Authors: Judith Pella
“I didn’t know Tom Donnelly well,” Zack began, noting as he spoke a quiet stir among some of the folks. No doubt they were thinking his fists knew Tom well enough. He went on with the words he’d delivered in Deer I sland. “But God knew Tom and loved him, and so we must find comfort in that.” There was something else in that service about the deceased going to a better place, but Zack knew he couldn’t say that with a straight face where Tom was concerned.I nstead, he decided he’d better just cut it short. Mrs. Donnelly didn’t look as though she could stand for much more anyway.
He concluded by quoting a Scripture he’d memorized for that earlier funeral, “ ‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble . . .’ ” Zack paused, because as he spoke, the words echoed in his head in such a way that for the first time he really heard them. Maybe it was because this sleepy little village was experiencing some serious troubles and they were demonstrating how very true those words were. Ellie had told him about the prayer meeting yesterday. She had praised him for making it happen and said that because of it the people had found God’s comfort. He wished he’d been there but then reminded himself that he did not deserve God’s comfort. God did not comfort fake ministers.
Yet still he envied these people.
“Reverend?” came Calvin’s quiet voice.
Zack realized he’d been quiet for much too long. He continued with the recital of the Scripture, trying hard not to hear it but failing as the words reverberated in his own ears. “ ‘God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof.’ ”
Two months ago those words had been a rote blur of
thereof
s and
therefore
s. Now they made uncanny sense.
Somehow Zack managed to get through the rest of the service. He tried to speak words of comfort to Mrs. Donnelly afterward, but he knew his words were empty, hollow. Fortunately, she was anxious to leave, so he was spared further contact. Ada took her home, and everyone else dispersed. Usually after a funeral there would be a gathering in the bereaved one’s home, but there hadn’t been the time or the heart to prepare something.
Zack rode back to the Newcomb house, unable to get those words from his mind. “God is our refuge . . .” I t was probably because he had just lost his home, or refuge, so to speak. Yet deep down he knew that wasn’t entirely the case. Until coming to Maintown he could barely recall ever having a refuge. The last time had been when he was eight. That’s when his father had died. L eon Hartley had been out in a blizzard trying to round up some cows that had gotten loose. He had caught cold and developed a lung infection. Within a week he was dead. Zack barely remembered his father. The little he knew was that he was a quiet man who worked hard. He usually left to go work in the fields before Zack woke up. Then more often than not, Zack was asleep before his father came home. He remembered, too, that because they were so poor, his father was gone a lot working for hire on other farms, often far away. Zack had no picture in his mind of what his father looked like, though his mother often said Zack favored him greatly.
Within six months of his father’s death, his mother, out of desperation, married the first man to come along—the stepfather. There was no refuge for Zack after that. The stepfather’s children came first. There were three of them—an older boy and girl, and a boy a year younger than Zack. They got served first at the table, and Zack got what was left, usually a few scraps. They got the new clothes; Zack got the hand-me-downs. When they did something bad, Zack got blamed, and he got the whipping. His mother never interceded because she so feared being left alone. By the time he was nine, he tried to run away but was dragged back. He ran away at ten and was dragged back again. By then he realized he was too young and needed to wait until he was older and smarter or until he could stand it no longer, which happened to be when he turned twelve. They didn’t catch him that time. They didn’t drag him back. His stepfather probably thought Zack was finally old enough to make it on his own and didn’t even bother looking for him. Zack would never know. He didn’t look back—ever.
Then followed twelve years of moving from place to place to place. Always moving. No wonder he was growing attached to Maintown. He’d already been here two months, longer than any place since San Francisco, and he’d been there only a few weeks, during which time he had not let himself get attached. He’d made no lasting friendships.
He had no idea why it was different here in Maintown. Maybe if he had come as Zack Hartley, he would have remained as detached as always, but something had happened to him when he had slipped into William L ocklin’s skin. Pretending to be the minister had somehow forced him to let down his guard.
Regardless of how it had happened, he knew this place had become more of a refuge than any other place he’d been in his life. That’s why he was still here when he should have run long ago, like when Mrs. Briggs had first approached him about the wedding, or when he’d beat up Tom Donnelly, or when he’d kissed two innocent sisters.I t was stupid and foolish and dangerous to stay. He should run. He’d already hurt the Donnellys, and he knew he would hurt the Newcombs before he was through. Yet . . .
Riding into the Newcomb yard after the funeral gave him such an odd feeling of belonging that turning away from it would be like stepping from light into darkness again. And he had not the will for it just then.
The next few days were doubtless the best Zack had ever experienced. He was made to feel a part of the Newcomb family. With Boyd gone back to work at the lumber camp, Zack shared the boys’ room with Georgie, just like an older brother. But his favorite time was sitting around the table with the family for meals. There was always the buzz of congenial conversation. Zack remembered mealtimes at his home as a child—they had been silent, grim. His stepfather began the meal saying grace, a long, solemn prayer that Zack closed out of his mind by thinking of other things. The children were not permitted to speak unless spoken to, but the adults were not much interested in their children’s lives, so they seldom addressed them.L ikewise, Zack’s mother and stepfather appeared little interested in each other, seldom speaking.
The Newcombs had much to say to one another, inconsequential stuff for the most part, but even Georgie’s adventure tales of catching a big fish or winning a game of marbles on the playground were listened to raptly. The women talked as much as the men and were taken seriously. Calvin may have been bored listening to Ada talk about a new quilt pattern she’d found in the latest
Godey’s
, but he never showed it.
When Zack had first arrived in Maintown, his initial impression of the Newcomb family was that Ada “ruled the roost.” But he saw now that Calvin, in a quiet way, was clearly the head of the family. The man just didn’t seem to feel that he had to lord it over his clan in order to prove himself.
Only one thing marred this pleasant time. Zack was frequently plagued with pangs of conscience. He couldn’t count how many times he was on the verge of telling Calvin the truth about himself, but he never found the nerve to do it. He knew that he feared not punishment for his crime but rather Calvin’s disappointment in him.
So when that small voice said, “Confess,” a stronger voice said, “No!”
Because of his foot, which was swollen and sore for a few days, he was not expected to work at the mill, to ride his circuit, or to make visitations. He spent all day at the Newcombs’ trying to help around the farm as much as possible, but Ada would scold him every time he did something she considered to be too much. She let him carry laundry or churn butter or do other household tasks, which, of course, put him in close contact with Ellie and Maggie. He shouldn’t have been as pleased about this as he was, and he didn’t want to enjoy them as much as he did, each for a different reason.
One afternoon Zack was particularly restless. Ada and Maggie had gone to bring some food to Mrs. Donnelly. And Geor-gie, with school now out for summer break, had gone with his mother to help with chores at the Donnellys’. Calvin was working at the mill. Ellie had gone out to work in the garden. Zack thought it a bit odd that no one feared leaving him alone with Ellie. The town’s burning desire to marry off the minister had faded a bit, no doubt dimmed by recent events. And he thought Ada was probably starting to think of him more as a member of the family than as a marriage candidate for her daughter.
Zack had been instructed to elevate his foot for an hour because it was starting to fester and swell again. But after a half hour he simply could not stand the solitude another moment. His thoughts had returned to the funeral and the unsettling feeling that Scripture had given him. He put on his boots—a larger pair had been found for him—and hobbled outside, using a cane that had belonged to Ada’s father.
Zack wasn’t surprised that his aimless wandering ended up at the garden. He stood quietly and watched Ellie before she noticed him. She was kneeling in the dirt, canvas gloves on her hands, straw bonnet on her head, wearing a green calico dress. She was plucking weeds around the vines of green beans that stood nearly two feet tall on the stakes they were tied to. He could tell she was deep in thought and had not heard him approach. He didn’t want to disturb her, nor did he want to interrupt watching her while she was relaxed, absorbed in her work, and obviously enjoying herself. When she knew he was around, she always became guarded and awkward.
When he shifted his weight to take some pressure off his injured foot, he snapped a twig, and she looked up.
“Hi,” he said and limped closer.
“Hi, Reverend,” she said. “I wish the plants grew as well as the weeds.” With her gloved hand she wiped away a trickle of sweat from her brow.
“The plants are looking quite good,” he replied. “At least the corn was knee-high by the Fourth of July.”
“Yes, it is looking quite good.”
He went over to the garden wall, but before settling down he asked, “Do you mind if I rest for a few minutes?”
“I’m ready for a rest, too.” She rose lithely and, taking off her gloves, came to the wall. “Can I join you?”
“I was hoping you would.I’m’m getting what sailors call ‘cabin fever.’ ”
“But you can’t let your foot dangle like that. Just a minute . . .” She jumped up and fetched the bushel she’d been tossing weeds into, dumped it out, and carried it back. “This should do.” She overturned the bushel and put his foot up on it for him.
“I can’t believe such a small cut is causing so much trouble,” he said.
“It wasn’t small,” she replied. “Mama thinks there may still be glass in it. She thinks if it doesn’t get better in a few days we should take you to the doctor in St. Helens. He may have to put in a stitch or two.”
“I have never been to a doctor in my life.”
“Well, let’s not worry about that until the time comes.” She paused before adding, “It must be hard to be idle. I imagine you are worried about your circuit.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that. The fact was he had considered playing up his injury just to have an excuse to get out of the circuit. Without the wise Dr. Markus, Zack was going to be pretty lost in the pulpit. But he waited too long to reply.
“Is something wrong, Reverend?” she asked.
“I suppose after all that has happened, I don’t feel competent to mount a pulpit—”
“What?”
“I have questions.”
“You mean, like a crisis of faith?”
“Yes, that’s it.” Even as he realized this was the perfect answer to his sermon problem, he also realized these words were true in another way. They were probably the truest words he had spoken since coming to Maintown.
“I suppose it doesn’t help having everyone telling you that none of this is your fault.”
“I know you mean well, but it doesn’t help. Why would God let these things happen? You are all good people. You don’t deserve any of this. I have never met finer folks than the Copelands, yet they have lost everything.”
“Things happen. I t is life—not your fault, not God’s fault, either, Reverend.”
“Would you not call me that!” he said more sharply than he’d intended. The title had begun to sting him a little more sharply every time it was used.
“We’ve been over this, Rev—well, we have discussed this before.”
“Is there nothing else you can call me?” he implored. “I know.
Call me Zack,” he added impulsively.
“What are you talking about?”
“Call me Zack or Zacchaeus.”
“Why that?” she asked with a dubious chuckle.
“I always liked that name.”
“I like it, too.” Then she went on in a singsong tone, “Zac-chaeus was a wee little man, a wee little man was he. He climbed up into a sycamore tree, for the Lord he wanted to see. . . .” She trailed away, a little embarrassed.
“I didn’t know there was a song.” He’d had no idea that his odd given name belonged to anyone except his grandfather. He’d hated the name Zacchaeus and had shortened it to Zack even before he had left home.
“It’s just a song I learned when I was young. Mama would tell us the story from the Bible, and we sang the song.”
“It’s from the Bible?”
“Of course. You know, the story of the man who couldn’t see Jesus over the crowds, so he climbed the tree . . . you remember?”
“Ellie, pretend for a minute that I’m’m not a minister and that I don’t know a thing about the Bible,” Zack said, feeling suddenly reckless. Maybe it was like a thief returning to the scene of the crime because down deep he wanted to be caught. “I want to hear it as if for the first time. Tell me the story.”
Appearing bemused by the odd turn of the conversation, she went on, “Well, Zacchaeus was a short man, and he couldn’t see Jesus because of the large crowd of people. So he climbed up into a tree. When Jesus walked by, he looked up at him and told him to come down, for he was going to Zacchaeus’s house today. This surprised everyone because Zacchaeus was a publican—”