,” she said. “I’m glad I made enough for two cold, hungry travelers.”

She laughed softly.

“So what brings you out on such a chilly night?” she went on.

“I wanted to see how you are,” replied Berta. “It has been some time since I’ve been out. I was afraid that you would feel I had forgotten you.”

“Glenna and Parker have been here several times,” said Mrs. Ber-dette. “My, she has a pair of sweet little girls. I just enjoy them so. Sometimes I wish I was closer so that … ” Her voice drifted to a stop.

“So why don’t you?” urged Berta. “Why won’t you move into town with me. You know I’ve—”

“I know. I know,” replied Mrs. Berdette. “But I—” she stopped again.

“You what?” prompted Berta.

“Well I—I don’t want to—get in your way.”

“In my way? What do you mean, in my way? You know I’d love to have you and—”

“I know.” Mrs. Berdette cast a glance toward Thomas. She hesitated.

“So what—?” began Berta.

“Well—it just doesn’t seem right for a mother to be hanging around when her daughter has a—suitor,” finished Mrs. Berdette quickly with another glance toward Thomas.

Berta’s face colored, then paled. After an initial look of shock she plunged forward.

“Mama—Thomas is not my suitor.”

Mrs. Berdette looked doubtful.

“He’s not,” declared Berta.

“Does Thomas know that?” asked Mrs. Berdette with a little smile as she lowered herself to a kitchen chair.

Berta became more flustered. She stood quickly. “Of course,” she replied. “We discussed it frankly—openly—with each other. We do not wish a—a—anything more than friendship. We have agreed.”

Mrs. Berdette still looked doubtful. She looked to Thomas, who made no comment but simply watched Berta’s face.

———

It was a quiet ride home. Berta was wrapped in her own thoughts. She did wish that her mother would listen to reason. Would not be so stubborn. A suitor. Indeed! Such a ridiculous idea.

She cast a glance toward Thomas, who was paying particularly close attention to the road. He seemed to feel her eyes on him and turned slightly to look at her. She flushed at having been caught studying his face.

“Mama,” she said to cover her embarrassment. “I wish she wasn’t so—so set. So—opinionated. I don’t think she believed me even when I told her—”

“Berta,” said Thomas softly. “I did not wish to contradict your words—but—” He stopped, as though uncertain how to continue.

“We
have
agreed to friendship,” he finally went on.

“That’s what I said,” Berta reminded him.

He nodded. “But it isn’t what we both—wish,” he said quietly.

She looked at him, not understanding his comment.

“I cannot be less than honest,” he said evenly. “We promised to always be truthful with each other.”

Berta nodded.

“I—agreed to friendship. But I still—with all my heart—wish our relationship—was more.”

The words hung in the silence between them. The chugging of the Ford engine was the only sound on the stillness.

“Oh, Thomas,” groaned Berta finally. “Please don’t go and spoil things.”

Chapter Nineteen

Library Woes

Berta awakened from a sound sleep to hear someone running along the sidewalk. She shifted uneasily in her bed, straining to hear anything further. Then there was a pounding on her door.