They Called Her Mrs. Doc. (15 page)

A tear slid unheeded down her cheek, but she lifted a smiling face and said in confident manner, “I have learned, firsthand, that God is great and God is good. I thank Him with all my heart for my years in the North—my years of learning to totally depend upon Him.”

She smiled again and sat down quietly.

The hands holding the needles had forgotten to sew. Cassie was vaguely aware that many of them reached for hankies instead. Noses blew. Bodies shifted in their chairs. Throats were cleared. But for Cassie there was still confusion.
What did she mean?
How could she have gone through what she had and stand before them smiling?
I need to think about this,
she told herself.
I need plenty of time to sort it out before I understand it. Before I—accept or reject it.

And Cassie was the first in the circle to turn her attention back to her sewing.

Cassie did a great deal of thinking and mental sorting over the next few days. She still didn’t fully understand all that the new neighbor had tried to share, but she did come to some conclusions.

First of all, she decided that the young woman knew God in a way she herself did not. Cassie had been faithful in church attendance. Her parents had seen to that. She had known the Bible stories better than any other child in the catechism classes. She had more prizes for memorization, perfect attendance and Bible knowledge than she knew what to do with—but she didn’t know God the way this Mrs. Foigt did.

But neither could she really understand what God had to do with one’s acceptance of a situation. Her unhappiness was not because she felt that God had deserted her. After all, she was busily engaged in the local church. It seemed safe to assume that God was also there. No, she was unhappy because she didn’t care for this rough, unpolished way of life. She didn’t have her mother, she didn’t have Abigail. She didn’t have her own room with its chintz-covered window seat and carpeted floors. She didn’t like the West. But she did love Samuel. At least most of the time she was quite sure she still loved Samuel.

Cassie continued to wrestle with her problem and then came to one conclusion. She would try to get to know young Mrs. Foigt better. Maybe by watching her closely, she would discover what it was about the woman that gave her such an aura of peace.

Chapter Thirteen

Friendship

It was not difficult to become acquainted with Mrs. Foigt. The town was small, the atmosphere open and friendly, the town druggist and the town doctor worked closely together, and they saw the Foigts in church every Sunday. Besides this, Cassie felt drawn to the young woman and could sense from her response that it was mutual.

And as an added measure for common ground, both young women were expecting a child.

It wasn’t long until they were finding little excuses to pop over to each other’s houses and stay for a cup of tea and a chat.

“How are you feeling?” Mrs. Foigt asked one morning when she noticed that the teacup sat before Cassie almost untouched.

Cassie smiled but pushed the cup a bit farther from her.

“Quite well. But some mornings—I just can’t even think of trying to swallow something.”

“I know what you mean. I had so much morning sickness with our first baby. And all I had to eat was—” She stopped and screwed up her face as though the very thought made her feel ill now. “Wild meat and pan-fried breads. I didn’t enjoy the fare at the best of times, but then—” She shuddered and Cassie shuddered with her.

“I don’t know how you ever stood it!” Cassie exclaimed. “I would never have been able to do it. I mean—the whole experience. Of being there in the cold with no one as a close friend and your husband always out on the trapline. I couldn’t have done it.”

Mrs. Foigt smiled and toyed with her china cup. “It really wasn’t so bad—after I gave in,” she answered softly. “It was fighting my circumstances that gave me pain.”

“But, Mrs. Foigt—” began Cassie.

“Please. Please, can we be less formal? I would love it if you would call me Virginia.”

Cassie nodded her red head. “I’d like that,” she responded. “And my name is—” She hesitated for a brief instance and then made a quick decision. It was time to do some growing up. “My name is Cassandra,” she went on.

“Cassandra. What a pretty name.”

“I thought the same of Virginia,” Cassandra returned, then went on. “I’ve really wanted to talk with you—well, very personally. I—I feel that you have—well, that you have something—a peace or something I don’t have. I know you’ve—well, had to—what would you say—reach out for God through your difficult experience. But—well, I guess what I really want to know is—how you did it. I mean—”

But Virginia was smiling. She seemed to understand Cassandra’s questioning heart more than her halting words.

“It didn’t happen instantly. I mean, the initial contact, the reaching out to God and knowing that He was there—that He was waiting and anxious to—to be God—that happened perhaps in—well, an experience of faith. But the rest—it was a case of growing and learning and committing as He showed me new things.” She hesitated just a moment. “And prayer—much prayer,” she added.

“I—I pray,” Cassandra tried to explain. “I mean—I was taught to pray. But it seemed—it seems He doesn’t pay much attention to my prayers. Why does He answer yours—and not mine?”

Cassandra let her gaze fall to the pattern of the tablecloth. She still wasn’t sure how to phrase her questions.

“Do you know God?” asked Virginia gently.

“I’ve been brought up in the church. I’ve always known there is a God. I—”

“But do you know
Him
?” repeated Virginia, just as softly, but with emphasis.

Cassandra nodded her head. “I—I think I do,” she answered as honestly as she knew how.

“If you just think you do, you maybe don’t really know Him,” said Virginia, “just about Him.”

Cassandra lifted her head and looked into the clear blue eyes before her. “I—I don’t think I understand,” she said, shaking her head. “I—I really don’t see a difference.”

“Do you believe that the king of England exists?”

“Why, yes. Of course. Everyone knows he does.”

“You are sure that he exists, which of course he does. Do you know him?”

Cassandra laughed a little laugh at Virginia’s game. “Of course not,” she said, “I’ve never had the privilege.”

“That’s really too bad,” said Virginia with a grin. “I hear he has untold wealth that he could bestow if he had a mind to—wealth that will undoubtedly be left as a legacy to his family.”

They chuckled together; then Virginia continued. “Well, I think it is much the same with God. Many believe that He exists—and well they should. The evidence is all around us. But they don’t know Him. They have never had a—a personal friendship with Him established. They’ve never become a part of His family.”

Cassandra’s frown deepened.

“We can’t grow—we can’t lean on Him—we can’t find His peace until we know Him himself. That is the starting point. Once we are a part of His family, we get to draw on the benefits. Do you see?”

“I—I think I’m beginning to understand what you are saying. But—but, how does one—how does one—get in?” asked Cassandra lamely.

“By realizing that He is more than our God. He is our Savior. We need to admit that we aren’t fit to be a part of the family because of our sinfulness. Then we accept the fact that He has done something on our behalf to care for that great need.”

“You mean Christ’s death?”

“Yes, His death. In substitute for us. He took our place.”

“I taught that lesson to the Sunday school class just last Sunday,” admitted Cassandra. And in defense she continued. “And I believed what I was teaching. I wasn’t being a hypocrite.”

“Of course not. But did you—did you apply it to Cassandra Smith? Did you feel a great surge of—of thankfulness that He had done that for you? Did your heart nearly burst with the joy of knowing that because He died, you could stand before God with a clean record—and heart? You will not need to face the embarrassment—the penalty—of judgment.”

Virginia’s eyes were shining. Her cheeks were aglow with the marvel of the forgiveness of which she spoke. Cassandra looked at the beauty of the radiant face before her and shook her head slowly.

“No,” she said in almost a whisper. “No, I didn’t. I really didn’t feel a thing. I—I just repeated facts that I’ve known from childhood.”

“Then tell Him,” said Virginia. “Bow before Him and claim His great pardon. Let Him know that you want to be His child—that you accept His—His gift of—of infinite measure. Thank Him for His unconditional love and—and accept His conditional forgiveness.”

“Conditional?”

“Conditional on only one thing—your
receiving
of it.”

At the question in Cassandra’s eyes, Virginia went on. “Believe! Repent! That’s what He has asked of us. When we meet those conditions—we become His—a part of His family—then—then we have our base for growing in Him. We are the branches—drawing strength and nourishment from the Vine. Then we have the right and privilege of drawing on His resources. Once we really know Him—we are heirs to all of His heavenly treasures—and—and He is so rich—so rich with all good things. Even more than the king of England.” She smiled, then added, “Love, joy, peace, patience, goodness. Oh, so much. He wants to shower good gifts upon His children.”

Cassandra leaned back in her chair and studied the face before her. She shook her head slowly. She had heard preaching all her life—but she had never heard a sermon like the one her new friend just delivered. There was something about Virginia, a fervor that assured Cassandra the young woman knew intimately that of which she spoke.

Cassandra nodded her head slowly. Restlessly she reached to gather the teacups. She had a lot of thinking to do. A lot of praying. Maybe Virginia was right.

“Did you know that one can know God—personally?” she tentatively asked Samuel as they prepared for bed that evening.

Samuel’s head came up and he lifted a hand to brush back the straying lock of brown hair.

“You didn’t?” he said in disbelief.

Cassandra felt her cheeks grow warm. “I—I thought I did,” she managed to respond, “but today I discovered—that I didn’t. I really only—only knew about Him. I—I wasn’t really—one of the family,” she finished lamely.

Samuel did not accuse or argue. He looked at her evenly, willing her to go on and share her heart.

“Virginia and I had a chat,” she continued. “She—she helped me to see the difference.”

Samuel nodded.

Tears began to form in Cassandra’s eyes in spite of her resolve not to shed them. Samuel moved quickly and took her into his arms. She wept in silence for a few minutes before she could continue.

“I am now,” she informed him. “A member of the family, I mean. It—it really does make a difference. I—I think that I will teach the children—well—differently now.”

Samuel continued to hold her, running his hand up and down the small of her back. Now and then the hand lifted to pat her shoulder.

When he felt that she had finished speaking—and weeping—he leaned to kiss her hair, then her cheek. “I’m glad, my little Red,” he whispered against her ear. “I’m so glad. I—I should have realized—as the spiritual head of the home—I should have shared more about my relationship with Him. I’m so glad that Mrs. Foigt was sensitive enough to …” He let his voice trail off and kissed her again.

But Cassandra had more tears, this time of joy. “Oh, Samuel,” she said with happiness radiating from her tear-streaked face, “it couldn’t have happened at a better time. Our baby will have a mother who knows the difference. Now I can teach her the truth.”

“Him,” laughed Samuel and drew her closer.