CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (9 page)
BOOK: CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New
9.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
I longed to share my garden as soon as some of the plants were big enough to use. I took a few vegetables to Louis LaMeche, the trader, first. He accepted them with a scowl, not even a thank-you.
I then decided to share some of my carrots with the Indian women. I was sure that once they tasted them they would want more. It was hard to find a woman I could approach close enough even to offer my produce. When they saw me coming they either walked the other way or else went into their cabins.
At last I found a young woman who was unable to avoid me. I handed her the small cluster of freshly pulled carrots, explaining that they added much flavor to the stew. She took them and walked away. I watched in anticipation, but as soon as she thought I would no longer be looking, she threw them in the bush by the path and wiped her hand on her skirt. With a pang, I realized I still had a long way to go to make friends here.
We desperately needed rain. Wynn was beginning to get concerned. The forest was getting too dry. Animals were being driven out into the open areas looking for food. The forest floor was brittle under foot. Our small stream was only about half its usual size.
I didn’t know enough about this part of the country to have intelligent concern, but I could see the worried lines crease Wynn’s brow as he looked to the west in the hope of spotting rain clouds, and I knew that the lack of rain was a real issue.
I could see the Indian people looking to the skies as well. I even heard them talking in low, frightened voices as I went by. Then I began to notice renewed glances my way and nodding of heads, and I knew that the lack of rain and the pale-faced woman were somehow connected in their thinking. Then I
did
get worried.
did
get worried.
One day as I walked the path to the garden I heard the words, “Bad omen,” and saw the thrust of the chin my way as I went by. I knew that they were speaking of me.
I wanted to eavesdrop further, but I forced myself to keep on walking. All the time I was in the garden, I prayed. I hardly knew what to say in my prayers. The facts were all so scattered as far as I was concerned, but I prayed on, trusting that my God knew far more about the circumstances than I did.
“Lord,” I said, “I really don’t understand what is going on here. The people of the village are so steeped in their pagan belief. I don’t know how to help them, God, but I don’t want to be guilty of driving them even further from You.
“It’s all tied up in this garden spot and the fact that we planted here. Now I’m afraid they think the rain is not falling as a punishment to me, and that all of them, and the animals of the forest, will have to suffer because of it.
“I don’t want that, Lord. I don’t know what to do about it. We do need rain. Wynn is worried about it. Lord, I don’t even know what to ask You for, but if you could turn my mistake into something good, I would be so thankful.
“Certainly, the reasonable thing to me would seem to be for You to send rain. That would water the ground, replenish the food supply for the animals and fill our stream again. It should help our problem with the villagers, too. Then they might understand that I really had nothing to do with the drought.
“But I leave it in Your hands, God. Help me to be patient and to do things Your way. I can’t untangle this myself. Thank You, Lord, for hearing me. Amen.”
I guess I expected to see a “cloud the size of a man’s hand” when I lifted my eyes heavenward, but there was none. I scanned the sky in each direction, but it remained brassy bright with sun. I had prayed for patience; I knew I was going to need it in the days ahead.
Then a strange peace came to my soul. I didn’t know what or how, but I had the assurance that God had heard my prayer and was going to act on my behalf.
I left the garden and hurried home. I didn’t want to get soaked on the way, I guess. When I got to our cabin, I wrestled with the empty rain barrel until I had it properly positioned under the crude downspout on our roof. We hadn’t had water in that barrel since early spring. In fact, it had dried out to such an extent that I wasn’t sure if it even would hold water. Still, I positioned it, feeling as I did so the many pairs of curious eyes upon me.
“I do hope that Wynn took his slicker with him,” I said to Kip who was idly watching my activity. “He could be soaking wet by the time he gets home.”
Kip yawned and laid his head on his paws. It was clear he was unimpressed.
“You just wait,” I told him. “You’ll see.”
I might have spoken softly to the dog before me, but in my heart I knew that the words were really directed toward the women who peeked through the overhanging branches, slyly watching to see what the crazy “pale face” was doing now.
Wynn came home several hours later as dry as he had left that morning. It hadn’t rained a drop.
“What’s with the water barrel?” he asked me, and I felt my face flushing. There was little use trying to be evasive so I decided to tell Wynn exactly what had happened.
“I can’t explain it,” I said honestly, “but when I was praying this morning, asking God to help break the barrier among the people, I felt strongly that He was going to answer my prayer.”
Wynn’s eyes held mine. He did not question me.
“Wynn,” I went on, “are you aware that they are blaming me and my garden for the fact that it hasn’t rained?”
“I’ve heard little snatches of rumors,” said Wynn.
Surprised that he had kept it to himself, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What good would that have done? It would only have upset you. There is nothing that can be done about it anyway.”
I knew Wynn was right. I could do nothing. I would only have fretted about it.
“But go on,” prompted Wynn. “You were telling me about your answer to prayer.”
“Well, I just felt so sure—so at peace, that I... I ... I think that God is going to do something about it. I feel sure that He will send rain.”
Wynn smiled and whispered, “Well, praise God.” Then he looked back at the rickety barrel. “I’m not sure how much that poor old barrel will hold, no matter how much it rains, Elizabeth.”
“I don’t really care,” I stated, “I just... I just... well, I wanted to let Him know that I believed Him, that’s all.”
There were a few moments of silence as Wynn and I looked deeply into one another’s eyes. Then he stepped forward and laid a hand on my arm.
“Get some old rags, Elizabeth, and I’ll get the tar, and we’ll stuff those holes the best we can,” said Wynn.
With a grin I went to do his bidding.
We worked together on the barrel. Some of the cracks were quite wide. We weren’t really sure if it would hold water even when we were finished with it. All the time we worked, we could sense the villagers watching us.
When we had done our best, we positioned it once more below the spout, making sure that the plank nailed along the roof was slanted correctly to send the water toward the barrel, and then we went in to have our supper.
All night long I expected to hear rain. Even in my sleep, one ear was attuned. No rain fell. In the morning I was sure I would waken to clouded skys, but the sun shone brightly into the one small window.
Kip and I left the village by our usual path. I greeted women and children along the way. They passed me by with downcast eyes and reproachful looks. I prayed inwardly and looked to the sky, hoping to see that one little cloud. The sky was cloudless, the sun already glaring.
“I don’t understand, Lord,” I whispered.
“Be patient,” came back the inward reply.
“Lord, give me the patience!” I cried. “I have never been patient. You know that.”
“Then trust Me,” said the inner voice. “You have always been able to trust.”
“Lord, I trust You. I trust You completely.” I knew as I said the words that they came from an honest heart. I did trust Him! I did! I might not understand His workings, but I did trust His ways.
THIRTEEN
Panic
All that day I watched for the rain. Nothing happened. There was not a cloud in the arch of blue above us.
That night, I again lay awake for the first part of the night. There was not a hint that a wind was arising to bring in a storm. At last, sheer fatigue called me to sleep.
The next morning, the sun was already up, sending shivery heat waves back from the earth. It promised to be even hotter than the day before. Cracks were showing in the ground where the thirsty soil had long since lost all its moisture.
I took Kip and went to the garden. I talked to God on the way there.
“Lord,” I explained. “This pail in my hand does not mean that I don’t trust You. I know that You are going to answer my prayer. Bringing rain seems like the logical way for You to do it, Lord—but it might not be. Now, in the meantime, I have my garden that You have blessed with growth. I think You expect me to do my part, so I will continue to water it, Lord, until You tell me not to.”
I tied Kip to a sapling well away from the other dogs, and proceeded to scoop water from the decreasing stream to give a drink to the thirsty plants.
Even with my careful ministrations, it was apparent that the plants were also suffering from the drought. Water as I might, I could not do for them what just one good rain sent down from God’s heaven could do.
I saw the drooping plants and I knew they were crying not just for drops of moisture but for a good soaking of the earth.
Carrying the water was back-breaking work. I stood to rest and looked heavenward again. The western sky was clear and bright. The southern sky was a haze so dazzling I could not even look upon it without squinting my eyes.
I turned to the north. Another cloudless sky. And then, by habit, I looked eastward.
There was a strange cloud in the east. My heart gave a little skip. Would our rain come from the east instead of the west or north as usual?
I smiled to myself. Wasn’t that just like the Lord, to do something out of the ordinary so that there would be no doubt as to its coming from Him?
I looked closer at the cloud. It was raising up in strange, billowy puffs of brown and gray. It seemed to be originating from the land, not the sky. I couldn’t understand it.
I continued my watering until my back was so sore I could do no more. I soaked and soaked the earth, pouring on bucketful after bucketful. Kip whimpered at me, to let me know that he thought that I was really going to extreme.
“I know,” I told him. “It is getting late but they are so thirsty. They seem to just be begging for more. I’ll come—soon.” And I continued to pour on more water.
By the time I left the garden, much of the eastern sky was under the strange cloud. Kip whined at me and pulled against his leash. He was in a hurry to get home.
There were people everywhere I looked when I entered the village and always they stood studying the eastern sky, pointing and exclaiming excitedly to one another. They shook their heads and chattered nervously, but when they spotted me they hurried away, giving me the path totally to myself.
I was almost to our cabin when I heard children calling to one another. “Fire!” they screamed at one another. “Fire come!”
I looked to the east again and the truth of the words hit me. Fire! Of course it was.
Panic seized me. I had no firsthand knowledge about a forest fire, but if the little I had heard was true, we were all in mortal danger.
I shoved Kip into the cabin and pulled the door shut behind him. Then lifting my skirt, I headed for the trading post on the run.
“Oh, dear God,” I prayed, “if only Wynn were here. He’d know what to do.”
But Wynn wasn’t in the village. As far as I knew he was many miles to the west. He had left the day before on a trip that would take him three or four days. He had carried plenty of provisions just in case he was held beyond that third or fourth day. I knew that Wynn would not be home in time to tell us what to do.
When I reached the store, the trader was already outside, surrounded by many nervous and chattering villagers. They all seemed to talk at once and he tried to hush them and keep them under control, but I could tell that he was just as concerned as the rest of us.
When he saw me he nodded his head toward the door of his store, and I understood him to mean that he wished to speak to me privately.
As soon as he broke away from the people, he came in. I met him at his counter, my agitation showing in my breathless question, “This is bad trouble?” My nervousness made my limited grasp of the Indian dialect all the more difficult, but I knew even without his answer that he thought it was serious.
“Coming this way?” I asked next.
“It is,” was all he said.
“How much time?”
“Hard to say. If wind starts to blow, it could travel fast. If it rain—” He shrugged.
Rain! I latched onto the word. Rain! Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of that? God was using the fire to get everyone’s attention before He sent the rain. I smiled and turned to Mr. LaMeche.
Other books
An Armenian Sketchbook by Vasily Grossman
Memnoch, el diablo by Anne Rice
Valkyrie Rising by Ingrid Paulson
Old Flames by Davi Rodriguez
Snitch World by Jim Nisbet
Love In Alabama (The Love In Series Book 1) by Shelby Gates
Vertigo Park and Other Tall Tales by Mark O'Donnell
Deep Space Dead by Chilvers, Edward
Echoes by Brant, Jason