Sam was standing in the doorway, looking at me with a peculiar smile. He’d seen what I was doing, no question about it. “You still keep tryin’, huh?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Makin’ any progress?” He walked to the cupboard and found a tin of coffee.
“A little.”
“Really? Any good stories in that book?”
“Didn’t get very far.” I stood up, not wanting to talk any more about it.
“Want some coffee?”
“In a while.” I put Rosemary’s book away for now so I could think about the business of the day.
Sam was ready to get me started on his new house. Before he went to work that morning he showed me where the lumberyard was. I picked out all the wood I’d need, hauled it back to Sam’s, and started building the stair railing. I’d never worked on such a project with kids climbin’ over everything, but I let them be as long as they left the nails and tools alone. Nine-year-old Georgie wanted to help, and I tried to show him how he could, but he really only wanted to pound nails, so I cut some scrap pieces for him, showed him how they fit together, and marked where the nails should go. He’d have himself a little stool when he got done, if he’d been paying attention.
Pretty soon Albert got in his way, and Georgie got upset. Looked like Albert wanted to try his hand too. At his age, I would’ve. And I figured six was old enough to start, so I set him up with scrap pieces and nails to make a stool of his own.
Thelma got mad at me when Albert hit his thumb. She said I had no business givin’ him a hammer and nails when he was so little and couldn’t hear me tell what to do.
“He don’t need told,” I tried to explain. “He was watchin’ Georgie, and I pointed it all out.”
She put a cold cloth on Albert’s thumb and tried to get him to color again. But he wouldn’t sit still till he got that hammer back in his hand and set back to work.
“That’s the spirit, kid,” I told him. Thelma glared at me, but she let it be.
The longest part of making that railing would be carving the individual balusters. Sam and Thelma wanted them nice, so I got a basic rail in place with temporary support first so the kids’d have something between them and the stair edge, and then I set to work carving. Sam wasn’t particular on the design. “Something with leaves, maybe,” he’d told me. I thought about making each baluster look like it had a leafy vine around it, but I didn’t want to spend that much time, so I decided on a simple leaf design at the tops. As it was, it’d take me better’n a week to get them all carved, and we still had at least another load a’ things to haul from the house in Camp Point. I thought maybe if the weather was nice, I’d take the truck tomorrow and load up the rest by myself.
When Sam got home he was pleased with my progress but sober about something too. Soon as we had a minute alone, he sat himself down and looked at me kind of hard.
“Who’s Mary Ensley?”
I was so startled I didn’t know what to think. “How’d you know about her? Don’t think I mentioned her name.”
Sam crossed his arms and looked disgusted. “Franklin Drew, it ain’t right for you even to be thinkin’ on no other girl.”
“She’s only ’bout Georgie’s age,” I explained quick. “Remember the family that had a wreck? Mary Ensley’s the blind daughter I told you about.”
He pulled a piece of mail out of his pocket. “How could a little blind girl write you a letter?”
“Maybe her mama helped her with it. Or her teacher.”
“So why’s she writin’ to you?” Sam pressed even after I’d gotten the letter into my hand.
“I don’t know.”
I hoped it was printed in big letters and I’d have some chance of deciphering at least part of it myself. But it was written in the flowing cursive of an adult, the very hardest script for me. It all looked like curling vines with leaves every which way. “Guess you’ll find out why she wrote,” I told Sam. “If you wanna read it to me.”
He did, and right away. But the letter wasn’t what either of us could have expected, and it left me not knowing what to say. Mr. Ensley had passed away from complications with his heart. Mary was thanking me for helping them, and asking me to pray for her and her mother. Sam noticed immediately that at the end of the letter she called me “Reverend.”
“She thinks you’re a preacher?” he protested. “Did you tell her that?”
“No.”
Seemed to bother Sam that I’d left that impression, but I didn’t know why they’d thought the way they did. Bothered me a lot worse to think a’ that little girl’s father dyin’. Mr. Ensley’s shaky hands and pale face were plain in my mind. Didn’t seem right that he could be gone when his daughter still needed him so bad. I prayed like she asked me to, but it was heavy on my heart that she’d said she didn’t know nobody else to ask prayer from. Her teacher’d helped with the letter; she oughta know someone. But maybe not. I wished I knew a preacher in their area to send ’em to.
Sam asked me what the Worthams might a’ thought of me gettin’ that letter. I didn’t know if they’d recognize the name or not, but it wouldn’t a’ been no big deal to them. I was just glad they’d forwarded it on so I’d know to pray.
Thelma sat with me after supper and wrote what I wanted in a return letter to Mary and her mother. Sympathy for their loss. Explanation that I was a wood carver, not a preacher. And a promise to continue prayin’ for them anyway, as any believer should. At first I thought that was enough, but then I had Thelma add the twenty-third psalm at the end, because I figured it might be some comfort.
The next day was clear and sunny. Sam left for his second day at his new job, and Thelma was busy as always with her kids. I took the truck back to Camp Point for the rest of their things. It was a nice drive. I’d spent so much time with Sam’s kids and all their lively noise that the time alone in my truck was a welcome change.
I was thinking about Sarah, wishing she was with me. Maybe when we were together again, I could have her work with me on spelling words and word cards like we used to do when we were younger. Surely I could get to reading at least a little better, even if I was still slow. Part of me scoffed inside, because I’d worked so hard at it and accomplished so little over the years. But there had to be a way.
My thoughts turned from there to Mr. Pratt’s store. Sarah’d been so relieved for me to turn it down. I prayed again that she’d be able to understand that I needed to be somewhere besides Dearing or Mcleansboro. I hated that there could be a rift between us over anything at all, and this issue might not be an easy one to resolve.
Then I thought of the Scripture in Ephesians: “Husbands, love your wives even as Christ loved the church and gave himself for it.”
Considering that made my heart heavy. Sarah loved her folks. She wanted to stay close to home. How could I take that from her, no matter what I felt? If I loved her enough, I oughta be able to live where she wanted to, make a living, and find a way to be happy, even with my brothers and all looking on. Even if they was to whisper behind my back that I was there ’cause I couldn’t a’ made it anywhere else.
I tried to quit thinking like that. Sarah was right that it didn’t matter what anybody thought. All I was responsible for was to do my best at pleasing the Lord and loving my soon-to-be wife. I tried to picture a nice shop on the outskirts of Dearing, with a house beside it and a tree with a swing in it for the kids we might have someday. It was an all-right picture. We could be happy anywhere. But there was a strange emptiness to it that I didn’t understand.
But then I thought of another Scripture, this one from Proverbs. “In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy path.” That was what was missing. I couldn’t plan this on my own, because surely God already had a plan for us. Maybe he already had a place in mind.
Where do
you
want us to settle, Lord? I don’t have a lot of time left to figure this out. I should prob’ly be knowing already, to put Sarah’s heart at ease. But I don’t know what’s best the way you do. Show me, Lord. Direct my path.
I got to the town of Clayton, where I’d dropped off the soldier on my first time through, and decided to stop at the little café on the main street where he’d wanted to buy me a cup of coffee. A bit a’ coffee would taste good right now, and there wasn’t any to be had at Sam and Thelma’s old house anymore.
It was a comfortable café, but I didn’t stay long ’cause I was feeling an urgency to get Sam and Thelma’s moving done. Somehow heaviness settled on me the rest of the way to Camp Point. Felt like I oughta get away from here as soon as I could to start searching for a home somewhere else. But at the same time I hesitated, with no idea why.
Lord, help me. I want your leading. Your will.
Driving into Camp Point this time was strange. It hadn’t oughta have seemed so familiar so soon. I pulled into the drive at Sam’s old house and went right to work, trying to keep from thinking too much about where we oughta settle and what I oughta do with myself after this.
Thelma’s sewing table was the first thing to load, along with a pair of bedside tables. I packed boxes under and around them and then set a few more boxes on top of the first ones, almost filling the back of my truck. I had to tie the ottoman and a couple of extra chairs on top. I set a box with glass things in the front seat and then checked the house over to make sure I’d gotten everything.
I was upstairs when somebody pounded at the door, but they didn’t wait for me to open to them. I could hear them inside before I got all the way downstairs.
“Yoo-hoo!” a woman’s voice was calling.
“I’m right here. Can I help you with something?”
It was a portly neighbor I’d only seen once before. She seemed disappointed that Sam and Thelma weren’t with me. “Do you think they’d mind if I look around?” she asked. “We just found out that my niece Charlotte and her family’s going to be looking for a house down here.”
“They wouldn’t mind. They’s wantin’ a buyer.”
“You wasn’t makin’ plans for the place yourself then?”
I wondered if Sam had mentioned that notion around. “No, ma’am. I got no such plans.”
“All right.” She nodded, and then went traipsing all over the house, looking everywhere it’s possible to look. Even under sinks and on closet shelves. She found two toys and an old glove, and I threw them in one of the boxes. We’d been thorough enough that there was nothing left in the whole house after that. Made for a strange feel, when it’d been so full before.
“Are you the brother that’s good with wood?” she suddenly asked.
“Folks say I do all right.”
“I got something I want you to see. My husband’s at home, and he’d be thrilled if you could fix it. Been in his family for years.”
She motioned me to follow her next door, but I hesitated.
“Come on. We won’t bite. We just wanna know if Grandma’s china hutch can be restored.”
I followed. Surely wouldn’t hurt to offer an opinion. And that hutch was the prettiest I’d ever seen. Old. With beautiful wood and hand-carved cupboard doors that must’ve taken a lot of hours and some real inspiration. But one door was cracked, missing a handle, and chipped at one corner.
“We want it to look good as it did new and original. Can it be done?”
“Yeah. But it ain’t simple. Have to replace the whole cupboard door and that means matchin’ the wood and duplicatin’ the fancy detail work.”
“Could you do it?” the husband asked.
I almost told him no. Didn’t make sense to add a extra job when I was hoping to leave soon as I got done with Sam and Thelma’s house. They could find another woodworker. But despite all logic, I didn’t feel like turning ’em down. I ran my hand over the fine workmanship and caught myself wanting to see if I could copy the beautiful designs, though that didn’t make sense at all. I had enough to think about.
“What do you say?” the man prodded me. “Our daughter’s getting married, and I’d love to pass this on to her completely restored. We can pay you well.”
I almost managed to say no, but when I turned and saw them both looking at me, I went ahead and made an agreement. They were excited. It was an heirloom worth a lot of money, and they were willing to pay me well for my work. But what would Sarah think about a delay?
Surely it wouldn’t take long, I reasoned with myself. And I could use a little money coming in while I did Sam’s work. He wasn’t paying me nothing but board.
The lady wrote down Sam’s new address to give to her niece, and then I took the damaged hutch door with me back to my truck. The loading had gone quickly. I was ready to go back. But instead of starting the truck, I just sat for a minute thinking everything through. Sam might have a buyer for his house now. I could have told the lady no, that I was interested in the place myself. But because I didn’t, it might sell to that niece of hers. I’d closed one door on myself, and then opened another by agreeing to linger long enough to fix the hutch. I guess I wasn’t sorry for either thing, but I did wonder at myself a little.
Strangely, I wasn’t sure I felt like going back to Jacksonville with the load yet. But what was there to stick around for? I heard a train whistle and pictured a big old engine and its string of cars cutting through the middle of Railroad Park with the businesses all standing at attention on either side. Maybe the windowpanes in Mr. Pratt’s building would rattle when the train whistle blew again. And I would never know what it might feel like to watch the train go by from inside that old store.
I wanted to see the place again, I didn’t know why. I didn’t want Mr. Pratt for a landlord over me, nor Sam thinking he had to help me get a business off the ground. Whatever I decided to do, I needed to do it without either of them trying to run things for me. But instead of starting off east for Jacksonville, I drove up slow to Camp Point’s business district, wondering why I would even want to.
There were some nice old buildings. The bank. The dry goods. The big grand building called the Bailey Opera House.
What am I wanting, Lord? What are
you
wanting? What am I hanging around here for?
I parked in front of Pratt’s store. It wasn’t the right place for me. There was no yard beside it where I could work outside in good weather and stack wood when I needed to. The door in back wasn’t big enough to be able to load and unload very easily. They must have squeezed every one of those stoves in the front, and it would have been a tight fit.