June (5 page)

"Good morning, Reverend-"

Isaac took her by the arm and turned her around, urging her back down the corridor. Puzzled, she followed, wondering why he was acting so strangely.

Steering her back into her room, he closed the door.

"Reverend Inman-?"

Drawing a deep breath, he ran his hands over his ashen features. June's heart tripped as she sank to the side of the bed. The reverend looked as if he'd just seen a ghost! Something must have happened with the crusade.

Edging forward, her eyes anxiously searched his. "What's wrong, Reverend?"

"It's-" his voice cracked, then steadied-"It's ... Eli."

"Eli?" She felt the blood drain from her face. "Has he had a setback? He seemed to be feeling much better when I left yesterday-"

Shaking his head, the reverend took her hand. Tears filled his eyes, and he said softly, "There's no easy way to tell you, June. Eli is gone."

"Gone?" June's mind whirled. "Gone where?" Her heart sank. Oh, dear Lord. Gone. Eli had started thinking about the marriage and her plainness and decided to go back to Ohio-

"But he was so weak-he wasn't able to travel-"

Reverend Inman bowed his head, his voice barely a whisper. "Gone." The silence was unbearable. A million images raced through June's mind. Eli gone? Even if he were feeling better, where could he have gone in the middle of the night?

"When ... when did he leave?" June struggled to maintain her composure. The news was devastating. How could she have been so taken with Eli-felt so good about him and the marriage-and been so wrong?

"A few moments ago," the reverend said softly. "I'm sorry.... It was so unexpected.... There was no time...."

June's anger swelled as the implication of Eli's actions hit her. "You don't need to apologize for Eli. If he didn't have the decency to say good-bye-"

"June." The solemnity in the reverend's voice stopped her. "My dear-" he bent forward, squeezing her hand gently-"I'm so sorry-you misunderstand. Eli's gone home ... to be with the Lord."

For a moment June couldn't comprehend the enormity of what he was saying.

"I am so very, very sorry." The reverend's face crumpled, and he began to weep. "Eli was like a son to me."

Sliding off the bed, June held him as his sobs filled the room. She had never witnessed such pain. The exhibition tore at her heart.

"We don't understand God's ways," Reverend Inman said brokenly, "but we have to believe there's a reason for everything that happens." His features constricted. "God forgive me, I can't imagine what it would be ... taking Eli when...." Words failed him.

"Eli ... gone," June whispered as the realization sank in. Eli was dead. "But why? Why?" she cried. "Yesterday he was feeling ... I prayed ... prayed so hard for him."

Reverend Inman fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief. "I have no explanation.... He seemed to be improving. Toward dawn his fever came up again, and he was having trouble catching his breath. He rang for Ettie. She came for me, and ... an hour later he slipped away.

June bit her lip, shaking her head. Tears welled to her eyes. Eli gone? Why did God bring her to this faraway place to marry such a wonderful man, only to call him home before their life together ever started? June experienced something foreign to her. Doubt. Why would God do something so unfair to Eli? His life had barely begun.... There was so much he wanted to do to help build the reverend's tabernacle.

"Oh, Reverend Inman." She held the older man as he broke down again. What a grievous loss this kind man must feel. She barely knew Eli, and she was overcome by news of his death. What must the reverend be feeling?

When the wave of sorrow receded, he got unsteadily to his feet. Blowing his nose, he shook his head, trying to regain his composure. "His family must be told."

June thought of Ruth Messenger's glowing letter, Eli's great-grandmother's lovely handkerchief-the family would be heartbroken.

She patted Reverend Inman's shoulder, fortifying herself for the terrible task that lay ahead. "I will tell Eli's parents of his death and make arrangements for his burial."

"I can't allow you to do that, June. You've only just arrived."

"Please, Reverend Inman. I need to do this. I know Eli and I weren't married, but in a way I feel as if we were. Let me do this, for both you and Eli."

"Parker-"

She swallowed, steeling herself for the most onerous task of all. "I will inform Parker." It wouldn't be the easiest thing she'd ever done, but then, it wouldn't be the hardest.

Coming to grips with the knowledge that she was a widow before she was ever a bride was the hardest thing. My dear Mr. and Mrs. Messenger:

It is with the deepest regret that I write this letter. Your beloved son, Eli, passed away early this morning. He had been ill for nearly a week but expected to fully recover. We tended him and prayed for his healing; still, God saw best to call him home.

Eli was everything you said and more. And though we had yet to marry, I shall forever feel the loss of this wonderful matt I was given the pleasure of knowing for even a brief time. I pray God will give you and yourfamily abundant comfort in your time of need.

You will remain in my thoughts and prayers, as Eli will always hold a special place in my heart.

Yours in Christian love,

June Kallahan

Before sealing the envelope, June gently tucked the handkerchief inside.

Her bravado slipped, and she really wept for the first time, still unable to believe that Eli was dead.

Later that morning June sat on a horse, looking down on Pine Ridge Logging Camp. This was Parker Sentell's world. Teams of oxen were skidding logs from the cutting area to the landing. June could hear the sound of axes biting into trees and the occasional shout of "Timber!" in the distance.

Parker's camp appeared to be hacked out of the dense woods, and one of the bigger, better managed outfits. Beyond the string of bunkhouses and the cookshack/dining room were the office/living quarters for the bosses and a large barn containing oxen and what looked to be a milk cow. June spotted the river. Logs were stacked high on miles of rollways along the banks, where they awaited the spring log drive to the mills.

Reverend Inman had told her that Parker ran Pine Ridge and oversaw four smaller camps. Men respected him, if not for his size and position, then because they knew they were dependent upon him for work. Loggers came and went. If a man didn't work for Sentell now, he eventually could.

June couldn't imagine women in camp. Not many would subject families to such primitive living conditions.

Nudging the horse's flanks, she rode down the small incline into camp and stopped in front of the office.

"A little far from home, aren't you, Miss Kallahan?"

Her horse shied at the sound of Parker's voice as he reached out and grasped hold of the bridle. She was met with distant blue eyes.

Her arrival attracted a small crowd. Shantyboys stopped what they were doing to stare at the newcomer. June didn't want to break the news of Eli's death to Parker in front of others. Eli's sudden passing would be hard enough for Parker to accept. "May I speak to you in private, Mr. Sentell?"

His eyes narrowed with impatience. "Concerning what?"

"In private, please." She started to dismount, surprised when she felt his hands lifting her slight weight off the saddle.

"What's this about? Is Eli worse?" Concern tinged his voice.

She glanced around, spotting the cookshack. "Can we talk in private there?"

He directed her toward a long, low building with smoke curling from the chimney. It was warm inside, and in spite of the spartan interior, the pleasant aroma of coffee mingled with fried potatoes, sowbelly, flapjacks, and molasses syrup.

"Coffee?"

"No, thank you."

Long tables flanked by plain benches stretched the length of the room. At one end a thin man with a knitted cap stood in front of the big iron cooking range and stirred a huge pot.

Motioning for her to take a seat at the far end of a bench, Parker took the seat opposite her.

"What's this all about?"

June folded her hands, then took a deep breath. "It's Eli."

"What's wrong? He was better yesterday."

"I know.... I'm sorry, Parker." There was no easy way to tell him. She was feeling what Reverend Inman must have felt when he broke the news to her. That seemed like days ago. Better to get it out, then try to offer him comfort and prayer. "Eli passed away early this morning."

Color drained from his face, and compassion flooded her. He and Eli had been close, yet, because he was a man, he couldn't cry; he would be expected to buck up.

"We'd hoped ..."

Parker's fist slammed against the table, and he got up.

June patiently waited for the initial storm to pass. Papa's emotions had flared easily, but he got over it just as quickly.

"No," Parker said tightly. He strode to the window, rubbing his clean-shaven chin. Gripping the top of the window frame, he stared at the activity going on outside.

June wished she had the proper words of condolence. Eli's death was so sudden, so unexpected, that she could barely grasp it herself. "I'm sorry. I know you had a great deal of respect for Eli"

Parker turned. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why did God take him?"

June sighed. She had expected sadness, yes, even disbelief, but not anger. She could never understand why the bereaved were often so quick to blame God for what appeared to be senseless tragedy. "Parker, are you a Christian?"

His shoulders filled the breadth of the small window. For a long time he didn't answer. Finally he said in a low voice, "I accept Jesus as my Savior, if that's what you're asking."

"Then how can you blame him for Eli's death?"

A muscle in his jaw firmed. "Eli's death doesn't make any sense. I get mad, Miss Kallahan, when a man is taken in his prime for no reason at all."

"Eli's passing doesn't make sense to us, but it does to God. He always knows-has always known-what is right, what is best."

His expression closed. "There's no purpose for Eli's death. It shouldn't have happened."

She chose not get into a discussion of whether God knew what he was doing. There was no point in such a discussion.

God was always right. Parker must know that. Grief was speaking.

"We may not always agree with God, but he doesn't make mistakes."

Parker turned from the window. "Isaac is responsible for this."

"Isaac? Reverend Inman?" What could he possibly have to do with Eli's death?

"The `dream,' the tabernacle!" Parker snapped. "Eli was consumed with the thought-spoke of nothing else but his dream of building Isaac's tabernacle, some great shrine to draw people." Bitterness tinged his voice. "Perhaps, as I've argued all along, it wasn't God's plan but Isaac's."

"Of course you're at liberty to believe whatever you like."

Parker paced back and forth, his hands gripped at his sides. He talked more to himself than to her. "God's not interested in buildings or any of the other trappings that people say they need to glorify him. This is for Isaac's glory."

How could this man call himself Eli's friend and have such thoughts? It was for God's glory, not Reverend Inman I s, that Eli dreamed of the tabernacle.

"I understand you're overwrought, Mr. Sentell." June stood up so she didn't have to look up quite so far to talk to him. "I understand your grief and share it-"

"How can you share my grief? You barely knew Eli."

That was true. But she'd known him long enough to know he would be appalled at his friend's reaction. "I knew him long enough to know that I could have loved him deeply."

For Eli's sake she couldn't let the issue of the tabernacle go unchallenged. "Reverend Inman's dream is to provide a place of worship, a place like no other. Eli shared that dream, worked hard to fulfill it. God deserves our finest."

"Don't give me that. God doesn't require monuments."

"Of course, that's true-"

"People around here aren't used to grand buildings, Miss Kallahan. Life is hard. I don't know about Cold Water, Michigan, but life in Seattle, Washington, is hard. Most of the community works in one of the logging camps. And life in a logging camp is hard. It's all a man can do to hold it together. They work six days a week and don't see wives and families until spring breakup or the end of the log drives."

He gestured toward the door. "Most come from distant parts and have few contacts with the fairer sex because of the isolation. That can make a man testy, Miss Kallahan. Real testy. The men earn between twenty-five and thirty dollars a month, plus board. They live in drafty cabins built from lumber they cut themselves. We're common folk, Miss Kallahan. We believe in God, and we can worship him in a tar-paper shack if necessary. I never doubted Eli's sincerity, but we don't need a tabernacle to make us feel better about ourselves."

June could hardly disagree. She believed in all the things he'd listed, but there was nothing wrong with building a monument to God. Reverend Inman was a man pure of heart. His tabernacle would be a glory to God, not a hindrance to his Word.