Sarah's Promise (15 page)
I ran straight to the kitchen woodstove, flung open the fire door, and shoved the crumpled envelope inside, almost losing my mitten in the process. And then I slammed the door shut and gulped down a big breath, feeling better already. What on earth was wrong with me? It was like I’d just been loosed from an encounter with the devil himself. I was scared to get such a glimpse of myself.
“Sarah, what in the world is the matter?”
I hadn’t even noticed my mother sitting at the table.
“Uh . . . Mom, I . . .” What could I say? My hands were shaking. Out of breath, I just plopped into a chair.
“What was that letter?”
I had to tell her. To do otherwise would be to feed the doubt, the temptation, that had so horribly thrust itself upon me, real or not. “It was from Donald Mueller. I—I didn’t open it.”
“Donald Mueller? Why would he be writing? You don’t think you should’ve found out?”
Oh, my innocent mother. “No. This was the fourth time. I opened the first one, because that was the only one with no return address. And it was an invitation—an invitation to a dance.”
“When was that?”
“The letter came the day Frank left.” My eyes filled with tears. “Then three more. But I can’t open them. I don’t want to read them.”
Mom got up from her chair and moved toward me. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I felt numb suddenly in the pit of my stomach. Why? Could it be that some faithless part of me had wanted to keep the secret? “I—I don’t know. It was too embarrassing to talk about. He—he knows I’m engaged. I didn’t want anybody to see the letters.”
Mom leaned and gave me a hug. “Under the circumstances, you’re right to throw them away. But there’s no reason to be so upset, is there? If you continue to ignore him, he’ll surely get the message.”
I didn’t answer, and she looked carefully into my eyes. “Why is this bothering you so much, honey? Has he done something to frighten you?”
“N-no. I mean, I don’t know why he’s doing this. I just wish he’d stop.”
“Tell your father. And Frank. A clear message from either of them ought to be enough to put an end to things.” She hugged me again. “All right?”
I nodded, my heart thundering crazily. How could I tell Frank? Would he doubt me?
“If you get another letter, I want to see it,” Mom said then, and I saw the rare flush of anger in her features. She was rightly appalled at Donald’s advances. What would she think if she knew my thoughts today?
I worked alone all I could after lunch. I cried. I asked God to forgive me, maybe fifty or sixty more times, for not only my thoughts about the letter but also my dream. What did it mean? When I thought I was trying to bolster my trust in the Lord and in Frank, was my heart looking for a way out and trying to lead me astray?
Mom told Dad about the letters when he got home. And he was bothered enough to offer to go over to the Muellers right away and warn Donald to leave me alone. But I didn’t want to make trouble for my father. I didn’t want to create a scene. So I told him not to go. It was all right. Maybe the letters would stop. If not, I could just keep throwing them away. Donald’s efforts were pathetic and useless.
Dad smiled about that, but he didn’t promise not to do anything. We ate quietly and I wondered if Dad was thinking about Donald showing up at the service station. I wondered if he’d told Mom about that, or if he questioned in his mind why I hadn’t mentioned the letters to him then. I didn’t really know why, except what I’d told Mom, that it was just too embarrassing.
Katie had nothing to say about all that, and I appreciated her efforts to lead the conversation into more pleasant subjects. But that didn’t stop me from fretting about it still. Frank would have a Scripture to quote if he were here. Something completely applicable to the situation. But the only Scripture I could come up with was a passage in Jeremiah that Robert had brought up once in Sunday school: “The heart is deceitful and desperately wicked and who can know it?”
I tried to remember what our Sunday school teacher had said about that. Something comforting, surely. But I couldn’t recall, and I was far from comforted. Would I be able to talk to Frank about this? If I didn’t and he learned it from someone else, what would he think of me?
He couldn’t be indifferent the way he’d seemed in the dream. That was nothing but my imagination running away. He might be angry at Donald. But surely he would be sympathetic and comforting to me because I hadn’t turned away from him. I hadn’t even considered that. Had I? It was only the devil’s temptation, playing tricks with my mind because Frank was so far away.
I needed him here. I needed his gentle words, his reassuring touch. Then the gloom and doubt would be washed away in an instant, and everything would feel right again. I didn’t have such struggles when we were together.
Come home, Frank
, I willed in my mind.
Please hurry and finish whatever it is you’re still doing and come home.
Frank
I spent Monday and Tuesday working on Sam’s house, carvin’ on stair posts and fixing two different sticking closet doors. Thelma wanted to know if I could make her some new kitchen cupboards because the ones they had were far too small. I measured and planned and went back to the lumberyard for the wood I needed. After careful scrutiny I even found a piece of walnut that would work for fixing that china hutch for the folks next to Sam’s old house.
I worked at the hutch door that night and all the next day, fetching three-hundred-grain sandpaper and emery cloth from the local hardware, putting on the original aged hinges, and carefully matching the stain. It felt good to set the finished door up away from the kids to take back to Camp Point in the morning.
“Beautiful work,” Sam told me. “But it ain’t practical to be running that far after a small job.”
“A favor,” I explained. “For your old neighbors.”
“Same as strangers to you.” He shook his head. “Oh well. If you wanna spend your pay on the gas to drive over there, it’s up to you.”
I didn’t have any choice now. The next day, Thursday already, I was glad to be on the road to take the hutch door home. It was wearing on me that I hadn’t given that little church an answer. Wasn’t right not to tell them anything. I should’ve said no to the man right away. Now I knew I’d still be up this way over the weekend because I wasn’t done with everything, but driving the distance just wasn’t practical, like Sam had said. He’d be sore at me all over again if I did the same thing this Sunday. I hadn’t even mentioned it to him, nor pulled out that second slip of paper ’cause I didn’t wanna hear what he’d have to say. But today I’d be in Camp Point anyway. So this was a fine opportunity to find the old man and politely turn him down.
Sam’s old neighbors were happy with my work. They paid me and sat me down to a cup of coffee and an apple Danish. But my satisfied feeling left just as quick as I remembered what I had to do next. I wasn’t looking forward to telling the old gentleman no, but it had to be done. I’d been praying on it through the week like I’d told him I would, but without any answers.
Pulling the slip of paper out of my pocket, I wondered how to ask these folks what it said without them knowing I couldn’t read. I hadn’t wanted to ask Thelma because I wanted to leave her and Sam out of it. And I’d tried to figure out the three lines myself, but it was no good with the handwritten script.
I took a deep breath and reached the paper across the table to the kindly couple. “Can you tell me how to find this place?”
They didn’t direct me like I’d expected, down Ohio to the driveway where I’d met the old man. Instead, the address was for the bank on the main business street where he’d been going that first day. Maybe he worked there. Or owned the place.
Good thing I was from out of town, or those folks would a’ wondered at me having trouble with an address so simple as that. I went to the bank feeling nervous and asked the first teller where I might find the man I was looking for. He’d told me his name was Willings. She knew right away who that was and took me to a side room. The old man stood up as soon as he saw me.
“Franklin Hammond, I’ve been wondering about you.”
With my hat in hand I stepped forward, trying to settle the right words in my mind before I said them. “Sir— uh, I’m not a preacher, like I told you. I’m just a farm boy.”
“I’m one of those myself.” He smiled. “Good many people around here are.”
“What I mean is, I don’t feel qualified. It don’t seem right. And I’m staying clear over to Jacksonville right now. I should have given you my answer right away.”
“Yes?”
He’d have understood. I could tell that. But just when I was ready to say what I’d planned on, that I just wouldn’t be able to do it, something come over me and I couldn’t get the words out.
“Yes?” he said again.
And durned if I didn’t tell him that if he still wanted me I’d try and do my best just this once. He was pleased. And I felt like I’d dug a hole and proceeded to fall into it. What in the world was the matter with me?
I wanna do it
, I found myself telling my own heart.
Just this once.
I left that bank thinkin’ I must’ve gone plum crazy. Sam would think so. No doubt about that. Maybe Sarah would too.
When I got home an’ told Sam I was goin’ back to that church, he looked at me like I’d lost every bit a’ sense I might ever’ve had.
“I’m gonna speak,” I explained. “Got asked last week, but I hadn’t really decided till today.”
“Franky, what if it’s snowing? You can’t predict that.”
“I’ll go early if it looks like it’ll get bad. An’ I’ll get a room for the night so you don’t have to wait up wonderin’.”
He shook his head. “You’re full a’ surprises. What’re you gonna come up with next?”
“I didn’t know I was gonna come up with this.”
He plopped down in his favorite chair and stared up at me. “Since you seem to already have a church over there, maybe you oughta reconsider Uncle Milty’s store and our house. Maybe it’s a sign that you should stay.”
“I don’t know about that.” My mind whirled thinking about his words. Would Sarah think this meant I was wanting to stay?
“I’ll take payments on the house,” Sam explained again. “You won’t never have to worry about paperwork for a bank loan. And Uncle Milty understands. He’d work with you on that property, an’ I’d help.”
“I don’t wanna do things that way.”
“Why not?”
I woulda thought he’d understand, but he didn’t. I’d have to spell it out. “Cause you’re trying to make it easy for me.”
“That don’t make sense, Frank! That’s what brothers are for.”
“You ain’t this way with all your brothers. You didn’t ask Harry up here. Or Kirk. Or Bert.”
“They ain’t suited to the store. You know that. And besides, they wouldn’t be as much help with my house. Them stairs look like a rich man’s now.”
“I’m glad you like ’em,” I grouched. “But it don’t change how I feel.”
Sam frowned at me. “I was hopin’ you’d want our house. I need a buyer.”
“I know. But what about the neighbor’s niece?”
“Far as I know, they’re still interested. But I was kinda waitin’ on you—”
“Go ahead an’ sell it to ’em. You need the money more’n I need to owe you.”
That was pretty much the end of what we had to say to each other. I got myself to bed early that night, but I lay awake a long time thinking about Sarah. Would it upset her about me preaching over there? I didn’t think so. Maybe she’d understand me just wantin’ to help that church once like I’d been asked.
As I was laying in the dark, my mind started circling through Scriptures about trust. That’d be my topic Sunday night, I was pretty sure. Relying on God, not man. A message as much for me as anybody else.
The next day was my birthday. Thelma made a cake and Sam’s kids give me a whole batch of homemade cards and pictures. Sarah’d sent a package that they’d hid back till the time. I was excited to talk to her again, but when the time came for our telephone call and I told her I was gonna be speakin’ at that church she cried. She said she wasn’t unhappy, or even surprised. So I wasn’t sure I understood the reason for the crying then, but she couldn’t explain.