A Promise to Believe in (23 page)

“But people die all the time. Look at all the people born.”

“Not in my family.”

“Gwen, God doesn’t work that way.”

“But there are all sorts of people in the Bible who were cursed.”

“True, but they were folks without Jesus to save them from their sins. Listen to this.”

Patience opened the Bible. “It says right here in the third chapter of Galatians, verse thirteen, ‘Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us: for it is written, Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree.’ Don’t you see, Gwen? Jesus became a curse for us. We can’t be cursed if we are in Him.”

“Hank told me there was a Bible verse that said as much,” Gwen admitted. “I just don’t know what to think about it. For so long now I’ve believed this to be my burden to bear.”

“But it’s not. No one stands to gain anything positive by such thinking,” Patience told her. “Only Satan is served by continuing down such a path. He wants you to feel defeated and hopeless. He wants you to focus on yourself instead of on Jesus. On the cross, Jesus took your curse and bore it in your place, while He gave you salvation.”

Gwen pulled her shawl close. “Then why has there been so much death in my life? Mama and the baby she carried, my aunt, my grandparents, my husband . . . my father. They’re all gone.”

“They were all older or had circumstances that often take lives. I would imagine if you look at folks around you, you would see there are more similarities than not. You have had your share of sorrows and loss—there’s no doubt about it. But you aren’t alone, and it certainly wasn’t due to some curse upon you.”

“I’d like to believe that.”

“Then do,” Patience said with a smile. “God has freed you from such things. Don’t let yourself be taken into bondage because of a lie.”

“But I’m afraid. I worry about Lacy and Beth. I could have killed Lacy tonight. I could have killed you all.”

“The fire could have done that, but it didn’t. God was with us and watched over us every second. The fire damage was minimal, and now everyone is safely back to bed. Except for you.”

Gwen shook her head. Exhaustion was claiming her strength by the minute. “You should go to bed. Morning will come soon enough.”

“We should both go to bed,” Patience said with a smile. “Gwen, I care deeply about you and Lacy. Beth too. You girls are like breaths of fresh spring air to me. I miss my girls so very much, but with you and your sisters nearby, I at least feel useful. Don’t be deceived by the prince of lies. He wants you to doubt your value—your usefulness. He wants to steal your joy. Don’t let him, Gwen.”

Gwen nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

Later as she snuggled into bed, ignoring the scorched scent, Gwen thought of the verse Patience had shared with her. Surely it was true—it was, after all, Scripture. But how did it apply to her? Wasn’t it possible for a person to still bear a curse, even if Jesus had become one on their behalf?

She tossed and turned for what seemed to be forever, and it wasn’t until she opened her eyes to the hint of light in the room that Gwen even realized she’d fallen asleep. Lacy rolled over and moaned.

“Are we burning daylight?”

“Don’t talk to me about burning,” Gwen said, looking at the damaged wall. Black soot lined the edges of the window. “I still can’t believe I set fire to the house. But to answer your question, no. It’s not even really light yet.”

Lacy yawned and sat up. “There’s not that much damage. Patience said she’ll be making new curtains, and it will give her something to do. She said she’ll make Dave paint the room.”

“I should be the one doing all of that. I’m the one who caused the mess to begin with.” She got out of bed and reached for her clothes.

“What happened, anyway?” Lacy asked, helping Gwen to dress.

“I startled and knocked the candle over.”

“But why were you even out of bed?”

Gwen shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking of how Harvey had lied so convincingly to me all those years. I thought of how Hank . . .” She fell silent and looked at her sister’s quizzical expression. “Never mind. I really shouldn’t think of him at all.”

Lacy nodded in agreement. “We shouldn’t think of any man. They’re just trouble. One minute they’re being all nice to you, and the next, they’re yelling at you.” She pushed back the covers and stretched. “Men are just too hard to figure out, so you might as well not even try.”

Gwen had no idea what had prompted this from her sister, but she couldn’t help but laugh. Lacy made a very valid point.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Hank hadn’t meant to listen in to Patience’s discussion with Gwen the night before, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d been on his way upstairs to bed when he heard the women talking softly in the dining room. Patience referenced a verse in the Bible. It was the very verse he mentioned to Gwen. The verse that had haunted him since his father's death.

“For it is written, Cursed is every one that hangeth on a tree.”

As a child of twelve, only weeks after his father had been brutally murdered by the lynch mob, Hank had gone with his mother and brother to church. He hadn’t wanted to be there. He didn’t feel like being out in public knowing how everyone felt about his father—a horse thief and murderer.

He knew what people thought, what they were saying. His father was a no-account, and he deserved to die. Hank could accept that. He’d never quite understood his father’s lack of concern for his own wife and children. Hank had never figured out why gambling and prostitutes held more interest, but he figured it had to do with his own failing rather than his father’s.

What Hank couldn’t accept, however, were the whispers of how the Rivers boys would probably follow in their father’s footsteps. There were cruel comments made by the adults. They spoke in hushed tones that were just loud enough to guarantee that Hank might overhear, yet still look accidental.

But it had been no accident when his Sunday school teacher, Mr. Weatherbee, chose that verse of the Bible from which to teach. He had been staring at Hank for half of the morning, and when it came time to teach the young men their Bible lessons, the man demanded Hank come and sit close to the front of the gathering.

“God has cursed everyone who hangs on a tree,”
he remembered Mr. Weatherbee saying.
“Cursed them for their sins. Do you know what this means?”
He had looked directly at Hank, as if trying to force an answer, but Hank had merely looked away. Someone else had answered the question, however.

“It means they’ll never go to heaven; they’re going straight to hell.”

Hank had known his father was a lowlife, but to think of him going to hell, condemned for all eternity . . . well, it was just too much. So, too, was the implication that if Hank followed in his father’s footsteps, he would also be condemned—cursed. He’d stormed from the room and vowed never to go to church again. And he’d pretty much kept that promise.

And those were the thoughts that had haunted him through the night. They were with him even now as he made his way downstairs. He’d slept very little and hoped there might be some strong coffee ready to help him face the day.

“I thought you might be the first one down today,” Patience said as he looked into the kitchen.

Hank looked at her in surprise. “You did? Why?”

“I felt the Lord put you on my heart. I got up extra early hoping you might come along so that we could talk.”

“You felt the Lord put me on your heart? What does that mean, exactly?”

Patience laughed and held up the pot as if he’d asked for coffee instead. “How about a cup?”

Hank nodded. “That was actually the very thing on my mind. I couldn’t sleep last night. Too much excitement, I guess.” He took the mug she offered.

“Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll explain what I said,” she offered.

“All right.” Hank followed her to a small table and chairs there in the kitchen. A part of him wanted to run from what she had to say, but an equally strong part hoped desperately for answers.

“It will be warmer here. The stove is heating up nicely.” She smiled as if to disarm him, but Hank didn’t find it reassuring.

Sitting, Patience folded her hands together. “I tried to just go to sleep after all that had happened last night, but your face kept coming to mind. I didn’t know why, but I knew I was supposed to pray for you. Then this morning I woke up much earlier than usual. I felt wonderfully refreshed and knew that the Lord wanted me to get up and start my day. Then you came to mind again, and I just knew He would bring you to me to talk.”

“How could you?” The very thought of God preplanning anything on his behalf was more than Hank could imagine.

Patience shrugged. “The Lord knew you would need to discuss whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

Hank nursed the coffee for a moment, then looked up. It seemed crazy to be talking to this stranger, but he couldn’t for the life of him refrain.

“I heard the Bible verse you shared last night with Gwen.”

Patience nodded. “Go on.”

“My father was hanged. He was thought to be a horse thief and murderer, and a lynch mob strung him up. A few weeks later, they found out he wasn’t the guilty party, but of course, it was too late. There was nothing they could do about their mistake. Oh, they passed the hat for my mother, but it was a poor way of apologizing.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It wasn’t like he
couldn’t
have done it,” Hank said. “I mean, when we heard about it, we figured he was guilty, just like everyone else. He wasn’t a good man. He was a womanizer and a gambler—and broke my mother’s heart on a daily basis.”

Patience took it all in, nodding and murmuring. Hank found her simple acceptance of his words to be somewhat comforting. Most ladies would never have wanted to hear such a story.

“Shortly after my father died, my Sunday school teacher made a point in class of telling me my father was cursed to hell. He used that verse.”

“How awful. I do dislike when people manipulate the Bible to fit their particular agenda,” Patience said sadly. “That must have been quite hard on you. How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“Very nearly a man.”

“They were definitely worried about my becoming a man—especially a man like my father. I think that old teacher thought he would scare the devil out of me and save my soul.”

“But he didn’t, did he?” She smiled. “He only made you want to get farther away from God.”

Hank looked at her and shook his head. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, it just stands to reason, Hank.”

“I felt so alone. I guess . . . I still feel that way, Mrs. Shepard.”

“Jesus felt it, too. He knows exactly how you hurt.”

Hank laughed. “I don’t believe that. He’s the Son of God. How could He truly know the feeling of being alone—of being so condemned by everyone around you, there’s no place you can go where you feel wanted?”

“Because Jesus took on the sins of the world. He became an abomination to everyone, but especially to His Father in heaven.”

She surprised Hank by reaching out across the table and taking hold of his hand. The motherly gesture was nearly his undoing. “You have to understand—Jesus went to the cross knowing what it meant. He knew he’d become a curse. He knew the price for His actions and yet He went willingly. The pain of being separated from God was so intense that Jesus actually cried out from the cross, asking God, ‘Why hast thou forsaken me?’”

“I guess I’ve asked that myself,” Hank admitted. He put down the cup and looked Patience in the eyes. “I’m still asking it.”

There was no condemnation in her gaze. “You don’t have to ask anymore. He hasn’t forsaken you. He stands ready to welcome you with open arms. You have only to ask His forgiveness and accept Jesus’ sacrifice for yourself. Then you won’t be alone anymore.”

“I want to believe that, but all of these years . . . well . . . I’ve been so bitter—angry. I felt it so wrong and unfair that my mother should have to suffer the shame she endured. God seemed cruel.”

“He allows things to happen that we can’t understand, Hank. Jerry tells me it’s because we live in a sinful world that chooses to defy God. But I have to admit, sometimes I just don’t understand it at all. Jerry says that’s where faith comes in. Bad things will happen. People are heartless and cruel, and there doesn’t always seem to be any hope of justice. But there is. Jesus is that hope.”

Hank could see that she thoroughly believed what she was saying. He wanted to believe it, too. Was that possible? He suddenly felt so tired—so alone. He was that twelve-year-old boy again, longing to feel accepted . . . to be whole. It nearly overwhelmed him. Could he really find peace in trusting God? Could it be that simple?

“I know you want to believe,” Patience said, as if reading his mind. “I know you want that more than anything else.”

Hank fought back the roiling emotion that threatened to overpower him. “I do want it.”

“Then pray with me, Hank. Pray right here and now and make it right between you and God.” She smiled. “I promyou, He won’t be surprised, and He definitely won’t turn away.”