The Heavenly Fugitive (8 page)

“Come along, Amelia, Phillip,” Dorothy said. “We’ll get you settled in. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

****

Later in the day, while Lola was napping, Amelia put on some boots and a heavy fur coat of her grandmother’s and went out to enjoy the crisp day. Amelia’s father and mother were talking with Phil, and Amelia felt a twinge of envy.
They’re so proud of Phil. He’s doing so well at college and work. He can do anything!
That thought brought another—a sense of shame that she had failed her parents. Although she did not often let it show, there was a sensitive side to Amelia that was softer, gentler, and more easily hurt than most people knew. She kept this carefully hidden, glossed over with
an artificial hardness. Phil knew this tender side of her, but even her parents did not discern it as readily.

Trying to dismiss her feelings, she wandered out onto the estate—some fifty acres, most of them covered by untouched first-growth timber. She loved being alone in the thick woods. The big trees towered over her now, their limbs rounded with snow. Her feet made no sound as she broke through the fluffy carpet that lay even underneath the trees. The snow fell gently on her shoulders and from time to time she would hear a
clump
as a dollop of snow fell from a branch. She liked being out alone, although it was different from the aloneness of her apartment. Here there was life. Winter birds called out from the treetops, and furry animals burrowed through the snow looking for food. She even spotted a six-point buck, which seeing her, leaped away, startled, in the most graceful of flights, making almost no sound on the carpet of snow.

“Go on! I wouldn’t shoot you if I could. You’re too beautiful for that!” Amelia called out. Her voice disturbed the still air around her, and she turned and walked back toward the house. She went in the back door and stamped the snow off her feet. Stepping into the warmth of the kitchen, she saw her grandmother was up now, wearing a white apron and working alongside their cook. Cora had been with the family for years. She was a huge woman, tall and strong, not fat but just heavy in the way of some women. The cook shook her head as she said, “You gonna freeze yoself and get a pneumonia out there, Miss Amelia.”

“No I won’t, Cora.” Amelia laughed. She took off the fur coat and hung it carefully on a peg beside the door. “That’s a beautiful coat, Grandmother. Have you had it long?”

“Mark got it for me ten years ago. It’s mink, you know. He paid way too much for it, but I’ve always loved it.” The coat was indeed the softest and most comfortable thing Amelia had ever put on. “I expect it’ll be yours one day,” Lola said.

Amelia blinked with surprise at this calm reference to Lola’s leaving the world.

“That won’t be for a long time, Grandmother.”

Lola simply smiled. “Maybe not, but in the meantime, I’m helping Cora cook.”

“I tried to run her out of this here kitchen,” Cora said, “but she won’t go. Maybe you can make her mind, Miss Amelia.”

Immediately Amelia went over and plucked an apron from a peg on the wall. “You’re talking to a professional cook.”

“What you mean professional cook?” Cora sniffed.

“I mean I’ve been cooking for a living at a restaurant. So, Grandmother, why don’t you sit on the stool and tell me about your misspent youth while I help Cora.”

Lola protested, but Amelia led her to the stool and helped her down. “Now, you sit there.”

She turned back to Cora and gave her a big hug. Amelia had spent time in the kitchen with Cora during her brief stay in the Winslow house last year. “You taught me enough about cooking to get me a job. Now, what are we cooking today?”

“We’s gonna prepare the turkey so’s it’s ready for roasting tomorrow and make corn-bread stuffing.”

Lola laughed. “You ought to hear Cora’s opinion of Yankee cooking.”

“They cain’t cook
nothin’!
” Cora said vehemently. “Look what they do with dressin’. They put white bread in it! Now ain’t that a tragic shame? Ain’t nothin’ but corn-bread dressin’s gonna be any good!”

“What can I do, Cora?”

“Here, you work on this celery whilst I makes the corn bread.”

Making the dressing was an exacting task under Cora’s tutelage. The celery had to be split first with a sharp knife and then cut into tiny fragments. Amelia obediently began cutting the stalks into small cubes, all the time listening as her grandmother spoke about the rest of the family. Cora went about mixing up the corn-bread batter, then scooped it into a pan and shoved it in the oven to bake. After this she measured out the remaining ingredients, which included butter, chicken
broth, crumbled bacon, salt, pepper, and bacon drippings, and put them into a large bowl. The corn bread came out of the oven and was ready to be crumbled into the bowl at the same time Amelia had finished chopping an onion.

When the corn-bread stuffing was finished, Cora said, “I gots to leave for a minute. You be sure you don’t mess up none of the cookin’, Miss Amelia.”

“I won’t,” Amelia promised. She waited until Cora had left the room and then shook her head. “She’s an amazing woman.”

“I don’t know what we would have done without her. She idolized your grandfather, and he was so fond of her.”

Amelia moved over to the stove and picked up the kettle to fill it. “I think I’d like some hot tea.”

“That would be good.”

Amelia made the tea as she listened to her grandmother, then brought the teapot to the low counter, where she poured two small cups and sat down with her grandmother. The two sipped it gratefully.

“Nothing like hot tea on a cold day,” Lola said. She looked out the window and saw the snow falling. For a time she sat there silently, and then she turned and put her dark eyes on Amelia. “Every time it snows like this, I think of the time your grandfather and I got snowed in, in a big blizzard down in Texas.”

“Tell me about how you met Grandfather.”

“But I’ve already told you.”

“I know, but you always think of something different. Please tell me again.”

Then Lola began speaking of how she had been raised in a saloon by her mother and felt helpless to escape her circumstances. When her brother-in-law forced his attentions on her, a young railroadman named Mark Winslow stopped her attacker. Lola later learned that Mark had been arrested for a shooting and was sentenced to a long term in a Texas prison. Grateful to him for saving her, she had helped him
break jail, disguising herself as a young Mexican man and Mark as an old Mexican. The two had fled together, only to be trapped by a blizzard.

Lola’s voice grew soft as she continued. “Mark was sick when we got him out of jail, and when we got shut in by that blizzard, the fever took him. I thought he would die. It was so cold, I couldn’t believe it. It was all I could do to keep a small fire going and keep us both alive.”

“When did you fall in love with him, Grandmother?”

“I think it was there in that little deserted cabin. I took care of him like he was a baby.” She smiled suddenly and said, “That’s a good way to fall in love. Baby a man.”

“You’ve had such an exciting life, Grandmother.”

“Too exciting at times, I’m afraid.”

For a moment Amelia hesitated, then said, “It must be terrible for you to have lost Grandfather.”

Lola did not seem to hear for a moment. She sat very still, her fine old hands cradling the teacup. She took a sip and then put the cup down. Turning to Amelia, she said gently, “We lose things a little bit at a time, I think. I haven’t really lost Mark. Something’s lost when you don’t know where it is, but I know where Mark is. He loved Jesus so fervently, and now he’s with Him. And soon I’ll be with them. I’ll see him very soon.”

“No, not for a long time, Grandmother!” Amelia protested.

“I can’t help feeling it won’t be long. You’re young and don’t want to think about such things, but I’ve got more to look forward to on the other side of death than I have on this side.” She reached out and took Amelia’s hand and said, “It would be hard to leave, though, not being around to help you.”

Tears came to Amelia’s eyes. “I’ve made such a mess of my life, Grandmother, and I’m so unhappy. I know I’ve broken Mom’s and Dad’s hearts. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve disappointed every one of you and done awful things.”

Lola took both of Amelia’s hands in between hers. “You haven’t dealt blackjack in a saloon like I did.”

Amelia bowed her head so that her grandmother would not see the tears, but Lola knew what was in her heart. She stood up and pulled Amelia’s head over against her. “You don’t know, Granddaughter, how often Mark and I prayed for you. Especially during his last days. He loved you so very much.”

Amelia threw her arms around her grandmother. She felt so helpless and alone and confused. Two things pulled at her. She wanted to give up all ideas of being independent and just be what her parents and what everyone else seemed to want her to be. But there was a side of her that would not give in, and as she clung to her grandmother, she thought,
What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be like Phil?

****

Very early on Christmas morning Andrew and Dorothy rose, dressed, and went downstairs. They found Barney and Katie had arrived early and had let themselves in. After exchanging greetings, the women had made a quick breakfast while the rest of the house slept. Katie explained that Erin and Quaid were visiting old friends and planned to come in time for Christmas dinner. As the four sat around the table eating lightly—knowing that the big dinner was to come—the conversation turned to the condition of the country.

“It’s been a bad year for America,” Andrew said, stirring his coffee and then sipping it. “I never admired President Harding much, but I hated that he had to be taken away at this time.”

“Well, he looked like a president,” Barney said. Barney Winslow was a big man with some battle damage. He had been a prizefighter as a young man, and his years in Africa had left their mark. Still, he looked strong and virile as he sat slouched back in his chair. “I think his main trouble was he seemed to like everybody and want to do favors for everybody.”

“That’s right. He had a vague, fuzzy mind. I read somewhere that Harding had said once, ‘I can’t make a thing out of this tax problem. I listen to one side, and they seem right. And then I talk to the other side, and they seem just as right. I wish there was a book that would tell me the right and the wrong of it.’ ”

Dorothy listened as the two men talked, and then she asked, “Do you think it’s true what they’re saying about all the scandals?”

“It’s true enough all right. Harding was a weak man. He couldn’t distinguish between an honest man and a rascal. I suspect that his health deteriorated largely because of the Teapot Dome Scandal. There was enough bribery and corruption in those oil deals to put some big men in jail,” Andrew replied. “Men that Harding had trusted.”

Dorothy sat nodding at her husband’s assessment of the deceased president’s problems. Her thoughts turned to concerns over the loosening morals of the country. “We’re so sheltered out in Africa. I’m shocked at what I see here in America. Why, the way women dress! It’s a shame! Skirts are so short, and clothes are so tight. It’s embarrassing to see these flappers, as the papers are calling them now.”

Barney smiled grimly. “Did you hear what happened in Utah?” he asked the group.

“No,” Katie said. “What was that?”

“A bill’s pending there requiring fine and imprisonment for women who are on the street with skirts higher than three inches above the ankles.”

“That’s right,” Dorothy said. “I read that the same thing is happening in Ohio. The law there says any female over fourteen can’t wear a skirt that doesn’t reach to the instep.”

“It’ll never work.” Barney shook his head. “People aren’t going to abide by such laws. Why, they’re not paying any attention to Prohibition. There’s probably as much drinking going on now as before liquor was outlawed.”

“What’s happening to this country, Barney?” Andrew
scowled. “God has been so good to America, and we’ve turned away from Him.”

“It’s the same thing that happens everywhere when God isn’t honored,” Barney said, shaking his head. “Civilization goes down. I for one don’t see anything good coming out of all this so-called freedom. I think we’re living in an age of transition.”

Katie forced a smile. “I guess that’s what people always say when times get bad.”

“That’s right.” Andrew nodded and grinned crookedly. “I’ll bet Adam said one time, ‘Eve, you know I don’t understand the children. I think we’re living in an age of transition.’ ”

Barney chuckled in amusement and shook his head. “You’re right. We’re all prophets of gloom. What a sad subject we’re on for a joyful Christmas morning!”

“Uncle Barney! Aunt Katie!”

They all turned together at the sound of Amelia’s voice as she entered the kitchen and greeted her aunt and uncle. After hugs all around and Christmas greetings, Amelia sat down and ate a sweet roll and had a cup of coffee.

Then, before Barney and Katie had barely heard Amelia’s latest news, she jumped up from the table and grabbed Lola’s mink coat off the peg by the back door. Pulling on boots, she announced, “I’m going for a walk. Anybody want to come?”

“Out in this freezing weather!” Barney exclaimed. “Not me!”

“I’ll go,” Andrew said quickly. “Let me get my coat and some heavier shoes.”

Ten minutes later Amelia and her father were walking along the pathway underneath the enormous oaks. “When are you and Mother going back to Nairobi?” she asked.

“We haven’t quite decided. Barney and Katie don’t want to be gone from the mission station for too long either, but Patrick is running things in their absence, and he’s a pretty mature fellow.” Barney and Katie’s son was, indeed, a sturdy worker at the mission field.

“I know you miss being there,” Amelia said. “It’s more home for you than here, isn’t it?”

“You know, I really do miss it. So does your mother. Back when I was a young man, I used to think that the best time missionaries had was when they came home on furlough. But then over the years I’ve come to realize that home for us is the mission field. I’m a visitor here in America. I don’t know this country much anymore. So many things are happening—most of them not good.”